#i should get more sleep but I like semi anonymously writing my thoughts in an online journal which I'll probably be the only person to read

[fraldale]

Does anyone ever just have a really good period in their life where you're really happy and you try to tell yourself to enjoy it, but really you're actually sad because you know it won't last.

Like you're trying to emotionally prepare in advance for when you don't have what you have anymore..

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah���”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[keiyoomi]

letters to satori | t. satori × reader

summary: you did your best to keep yourself from confessing your feelings towards satori, but you just. . . can’t help, but imagine how your life would turn out with a bubbly tendō satori by your side.

details: 2k+ words | unedited | fluff? | ft. semi and ushiwaka

note: i’ve reached 2k followers recently. thank you for following me!!!

The idea of giving a handwritten letter to someone they like fascinates the red-haired middle blocker of Shiratorizawa—Tendō Satori.

It all began after he read a shōjo manga wherein the female lead tirelessly slips a handwritten note in the shoebox of the male lead. He wanted to experience that once in this lifetime. Yes, he received a lot of letters once in a while, but none of them are consistent. Their feelings towards him seems like a mere passing fancy.

“I haven’t seen you so dejected before,” Semi remarked as he stood next to him. “Don’t tell me you received another red mark in the tests?”

Satori groaned as he rest his chin on his desk while stretching his long limbs. “N—”

“AH-T!” Satori’s eyes widened upon hearing your voice. “Tendō!” you yelled with your fists tightly clenched. He can only smile at your direction in response.

This wasn’t the first time you tripped while he’s stretching his body. All incidents were unintentional and definitely not funny, but for some reason, he could feel that something’s bubbling in his chest.

“Sorry. Sorry.”

You squinted your eyes at him before walking away. While watching you approach one of your classmates, he let out a sigh. “I wonder if she’ll do it for me.”

Semi’s eyebrows furrowed. “Do what for you?” he asked. However, instead of answering his question, Satori chose to grin and kept his mouth shut.

‘It must be nice if she’ll secretly write a letter for me.’ He thought with a giggle. ‘I wonder what she’ll write in her letters though.’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

You were in a daze while monitoring the movements of each members of Shiratorizawa Academy’s Boys’ Volleyball Team. The image of the red-head middle blocker, holding a copy of a famous shōjo manga plague your mind.

‘Is he implying something?’ you thought while watching him play around with his teammates—something he usually do when Coach Washijō is not around. You shook your head to clear your mind. ‘Nah. Impossible. He doesn’t like receiving such things. He said so himself.’

Then, you tilted your head while looking for a reason that’s more acceptable that the one you’ve concluded earlier. ‘Maybe that manga is just as popular as they say,’ you thought with a nod.

You blew the whistle to get the attention of everyone in the gym. “Start the drills. Fifty jump serves, and another fifty float serves. We have to finish at least half amount of that drills before coach returns.”

They all responded ‘yes’ with dread. Honestly, you feel the same way too. The last thing you want is to be scolded by Coach Washijō. His gaze alone can make a fragile person cry.

You were recording the status of each players, including some habits that has to be corrected, when you felt someone’s presence beside you. Specifically, his. “Woah. You’re pretty dedicated, huh.”

“This is how I normally do things, Tendō-kun,” you pointed out. “I’ve been doing this for almost three years.”

“Say,” he began before calling you by your nickname playfully. “Do you think someone will confess to me before our graduation?”

Your body stiffened for a moment, tightening your grip on the clipboard you were holding, before regaining your composure. “Maybe, maybe not.”

The thought if someone confessing to him made you feel uncomfortable. It feels suffocating and you hate it.

You hate what you’re feeling.

Satori vocally expressed his desire to explore the world beyond Japan. Falling in love with him wouldn’t be wise and might only result in something heartbreaking—a situation you’d like to avoid as of the moment.

Then, he sighed. Loud enough for you to hear. “Must be nice to receive a handwritten letter before graduating,” he mumbled, making you look up at him.

“Have you read that manga?” he asked while looking at you. “Letters to My Love*?”

“I’ve heard about it. Got no time to read it, though.” A blatant lie. “Is it that good?” you asked.

“Mhm. I can lend you my copies if you want.”

‘No need. I have my own. Thanks.’ Of course, you can’t say it that way. “Maybe after the tournament,” you responded before glancing at him. “Aren’t you going to do the drills? Toshi’s already done with the entire drill.”

“Fine,” he grumbled before whispering. something.

‘He wasn’t cursing me, right?’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

“This is hopeless,” he whispered as he trudged towards the side of the court where his teammates stands. ‘I’ve tried all the tactics that the male lead in the manga did. All of them were neatly dodged by her.’ Then, he sighed. ‘At least in the manga, the female lead—despite the fact that she’s dense—picked up what he was hinting. But. . .’ He looked towards your direction before sighing. ‘It’s hopeless.’

The next day, though, he found a pink envelope neatly placed on the top of his indoor shoes. His eyes widened with delight before taking it with sheer enthusiasm. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t hopeless at all!’ he cheered in his head while skipping towards the gym.

“She must be embarrassed,” he said while grinning. “Wait, should I pretend that I didn’t know that I’ve received her letter? It must be embarassing for her if the others discover what she did.”

He clenched his fist with a promise. ‘I won’t let anyone tease our cute little manager.’

“What are you doing, Tendō?” Semi asked while standing near the entrance of the locker room.

“Nothing,” he respond playfully before humming an upbeat song. “Is she here already?” he asked.

“Huh? What are you talking about? She’s skipping today’s practice to rest. I heard she was feeling feverish on her way back to the dorms.”

Satori’s delighted humming paused. “O-Oh. . .” he forced a smile before facing his friend. “. . . that’s unfortunate.”

“What happened to your mood?” Semi asked while watching him change.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said before smiling as if everything’s alright. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t get my hopes up.’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

You’ve decided to isolate yourself from the rest of the team after catching a cold.

“How did he react?” you asked before coughing. You shouldn’t have left the dorm in that cold weather. “Please tell me that my sacrifice was worth it.”

Semi sighed. “Disappointed.”

“Oh.”

“He was humming at first, but when I told him that you’re skipping today’s practice, he looked disappointed.”

“I wonder why.”

Semi scoffed. “Yeah. I wonder why too.”

“And. . . what did you do with the letter I gave you earlier?”

“I left the pink one in his shoe locker after he left.”

“It’s blush pink.”

“Still pink.”

“Whatever.” Then, you coughed once again. “Thank you, Semi.”

“Mhm. But I still think it’s better if you just tell him directly. You do know that someone might claim to be this anonymous confessor, right?”

You sighed. “I’m working on it, Semi. Don’t worry.”

“Who said I’m worried?”

“Wow. Just. . . wow.”

“Rest and attend tomorrow’s practice. It’s not the same without—Tendō?” Your forehead scrunched. “Shit.”

“Oh God.”

“Go to sleep.”

Without another word, he ended the phone call. ‘He wouldn’t misunderstand. . . right?’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

I’ve been watching you from afar since we’re freshmen. No, not in the creepy way. At first, I was a bit hesitant to be around with someone like you. Someone who shines vibrantly like a star, attracting almost everyone around you. Maybe one day I’d be courageous enough to approach you and tell you everything I’ve been wanting to say for years.

Sincerely,

Your Admirer

He placed back the small note inside the envelope before staring at it. So far, the hints he got from this letter alone is that they’re in the same year and that they’re somewhere near him. Not that it minimized the number of possible senders, but it is still something.

Maybe they’ll drop more hints in tomorrow’s letter. That is, if they’re attempting to copy what happened in the manga.

However, the next letters he received did not give away the identity of the sender. Aside from the possibility that they’re probably a girl. Although it’s possible that they’re not too.

“I feel more tired than usual,” he complained during lunch, after reading the latest letter from his admirer. For three weeks, they consistently leaves a letter in his shoe locker without anyone catching them. Not even the hallway monitor.

“What’s wrong Tendō?” Ushijima asked while looking at him with stern face.

“Nothing,” he briefly responded before glancing at Semi. “How’s your relationship with manager-chan?”

Semi choked upon hearing his question. “I’ve told you we’re not—”

“—you’re with her? I didn’t even noticed.”

Semi shook his head in response. “You got it all wrong. We’re not—”

“Whatever you say,” Reon teased while patting his shoulder. “She’s heading to the gym first, right?”

“I don’t know. Leave me alone,” Semi grumbled, not noticing Tendō’s gaze towards him.

Satori sighed before playing with his food. “Must be nice. . .”

“That’s it!” Semi exclaimed before looking at Satori’s eyes. “Meet me at the shoe locker thirty minutes after the practice. Make sure to pretend to walk towards the dorm.”

Tendō tilted his head while watching his friend walking away while holding the tray.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

“Confess!” You were startled when you heard Semi’s frustrated voice. “Please. Stop waiting for the ‘perfect time’ to confess.”

“I swear. I’ll do it next week.”

“You’ve said it before.”

“This time, it’s for real.”

“You do realize that next week would be the finals, right?”

“Yes. That’s exactly the reason why I wanted to do it next week.”

Semi sighed before patting your head. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Huh? Why?”

Instead of answering, he began to walk away from you while waving his hand. ‘What’s with him?’

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Unfortunately, the practice dragged on and wasn’t able to meet Semi in the shoe locker. That’s also impossible considering that Semi’s stuck in the gym too just like him. Same goes for you who’s stuck with them too.

The next morning, he was disappointed that he wasn’t able to see a letter on the top of his indoor shoes. ‘Are they sick or something?’

With a sigh, he picked up his shoes before walking towards the classroom with a gloomy aura surrounding him. Until today, he wasn’t aware of the impact of his admirer in his life.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

‘Fuck,’ you grumbled as you rush towards the shoe lockers. You didn’t mean to run late. By late, you were attending your afternoon classes and missing your morning classes.

You were just too tired after last night’s practice.

You sighed before pulling out the letter you’ve prepared earlier. You stood in front of Satori’s shoe locker before taking a deep breath. You opened his locker and placed the letter inside.

“Y/N-chan?”

‘Shit.’

Sometimes, things just don’t happen according to your plans.

“Y/N-chan? What are you doing?” Satori asks in a playful way. Your hands were shaking as you slowly turn your head towards him. “You’re not planning to pull some prank on me, right?” he asks, squinting his eyes.

“A-Absolutely not,” you stuttered. “What the hell are you talking about?” You nervously chuckle as you close his shoe locker. You gave its door one last push before approaching him. “Aren’t you hungry, Tendō-kun? You’re hungry, right?”

You swallowed hard as soon as he leans towards you, way too close for your liking. “You’re keeping some—”

“—Tendō would you like to come with us?”

You let out a sigh when you both heard Wakatoshi’s voice.  Satori turns to Wakatoshi before nodding with enthusiasm. “Sure!” he chirps.

“Thank goodness!”

“After I deal with our cute manager-chan,” he says while grinning at you. “She’s been trying to keep something from me.”

“Oh, God. Wakatoshi. . . do not expose me, I beg you,” you thought while looking at Ushijima with wide eyes. You were silently praying that he’d notice the subtle gestures you were making.

“Oh, you know something, Wakatoshi-kun?”

You both waited for his response, but he just stood there, looking at you and the red-haired middle blocker.

Satori sighs.

“This is hopeless,” Satori says before glancing at you. “Come on. I’m starving!”

Thanks, God. For delaying the inevitable.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The next morning, the typically loud and cheerful Tendō Satori was quiet. Too quiet and stiff as if he’s tensed. A lot of your classmates noticed it too and tried to ‘squeeze out’ some juicy information from him, but his lips are sealed.

You took a deep breath while fanning yourself with the notebook on your desk. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He definitely read the letter. Will he reject my proposal or will he accept it? God. I didn’t made him uncomfortable, right?” Your heart race while overthinking. “I hope this wouldn’t affect his performance later. . . wait, he’s only visiting the team later with Wakatoshi to train the rest of the team. Oh God. I almost forgot about the meeting I’ve arranged with the students who’d like to apply as the team’s manager.”

Your head unconsciously turns to Satori’s direction. It used to calm your nerves—looking at him, but now. . . now that your eyes met each other before you both looked away?

Damn.

You pursed your lips as you pleaded to your heart to calm down. But. . . an image of grinning Satori, and pleased Satori, and softy Satori flashed your mind.

You squeak.

Your classmates turn their attention to you before laughing.

Sometimes, you wish that the ground swallows you whole.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The moment the bell chimes, you immediately cleaned up your desk. While placing your things inside your bag, you felt someone’s presence beside you. You tried your best to calm down, but catching a whiff of his not-so-heavy scent made you more nervous than you were earlier.

“Y/N-chan,” he called.

’Here it is. The moment of truth.’

“I. . .” he clears his throat. You look at him and watch him rubbing the back of his neck. “. . .I’ve read it and. . .” He purses his lips before meeting your eyes. “. . . I can’t wait until the end of our practice.”

“And?” you asked, preparing yourself for whatever his response would be.

“. . .I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That was all he said, but it made you cry–bawl–in sheer happiness.

You nodded your head, with tears and a wide smile on your face. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow!”

[nomazee]

Komorebi (5)

komorebi, p.5

synopsis: Tsukishima dislikes the amount of parallels there are with you and Hinata. He dislikes the way you’re so energetic and exuberant when you want to be, and the way you can get along so well with people. He dislikes the way that people are naturally drawn to you, and the way you’re so willing to put time into your dumb gifts and snacks and treats for a team of boys you barely know. But Tsukishima does not dislike you. And he supposes that’s part of the problem. 

series content: developing relationship, (sort of) ooc tsukishima, strangers to (sort of) friends to lovers, angst, fluff, slow burn

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six (final)

(THIS IS A DAY LATE IM SORRY school is really kicking me in the cooch rn but i got it out as soon as i can!! this chapter’s a little longer (still very short gjsfhgjadhf) but!! the next chapter will be the last!!! i’m very excited i hope you  guys are too :))) 

after im done with this series (which will be in the next week hopefully!!) i’m gonna do my 200 follower celebration!!  i have a basic idea of what i’m gonna do and i’ll talk about details soon :)

thank you for all the support on this series it really makes me happy!! the last chapter got 100+ notes and like,,,,wow GSHGSLNO enjoy this chapter!!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

Tsukishima wishes you’d get angry at him. 

It’s the one moment in his life where he prefers noise over silence. It’s unfortunate that he won’t get the former and is instead stuck with the ironically deafening presence of the latter. 

You’re quiet. So, so quiet. He’s recognized this change before but as days pass it gets harder for him to handle. He misses your eyes. He wants to see the way the ring around your iris changes color with the angle of the sunlight. He wants to hear the charm of your backpack jingle with every bouncy step you take. He wants to see the open gaps left in your messily-knit cardigan—and at moments when he drowns deeper in his head, he realizes he wants his hands to slip under the fabric of that cardigan and wrap around your shoulders and pull your form tightly to his. 

Tsukishima Kei is a greedy man. But only for you. 

He suppresses a gag at the cheesy thought as he sits in his Modern Literature class. Yamaguchi sits at the seat next to him, sneaking discreet glances that aren’t so discreet. He knows that his friend is aching to interrogate him, just like he’s tried every day for a week so far. (Tsukishima winces at the thought that it’s been a week since you left the tea and pastry on his desk.) 

Speaking of tea and pastries. You don’t seem to be letting up with the gifts. It only makes his chest hurt more, the fact that you can’t use words anymore when you used to be so good at filling up empty space with random chatter. Now you’re reduced to leaving treats semi-anonymously on his desk, things you haven’t made for him before and only now, at one of Tsukishima’s many low points in life, you’re deciding to flood him with these items as some odd form of reconciliation. 

(He calls it reconciliation to make the weight on his shoulders feel a little bit lighter. He understands, reluctantly, that it’s his responsibility to try his hand at this whole “making up” thing.) 

Anyways. Modern Literature. His brain keeps getting sidetracked and it proves to be detrimental as the teacher dismisses the class for lunch and he realizes that less than half of the worksheet he’s been assigned is finished. He’s gotten as far as writing his name down, and doing the first two questions. The date isn’t filled out and neither is the class period. Tsukishima sighs, and stands up to hand in his paper, ignoring the way the teacher scans through it and gives him a hesitant look at the uncharacteristic work (or lack thereof). 

Yamaguchi watches the wordless interaction from the doorway, initially waiting to walk to the cafeteria with Tsukishima but deciding against it as his blonde friend gives him a look that tells him to go ahead. He sighs. He should really get things together, Yamaguchi thinks. Tsukki’s never really been one to slack off during school like that.

As Yamaguchi leaves for lunch, Tsukishima sits through his teacher’s mundane spiel about keeping up with the work in class. He feels irritated and all the events that have happened in the last two weeks push at his head to try and convince him to just let all of this out, but he restrains himself. He’s already caught up with you—no help will come from finding himself in trouble with a teacher. 

At one point, the teacher notices his distant look and gives off a sigh of disappointment. She shakes her head and stands from her chair. “I hope this is just an off day, Tsukishima. I expect you to be back to normal soon.”

Tsukishima, for once in his life, has trouble pushing down the simmering anger that rises slowly to the tips of his fingers. He wants to yell, wants to hit the desk and shout and cry and fall to his knees and go to sleep all at once. He just wants to let go. 

He doesn’t, obviously. Internally conflicted as he is, he’d like to maintain some sort of composure in front of his middle-aged teacher. He wonders, though, if maybe this is how you’ve been feeling over the last few weeks. 

As the teacher walks out of the room, no more biting words left to give Tsukishima, he stands still at the front of the classroom, pulling at his fingers for a few moments as he gives himself time to calm down. There’s a lot going on in his head. He’s not sure which problem to address first. 

Stepping back to his desk, he takes out his wrapped bento and makes a move to leave the classroom. He hears footsteps, though, and as the figure becomes clear at the entryway he wonders if even thinking about you was a total mistake. 

You’re there. In the doorway of the classroom. There’s a box in your hand, one of the white ones that you always use to pack dozens of pastries in, but this one’s smaller, more personal. On top of it, there’s a friendship bracelet—navy, blue, and white, all threaded in a chevron pattern. 

His eyes flit up to meet yours. He hates the expression in your face. You look scared. Tsukishima dreads the fact that his mere presence could make you look scared.

Your lips are parted, but no words come out—it doesn’t seem like you really intend to say anything in the first place. Tsukishima does intend to say something. He wants to say something, knows that he should, that he has to. But Tsukishima Kei does not know all five-hundred-thousand words in the Japanese language, and he thinks that even if he did, he still wouldn’t know what to say to you. 

Not now. Not here when you’re standing in the classroom doorway with gifts in your hands that he knows you planned on giving him, just like every other day in the last week, looking up at him like you’re terrified to even interact with the likes of him. 

Tsukishima’s mind comes back to the present. Your mouth is closed, now, and you sniffle a bit in habit before making a complete turn in the doorway and scurrying out. 

Your footsteps are rapid, quickly getting quiet as you make your way down the hall. Away from him. 

He wants to cry. He hates crying—doesn’t remember the last time he’s done it, and doesn’t want to remember what it feels like. But it seems like every passing day gives him yet another reason to finally feel the tears and snot streaking down his face. 

Tsukishima Kei does not eat lunch that day.

[jombocostello]

You’ll Never Be Alone Again (Polnareff x Reader)

Anonymous asked: would it b possible to request some angsty polnareff stuff 😳😳😳✌🏼❤️

I would like to formally thank you for sending me this request. I’ve had this idea for a couple months now and you finally inspired me to write it out! I really hope you enjoy it, it was certainly very fun to write. Thanks again!!

(I’m also gonna add a link to a Polnareff fanfiction I did back in April that fits this request too if you want to check it out!)

It's been a pretty busy day today. Ridiculously so, in fact. You and your fellow crusaders arrived in Cairo, Iggy went off on his own and defeated a stand user, and Kakyoin made his long-anticipated return from the hospital. And maybe most importantly - you now know where Dio is.

The seven of you stand outside of Dio's mansion, staring warily at the tall front gate. You can feel your heartbeat speed up in your chest as you realize what this means: you're truly going to have to fight Dio. Maybe even today. You've been building him up in your mind as this ultimate evil, who's virtually unkillable...and now you're going to have to kill him. You take a quick breath and fold your arms over your chest.

The others seem to share your feelings. Everyone looks either anxious, frightened, or some mixture of the two. No one wants to speak, so you all just turn your gazes to Joseph, who's at the front of the group.

He turns around when he realizes there are eyes on him, and he takes a deep breath. "...We shouldn't attack today," he finally says, and you feel your whole body relax. "We'll get a hotel tonight and move tomorrow, in the early morning. So that Iggy and Kakyoin can rest." You glance down at Iggy, whose leg is wrapped in bandages. He'd taken a horrible beating from whatever stand user had been guarding Dio's lair. Kakyoin seems alright, though you haven't seen him without those sunglasses yet. You wonder if his eyes are looking okay.

"Thank you, Mr. Joestar," Avdol says, breaking you from your thoughts. "I think a night in a warm bed will do all of us some good." Jotaro nods from beside him, somehow looking even more somber than he usually does.

"Of course. I agree." Joseph begins heading in the other direction, and you follow him, walking quickly to keep up with the group's long strides. After all this time, you're still in awe of the sheer height of these guys. Joseph and Avdol are speaking in hushed voices a ways ahead of you, and Jotaro and Kakyoin are doing some catching up as they walk. Kakyoin holds Iggy gently in his arms, and Iggy seems really pissed about it, but he puts up with it for the moment; his leg probably kills. That leaves you at the rear of the formation, all caught up in your thoughts.

"How are you feeling, (Y/N)?"

Oh. Polnareff. You look up when he speaks from just behind you. "Uh... I'm trying to work that out right now." He smiles a little at your reply and falls in step beside you. He doesn't walk as quickly as everyone else; he always tries to match your pace. "I'm just glad that we're gonna do it tomorrow."

He lets out a big sigh, nodding exaggeratedly. "So am I. I can't even begin to tell you how anxious I just was. I felt like my heart was going to explode."

You laugh a little. "Yeah, me too. It really sucked." You tuck your hands into your pockets. "Now we're just putting off that feeling until tomorrow, but... Whatever. One more normal night."

"Not just normal," Polnareff interjects, and you look back at him, raising your eyebrows. "One more great night! We've got to make it a night to remember, don't you think?"

You grin now, and you've almost completely been freed from the anxiety of a few minutes ago. "Yeah. That sounds like a great idea, Polnareff." He nods his head definitively and keeps walking, and as he turns away you do as well.

You're glad that Polnareff wants to spend tonight with you. You had figured that he would; you two have gotten along really, really well on this trip. You share a lot of traits, like your sense of humor, your confidence and sometimes smugness in your fighting abilities, and your semi-often moments of stupidity. Really, you just like goofing off together.

You hope you'll be able to do that tonight, if the two of you can push through the somber cloud hanging over the whole group.

After a bit more walking, you reach a nearby hotel. You step inside and sit down on a chair near the front desk, sighing. Joseph and Avdol head over to speak to the receptionist, and everyone else huddles around your chair.

Kakyoin seems a little tired of holding Iggy, so you outstretch your arms. "Hey, I'll take him." Kakyoin smiles gratefully as he hands you the little dog, who seems to have resigned to being carried like a baby. You set him on your lap and yawn, absentmindedly petting his smooth fur. Before you've even realized what you're doing, he reaches around and nips your hand. "Shit - what was that for?!" you yelp, looking down at Iggy with wide eyes. He just shrugs (as well as a dog can) and gets comfortable again.

"I told you that dog is an asshole," Polnareff says, pointing forcefully at the innocent little Boston terrier. "A very self-aware asshole."

You glower at the smug dog sitting in your lap and nod. "Yeah. Thanks for that, asshole dog." Kakyoin laughs a little at your insult, while the dog just rolls his eyes. You know he seems to terrorize Polnareff the most for some reason, but you have a feeling it's started to come from a place of love, even if Iggy would never admit it. Just as you're about to tease Iggy about his secret friendship, Joseph and Avdol return to the group.

"This place is packed," Joseph announces, jingling the keys in his hand. "We've got three rooms. We can divvy them up however we want." Joseph makes the first move by clapping his hand on Avdol's shoulder. "I'll be staying with Muhammad here!" Avdol smiles, with just the slightest tinge of exasperation in his face at Joseph yelling in his ear, and Joseph dangles the other two room keys in front of you.

"I'm sure I can guess who you're choosing, (Y/N)," he says, a teasing smirk on his face.

You roll your eyes and snatch a key out of his hand, tucking it into your pocket. "Yeah, I'll be staying with the second best stand user here." You look up at Polnareff and grin.

He pretends to be mortally hurt by your words, clutching his heart. "Second best? You wound me." He lets out a full laugh, one that you feel in your own chest, and your smile turns into something softer. "I'm kidding. I know you think just as highly of me as I do of you."

"I could tell, dude," you say to him, laughing under your breath. "But thank you. I'm glad you think that." You lean back in your chair, looking around at everyone else.

While you and Polnareff have been playing out your dumb little rapport, the final room assignment has been established. Jotaro and Kakyoin pick up their small luggage bags and turn towards the elevator. "We're going to head up now, Mr. Joestar," Kakyoin says, smiling politely at the older man. "I want to try and get to sleep early."

"Of course." Joseph nods and starts to wave goodbye, but before he does, he stops himself. "Wait! If you don't mind, Kakyoin, would you take those sunglasses off? I want to see how your eyes are."

Kakyoin's expression drops a bit, but as Joseph starts to tell him he doesn't have to, he nods. "Sure. I haven't checked a mirror in a bit, so I honestly don't know how they look." He takes a quick breath and removes his dark sunglasses.

They honestly look alright. His eyes themselves, other than being a little red, look fine, and the only noticeable changes to his face are the light pink scars that run above and below each eye. You smile at Kakyoin, who looks nervous. "Well, it looks alright to me. How are they feeling?"

He's thankful for your words, you can tell. "They've been getting better. Looking at light was pretty hard yesterday, but today it's improved a lot." He reaches out and places his hand on Joseph's arm, who looks up at him with raised eyebrows. "It's because of you that I've recovered this well. Thank you."

Joseph smiles softly, nodding. "Of course. Now you get some sleep." Kakyoin slowly brings his hand back to his side and heads for the elevator.

Jotaro turns to follow him, but before he does, he lowers his head a bit. "I'll see you guys tomorrow," he says gruffly. He won't look any of you in the eyes.

"You as well, Jotaro. I hope you sleep well." Avdol's voice is much smoother and soothing than Jotaro's, and Jotaro seems to appreciate his tone. After you all bid him good night, he follows Kakyoin to their room.

Now it's the four adults and the asshole dog left in the lobby. "They're not gonna be able to get any sleep right now," Polnareff says, frowning. "They both look stressed out of their minds."

Joseph sighs. "At least they'll have each other." He forces the frown from his face and paints a grin onto his features. "So, what are your plans for the evening? Avdol and I are going to get things sorted in our room and then head down to the bar."

You smile when you hear that; you'd been hoping for one last drink with these three. On a couple previous hotel visits, you, Joseph, Avdol, and Polnareff had shared drinks at the hotel bar, usually until the early hours of the morning. They each get a little...different after a few drinks, in their own ways, and you're sure you do too. Either way, it's always fun. "Well I'd love to join you guys. Polnareff?"

When you look over at him, you're surprised to find his eyes already firmly set on you. He's not wearing an expression you were expecting; his eyes have a far-away quality that you don't recall seeing in him very often. He shakes himself a bit and smiles, nodding vigorously. "Of course! Yes, that would be great." He picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. "Should we get going, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah." You stand, lifting Iggy with you. "Who are you staying with, you rude little dog?" you ask, squinting at him. He turns his head to Avdol and lets out a little yip, which doesn't really surprise you; he's probably the only guy in this assembly of people that doesn't annoy Iggy on a daily basis. "Okay." You hand the dog over to Avdol, who takes him carefully. As you pick up your own bags, you turn to Joseph. "See you soon, alright? You too, Avdol." They both wave to you as you and Polnareff walk to the elevator to head up to your floor.

You're the only two in the elevator, somehow. You punch in the number and lean against the wall, letting go of a deep sigh. "Thanks for rooming with me." You look up at Polnareff, who looks like he's feeling alright, considering the circumstances. "(Y/N), it's really been great getting to know you on this journey. You're my best friend here - well, you're really my best friend anywhere."

Oh, wow - you blink, completely surprised by Polnareff's transparency right now. Usually you two just joke around together, and that seems to get your feelings across - but Polnareff's being completely genuine right now, and for some reason it's really doing something to your heartbeat. Polnareff takes a couple steps closer to you, and your breath catches. "I want you to know that I - "

The elevator dings loudly and you both jump, turning to the door. A few young women walk inside, laughing loudly with each other. You back into the wall a bit to make room for them, clutching the strap of your bag. One of the girls looks from you to Polnareff and then smiles widely. She starts murmuring something to Polnareff that's just soft enough to be indecipherable to you - and Polnareff's eyes widen. He looks at her and shakes his head, and when the girl's face falls, the elevator dings again and opens to your floor.

You slide past the girls and step out of the elevator, Polnareff following close behind. As you walk down the hall, you turn to look at Polnareff. "What was that about?" you ask.

Polnareff shrugs, looking sheepish. "She just wanted to know what I was doing tonight. Obviously I told her I was busy." You feel your face grow a little warm when you hear that. It's the last night before Polnareff is going off to risk his life, possibly his last night even being alive - and he turned down spending it with a beautiful girl to stay with you. You know he isn't the type to leave you like that, but the idea still makes you feel good.

You nearly run into Polnareff when he stops suddenly. "Here's our room," he says, glancing down at you and grinning. "I hope it's a nice one."

You pull the key out of your pocket and unlock the door. You both walk inside, taking a quick look around. There are two queen beds in the center of the room, and a TV sits on a little dresser against the far wall. The bathroom is just around the corner from the door. "Certainly good enough for me," you say, tossing your bag onto the bed farther from the door. As Polnareff shuts the door, you flop onto your bed and sigh. "Fuck, I'm tired."

Polnareff laughs as he sits on the other bed. "You can say that again. I've been exhausted for a week." He chuckles again, his voice slowly fading away as he leans back. "It's cozy in here."

"...Yeah, it is." The wallpaper is a warm orange color, and the sheets on your bed are pretty soft. There's a large window next to your bed that opens up and leads to a little balcony. You'll certainly spend some time out there tonight. You sit up a bit, looking over at Polnareff. "Do you think Joseph and Avdol are down there yet?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, probably. Wanna go meet them?" You nod and hop up, quickly adjusting your shirt and brushing a hand through your hair. Polnareff stands up as well and pops his head into the bathroom, eyeing his reflection. "Does my hair look alright? I didn't know if the wind had messed it up."

You smile and take a couple strides over to Polnareff, then pop up on your toes and tuck a few loose strands of hair behind his ear. "You're all good now," you say, laughing as you pat him on the cheek. He lets out a bark of laughter as you pull your hand back.

"What the hell was that?" he asks incredulously, walking to the door.

"Oh, you're just too cute, Polnareff," you answer, batting your eyelashes in the most over-the-top way you can manage. This just sends you both into a fit of giggles as you leave the room and make your way back to the elevator.

The ride down is a lot less tense than the ride up had been. You hum along to the elevator music, idly bobbing your head as you listen. Polnareff watches the numbers tick down one by one, until you reach the first floor.

It's pretty easy for you two to find the bar, and it's even easier to find Joseph and Avdol - they're easily the tallest and most muscular people in the area. You take a seat at the counter next to Avdol and pat him on the back, much like Joseph had done earlier. "Hey," you say with an easygoing smile. "What did we miss?"

"Nothing at all." Avdol slides a beer towards you, and you take it. "We just got your drinks." Polnareff takes a seat beside you and Avdol hands him another tall glass. "Do you like the hotel room?"

"Oh, it's very nice," Polnareff says. He pauses to take a swig before continuing. "I like the balcony."

Joseph nods, leaning forward so he can be seen. "It's a great hotel, I'm glad Avdol spotted it." He leans back, and the group falls silent.

You know this is just dumb small talk that's only happening so you can try and ignore the elephant in the room. You can feel yourself getting more and more anxious as Joseph, Polnareff, and Avdol keep going on about whatever they can think of - the hotel, the drinks, even the goddamn weather. You sink down lower in your seat, but before you can completely lose it, you hear the faint radio switch to a new song.

"Oh, dude!" You turn to Polnareff with a bright smile on your face. "I love this song!" He breathes out a little laugh as you start singing along. You grow gradually louder and start swaying to the beat, slinging an arm over Polnareff's shoulder and pulling him into your impromptu performance. He tries to sing along, but he clearly doesn't know the words, so he's sort of mumbling without any direction.

"You don't know the words to this? Jesus, dude, it was huge a few years back! Paul McCartney's been the king of the eighties." You let go of Polnareff and turn to face him.

He shrugs. "I don't really listen to music."

You're dumbfounded by this, and your expression reflects it. "Holy shit, Polnareff. When we're out of here you're getting introduced to the pantheon of rock."

Joseph perks up when he hears this. "I hope you'll start with the Beatles?" he says, squinting at you.

You laugh, nodding. "What kind of person would I be if I didn't?" You drink some beer and gently set down your cup. You listen as the guitars slowly fade away, and then a new song starts that you've never heard before. You think it's in Arabic. "Well..." Now that your fun little distraction has run its course, you're sort of back to square one. At least you'd made everyone smile.

"Say, Polnareff..." You all look to Joseph when he speaks. He takes off his hat and runs his prosthetic hand through his hair. "Can I talk to you for a bit? To get you started on that rock and roll education." You smile a little at that, even though it's obviously not the real reason.

"Sure." Polnareff seems to know what it's about. "I'll be back in a minute, (Y/N)." He gives you a tight-lipped smile before getting up and following Joseph out of the room.

You take Polnareff's glass and slide it over next to yours. "What do you think that's about?" you ask Avdol, who's been relatively silent for a while.

"It seems to me like Joseph's confided in Polnareff about some massive secret that's been eating at him for years. They've had a few little meetings like this before." He huffs out a laugh. "But I've got no clue what that secret is."

"Oh." Maybe Joseph wants to get it all off his chest before tomorrow, in case he - you grit your teeth. You can't get choked up now. You force yourself to drink. "How are you doing?" you ask Avdol, resting your chin in your hand and looking straight ahead. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Why would I mind? I appreciate it." You kick yourself a bit; it would only make sense that Avdol has a much better handle on his emotions than you do. "It's helped me to acknowledge that this is inevitable. It's either we fight him, or he ruins the world. It's just...a duty. It's what we have to do, because we have the powers we have."

You take a shaky breath in, nodding along slightly as he speaks. You can understand that perspective - you just wish you didn't have to. But there's no point in wishing, not this late in the game. "That makes sense," you say softly, your words muffled by your hand. "...I'm having a hard time."

He turns to you, but you can't bring yourself to look at him. "Anyone would," he says lowly. "I get it."

You steel yourself, blinking hard a few times. "Yeah. I know we're all going through the same thing right now."

He places his hand on your back, and you find your lips turning up at the gesture. "Just try to take care of yourself."

You finally look at him, and you muster a better smile. "Thanks. You too." He nods and returns your smile. As you both drink some more, a thought comes to you. "I know it's weird to think about it like this, but it's been really fun spending time with you all."

Avdol's expression brightens. "No, I agree! It's been a pleasure getting to know everyone. I know our group was thrown together under dire circumstances, but I think we've managed to make something good out of it." He's put your thoughts to words perfectly. "And... After all this, after we defeat him - just know that you'll never be alone again. We'll all be together for the rest of our lives, I know it. You'll always have friends in us."

You're suddenly struck by the urge to cry - for once, not out of abject despair. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right." You will the feeling away. "I'm actually planning on going back to New York with Joseph after this is over. I've wanted to live there all my life."

"New York?" Avdol quirks an eyebrow. "It's horribly crowded, you know."

"I don't think it's so horrible." You shrug, smiling a bit. "There's so much to do, so many new places to find... If you want, every day of your life can be a completely unique experience there." You pause. "Or so I've heard."

Avdol laughs, a rich sound that makes you laugh a little too. "Well, I hope you enjoy it there. I'll just be getting back to my business." Ah, yeah - you'd forgotten that he works right here in Cairo.

"Do you like it? Your work, that is."

"Yes." His answer comes quicker than you expected. "I think I make people happy, usually. It's not often that I have to deliver bad news. When I do... I really hate it."

"I would too." The mood's shifted into some mix of reminiscence and melancholy. You catch yourself wondering if he'll have to deliver bad news tomorrow - if he'll have to tell your family members where you've been all this time, and why you're not coming back. Jesus. You grimace; you've been fighting this thought ever since you left on this trip, but you feel the need to vocalize it.

"Hey, Avdol." He hums, glancing over at you. You shut your eyes. "I... I have a feeling we're not all getting out of this."

You hear him breathe deeply from beside you, and your frown only deepens. You slowly open your eyes, but you can't turn to face him. "You're the fortune teller. What do you think, am I right?"

You can tell he doesn't want to voice his answer, which is too telling. Finally he does. "...Yeah. I agree." Your heart drops. "I don't know who, but yes - we're not all going home tomorrow."

Your eyebrows furrow and you look down at your hands, clasping them together so tightly they hurt. Avdol is quick to speak again. "But don't let yourself give up, please. (Y/N) - if we try, we might be able to fight this." It's clear that he doesn't believe this, but you're grateful for his efforts.

"No, I won't," you reply, and you hardly feel like you're talking. "We've just got to hold on until we beat him - "

"(Y/N)!" You nearly shout when a hand lands harshly on your shoulder and a booming voice speaks your name. You whip your head around and find Polnareff grinning down at you like an idiot. "What's with the long face? Did we miss something serious?"

"Nah," you answer, watching as Polnareff sits down next to you again, and Joseph follows suit at the other end of the bar. You slide him his drink, which he gratefully accepts. "Just talking about the future."

"Hm. The future." He nods pensively. "Well, Monsieur Joestar and enjoyed a wonderful conversation about the discography of Elvis Costello." You nearly laugh at that. "But now, there's something I want to say." The three of you all look to Polnareff, who's become a bit more serious.

"You all mean so much to me. I was completely lost before I found this group - even before I was under Dio's control. It was as if all I could feel was sadness and rage, or some mix of the two. But you've all made me... Well, you've helped me to feel again." He doesn't seem very nervous, which leads you to think he's been holding on to these thoughts for a long time. "Joseph, your advice will stay with me for the rest of my life - and Avdol." He looks solemnly at the man to your left. "You've taught me so much in such a short amount of time. You'll never understand how grateful I am that you're here right now. You truly  mean the world to me."

Avdol reaches out and takes Polnareff's hand, who squeezes it tightly. "Of course. It's been a delight traveling with you too, Polnareff. You've taught me a lot as well." Polnareff gives him a soft smile and lets go. As he does, he turns to you.

"(Y/N)..." You smile up at Polnareff, wondering what he might say. There's something very heroic in the way he looks right now - high above you, giving a speech that would usually be saved for the third act of an epic. He opens his mouth, and you smile a little wider. As he's about to speak, though, he's suddenly struck by a thought - and instead, he shuts his mouth and wraps his arms around you tightly.

You gasp a bit, unable to hold back your wide grin as he hugs you. You can feel your heart thumping away in your chest - you wonder if he can too. "Thank you," he whispers in your ear, "for always being with me."

"Of course," you tell him softly. "Thank you for being there for me too, Jean." He pats your back and then lets go, leaning back and beaming at you. You feel oddly exposed without his arms around you.

"With that - " He grabs his glass and raises it into the air. "I propose a toast. To our crusade and to our friendship." You pick up your glass and watch as Avdol and Joseph do the same. All at once, you clink your glasses together, laughing as Polnareff spills a bit of beer due to his enthusiasm. Once you've all finished your drinks in one long swig, you set down the empty glasses. You can't get the smile off your face.

"I'd say that was a good end to this little outing," Joseph says. "Goodnight, you guys. I'll see you tomorrow morning." He stands, and you follow suit.

"Yeah, goodnight. I hope you guys sleep alright."

Avdol nods his head. "I'm feeling pretty good, actually. I don't think sleep will be too difficult." As he speaks, he gently places his hand on your arm. "Thanks, (Y/N), for the words of reassurance."

You're pretty sure he had been the one reassuring you, but you don't saying anything. He draws his hand away and turns to Joseph. "I guess we should head back."

"What about Jotaro and Kakyoin?" You look up at Polnareff, who just brought up a point you're a little ashamed that you'd forgotten about. "We should check on them, see how they're holding up. Is that alright with you, (Y/N)?"

"Yeah, of course. It would be nice to say goodnight to them too." You crack a smile. "And maybe you can give them another one of your rousing speeches." Avdol chuckles a bit, while Polnareff's face goes red.

"W-well, anyways, we should be off. Good night, you two." Joseph and Avdol wave goodbye as you and Polnareff walk quickly to the elevator.

You share the elevator with a small, older man who looks pretty damn tired. You find yourself wondering what he's doing here - is he with his family? Away on business? Though he looks exhausted, he also keeps smiling a little to himself. You catch yourself thinking that he's a stand user, but you force that thought away. And just like that, the door opens, and he leaves. You guess he was just happy about something.

You and Polnareff get off on the next floor, which is still one below yours. You realize as you step through the doors that you forgot to ask Joseph what Jotaro and Kakyoin's room number was. "Shit," you breathe, turning and surveying the seemingly endless hallway. "I don't know which room is theirs."

Polnareff has to hold back a laugh at your expression. "Shut up," you say, punching him in the arm. "You're the one who suggested it, why the hell didn't you ask for the number?"

"Because I'm dumb! I guess we're both just dumb." You sigh, unable to keep from laughing at Polnareff's stupidly wide smile. "I suppose we can try yelling their names in the middle of the hallway until they hear us."

You nearly snort at that. "So this is what it's come to... Fine." You cup your hands around your mouth and bellow, "Jotaro! Kakyoin!" The second you do, Polnareff breaks down, folding over and absolutely dissolving into giggles. You yell again, a little louder this time. "Jotaro! Yo, guys! Kakyoin?"

The door right next you is suddenly punched, and you jump nearly a foot in the air. It seems you're disturbing the hotel patrons. You snort, leaning on the other wall and wheezing out one of the hardest laughs of your life. Polnareff grabs your shoulder and takes a shaking breath, struggling for air through his laughter. A few more people knock angrily on their doors, now annoyed with your obnoxious giggle fest in their hallway.

You suck in a deep breath and shout as loud as you can, "JOTARO!" The second the word leaves your mouth you collapse onto Polnareff, grabbing his arm as you try to stop howling with laughter. He grabs your waist to try and right you, and it nearly surprises you out of your giggles - it's quite a comforting feeling, having his hands on your waist. But the moment's over as soon as it began, and you're back to crying laughing with each other.

"Polnareff! (Y/N)! What the hell are you doing?" You both look up when you hear someone hiss at you from down the hallway. It's Kakyoin, with his head poked out of the doorway. "Just shut up and come in." You both walk over and enter his room, wiping tears from your eyes.

Their room looks just like yours. Kakyoin shuts the door behind you two and gestures for you to sit on the bed. You sit down next to Polnareff, looking around for Jotaro - he's nowhere to be found.

"He's in the shower," Kakyoin says. He sits down on the other bed and faces you. "Uh... Is there a reason you guys were screaming in the hallway?"

You snort, making Kakyoin jump. "Ah, sorry - we, uh, we didn't have your room number. So we had to resort to desperate measures." Polnareff has to hold back a laugh as well, while Kakyoin looks relatively unamused. "I'm just glad we found you. We wanted to say goodnight to you guys."

Kakyoin does smile at that. "That's nice of you. I appreciate it." You hear the shower turn off, so you figure Jotaro is done. "I... I haven't been able to get any sleep."

"I figured," Polnareff said. "This is hard to deal with. I don't know that I'll sleep much tonight either."

Kakyoin nods, playing with one of the buttons on his uniform. "Yeah." You're all silent for a few moments, until the bathroom door opens.

Jotaro steps out in a t-shirt and some pajama pants, and without his famous hat. "Looking good, Jotaro!" Polnareff calls with a grin, and Jotaro just glowers down at him.

"Hi, Jotaro," you say to make up for Polnareff's buffoonery. "So, uh..." You turn back to Kakyoin. "Was there anything you guys needed? Or did you want to do anything? We could all play cards if you want."

"I'm never playing cards again," Jotaro says from the other side of the room. "So no."

You suddenly remember when Joseph and Polnareff's souls had been trapped in poker chips, which Jotaro had to win back from the enemy stand user. Yeah, that's a good reason to never want to partake in cards again. "Ah. I get it." Jotaro sits down next to Kakyoin. "So you're all good?"

"Yes. Thanks for checking up on us." You and Polnareff both stand up.

Jotaro clears his throat. "But you don't have to treat us like little kids, assholes."

You frown. "Well shit, I wasn't trying to. I'm just worried for everyone, I guess."

Jotaro's expression eases a bit, and he nods. "Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm... I'm pretty nervous."

"Anyone would be," Polnareff says from beside you. You glance at him, and he looks a little anxious as well.

"But I'm gonna see my mom tomorrow, so it's alright." You look back to Jotaro, who has the hint of a smile on his face.

"Oh, yeah! I hope I get to meet her too, I've really wanted to."

"Yeah, I'm sure you can. She loves having people over." Jotaro shrugs. "So I guess we all just have to get through tomorrow."

You start to agree, but you suddenly remember what Avdol and you had spoken about earlier. You instead just nod your head. "Yeah." You turn to Polnareff. "Should we head back?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired." You both turn to the door, and Polnareff opens it.

As you leave, you turn around to look into the room one last time. "Goodnight, guys. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning." You give them a grin and a thumbs-up.

Kakyoin returns the gesture, which delights you. "Yeah. See you two tomorrow." And after one last wave goodbye, you leave and shut the door.

You get back to your room rather quickly. The first thing Polnareff does is flop face down onto his bed. He groans loudly and stretches his arms out to either side of him, nearly hitting you in the leg in the process. "Watch it," you say, narrowly dodging him and hopping onto your own bed. As Polnareff sits up, you grab your bag and cross your legs. "So what do you wanna do? Are you tired?"

He purses his lips. "Ah... No, not really. I'll go take a shower." You watch him stand and walk over to the bathroom, and then he disappears behind the door. Before he shuts it, he pokes his head out and calls, "See you in a minute." And with a grin and a silly wave, the door closes.

Now it's just you. You turn back to your bag, the remnants of a smile on your face. You feel really lucky to have Polnareff right now. He's such a bright and happy guy, and he's so fun to be around... You lean back against the wall and sigh.

You've learned a lot about Polnareff on this trip. He was open with you all from the very start, when he told you the story of his sister's death. It had broken your heart, hearing that. You tried to be nice to him when he joined the group; everyone else seemed a bit wary for a little while. Once you reached India, though, was when you became truly close. You hadn't gone with Polnareff when he broke off from the group - you weren't sure that he wanted you there - but you were with him the next day, when Hol Horse killed Avdol. Well, when you thought he had killed Avdol. You were also kept in the dark about that important little detail, which still pissed you off sometimes.

When the two of you had gotten back to the hotel after finding and killing J Geil, Polnareff had been a mess. You were both upset, of course, but Polnareff completely blamed himself for Avdol's death. You had held him that night, which was so unfamiliar; you'd never done that for someone before. But there was something about seeing Polnareff cry that filled you with utter sadness, and you knew you had to help him feel better. You needed to be there for him.

When it had happened, sure, you were a little flustered - who wouldn't be? It was an intimate position to be in with someone, but Polnareff was a close friend and you knew he needed it. As you reminisce on that emotional night, you hear Polnareff start singing in the shower. It's something in French, so you have no clue what he's saying, but he's clearly putting a lot of heart into it. You're smiling before you even realize it, and you find yourself humming along with his little ditty.

Polnareff always has the power to make you happy, no matter how you'd been feeling before. On occasion, you'd confide in him your anxieties with the trip, and the battle that faces you all at the end of it. He's always been able to calm your nerves, and usually he can make you laugh to boot. You really are lucky that you ended up with him. You honestly love being around him.

Love... Love. It's a serious word, but it really is true. He's always been there for you whenever this journey's gotten especially taxing, and you think you've been there for him too. You think you'd like to stay with him after this is over, no matter where he wants to go. You think you love him.

Suddenly, your conversation with Avdol earlier hits you like a truck. "I don't know who, but yes - we're not all going home tomorrow." You take a deep, shaking breath. You might not be going with him anywhere. You might not even see him again. As these thoughts continue, each one worse than the last, you can feel your eyes welling up with tears. You haven't cried once in these past few months, but this makes you feel completely hopeless. You can't imagine being without Polnareff.

He's still singing in the shower. You stand up and walk to the balcony, and as you make your way over, you feel like you're floating. You open the sliding door and shut it tightly; you don't want any cold air getting in. You lean up against the tall railing, looking down at the brightly-lit city. Now the tears start to fall.

You cross your arms over your chest, sobbing. It's as if this is the first time that you've truly realized what could happen tomorrow - you could die, Polnareff could die, shit, you both could die. Your heart pounds in your chest as you take another shallow, unstable breath. You could lose the one person who makes you happier than anyone else in the world. Another harsh sob wracks your body, and you sink to the floor, leaning against the door and holding your head in your hands. You feel horrible, worse than you ever have. You don't want to have to give up this new life, this new little family - the man you love.

When the door slides open behind you, you nearly scream. "(Y/N), what are you doing out here? It's freezing." You hesitantly look up at him, knowing what you must look like, and Polnareff's face instantly falls.

"Sorry," you say almost reflexively. You feel the need to explain yourself. "I-I just - "

Before you can finish, Polnareff crouches down and pulls you into a tight, almost crushing hug. Your breath catches in your throat and you can only let tears stream down your face. "Ne pleure pas," he murmurs, and you're too caught up in everything to ask what that means. "Please." You hiccup and wince, trying to keep yourself from sobbing again. It feels so, so right being in his arms - but this might be the last time you ever get to feel it.

"Can I help you up?" he asks you softly. "We should go inside. It's too damn cold out here." You nod shakily, and you let him take your hands and pull you gently to your feet; he does it like it's nothing. Not letting go of your hand, he opens the door and leads you inside. He shuts it as you sit down on the bed.

You can't bring yourself to look at him; you think if you get a good look at his face you'll utterly break down. He sits down next to you and wraps his arm over your arms, and you cry a little harder at how tenderly his fingers rest on your shoulder. "I think I know what's wrong," he starts, almost cautiously, "but do you want to talk about it? You know I want to listen."

I love you. "...It's just everything." You're not lying, technically. "I-I'm sorry, I've never done this before but I -"

"Stop apologizing," he tells you, his voice firmer than it had been before. You finally chance a look at him, and his expression nearly knocks the breath out of you. He cares deeply for you, you can see it in his eyes - if you're being honest with yourself, it's an expression that's clearly rooted in love. You try to shove the thought away but you can't. It almost hurts you to see him so invested in you. "Remember back in India? When we thought Avdol was dead? I cried, God, I cried so much - and you were there for me the whole time. You helped me so, so much. What kind of man would I be if I didn't do the same for you?" He leans back in and hugs you again, catching you off guard. You hesitantly wrap your shaking hands around his broad shoulders, leaning your head into the crook of his neck.

He speaks, and you feel his voice all through your body. "I know how you feel," he says softly. "Trust me, I do. I'm fucking terrified. I can't begin to describe how scared I am of losing you." You've nearly run out of tears to cry at this point, but his admittance makes you hold back a sob. "I swear to you - I will do everything in my power tomorrow to keep you safe. I'll protect you with everything I have, (Y/N). Tomorrow... Silver Chariot is yours."

"That's not what I want," you say quickly, surprised by the hollowness of your voice. He pauses, and while you can't see his expression, you're sure he's confused. "I just need you to live, Jean. I need - I need us to be together after this is over." You hardly realize what you've said until the words leave your lips. "With everyone. I can't lose you guys."

He doesn't seem completely convinced by the last words you tacked on to your statement. "Yes, alright... We'll protect each other. We'll stay together and we won't let anything happen. Okay?"

You sniff, thinking suddenly of all the tears you must have gotten on Polnareff's shirt. "...Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there for you no matter what happens." I love you.

He nods against you, and you let go of a shaky sigh. "Good. Good, (Y/N). I won't let anything happen to you." It's a promise he can't keep, but for some reason it makes you feel better hearing it. You think you might finally be done crying. "Do you want to try and get some sleep?" he asks gently.

"Yeah, I - I just have to change." You carefully untangle yourself from Polnareff's arms and stand up, feeling horribly nervous. You grab your bag and quickly shut yourself in the bathroom.

You can't get yourself to breathe evenly. You lean against the wall, trying to avoid your reflection in the mirror. You really hadn't meant for that to happen. You had planned on keeping it together tonight, on not making anything weird - but you fucked it up. You pull your pajamas - an old band t-shirt and a pair of sweats - out of your bag and set them on the counter with shaking hands. Maybe you should take a minute for yourself in here.

As you change, you think about what just happened. Polnareff had essentially done for you what you had done for him all those weeks ago, when you shared the room after Avdol's death. There's something so right about being in each other's arms, for both of you it seems. You wonder if he feels for you how you feel for him.

You're not sure if you want him to. That thought might even be scarier than him not reciprocating your feelings, because if he dies and you know that he loved you, you just might lose it. Every time you think about the potential of dying, a dull pain begins to thud away in your head and you feel your breath get shorter and shallower. You throw your dirty clothes into your bag and grip the counter tightly with both hands, staring into the mirror.

You look like a wreck. It's written on your face that you've been crying nonstop for the past half an hour. You force yourself to even out your breathing, and then you wipe your eyes rather aggressively. After one last look in the mirror (which really doesn't help), you pick up your bag and leave the tiny, stifling room.

Polnareff is sitting where you left him. "Hey," you say quietly. He turns to you and smiles a little as you set down your stuff on the ground. "Well, I'm ready to go to bed. Are you?"

"Yeah. I'm falling asleep a little already." He gives a clearly exaggerated yawn, and you laugh shortly at his efforts. He stands up, pulling the covers back on his bed. You watch him, expecting him to climb in and bid you goodnight, but he doesn't move.

"...(Y/N)?" he says, a little hesitantly. You raise your eyebrows. "...I - " He huffs out a laugh, and you frown. "You're really going to make me ask?" It's clear that you're still not getting it. He smiles softly. "Would you like to share the bed?"

"Oh!" Your eyes widen, and you smile a little nervously. "I, uh... Yeah. Sure." Polnareff lays down on the bed and you follow him, grimacing as you clumsily elbow Polnareff in the arm. Polnareff's laugh wipes the frown right from your face, though.

After a silent, weird moment of laying on your backs together, staring up at the ceiling, you both turn inwards and face each other. "I won't go back on my word, okay?" Polnareff whispers, reaching out and taking your hand. You nearly shiver at the contact. "I'll stay alive for you, so we can be together after all this. It's all I want."

"Me too. I'll protect you, and I - I'll do everything I can to stay alive." The words sound a little hollow coming from you because you're not sure if you can believe them, but Polnareff still smiles in appreciation.

"Good night, (Y/N). I'll see you tomorrow." The word "tomorrow" grips your heart and makes your breath catch in your throat, but you try not to think about it. It's just another day. It's just another day, and you're going to see thousands of more days after it. You and Polnareff, together.

You give him a slight nod and turn around, and Polnareff wraps his arms tightly around you. You hold his hands against your midsection, sighing as you feel him rest his head next to your shoulder. You shut your eyes, and it takes you a second to realize you're crying again. You suppose you'd been waiting to be out of his line of sight. As the tears stream down your face, though, you stay silent - you don't want to jeopardize this lovely, loving feeling. His arms around you are like heaven. Every time his breath tickles your ear you want to cry harder. You're feeling too much, love and grief and fear and passion, all at once and it hurts more than you could ever imagine. I love you.

He mumbles something that you can't quite understand in a half-asleep daze, and you nearly melt when he snuggles closer to you. You want so badly to verbalize your thoughts and tell him how much he means to you, but you can't - you can't bear to lose him tomorrow, or to die and leave him alone after spending only one night together, when it should've been every night. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you... You repeat it in your head like a mantra as you slowly drift to sleep.

---

You wake up alone. When you realize it, you're stricken with panic, but as you sit up, you catch a glance of Polnareff slipping into the bathroom. You lean your head back against the wall and sigh, shutting your eyes. It's here.

Polnarff looks over at you from the bathroom and smiles. "Good morning," he calls, as he messes with his hair.

"Morning," you answer groggily, rubbing your eyes. "How long have you been awake...?"

"About an hour. I thought I'd let you sleep." He turns away and starts attacking his hair with hairspray, and you smile. It was a thoughtful little thing he said, and it makes you feel cared for.

"Thanks." You look over at the clock and see that it's 8:30. "They want to meet at 9, right?"

"Yeah."

You nod and force yourself to get out of bed, wincing as your joints crack. "I'm gonna change in here, Polnareff. Close the door." He looks over at you and nods, reaching out and closing the bathroom door. "Thanks," you call as you take out your clothes.

You get dressed and then pack away what other things you have. You really hadn't brought anything on this trip. You throw your bag over your shoulders and sit on your bed, kicking your legs back and forth. After a few minutes, the bathroom door opens and Polnareff steps out, clad in his usual outfit.

"Hey." You look at the clock again. "You know, we've still got twenty minutes. Do you wanna grab some coffee?"

"That sounds great." He picks up his bag, which he's already packed, and you both say goodbye to your little hotel room.

The elevator is empty, as it's still a little early for people to be out and about. You listen to the elevator music as you lean against the back wall, looking at your distorted reflection in the metal door. "(Y/N)," Polnareff says, and you look over at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you answer quickly. You don't quite know if you actually are feeling more at peace with your situation, or if you've just gotten over the urge to cry. "Thank you again for last night. I'm sorry I -" You catch yourself apologizing and stop before Polnareff can say anything. "Thank you."

"Of course." He moves his arm towards you, and he hesitates for a moment before gently hugging you. You hug him back, resting your head on his chest. "Just remember what we said. We'll both be fine."

"I will," you promise, and you think you might mean it. The elevator dings, and you both pull away as the door opens to reveal the main floor. "There's gotta be a coffee place right outside, don't you think?"

"Probably." You both head outside and survey the area, searching for any sign of a coffee shop. "Oh! There's one." Polnareff grabs your hand and pulls you over to a small store a few buildings down. You smile as you follow him, holding tightly onto his hand. It's so warm - he's always so warm.

Once you reach the store, you head up to the counter. "Uh..." There's an English translation of the menu in small print on the back wall, and you squint at it as you decide what to get. "One large iced coffee, please."

"Iced coffee?!" Polnareff looks down at you in surprise. "You drink that stuff?"

"Why not? It's really good." You pull out your wallet and grab the appropriate payment, making sure to check twice - you don't know the currency very well. "Have you ever had it?"

"No. I drink hot coffee like everyone else." You roll your eyes as you pay, and then you move over so Polnareff can order.

"I swear it's really good, dude. You should get some!" Polnareff frowns, and you laugh. "You know, I read somewhere that the French invented iced coffee. I don't want to see you betraying your homeland."

He pouts, and begrudgingly he turns to the cashier. "One large hot coffee, and one large iced coffee." After he pays, he joins you at the counter. "If the French made it I'm sure it's alright, at least. But if I hate it, you can have the rest of mine."

"Oh, thanks! But I think you'll like it." You both stand and wait for your drinks, listening to the faint radio playing in the store. It's jazz - it fits the little shop.

After a few minutes, your orders are both finished. You put some cream and sugar into your coffee and stir it with your straw. "How do you take your coffee?" you ask Polnareff. "I don't think I've ever noticed."

"Lots of cream and sugar." He proves his point by dumping a shocking amount of sugar into both of his drinks. He does the same with the cream. "I like sweet things."

You grab a table next to a window and sit down, setting your drink in front of you. You take a sip and smile; it's some of the best coffee you've ever had. "It's the moment of truth," Polnareff mutters, eyeing his cold beverage with raised eyebrows.

"It's not gonna kill you. Try it!" He nods, taking a deep breath, and quickly he takes a large swig of the iced coffee.

You can't tell immediately what he thinks of it. He sets down the cup and hums, then sighs. "You're right. It tastes great."

You laugh, putting your hand in the air for a high-five. "I knew it!" He high-fives you, but he doesn't look very happy about it. "I knew you would like it."

"I can't even try to deny it. It's really good." You laugh again at his little admission and drink your own coffee. "Do you want the hot coffee too? You seem a little tired."

"Uh..." You are feeling a little sluggish, and your brain is using up a lot of energy to push all your existential feelings of dread to the back of your mind. "Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Of course not! Here you go." He slides it to you and you take it.

After a few more minutes, you've both finished your heavenly iced beverages. "They're expecting us in...five minutes," Polnareff murmurs, checking his watch. "You ready?" You nod and grab your second coffee, and you head out the door.

You're glad you made that little stop, and you're glad you were the person to introduce Polnareff to the wonders of iced coffee. You'd been afraid that once you reached today, everything would be over - you would be completely consumed by your nerves. But that doesn't seem to be the case. At least you've made one last good memory with Polnareff before you confront Dio.

You reenter the hotel and find everyone standing in the lobby. "Where were you guys?" Avdol asks.

You raise your cup of coffee. "Just went for a morning pick-me-up," you reply, smiling. Kakyoin rolls his eyes at that. "Are you guys all ready?"

Everyone nods. The mood is somber among you all, which is obviously expected - but it doesn't make it any easier to face. You don't really know what to say to break up this oppressive atmosphere, but luckily Joseph speaks for you. "Then let's head out. We've got a long day ahead of us."

And with that, you're off. Joseph leads your ragtag group out of the hotel and down the streets of Cairo. It feels a lot like your walk yesterday - with Joseph and Avdol discussing game plans in the front, Jotaro and Kakyoin talking about more casual topics with Iggy beside them, and you and Polnareff at the back. You feel a little better now, somehow. You might even be letting yourself hope that everything will be alright. You reach out and brush your pinkie against Polnareff's hand, not turning to him. He gets the message instantly and wraps his larger hand around yours. It's sweet and comforting and so full of love, and you never want to let go. You won't let go, until you've killed Dio.

---

The mansion would be pitch black if not for Avdol's strong flames illuminating the hallways. It's only you, Polnareff, Avdol, and Iggy now; the other three crusaders had fallen into some sort of trap placed by Terence D'Arby, Dio's butler. He looked like an asshole. You hope they're doing alright.

You walk carefully, making sure to take a good look around before every step. Polnareff is beside you, being just as cautious, and Iggy and Avdol are in front of you two. Avdol leads the way with the compass of sorts he's created, which can sense the movement of any stand or human. "See anything, Avdol?" Polnareff whispers, and Avdol just shakes his head.

Thankfully, the mansion isn't as large as it looks. You'd encountered a little guy earlier whose stand had been creating an illusion throughout this main floor that made it much more complex than it truly is; after you pummeled him, the area shifted into a much more manageable space. Still, though, you're scared out of your mind of what you might uncover in each dark corner. You're not holding Polnareff's hand anymore, but it really feels like you are - you can tell he's looking out for you from the way he leans towards you with every step.

A few more minutes pass, and you finally encounter something new. It's a large column with seemingly no purpose. Avdol brings his flame closer to the pillar to get a good look at it, and as he does, you can vaguely make out words etched into the stone surface. Avdol leans in to read them, and you go to do the same, but suddenly Avdol whips around and grabs you by the arm.

You frown, trying to shrug your arm out of his grasp. "What is it?" you ask, but Avdol's frantic expression tells you all you need to know - it's not good. "Seriously, Avdol, tell me - "

His eyes shift to Polnareff, who's about to step right behind Avdol and adjacent to the pillar. "Polnareff, watch out!" Avdol screams, letting go of your arm and shoving you away. As you stumble back, completely confused, Avdol grabs Polnareff and pushes him harshly towards you. "Just stay back," he breathes, turning and looking pointedly at you, "and you'll be - "

It happens before you can even comprehend it. In the blink of an eye, Avdol vanishes, and you hear a loud thud. Your head whips downwards and you gasp loudly when you see his arms lying motionless on the ground, detached from his body. You feel yourself start to shake as you turn to Polnareff, who's equally shocked. "Fuck," he breathes, falling back into the wall behind him. "Avdol!" he shouts, clearly desperate. "Avdol, where are you?!"

Instead of getting an answer, you're only horrified further when Avdol's arms are lifted into the air and seemingly swallowed by nothing. As you watch, mortified, a figure slowly fades into view; it's some sort of floating being with no legs and an impossibly large stomach. You stare at it, unable to move, until Polnareff's frantic voice breaks you from your shock.

"What the hell did you do to Avdol?" he screams, summoning his stand at once. You blink and do the same - you were so caught up in whatever the hell you've just witnessed that you forgot to get your stand.

A voice echoes from deep within the stand in front of you. "I placed him in the void."

He doesn't explain. He just states that, as if it makes any sense. "What - what the fuck is that? Where is he?" you breathe, your voice shaking.

"Not even I know where the things my stand swallows go," the voice replies. "Who's to say where he is? He's certainly not on Earth any longer. Wherever he is, I'm sure he's dead."

You can't take a full breath. "I..." You hear Iggy take a shuddering breath from beside you, and you look down at him with wide eyes. He looks totally stunned; he's clearly in shock. You somehow manage to steel yourself, and in a flurry you prepare to attack. Your stand has long-ranged attacks - as the Knight of Cups, it shoots powerful arrows from a far distance. Your stand pulls out an arrow and shoots instantly at the stand, but before it can hit, the stand opens its gaping mouth and swallows the arrow just as it's about to pierce its eye.

"Fuck," you mutter, and you back further into the wall. Tears are forming quickly in your eyes. "Polnareff, what do I -"

When you hear Polnareff sob, you turn to him. He's sunk to the ground, shaking with tears streaming down his face. Iggy still hasn't moved; he still can't believe it. You drop to your knees and place your hands on Polnareff's shoulders, trying to spit out some comforting words in the haze of your mind, but before you can, the wall behind you is smashed and breaks into pieces.

A couple small pieces of concrete fall on you, but you hardly even feel it. Had the stand - can it make itself invisible? You hadn't seen it hit the wall, shit, you hadn't seen anything. You're totally at a loss here. "We've gotta go, Polnareff," you tell him, urgently pulling on his arm. Still beside himself, he stands up with you and stares at the large hole in the wall. "I - I don't know how he -" Your voice cuts off and is replaced by something between a cough and a sob. "He's - he's probably going to Dio. We have to..." You can't force the words out - it's your worst fear. You know it's what you have to do, though. "Follow him. We have to follow him up. " You grab Polnareff's hand and hold it so tightly it must hurt, and you drag him along. Your heart is pounding non-stop in your chest, and sharp pain is starting to spread all throughout your body. You can't believe that Avdol is gone - really, this time. You're not sure if you've even fully realized it yet.

You don't even wipe the tears from your face as you sprint up the stairs, with Polnareff and Iggy hot on your heels. You keep stumbling, but every time you manage to push yourself through it and scale another two steps. Your brain is on autopilot now - you know if you don't move quickly, and move right, you're going to die. Once you've reached what you're pretty sure is the third floor, you spot a large, circular hole in the wall that's nearly identical to the one the stand had left downstairs. You skid to a stop, and Polnareff runs into you and nearly knocks you to the ground. He manages to catch you, and you both stand and stare at the large hole, trying desperately to catch your breath.

Polnareff's hands leave your sides and he walks slowly towards the hole. It seems to lead into a large ballroom. "Shh," he hisses at you, and you nod, creeping towards him. Iggy walks beside you, just as quiet. You both step through the hole, then you lift Iggy through and place him on the ground next to you. The room is large and beautiful; the walls are lined with intricate designs, and a large window covered by a thick curtain is on the far wall.

"Where the fuck is he?" you breathe, taking a few steps into the room. It's totally empty. "Where's Dio?"

"I have already consulted Dio." You scream when a voice echoes from behind you, and you stumble before turning around. A large, impossibly muscular man stands before you three, with long brown hair and a stony expression. "He has granted me the privilege of killing you all. He gifted me, Vanilla Ice, his blood and this opportunity." You feel horribly sick to your stomach when Vanilla Ice's face twists with pride. "You'll go first. You dared to try and attack me."

You summon your stand, but before you can make another move, Polnareff pushes you to the side. You stumble back, and you watch in horror as Polnareff takes out his stand and points Silver Chariot's sword directly at Vanilla Ice. "You'll have to get through me first," he spits, voice full of venom, but Vanilla Ice just laughs.

"Alright." He leaps into the air, and suddenly his stand reappears; it seems to swallow him up before vanishing again.

You run to Polnareff, grabbing his arm and pulling him down to the ground. "Fuck, Jean, you didn't - why did you do that?" you hiss. "If he wants to fight me, let him -"

"No." His voice is firm, and it shocks you; there's a new determination in his eyes that you hadn't expected to see. "I won't let him kill you, (Y/N)."

Suddenly, Iggy barks, jolting both of you out of your conversation. You hop up and run over to him. "What is it?" you ask, crouching down in front of him.

He runs over to a large curtain beside a staircase on the other side of the room, and you and Polnareff follow. You both lean against the side of the stairs and cover yourselves with the curtian. "What the fuck are you doing, Iggy?" Polnareff whispers, watching the dog.

Iggy summons his stand, and instantly sand starts to swirl around the room. You watch as it all comes together and begins to take the shape of a man; as you keep watching, it eventually turns into an exact replica of Dio. "Shit," you breathe. "Nice thinking. He's not still in here, is he? Did he see that?"

"There's no way to tell," Polnareff murmurs back. "We just have to wait -"

"Lord Dio!" Vanilla Ice materializes once again at the other end of the room. He rushes to the sand statue and drops to the ground, bowing deeply. "What are you doing here?" he says to the ground. "You should be in your study."

"I grew tired of waiting," the statue replies, and your eyes widen; Iggy's stand is a lot more powerful than you thought. "Are they dead yet?"

"No, my lord," Vanilla Ice replies. "I apologize. They will be dead soon." He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and stands. "I thank you for the gift you've given me, Lord Dio," he sighs, taking the statue's hand and caressing it. "Your blood gives me more and more strength by the minute. With your blood flowing through my veins, I'll kill them without having to lift a finger." He lets go of the sand statue and turns around, scoping out the room. "I just have to find them."

Iggy slowly raises the statue's hand into the air, so he can strike down right at Vanilla Ice's neck. Finally, after a few agonizing seconds, his hand is fully raised. Just as he brings it down, though, Vanilla Ice turns around and smacks it. It, and the rest of Dio's body, dissolves into sand and blows away.

"You must think me an imbecile," he shouts, eyes wide in a crazed rage. "Lord Dio would never set foot in this room, you idiots. It has a window." Fuck - you all had forgotten. "You'll pay for this, scum. You've insulted Lord Dio in the most unforgivable way. He is too mighty to ever be represented by your filthy false icon." Your heart drops into your stomach, and you try as hard as you can to remain still. Iggy had taken some damage from Vanilla Ice's strike, it seems, so you dive down quickly and pick him up. The motion doesn't seem to alert him, thank God.

He disappears once again, and before you can blink a hole appears in the wall right next to you. You shriek, falling back into Polnareff, and the three of you all hit the ground hard. You try to scramble away - you know another attack is coming soon - but before you can get out from behind the curtain, an impossibly fast force runs straight through your leg.

You scream as a chunk of your leg is ripped straight off and blood immediately pours from the wound. You reach down and grab at it, sobbing, but nothing you do relieves the searing pain that spreads all throughout your body. Polnareff freezes, stunned, but not a moment later he lunges towards you and crouches down. "Fuck, (Y/N), you'll - you'll be fine," he mutters, grabbing the curtains and tearing off a large piece. "Let me - let me tie it, and then you'll..." He wraps the curtain around your wound and knots it, pulling the curtain tight, and the pressure makes your head spin.

Your head lolls back and you feel yourself nearly slip from consciousness, but before you do Iggy quickly forms a hand from sand and smacks you in the face. "Fuck!" you shout, grabbing your cheek, but you quickly shake yourself and snap back to reality. "Thank you."

"Can you stand?" Polnareff asks you quickly, stretching out his arms. "Let me help you." You steel yourself and take his hands, and he gently pulls up up onto your feet. It hurts more than anything you've ever felt, but - you can hold yourself up just barely. You limp a few steps away from the wall, and Polnareff reaches out and wraps his arm around your shoulders. "Fuck, be careful! Don't fall." Suddenly, another smash echoes through the room, and you swallow back a scream.

It's the spherical shape again, but this time it's moving; it carves a path into the perimeter of the wall and just keeps going, until it hits the corner of the room and jerks in the other direction. It seems to be outlining the room. "What the fuck is he doing...?" you breathe, watching as the grooves in the ground continue down the next wall.

It hits another corner and spins around to the next wall. It's getting the perimeter of the room, but why...? Suddenly, you realize what he's doing. "He can't see in there," you say softly. Polnareff and Iggy both look to you, confused. "He can't see. Everything he's done so far has been blind shots. Now, he's just - he's covering the entire room from the outside and in to the middle. If he does that he's gonna hit us eventually."

The second you finish talking, you hear Polnareff scream from beside you. It seems that the stand had managed to sneak up on you; he'd moved just an inch in closer to the middle, and it caught Polnareff. You grab him, righting him. "What happened?" you ask, running your eyes over his body to see where he was hit. He lifts up his right hand, shaking, and two of his fingers are gone.

You feel like throwing up. "Iggy, can you get more of that curtain?" you ask, your voice high-pitched with anxiety. He nods and runs over, ripping off a large piece with his teeth. You take it from him and start to wrap up Polnareff's hand, which is gushing blood. He grits his teeth and hisses as you tie it up. "You'll be fine, I've got you. We'll figure this out, I swear -"

"Just get to the middle," Polnareff manages to say, and you nod hurriedly. You yank him over to the center of the room and you hold back a scream when pain shoots up through your leg. "Sit down," he tells you, and you let yourself hit the ground with a dull 'thud.' "What the fuck are we gonna do? How do we escape this?" The sound of Vanilla Ice carving up the floor is getting louder and louder. Iggy joins you two and watches as the invisible sphere spins round and round, revolving like the moon around you helpless three.

Polnareff suddenly sits up, and it's clear he has an idea. "We've gotta get out of this room," he says, grabbing your hand and gesturing for Iggy to hop up onto his shoulder. "I'll get us out of here. Just hold on and we'll get out through the window. Iggy, can you make some kind of cushion if we jump?" The dog yips in a way that sounds affirmative. "Good. Get ready." Polnareff stands, pulling you up with him, and he makes for the window.

Vanilla Ice is blind right now, you're sure of it - but it seems he can hear. The sphere swerves without warning and collides with Polnareff's left leg, and nearly all of his calf is torn off of him. He falls instantly, but just as quickly he tries to stand - and finds that he can't. With you and Iggy, he can't force himself up. "Polnareff!" you cry, reaching out and pulling him back towards the middle. "Just - we can get back. If we get back to the middle we'll have time to think." The three of you, all injured in some way, manage to push yourselves back to the middle of the room.

Vanilla Ice is nearly at the center now. You've been crying since you first encountered, but this is the first time since Avdol died that you're really conscious of the tears streaming down your face. You look at Polnareff, who's choking back sobs. "This is - fuck, this wasn't what was supposed to happen," you whisper, reaching out and holding his uninjured hand. "I can't move. I - I can't do anything, I -"

"You're not dying," Polnareff nearly yells at you, and you're so surprised that you stop crying. "I'm not letting you go, (Y/N)."

"How? We can't move, Polnareff. We're stuck here and we're fucked, he's gonna -" You've been staring at Polnareff, but for a second you glance behind him and you see the ground cave in just before the two of you. You shut your eyes and hug him, burying your face in his chest, but just as it's about to hit -

You're launched into the air - you have no idea by what. Your eyes snap open, and you turn your head; Iggy remains on the ground, breathing heavily, and Vanilla Ice stands before him looking utterly confused. Slowly, his gaze turns upwards, and you and Polnareff are dropped unceremoniously on the ground by Iggy's stand.

You cry out when your head thuds against the ground and you land hard on your right wrist - you think it's broken. You grind your teeth together as you try to sit up, just barely pushing yourself up against the wall. It seems Polnareff had landed a bit more gracefully, and he tries to crawl over to Iggy - but Vanilla Ice beats him. He snatches Iggy up by the neck and throws him, as hard as he can, into the wall.

You're fucking enraged. You watch, unable to do much else, as Vanilla Ice kicks Iggy hard in the stomach. Polnareff swears beside you, and you watch as he manages to pull himself to his knees. He turns around and meets your eyes, then looks to Vanilla Ice. He's planning something.

Polnareff silently walks on his knees to Vanilla Ice, and as he does he summons Silver Chariot. He's in the perfect position to stab him in the head, but you both know the stab alone wouldn't be enough. You get your own stand and conjure up the most powerful arrow you can muster. As Iggy's cries echo throughout the room, you let the arrow shoot directly into the back of Vanilla Ice's head, and you fall back. It had taken everything just to do that. Your vision is swimming, and you can't even force yourself to sit up and see what's happened to Polnareff and Iggy. Despite your best efforts, your eyes slide shut, and you pass out.

---

You slowly fade back into consciousness, and the first thing you notice is that you're in motion. You crane your neck to get a better look at your surroundings, trying to ignore the screaming pain all throughout your body, and you're clearly outside now - all the buildings and the stars soaring past your vision is making you horribly dizzy. You groan, shutting your eyes, and suddenly the vehicle you're on stops. You lurch forward and nearly vomit.

"(Y/N), you're awake!" You blink when Polnareff shouts loudly in your ear. He picks you up and grins down at you, and it's clear he's been crying more. "Fuck, I was so scared. I thought you died."

"...Can't get rid of me that easy," you rasp, surprised by how dry your throat is. He nearly laughs, and gently he sets you down.

"I'm glad you're okay, (Y/N)," you hear someone else say, and you turn. It's Jotaro, and thankfully he looks unharmed. "You look like shit."

"I feel like shit."

He nods - fair enough - and turns to Polnareff. "Stay here with (Y/N), I won't be long." He starts to leave, but Polnareff reaches out and grabs his hand before he can go.

"You're sure you won't need me?" he asks, frowning. "You have no idea what he's capable of."

"You're in no condition to help anybody," Jotaro replies, shrugging Polnareff's hand away. "Just stay safe and keep (Y/N) safe. You're both too badly hurt to do anything but that." And with that, he leaves you and Polnareff alone in a dark, silent alley.

You've got a bit of a view of the street from here, and you can see Jotaro walking down the sidewalk with clear purpose. This is everything he's been waiting for - the chance to save his mother. You can tell he's eager for it to be over. "Well..." You look to Polnareff, who sits down beside you and takes your hand. "We did it. We're both still alive." You think back to Avdol, and guilt rushes through you; you never could've expected that he had been referring to himself with his premonition last night. You try not to cry as you slightly adjust yourself. You can't get comfortable, no matter how hard you try. Everything hurts too much. "Hey..." You realize suddenly that you're missing someone. "Where's Iggy?" You figure Polnareff had managed to get him out of Vanilla Ice's line of fire with that last shot by Silver Chariot.

Polnareff's face drops, and your expression falls. "He... He didn't make it. It was a second too late." You turn away from Polnareff and cover your face with your hands, trying not to scream. He's just a dog, he - God, he hadn't deserved any of this.

"He should be here," you murmur into your palms. "Avdol should be here right now, sitting with us." As you speak, Polnareff leans against you, and you feel his tears drip onto your arms. You shut your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder. You're too tired to even open your eyes. You drift back out of consciousness while Polnareff cries silently beside you.

A motion from next to you is what stirs you, and you open your eyes. Polnareff is trying to get up, but he's clearly having a hard time. "Where are you going...?" you mumble as he finally gets to his feet. He looks down at you and his eyes widen; was he trying to sneak away...?

"I have to go, (Y/N), please." Go where? Polnareff glances back at the entrance of the alley, and you look as well. You gasp when you see Jotaro lying motionless on the ground, and what must be Dio looming over him with a road sign in his hand. "He's about to die, and I have to do something."

You know he's right, and you fucking hate it. "No," you say softly, reaching out and taking his hands. "Don't. You'll die, Jean, I know you will, you have to stay with me." You've fully gained consciousness now, and your mind is absolutely screaming. You thought you'd done it. You thought you'd leave here with him and be with him for the rest of your life. He can't go and you can't lose him. It's getting harder to breathe.

"Non," he replies gently, crouching down. He seems much more at peace with this than you are. "S'il te plaît, ne sois pas fâché," he murmurs, and he leans in and kisses you.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. His lips are soft and he's gentle as he presses them to yours, reaching up and running a hand through your hair. After a moment of taking each other in, reveling in your closeness, you part. You feel indescribably empty. "I'll be back with Jotaro," he says, and he presses a kiss to your forehead before walking away and leaving you alone. Completely alone.

You try to follow him, try to pull yourself up or even drag yourself out from the alley - but nothing works. You push yourself back up against the wall and let out a gut-wrenching sob, covering your mouth to muffle the noise as best as you can. You can't stop shaking, and you can't stop feeling the lingering touch of Polnareff's lips on yours. You love him. You love him and you need him like you've never needed anyone before, and you're about to lose him. He kissed you and he left you. You pull your knees up to your chest and sob until you can't anymore, and once again fatigue grips you and pulls you under.

---

When you wake up this time, you're alone. There's no one to reassure you, to fill you in on what's happened - you're alone in a hospital bed, with only the beeping of the various machines to give you company. You crane your neck to the door and see that it's open; you consider calling for someone, but instead you just lay your head back on the pillow beneath you. You feel so much better than you had the last time you were awake; it seems like they've done a good job of patching you up. Curiously you reach down and poke your leg, where you'd been hit, and other than the jolt of pain at the touch it feels relatively normal. You push yourself up a bit so you're leaning against the wall, and you clasp your hands and set them on your lap.

Is Polnareff dead? The question is like a smack to the face. You suck in a deep breath and shakily release it, swearing to yourself that you won't cry. You've done too much fucking crying.

THere's no way he survived a face-off with Dio, just no way. He had already been beat up; even at his best he wouldn't be able to stand a chance alone. You grip your hands together so tightly they start to hurt, but you can't stop. It's a distraction from all the horrifying images your brain is conjuring up, of Avdol's arms lying alone on the cold ground, of Iggy being kicked and punched over and over and over, of Polnareff walking away and leaving you to watch him die -

"(Y/N)!" You look to the door when you hear your name called, and you nearly burst into tears at the sight of Joseph's grinning face. He bounds into the room, which surprises you; he's covered in bandages. "Oh my God, I'm so glad you're alright. How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess." You lift up your hand and look at your wrist, which is wrapped in a cast. "Yeah. I feel a lot better." Joseph reaches out and places his prosthetic hand delicately over yours, and you can't express how much you appreciate it. "...What did I miss?"

He looks up at you and frowns, and you elaborate. "I was really out of it. Last I remember I was..." You're afraid to mention Polnareff; that might spur Joseph to deliver the bad news. "I was watching Jotaro fight Dio. I thought Jotaro was dead."

"He was pretending to be dead, actually. Used Star Platinum to stop his own heart." Your eyes widen, and Joseph nods knowingly. "I have the most impressive grandson, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do. Holy shit." You'd all made monumental sacrifices in this fight, it seems. "So... He beat Dio?"

"Yes. I nearly died, too, when Dio drank my blood, but Jotaro had the bright idea of performing a blood transfusion once Dio was dead. He truly saved my ass in every way."

"Wow. We're really lucky we had him."

Joseph's gaze flits down to his hand over yours, resting on the bed. "I'm assuming... I'm guessing you know about Iggy and Avdol."

Your throat tightens, and you nod. "Yeah. I saw it." You can't stop thinking about it, honestly. Even while talking to Joseph your mind is running a slideshow of every horrific thing you witnessed.

"I'm sorry." He takes your other hand, surprising you, and holds it tenderly. "Avdol was a good man, and a dear, dear friend, and I'm going to miss him. He deserves to be here with us."

"It's not fair," you say in an exhale, and you nod your head in agreement with Joseph. After a long moment of silence between the two of you, in which you both think about everything you loved Avdol for, you look up. You have to ask the question, no matter how much you're dreading it. "How's everyone else...?"

Joseph meets your gaze, which is somewhat relieving. "Polnareff is fine. He was in rough shape when they brought him in, but he'll definitely be alright."

You fall forward a bit, letting go of your breath. Joseph smiles a bit and puts his arm on your shoulder as you grin at him. "Thank God," you say, not really to Joseph but just to the world. "Holy shit, I was so terrified. So he's fine?"

"He's been sleeping for most of the day, but he woke up once to ask how you were and then passed right out again." You laugh out loud, leaning back, and Joseph watches you with an easy smile on his face. "Please tell me he told you."

You smile. "He did, but I kind of figured anyway."

"Kind of? Jesus." He laughs shortly, and then his smile fades a bit.

"So what about Kakyoin?" you ask, running a hand through your hair. "What's up with him?"

Joseph's expression is like a shot to the heart, and before you know what you're doing you grab him and wrap your arms around him. You rest your head on his shoulder with wide eyes that are quickly welling up with tears - you think you'd grabbed him so quickly so you didn't have to see his face. It told you everything in less than a second.

"Who did it?" you whisper, not trusting yourself to speak.

"Dio," Joseph responds, his voice much more steady. "Kakyoin died telling us the secret of Dio's stand. He's the reason we were able to win."

"...Oh." You squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to breathe evenly. Fuck - he was seventeen. He shouldn't have had to die for anything. He was just a kid, and Iggy was just a dog, and Avdol was a good man who deserved only great things -

"(Y/N)." You open your eyes when Joseph's voice tears you from your thoughts. You slowly lean back and let go of him, reaching up and wiping your eyes. "I have to go check on Jotaro. I'll be back later, hopefully with him. Okay?"

You nod, sniffling. He takes your hand and lifts it to his lips, gently pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "I know how it feels," he says softly, letting his hand linger in yours. "Trust me, I know how much it hurts. You're one of the strongest people I've ever met, (Y/N). If anyone can get through this I know it's you. And don't forget that we're all here to help you, okay? And help each other. You'll never be alone again."

You think Avdol had said that to you last night. You feel a smile slightly lift your features, and you squeeze Joseph's hand. "Thank you, Joseph. Really." You give him one last hug, and as he stands up, you say softly, "I love you guys." Joseph smiles widely, almost looking teary-eyed, and he leaves the room after one last wave goodbye.

You're alone again. You turn onto your side, wincing as you shift your leg, and you think about the three people you lost on this journey. Your eyes are dry but your mind is screaming. The only thing that makes you feel slightly better is knowing that Polnareff is alright, and that you'll be able to tell him you love him soon. Finally.

The next morning, you're greeted by a couple nurses. They tell you you seem much better, and that you can try to get out of bed. With their help, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shakily stand up. Apparently you're a lot better than they'd expected, which makes you very happy, so you're sent on your way with some crutches and a cast around your arm.

The first thing you do is walk, with some difficulty, to Polnareff's room. You peek your head inside and find that it's empty, save for him lying on the bed in the middle of the room. You make your way in as quietly as you can - it looks like he's sleeping - and you sit down in a chair next to his bed.

You want to wake him up and tell him you love him right now. All you want is to throw your arms around him, to kiss him and hold him and make some shitty joke that sends you both into a fit of giggles - but he looks so peaceful. You can't.

You reach out and brush his hair out of his face; it's not in its usual, inexplicable style, and instead it gently frames his face and falls down to his shoulders. You've never really given his appearance much mind, now that you think about it. You've been so focused on the way you feel around him and the way he makes you laugh. But looking at him now, totally serene, he's actually handsome.

You take his hand and hold it loosely. You watch him for a while and then look at the clock, which reads 8 AM. It's pretty early, so you're not surprised he's still sleeping. You sit for even longer, thinking about how lucky you are that he lived. Going up against Dio alone was suicide, you both knew it, but he still forced himself to try. He's almost stupidly brave, and you can even love him for that - even though he scared the shit out of you.

You glance at the clock again, and when you look back, Polnareff is awake and looking at you with a drowsy smile and half-lidded eyes. "Good morning," he murmurs, looking down at your hand wrapped around his. "How are you doing?"

"I love you," you blurt out, and this shocks Polnareff into full alertness. He sits up and stares at you, and you stare right back. You hadn't really meant to do that. "Jean, I think I've loved you for a long time. You do so much for me and you always make me feel so - so much and I don't know what I'd do without you. I'm just so fucking happy that you're okay." You take a deep breath and watch him; he's oddly unresponsive. You frown and start to tell him to answer you, damnit, when suddenly he leans forward and sweeps you into his arms.

He kisses you with an extreme fervor, which is something you've never really felt before. It's almost as if there's an urgency to it, like he needs you to know now how passionately he feels for you - and it's working. You kiss back, wrapping your arms around him but being careful to avoid any bandages. His teeth brush against your bottom lip and you nearly shiver. He smiles a little teasingly against you when he feels it, and you're about to push him back and yell at him when he presses his body flush against yours. He moves from your lips and kisses your jaw sweetly, letting his lips linger before moving down to the top of your neck. You sigh, leaning even further into him, and he peppers kisses down your neck before finally pulling away.

It's not really "away," though - you're practically laying on him. "Are you comfortable...?" you ask, really not sure of what to say, and he laughs loudly.

"I love you too, (Y/N). So much. Ever since I met you I knew I liked you, and I've grown to need you. You're an angel, (Y/N), mon amour. Please stay with me." He kisses you one more time, and when you part you nod your head a little clumsily.

"I thought we already agreed on that," you say, smiling, and Polnareff nods. "But I'll doubly promise that we're staying together."

Polnareff's face is bright red, and you're sure yours is too. You place your hand over his. "So how are you? Did they fix you up?"

"Yeah, and you're never gonna believe this." He picks up his other hand and all but shoves it in your face, and you gasp. He's got two prosthetic fingers; they're shiny and metallic, and they stutter a bit as he moves them. "They're not perfect yet, obviously, but we're getting there."

"Jesus, Polnareff, I..." He had taken that hit for you. A pang of guilt enters your mind, but soon it disappears and is replaced by unbelieveable gratefulness. "I love you so much." You wrap him up in a hug, and he hugs you back, a little startled.

"I love you too," he says, rubbing circles into your back. "You know... A month ago or so, I wanted to start calling you 'mon amour.' I wasn't sure if you knew what it meant, though, so I didn't want to risk giving anything away."

You look up at Polnareff and snort. "I know what 'mon amour' means, you dumbass," you tell him, laughing. He laughs too, and you both sit there, giggling in each other's arms. This is exactly what you've wanted for the past month, and what you want for the rest of your life, and it's finally yours.

A couple days later, you all arrive at the airport. Jotaro has healed up well, and he' retold the story of his battle with Dio to you. You're so thankful for everything he did, and you make sure he knows that. He's like family to you now.

"You all have everything?" Joseph asks, checking his own bag for the hundredth time.

"Yes. How many times do we have to say it?" Jotaro mutters from beside him.

Joseph sighs and relents, zipping his luggage back up. "You're right." He looks at Jotaro and then you and Polnareff, who are facing the two of them. "You're all ready?"

"Yeah. I'm really excited to meet Holly," you say with a wide smile. "She sounds amazing from what you've both told me."

"Yeah, she's pretty great." It almost sounds like Jotaro doesn't mean it, but it's clear from his small smile that he does. He obviously loves her a lot. "I'm sure she'll love you guys."

"I hope so." As he speaks, Polnareff takes your hand in his. "Well, we don't want to miss the flight."

The four of you board your plane and make your ways to your seats. Everyone save for you has a bit of a difficult time, seeing as they're impossibly tall and ridiculously buff, but it's all figured out soon enough and you're on your way.

You take the window seat, and Polnareff sits next to you. Joseph and Jotaro are on the other side of the aisle from you two. You lean your head against the window and sigh, shutting your eyes. You don't really care for plane rides, so you figure you should try to sleep.

One by one, the moments flash by. Avdol's body simply ceasing to exist, and the dull thud of his arms as they hit the ground. Iggy's howls of pain as Vanilla Ice kicked him again and again and again. You hadn't seen Kakyoin's death so your mind kindly fills in the blanks for you - you see him lying motionless on the roof of a building in Cairo, completely drenched in blood. Dio stands over him and laughs and laughs, and he looks at you and laughs harder.

Your eyes snap open and you gasp, shooting up in your seat. "Shit, (Y/N) - are you -" Polnareff is cut off by you hugging him tightly, pressing your face into his shoulder. "...Did you have a nightmare?" he asks softly.

You feel like a child but there's really no other way to put it. "Yeah," you answer, your voice muffled. "It was - well, you can figure what."

"Yeah." You can feel yourself shaking. You hadn't realized that your feelings of dread and anxiety, from all the way back on the night before you fought Dio, would follow you out of Egypt. "Mon amour..." Polnareff kisses the top of your head, and you nearly start to cry - you're so fucking sick of crying. "I've been going through the same thing. I'm sure we all are." You force yourself to let go of Polnareff, and you look up at him with teary eyes. "We'll all be able to help each other in Japan, even if it's only for a few days. Someday these feelings will subside and we'll be left with all the great memories we made with them."

Polnareff looks melancholy, which isn't an expression you often see him wear. You're sure he must miss everyone just as badly as you do, and Joseph, and Jotaro. It's a unique thing, to share this struggle with three wonderful people, and you feel lucky you have them to support you - and to support. You want to help them as best as you can, though you're still not great at talking through emotions. As you lean your head back and think about how you'll try to open up a bit more, Polnareff speaks. "I'm really excited to get to Japan," he says eagerly with a smile on his face. "Do you think there’ll be any sushi places around? I've never had it."

You gape at him. "What's the deal with you? Music, iced coffee, and now this?" You laugh. "When we get a place in New York, we're gonna get sushi and listen to all my favorite albums, okay?" He nods, grinning. "Well, my favorites and some historic ones. I'll try not to be too biased."

"I'm sure you'll only choose the best," he tells you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. "I trust you."

You lean against his side, unable to stop smiling. You've don't think you've ever been this happy. You feel like laughing and crying all at once. As Polnareff pulls you closer to him and starts to hum - it's whatever he'd been singing in the shower a few days ago - you shut your eyes and take in this feeling of utmost contentment. You're a little afraid of what the future holds, in coping and learning how to live after this experience, but you're confident you'll get through it with your new little family by your side. You'll all be together for the rest of your lives.

[tipsydipsydo]

『© tipsydipsydo』

All listed and linked work (that includes my writings, my fake texts and my moodboards) in here is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

Do not repost, plagiarize, translate or use any of my work in general!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Please respect that. I’ll fight any illegal use of my work!

Thank you.

「Information: Only the unique combination of pictures, the colour schemata and editing of the moodboards is my intellectual work! I don’t own the pictures themselves and all credits are going to the rightful owners!」

➸ Blog Navigation

A post where you'll find all my other themed Masterlists of my writings, my personal sideblog, my fic-recs blogs and so much more!

➸ My Networks

This is a list of all the networks where I got accepted as a writer in their community. Please check them out! 

➙ Information!

All the showed (anonymized) persons on my Moodboards should only symbolizes specific scenes, situations, outfits, jewelry or cosmetics! Nothing of this should make you feel excluded when you have a different skin color, hair color/structure, body shape or gender!

My scenarios and fics should be open for everyone to read, that’s why I try my best to write gender neutral and male scenarios/fanfics as well!

(Some scenarios or fics could still be personalized for specific groups of people or communities where I think they deserve some more attention and love! For example because there is a lack of writings for them etc.)

What I want to say:

We all are the same equal in our own unique existence!💓

I love all of you guys!🤗💓

» Gender «

↬ Female: ♔ [♔-Reader]

↬ Male: ♚  [♚-Reader]

↬ Gender neutral: ♕  [♕-Reader]

» Genre Key «

↬ Fluff: 🌸 

↬ Angst: 🌧 

↬ Hurt and Comfort: ☔

↬ Serious Themes: ⚠️🚫                                                                                

 (For example sexual assault, (mental) illnesses, traumatic experiences, rascism, antisemitism, islamophobia, homophobia, transphobia etc.) 

➙ We can’t take those things easy and I’ll not accept that someone “joke” about it!                                                                                                 

↬ Comedy/Crack: 🌞 

↬ Soft Smut [sweet vanilla~]: 💋 

↬ Hard Smut [kinky stuff~]: 😈 

   ┃ ➙ [💋😈]: kinky smut with feelings ;)             

[Information]

I made a list where I explain what kind of sexual content I’d write, how I interpret different kinks (especially how the Dom-/Sub-Dynamic in my fics work) and with what kind of Smut I’m not comfortable.

 ┃➙ My sexual content Rules!                      

» Other useful symbols «

↬ Scenarios: 💭

↬ “Connected to” (connected to an other scenario/fic/series): 🖇 

 ► Kink-Scenario 😈💋  [♔- Reader] 

[What kind of dirty secret(s) could the boys have?]

 ► Halloween Costume-Scenario  🌸💋😈 [♔- Reader]

[You’re wearing a scandalous Halloween Costume for a Halloweenparty...]

 ► Their favourite Make out-/Sex-Songs: Hyung Line Maknae Line  💋😈   [♔- Reader] 

[Which songs would bring the boys right into the mood?] 

 ► Honeymoon-Destinations: Hyung Line Maknae Line 🌸 [♔- Reader]

[What cities/countries would they choose for their honeymoon-trip?] 

 ► When the boys have a crush on you!

     ▸  Their feelings for you! 🌸  

        ▪ here [♕- Reader]

     ▸  Their dirty thoughts about you! 💋😈 

        ▪ About him  [♚- Reader]

        ▪ About her   [♔- Reader]

► Easter Special 🌸💋😈

[You’re wearing a sexy bunny outfit for them on Easter Sunday!]

    ▪  Easter with her! [♔- Reader]

    ▪  Easter with him!  [♚- Reader]

» Series Key «

↬ Finished: 💯

↬ Ongoing: 💬

↬ Long Term Project: 📅

↬ Paused: ⁉️

↬ Uncompleted: 🗑

(the last one will hopefully never happen...)

 ▲ ▼ ▲▼▲

► Naughty Days ‘til Christmas 💋😈 [♔|♚|♕-Reader]

This is a spicy Advent Calendar for Christmas: The Boys bought an Erotic Advent-Calendar and every day they unpack another sexy Accessory with the Reader. Of course they try all the products! 💬

(24 Smut-Drabbles with female/male/gender neutral Readers) 

► BTS Dog Hybrid-Series   🌸🌧💋😈  mostly [♔-Reader] BUT [♚/♕-Reader] possible!

Seven different stories about the boys in a world where humans and hybrids exists, an unique ethnicity of humans they’re able to shift their shape into a dog.    ⁉️| 📅

► BTS “We’re all the same equal!”- Series 🌸💋🌧⚠️🚫 [♔|♚|♕-Reader]

 We all deserve the same love, no matter if we’re are chubby, thin, tall, short, have white or colored skin, are a female, male or an other gender. It simply doesn’t matter. And the boys would still love us. And they would teach us to love ourselves.  ⁉️| 📅

 ► Disobedience [Hoseok x Reader x Namjoon] 😈 [♔- Reader]

Summary: You are sexually frustrated, annoyed and bored, which is why you started to mastubate without the permission of you boyfriends, Namjoon and Hoseok. Even if they promised to take care of your needs tonight. But you don’t feel like waiting anymore. But you also didn’t expect that Hobi will catch you with your pastel blue dildo deep into your pussy...  

► l’innocence indécente [Jimin x Reader x Jungkook] 💋 [♔- Reader] 

Synopsis: Jungkook and Jimin want to try something new with you... and you have to admit that you like it. A lot... 

► Prey  [Jimin x Reader x Taehyung] 😈💋 [♔- Reader]

Synopsis:

► Birthday Princess [Yoongi x Reader x Taehyung feat. Jungkook] 😈 [♔- Reader] 

Synopsis: You have Birthday today and your two boyfriends make sure that you will be sexually pleased to the ultimate maximum...

► Birthday Gift [Seokjin x Reader x Jimin] 😈 [♔- Reader]

Synopsis: Your Boyfriend Jimin bought you something very specific as your birthday present. You should use it as a preparation tool before you’ll get the real birthday gift tonight... 

 ► Halloween Special 💋😈  [♔- Reader]

 ► Easter Special 🌸💋😈

     ▪  Easter with her!  [♔- Reader]

     ▪  Easter with him!  [♚- Reader]

► My Fake-Texts Masterlist  [Semi-active/inactive] [♔- Reader]

Note: At the beginning of my blog I was more focused on making fake texts (simply it was easier and more comfortable for me back then because I was a bit insecure about my language struggles) but now it’s not my main thing anymore. That doesn’t mean that I don’t want to make fake texts in general anymore but right now I like the “real” writing much more! So I don’t know when I’ll make new fake texts. 

► Improvisation 🌸💋😈 [♚-Reader]

Summary: This wasn't planned. Well, the whole world didn't planned to deal with a damn pandemic in 2020! If everything would have gone "normally", you would be in Seoul with Jin right in this moment and just enjoy that you're finally able to be close to Jin again. But now you two are stucked at home, Jin in his dorm in Seoul and you in your apartement in your town, far away from him. So you have to improvise for now on, how you want to deal with longing emotions and urging sexual desires... 

► Strawberry Kiss  🌸💋 [♕-Reader]

Summary: It's Friday Afternoon and when Jin comes home from work, the freshly baked strawberry cake smells deliciously. But he decided that a taste of you is even sweeter, especially when you're not wearing any underwear underneath your thin summer dress...

► Birthday Gift [Seokjin x Reader x Jimin] 😈 [♔- Reader]

►  Home  🌸🌧  [♕-Reader]

Summary: You finally managed to spend your two semesters abroad studying in Korea! However, after some unfortunate circumstances, you want nothing more than finally be able to fly home again. But your Roommate Namjoon has some ideas to make your year abroad still wonderful...  

► Precious  🌸💋 [♔- Reader]

Summary: Today is your birthday and because your last few weeks have been terribly stressful, you want nothing more than to be able to sleep in in your day off. However, Namjoon has to go to practice all day long, that’s why he has found a very gentle method of waking you up to unpack your presents together...   

► Disobedience ft. Hoseok 😈 [♔- Reader]

► Business Trip 💋😈 [♔- Reader] 

Summary: It's a stressful life to be the CEO of a big and international known company. Always hopping onto the next flight to a new investor or business partner, all around the globus. But sometimes he can't fix his little problem alone, so you need to help him out with some naughty stuff through these rough times of his job~   ► Jar of Kinks 💋😈 [♔- Reader] 

This Two-Shot is based on my own Jars of Kinks. 

I identify myself as a Switch. That's the reason why I decided to write a Two-Shot to my "Jar of Kinks". So I'd be able to write both Dynamics, with Dom! Yoongi and Sub! Yoongi as well. In this Index you'll find the links to the Oneshots, combinded with their summary and their individual warnings. 

► Touched 💋😈 [♔- Reader]

Summary: This week was just so awful and shitty, every muscle in your body hurts and you're absolutely exhausted from this horror week. But Yoongi has an Idea to relax you and make you feel so loved in a way, that couldn't make thousands of compliments.

►  Netflix and Chill  🌸🌞 [♕-Reader]

Summary: Hoseok and you are best friends, especially because you two share an unique passion for which you get sometimes quizzycally looks from others. Like every friday night you meet up to watch some series on Netflix together and massage and fondle the hair of each other. All the same, all innocent as ever. Until it comes to an certain situation and you realize the true meaning behind “Netflix and Chill” faster than you expected.   

► Disobedience ft. Namjoon 😈 [♔- Reader]  

► Little Swan  😈 [♔- Reader]

Sneak Peak: Laying open, completely helpless and so vulnerable in front of him. Presented like a meal on a silver tablet. His meal, his prey. Your wolf is starving, licking his lips with an animalistic and devilish smile at the sight of your parted pussy lips. Revealing his most desired things, this swollen and sensitive clit and this pretty tiny pussyhole. Clenching around nothing, literally begging to get filled with his fat cock and stuffed up with his cum until it’s leaking out of his little sweet swan...

► Mustang v8 💋🌞 [♔- Reader]  

Summary:  You kinda have a thing for the sound of the engine of a Mustang. How bad that Hoseok’s new car is a Mustang and that your Boyfriend looks super hot while driving!

► Study Break  🌸💋 [♔- Reader]

Summary: College wants to kill you right now. Exam Phase and then you have to write a 20 page long scientific work! Jimin and you barely see each other, you gave yourself completely to your studies. Until some specific needs some attention again...   

 ► Poolside Kisses 🌸💋😈 [♔- Reader]

Summary: Jimin said, you should pack a swimsuit into your suitcase when you're going to visit him in Korea. You thought, you'll go bathing somewhere privately, maybe just with the boys or so... and not going to a pool party of one of Jimin's Idol friends where you'll not know anybody! Since then you hate yourself that you only brought your new bikini to Korea that reveals more of your bare skin that you're used to... 

► Mousse au Chocolat 💋 [♔- Reader]

Synopsis: You are Jimin’s favourite dessert...

► l’innocence indécente ft. Jungkook 💋 [♔- Reader]

► Birthday Gift [Seokjin x Reader x Jimin] 😈 [♔- Reader]

► Dirty little Secret  

Summary: Whenever you leave your apartement for work, you're carrying a dirty little secret to your workplace as well. To be more specific, you wear inconspicuous sex-toys underneath your business attire to keep your sex-craving libido under control. Nobody noticed something and everything went well... until now. Until your Boss and secret crush, Park Jimin, bursts into your office unannounced and hears something buzzing which definitely doesn't come from your phone. Even worse, he sees a certain remote-control laying on your desk that seems to be surprisingly familiar to him... 😈 [♔- Reader]

► The Definition of Art  🌸💋 [♚-Reader]

Summary: You’re under Taehyung’s total mercy. Tied up, bare and trembling you lay spread out in front of your boyfriend who loves to turn you into his personal piece of art... 

► Deflowered 🌸💋🌧  [♔-Reader]

Summary: You're getting married tomorrow and you want to say goodbye to your mare. There you met the stable boy Taehyung for the last time, who's your best friend and childhood crush at the same time. You will experience a stormy night full of love and passion and you'll give the biggest proof of love to him...

► The hands of a sinner 💋😈

(The Idea of this Fanfiction has two versions: for female and male readers!)

For her! [♔- Reader]

For him! [♚-Reader]

Summary: Since Jungkook got his hand tattoos, you’ve found out that they have a stronger effect on you than you would like it. You also have good reasons not to tell him that you are developing a kink for this tattoos. And these reasons getting confirmed... 

►  Goddess of the sun 💋 [♔- Reader]

Synopsis: Jungkook is the best servant for his Queen and Goddess 

► The walls 💋😈  [♔- Reader]

Synopsis: You don’t know why but today was the first Day you realized how buff and bulky Jungkook’s Biceps are. And the fact that they look delicious when they’re tensed up…

► l’innocence indécente ft. Jimin 💋 [♔- Reader]

► Der Geliebte  🌸 💋 [♔- Reader]

Summary: You and Jungkook met right at the first day you opened your own atelier in Seoul after you had to leave your old home behind you. You love paint canvas with landscape motives, other people just roll with their eyes when they hear that you choose such usual, almost boring things to paint. Not so Jungkook, he seems to be different than most of visitors. It’s almost like he can read your feelings through your paintings... 

 ► The laundry hamper  🌸 🌞 💋 😈 [♔- Reader] Summary: Jungkook has a crush on you since you moved together for college but the poor boy is way too shy to confess his feelings to you... rather he would search through your laundry hamper to get a shirt which smells after your very personal scent and tries to calm his racing heart... and other nerves. He didn’t thought to get catched by the person who already stole his whole heart in the most embarrassing situation...

This is probably the most important information on this blog 💌  

Don't be shy around me!  

You can feel absolutely free to talk to me, to stuff my inbox (even when you just want to ramble or to fangirl etc.) and my PMs are always open too! So don't hesitate to get in contact with me, you're not awkward or weird, okay?💕💕  

I'm pretty curious about you guys too and Im always up to become mutuals or even friends, okay? 🤗  

Love you, Tipsy 💜

 [Dates]

Published: 27th December 2019

Last Update: 10th August 2021

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 42

Read on AO3. Part 41 here. Part 43 here.

Summary: It turns out that what most men discuss behind closed doors is the same as what they discuss when the doors are open.

Words: 3750

Warnings: men being gross

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hi! This is an early chapter because I will likely need 2ish weeks to write these last three each! Maybe I'll surprise myself and crank them out, but they need to be perfect, and I won't compromise, lmao.

I hope you enjoyed this. If you're suffering, please hang in there. We can get through this together!! I promise.

I love all of you very much, am grateful to everyone forever. Stay safe with COVID. <3

When the Council Chamber doors opened, your humanity fled the room, leaving a husk, a red dress scrutinized by a dozen strange men. 

Your Commander sat next to you at the head of the table, clad in an all-black suit, glossy hair sweeping his shoulders and pink lips pursed in thought. His greeting of the Council members  was as generous as a brief flicker of focus, watching them and their expressions as they filed in. One by one, they were seated, and you stared at your hands, sneaking glances at Kylo, avoiding the temptation to be rapt in his beauty. Despite it all, his perfection stirred you--but you couldn’t decide if that stirring was from admiration or irritation. 

With the Knights slated to be dismissed post-meeting, he’d requested you accompany him (come), given that the meeting’s purpose involved you, anyway. It was interesting, this new level of dashed intimacy between you and Kylo Ren--his desire to control you fettered by the shared knowledge that he would inevitably fail to do so. Under any other circumstance, you would have declined his request, but in the end, you’d agreed to come out of sheer determination to find something for the Resistance to use. 

After all, the switchblade was back in your possession, stowed in your dresser, awaiting its own destiny.

“You expect us to have a meeting with a Handmaid present?”

The mention of you snapped you to reality, plunged now into a chamber where your only sanctuary was a man from whom you would refuse any refuge.

Kylo was unfazed. “The meeting concerns her.”

“Does it?” one of them--older, balding--asked. “You’ve become so interested in Handmaids lately.”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Another older man, a full head of white hair. Most of them were older, really. “Don’t you remember all those years ago? He hated the idea.”

A third man laughed. “He did!” 

“What did he say to Snoke that one meeting?” the balding one asked. “Something like, how we need to build resources, something something, rather than spend… Spend our time with a harem, or something, was it?”

“No, no, Quinn,” said the white-haired man. “It was, we need a foundation before wasting our time designing a fantasy harem.”

“God Almighty, that’s it! Fantasy harem!” the bald man--Quinn, apparently--replied. “You do have a way with words, don’t you, Ren?”

Kylo said nothing. Deep, deep inside of your chest, a twinge of affection, of hope. That seed of doubt inside of him, the one he’d claimed to have shorn free, had never quite lost its root. You imagined him--younger, less exhausted, the words rolling from his mouth in droll disdain--and fought the urge to smile.

Quinn looked at Kylo. “What finally sold you?” Even with your gaze aimed at your lap, you felt his focus rest on you for a heart-sinking second. “I guess some of them are like good pets. Some are even nice to look at.”

“Like little parakeets.”

“Yes, like those. Or canaries.”

Your stomach churned, and you glimpsed Kylo. His eye twitched.

Quinn nodded. “Anyway. You brought a Handmaid here. Into the Council Chambers.” A pause. “Slightly inappropriate. We’re hoping to get a decent explanation.”

“She’s pregnant,” Kylo said, as if this was a perfectly obvious and thorough answer.

A pause, and a handful of men chattered in congratulations, another couple clapping their hands. Kylo stiffened next to you, like he was shocked by the reality of it, like it hadn’t been his cock cumming inside your pussy that had landed you both in this position. Heat crept up your neck as the semi-celebration peaked and died in murmurs of assurance that, of course, your child would be a boy. It seemed as if no matter where you went, there were groups of strangers hoping to claim your pregnancy and invest its future with their own delusions.

“I get it now.” Quinn shook his head knowingly. “Now that you know how it feels to stake your claim, you’re like a proud owner. You want to show off.” He slapped the table. “Good on you.”

“I don’t know about that,” said the white-haired man. “Pregnant Handmaids should stay at home.”

“Oh, please, Peavey.” Quinn waved him off. “As if you wouldn’t want to do the same thing with yours.”

A man in the back snorted. “He’d have to get her pregnant, first.”

“That goes for all of us!”

Laughter resonated into the high ceilings of the chamber. Spindly spines of disgust crawled down your back.

Quinn sighed in relief. “At least Ren and I have something in common, now.” The smug slug of a man looked at your Commander. “Can’t blame you for wanting to brag.”

A younger Council member, speckled with a short beard, sighed. “I’m jealous,” he said. “I’ve had mine for six months now, and nothing.”

“Ren’s just more of a man than you are, Gideon,” Quinn said.

“No!” Gideon scoffed. “I just need a new one.” His beady eyes raked over you. “Ren, once you’re done with her, I need a chance.” 

Your heart fluttered in your fingertips, and you peered at your Commander from the corner of your wings. His brow quirked. He swallowed. But still said nothing. 

“Yes!” Peavy stared at you now, too, like this was a meat market, and you were the only flesh for sale. “We know she must be a good one. She’s only been there, what, three months? And already pregnant?”

The man in the back clapped. “We need something to show off to God, too!”

Kylo shifted next to you, his nails scraping across the frame of his chair.

“My Handmaid isn’t pregnant either, can I have a shot?”

“Gideon called it first.”

“It’s fine!” Gideon chuckled, smile evident in his voice. “She’ll come to all of our homes.”

“No.”  

The giddy static between the Council members crackled and died, excitement sliced to ribbons by Kylo’s tone.

He cleared his throat. “She won’t.”

In silence, a humming crescendo of confusion. Blood burned your face as you peered from under your wings across the table. A few sputtered, demanding Kylo repeat himself, others settling for blatant disbelief.

“What?” asked Peavey.

Gideon scowled. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, now.” Quinn sighed, tapping the table with his palm. “I know you’ve grown a little attached to your Handmaid, but you have to realize how selfish that is.”

Shaking his head, Gideon inched forward in his seat. “We need children, Ren. The birthrate is--”

Peavey shushed him, gesturing to you. “Not in front of the Handmaid!”

“Well,” he grumbled, chewing his lip. “Whatever. You can’t deny us the opportunity to use--”

Kylo’s jaw tightened. “She’s not for your use.” 

“That’s her purpose!” Gideon replied. “What else is she there for?”

Quinn held up a hand, quieting the ruckus. The other men settled, furious focus switching between him and your Commander. Your heart roared in your ears as silence descended in the chambers. Kylo blinked softly, observing his own reflection in the lacquered table.  

“I see what’s happening.” There was no friendly tinge to his voice, now. “She’s not here because she’s pregnant. She’s here because you have some plan for the future with her.”

The other Commanders muttered to each other, sniping you with side-eye.

Gideon shook his head. “You’re serious? I know you were having fun with your little Handmaid project, but really? A future? With that?” 

Dread thickened in your throat.

“Give it up, Ren.” Peavey sighed. “Even if we ignore the implications of a possible affair--”

“An affair!” Gideon gasped in realization. “Imagine that. Righteous Ren, sleeping with his Handmaid.” He chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “I just can’t imagine a woman wanting to spend time with you.”

“Gideon,” Quinn growled.

“What?” he protested. “I’m not being disrespectful.” He sat forward, hands held up in deference. “Please, believe me, sir, I’m just saying. You don’t have the sunniest disposition.”

Peavey cleared his throat. “Even if! We ignore the implications, Ren. She’s still not your Wife. She never will be.”

Kylo exhaled, straightened in his seat. “There’s nothing stopping me from making it so.”

The other men glanced at each other in disbelief, remained silent.

“All due respect, sir, but laws aren't for you to decide. They're ruled by God, and we’re bound to uphold them.” Quinn placed his elbows on the table, folded his fingers together. “And I don't know if any of us are going to agree with you, here. You're married to Johana, not... this,” he said, gesturing to you. “Your marriage is a sacred bond gifted to you by God.”

“The marriage is irrelevant.”

Another rumble of disagreement throughout the room, like the clinking of cracked glass. 

From the back, an anonymous mutter. “Dear God, he’s lost his mind.”

Kylo grit his teeth, his fists balling in his lap.

“Ren.” This was Peavey, holding out a pacifying palm. “I know you can’t be serious. You remember, right? The roles we created. God’s design. Separate and equal?”

Quinn nodded. “We have different roles for a reason. Wives. Handmaids. Even the Marthas all serve their specific purposes.” He smiled--sycophantic and shit-eating. “It’s not personal. A Handmaid simply isn’t meant to be a Wife.”

Gideon slapped the table in agreement, like this was a jovial discussion, and not a debate about the course of your future--a future which, for the record, was still being decided for you, rather than by you. 

“Exactly. And, I mean, really. Let’s just say we could make her your Wife, after, of course, she’s gotten too old and is infertile.” Gideon laughed. “Would you really want to be married to that? After she’s been used up by so many other men?”

“And who knows how many men she was with before that!” interjected some random member. 

The room erupted into laughter. Fire coursed through your veins, words tingling on your tongue. You glanced at your Commander, who was currently unable to conceal the rapid flutter of muscle under his eye. The knot in his throat bobbed, his voice a hidden dagger.

“Interesting,” he said. A pause. “You sound like Pryde.”

Quinn flicked his wrist, dismissing the insinuation as ridiculous. “Come, now. Pryde was a loose canon with converts.” He looked to Kylo, shaking his head. “You're not foolish enough to murder your entire government without reason. The Eyes would take you before you even got started.”

“If the Angels didn’t get to you first,” Peavey added gravely.

The room fell silent again, all attention aimed on your Commander, awaiting his response. But, characteristically, he said nothing. 

Quinn sighed. “I’m sorry, Ren,” he said. “We’re just not going to approve this.”

 A murmured agreement washed over the room, the dozen men nodding to themselves and to each other. Of course, you’d known this to be the outcome--predicted it the moment you’d sat in his study and he’d asked you to be his advisor. And you knew that there was a part of Kylo that had known it, too, despite his reckless insistence. Nothing else would explain the collection of cadavers he’d cast in his footsteps, all slaughtered to strangle his subjects into subservience.

And it still hadn’t been enough.

Gideon rubbed his stubbly chin, glanced around the room. “It’s just how it’s going to be,” he said. “We’re not afraid, here.”

“You can’t intimidate God’s message,” said Peavey.

Kylo spoke through clenched teeth. “His message.”

“You are meant to serve Him,” Gideon replied. “Just like she is.” 

Peavey nodded. “We all are,” he said. “We all know Snoke trained you well, but even he understood God had final say.”

“Your role isn't to create, Ren. That belongs to no one on this planet.” Quinn leveled your Commander with a solemn stare. “You're just His tool. “

Gideon chuckled. “A weapon, right?” he said, looking around the table. “That’s what Snoke always called him?” 

Another wave of laughter. Underneath the table, like a shadow, Kylo’s hand grasped your knee. You almost choked, stuffing the urge to gawk, chancing a glimpse instead. His lips trembled from the war within his mind, the battle between the side that had its claws in Gilead and the side that was in Gilead’s claws. But it wouldn’t matter if he sharpened his talons to raptor-points; in comparison, Gilead’s were crushing bear paws, pulverizing him in their grizzly grip. In his eyes, behind the churning storm, you saw him, the vulnerable reality of Kylo Ren--the lost, empty, desperate man, starved of love, fed with fury. 

His nails bit into your flesh. Holding your breath, you enveloped his hand with your own. 

“I just… wonder.” It was seconds before you recognized the voice echoing in the empty air as yours. “If we're really meant to serve anybody.”

The Council was silent, speechless in realization of what you’d just done. Beside you, your Commander was equally quiet, staring into the table, his body tense. But he swallowed.

And his fingers curled around yours.

“That’s…” Peavey cleared his throat, face flustered pink as he glanced around the table. “That’s… ridiculous. God decides our destinies.”

“Well,” you replied, “what if we’re destined to make choices? About who we are. And what we want.”

Quinn shook his head, smiling, as if you’d said the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “No, no. God doesn’t want for us to make the wrong choices.” He looked to your Commander, imploring him to interrupt you. “That’s the purpose of Gilead.”

“God gave us the ability to decide, though. The ability to grow.” You squeezed Kylo’s hand. He squeezed back. “Why would he give all of this to us, but then put us on track to be just one thing for the rest of our lives?”

“Because we create chaos without guidance,” replied Quinn, lip curling in ire.

You knew it was stupid. That the words shouldn’t leave your mouth. But to feel Kylo’s fingers in yours, his strength pulsing through your palm, to wallow in his broken gaze--you couldn’t resist. No matter how deeply you hated him, you could not suppress your desire to save him.

You snorted. “What part of Gilead isn’t chaos?”

Gideon rolled his eyes. “Shut her up.” 

“There’s constant war, constant upheaval, constant danger and death--”

“Ren?” Peavey glared at your Commander, gestured toward you.

“--your population is failing, your people are disappearing, your women kill themselves and your men are miserable--”

Quinn snarled. “Ren, what are you doing?”

“--you're all liars! To yourselves and everyone else. Your government is founded on sanctimony and hypocrisy!”

Quinn shot from his seat. Kylo lunged, snatched the back of your chair and yanked it behind him, throwing his body between you and the Council. You were breathless, staring into his heaving back as you spied the other men rising to their feet in confusion. They peered around his broad frame, seeking your gaze, curious to understand. Curious to understand what it was about you that had fractured Kylo Ren’s facade.  

“Back down, Ren.” Quinn’s voice slid like a spear through the thick air. “You’re making a mistake.”

Kylo was still. “No.”

The room was quiet again--your fingers found purchase under your chair, your heart bounding in your throat. Heat radiated in violent ripples from Kylo’s shoulders, like smoke signaling the fire in his blood. Around the table, the Council tensed, and Quinn released a long, slow breath.

“Look,” he said. “I get it. I do. But whatever you think you feel for her, you’re wrong.” His tone was placating. “We all know someone who thought they had some sort of bond with their Handmaid. But once that Handmaid was gone, they realized how foolish they’d been.” 

He received no reply. 

“Because she’s pregnant with your child,” Quinn continued, “we’ll overlook this obvious, flagrant disregard for the law. After she gives birth, she’ll go for re-education, or she’ll head to the Colonies.” He paused. “Either way, you won’t keep her. Not if she endangers Gilead.”

An extended silence as the Council waited for your Commander to respond--a foolish venture which earned them nothing. Kylo’s knuckles were white, quaking with restraint imperceptible to anyone but you. His back swelled, and he drew in a breath through his nose, exhaling as he surveyed the other men in the room. All of them hunched into their invisible shells, terrified to be plucked free and gobbled whole. Fascinating, his power, that even in admonishment, he still inspired dormant fear.

“Another incident like this, and we’ll overlook her pregnancy, next,” said Peavey. “I’m sure the Eyes would be interested to hear your take on your relationship.”

“We are servants of God, first,” Gideon added. “Gilead second. And you third. Remember that.”

Quinn held out a hand, extinguishing the hidden threat in Gideon’s words. “Relax. I’m not interested in starting a mess.” He nodded. “But. This will be your only warning. We don’t want to see or hear about this--” he gestured to you, “--again.” He smiled. “I think that’s enough for today. Let’s meet again in a week. See how you’re feeling then.”

The tiniest puff of air left Kylo’s nose. “Yes.”

“Good.” He straightened his jacket, nodded in farewell. “Under His Eye.”

You sat, shielded by your Commander, as the Council members turned from the table and shuffled out, muttering to each other as they took their exit. Quinn was the last to leave, knowing stare darting between you and Kylo before the massive doors creaked and slammed shut behind him. With his departure, Kylo’s shoulders fell, a black volcano collapsing onto the table, and he ran a hand through his hair. Muffling a sigh in his chest, he turned to look at you--his jaw rigid, his eyes exhausted. He swallowed.

“Come.” He beckoned you forward with his hand.

Blinking, you stood--and Kylo tugged you against his chest, shifting you around so your side was flush with his, his palm steady at the small of your back. Your mind went blank; you gazed up at him, baffled as he shuffled you forward, keeping his strides in pace with yours. There were no real words that would come to you, but you suppose it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem intent on talking, anyway; his attention was trained forward, head on a swivel when he opened the chamber doors and ushered you into the halls.

It was strange, to be this close in public, to feel his solid, strong body like a barricade along your own, to feel his warmth against you, heating your bones free of fear. And despite the electricity in the air, he did not urge you in haste, but sought the rhythm of your heels on the hardwood. It was if he was wanting your guidance. As if you were leading him to the exit. 

But that couldn’t be right, you thought--not this man, not Kylo Ren, the one who had spent the past two nights detailing his desire to possess you in perpetuity. Then again, there was also the man in the chambers just minutes ago: this man, this Kylo Ren, the one who had held your hand, allowed you to shield your dignity.

Your tongue was stone in your mouth. For once, you were grateful for it. Especially when you turned the corner and saw Finn, dressed in a Commander’s suit, walking down the hall.

Thoughts like a blaze--there would be little time to explain to anyone your position, let alone a member of the Resistance, but you knew three things: Finn was in front of you. You had the switchblade. And no matter what your Commander’s hand at your back looked like to you or anyone else, there was no happy ending the two of you could ever have.

Pulse pounding, you caught Finn’s eyes, widened your own, an unseen signal to Kylo Ren while he held you close. Finn held your gaze for a split-second, questioning, confirming--you coughed, giving the slightest nod, and broke away. Without a word or acknowledgement, he passed you, face aimed ahead, and you marched forth, the firm reminder of your enslavement at your spine. The distance grew in seconds, the click of his shoes ricocheting in the silence, a meeting time and place decided even in its presence. Sweat tickled the back of your neck, and with every new step, you released another portion of trapped breath.

The sun screamed into your sight when you walked outside--you expected Kylo to abandon you there, but he maintained his position, fingers inching toward your waist to stabilize you as you walked down the stairs. Despite the undeniable and regrettable comfort of his presence, the skipping of your heart hadn’t slowed, the dry scrape of your mouth unrelieved. 

If what you’d just done worked out, the Resistance would meet you at Kylo’s home in the night, and you’d give them everything that you had.

You and Kylo reached the Audi in the parking lot, tucked under the shade of a tree. He left you in the approach, as you expected, but what you hadn’t expected was for him to pop open the passenger door. Confused, you almost paused, met his gaze--crystal amber shimmering in the hot summer air, memorizing like you’d evaporate if you baked too long. More sweat--you weren’t sure of its origin, this time--and you scurried into the car, seated by the time Kylo eased the door closed.

He stood there, for a moment, meandering around the front of the vehicle with long strides--and like a whip, he snapped, whirled and slammed his fist into the hood of his car, denting the steel. You yelped, clapping your hands over your mouth, watching as he remained there for one, two seconds before jerking back his arm. Kylo wagged off the burn, crossing to the driver’s door, throwing it open and tumbling inside.

Gulping, you observed him, quivering chin, red knuckles, tight jaw. He was wound, taut like copper wire coiled over lightning. A shaky break leaked from his nose, and he wrapped his hand around the steering wheel, his eyes drifting to yours. You stared at each other, everything unsaid, words worthless in this reality where the both of you had lived too long in your bonds to erase their scars. 

For some reason, you wanted to apologize. But then Kylo turned away, pushed the key into the ignition, and cranked the engine.

[bookwyrminspiration]

An anonymous ask from Heathen (I’ll explain why I’m posting it like this later in the post!!):

Time zones are incredibly weird! But just so I could get it semi right, you said it was 2 am in the scheduled post and it was 9 pm for me, and my phone has a thing where I can add on different time zones and stuff, so i scrolled down the lost until I found one at 2 am when it was 9 pm, and I have deduced that it is around 11 am for you to my 6 am!!

(Information I’m, as quil, redacting!) 

That was a lot of words for saying what I wanted to say but whatever, I just don't know how to explain things properly and then I end up over explaining everything

Also im very glad that you get back to sleep after waking up at 4:20, but that is similer to what I did for a while which was just waking up at 5. Sometimes I'd get back to sleep, other times not. Generally I wake up at 6 so I don't really see the point in going back to sleep. I do try though!!

Also yeah that makes a lot of sense, and I very much relate to it. Like if I make something then I wanna share it right away!! Let the world see it god damn it!! And yeah, I'd probably end up just posting the same thing twice without realising it. One was scheduled, the other was not

(And yes, I do know because you have done it countless times (/pos), it's always nice to have a good reason for things!! The whole point of the drafts is to get to it whenever you want or remember, but maybe it should have a reminding feature about posts/asks)

And good morning to you too!! I have awoken, finally, and I can't calculate timezones so I don't actually know what time it was when you posted this

And yeah, I definitly reccomend writing things down in obnoxiously big lettering and then taping them to a place that you are sure to see it, like your door handle. And thanks!!! I'm glad I could help you with that with my presence!! Have fun at the bookstore!!

Ahahahahahaha, I am The Heathen, taker upper of brain spaces. My master plan? To remind people of things they've forgotten

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

Time zones certainly are weird!! At the time of me answering this ask it’s like four in the afternoon for you...but the next day. It’s the 31st for you and it’s almost over! I’m not even there yet! 

Also, the reason I’m posting your ask like this is so I can edit out that one detail about where you changed your time zone to so you’d know mine. That thing you set it to is a city...my city, actually. But I mean, at the very least you’re time zone thing couldn’t be more accurate! (To clarify, I’m not worried about this or upset with you in any way, just baffled as to how that happened. I’m fine with individual people know that information about me, just don’t think it’s wise for it to be on the internet as a whole)  

and that whole overexplaining this is practically the crux of my blog. That is...that is the thing I do all the time. We can overexplain things to each other! I have whole rants about things stored up in my brain that I just repeat to myself because I don’t know who to share them with and my partner has already listened to so many of my Twilight thoughts. The amount of time I spend talking about the tiniest details like two of Bella’s outfits...(also the kotlc chaos server has encouraged me to draw a few kotlc characters in cursed/iconic twilight outfits so I might do that sometime) 

And I do generally get back to sleep when I wake up really early. Brain won’t register the day as starting until 6am, so even if I’m fully awake before them I’m usually just laying there and still resting. Also it seems we both wake up at six! Not really a choice for me as I’m physically incapable of sleeping in longer most days, but it’s convenient for school purposes!

For the impatience thing, a lot of the times answering an ask can take upwards of 20 minutes and there are several I’ve spent over an hour answering. So when I’m done I want it to be out there! I put in the effort and now I want other people to see it! Everything is a community here, and I like to share my part! (not that anyone is required to share/participate; this is a role I’ve personally taken on, I suppose). This is also part of why answering asks takes me a while and I have so many building up. There’s only so many hours in the day and I write a long response to almost every ask. 

(now I’m wondering what I’ve done and when I’ve done this because I have no memory of this oh no. did I post something twice? i can’t have scheduled things countless times because I don’t schedule things, but what did I do?? Also for me drafts usually end up as a place for me to forget things. if I start answering an ask and then realize I actually don’t have the energy or attention span to finish it it will go to the drafts. And I never check those. So it usually sits there a while...I could definitely use reminders about those but those would probably stress me out at the same time. 

Also good morning to you, too! It’s no longer morning though...good afternoon! Because I think it’s afternoon/going on evening for you! And don’t worry about doing the math about when I post things (it’s about 9:30pm for me rn) I’m just vibing. 

I’m currently trying to figure out how to make myself remember things, and sometimes notes work! Not always though. Honestly if I were to attach a note to my door my brain would just forget the door existed so I wouldn’t register the note. Or I would purposefully/subconsciously not leave the room so I wouldn’t have to encounter the note. Ah, the trials and tribulations of trying to outsmart your own brain while...also...being your brain. 

Seriously though, because we talk about memory so often seeing your name makes me do a mental scan to see if there’s anything I’ve forgotten/neglected recently. Like my masterposts....coming up on a month since I updated them. Oops! Guarantee I will forget by tomorrow. Oh! that reminds me that I have a few thoughts stored away in my notes app--one of them was wondering how/if I could recreate the elven world in Minecraft. 

I did have fun at the bookstore!! I bought several books! I think I got like 60 dollars worth of books and then another thing. But in my defense I didn’t realize The Shadow Wand had been released and I simply had to grab it. 

also you have taken up a considerable amount of space in my brain. Oh. I just realized. My English teacher studied religious theology and frequently incorporates that into lessons. I have a higher chance of hearing the word heathen casually that many other people...and a friend named Heathen...well that’ll be fun! And you’re achieving your mission! You very frequently remind me of things I’ve forgotten!

I hope you enjoy the rest of your day because you’ve still got some time left in it! ily /p

[hrina]

And They Were Roommates

A semi-crack fic featuring bi!Reader x female!OC and awkward Harry

Written for #majorharry20k

Disclaimer: I have no idea how washing machines work. I don’t know if this is even plausible. Just go with it. Also, im very bisexual, so I’m not fetishizing it or anything. Just thought I should mention that too. I intended this to be about 1k and it ended up being 

 Prompts:

1 – “that’s by far the dumbest thing you’ve ever done”

3- “our water bill is going to be through the roof after this”

23 – “Great. I’m soaked.”

To Cass: Hi. You don’t know me, and I prefer to stay anonymous (I’m not the butterfly anon I promise). I’ve been following your blog for a while, since you were a 5sos blog, and I love your writing. I do write, but until now I haven’t written for Harry. Your prompts inspired me. I’m so happy you reached 20k, you deserve it. Hope you enjoy <3  

“It’s broken.”

“Wha’d’ya mean it’s broken?”

“I mean broken. Doesn’t work. No longer functions. How many definitions do you want.”

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “How on Earth do you break a washing machine?”

In his disbelief, he misses your and Val’s faces turning red.

“I guess- maybe- we put too many clothes in?” Val stammers.  “The landlord will fix it though right? Isn’t it in our lease agreement?” 

Harry shakes his head again. “I’m pretty sure we’re responsible for our own broken appliances.”

“That’s a shit deal,” you jump in for the first time. Harry’s eyes land on you. A couple beats pass, enough for it to become almost awkward. His gaze is intense up until the moment he breaks the silence.

“Yeah, well, we weren’t exactly master negotiators when we moved in. The rent was so low we figured it was worth it.” You’ve heard the story of how Val and Harry became roommates many times from her. How they had been put together for a group project at school, but neither had wanted to meet at their own place, so they ended up always meeting at a coffee shop. How they had become fast friends, meeting up for coffee after the project was over, and opening up to one another about how campus housing had screwed them over. Harry had complained about living with boys, how they were messy, never cleaned up after themselves, ate all his food, and most importantly (and disgustingly) left used condoms everywhere. He had basically been the house cook and maid for the majority of the year. 

Val’s roommates, well, they weren’t outwardly homophobic, but it was little jabs at her that added up over time. Cliché comments like ‘you don’t want to date me, do you?’ and things like being okay with being undressed around each other, but getting weird around Val. By midterm first semester, she had been sleeping in your room more times than not. You would have let her move in, but understandably, your roommates weren’t too happy about another body in your already-too-tight room. So, after the first year of housing was over, Val and Harry had pooled funds and with a bit of luck, mixed with the fact that Harry’s stepdad knew a guy, they managed to find a cute little apartment not too far from the school. An apartment that they lived in to this day, three years later. 

Although you were over there quite a lot (who wouldn’t prefer an apartment over campus housing?), you and Harry had never really become close. Sure, you two would be in proximity during group outings, but you spent most of your time there in Val’s room, and whenever you were in the kitchen or living room, Harry seemed to be busy in his room. You originally thought he didn’t like you, but when you asked Val about it, she assured you that he liked you just fine, though she acknowledged that he was a bit weird around you sometimes. It only got worse after the time he had accidentally walked in on you and Val.

You and Val had a very close relationship – but you had both agreed you were better off as friends. But friendships can have benefits, can’t they? Besides, the times you hooked up were scarce – only when you were both in between partners, which, admittedly, wasn’t very often for you. The time Harry had caught you was right after you had broken up with your boyfriend after finding out that he had been seeing another girl. You had been angry and frustrated, and in need of some sort of release. Val, who rarely dated, was willing to help out. 

You don’t think Harry had seen much, but you had only realized that he had seen something when you heard the bedroom door slam. After that, he had had a hard time meeting your eyes. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why though, he certainly wasn’t a blushing virgin himself. You had been there to see off quite a few of his one-night stands trying to sneak out in the morning. 

To be fair, you were also usually there for the same reason, just a different roommate. The difference was instead of sneaking out in the morning, you’d stay for the day. And usually the following night. And sometimes even the night after that. Val had told you that given the amount of times she slept at yours during the first year, you were entitled to stay over whenever you wanted, and Harry didn’t seem to mind. There’d been quite a few times when you’d arrive at their apartment late at night, drunk out of your mind, to borrow some of Val’s clothes while you slept on their couch. The washing machine came in handy, as you could normally throw your clothes from the night before in with one of their loads. That was actually how you and Val discoveredotheruses for the washing machine. 

It really had been a complete accident. You and Val had gone to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer, but there was still two minutes left on the machine. Instead of leaving and coming back, you and Val elected to just wait it out (because if you left there was no question that you’d forget for the next couple of hours). You sat down in the only chair in the room, so Val decided it was a good idea to hop onto the washing machine itself. Turns out it was a good idea. The second her ass landed, the machine started rattling worse than before and her face contorted into pleasure. You jumped up, for a second thinking she might be in pain, before she used an arm to push you away, signaling that she was okay. 

“What’s going on?” The confusion was clear in your voice. In lieu of an answer, Val just looked up at you, her eyes dark. One of her hands came down to rest between her thighs, supporting her body weight as the machine continued to buck. Realization dawned on you as she let out a groan not dissimilar to one she had let out with you a couple hours earlier. Her hand that wasn’t supporting her came around the back of your head, dragging your lips to hers. 

That day had started something for you two. After it, you and Val spent a lot of time in the laundry room. It had become almost a routine, every time a new load went in, you and Val would stay in the room for at least 15 minutes longer than you needed to. If Harry noticed, he didn’t say anything.

In the next couple of months, the routine became more of a tradition. Clothes in the house were cleaner than ever. Loads gradually progress from just lights and darks to six different categories: light delicates, dark delicates, light regulars, dark regulars, denim, and sheets. The more loads, the more time you guys had. Normally you took turns, with one of you lending the other a hand (no pun intended), but this time, Val had gotten so worked up, that she jumped up with you. Apparently, the weight of two girls plus the stress of constantly running had been too much for the old machine. It sputtered, and then shut off. You had glanced over your shoulder, hoping that maybe the cycle had just ended, though you knew it was too early. Your stomach sank as you saw the knobs frozen halfway through the cycle. You and Val stared at each other with wide eyes. And that’s how you came to be where you are right now, trying to find a reasonable explanation for Harry as to why his washing machine is broken.

Which, by the way, is much easier said than done. As his green eyes bore into you, your mind scrambles to think up an explanation, but you’re drawing blanks. You look over at Val for help, but she looks just as lost as you are. She does a better job of putting on a confident mask though. 

“D’you think you can fix it?” She asks Harry. You see it for what it is – an attempt at deflection. 

Harry snorts. “Sure, let me just use my many years of mechanical experience to – oh wait.” 

“Ok wise guy, at least you used to be a baker?”

Harry stares at her. “What does that have anything to do with a washing machine?”

“Because ovens …?”

Harry continues to stare at her. 

“Could you at least take a look at it?” You jump in. His gaze turns to you. For a moment, you worry you’ve offended him, before he bows his head in a slight nod and steps to stand in front of the machine. 

“Ok, well, first off, how much of your laundry do you have left?” 

You think. “Well, I think we were only halfway through the third cycle, so-“  “Woah woah woah wait hold on.” Harry stops you. “Only? Third?How many cycles were you planning on doing?”

“Uh,” You count in your head. “Six?” You look over at Val for confirmation, and she nods. 

“Six?!” You suppose you understand Harry’s incredulity. In hindsight, six might be a bit excessive.  “Why on earth would you need to do six cycles?” This time, he directs it at Val. 

She flounders to come up with an excuse. “Uh, well, gotta sort colors, you know…” She trails off

“Yeah but six loads? What, do you guys get off on doing laundry or something?” He says it sarcastically, but both your and Val’s faces instantaneously turn red. 

“No.” He whispers. Neither of you answer. You start studying the pattern of tiles on the floor. “What, is this like a- a laundry kink? Is that even a thing?” Val’s head snaps up. “No, dumbass. Laundry kink is not a thing.”

“Well sorryfor assuming having sex in a laundry room means- “

“Oh for God’s sake we weren’t even having sex!”

“Ok well getting each other off – “

“We weren’t getting each other off!” That seems to stop Harry short. He gives Val a questioning look, encouraging her to go on. 

“We- the washing machine- it,” she stumbles over her words. “Y’know it- vibrates?”

“No.” Harry drags his hands down over his face. “There’s no way you two have been using our washing machine as a vibrator.” 

You look up, guilty expression all over your face. 

“That’s gross. This is by far the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, and Val, that’s saying a lot for you. Guys, I do my laundry here, I want my clothes to be clean- “

Val tries to defend you two. “We clean up! Also, I thought most straight guys loved the idea of two girls- “

“I’m not most straight guys. Also forgive me if I’m not too keen on the idea of my roommate and her girlfriend in the laundry room – “

“Wait girlfriend?”

“Yes?” “Do- do you think we’re dating?”

“Well, aren’t you?” “Harry no.” The corners of Val’s mouth tug up in a smile, as the tide of embarrassment starts turning in her favor.

“Guys? Maybe focus on one problem at a time? We kind of have a bigger issue.” You step in, gesturing at the washing machine. 

Harry turns to you. “So you’re single? I mean-” He looks back and forth between you and Val. “You both are?” “Yes? But like (Y/N) said, bigger problems.” Val pats the washing machine. “Weren’t you about to take a look?”

Harry takes a couple more seconds to respond. His gaze holds yours once again, before he shakes his head as if to clear off cobwebs and starts examining the washing machine. 

You look over to Val to see her staring back at you. You widen your eyes comically and lift your eyebrows. She shakes her head in a silent laugh. You have a feeling in years to come, you might be able to look back on this and laugh, but for now, the mortification is still strong. 

“Okay,” Your attention snaps back to where Harry’s crouched down at the side of the machine. “I think it might be a problem with the water. It might be blocked or something.” As he talks, his hand comes to rest on a metal tube feeding into the back of the machine that you assume the water runs though. “So if we call a repairman tonight, they should be able to be here by-” And then, the tube slips. You don’t know if it’s due to the pressure of Harry’s hand, or if it was going to happen anyway and he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but whatever the reason, it slips. And a jet of water starts to spray out of where it was. Soaking everything around it. Including Harry. He splutters and stumbles back, but it’s too late. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and his white shirt has become see through. He looks down, assessing the damage, and then stares back at you two helplessly. 

“Great. I’m soaked.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” Val tries to stifle her laughter, but doesn’t do a very good job at it. After a few beats, you can’t help but to join in. After everything that’s happened, the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been on of stress and mortification, it feels good just to laugh. 

Harry stares at the two of you for a few more seconds in mock annoyance, before he also can’t help but join in. Soon enough, the three of you are in stitches over just how ridiculous the situation actually is. 

As your laughter dies down, the sound of dripping catches all of your attentions. Your eyes fall to the place that had previously been spraying out water. It had died down so it wasn’t spraying, but there was still a steady, albeit thin stream of water coming out. 

“Our water bill is going to be through the roof after this.” Harry doesn’t sound mad, more like he’s just making commentary, but you feel guilty anyways.

“I’m so sorry guys. I’ll foot half the bill. And I can pay for the repairman-”

 Val cuts you off. “Don’t be stupid. This is just as much my fault as it is yours. More so, even.”

“No but still, I should pay for-”

“(Y/N).” It’s Harry that cuts you off this time. “Seriously. Don’t worry about it. This is our apartment, our bills.” His voice holds a warm tone you’ve never heard from him, and it’s enough to make you pause for a moment. 

“Please guys, let me pay for at least half the water bill and half the repairman. It’s only fair.”

“There’s two of us and one of you. How is that fair?” You throw up your arms in exasperation. You already knew how stubborn Val could be, you just didn’t realize how much Harry shared that trait. “Okay, fine. One third the water bill, one third the repairman. Please guys. I’m literally begging you.”

They glance at each other seeking silent confirmation and share a knowing smirk. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were teasing you.

“Okay, fine.” Val relents. “One third the water bill, one third the repairman.”

You heave a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Val smiles at you. “Ok, I’m going to go find the repairman’s number. There’s one on the fridge, right Harry?” Harry nods in affirmation, and Val heads out the door, pulling out her phone in the process. 

Then it’s just you and Harry. His wet shirt clings to his body, showing off his sculpted figure. You had always noticed he was objectively good looking, but now, with his body practically on display in front of you, you had a newfound appreciation for his looks. 

“If I knew you were that keen on paying, I would have started coming out with you guys a long time ago.” “Hm?” Harry’s voice snaps you out of the trance you didn’t know you were in. He raises his eyebrows at you. Shit. He definitely caught you staring. 

You quickly try to divert the subject. “So the only reason you weren’t coming out with us was because you’re a cheapskate? And here I was thinking you just didn’t like me.” You try to joke, but it falls flat as his expression turns serious. 

“You thought I- Oh God. I’m an idiot.” He shakes his head.

“Well what else was I supposed to think, what with you avoiding me and all.” You try to keep your tone light, but even you can hear the accusatory undertones slipping in. You hadn’t thought you were bitter, but now facing it head on, you realize you might carry a bit of resentment. 

“I never avoided you.” You give him a look. “Okay, maybe I avoided you a little bit. But it wasn’t-” He cuts himself off. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry I gave you that impression. I never meant to make you think I didn’t like you.”

“Well, it’s hard to draw any other conclusions when you get avoided,” you laugh self-deprecatingly. 

“I know. And you’re right. I’m sorry. I never really thought about it that way.” You lift your gaze to hold his steadily. You want an answer, and you intend on getting it. “Then why did you avoid me?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I-” He glances at you, and seems at a loss for words. You look at him expectantly, waiting patiently for him to talk. He sighs again. “Look. You deserve an explanation. But it might take a second, and I’m,” he gestures down at himself. “I need a shower. And a change of clothes. And I need to gather my thoughts. Can we talk after?”

It’s not the answer you expected or wanted, but you nod. The disappointment must show on your face though, because Harry grabs you hand before you can turn away. “(Y/N). I promise after I shower I’m all yours.” His eyes meet yours again, but this time there’s a heat behind them that wasn’t there before. You’re pretty sure this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him, and the most amount of physical contact as well. All at once, it’s slightly overwhelming. Your voice seems stuck in your throat, so instead of responding you just nod. He gives you a slight smile, and with that, he’s brushing past you, out into the hallway, and you’re left standing in the laundry room, wondering what the hell just happened.

You still feel a bit dazed 15 minutes later, as you’re sitting on the couch in the living room when you hear the shower shut off. You quickly close the app you were playing around with on your phone as you glance up. Harry emerges in only a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s like a vacuum for your eyes, drawing them towards him so you can’t possible look at anything else. He stands there, neither of you saying anything until – 

“You have three nipples?” 

He blinks, seemingly caught off guard, before his brain catches up with what you said. “Huh? Oh, four actually.” 

“What? No way,” you gasp.

“Uh-huh,” he nods. “See look – one, two, three, four,” He counts, pointing them all out individually. 

“I didn’t even know that was a thing people had.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m unique like that.” He grins at you, and you roll your eyes, even as a smile breaks through on your lips. 

“Are you going to get dressed, or are we having the talk like this?” You ask.

“Oh, right. I’m just gonna-” he points vaguely in the direction of his room and stumbles off. He emerges a minute later, in a tee-shirt and sweatpants. It’s an outfit you’ve seen him in a million times before, but this time, it hits different. 

“Ok, ready to talk?” You ask. 

He fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Um, actually, there’s something I think I need to talk about with Val first.”

You give him a pointed look. “Harry.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just part of my explanation involves something having to do with her, and it wouldn’t be right of me to tell you without asking her first, and-” You cut him off by holding your hand up. 

“Ok. Fine. Just make it quick, please.” 

He looks relieved. “Yeah, of course. I’m really sorry again.” He turns around as talks, speaking to you over his shoulder, and promptly almost runs into the door frame. He shoots you one last embarrassed look, as he heads out in the direction of Kate’s room. You laugh and shake your head as you pick up your phone to reopen your game.

It’s about half an hour later when Harry comes back into the living room. You glance up at him, unimpressed, and he winces at your expression. “I’m sorry it took so long, I just had to explain some things to her.” “You’ve been apologizing an awful lot lately, Harry.”

“I know. Hopefully I won’t have to after this.” He crosses the room to take as seat next to you on the couch. He tucks one foot under his knee, so he can turn his body to face you. In response, you curl up and face him as well. 

He takes a deep breath. “Okay. There’s a lot I have to say, and quite honestly I’m really nervous about it, so I would really appreciate if you would hear out my whole story before saying anything.” You nod in agreement, and he takes another deep breath before starting.

“I want to start by saying I’m sorry.” “I thought you said you wouldn’t apologize anymore.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t interrupt me.” He fires back. You blush, and gesture for him to continue.

“I am, sorry, is the thing. I handled the situation entirely wrong. Looking back, it’s super obvious that the way I handled it made me seem like an asshole.”

“I didn’t think you were an asshole.” Harry gives you a look. “Right, sorry, shutting up now.” 

A half smile takes over his face, smoothing out his previously serious features. “I did seem like an asshole. It was only because I didn’t want- No wait. Okay. Let me start from the beginning.

“I knew who you were before we met. Val had told me about you. I met Val about a month after you met her, and at that point, she had a crush on you. That’s what I had to go talk to her about just now. She told me her crush faded right after that, and she thought I knew, but I thought that she liked you all this time. I knew you guys had dated other people, but I guess I thought that she was waiting for you or something? And then that one time I walked in on you guys, I just assumed that you had finally gotten together.”

“Harry.” His eyes snap up to yours. “I’m sorry, I know you said no more interruptions, but Harry, I already knew Val liked me. She told me as soon as she got over it. That’s why we started, y’know.”

He stares at you. “What- you mean- oh come on. Val conveniently forgot to mention that bit. I swear to God, that girl just wants to watch the world burn sometimes.” You stifle a giggle. Sounds like something Val would do. She likes to make Harry squirm.

Harry shakes his head. “Okay. Right. Anyways,” He pauses. “Do you remember the first time we met? When the three of us went for coffee?” You nod your head in affirmation. “The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most gorgeous girl I’d ever seen.” Your eyes widen in surprise, but you don’t say anything. “You made me shy and nervous, which had never happened before, and hasn’t happened since. And then we had that conversation about music – remember you told me you wanted Stevie Nicks to be your sugar mama?” 

You nod, smiling. “You said you wanted her to be yours too.”

“Right yeah. Basically, I was a goner after that. But I thought Val liked you, and me and Val had just started becoming really good friends, and I really liked her, and I didn’t want to do anything to mess up the friendship. I told myself it was just a crush and I’d get over it soon, but well,” He spread his hands. “I never really did. And then I thought if I distanced myself, it would go away. But that didn’t work either. Also, when I like someone, I’m like, really obvious about it. And I didn’t want Val to know, so again, distancing myself seemed like the obvious choice. And in hindsight, it was a really bad idea, because it makes total sense that you’d interpret it as me not liking you. So. Here we are. I don’t not like you. Pretty much the opposite.”

“Sooo,” Your eyes sparkle. “What I’m hearing is. You have a crush on me.” 

Harry groans and drops his face into his hands. “Oh God, I’m seriously starting to regret it. You’re just as bad as Val.”

“We’re best friends for a reason.” You pause. “What does Val think of all this?”

Harry smirks. “I’d say she seems fine with it. If I remember correctly, she said something along the lines of ‘go get that pussy, you oblivious dickhead.’”

You laugh. “Sounds like something she’d say. I hope this doesn’t mean you’re expecting to get in my pants, Styles.” 

He grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it, (Y/L/N). Not yet at least. Was thinking of taking you on a date first.”

That makes you pause. “A date, huh.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking bashful all of a sudden.

You pretend to think about it. “Would you avoid me the whole time?”

He groans as you burst into laughter. “God. You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Probably not,” You agree. 

“Well fine. If it’s like that, maybe the washing machine will take you on a date instead.”

You gasp. “That’s a low blow, Styles.”

He smirks at you, and you reach over to shove at his shoulder. Before you make contact however, he catches your hand, and uses it to pull you closer to him. He glances down at your lips and then tilts his head, a silent question. You answer by leaning in. But before your lips can touch, the sound of the door slamming breaks you two apart. You look over to see Val in the doorway. 

“Well isn’t this awfully cute. Harry, I never thought you’d go for my sloppy seconds,” she laughs. 

Harry stares at her, then looks at you, then back at her, and then back at you. “Please, pleasehold that thought. I’ll be right back; I just have a roommate to kill.”

“Be my guest. She’s most ticklish at her waist.”

Val’s eyes widen. “No Harry, you know I’m too ticklish – ARGH,” she cuts herself of with a scream as she runs off as Harry launches himself off the couch after her. 

~*~

PLEASE i loved this okay 🥺🥺 bi!reader rights babey!!!!!!!!!! we love 2 see it!!!! i think my fav part was val calling harry an oblivious dickhead nsfjdnsjnsn bc honestly he rly is. i think this was very well done and i just wanna say thank u for following me for so long!!! like damn you’ve been here a while huh……………..i luv u. amazing job babes!

[cognacdelights]

A Note To Society

This is something that I’ve been debating whether I should post or not. It includes things which are very, deeply personal to me and is not something that I share with many people. 

This sleep-deprived, chaotic ramble includes some of my most personal and deepest of thoughts, feelings and personal experiences. Please don’t feel obliged to read this, or all of this. 

At the end of the day, I am still a person with feelings, so please, if you so choose to read, please be kind. 

Trigger Warning: Sexual harassment. Sexual assault. Mental health. I haven’t edited this so there may be spelling/grammar mistakes. 

So, as I’m writing this it’s 6am. I have a lot of things on my mind following a very triggering conversation with somebody earlier this morning and need to get this off my chest for the sake of my sanity, and my own mental health. This post contains very personal details of events that have happened to me over the years and therefore I only feel comfortable sharing this on a platform where I can remain somewhat anonymous (providing I decide to post this at all); I am still dealing with these events and so choosing who I share these details with within in my close personal relationships - which is currently limited to a very small number of people - is very important to my mental health.

I am twenty one years old. I’m twenty one years old and I have a long list of events and situations where I have been taken advantage of, sexually harassed and/or sexually assaulted by a man. I’m twenty one years old and have more individual instances of negative and harmful experiences with the male gender than positive. I have a generalised anxiety disorder, caused by a particular instance of harrassment that has completely changed my way of life. I’m twenty one years old and flinch when a man touches me - whether I’ve known this man for years, or just met them; whether I am comfortable around this man, or not; whether I am anticipating the contact, or not. I’m twenty one years old and have not only endured a long list of instances where I have been violated, but have also had my experiences joked about, invalidated and completely disregarded.

The first instance where I was taken advantage of was when I was 15 years old. I didn’t have many friends during my final two years of school and spent most of my time with a boy in my year. Everybody had come to the conclusion that me and him were “a thing” despite me putting them straight. So, when he invited me to a party at his house, and to spend the night with what I assumed would be a large group of us who couldn’t go home drunk to their parents, I accepted. Obviously, I lied to my parents about where I was going and who I was with - as most other people would have done. So when I got to his house (which was at the time about an 45 minutes to an hour by car from my house), I was confused to see nobody else there - and there be no sign of a party. He had lied to me about the whole situation to get me to his house. There was in fact a party... the night before. So when I asked people about the party at “unnamed boy’s” house, they all knew exactly what I was talking about. Not having a good relationship with my parents, I didn’t feel as though I could come clean about the situation and decided that I had to go through with spending the night at his house. He pressured me into drinking from quite early on and by the time it had come to sleep, I was very drunk. I don’t remember exactly what happened between the time we started drinking and going to sleep, but I do remember that he let me sleep in his bed and he had made a bed up on the floor. However, when I woke up the next morning, he was in the bed with me. It was only a single bed and he had trapped me against the wall so couldn’t get out. I was terrified. I had pretty much no recollection of what had happened and just wanted to go home. I felt uncomfortable and violated. The following Monday at school, I had heard my name being whispered, had people staring at me and laughing at me. The boy had taken pictures of us in bed together, sent them around to people and had told them I had slept with him. I felt disgusted. I still do. It was to the point that I felt as though I had to move to a completely different area to continue my education after leaving school at 16, instead of staying at my original school to do my final two years of education. (Sixth form/college years).

The second notable incident which I remember was when I was 17. I was on the train home from a friend’s 18th birthday celebration and was quite obviously drunk. I remember this incident the most vividly and in explicit detail, despite being drunk. It was the night of the Manchester United vs Manchester City derby and the train was packed with football fans. There were no seats so I had to stand by the doors, and being drunk, I had to hold myself up against the railings beside the doors. A man, who was bordering twice my age, wearing a blue pin stripe suit and brown court shoes was drinking excessively on the train behind me. My train journey lasted 19 minutes - and for 15 of those minutes (yes, I counted down every painful minute until my stop) this man had himself pressed up against me, his hands underneath my skirt trying to get into my knickers, thrusting his semi-hard dick into the back of me, his lips on the back of my neck where his stubble rubbed against me so roughly it left a rash, and at one point had me pressed against the train doors. I tried to get away, but I was drunk and he was stronger than me. I told him to let go, but he refused. I was on a PACKED train with at least twenty to thirty other people just casually watching him do this to me. His friends laughed and cheered him on. Nobody, no other man, no other woman, even stepped in to help. They all just watched him do that despite my obvious attempts to get away, and my quite vocal pleas for him to stop. I can still smell his aftershave. To this day, the smell of Dior Sauvage makes me vomit. It gives me anxiety attacks. It took me three years to get back on a train. I even told somebody this time about what had happened, but I was told that I probably just misunderstood him; that I shouldn’t have been drinking; that I was being dramatic, and exaggerating the situation. These words came from my own mother. Do you know how dmaamging that is to a person when their own mother doesn’t believe that they’ve suffered this very frightening trauma? I had panic attacks before this, but had only really encountered them during exams, but after this I was diagnosed with a generalised anxiety disorder and now have to take daily medication to manage this. I was placed on the CAMHS waiting list, but due to this being so close to my 18th birthday, I never received my counselling because the waiting list was at least six months for my area.

Another significant event that happened was when I received my A Level results. It was a Thursday, and Thursday nights are student nights in my local town. That means free entry, 75p drinks and good music. Me and my friend went out to celebrate. We were only an hour into our night out when we met two other boys around our age, maybe a few years older. They bought us a drink, and within fifteen minutes I couldn’t see straight. I don’t know for sure, but I am almost certain that my drink had been spiked. I couldn’t even stand up straight. So one of the boys took me to the bar area and we sat at one of the tables. He pulled me into his lap and I by this point I was so out of it, I had my head on his shoulder. To anybody else, we looked close. Like we were a couple. His hands went under my dress and he shoved his fingers into me. I was in shock. I couldn’t even speak. My mind was screaming for him to stop, for my body to move but I couldn’t. I physically couldn’t do anything because of the state that I was in - I felt helpless as I let it happen. I was sick shortly after from both whatever was in my drink and the shock of the situation, and the bouncers kicked me out. He told them I was with him and that he would make sure that I would get home safe. I was incoherent, nothing I said was making sense, so they just let him take me. He shoved me into a taxi and gave them an address, but by some miraculous chance the taxi that he had shoved me into was one of the regular companies that I use. The driver knew me, he knew that wasn’t my address as he’d driven me home a countless number of times before and took me to my actual address. I refuse to think about what would have happened if I hadn’t have gotten into his taxi. To those day, that taxi driver takes me home free of charge every night out, or at least sends someone he trusts to take me home if he’s working the switchboards. I am very, very thankful and grateful for this man and his awareness.

Another significant event that happened, happened last year. I was 20 years old. I was visiting a few friends who had loved to London for university, and we had decided to go on an impromptu night out to the local nightclub. After a night of drinking, it was about half an hour before the club was supposed to shut. It had gotten to the point where it was too warm for me and another friend to handle, so we had decided to wait outside for our friends the short while until it closed. A boy that I had danced with earlier that night came up to me and had asked where I was staying. I explained that I was staying with friends, and he asked me to go back to his. I said no. He was very upset by this and continued to try and persuade me to go home with him, getting increasingly more aggressive with each rejection. Eventually, he shoved me against the wall and pinned me against it, holding my hands above my head. He shoved his hands into my jeans and tried to get down my knickers. I managed to kick him, to which he then punched me in the face repeatedly. He yelled disgusting names and disgusting things in my face, and spat on me. His friends, a huge crowd of people and several security guards/bouncers watched him do this to me. Again, not one person jumped in to help. I was visibly shaken by this, I had a severe anxiety attack and was in a hysterical fit of tears for quite some time after this. The one bouncer that actually acknowledged me told me that if I didn’t sort myself out that I would be a matter for the police, that I would be arrested for being drunk. No acknowledgement of what he has watched happen to me at all.

At 4am this morning I was sent an unsolicited dick pic through Facebook messenger by a man that I wasn’t even friends with. I didn’t know who he was, and when I confronted him about how I was obviously uncomfortable with this and informed him how it was in fact a form of sexual harassment and that he could be prosecuted for this if I do wish to take this matter to the police, as it is a crime, he proceeded to make fun of me. He insinuated that I was “psycho” and “crazy”, he laughed at me for not wanting to see his dick and proceeded to call me “boring” for not tolerating his behaviour. This may not seem as traumatising as the previous experiences I’ve gone on to discuss, but his obvious flippant, nonchalant attitude towards the matter of consent, his blatant disregard for my discomfort in the situation and just overall complete lack of respect for me as a person, and as a woman, has just brought about a flood of anxiety, suppressed trauma from my previous experiences and just a general and overwhelming surge of frustration and anger that people think it’s okay to treat a person in such a way.

I, as a woman, feel as though I have no respect, dignity or power. I feel as though I have been robbed of all of this by a countless number of men and several people close to me who should have been on my side. I feel as though my thoughts, feelings and experiences have been invalidated, mocked and just plain disregarded on a whole number of levels. I feel as though I have been forced into a society that excuses such behaviours, accepts such behaviours and in some circumstances encourages and praises such behaviours. I have been silenced on multiple occasions, and I am sick and tired of my voice not being heard when I speak out about the topic in general. I shouldn’t have to put up with a man forcing himself on me, but I do. I, we, live in a society where rape culture is still very much alive and ultimately thriving within the male population. It sickens me that these men and their behaviours are being passed off and excused by the “boys will be boys”/“that’s just how boys are” bullshit. It also disgusts me that I, we, live in a world where I have to justify being a victim; my sobriety does not determine my consent, my clothing does not determine my consent and my “reputation” does not determine my consent. That goes for any situation. Physical or virtual. The worst thing is, those situations I described previously are merely just the most notable, traumatic ones that I have faced - there have been an uncountable number of other situations. Some were so passive I didn’t even realise they were a sexual assault at the time. Some were more blatant. The point is, men need to be educated on rape culture, rape myths and their acceptance and the prevalence of this behaviour. We, as women, should not have to be taught to minimise the risk - we should be teaching men that this behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that I don’t know a single woman who doesn’t have a story of some form of sexual assault or harassment from a male is absolutely disgusting. It’s frightening.

Of course, I must acknowledge that sexual assault can happen to anyone; anyone can be a victim and anyone can be a perpetrator regardless of gender, age and other factors. I am merely speaking on my own personal experiences and am using these tired, early morning ramblings as a way of rationalising my anxious thoughts, expressing my frustrations towards my injustices and releasing such thoughts from my mind in an attempt at peace. I also acknowledge that there are people who have faced much worse circumstances than I have, and my heart truly goes out to them and anybody else who has been affected by sexual assault and harassment. It had permanently scarred me, tainted my view of the world and forced me into a different way of life, but I cannot imagine or even begin to process how somebody who has experienced much worse than me must feel, must think, must have to adjust themselves to accommodate the trauma.

[death-death-devil]

I hate how weird dreams are for our system.

Sometimes, who's in the front doesn't matter. (Thank you, Barnabas, for letting me co-con long enough to write this.) The Host is usually the one who actively dreams. People in the front do dream sometimes, but other times they get shoved into its dream, or they just get left in a sort of dormant state in the headspace. It's sort of like a dreamless sleep?

The thing is, our Host's dreams tend to leave it in the headspace, sort of? It's at least connected, though more malleable to the dream's narrative. Usually, we watch out for if whoever is dreaming is having a nightmare, and if so, send into that weird, malleable place someone we think could redirect it.

Tonight, that was my job.

I've seen a few people play along to the dream to sort of blend in, but if anyone else has ended up swept into the narrative, I don't know. They haven't spoken about it if they have. This essentially became my nightmare as much as it was our Host's nightmare.

I've been avoiding naming our Host since it wants to remain semi-anonymous to soothe its own paranoia, but it is polynomial... So I'll pick one of the more generic names it uses for the sake of explaining this dream in a more streamline fashion.

We collectively have a lot of trauma around our high school experience, so it's no surprise the nightmare was loosely about a fucked up scenario in the high school. I hadn't entered yet, but from what Barnabas remembers of sharing the dream: I didn't miss much. Jack had just gotten to school, and there was an assembly called before there was even homeroom. To the context of the dream, this was everyone's first day back after summer.

Jack saw a few faces the dream implanted as friends, some real friends we had back then, some others. Peculiar inclusion was a person who looked like an old abuser's oc (for the sake of streamlined explanation) though he didn't do any of the torment in this. This is around when I got in, supplanting his place in the narrative.

The principal revealed that they (collectively the school?) knew everything about the students. Personalized handouts were given to everyone, with Jack's being a somewhat badly printed, but still entirely accurate depiction of its sketchbook. This came down to the page it has just finished. (My handout was a kill count, though I was shocked I even got one.)

She went on (the principal) to talk about thought crimes and such, sexuality in or out of school being banned, and a lot of other rather dystopian things. At the end of it, I got a bit of a surprise. Jack got up and immediately called this on being a breach of privacy, on several levels. Plenty of other students started chanting, and I joined in if not just out of shock. Jack is usually rather submissive to the whims of school related nightmares. The only other times things like this happened were the zombie apocalypse nightmares we had, where Jack (to its credit) stepped up to the horrors as a natural (dream) badass. If I have to guess when I got swept into the narrative, it was probably in this moment where I was blindsided.

It kept going, explaining not only all the ways this situation was demented, but all the ways it would protest and attempt to organize others. The Principal's retort was that this was all for the sake of everyone's success. Jack came back saying that lots of authoritarian practices masquerade as being for the people's best interest.

In the end, it was said that those who want to stay in the school for food and sleep were welcome (ah, dream logic) and those who didn't were free to go home. (This came with the mention of when class was.) The narrative seemed to take me into account, in a way. I decided I was staying, if not because I thought Jack would. Jack did not. I spotted Jack heading for the halls leading out after I'd had a small argument with one of its friends over the whole affair. Apparently, it was staying with them at their house to avoid the hell of its home, and the fact I would be staying here after all that was a deep offence.

We had a second argument in front of the exit doors, which Jack witnessed. I was trying to say that I had no idea Jack was staying with them, and they just threw a fit over me even implying I'd have stayed there (or assuming that Jack would.) They stormed out after, leaving Jack to go comfort them. In the meantime, I just left. There was someone looking to contract me anyway, and I couldn't be bothered to deal with them both if they were going to be needlessly emotional over a misunderstanding.

(Filled in by Barnabas for me) apparently it told them that it was sure I was just mixed up, since I was at the entrance that second time. They confessed that they hadn't met me in person before that: "not only does he have muscles, not only is he tall, but his voice is deep too?!" being the follow up. The dream's narrative decided we (me, Jack, and this friend) had been in a QPR. It told them that it loved it's boyfriend (irl husband) and that it liked us, and that none of these relationships have changed. That make up is what brought us together in the dream again.

(There was also apparently a small dance session? While waiting for them to fully calm down afterward? Apparently that was fun. God, dreams are weird.)

I was talking to my new contractor this whole time. Nothing entirely interesting. He communicated through mostly grunts and growls most of the discussion, all of which I interpreted without fault (and so did Jack.) When Jack caught up to us on the impossibly long walk back to somewhere that probably wouldn't be anyone's home, Jack gladly caught up to me.

When Jack saw I was talking to someone, it stopped through. It went far ahead, and then slowed down, trying to become a part of the crowd (as though I wouldn't notice?) It eventually was even with us, and my client made a rather disparaging comment about Jack being quite small and frail looking. I snapped back, saying that Jack was the one who rescued me and gave me asylum, and he'll pipe the fuck down about any opinions he has. There was active apology, so I was satisfied.

After a bit, we heard a whistle. Loud. Shrill. A girl on my side of the crowd of people who had yet to take separate paths... She complained that her whistle seemed broken, as it wasn't supposed to sound like that at all.

(Tumblr cut off the rest of this draft, so I'm editing the rest back in.)

Weather sirens came next, all sounding like more distant versions of her whistle. The crowd of people, us included, all had the immediate reaction that we should run. The problem was that after some running, a tornado was before us.

I nearly got pulled into it. My client grabbed me, and Jack grabbed him just in case. The both of them inched back as quickly as possible from the slow moving tornado, until I was touching the ground again.

At this point, we bolted. My client has let go of me, but Jack grabbed my hand. He grabbed it's while it was giving me a pep talk. Death-by-tornado was new, and as many times as I've died in source, I never entirely liked it. With this context, the comfort was nice.

The sky went dark above us though, and that's what woke Barnabas.

I think the strangest inclusion is the idea I'm in a QPR with our host. It doesn't exactly have interest in a relationship like that, and I've never even touched the idea. Dreams are weird, but they do leave you shaken for a bit--but that part has me mostly confused.

What a fucking dream.

[404fmdhaon]

creative claims verifications — downtown baby

summary: a song written for some random npc he meets in berlin. warnings: none (written semi-drunk, don’t read). wc: 1825 (not including lyrics or dates)

(sometime in 2014).

bc’s buildings never feel as hallowed out as it does on early morning sunrises.

no windows, the studio’s only a place for show when passing bodies become the cleaning ladies peeking through the window in raps on the door (he shakes his head, two fingers in the air that screams: not today, another day). his body hovers over a guitar, fixed inside the pocket of his arms — a guitar he’s touched for the first time in months. and in hindsight, he really doesn’t know how to play.

yet, he tries when the first strings pluck something melancholic. no chords, it’s a string of repetition that sing the odes to a lonely night inside a studio. when he gets home? he has no recollection — home becomes this safe space with the couch already engrained ready to swallow him whole when exhaustion takes its toll.

first, it comes in steadiness where the guitars free-fall into a gentle lull. he imagines sundays to be like this — the poise of something standard, just constant. deserted places inside a studio, he thinks it’s near habitual when his body stumbles into the room he’s deemed his. 

second, comes when the pace quickens and the sting on his fingertips give rise to the heat and layer of rouge. call him a sadist, he presses harder — the force of visceral pain giving into the emptiness he’s filled himself with. there’s nothing more that gives into the loneliness he doesn’t feel anymore. the numbness of an aching phantom pain, music that no longer yanks out the fervor it once did, and what he craves most is the overarching freedom of music in full revolt. the blaring sounds of speakers and not so much the meager tones that barely encase the hums of the strings.

yet, he plays on. presses record when the strings become nothing but a broken record of the same three notes. it’s repetition when a mind’s at a halt, already encased and engrained in another thought — the thought of another song trapped inside the walls of his hard drive. still, he just continues.

and when his mind rids the instrument at play, the second coming of something bland ensues. he pulls out his keyboard, a few clicks into logic. (he’s a creature of habit, and he’s the first to admit). so, when the settings already surmise a standardization of kickdrums in base, he fidgets. lets his fingers assemble the baselines of something old — a kickdrum that plays off-beat in the hums of the guitar. 

looming. eerie — call it an effect of the time of day or an effect of laziness, his mind already wanders into the restlessness of his feet tapping along and a head already in sync eating, feeding into the music that lies in his bones. (here, he wonders �� selling out, was it worth it at all? now, is this just a time for broken hopes and wasted hours?). 

talentless is how he sees himself. pitiful in the way he doesn’t try out creativity for the punches of something new that rides with the harmonies of the chart — pavlov’s dog, and he’s only been trained with the act of self-criticism wrapped up in false bravado for sake of others. shitty beat, a shit simplicity. nobody buys it, not when he’s sitting inside a company that slaughters him for food.

sell out for the masses, he’s accepted the notion many times before. but he still presses on.

presses on when the third cue comes in the safe haven of keys — the keyboard, and he realizes, he’s been a fucking fraud all along. classically trained in each and every term of hours invested into hakwons, and all he manages is a bare four key press tampering with a simple flit of keys. there’s a progression that ensues near the end, and he knows this is a dead beat only hinders the effects of too many hours torn and dry. his fingers scratch his head, a distaste in perfection leaving him to leave the blue screen then and there with a steady force pulling him back onto the sofa.

palms on his head — he closes his eyes. sleep is for the weak, and in this case — he’s so fucking weak.

—

(sometime in 2016).

he meets her on a sunday.

some rusty pub in downtown berlin — berlin the scene of nightlife and non-stop parade of underground pubs. (gyujeong gives in when he’s guised inside the anonymity of a foreign country). 

he steps outside for an air, free from the clouds of smoke that engulf his lung inside. yet, when he’s out away from a manager and the incessant patterns of clubs gone haywire, he manages to balance a cigarette between his lips. hands dug deep into the pockets, patting and salvaging a lighter no longer there — he groans, lets his eyes flicker to a girl in a pink wig, curved lips that speak: i’ve been watching you.

she’s pretty. almond shaped eyes and a killer smile between the smoldering cigarette, dressed inside nothing more than the rags of yesterday. he shoots her a look, narrowed eyes. her footsteps follow off-beat with the booming speakers of the club, and her hands raise a light.

“you’re welcome.” she says, the coyness in her voice unavoidable. she wears bravado like he’s never seen, and he arches a brow in question.

“i didn’t say thank you.”

“you should.”

“no.” 

“i’m celine.”

“that’s not your real name.”

his own cigarette burns on, ash collecting in the ends. his fingers curve across the thin stick, tapping it away as his eyes stare deadly into hers. she’s intoxicating, her aura is. no alcohol, only the thrumming steadiness of nicotine running in his veins, yet he’s brought to a halt of words when curiosity takes over.

-

the night ends early morning monday when he stumbles in past too many glasses of wine and the taste of sin resting upon his tongue. his hands reach for a pen, the hotel notepad shuffled in the side. he realizes, is this love? or is this a dazed dream into a figment he’s lost into the night.

yet, he writes of her.

you’re my downtown baby your eyes are the stars of the night you’re the dream i wanna dream of every night baby without you i can’t do this anymore.

he writes for the confidence she walks in when it becomes intoxicating into his lungs — each shared conversation of make believe and maybes, the future uncertain. (he asked for her number, she said : room 628). 

he writes for each lapse of laughter caught up in the weariness of alcohol sitting on his tongue, his hands wrapped in hers engulfed in the scent of smoke-tainted clementines and vanilla. she tells him he’s delirious underneath french wine and berlin stars, and he tells her she doesn’t know him.

she never knew him, he never knew her.

but what he thinks of is tomorrow, and the time that ticks against their fleeting memories.

“don’t think this is forever.”

“i don’t.”

“good. today and tomorrow.”

“number 628, 6 pm.”

he envisions her slender arms and some german movie indecipherable to his cause — what he craves most is the skin on skin contact that comes when his lips inch closer to hers, only to barely graze the surface of silent mutters. (he drowns in her, he has. he will).

but physical magnetism dies when she parts her mouth. 

elbow to floor, palm to head, he stares — collects each trace of her into his memories to splurge out now. from the faux mole drawn underneath her eyebrows and the dimple that dips in when gutentag gets exchanged for bonjour. he loses himself in her, gives her a piece of his soul when she purses her lips alluring her in each step of the way.

let’s watch a movie then drink all night long let’s light a cigarette and talk all night long.

gyujeong knows, time is uncertain. not when the pen writes more permanencies than the fleeting words she gives. and what she’s given him becomes a timepiece of tonight and the hope for tomorrow. half-dazed, he lights another cigarette — the lighter that becomes the image of her. smoke in the air, she’s her downtown berlin. the taste of a new city he’ll never stretch anew.

a one time piece into escapism, he gives into her. gives into every touch and every word, breathing in the pieces till he dries his mind empty and blank — it’s lost, he’s lost. they’re lost, and she’s still floating high above while he remains stationed into the anonymity he loses the second berlin becomes a wasted touch of nostalgia.

—

(sometimes in 2016).

insomnia hits him like a train wreck.

not when he’s in the dorms lounging inside the room he canvases as his makeshift studio, but when he’s inside the same walls of a studio. the cacophony of marred notes and juxtaposed instruments no longer providing the safe haven they once were.

creative stump.

he calls it when his head tilts, and the straw balances between his mouth. one sip, americano doesn’t jolt him awake, no. it steadies the curse for mouth clicks into a dead hard drive he hasn’t touched in years.

one dated: 2014, he opens. finds the beat once satiated with sell-out written all over it and a mind that breathes in the beats he once deemed helpless. it’s the same noise of the simple guitar rift and steady baseline. the punch comes from the piano inside the ghostly repetitions. 

but he opens it up, and it’s the jostle of berlin sitting underneath his skin, unable to forget. he remembers it all with the notes sprawled out in front of him.

downtown baby.

the mic’s already in place and he realizes — those are the only words he has left to give to the woman who’s given him it all.

he sings the first few chorus in the beginning. the first take’s too gritty, and he realizes her touch is far from that — it ripples at the surface, lingers. when it stays too long of fragile fingers carding through his hair, and the softer laughter that comes from the cheap shots of “your hair feels like my golden retriever back home.”

so, he goes with take eight when it becomes a mirage of roughness laced with the drag of his voice — uncertainty comes in tone, the apprehension that embeds inside the chorus when he sings. never polished, imperfect inside each polished frame of smiles and whispers wrapped up in a pink wig.

verses continue, and he doesn’t find satisfaction — not with the first, tenth or twentieth take. it’s too fine tuned to his status quo. and he’s never been ruthless nor a crippling force when it comes to her, no. he’s been the one that disarms, falls back into the trap of tongue-tied merciless confusions.

so, he gives that to her.

gives it in when his voice perches back to drag of singing rap, the lyrics conspicuous in a punch of early-morning mania. perhaps, he doesn’t know what incoherencies come from mind at bay, just the after effects of jaded yesterdays.

[writersmacchiato]

Sunshine | Chuck Grant

Requested by: @whatwouldidowithoutgeorgeluz

Prompt: “I thought we were friends.”

Word Count: 2k+ (not even the slightest bit sorry!)

Warnings: mentions of a stalker

———

The letter held in your hands was a simple scrap of paper, nothing interesting or special about it bar one thing. A trembling, scrawling writing with your name in bold print.

It has been placed delicately under the tucked in blanket of the cot, so rarely used but you took advantage when you could.

It was a goddamn love letter.

In the middle of a fucking war.

It was out of place, and yet it seemed like a small ray of sunlight. Bastogne darkened everyone; took something away. You did what you could for them, but physically they were mostly okay. Their wounds were internal and you didn’t have the capabilities to care for all of them.

‘Sunshine,

Your smile is radiant, brightening my day like the sun after it rains.

-Xo,

Your admirer’

You reread the words, not recognizing the handwriting and it wasn’t signed. Oddly enough, you felt slight disappointment because it certainly wasn’t from a certain staff sergeant. Although the usage of ‘sunshine’ was Grant’s thing, eyes twinkling as he called you by it, the penmanship wasn’t his and it wasn’t his style regardless. If Chuck had feelings for you, wouldn’t you know?

—

His blue eyes scan the paper, the usual lightness darkening into a storm. He peers up at you, lips turned downward.

“Sunshine?” He practically seethes. “Who is this guy? Do you know him?”

“That’s sorta the thing about anonymous love letters,” you groan. “They’re anonymous.”

He scoffs, “and what’s this shi—crap about sunshine? That’s our thing.”

It shouldn’t make your heart jump and do somersaults like it does, but the aggression behind his voice sends sparks to your stomach.

“Chuck, it’s nothing. Okay?”

“It’s creepy, is what it is.” He says, running a hand through his hair. “Just leaves it on your bed? Where you sleep? Doesn’t even sign his name, seems like an odd fellow.”

“So, you don’t think that someone could genuinely like me without being a creep?” You frown, feeling the sting of it creep up your cheeks.

“I didn’t say that.” He sighs, hands going to grab yours. “I just want you to be safe...I can’t have anything happen to you, Y/N.”

And, it’s small, a mere concern for a friend, but you squeeze his hands back to ignore the pounding of your heart.

“I will, Chuck. Promise.”

—

The slips of paper become more and more frequent; always a hurried scrawl on whatever parchment can be spared with an even more flurried message. Each one was simple and sweet;

‘Your laugh is so wonderful’

‘How do you manage to be so captivating?’

and signed with the same ‘xo, your admirer’.

Chuck always twisted his mouth when you showed him the newest one, jaw clenching as he bit down the unsavory thoughts that bubbled to the surface.

But, this one...

Your hands shake, dropping the paper to the ground as you sank to the creaking cot. Eyes wide and alert as you try to even your breathing.

You were going to be sick.

—

You see the outline of Chuck, his broad shoulders as he stands in a semi-circle with Talbert and Shifty. Tab looks past the group, smiling as you make eye contact. It melts to concern when your hand collides with Chuck’s sleeve, drawing the attention to you.

Chuck looks at you, worry evident as he takes in the fearful look of your face. He notices your other hand, clenched around another damned piece of paper. His fingers pry it open, face falling as he reads the sentence that had frightened you.

“Jesus...” he swears out other explicits, stepping away from you as he rubs his fingers over the back of his head. “When did you get this?”

“This morning.”

“Fuck...” he mutters.

Tab looks over the paper, Shifty peeking over his shoulder. They look up at you, mutual shock and horror melded on their face.

‘You look like an angel when you sleep.’

“This your admirer?” Tab scoffs in disgust.

Admirer...the word makes you cringe; thinking of all the compliments written down and based entirely on that — admiring from afar, just watching you...

“I’m scared, Chuck.” You whisper, taking steps to wrap your arms around his waist. He holds you back tight, hand cradling your head against his chest.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, sunshine.” He whispers into your hair.

“You can stay in my bed tonight.” Shifty speaks up. “It’s just us three in there.”

“Yeah, we’ll protect ya’.” Tab grins. “Ain’t no way anyone’s gonna get through all three of us.”

“I couldn’t...” You shake your head. “It’s against the rules—“

“We’ll sneak you out.” Chuck says. “And, then we go to Lip first thing tomorrow.”

“You kept the notes, right?”

“Yeah...” you sigh, wanting nothing more than to rip them to pieces and throw into a fire.

Chuck walks you back to the medical tent, arm wrapped around your shoulder. He stands with his arms folded as you carefully pack a bag, fingers shaking as you place the pile of papers on top before zipping it up.

His hand wraps around yours as you leave, giving you a gentle squeeze when you hesitate. “Come on.”

Tab and Shifty are already in their respective cots, the latter of the two still awake as he whispers a soft greeting to you.

Chuck nods to the remaining cot, setting your bag down next to it. “I’ll take the floor.”

“No, Chuckie, I will.” You protest.

He shakes his head, “listen, as much as I would love to share a bed with you...” he smirks at your shy look. “There isn’t room, sunshine.”

“I’m scared to sleep alone...” you whisper, feeling foolish because the comfort of three staff sergeants in the room should bring you some sort of peace but it does little to ease the knots of your stomach.

Chuck stares at you for a moment, face blank as he tries not to lose his temper again. You didn’t deserve this, any of it.

He huffs a sigh, snagging the extra pillow and blankets off the cot and settling them on the floor. His boots are kicked off, arms open as he waits for you to follow suit. Your crawl in after him, head resting over his heart. The slow, rhythmic lull has your eyes drifting close as sleep finds its way easily for once.

—

Sunlight flickers over your face, waking you from the depths of sleep. Blinking awake you find yourself nose to nose with Chuck, his arm settled around your waist. The sun makes his hair look light, a bronze gold, that has you running your fingers through it without a second thought. His eyes flicker open at the touch; sleepy blue hues meeting your embarrassed face. A grin settles over his face.

“Morning, sunshine.” His voice is an octave lower than usual, a rasp to it that has heat creeping up your face.

“Good morning, Chuckie...” the words slur together as you mumble them out, barely taking note of the rising flush in his cheeks.

“Morning sleeping beauties.” Tab calls out, cutting the moment short. “We’ve got a stalker to deal with.”

His words bring back all the worries and discomfort from yesterday, your smile dropping as Chuck runs a hand through your hair in attempt for comfort that works slimly.

Lip shuffles over the notes, face dropping with each one as it becomes apparent that the affection behind them is misguided. He sighs, looking at you with concern.

“How you holding up?”

You shrug, focusing on his clasped hands instead of the paper in front of him.

“I hate to say this,” he starts, “but there’s nothing I can do. There’s no name, nothing to identify him with.”

“So, what then?” Chuck speaks up, arms folded over his knees. “We just let this go?”

“We wait.” Lip frowns. “It’s not ideal and I don’t like it, but there’s nothing more that we can do.”

“Thank you anyway, Lip.” You try for a smile, but it falls flat.

“Keep an eye on her.” You hear him say to Chuck before you’re completely out of the room.

—

Days pass with Chuck hovering over you. Eyes watching as you attended to patients, making smalltalk as you did paperwork. His hand brushing your back as he walked with you to and fro, it was almost suffocating but the notes had stopped. And you liked spending time with Chuck, he was always kind to you but it was evident he cared about you given his reaction to the events.

He eased up, little by little, as a week passed and there were no new letters. They were on the back burner, a distant rotten memory, as Chuck smiles at you. The brush of his hand against yours as you sit next to each other during meals, resting your head on his shoulder. His arms around your waist, holding you in a tight hug.

You had feelings for him, a teeny crush that formed when you first met him, but now it was growing into something that felt like love.

“A party?” You quirk an eyebrow at Tab’s words.

“Well, more of a hangout. Booze, food, girls — sounds like a party to me.” He grins when Shifty shakes his head.

“You should go.” Chuck piped up. “It’ll be good to relax and let loose.”

He was right. You had been tightly coiled with anxiety, focusing on your work to avoid thinking about anything else.

It would be good to have a normal night for once.

—

Chuck has a hand on your waist, sipping from his beer as he recounts a story to you. His mouth is startlingly close to your ear to be heard over the roar of the crowd, voice carrying over the noise and settling nicely in your chest. You listen to him talk, but also take in his profile.

The slope of his nose, his teeth peeking over his pink lips, his bronzed hair sleek with pomade. His jaw that practically begged for your fingers to trace.

He was handsome, no doubt about it.

His eyes look down at you, blues sparkling under the bar lights.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, lips brushing against your ear in a way that has you clenching your hand.

“Yeah,” You smile at him, because with him you are okay.

He returns the smile, moving his arm over your shoulder to draw you even closer. No space between your bodies. His other hand cups your cheek, leaning in to brush his lips over yours. It’s a soft, slow peck that has you trailing after him when he pulls away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” He confesses, thumb stroking your cheek.

“I thought we were friends.” You find yourself saying, in slight disbelief that he had just kissed you.

A shake of his head and a chuckle slip by before his mouth is on yours once again. You lose yourself in the feeling; of him, his hands on you, his lips moving against yours — it’s him. Chuck who makes your heart race, who makes you smile and laugh when you feel far from either, who comforts you, who loves you.

His breath hits your face, slightly labored. “Sunshine, we were never just friends.”

This time, it’s you who kisses him. Fingers gripping the uniform on his chest, pulling him as physically close as possible. His legs settle between yours, your thighs clenched around his hips. He pulls away to press kisses to your cheek, moving down to your neck until he’s nibbling gently. You let out a low moan, feeling the excitement course through you, realizing then that this was not the place.

“Chuck,” you gasp. “Not here.”

His eyes are dark, lit with a passion that has your toes curling. He looks past you, coming to the same conclusion, as he hauls you onto your feet. The warmth from his hand on your back burns through your shirt, gripping the material under his fingers as he tries to restraint himself.

Fresh, cold air hits you smack in the face when you tumble out the door. It’s sobering, but you find yourself under the weight of Chuck as he pulls you in for another heated kiss.

“I love you.” He says between kisses. “So damn much.”

You’ve thought about this, the words falling from his mouth and it was never like this; outside a bar, in the shadows of an alleyway, hands gripping your waist, lips swollen.

And, somehow it’s fitting. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

———

BoB tags: @kneesocksapollo @croatianbagudna @gottapenny @wexhappyxfew @medievalfangirl @liebthots @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @hbostolemysoul-motherblog @bandofmarvels

[kimmyiewrites]

Dreams Coming True

Fandom: The Last Five Years, Newsies Ship: Jamie Wellerstein x Katherine Pulitzer AN:  This idea came from my music going from the Newsies cast album to The Last Five Years soundtrack. I love the chemistry that Kara and Jeremy have and well this one shot was born. I hope you enjoy it and I'd love to know what you think!

As soon as the divorce was final, it was like the appeal he had to women vanished. The thing he had going with Elise didn’t work out. It had truly just been a fling, unlike what he had thought before going to Ohio one last time. He threw himself into writing his next book then. He wasn’t going to just be someone who wrote one good book and then never be heard from again.

The parties started up again when it was time to release the latest book. Random House had really out done themselves this time. He knew more people this go around. Mingled with those he hadn’t seen in some time and spoke with the ones that had become his friends while answering questions from the press.

“Pen and paper, huh? Isn’t that a little old school?” Jamie asked as he approached the bar. He had been watching her for most of the evening. The lanyard around her neck informed him that she was with the press but those he had spoken to had a tape recorder or just their phones. Not to mention, she was gorgeous. She had a polite smile that just teased at the real thing. He was sure it could light up just about anything if it was unleashed.

“Maybe but it gets the job done and I don’t have to worry about batteries dying or trying to make out what the person said through the background chatter.” She shrugged, looking towards him, that polite smile making its appearance as she held out her hand. “Katherine Pulitzer, The New York Times.”

He took her hand, giving it a shake before letting go. “Jamie Wellerstein, author.” He smirked a bit before ordering another drink. “Any relation to the designer?” There were times Cathy would always come back. He remembered his ex-wife always complaining about it.

Katherine looked at the author with wide eyes. No one ever linked her to her cousin first. It was always her father since she too was a journalist. “Actually, yes. She’s my cousin.” She smiled fondly, smoothing out any wrinkles in her dress, which happened to be the original dress in the design that was named after her. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask about my father first.”

Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed. He really only knew about her cousin because of Cathy. Should he know who her father is? “I’m sorry but maybe I could get a refresher?”

She then laughed and he smiled, knowing that he had been right. Her entire face lit up. “Oh my god, you don’t know. I think you might just be my new favorite person.” She said in between her laughter. “Joseph Pulitzer, owned The World before selling it and going into semi-retirement to terrorize the grad students at Columbia University?”

He shook his head, still not knowing who this man was, which seemed to be just fine by Katherine. “That’s it. You are my new favorite person. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

He smiled, motioning to her lanyard. “By all means. That’s what you’re here for after all.”

She finished off her drink and picked up her pen. “So how -”

“You’re not going to ask about my ex-wife, are you?” He interrupted her. Too many others had asked that tonight, starting off the same exact way and he just couldn’t any more.

She looked to him, brows furrowed. “No. Have people actually asked you that?”

He nodded his head, waiting for her to finish her original question.

“While I’m glad people have thought of men to ask that question to, it’s still just as tasteless if you had been a woman. I’m sorry my colleagues don’t have any class. I was going to ask how you found your inspiration for this book? It’s much different from your first, yet it still has the same heart that draws your reader in.” She looked to him expectantly.

He smiled fondly, explaining how he wanted a different kind of coming of age story. One where the main character stayed true to themselves and still completed their goals without changing their appearance or who they were. He called it a finding of purpose story.

Katherine smiled and it wasn’t the polite one he had been seeing her show everyone else once she got what she needed. “Great quote, thanks. Enjoy the rest of the evening.” She pushed away from the bar closing her notepad.

“You’re not staying around for the rest of it?” He asked, not wanting her to go just yet.

She shook her head. “No, I’ve got a deadline I need to make. It was great meeting you, Jamie.” She started making her way towards the door before turning back around to face him. “Off the record, I hope you find your own brigade.”

Jamie stared after her. How did this woman know? There was no way she could somehow guess that this story had spurred from all of his frustrations from these past few years.

                                                          ~~~

It had been months since they had last seen each other. He had printed out her review, a mix of wit, honest opinion, and persuasion to go get his book. It may not have had to do anything with the spike in book sales but he was definitely giving her that grateful credit. There was also the twitter conversations. It remained strictly about books but they had begun an exchange of recommendations for each other. Books turned into movies which turned into what to binge watch on Netflix.

Of course the others in their world began to gossip and Katherine had nipped it before it could grow into a large enough rumor for TMZ to cover. “If you do not wind up befriending the creators you write about, you’re doing your job wrong or are in the wrong business.” She had started a whole other controversy with that tweet that their small conversations went right back under the radar.

Random House had orchestrated another party. A different book launch for a different author and because he too was under the publishing house, he had been invited. He briefly wondered if she would be here. He hadn’t really noticed her before the first time they had met. Then again, he had been caught up in Cathy in the beginning.

At this point these parties had become a bit of a routine. Mingle here, grab a drink there, graze whatever food was laid out and then back to mingling. “Did you finish season one yet?” Her voice cut through the background noise as he was waiting for his drink.

“I’ve got like two more episodes. I still can’t believe how good it actually is.” He turned to face her, signaling for the bartender to come back over.

Katherine placed her order and smiled up at him. He shouldn’t feel special that he got a genuine smile from her but it sure did make his heart flutter. “I told you, you would.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved her off with a laugh. “What’d ya think about this one?” He motioned to the party to signal he meant the book they were supposed to be celebrating tonight.

She shook her head. “Not his best work but not his worse either. He hit the sophomore slump bad so anything is better than his second book.”

He choked on his drink, not quite expecting that reply. “Yeah, this one was a little dry.”

“Can I quote you on that?”

“Keep me anonymous. We’re under the same publishing house after all. Don’t want to stir anything up.” He nodded.

“Thanks.” She scribbled down the quote and finished her drink. “Guess I’ll see you around then. Tell me what you think once you finish season one.”

“Wait, you’re leaving already?”

She gave him this look that said you should know by now. “I’m Cinderella at these things, remember. Midnight and I turn into a write up for not making deadline.”

“At least give me your number. It’ll make things so much easier.”

“Twitter’s not that hard to navigate. I should be at the top of your dms anyway. I’ve stayed too late already. I gotta go.” She waved and hurried off.

He let out a sigh as he watched her maneuver through the crowd. He brought his glass up to finish off his drink when he realized what she had said. ‘I’ve stayed too late already.’ Had she been waiting for him?

                                                         ~~~

The next party, she slipped a piece of paper into his pocket. He didn’t even realize it until he got home. He unfolded the torn piece of notebook paper and gasped. Pulling out his phone, he immediately tested the number.

If this is really Katherine. Tell me something that only she would say.

The fact that you don’t believe that I would give you my number is a little disheartening, Jamie.

The Writer: You did just slip it into my pocket without me realizing it.

The Critic: I was trying to keep Twittergate from happening again.

The Writer: The fact that you want to keep this friendship a secret is a little disheartening, Kath.

The Critic: Oh you’re hilarious. Ha. Ha.

The Writer: Did you make your deadline?

The Critic: I did. Thank you. Good night, Jamie.

The Writer: You don’t want to watch Casablanca with me?

The Critic: Can I get raincheck on that?

The Writer: How about tomorrow?

The Critic: Tomorrow works.

                                                         ~~~

They started out with weekly movie nights, switching off who chose the movie each week. Those movie nights then turned into sleep overs and those sleep overs turned into spending the weekend together. There were comments, glances, and touches that suggested she wanted more but he never pushed his luck. If someone like Katherine wanted to be in his life then he was going to do his very best to keep her around. The last time he rushed into something it didn’t end well.

She was so full of life and ambition. She wasn’t where she wanted to be but she had dreams of getting there. She worked so hard to be the best that she could be and he finally realized why people wanted to know her opinion. People listened, made decisions off of what she wrote and she wanted to use that influence somewhere other than the entertainment section. She could do it too, he knew she could. He just was nervous that all of this was going to wind up like the last time and he wasn’t sure if he could survive another five years of that misery.

He had decided to surprise her. He finished the meeting early and it was movie night. He knocked on her door before letting himself in. After a night where she lost complete track of time, she told him where she kept a spare key. Despite the tv set up for the movie she planned to watch tonight, Katherine was nowhere to be found.

Then he heard the crash and the shout.

Jamie walked down the hall to her in home office, knocking on the doorframe. “Is there a reason it looks like a storm blew through here?” Writing utensils were scattered along the floor. Notebooks and books mixed with them. Pages ripped to shreds and Katherine standing in the middle of the chaos.

“I tried to pitch another story again. Guess who was told to stick to reading books?” Frustration laced her voice as she stood in the midst of the mess she created. Her hands were on her hips as she was trying to catch her breath.

He didn’t even get a chance to respond before she launched into her rant. “I was because that’s all I am to them. Their favored book critic. No one cares that I’ve been at this since I finished my education, hell, even before that. No one cares that my stories are given to other writers who couldn’t get the people to care even if there were tear stains on the printed version. No one cares that the glass ceiling is actually just different floors to a fucking high rise building. No one cares that each time I rear back to punch my way through they tie my arm back to make sure I don’t.”

“Maybe -” She cut him off again.

“Don’t. I don’t need any advice. I’ve been fighting this bullshit for too long and I’ve tried everything. I even wrote my own fucking story and they rewrote everything and published it under someone else’s byline.”

“Then what do you want from me, Cathy?” He shouted, not being able to take this anymore. It was too similar, being cut off when all he was trying to do was help. He hadn’t even truly registered the words Katherine had said. They weren’t filled with pity, they were filled with anger and determination.

She pointed to the front door. Her poster had gone rigid from hearing the name of his ex-wife. She knew enough from the stories reported on the two and connected some dots from what little Jamie had told her. There was a new kind of anger behind her eyes. “For you to go.”

“What?” Things finally began to dawn on him. Oh, he truly messed up.

“Go and don’t you ever call me Cathy again. I am not her. This is just one more set back, one more rope for me to cut through. They’ll eventually run out and you’ll see my byline on the front page. I know you had an important meeting today and if you being here earlier than what we had decided on indicates anything, then I can’t be happier for you because you deserve everything you ever dreamed of. I just will not stand to be compared to your ex-wife when I have even the most minor of setbacks because I come out of it fighting even harder. So right now, you need to leave.”

Jamie looked at her in shock before he gathered himself and did as she asked. He had a lot of rethinking to do. Sure both women had ambition but unlike Cathy, Katherine knew her worth and she was going to prove it to everyone. Katherine wasn’t about to let anyone stand in her way.

                                                            ~~~

The Idiot: I’m sorry for calling you Cathy. You are a million miles away from her. I just wanted to say that and that whatever you do, you’ll always have me in your corner.

Katherine looked over at her phone, spoon sticking out of her mouth as the planned movie of the evening played. She read it over and sighed. His text was not helping her with her guilt for feeling like she overreacted. She was throwing a temper tantrum even if she thought she rightfully deserved it. It also reminded her that she lied a bit when she had told him, she had tried everything.

There was one solution she hadn’t tried yet. This one scared her to no end because it meant that she could potentially lose her job. Then again. She jumped up from the couch and hurried back into her office. She wasn’t going to get anywhere she wanted if she wasn’t willing to take some risks.

She set up a youtube channel, a blog, and changed her bio on twitter and instagram. Not just the book girl.

Her first blog and video went into detail about what she was doing, what she would be covering, and hoped that people would follow her. She drafted everything up, linked all of her profiles together, and then stared at her computer screen. This was it. Now or never. She was making a change for her future. She took a deep breath and hit publish. She tweeted a link to her blog post. She posted the thumbnail on her instagram with linking her new blog in her bio. She even went to her stories and linked it there with the swipe up option.

The One: Check out the link I just posted on twitter.

Katherine stared at her phone as she waited. The five minutes that passed felt like life times but when her phone dinged with his response, she felt like she could cry.

The Idiot: I’m so proud of you.

                                                           ~~~

People ate Katherine’s blog up. They loved it. She updated every Tuesday and Thursday with doing various small videos on instagram and twitter about certain stories. Companies began to ask to be sponsors and the day she had been waiting for finally came. The New York Times let her go. She was upset of course but as Jamie had reminded her, it allowed her to spend more time doing something she wanted to do. Luckily the sponsor money helped and she was able to tap into her trust fund if she needed.

Jamie had gotten a movie deal for his latest book. A party had been organized by not just Random House but by the production company as well. With Katherine no longer a part of the media list, he had to figure out how to ask her to join him. She had easily become his favorite part about these things.

“Hey Katherine?” Jamie looked up from his dessert.

“Hmm?” She hummed around her latest bite of pie.

“Would you want to be my plus one to this event tonight? And then well for every event after that?” His voice grew quieter and more rushed at his second question.

“Are you asking me on a proper date?” She leaned a little forward, eyebrow raised.

“If I am?”

“Then I’d say yes.” She whispered, smiling at him before leaning back and taking another bite of her dessert.

He grinned, going to take another bite of his as well when a question came to mind. “Wait, what do you mean by proper?”

“I haven’t been seeing anyone since our movie weekends started, have you?”

“No.” He shook his head. If he was honest ever since he met her, he had stopped looking at other women.

“Then this will be our first proper outing as a couple then, wouldn’t it?” She quirked her eyebrow up once again.

“So you’re saying you want to be my girlfriend?” He really couldn’t believe it. Then again she had always been the one to set the pace in their relationship.

“Yes.” She smiled and he was reminded of how he wondered what a genuine smile from her would look like. He was reminded that he now got them all the time.

“Then I guess we’re officially dating.” He matched her grin with one of his own. He didn’t think he’d been this happy in a long time.

“Picking me up at seven, then?” She asked, after finishing off her dessert.

“I’ll be there.” He promised.

                                                        ~~~

They still kept movie nights but the sleep overs definitely strayed away from sleeping in different areas and moved towards sleeping together. The night he found out that her father was Jewish but the only thing she practiced was Hannukah due to her Episcopalian mother was a night they missed the movie completely. They appeared at every outing together. She stayed by his side and never hid by the bar, steaming with jealousy. Despite working her ass off to make her blog the most successful it could be, she stayed on top of every party that he had to attend. She knew the book, researched the author, and wound up mingling like the best of them. Everytime he would compliment her, she would just brush it off and credit her mother for her behavior.

She had moved to covering the news during the week. On the weekends however, she would give a review of the newest book, tv show, theatre production, or movie she had seen that week. With the first one she did, she stated how it was important to remain in touch with her roots while bringing the hard hitting stuff throughout the week.

A few months into their new relationship, Katherine ran through the halls of Jamie’s apartment building. She knocked on his door, more like banged, until he opened it. His eyes were frantic until he realized the crazed person on the other side of the door was Katherine.

She squealed when he opened the door, raising her arms in the air in a victory celebration while bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m gonna be on the Today Show!”

“Oh my god!” He wrapped her in his embrace before picking her up and twirling her around a bit. “Congratulations! I knew you could do it.” He set her back down and ushered her inside. “Tell me everything.”

She launched into how she was getting a segment right before Kathy Lee and Hoda did theirs. It was going to be called Watch What Happens with Katherine Pulitzer. It would cover all the news stories she thought people needed to keep an eye on. She would then end it with a review of some sort or even an interview. They were going to allow her to keep the blog and actually encouraged her to keep it running. The only thing they were going to change was her youtube channel, making it more on brand and instead of uploading her own home made videos, they would upload video clips from her segments.

Jamie just grinned as he listened to Katherine tell him everything. She couldn’t even sit still, she was so excited. Once she was done, he pulled her in for a long, deep kiss. “I’m so proud of you.” He whispered after they separated.

Katherine grinned before pulling him down to her for another series of kisses. Needless to say, Jamie was late for his morning meeting that day.

                                                       ~~~

Katherine’s segment was going well. The rankings were beyond what NBC had predicted. The movie based off of Jamie’s second book was dubbed most anticipated and he was already working on a third book. Life was finally going the way that each of them had dreamed about. They had their dream careers. They had their dream relationship. They even had their dream living arrangement after they moved in together after the first year of them getting together. Jamie didn’t feel like things were moving too fast and Katherine finally felt seen and heard. Most importantly they had each other and the support from the other was something they never thought possible. All of their dreams really did finally come true.

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

채형원, Chae Hyungwon

anonymous asked:

after today's outburst, I need something extremely sweet. I need Hyungwon and sweetness in the same scenario. I had thought of roommates!au where the reader doesn't even know Won because either he sleeps or he's at work, so one evening they find themselves eating together Chinese on the couch by pure chance and they discover that they have many things in common cc The rest is up to you My mars, you always did miracle with that brain of yours. love you - Saturn

Group: Monsta X

Member: Hyungwon

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.

.

You’d been living there for about half a year, that apartment complex in the eye of the city. You hadn’t been living there alone, but it certainly felt like it sometimes. 

Everyday, you woke up to the same birds chirping and the same cars shuffling out of the parking lot for work. You woke up to the same cold, empty feeling in the two bedroom, one bathroom apartment; like you shared it with a ghost.

You didn’t dislike living there—it was just odd. When you woke up, he was gone. When you came home, he was asleep. He always left for work early. Too early, in your opinion. You weren’t even completely sure what he did for a living. 

You’d gotten kicked out of your previous apartment for not paying rent on time, so when you read in the newspaper about some guy nearby and close to your age that needed a roommate, you impulsively jumped at the opportunity. 

You knew nothing about Chae Hyungwon. You didn’t even know what he usually ate for breakfast. You lived in the same space, but you were miles upon miles apart.

If there was something important to mention to each other, you’d just write it on the chalkboard in the kitchen. Right now, it read: “Need eggs”, written neatly in bright blue chalk. 

You’d become more familiar with his handwriting than his face or voice. 

You could barely picture him when you closed your eyes. Barely hear his voice. There was something so distant about living a room across from someone, yet knowing nothing about one another.  

It was an unwritten rule that you were in charge of groceries, so you made a mental note to go out after work. You sighed, boiling some water for tea. There was something very comforting about tea in the morning. 

Perhaps it was the warmth that it gave you. The warmth which you were normally lacking. Your mind drifted to your flatmate. 

A part of you was deathly afraid that he was a drug dealer or something. At the very least, tangled up with the wrong crowd. But the other half of you knew that he couldn’t be. 

You’d only met him personally a few times. Once to see if you wanted to room together, a second time to finalize your contract. And after that,  just a few chance meetings here and there when you both got up for midnight snacks, or you happened to see him in the morning before he left. 

Every once in a while, if he was magically still awake when you got home, he’d sometimes call from his room, “Welcome back!” 

With all that in mind, you remembered how soft his hand had been the day you’d shaken on the splitting the rent 50/50. That had stuck with you, and you thought that meant something.  

You looked down at your hand, tingling in reminiscence. If you remembered the warmth of his hand, there had to be warmth in his heart. If only he would reach out...

You sighed to yourself. It wasn’t like you were giving it much effort either. You poured your tea, leaving it out to cool while you got dressed for the day.

+++

You reached for your keys, struggling to fish them out from your jacket pocket. You had six plastic bags from the grocery store hooked on your arms, so suffice to say, you were having issues. 

Finally, you were victorious in your battle against the annoying, jangling lumps of metal. When you unlocked the door, you tried to set everything down as quietly as possible. Hyungwon was usually asleep by now. 

You put everything away that needed to be refrigerated, but you left everything else for tomorrow. Right now, your brain was exhausted and all you wanted to do was sit down with that good book you’d been reading. 

You scanned the kitchen counters. “Not here,” you mumbled to yourself. Then it clicked. The living room. You walked into the next room, flicking on the lights. Immediately, you screamed, assuming a semi-threatening pose you recalled seeing in a Bruce Lee movie once. 

Sitting on the couch—surrounded by Chinese takeout and currently shoving a dumpling into his mouth—sat Chae Hungwon. He was holding your book open, reading it thoroughly. He didn’t even look at you until he’d finished the page. 

“Hi,” he said simply, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. 

You gaped at him, slipping out of the ninja-esque pose. “You’re here,” you said. 

He nodded slowly. “I should hope so. It’s my house, after all. Well, half my house,” he corrected. “Half yours, too.” 

“You’re awake,” you said, even more disbelieving than before. 

He chuckled, smiling a little awkwardly. “Yeah, I guess I am.” 

Your eyes raked over him. He wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was there, palpable and so, so close. Suddenly, all the memories you’ve had of him previously—no matter how short, even if it was just a glance from the back—they all came rushing back to you, creating the image of the man that stood before you. 

You could feel your jaw threatening to drop again. 

He was actually kind of attractive.  

He was long and lanky, but not in a weak, paper-thin way, more like a lean and well-toned way. His hair looked soft and well-styled and his face was nothing to scoff at. Luscious, dewy lips, big and expressive eyes, annoyingly perfect proportions—why did you not remember him looking like this?

It occurred to you that it was your first proper meeting with each other since signing your lease. 

You suddenly felt horribly under-dressed in your own house. There was something about the vibe he gave off that made you feel small in his presence. You shifted uncomfortably, looking down at your faded jeans and five-year-old sneakers. 

You adjusted yourself, trying not to show weakness. This was your house, too. You couldn’t just be pushed over like that. You cleared your throat. “What are you doing awake so late?” you asked. 

He shrugged. “Felt sick,” he said. 

Your tensed shoulders loosened. “Really?” you asked in a quiet voice. “Well, are you feeling any better now?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. I think I was just hungry.” He shoved down another two dumplings. “I didn’t even really wanna go to work this morning, to be honest.” 

You chuckled a little, feeling yourself relax. Maybe he wasn’t as high-class and uppity as he looked. “Well, you wake up at an ungodly hour,” you said. “I wouldn’t wanna leave either.” 

“Exactly.” he said. He pouted a little. “It’s really not fair.” 

You nodded. “I bet.” Your attention was drawn back to the book in his hand. “Is that mine?” you asked, simple curiosity getting the better of you. 

“It has a unicorn bookmark in it, so I’m guessing it is,” he said.

You flushed a little. You had forgotten that was in there. “That’s a misunderstanding,” you said quickly. “It’s actually my niece’s, but she left it in my purse, so I didn’t see a point in wasting it, so I—”

He held up a hand. “You don’t need to make excuses,” he said. “I share an apartment with you, so I trust you.” 

You raised a brow. “You trust me?” you echoed. “We’ve barely said two words to each other.” 

He grabbed some Beef Lo Mein from off the coffee table. “True,” he said, “but you also haven’t murdered me in my sleep yet, so that gives you some brownie points.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess that is pretty impressive,” you said. “Though, since we haven’t talked much, maybe I just haven’t found a reason to murder you yet.” 

He looked up at with with shocked eyes, completely meme-worthy. You crossed your arms proudly. You could quip right back, and you prided yourself on it. 

He broke into a cute, breathy fit of laughter. “Okay, you’ve won some fried rice,” he said, holding out a takeout box for you. 

You reached out for it. “Thanks,” you said. 

He pulled it out of your reach. “Do you never sit on the couch?” he asked. 

“I... do?” you said, not entirely sure what he was getting at. 

He gestured to the sofa. “Sit down, then,” he said. “It’s your furniture too, you know. It’s not mine just because I’m sitting here.” 

You snatched the rice from him. “Fair enough,” you said. He was staring at you again. You shrugged a little. “You were holding it for too long.” You sat down next to him, slowly and quietly munching on some of the takeout. “This is so awkward,” you laughed after a minute. You scooted down the couch, further from him. 

He chuckled. “Why?” he asked. “We live together.” 

“Yeah,” you said, “but we don’t know each other.” 

He nodded understandingly. “Okay, I get your point.” He set down his bowl of noodles. “Then, let’s get to know each other.” He faced you, leaning his arm against the back of the couch to prop his head up. “What do you do for a living?” 

You didn’t expect the question, but it didn’t deter you either. “I’m a university professor,” you said. 

An impressed expression washed over his face. “Really?” he said, intrigued. “For what?” 

“Astronomy,” you said. He noticed the way your eyes lit up. “I give lectures about the patterns of the stars and the planets and...” you trailed off, a small smile sticking to your lips. “Sorry,” you said. “I’m probably boring you.” 

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he assured you. “I was into it. Please, teach me, professor.” 

You chuckled at the corniness. “Maybe next time,” you said. “I wanna know about you, too.” You leaned against the back of the couch too, mirroring his position. “What do you do, Mr. Chae?” 

He chuckled at the name. “DJ,” he said simply, sucking in a mouthful of noodles. 

You blinked. “Huh,” you said. “Didn’t expect that one. Just by the way you look, I thought you’d be a—” 

He swallowed. “I do modeling, too.” 

You almost choked on the water you’d started drinking. “Dude!” you coughed. “What the heck!” 

He looked at you, tilting his head. “What do you mean?” he asked. 

“Why are you living in this dump?” you asked, completely shocked. “Modeling gigs pay freakin’ well, so I’m sure you can afford better than this.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I like this dump,” he said. 

“And maybe you don’t,” you answered back.  

He huffed. “I’m staying, okay?” he said firmly. 

You felt yourself shiver a little. He was definitely someone you wouldn’t want to get on the bad-side of. “But why?” you couldn’t help yourself from asking. 

“You live on a teacher’s salary, right?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah. What about it?” 

“That’s why,” he said, taking a sip of Cola. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion before it clicked. He didn’t move out, even if he could afford a better place, because he didn’t want you to get kicked out of another apartment. 

It touched you, in some strange way. 

You’d been living with a perfect stranger, but that perfect stranger was looking out for you, without you even realizing it. It was humbling. 

“Thanks for getting groceries, by the way,” Hyungwon said. “I’m never able to thank you ‘cause I’m always either at work or exhausted, but I really am grateful.” He gestured to the rusty old balcony to his left. “And the flowers you put out there are pretty.” 

You smiled a little. “Thanks,” you said. It felt nice to be appreciated. “I like the painting you put up in the hallway the other day.” 

“Oh, you noticed it?” 

You nodded. “Of course I did,” you said. “It really livens the place up.” 

“I agree!” he said, a smiling spreading across his thick lips. “I thought it looked really boring all plain like that.” 

You hummed in agreement. “Exactly! I’m glad you put it up when you did. I was about to go out and buy paint.” 

You and Hyungwon ended up talking together until you fell asleep on the couch, still surrounded by takeout. Neither of you woke up in time for work in the morning, but that didn’t really bother you two very much. 

You’d found a friend in each other, you thought. You were a lot more similar than you’d expected from two perfect strangers. 

You decided... You’d really enjoying living in this dingy apartment from now on.

.

.

.

I love him, and I love you. Take comfort in non-misogynistic Hyungwon. He cares. <3

[revengeisalwaysanoption]

Can you write something about Niccoli being depressed/ having an episode and boys trying to make him feel better?

He doesn't even know how it started.

Well, he has been feeling low for a couple of days could barely get out of bed to eat something and shower but... It has happened before, and it has always helped to have Martino with him. Not lately.

Usually he blames the weather - it's worse when outside it's all dark and rainy - but he can't even have that, now. There isn't a cloud in the sky, as he looks out the window. It adds insult to injury, as if there was some kind of higher power telling him 'How can you feel so unhappy, when the sun is shining and everything is fine out there?'

Rationally, he knows that it must have something to do with the exams fast approaching in June but it has never been so bad.

He is fucking tired of being told "Stop worrying about the future."

It’s not something he does on purpose, and it’s always too late when he realizes that his mind drifted where it wasn't allowed to.

Does Martino know how exhausting it is to persuade himself that his fears have no reason to exist?

How dumb his inability to take things as they come, minute by minute, makes him feel?

Sooner or later, he will have to choose what to do with this life. Postponing the decision doesn’t make it disappear. It’s always there, at the back of his mind. With all its potential downfalls.

He hasn’t even brought up the topic of moving to Milan, because he dreads both a positive (‘so you can’t wait for me to leave, uh?) and a negative reaction (it’s my future we’re talking about, stop making it about you!’) from Marti.

He can’t see himself living in Rome for another year, but he can't be without Martino.

That's absurd. It's not healthy to be so co-dependent on someone. He needs to learn how to survive without him. Besides, Martino deserves better than dating a nutjob that keeps on dragging him down, with his weird moods and paranoid fears of being abandoned. And it doesn't matter how many times he will tell Nico that he isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he will walk away. Niccolò will do something to fuck this up, like he always does.

Martino will get tired of having to talk sense into him, of his love being doubted and put to test all the fucking time. Of fighting about money, of telling him that he can pay for himself and doesn’t need Niccolò to cover all his expenses.

He will soon understand that they don’t have much in common, that they rarely listen to the same music or appreciate the same movies, books or tv shows. That they don’t even work that well as friends.

He can’t have Marti here, when he’s clearly not taking proper care of himself. Studying when he should be sleeping, eating too little, because babysitting Niccolò is a full time job.

It makes everything worse.

He hates that Martino turn down invitations from the boys just to spend time with him. Hates himself for letting that happen.

"Why don't you just go? Get lost. Stop wasting your time with a depressed fuck like me, Marti! There’s nothing you can do…”

It's a low blow, and he knows it. He regret those words as soon as they are out of his mouth, but it’s too late to take them back. Those are the very same words Martino in that bathroom, all those months ago, when he talked about his own mother. They are like a slap to his face, but Marti still refuses to back down.

“I was wrong, and you know it. Nico, please. Don’t shut me out.”

And he wants to open the door and surrender to his soft touch, to break down in his arms. Put his mind to rest for a while. But he can’t be that selfish.

“Go. I’m begging you, Marti. Leave.” He bites back his tears, holding tighter onto his pillow.

"As you wish." Martino chokes out, defeated, walking away.

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

Martino is persistent, and stubborn.

It's both a blessing and a curse.

He's glad to know that he cares, that he won't give up on him when things get tough. That he can sense when Niccolò is self-sabotaging himself and he won't have any of that.

It's a painful reminder of how little Nico is giving back, how he should be the better man and let Marti find someone who can hand him the world.

He keeps trying to reach out to him, with a few 'hey, call me when you feel better' and a 'thinking about you

'I know you’re trying, but... you're not helping.' He texts back, resorting to half-truths.

It works, but it doesn’t take too long before he starts to regret it.

It has been barely more than 24 hours since he last got a text from Martino, but it feels like a week.'Well done, Niccolò. You drove him away. Mission accomplished.'He mutters to himself, throwing the phone against the wall so violently that its pieces go flying all over the room.

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

Giovanni is the first to show up. He doesn’t ask about their fight, doesn’t even mention Martino.

He sits in front of the door and starts making small talk, telling him about the last movie he has seen and the book he’s reading at the moment.

“I never thought I would like Nick Hornby, you know, but then Eva got Slam for me, because you know, she figured it was about skateboarding… it isn’t, but that’s okay, it’s good… and I actually liked it so much I went looking for more. I bet you’d love Juliet, naked. It’s about music, but it’s nowhere as pretentious as High Fidelity is. It’s a book against pretentiousness when it comes to art, really. I have it here, with me, if you want to give it a try.”

Niccolò doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, but Giovanni doesn’t seem to mind.

He moves on to the latest news from school, about Luchino and how disappointed he was to find out there are plenty of girls crushing on Gio and Elia but none interested in him.

“Can you believe he handed out an anonymous survey?”

“Well. It’s Luca we’re talking about…” They both laugh at that, and Niccolò finally feels comfortable enough to ask if Martino asked him to come and check on him.

“No, zi’… He didn’t have to. I am here for you, is that so hard to believe?” Yes. Yes, it is. “And I’m not leaving until you read this and tell me what you think about this.” He waves his latest essay in front of the yellow tinted glass. He’s just about to try sliding it under the door, when Niccolò finally gives up and lets him in.

“Wow, you look like you haven't slept in a week.”

“Thanks.” He looks up, only to feel crushed by the weight of Giovanni’s concerned glare. How can he be calm, so composed, when Niccolò just broke his best friend’s heart again? “Would you like some coffee, while I read this?”

It’s good. Nico doesn’t agree with half of the things he wrote, but Gio knows how to make a compelling argument and make him go ‘Okay, you have a point there.” His essay is informative, never patronizing or sounding like the same old propaganda. It’s hard to believe he didn’t get a 10 for it. ‘8 for overuse of semi-colons, inconsistencies in style and voice.’

Bullshit. Galante couldn’t give mark that essay with a 10 because he couldn’t stand to read opinions different from his own, couldn’t have students thinking they should pursue writing as a career only to end up like him, teaching Italian literature to a bunch of idiots who couldn’t tell the difference between a metaphor and a metonymy.

“Ha! They keep telling me I’m projecting, that I’m the teacher’s pet but I knew you’d understand! He is lenient with those who can barely write down a coherent and grammatically correct thought, but God forbid if he actually acknowledges excellence! Not that I’m that good, but…”

Hey, hey, hey. No self-deprecation allowed in this room, unless it’s coming from Niccolò himself.

“You are. I mean, I’m no literary critic but I think you’re great. This is great.”

“Says Mr. 9/10.”

“I’m no better than you, I just mastered the art of telling people what they want to hear.”

“Ever thought about getting into politics?”

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

It’s Elia, next.

He doesn’t even knock, just walks in to tell him that he’s gonna cook him something because he looks like death warmed over.

It doesn’t matter if he’s not hungry, at the moment. He can save the food for later, and learn an invaluable life skill in the process.

“I can’t believe you’re losing your shit over moving to Milan, in a couple of months. I mean, if you are afraid you’re not gonna survive due to your non-existent culinary abilities, which is understandable, I am here to help.”

He isn’t bothered at all by Niccolò’s apparent lethargy and lack of focus, he shows him the ropes and then lets him take his time. He slaps his nape when he gets something wrong, but then he smiles at him and helps him fix his mistake. Encourages him to start all over from scratch, if needed.

So what if it takes them hours to bake a quiche, to make an omelette or a tiramisu? It’s not like they’ve got better things to do.

Elia talks much less than one would expect, content to spend an entire afternoon just giving out orders and tips to Nico. Fishing for some advice on how to improve his chances to get laid, by the time they are putting the tiramisu in the fridge.

“Take them somewhere romantic. Cook them a fancy meal. Show them that you never take them for granted and think about the two of you together whenever you are apart.” He has never been one for meaningless one-night stands, and it shows.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure that worked like magic with Martino.” Elia sighs, ruffling Nico’s hair. “But I’m interested in making them fall in love with me… I’m trying to get into their pants, here, man.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, then.” He shrugs, grinning when Elia flops dramatically into the sofa and demands a FIFA match. If he assumes him to be worse than Luchino, at this game… Well, he’s in for quite the surprise.

“Well, of course. I don’t know what I expected from someone who can take their shirt off and have people falling over him.”

“Maybe you could come to the gym with me, next time?”

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

Luca storms into his room, with a bag full of junk food and a USB in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re into, so I’m just sharing my favourite ones…” Of course, he would come bringing porn as a gift.

He’s got no filter, so he doesn’t shy away from a topic just because it would be inappropriate to ask Niccolò if he’s got a food kink – no, because there’s a lady on Twitter that could fit an apple in her ass and that got him wondering how does it feel… - and looks a bit disappointed when Nico moves on to another topic without giving him a proper answer.

It’s probably the first time he found someone willing to hear him out, because he can’t shut up for a second. Mooning over Slivia, moaning about his 4 in Physics - “I know you’re gonna tell me that being held back a year isn’t the end of the world, but… My mom is going to kill me, if I fail” – complaining about his little brother and the lack of a girlfriend.

Niccolò finds it invigorating, to finally have a friend who’s like ‘I’m telling you how pathetic my life is and if you wanna share your woes you’re more than welcome to. If you don’t, I can talk for both of us. We’re not here to compare who’s got it worse.’

When Niccolò think he’s done, that he’s run out of things to say… Luca recalls the last time his mother almost caught him and Martino smoking weed and he had to hand him the joint and hide him under his bed. Only for his mother to say ‘Say hi to Martino for me’ before she left.

“Now she thinks I’m dating him, but that I feel too uncomfortable to come out and she’s dropping hints about how she wouldn’t love me or my brother any less if we were into boys… And I can’t bring myself to tell her the truth… But yeah, I’m glad you find this entertaining.” He huffs, but the smile on his lips tell a different story: he’s quite proud of himself, for making him laugh.

He’s the first not to tiptoe around Marti, to say be brave enough to say “You’re miserable. He’s miserable, so why don’t you both apologize to each other and get it over with?”

“It’s not that simple, Luchì.”

“Yes it is. Now give me your phone.”