#i think the cold is supposed to make u less sleepy or whatever but lets be real all it does is make everyone sick

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons���, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

“Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

[shattersstar]

i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands

pairing: Jason Todd x Reader  

excerpt: You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him. 

warnings: canon typical violence, fluff, good communication™️

a/n: teehee a little break from requests because @dukethmas ​ commented “i love you and we’re inventing a new way to hold hands” on this fic and i thought it was very pretty and resonated something deep in me so i thought i’d write something for zohra. It’s mostly a thank u for all ur wonderful comments i could be having the worst day or be tired of writing then u sweep in and just say the sweetest and point out such great things and it makes me love writing so thank u ily

— 

He knew he loved you, it was one of the only things he was sure of. It wasn’t as jarring as he expected it to be, everyone in books and movies were jolted by love—shot by arrows or struck with realization or the words shouted so clearly in their direction—it was meant to catch you off guard. But for him, it crept through his apartment door, nestled on his couch and hung around during movie nights or study sessions, danced through the air when you’d sing purposely loud in the shower and sat on the counter in the kitchen when you bickered over breakfast about coffee or almonds or sleeping in socks of whatever.

So when you kissed him, hard—daring even—the love that had moved into his life was still there and it only smiled. Just like you, smiling wide when he kissed you back, fingers curling into his shirt, wrinkling it even more as he grasped your waist. He never wanted to stop kissing you—that thought was a bit more jarring, but he also hadn’t expected to kiss you, ever. Jason hadn’t really expected to kiss anyone in truth, he wasn’t good at romance, he didn’t even try to be. Sure he could flirt until his tongue fell off, and often shot far more than kind smiles to strangers when out, but romance, love, dating? That was a pipe dream, something he’d ignore in the early mornings when he’d return from patrol battered and bruised and still so fucking broken.

Then you showed up and maybe it was more than a dream. It was a goal. You treated love like that, something to be worked at, achieved, and worked at until your fingers bled and tears stained your cheeks. “Everything is a work in progress.” You’d mutter, half asleep and oddly philosophical at four in the morning. He laughed when you first said in, cheek pressed against his broad chest, the vibrations were warm and made you smile as you blinked up at him, half dazed and eyes glassy. He smiled down at you, nose nudging your forehead, eyes unable to stop themselves from dropping to your sleepy grin before you pressed yourself back against him. You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked underneath you while he sat next to you, Jeopardy muted as you dozed. He watched the show in silence, listening to the shift in your breathing, although it only lasted a few minutes as you head lulled forward unexpectedly, startling you both and waking you up out of your nap.

“Jesus Christ—“ You huffed, as you came to, once again making Jason laugh. You both didn’t comment on the way his hands jumped, ready to catch or hold or whatever, you before falling against his thighs.

“Enjoy your nap?” He teased as you shifted away, palm digging into your eye.

“Shut up. How long did I—“

“Few minutes.”

“I’m probably gonna go home then, I think if I fall asleep here again I won’t like—get up.” You shrugged, swinging your feet to the ground when a hand shot out, resting on your knee.

Jason hadn’t thought before doing, and he was acutely aware of the way his fingers flexed when your eyes dropped to his hand, gripping the fabric of your jeans, fingers long and cold.

He was always cold, even if you never asked you knew why, why he tensed when your shoulders bumped and you’d shudder, or how holding your hand was never an option because of how you’d shiver—arm prickling in goosebumps. You didn’t blame him, why would you, but you knew he didn’t like this odd quirk of his, didn’t like to address, notice it, have it happen. So you ignored it with him.

Until now, until you shuddered for different reasons.

“As comfy as your couch is—“

“No.” He breathed, your eyes moving from his hand to his face, uncertainty hung in your expression.

“No?”

“You can sleep in my bed. With me.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

You smiled, you always smiled at him when no one else did. You let your hand fall over his, slowly pushing him off, knees tucking underneath your body as you leaned forward, a hand falling on his chest, nose nudging his and you were so close Jason almost had to go cross eyed to look at you. You let out a breathy laugh, fingers curling into his shirt before you kissed him. He often revisited this moment, when he’d be out of the city, even when it was just a long night and he missed you. Missed you looking at him with so much adoration, letting your lips meet and not flinching away when his hands found your sides, pressing into the soft curves when you let his tongue explore your mouth, both of you pulling away, chests rising and falling visibly. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

And you did, you slept in his bedroom almost every night, even when he moved, the safe house you were used too suddenly a little less safe. You didn’t really move in though, he knew that was never really an option. You couldn’t not have a place to go when you argued or be responsible for it all if he died on patrol, and you needed your apartment so you could put photos of him. He didn’t like them, he never liked looking at himself—he always looked so off.

He was too thin as a kid, even as Robin he was all skin and bone, arms a little too long and hair an unruly mess of curls. Then he came back, tall and broad, but now his hair was streaked in white and his eyes weren’t brown anymore. They were a vivid green, another effect from the pit and he hated them. You had seen photos of him as a kid, the difference was quite stark, the deep auburn they once were now replaced with a gemstone sort of green, sharp and intense. Sometimes you wondered if his eyes were still brown, if they’d bore into your soul the way they do now. You once suggested contacts, the most you ever dared to touch upon the subject, you earned a half scoff, half laugh and shrugged it off.

Although, it was hard to hate his eyes when he got to look at you like this, sleeping in a chair beside his bed as the morning rolled over. It was still blue—everything; the sky, the clouds, the light streaming in, the rain hitting the pavement, the sadness in the air. He had come home half dead and your tears were blue too. Your arms were folded on his mattress, head turned and resting on them. He shifted, recognizing the space as Leslie’s clinic, your blood stained jacket tossed on the small table, his gear next to it. He let his head fall into the pillows, a long breath pushing past his lips. You weren’t ever supposed to see him like this, weren’t supposed to deal with these parts of his life, the parts he kept hidden and stored away, stacking atop of shoulders.

“Jay?” He hadn’t realized he closed his eyes, until they blinked open to find you staring back at him, expectant and so fucking scared.

Suddenly, it was hard to appreciate his sight, appreciate your face.

And still, because you’re you and you’re so good compared to him, you smile. Bright and warm—too warm for this blue morning.

“Are you okay?” You both asked, a moment of silence falling afterwards as you let out a sharp exhale.

“Of course I’m fine.” You dismissed, and he couldn’t help, but knit his brows, jaw clenching because there is nothing of course about this. The words slipped from his mouth, still too drugged out and exhausted to stop himself.

“This isn’t—you’re not supposed to have to deal with this. Its ‘posed to be hidden.”

“Jason, everything with you is hidden.” You sighed, carefully climbing onto the bed, head resting on his good shoulder. You kept your arms tucked close, willing yourself to not reach out and pull him into your embrace—scared to hurt him and scared to let your words die in the air. “And it’s fine, we aren’t exactly living normal lives, and you’re still allowed normal things. You’re allowed to be closed off or secretive or touchy about subjects, that’s all fine. It’s when they start getting too much is when its not and I think they’ve been too much for a while.” You explained, voice wavering and quieter than you planned. He closed his eyes again, love sitting at the edge of the bed and waiting with you. He wanted to kick it out—you out, wanted to push you away and let himself be cold and avoid his reflection because you’re not smiling over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink anymore, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to hurt you, or himself anymore because maybe deep down he knew he didn’t deserve it. Didn’t deserve to live a life where he pushed your kindness and patience away.

“You don’t have to say anything, now or ever, but you also aren’t alone Jay. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” You confessed, lips meeting his bare shoulder, noting the way he tensed. Now love was in your throat and on your tongue and he didn’t know how to say it back, how to love you like you wanted—needed, but god, he’d try until his lungs heaved and blood poured from his body. So he looked down at you, a crooked grin tugging at his lips as he carefully shifted, turning into you and bringing a hand to your face, ignoring the way his hurt shoulder hissed in pain.

And he knew the words would get choked up in his throat, so he found the love you stored in your mouth, in your hands, in your eyes, in yours voice, in your care, in everything about you and filled it up with his kisses. Lips meeting slow and heavy, breathing you in and tasting you. Jason knew this wouldn’t be easy, his life wasn’t meant to be, but he did know he was meant to be with you.

And it wasn’t jarring.

It settled into his bones and stayed with him—always.

[sweetcatmintea]

A Very Good Day

@inexorableblob​ tagged me in a find the word game and I didn’t have any that they’d listed. The challenge was set; write a sentence with all of the words. I wrote a whole scene :v Enjoy! (Thanks for the prompts ^u^) Feedback appreciated!

Prompt: Frontier, Insubordination, Minimal, and Victory (Frontier was hard)

Words: 3404

Character(s): Echo and Storm

          Was it a dumb idea to slip out of the facility, practically at the crack of dawn with a sleepy Echo in tow, before anyone noticed they were gone? Absolutely. Was it down right idiotic to bring Avian, of all people, in on it to find out who was supposed to be shadowing them that day? Undoubtedly. Was that exactly what Storm found himself doing that dewy morning in the middle of winter? Three for three. Echo followed along, obediently holding his hand as he guided them away from the building. She was rugged up to the ears in her fuzzy brown jacket, their mothers red scarf, and thick gloves protecting her fingers. A stark contrast to Storm’s thin hoodie. Although, he only wanted it to cover his wings. The cold didn’t bother him after all. He had thought it would be difficult for her to wake up so early, but she’d recovered quickly. She was having a wonderful time pretending to be a frost dragon. Funny, that trick never seemed to work for him.

          The real plan wouldn’t start for a while - the rest of the world needed a chance to get up first. But if they’d delayed any longer, there’d be no getting away. In the meantime, they found a small, open-all-hours diner. There weren’t many perks to his current … situation, but there was one definite advantage. Money.

          A blast of warm air and stale coffee greeted them when they entered. A jukebox muttered out a jangly tune as they slid into one of the many empty booths. Red faux leather creaking with their movements. Storm unfolded a menu, holding it open so Echo could see.

          “Pick whatever you want for breakfast. Today’s gonna be a lot of fun.”

Her face lit up. [Anything?]

          “Yeah. Whatever you want. It’s your birthday breakfast.”

          She let out a delighted chirp, making quick work of scanning the menu and carefully contemplating the options. There were so many things to choose from! So many things she’d never even had before. Two steps in front of her head, her stomach growled. Burgers, eggs. Soup, pancakes …

          [Can I have waffles please? With bananas and maple syrup? And cream too! Please?]

          “Sure thing.” Storm signalled the waitress. It’s all about the confidence, he told himself. He’s totally not completely out of place here. He repeated the order, adding bacon and eggs, a coffee, and an apple juice. He could hardly believe his little sister was already eleven. She certainly didn’t act like it, but he still felt old. His heart tweaked a little at the thought. She was growing up. A blink and she’ll be a teenager. Gods knew he wasn’t prepared for that. He could only hope he was making the right decisions for her.

          Echo poked his arm, pulling him out of his musings. She looked like she was waiting for a response. Had she asked something?

          “Sorry, what did you say?”

She huffed, but repeated herself. [Are we going to get in trouble for this?]

          “No, of course not.” The awareness behind her eyes made his fur stand on end. What happened to all that naivety?

          Her brow furrowed, worry playing on her features. [We’re not supposed to go out alone. They’re gon-] Storm captured her hands in his own. They still fit.

          “Trust me. Everything is going to be fine. We’ll have a nice day, celebrate your birthday, head back, and everything will go back to normal. No problems.”

          Doubt flickered but faith overpowered it. Echo nodded, smiling brightly again. That was better. Storm was, without a doubt, going to have his ear chewed off when they went back. White would probably accuse him of “insubordination” or some other garbage. It didn’t matter. There were more important things than pleasing that pig sniffer. If Storm wanted to spend one day with his sister, by the stars, he was going to. And if White had a problem with that, well, he was just going to have to get in line.

          Their food arrived quickly. Unsurprising given the sparse customers. Storm didn’t know if Echo realised it, but she was purring while she dug in, happily munching away. Darn, she was a cute kid. She offered him a forkful of dripping banana waffle in exchange for a bite of his bacon.

          Business began picking up for the diner, signalling the next phase of his plan. Storm gathered up his sister, paid for the meal, and strolled onwards. Echo remembered her manners, signing her thanks from the safety of slightly behind her big brother as they left.

          Breakfast sorted, they boarded a train and watched the city melt away. Passing towns, parks, and lakes, Echo couldn’t begin to guess where they were going. There was a half-grown hope that they weren’t coming back, but Storm was not the kind of person not to pack beforehand. Without a suitcase between them, it didn’t look likely. Regardless, they shouldn’t be too easy to track down today.

~~~

          She never expected to be led to a zoo. She couldn’t quite believe it even as they manoeuvred around other milling patrons to gain admission. A ticket had always been a luxury beyond their means. The biting cold snapping at her nose suddenly didn’t matter. Jittery excitement filled her limbs, warming her and filling her with butterflies all at once. She tried to contain it, but her tail was practically vibrating as she bounced on the balls of her feet. They were going to the zoo!

          One glance at Echo and Storm knew he’d made the right decision. He’d torn himself apart debating the purchase for weeks. He wanted to get her the right gift. Tickets were expensive, even now that they weren’t on dirt poor avenue, poverty lane, and he’d been carefully saving every peckie so they could leave as soon as possible. But it was her birthday and if anyone deserved something nice, it was her. Maybe it would make up, at least a little, for his forced absenteeism. He could hardly keep his own tail from wagging as Echo walked, spell-bound, through the gates. Whatever was waiting for him back there, today was going to be a victory.  

          Not three feet passed the entrance and they saw their first animal. A peacock, all dazzling blues and greens, wandered up to them. Echo, reckless as ever, immediately took off after it, almost disappearing into the crowd. Hand holding was going to be a must here.

          “Echo, don’t run off! I don’t want to lose sight of you.”

          She gave a sheepish apology. [I was asking Nathaniel, that’s Mr. Peacock’s name, where we should go. He said to see the birds first.]

          Storm eyed the bird. “Did he now?”

[Yep.]

          Storm opened the map, pointing out where they were. “The birds are all the way back here. If we go there first, we’ll miss a lot of other exhibits and have to backtrack. Why don’t you pick a direction, left to giraffes or right to sheep, and we’ll go from there? We’ll take the best route to see all of the animals.”

          Echo followed along as Storm traced his finger along the potential paths, proving his claim.

          [Let’s go to the sheep!] Bouncing again. [Will we be able to pat them? I wanna pat a sheep!]

          Storm chuckled at her enthusiasm. “It looks like you can. There’s a little hand sign on the map.” She bit back a squeal of delight. “Let’s go then. Hold my hand while we’re here.”

          They found the path with minimal trouble. Despite all of the movement and the winding walkways, the signs were very clear. Birds twittered overhead, presumably chatting to their exotic friends. They arrived at what Storm could best describe as a giant, open, barn, ‘Petting Zoo within. Please wash hands’ was painted over the large entryway. Sheep and goats took turns bleating a chorus to chicken clucks and pig snorts. The smell was offensive. Hay and timber on their own were pleasant, but they couldn’t compete with the musty farm animals. Echo’s beeline for the first enclosure was circumvented by the insistence she take two seconds to follow the posted rules. Other children ran ahead of her, trailed by their less enthusiastic guardians. Finally, permission was granted. Barely waiting for the zookeeper to open the gate, she was waist deep in animals in no time. Storm followed, ready to fish her out again at a moment’s notice.  She chittered and trilled to them, greetings and pleasantries he supposed, before running her fingers through the closest sheep’s woollen curls. If the way she beamed was any indication, it held up to all her hopes and dreams. The more she spoke to them, the more animals joined her. They mustn’t get many Tainted visitors, or at least, many with animal speak. Storm kind of wished he knew what they were talking about. It was uncomfortable not knowing what they were filling her head with. He scratched at the rough horn of a goat to distract himself from his own over-protectiveness. The hair was coarser than he was expecting.

          When murmured complaints began piling around them, Storm figured it was time to move on. It wasn’t Echo’s fault that the animals were ignoring the other kids but that didn’t matter. Besides, there were plenty of other places to explore.

          “Come on, say bye to these guys. I think alpacas are next.”

          [But I love them.] Echo wrapped herself around a lamb, snuggling into its soft coat with big doe eyes for emphasis. Storm sighed internally. Please don’t let this be the procedure for every animal. He wouldn’t survive. His resolve was already wavering. Instead, he plucked a hay straw out of her hair and tried negotiations.

          “We don’t have a lot of time before we have to go. You can stay here all day if you really want to, but wouldn’t it be better to see the other animals too?”

          It was so very tempting, but she relented, reluctantly untangling herself from the animals and leaving the barn. He was no match for her puppy eyes, but she couldn’t dispute his logic. Her high spirits returned as soon as she saw the alpacas wandering about their field. More so when they crept through the reptile emporium, making an exaggerated effort not to disturb the slumbering snakes. An interactive encounter in which a massive python was draped over Echo’s tiny shoulders left Storm’s stomach in his shoes and a spring in Echo’s step. Did children have no sense of self-preservation or was it just her? Tracing the scales on the snake’s behemoth body was enough to send queasy shudders down Storm’s spine.

          Monkeys next. Storm enjoyed their silly antics much more than his sister. It was fun to watch them swing around and groom each other. Echo claimed they were making a lot of terribly rude comments about visitors.

          The red pandas’ acrobatic show enchanted Echo and the kangaroos’ raw power awed her. Although she wanted to watch the crocodiles, she couldn’t bring herself to go anywhere near their big pools. Of course she knew there was no way to fall in, what with the dual fenced perimeter, but her feet would not allow it. It was beyond frustrating. So close to a living fossil, someone almost certainly acquainted with the gods, and the mere thought of approaching their watery habitat sent tremors through her hands. She wouldn’t have been able to speak to a crocodile regardless of whether she visited the exhibit, the language of reptiles beyond the frontiers of her abilities, but to stand in their presence would have been enough. After several minutes of trying to convince her body to follow her wishes, Storm saved her from her self-appointed torture. Scooping her up, he tossed her into his shoulders.

          “Come on big kid, let’s see the birds. Did you know it’s actually the dad cassowaries that raise the babies?”

          Two taps for no.

          “It’s true. They’re also one of the heaviest and tallest birds in the world. Let’s go see if we can find one.”

          One excited tap and a wiggle for yes.

          Even in the safety of her pen, the shaggy black and blue dinosaur bird was intimidating. She stared down visitors with an almost menacing cocked head. Judgement made, she disappeared back into the trees. It took longer than Storm would like to admit for the pair to remember to move. Thank the stars cassowaries are not native to Yonder.

          They enjoyed walking through the massive aviary together. Hundreds of different colours whirled around them as birds called and sang. A handful of crows jeered at parrots who performed for fruit. Echo tried to provide a running commentary for Storm’s benefit, but there was so much going on, she couldn’t keep any of the conversations straight. They came upon a big cockatoo that she really liked until he squawked in her face, making her puff in response. Storm had been mindful to accidentally miss the sign offering canopy walks. Echo would have loved to romp around in the tree tops but even he had his limits.

          At some point, they had found themselves at the giraffes even though they were supposed to be at the meerkats. Apparently the signs were not as easy to follow as Storm had presumed. Echo took to the tall creatures much more than Storm had anticipated. Sure they were cool with their weird alien horns, ambling through their fields like new age brachiosauruses, but that was more his interest than hers. When she started bouncing on her toes again, leaning over the railing to get as close as she possibly could, he had to ask.

          “They’re pretty cool, huh?”

          She turned to him, a full-fanged grin plastered over her face. [Yeah! Plus, they talk like me!]

          He focused his ears to the field. Giraffes were supposed to be silent. Did they communicate with inaudible noises like cats sometimes do? It wouldn’t be that strange, most researchers were just normal people. That kind of thing might have gone undetected. Though he listened carefully, he couldn’t hear anything. He glanced back at Echo.

          [Not like that! They talk with their bodies. They sign.] She turned her attention back to the exhibit, eagerly watching. He’d never thought she’d be so happy over something as little as that. It made sense, but he was so used to her little noises, the way she would chatter to practically any animal she came across, he’d never considered she might feel … isolated? Out of place? He didn’t really know. Was this what parenting felt like? Like you spend every day learning how much you don’t know about your kid? He felt a little guilty. He was doing his best, but she was just running ahead of him, changing before he could catch up. How was she eleven already? He used to think being a parent was synonymous with growing up. It’s not. His breath caught in his throat, a single quiet hitch. He rubbed the mist out of his eyes before Echo turned back to him, head tilted in concern. A charming smile – he was good at those – and an easy laugh to prove he was fine.

          “Are you ready to keep going? We’ll get some ice cream before we check out the next exhibit.”

          Echo slid her hand in his, giving a reassuring squeeze. “Mn.” She was still by his side.

~~~

          Finally, they arrived at the exhibit Storm was most excited about. He’d purposefully saved the best for last. A rush of hot air hit as they shuffled into a building, decorated with leafy plants growing up a forest mural splashed over the unoccupied walls. Silence settled around them. There was no one else there. Thick glass panels covered an entire wall, dividing the room from the habitat. With a sharp intake of realisation, Echo froze. Storm nudged her closer, one shaky step at a time. Face to face with the glass, she stared, wide-eyed at the great predator. He surveyed his land atop his artificial tor, reclining into the stony throne. Light and shadow waltzed over the orange flames of his pelt, leaving stripes of ink where they tread. Massive paws hid keratin daggers. Echo let out the tiniest of breathes. His round ears swivelled, taking note. He stared down at her. Gold so intense her gaze dropped. She was face to face with a tiger.

          He rose, stretching his body, a lazy display of godly creation. He did not leap, but dripped to the floor in one fluid movement. Muscles rippled under fur. He was no house cat. A low growl rumbled as he sauntered to them. Not a threat, a reminder. They were so very soft to him. Echo dipped her head, tail lowered politely. An automated response. She wasn’t thinking straight, too busy trying not to throw up her heart. Storm followed suit. Eagle eyes never left his little sister’s form. As closely as he watched the interaction, it didn’t change the facts. He was an outsider here.

          The tiger padded to the glass. He held his head high. Even sitting, he stared down at her. The growls continued. A quiet edge to the air between them. It felt as if she was nothing. Not that she was suddenly any Less but that he was looking past her. Past her body. Past her mind. Scrutinising her very being.

          “Chfufufa.”

Her ears flicked up. His razor gaze had softened to a kind king’s.

          “Chfufufa.” He repeated himself, waiting for her to understand. Starstruck, she almost didn’t respond, but she recaptured her flickering mind, returning the greeting with a chuff of her own. She hoped he wouldn’t notice how fluffed her fur was.

          {Are you going to introduce yourself?}

          {Oh! Sorry! Yes! I – I’m Echo. Echo Bell. It’s an honour to meet you.} She bowed again. His eyes crinkled warmly at her earnestness.

          {Little Echo, you may lift your head. I am Nikita.} He looked towards Storm momentarily. {Your guardian does not share our tongue, does he?}

          {No. I don’t think many people can. I – I don’t know many people who can speak to tigers.}

          He nodded solemnly, a noise of affirmation. {Few can. Fewer still I wish to spend time on. Perhaps once, but I am old now. My desires have changed. You are young, a child.} He paused. {It is lonely, isn’t it?}

          Echo’s fingers worried the soft fibres of her scarf. She tried not to think about that too much. To speak to more animals than most knew languages, and yet still only able to communicate with precious few humans. But she was a cat, what more could she expect? Realising she’d left him without an answer, she hurried to compile her messy thoughts, but his expression stopped her. He didn’t need her explanation. He already understood.

          {There is a piece of us in you. I can feel him. He’s young, rash, despite the ancient stardust lining his hide. You are afraid. That is understandable. You do not have to be. She guides you with the ferocity of a mother, but you are not overpowered.} A full smile. {You are very interesting little Echo. I can see why the remnants watch you so intently.}

~~~

          They continued talking until crowds filtered into the building. Nikita had little patience for their noise, slipping into his pool in retreat. By the time Storm had gotten them both out, a new plush firmly in Echo’s grip, it was time to leave. They farewelled the zoo, both knowing perfectly well they would not be able to return for some time. Neither was sad. It had been a very good day.

~~~

          They sat, waiting for the train to complete its journey. Echo had fallen asleep several stations ago. She’d fought the doze off with all her might, but the rhythmic click clack of the tracks had her out in minutes. She nestled into her brother’s side, content. Storm held her steady, making sure she didn’t fall off the chair while he braced himself for the garbage parade that was undoubtedly waiting for him. Of course he was going to have to face the repercussions of his choices. But when he thought about Echo’s expression as she recounted the day to him, like her eyes had swallowed galaxies, he knew he’d made the right decision. “Happy birthday Echo.”

----------

Taglist

@inkovert and @snobbysnekboi

[woo-svt]

Figure It Out - [FOUR]

You really don’t understand how you’re supposed to find your soulmate.

  ⤳ Jaebum x Reader (Soulmate!AU)   ⤳ Fluff, Angst

☞   [ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FIVE]

The next week following your intimate encounter with Jaebum left you feeling anxious, to say the least.

After your abrupt exit that fateful morning, you made your way home feeling extremely thankful Jaebum had no way to contact you other than through BamBam. From the moment you saw BamBam’s name light up on the phone, your own emotions were too much to deal with, but above all, you were confused. 

The very first time you met Jaebum something about him had been off-putting, you, of course, pinning it down to his cold gaze from across the room. Your next encounter with him, at the club along with his friends, was less than ideal for two people who had already found their soulmates. Your excuse? The alcohol, of course. So that leaves your third and last encounter, at Jaebum’s apartment. Your actions there were completely unacceptable and you were left thinking for an excuse. Was it the wine? You would like to think so, but you knew well enough you did not drink enough to fog your brain of thinking. 

Not finding a logical reason for what has happened between you both, you simply tried to move on. Trying to push the thoughts as far away from the boy as you possibly could. Unfortunately, you found it harder than expected. 

With BamBam still doing the bare minimum to talk to you, you found your distractions in your friends. Spending almost all your free time with them, it was a great way to forget your whole predicament- mostly. 

You currently sit with Mark, cozying up on his couch watching a boring sitcom as you waited for Ji Hyun to return from work so you all could go out to meet up with some other friends. 

The show displaying across the tv comes to an intimate scene between the two characters and at the thought, you can’t help but have your mind wander in the sleepy haze you're in. You groggily voice your questions to Mark who sits beside you, lazily scrolling through his phone, “What’s your first time like? With your soulmate, I mean.” At your tired, quiet voice Mark looks at you to make sure you were actually speaking to him, “Like, sleeping with them?” He asks, taking in the scene on the tv to guess what you were referring to. You nod, he looks at you for a second, “Have you...not slept with BamBam yet?” He asks cautiously. “I mean it’s okay if you haven’t,” he rushes, scared he’s made you feel bad, “It’s just most people rush to be with their soulmates by the time they find them.”

You don’t even feel embarrassed or ashamed of his question, you shake your head, “We’ve only hung out twice if you could even call it that. I don’t even talk to him.” Your friend lets out a grunt averting his eyes from you, “So, what is it like?” you ask again. 

Mark laughs, taking a breath before beginning his explanation. “Well, with other people, you know, it’s good...” he chuckles almost bashfully and rubs the back of his neck. “But when it’s with your soulmate,” he pauses licking his lips “It’s amazing.”

He snorts at his own less than satisfactory explanation, “I mean, everything feels good. It feels right. And not just the physical aspect of sex, but it’s everything. Every emotion inside of you is absolutely blissful. The first moment you become one with the soul that was matched for your own, it’s beautiful and more than you could ever imagine. The bond you and your soulmate share is indescribable, so being so intimate with them, especially for the first time is...just mind blowing really.” You both slightly laugh at his lame ending, though during his entire explanation you feel your heart racing more than it should, you ignore the reason why. 

“Also, both people tend not to last long at all during the first time, it’s so overwhelming. But don’t worry, it definitely gets better afterward.” He laughs again.

You feel sick to your stomach.

Only a couple days after your conversation with Mark, you go to your apartment after work only to find a big surprise. 

“Hey,” he says softly, almost awkwardly. 

“BamBam,” you say trying to refrain yourself from sounding too caught off guard, “Hey, come in.” you invite him, moving to unlock your door letting you both inside. 

The two of you remove your shoes and move to the living room in silence, “Do you want anything to drink?” you ask politely. He takes a seat on your couch, politely declining, “I actually can’t stay long, I’m sorry. I just wanted to see you since I got back from Thailand and before I leave again.” You nod at him, moving to sit next to him but making sure to keep a safe distance. “I, um,” BamBam chuckles pulling out a small wrapped package from his jacket pocket, “I told my mom about meeting you when I was home. She insisted on giving this to you.” he hands it over and you cautiously take it. 

Carefully removing the packaging, you’re met with a small, delicate snow globe. It reads “Thailand” and has a cute elephant inside. The small gift leaves a smile on your face as you carefully shake the “snow” around. “I’m sorry it’s not much, but it’s a small something from my home. My mom wanted you to have a piece of Thailand until you can actually come yourself and meet everyone.” He smiles softly, taking in how you observe the globe. 

Your stomach tightens at his comment but you brush it off, “No, it’s perfect. I love it, thank you so much. And your mom” You laugh slightly, BamBam’s own joining yours. 

“It’s funny,” he speaks up from beside you again, “My mom always claimed that she thought for sure my soulmate would be from Thailand even when I moved here.” You look at him, “Oh, I’m sorry...” you say not sure what exactly to comment. “No, no,” he laughs “It’s not bad, of course. Your soulmate is your soulmate, you can’t change who you're meant to be with.” 

You nod in silence, drawing your attention to the small gift again. After a moment of silence, BamBam talks, “You should be lucky you got that, my mom made me bring Jaebum a bag of Rod Duan.” he laughs, “Those are cooked bamboo worms.” You can’t help but join his laughter, feeling relieved yourself with your gift. 

“Speaking of Jaebum,” he says and suddenly your stomach drops as your brain fills with the worst thoughts, could Jaebum have told him about the two of you?

“He told me to give you his number, apparently your friends with an old friend of his and he wants you to reconnect them.” You lick your lips relieved at his comment but you knew better than to take his number, it would be too risky. 

“Oh yeah, Jinyoung. I”ll just give you Jinyoung’s number to give to him, he would love to hear from him.” You smile at BamBam.

Just a few nights after your short encounter with BamBam, you found yourself at Do Min’s apartment making dinner and enjoying a night in while Jinyoung was out with his own friends. 

Standing off to the side while your friend cut the vegetables and sang loudly (and rather bad) to the songs playing from the speaker, you were paying more attention to your phone where BamBam was messaging you. He was leaving for Thailand again in a few days and wanted to try to meet up beforehand. You two had originally intended to grab drinks and see a movie after dinner tonight, but not to your surprise at all, he is currently texting you having to cancel. 

Though by now you knew your soulmate to be a busy man who has a hard time making plans due to his work. The reason for his cancellation this time leaves you speechless. 

From Bam:

Srry, have to raincheck  Something came up Jaebum called it off w Seo Jin Trying to talk w him Talk to u later

Reading over the message a few times, the nauseous feeling in your stomach only seems to grow. The voice in the back of your mind is telling you exactly why Jaebum had done this. But like you’ve been doing since the night you spent with him, you ignore it pushing it further away from your thoughts. 

You quickly reply to him, telling him you hope everything is okay and you hope you’re still able to see him before his trip. 

Tonight, sitting with Do Min, the voice in your head was nagging you more than usual. Your head began to hurt with the amount of thinking you were doing about your situation. At this point, you were paying no attention to your friend and her rant about how she wanted a cat but Jinyoung insisted the couple adopt a dog instead. 

“Do Min,” you say interrupting her. She hums in response, looking at your over her cup of tea, “Oh no,” she starts “Please don’t say you want us to get a dog too! You’re supposed to be on my side!” 

Despite your messy thoughts, you chuckle at your friend, “No, no. I just wanted to ask you about something.” The small girl chuckles too, nodding at you to continue. “Have you ever heard of soulmates breaking up?”  

Her eyebrows immediately furrow and you watch as her lips open and close frantically, having a hard time processing what you were saying. “Well, no. Soulmates don’t break up. They’re soulmates...they are literally made to be together forever.” She speaks slowly and suddenly you feel like your seven years old again when your parents tried to answer all your questions about soulmates over dinner. 

At your lack of response, her eyes widen, “BamBam...” she starts and you urgently sit up straighter shaking your head, “No! No, it’s not him.” Your friend's shoulders become more relaxed and she leans back in the couch, seemingly relieved whatever it was your asking didn’t have to do with you. 

Well, she had another thing coming. 

“His roommate, and best friend. He and his soulmate were called into the room with us but they were kind of an item throughout college too. BamBam texted today and canceled our plans because his roommate called it off with her.” 

“There had to have been a mistake then. Soulmates are together forever.” You withhold eye contact with her, “Well, maybe he just is having doubts right now.” But your friend laughs at you, “There are no doubts in soulmates. None at all, your meant to be with someone and you always know it. No doubt about it.” 

It seems suddenly that all of the emotions you’ve been withholding make their way out of you, “Do Min,” you choke out, a soft sob following quickly after. With that, your friend quickly puts her drink down moving closer, ready to comfort you. “I’ve been having nothing but doubts since the left the soulmate room.” You finally say, your chest feeling lighter at finally admitting your feelings to someone. You hadn’t even taken the time to let yourself realize it on your own. 

You confide in your best friend, letting her hug you as she stays silent, letting you cry all the tears and emotions you’ve built up the past couple of weeks. Once the tears ceased, you take your time to voice your thoughts to your friend. You tell her about Seo Jin taking charge and placing you and BamBam together, you explain what happened when you danced with Jaebum on the night when you when out with BamBam. And finally, you tell her about the night you spent in bed with him, feeling all too intimate with someone who wasn’t your soulmate. 

Do Min doesn’t say anything the whole time, letting you tell your story as she rubs your arms in a comforting manner, a quiet hum leaving her lips once in awhile telling you she was still paying attention. 

Sometime after you finish, she speaks in a whisper, “You know now, don’t you?” 

Your lip begins to wobble again at her words, you definitely were not ready to admit what she was hinting at, but at the same time, you knew she was right. When you fail to acknowledge her, she laughs softly, “I remember in high school when you were so stressed about finding your soulmate. You were terrified that you didn’t know what it would be like.” You wanted to speak up and say it wasn’t just in high school you had that dear, but that fear was still in your mind to the very day. 

She speaks up again, “When I see Jinyoung, it’s as if no matter what mood I was in before, I’m suddenly as happy as could be. When I look at him, all I want to do is smile. There's a strong feeling, a pull in my chest that when being with him I feel such an overwhelming sense of happiness and love that I don’t know what to do with myself.” You can hear the smile in her voice, “And that feeling is always there, it always will be. Even when we have an argument, the feeling allows us to talk and work things out. We give each other strength, undying love, and happiness. And this sensation only grows the longer you’re together. When we met in high school, the feeling was faint, but there. And as time goes on our bond only grows stronger, the bond that connects us together. Everything about being with your soulmate is pure bliss, physically and emotionally. If you let yourself feel it, that is.” 

Now it’s time for you to stay silent, carefully taking in every word and description she has to offer. You find yourself wishing she would have given this explanation to you years ago. 

“Now, let me ask you something,” she says, “Who were you thinking about when I described the feeling?”

On Monday, you sluggishly make your way to your apartment after a long day of work. Your eyes tired and puffy from all the crying you did over the weekend, a faint headache still bothering you from the amount of thinking you had been doing. 

Making your way out of the elevator you heart rate begins to pick up, glancing up towards your door you notice him leaning against it. 

Jaebum immediately stands up straight, hands in the pockets of his black jeans as he watches you approach him. You whine quietly, just seeing him there was overwhelming enough, you didn’t even want to think about why he may be here. 

You move to unlock your door, a raspy, “How did you get my address?” leaving your lips. Jaebum clears his throat, “Jinyoung gave it to me.” You wonder if Do Min had anything to do with the matter. You don’t say anything, but leave the door open behind you giving him the chance to follow you inside. 

“I think you know why I’m here,” he says as you place your stuff on the table beside you. Your head pounds at his question and you sigh, “No Jaebum, why are you here.” you finally turn towards him, taking in the slight panic in his eyes.  He chuckles, “What do you mean you don’t know? How could you not know?” you heart is now pounding as much as your head, “Jaebum, stop. Just, what-what are you doing here? What are you doing?” You ask and your voice is weak, feeling so overwhelmed that you grab onto the chair to keep yourself steady. 

His face looks almost angry now, but the hurt is evident in his eyes, “Don’t pretend you have no idea what I’m talking about. You know just as much as I do that we’re soulmates.” His voice cracks at the end of the sentence, and you feel the sudden urge to throw up at his sudden confrontation. When you don’t answer he speaks louder, “How could you not know?!” 

You bring your hands up to cover your temples, “I don’t know! How was I supposed to know!” He takes a step closer, “How could you not have! I knew from the second you walked through that door that you were mine! The second I laid eyes on you I had no doubt I was yours! And what do you do?! Go with BamBam?!” You start to cry, “Stop! Stop yelling at me! This is not my fault you already had someone! And she told me he was mine! How would I ever even consider it was you?!” 

You know notice the tears welling up in his own eyes and the crack in his voice when he raises his voice again, “You didn’t feel it?” 

You look at him, a soft sob escaping your lips, “All my life I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out what I was supposed to feel when I met my soulmate. No one could ever explain to me what to expect and I was always so frightened, so worried that I would never know what the feeling was. And I didn’t. I had no idea what to expect when I entered that room and I wasn’t even given the chance to experience or figure it out for myself before I was being pushed onto someone and having them slap a soulmate label on us!” 

Jaebum stays quiet, studying you, tears still in his eyes. His eyes show so much hurt that you swear you could feel their pain. He finally breaks eye contact, looking towards the door.

“I’ll just leave you to think about what that could mean then.” he turns, walking to the exit. 

“Jaebum!” you whine going to follow him. Your feelings were all over the place but if you knew one thing, it was that you didn’t want him to leave like this. But you don’t have much say in the matter as he closes the door loudly behind him. 

You’re left alone with your messy thoughts, an urge to throw up and a strong pull in your chest. You wonder if this is what it’s like to be heartbroken. 

-   -   -   

©

☞ [feedback is appreciated]

[greenlester]

yeah the ACT was today i just got out of it!! my main complaint is that the room was freezing ❄️ ~🐨

relatable. what is it with schools and refusing to turn on the heat

[boysinthecity]

Reverse Heroine | IV

parts: ➳ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 / ?

a supposedly only 2 part fic ft. fuckboy!jungkook x reader

summary: because platonic love is underrated

genre: college au, fluff/angst 

word count: 5.4k

a/n: its been too long. but i’m finally back to writing! that’s if anyone is still up for reading this 👼🏻 anyways, please let me know how u feel about this chapter! also i didn’t proofread.

             “Hey-”

             “Hey!”

             You stop in your footsteps when you feel a hand land on your shoulder, meeting eyes with Jungkook – who’s catching his breath when he calls your name. With a small smile on your lips, you pull your earphones out of your ear.

             “Sorry, I – uh -” You gestured at the white earbuds, “couldn’t hear you.”

             Jungkook flashes his signature bunny grin, giving you a brief shake of his head. “It’s fine.” He looks down on the floor for a short second, before meeting your gaze again. “So, um - you suddenly left yesterday-”

             Memories from yesterday flood in. After the realization of your growing affections for the boy, it was painful to witness Jungkook look at Daeun like she was his world, his everything. You were getting ahead of yourself again, false expectations of something more. Jungkook has always seen you with a friend, he never did anything that made you believe otherwise. No, you couldn’t ruin your friendship with him like that, you couldn’t betray Jungkook.

             “Oh – I got a text from Tae, saying he needed my help for something.” Words flow out smoothly as you lie without hesitation.

             Jungkook’s eyes flashes with worry, “Did something bad happened?” He takes a step closer and a rush of guilt hits you for lying to his face. “Are you alright? Yo- you didn’t get hurt or anything, right?”

             You quickly shake your head, dismissing any uneasiness that was lingering in his mind. “It was nothing important! He was just asking me about the-” You pause, quickly saying out the first thing that pops in your head “-physics assignment.” You start nod repeatedly, hoping that you can convince him more than you convinced yourself.

             “I see…” Jungkook mumbles, looking away to quickly scan the walking crowds on campus grounds. You stall for a moment, scolding yourself that you have to stop acting so weird before Jungkook realises that something has changed.

             “Are you okay, though?” You ask, sincere eyes peering at him. “Your talk with Daeun, I’m guessing that it all went well…?” It was hard to miss how Jungkook’s lips pull into a grin again, beaming with happiness. There was no doubt that the boy had been waiting to discuss about this topic with you. That’s what you are good for – when he had girl problems.

             “I thought about it, Y/N. I really did.” He tells you, “From now on, I’m going to really focus on being her friend again – someone that she needs. And whatever feelings I have right now, I’m sure they’ll go away eventually, you know?”

             “Right…they’ll go away…” Your voice echoes after Jungkook, telling yourself the same exact words. You need to pull yourself out of this tangled web of suppressed feelings before you sink in even deeper. “I’m happy for you, Kook. I really am.” A warm smile is playing on his lips when he hears your response, making you naturally returning the gesture. “By the way, we’re still on for tonight?”

             His eyes widen, before muttering a curse under his breath.

             “….and you forgot.”

             A surge of panic flashes across Jungkook’s features, creating a little knit between his eyebrows. “It-it’s just that I promised Daeun yesterday that we’d do a movie night just like the old ti- I’m so, so, sorry, Y/N. You know how long it has been since we’ve – ”

             It can’t be helped that you could only look away in slight disappointment, trying to focus on the scrambling students in the background rather than the boy in front of you. Jungkook seems to have sense your sudden change of mood, stopping himself immediately.

             “Actually, I’ll just ask Daeun if we can do a raincheck. I promised you first, it’d be unfai-”

             “It’s fine, Kook.” You interrupt him, suddenly feeling bad at how difficult you were making things for him. You told yourself to never be one of those girls, the ones that played mind games and guilt trip people around them. You’ve already decided that you are going to stick by his side as a good friend, and you should follow through. “You go have fun with Daeun, okay? We can just go to the new arcade another today.” A convincing smile plays at your lips, and Jungkook fails to hide the sudden look of relief on his face.

             “You are seriously the best, Y/N.” He wraps his arms around you, so tightly that your laughs end up sounding like you were choking. “I’ll make it up to you next time – I swear. But for tonight, I think you should still go to the arcade, you deserve a break after your exams.” Jungkook suggests, a grin on his lips. “Besides, Taehyung would cry in happiness if he could go with you.”

             “Tae? I thought you said that he was busy when I asked you to invite hi-”

             Jungkook stifles a laugh, eyes shifting away from your gaze.

             “-Jeon Jungkook! You didn’t invite him, again?” Your eyes narrow into slits, playfully slapping the boy on his arm. Jungkook backs away, eyes smiling so hard that you couldn’t even see them anymore. Before he runs away from your flaming wrath of fury, he shouts.

             “I’ll tell Tae to meet you at 8:00!”

             And it turns out that not only was your date late – but it was also different Kim that greeted you.

             Kim Namjoon.

             He was still catching his breath when you felt a tap on your shoulders, finding Namjoon standing before you. Even in a state of frenzy, he still manages to look strikingly handsome – expected no less from the boy who stole your heart in your high school days. He has a small dimpled smile on his lips when he shyly waves to you. You, on the other hand, did not look so pleased at the new visitor.

             “Why are you here?” Your voice was cold, matching the stoic and emotionless expression on your face. “I was told that Taehyung would meet me instead.”

             Namjoon frowns slightly, unable to hide his disappoint at the obvious distance that you’ve casted between the two of you. “Always the coldness, huh?” When he sees your lack of response at his comment, he quickly tries to gather your attention before you can turn your back on him. “I was beside Tae when Jungkook called him, and…kind of overheard about your plans on coming here tonight.” He pauses to take a look at whether you were actually listening or not. “Taehyung was supposed to be the one meeting you here tonight – but then he suddenly remembered about his Zoology midterm tomorrow and was kind of panicking because that kid has seriously not touched a single page of his material since school started but then he was afraid that if he told Jungkook he won’t get another chance to chill with you because Kook can be a little possessive piece of shit at tim-”

             Namjoon halts when he notices your impatience ticking away – he appears to have gone off track, again. He quickly clears his throat, feeling a little jittery under your cold gaze and it’s just always been so entertaining to him how you – someone so small and endearing like you could always make him feel like a young boy with his first love. ‘Pull yourself together, Namjoon. It’s not the time to be reminiscing about how stupid you’ve been to have let this girl-“.  

             “I’m not here to listen about how much of a little shit Jungkook is, because I’m well aware of that already.” You calmly speak, interrupting his train of thought. There were no traces of humor on your face but Namjoon knew – that this was your way of telling a joke. It’s a little peculiar on how you expressed yourself at times but he could almost feel his heart tighten at how adorable you looked in this moment.

             Namjoon chuckles softly before speaking again. “Pretty much, I watched Taehyung have a mini-mental breakdown and offered to go in his place, sincerely.”

             You perch your lips. “Doesn’t seem that sincere considering that you were late for 20 minutes-”

             A brown cup holder with 2 bubble teas appear within your vision, with a slightly flustered Namjoon in the back. “I wanted to surprise you with your favourite drink.” He pauses when he sees the glint in ur eyes and a hint of your smile. “And I already exchanged the tokens for the games.” You look down at his other hand and find a plastic bag with numerous silver coins.

             Namjoon stands still in front of you, eyes glued on the floor - afraid to look up and face the possibility that you were already gone. Instead, a hand snatches one of the drinks and walks past him. Namjoon immediately turns around and finds you raising your eyebrows at him.

             “Well, are you gonna come with? Or…” You take a sip of your drink, attempting to hide your smile.

             “Y-Yeah!” Namjoon almost jumps up with enthusiasm as he follows you close behind.

             By the end of the night, you’ve already lost count of how many times Joon has made you  laugh so hard that you felt tears at the corners of your eyes. To his dismay, they were not intentional - most of them were attempts to be cool but all ended up being the opposite. And with only a few coins left, the both of you decided to try your luck at the claw machine.

             Namjoon almost broke the glass when he walked straight into a machine that had these baby blue koala pillows. You walked towards the other side of the machine and almost squealed at how cute the koalas looked with a soft sleepy smile. You chuckle when you see that Namjoon is still staring at the dolls - cheeks squished against the glass and eyes gleaming.

             Perhaps its moments like these when you remember why Namjoon is your first love.

             “Okay move over, Joon. Let the master show you how its done.” You stretch dramatically and smugly jut your chin forward.

             “W-wait! That’s not how it’s supposed to be! I’m supposed to be the one who-” Namjoon doesn’t even have a moment to react before you give him a light push to slide over. A finger lands on his lips, and he stares at you in mild surprise.

             “Hush, young one.” You whisper under your breath, “I need to be in my zone.” In response, you receive soft laughter emitting from his lips that was soon silenced by your glare.

             “It’s all yours.” He bows at you teasingly. Neither of you spoke another word when you moving the handle, with absolute silence in the background. Namjoon watches in tension as the claw starts moving towards the doll, coming down to pick at the ear-

             And it misses.

             “Argh!” You let out a frustrated grunt. “Stupid Kim Namjoon! You interrupted me with your loud stupid voice!” At this point, Namjoon could only look at you with a loving smile on his lips – he has realised that he was absolutely weak for you. It was unbearable for him to see how damn cute you are. The revelation bring him back to a conversation with Yoongi hyung back in his third year.

             “Honestly, she is just batshit crazy!” Namjoon groans as he slams the door shut, causing a surprised Yoongi to flinch.

             “I’m guessing you’re talking about Jessica?” He resumes munching on the pack of chips in his hands, eyes unfazed as he continues his Nolan marathon.

             “It’s only been like – what, 2 weeks? –  since we’ve started dating and she’s already throwing her temper at me!”

             ‘Damn, Anne Hathaway really does make a good catwoman’, Yoongi thinks.

             Namjoon doesn’t notice Yoongi’s lack of attention so he continues anyways. “I was just asking my classmate, who just so happens to be a female, about our midterm and she gets so fucking jealous about it!” His voice thunders across the entire house, finally bringing Yoongi to cast a glance towards his direction. At this very moment, the new Alpha Sig recruits downstairs shudder in fear at the shouting above. A silent remainder to never piss of the VP Internal – the man is not the composed and friendly person he appears to be.

             “Okay…but –”

             “And the worst part? She does all this in the library where everyone is trying to study!” Namjoon flops onto Yoongi’s bed and groans, oblivious to his friend’s eyebrow twitch.

             Yoongi finally puts his chips down and turns his chair to face the younger man, fingers adjusting his glasses upwards. “First of all,” He blinks, “Get. Off. My. Bed.”

             It doesn’t take another word for Namjoon to quickly slide onto the floor – eyes looking up towards Yoongi, who then grunts in approval and goes back to his laptop screen.

             “Second, you don’t seem to even like the chick that much. Why are you even dating her?”

             “Uhh –” It takes a few moments before Namjoon speaks again. “she’s hot?” His tone sounds unconvincing to Yoongi. “Plus, Prez been telling me that Alpha Sig always goes for the hottest girls. And the Kappas, are the equivalent to hot girls.”

             Yoongi laughs, not the sincere ones – but more of the single “Hah!” that he always does. “So you’re dating a bimbo – who can’t tell the difference between HIV and HPV, to show our equally intelligent President, that you got ‘game’.” Yoongi’s words drip in sarcasm. “Sounds about right, kid.”

             Before Namjoon can further question his friend’s presence in the fraternity, Yoongi speaks up again to defend himself. “Like I said too many times, I’m only apart of this frat for the credentials and the singles room. Also, my fossil of a brother was like the President a few decades ago so I didn’t even need to go through hazing.”

             “Didn’t Joonki sunbae-nim like graduate only two years ag–”

             “As I was saying,” Yoongi interrupts him, “Look Namjoon, if the girl is someone that you truly like, then everything she does will only make you fall for her harder. Even when she’s roasting your head in flames– it’d be cute.”

             Namjoon snaps out of his daze when he realises that there were no more tokens left. He sees you holding the last coin, eyes tightly shut and suddenly widening them. As you insert it into the machine, you’re mumbling some sort of good luck chant and Namjoon could finally understand what Yoongi meant.

             “Yeah, definitely cute.” He whispers.

             You snap your head to the left. “What did you say?” Your attention on Namjoon was short-lived because before he could respond with some lame, made-up answer, the happy tune starts playing from the machine again.

             “One last time, I got this!”

             A little more right…more…mor–perfect!

             You clench your eyes shut to press the button, slightly hesistant to make the final move. And right before you press your finger down, Namjoon stealthily tilts the handle towards the left. Oblivious to the change, you bob your head excitedly along with the music as the the two of you watch the claw coming down and catches the koala right in the centre.

             You let out a squeal that catches the attention of your neighbours, who consisted of other college students releasing their stress on a Wednesday night. Oh yeah, Namjoon was definitely getting some familiar stares. “Joon! I did it!” You jump up and down whilst slapping your hand against his arm. He happily grins at you in return.

             “Yeah, you did.”

             The impatience and excitement running in your blood makes you pick up the pillow before it is even released from the claw. And in your arms, the pillow feels exactly as soft as it looks. As you gently brush your hands against the plushie, you notice that the koala’s smile oddly reminds you of Namjoon himself. It takes a short moment before you remember to hand the prize towards Namjoon. “Here! For you.”

             If you were trying to hide the fact that you really like the doll as well– you failed miserably. The president was not short of being called ignorant by other girls, but let’s just say that the ignorance was selective. Instead, he just playfully pinches your cheeks and softly shakes his head.

             “No, you keep it.” Namjoon pushes the prize back towards you. “You’re the one who got it.”

             “Yeah, but I said that I’d win it for yo-”

             “I have a lot of stuffed animals in my bedroom already. Don’t worry about it.”

             You look up towards Namjoon, “You sure?” He nods in reassurance, lips pulling into a wide grin when you jump up in happiness. If you weren’t so occupied with your newly prized possession, you would be able to see that Namjoon looks at you as if you were the galaxy itself.

             “Come on, let’s go.” He nudges you on the shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”

             The walk back was calm with a comfortable silence between the two of you. The stars above twinkled in the clear sky. For the first time since forever, you feel as if you can face Namjoon with a smile again.

             Everybody deserves a second chance– you think to yourself.

             Sure, Namjoon is your first love, but he was also your friend and confidant before you let your feelings control the best of you. And whatever that happened in your first year, he already apologised. There shouldn’t be a reason for you to hold onto the past if it only makes you miserable.

             Your thoughts are interrupted when Namjoon clears his throat.

             “It’s your stop.” He tilts his head in the direction of your apartment building– with a smile that has never left his lips for the entire night.

             “Oh, right. Sorry, I was totally dazing off-”

             “Actually, I have something to tell you.” He speaks up again, unsure whether he should continue. But when you are looking at him without a hint of hostility in your eyes, he takes it as sign to keep going.

             “I just– I want to properly apologise for what I did back then.” Namjoon’s eyes stay on your own, unwavering and focused. “I wish I had a good reason, but I really don’t. My judgement was clouded by my peers and– wait no– I shouldn’t blame it on someone else.” His gaze on you lowers, letting his bangs cover his eyes. “I became too engrossed at how others saw me– I wanted to fit in so badly.” A sigh escapes from Namjoon’s lips.

             “Joon, it’s okay. I get it.” You walk towards the boy, fingers softly brushing the hair falling down on his face. “We all make mistakes-”

             “No, Peanut, it’s not okay.” Namjoon gives himself a moment before continuing. “I wanted to be validated by people who wanted me to be someone I wasn’t. So I did things– things that I shouldn’t have done and…hurt the people that meant the world to me.” He takes a short breath in between. “No, they still mean the world to me.” The last part came out as a soft murmur and Namjoon regretted it instantly.

             He needed to tell you how he truly feels about you– no more hiding and being afraid.

             You suddenly feel warmth against your hand, finding Namjoon’s hand wrapped around your own, so tightly as if he was afraid that you would disappear. “I must right my wrongs. And this time, I won’t hesitate to chase after what I want.” His brown eyes pierce into yours and all the uneasiness was now determination.

             “I won’t let you go– not this time.”

             “Just come meet me at the frat house first! The guys miss you, especially Taehyung.” A voice blares through your phone, “I don’t get why you’re suddenly avoiding the place.”

             You let out an unamused grunt across the line. “I just– I don’t wanna.” A few seconds of silence pass through before Jungkook speaks again.

             “Did something happen?” His voice comes out to be a lot more serious, changing the atmosphere of the conversation immediately. “If one of the guys did anything to you, I swear– ”

             “Nothing happened, Kook!” A surge of panic rushes through you, not wanting Jungkook to overreact. “Fine, I’ll come. Meet you in 10?”  You can feel Jungkook beaming in victory across the other line.

             “See you!” He exclaims before you hang up in him.

             The walk to Alpha Sig took less than 10 minutes, but that was considering the fact that you walked in a rather brisk pace. Before you knew it, you find yourself in front of the familiar brown building with white pillars. Upon entering, Jin immediately gives you his warmest smile and greets you.

             “Y/N! It’s been a while. Looking for Jungkook?”

             A nervous smile casts upon your face, hoping not to dwell in the foyer for too long. Jin doesn’t fail to notice how your eyes were dodgy and looking around the house as if you were searching for someone.

             “Or are you avoiding someone?” He teases.

             “Maybe– both?” You reply sheepishly.

             Jin chuckles to himself, amused to the ordeal that you were going through. “He just left like an hour ago, said something about writing his midterm paper.”

             Relief rushes through you as you say thanks to Jin before running up the stairs and heads straight to Jungkook’s room.

             As you close the door behind you, Jungkook bounces up from his bed and comes to you with his signature bunny grin. “You’re finally here!” He sings, “God, that 10 minutes felt like forever.”

             You can’t help but chuckle at how adorable he was. Sometimes you wonder if Jeon Jungkook is the same infamous campus fuck boy that you first met him as –  which brings to you realise, Jungkook hasn’t seem to be sleeping around lately. Not since the two of you have been practically seeing each other every single day. Although the past week has been a little different, with Jungkook sometimes cancelling on you or telling you that he wasn’t in the studio.

             Nonetheless– he was still your good friend.

             “So, Kook,” You walk to his desk chair and sit down. “What do you want to do today?”

             “Actually, I kind of wanted to go to this new vegan place downtown. But I just checked the weather report and it’s going to rain soon.” Jungkook looks like a disappointed toddler who got his candy taken away when he mentions the forecast. “I really wanted to bring you there because I know how much you love that health conscious stuff.”

             “It’s alright.” You reassure him, giving him a soft tickle on the chin. “You know I’d always be down for a movie and delivery.”

             “But we always do that.” Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, “I want to do more– I don’t know– date stuff?” The last part comes out soft, as if he was shy about saying it.

             “Date stuff?” Now this boy was just making you very confused.

             Jungkook scratches his ear, looking a little perplexed. “I mean like, dates between friends.” He speaks quickly, unsure himself of where this conversation was heading.

             “Jungkook, leave all the fun date ideas and whatnot for when you actually start dating someone that you like.” Your tone is laidback and playful. And for a moment, it almost looks like Jungkook’s eyes are brimming with hidden emotions. You quickly brush away any speculations though, because Jungkook would never– yeah, you definitely thought wrong.

             “But when you’re with your good ol’ pal– me. You know I’d be good with just chilling and doing absolutely nothing.”

             “But-”

             “No buts.” You interrupt him, with a sneaky grin on your face. “Now quickly choose a movie and a place where we can stuff our faces with food from.”

             Jungkook looks at you for a short moment before giving you a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

             “I’m going to take a quick shower first, okay? The walk here made me kind of sweaty and gross.” When he gives you a brief nod, you walk into his closet to grab a clean towel. It never fails to amuse you how organised Jungkook was when it comes to doing his laundry. Perhaps you should make him start doing your dirty laundry for you. You grab the one with a giant pig nose print on it – that brat bought it especially for you to use – and head to the bathroom. “You better be done choosing when I’m finished!” You pressure the boy behind you, who just laughs and throws his clean t-shirt in your way.”

             “Aye aye Captain.”

              Stepping out of the bathtub, you pat yourself dry before slipping into Jungkook’s tee and your own sweats. Right before you were about to open the door, you notice that there were voices on the other side. “Is Hobi back?” You mumble to yourself but then realise that it was a female voice. It starts with quiet and unstable sobbing, gradually calming down before the girl whispers her next words.

             “Kookie, help me forget. Please.”

             There is something unsettling stirring inside of you that made you feel like that things are about to go wrong, very wrong.

             Jungkook sighs softly on the other side. “I-I can’t. This is wrong.”

             You didn’t want to intrude on Jungkook’s privacy so you decided that it was best to stay in the bathroom until the matter was solved. It wasn’t like you wanted to eavesdrop into their conversation but they were not exactly being discreet with their voices. Silence fills the air before someone speaks again.

             “It didn’t stop you from the first time.” It was the girl again.

             “Stop mentioning that.” His voice bursts in pain. “I deeply regret for making it happen.” The agony in Jungkook’s voice makes your own heart to ache. And there is only one person you can think of who could make Jungkook suffer like that. “We shouldn’t have done that to J-”

             “Well guess what?” She pauses before screaming the next part. “Fuck Jimin!” You start to hear louder sobs on the other side. “I can’t do this anymore, I should have chosen you instead. You wouldn’t have treated me like this, right?”  

             Jimin? What the hell was going on? All the puzzle pieces come together when you realise that it must be Daeun who was speaking to Jungkook outside, but the conversation was just making you very confused. Your scattered thoughts keep you deeply bothered for a few long minutes, blocking on the noises from outside. You were unsure of when to step outside the bathroom, but you knew that you couldn’t stay in here forever.

             Oh screw it. You turn the knob and push the door open.

             Stepping out of the bathroom, you were definitely not prepared to see what was in front of you. Lee Daeun was sitting atop of Jungkook – the two of them half dressed and passionately making out and with obvious intentions to go even further.

             So this is what Daeun meant by ‘making her forget’.

             “What. The. Actual. Fuck.”

             You don’t even try to conceal the amount of displeasure in your voice, immediately grabbing the attention of the two bodies on the bed. When Jungkook sees you in his vision– it was like he has woken up from a trance – his eyes widen as he cusses under his breath. Jungkook quickly pushes Daeun off of him and sit upright in attempt to gain whatever composure he had left.

             “F-fuck. Y/N, I can explain.” He stutters, flustered and ashamed of whatever that was going on. Jungkook struggles to fix his pants as Daeun sits on the corner of his bed with her head down.

             You were not proud of your bad temper, but at this moment it was really something that you couldn’t control.

             “This really crosses the line, Jeon.” You hiss, no patience to listen to what he had to say. “I didn’t give a shit when you were just sleeping around, but ruining relationships? And atop of that, a relationship between your two close friends?” Stepping towards Jungkook, you refuse to break any eye contact before whispering your next words.

             “Now that’s low.”

             Your statement has undoubtedly stab Jungkook right where it hurts the most. He lowers his head in shame, unable to face you. Instead, it’s another voice that speaks up– one that you were not very fond of.

             “Stop criticising when you have no idea what is going on!” Daeun glares at you from the corner of his bed, eyes red and swollen from the crying. “Kookie has just been helping me with my problems with Jimin.”

             Now you know that it must be your bias speaking, but you just didn’t have the tolerance to deal with Daeun and her little victim act. Not right now.

             “No offence, Daeun.” Your laugh was humourless. “But I wasn’t talking to you.” You seethe. Before she can retaliate, Jungkook shoots a glare at her way to make her quiet down.

             A few moments of silence sits dangerously in the atmosphere. You feel like your mentality was going haywire with all the emotions running inside of you. Anger? Disappointment? Or was it heartbreak?

             Right before you decided that you did not want to be in this room anymore, Jungkook speaks up. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking visibly distressed.

             “Daeun, do you think you can go home first?” He says softly, “I need to talk to Y/N.”

             She nods timidly as she dresses herself and makes her way to the door. Right before she exits, Daeun gives the two of you another glance and leaves.

             When you are positive that she has left, you find yourself releasing a breath that you didn’t know you were holding. Energy strained and tired, you turn your back and start walking towards Hoseok’s bed to sit down.

             To be completely honest, you had no idea how to face this situation. You aren’t sure of how you were supposed to feel in this situation.                        

             ‘You are his friend, nothing more.’ These words loops in your head before you start talking again.

             “Jungkook, I can’t help you get over this heartbreak if you keep walking right into it.” You whisper. “Can’t you see that all of this is really unhealthy?”

             Jungkook finally looks up and makes eye contact with you. His eyes are lost– so fragile as if they will shatter if you were not careful. “She said that she will leave Jimin soon. And-” He smiles weakly at you. “I really believe that-”

             And that pisses you off –  all your attempts to help Jungkook when he didn’t even want to be helped. It was frustrating to watch him put himself in this situation, he deserves so much better. You knew the next words would hurt him, but they were also necessary.

             “If she had the intention of leaving Jimin, she would’ve done it before she start ‘this’ with you! She is using you for her own selfish reasons.” You don’t even realise how fervent your voice has gotten. “You are just her toy, Jungkook.”

             The anger in his eyes almost frightens you, he has never looked at you with so much resentment. Jungkook’s fists are clenched as he starts walking in your direction, stopping when his face was right in front of yours.

             “Why can’t you just be happy for me!” Jungkook has never raised his voice at you like this. “You know what?” He exasperates, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d judge me like this.” A low growl sits in his throat. “Do you just want everyone to be miserable and pathetic like you?”

             The moment that those words left from his lips, he could feel regret flowing through his veins.

             “Fuck. I-I don’t mean it that wa-”

             His hand reaches out to grab onto your wrists, but before he could – you had taken a step back and the look in your eyes make Jungkook feel disgusted at himself. He is struggling to put the words he actually meant to say together but when he searches for your eyes again, you had already left him alone in his room.

             You slam the door shut behind you, skidding to a stop when you see the boys staring right at you. Jin tries to give you a hug but your hand gently brushes it away. No, you couldn’t break down right in front of them, not when Jungkook was just right behind. Without saying another word to them, you ignored their worried expressions and sprint down the stairs.

             Jungkook was right, it was raining outside.

[directoravasharpe]

can u like bullet fic drunk sara and ava being all soft and comforting i really loved the concept

okay i am running with the the ‘six’ drink sara idea i first wrote about here

but it’s not six it’s like 12 because it’s sara not amy santiago

okay. set the scene. it’s the legends Drinking night. one night a month where they just all get utterly smashed. gideon refuses to deal with hangovers more often than that. if they get a hangover any other day of the month then she leaves them to Suffer.

sara takes a couple of months after getting back together before she invites ava because she is Not Scaring Her Off partly she’s worried about what she’s gonna be like partly she’s worried about what the legends are gonna be like

but at like three months they’ve slept over a million times they’re solid and so sara invites her.

sara had already had like two drinks during the day so when the evening starts she’s strictly already at

Two Drink Sara

aka normal sara (she’s an alcoholic is legends ever goign to talk about that i’m pretty sure she’s an alcoholic like she has a genetic predisposition to that anyway) pretty chill. maybe slightly more happy than usual but that might just be because ava has gotten there

Three Drink Sara

getting a little more bubbly. teasing ava a bit more, about like, literally anything, because she’s Comfortable. squishing in closer than is necessary, because ava is nice and warm and cuddly

Four Drink Sara

suddenly she is so touchy feely. if she was cuddly before, now she’s on another plane. not overtly sexual, just wrapping her arms around ava and pulling her in literally as close as possible. cheek kisses. hands everywhere, touching ava because she Can. ava trying to look disapproving at the PDA but she’s two drinks in and she’s just blushing slightly but not stopping sara because sara’s adorable

Five Drink Sara

sara gets five drinks in and suddenly its like Hello It Is Sex Time. the touching like, immediately crosses a line. sara’s hands are Under Ava’s shirt and it’s not strictly visible to anyone else because of how close they are but it’s still like. a thing. ava squirming but still not really pushing her away. sara trying to get into ava’s lap. full on makeouts that the legends only notice because of how long they’re lasting. quick kisses aren’t enough to distract them all from their various drinks/conversations, but sara trying to get ava’s clothes off is like, just about enough

Six, seven, eight

while trying to get ava’s clothes off, sara is, somehow, still drinking, and ava, still only like two drinks in is like. babe. sara. maybe you should stop drinking.

sara keeps drinking. five drinks was kinda peak horny and as she gets more drunk she’s still trying but it’s getting like, less and less effective. like eventually if ava kisses her it pretty much stops her from doing anything else, so she’s not trying to literally fuck ava right in the kitchen because she can’t concentrate on anything else

ava just keeps being sweet but not letting sara push things too far because lbr it’s real hard to resist sara lance when she’s trying to jump you but she restrains herself because Sara is Very Drunk and Ava is a Good Girlfriend

at eight drinks, she gets like... slightly mean? not horribly so, just, at that point, she has basically no filter. she just about knows that ava has stopped them from having sex but isn’t like 100% sure why so is just like. why are you boring. why are you like this.

the legends reassure ava that she always gets mean right about now, and that it’s nothing to worry about. that what she should be worrying about is....

nine, ten

sad sara. after getting mean sara gets sad because like she’s got that cool gives no shit thing going on but inside she’s a freaking softy and she has so much trauma and has done so many terrible things and that drunk, with literally no memory filter, no defense mechanisms up, literally everything is coming back to her, and she’s just breaking down, still drinking

ava is physically trying to stop her drinking at this point. the legends are kinda watching like. shit. she doesn’t usually get this far.

ava doesn’t know what to do with that information because it makes it sound like sara is only like this because of her, and she doesn’t know how to interpret that. like sara felt comfortable enough to go this far but also it’s heartbreaking and eventually all the other legends kinda.... disappear

eleven, twelve

sara downs the last two while ava has turned away. she’s gone right through practically unconscious and is back to trying to piss ava off. she’s still sad, though, and being more conscious makes things worse, so she’s just leaning into ava, face on her shoulder.

ava’s just making soothing sounds and comforting her because like, she’s stone cold sober at this point, and sara’s teasing her/telling her off for that because You’re Supposed to Get Drunk, Ava, That’s The Whole Point and ava is like i would rather be looking after you and sara is all mumbly and still kinda sad and just like. that’s sappy. you’re sappy. i like you.

and ava thinks she’s getting a bit better but then she’s crying again and ava tries to get her to stand up but sara’s legs aren’t working or she’s not letting them work. ava sits back down, pulls a tissue out of her pocket, goes to give it to sara and then is just like fuck it i’ll do it myself, so she’s cleaning up the tears and is just like.

sara. are you okay. and sara is shaking her head and she can’t even look at ava, just goes back in for a hug, obviously needing the touch and the support and they just stay like that for a bit until sara pulls back, looks at ava, is like, suddenly almost completely lucid: i love you. ava says it back, kisses her, and then it’s like the drunkenness hit’s sara all of a sudden again because she’s flopping against ava and ava is like? bed?

and sara just sleepily nods like yes please bed. can’t walk though. legs not working. ava just rolls her eyes because like they probably are working but sara always gets what she wants and in any case she only has to get as far as the portal so Sara gets to be carried for all of five seconds and honestly like sara is tiny but she’s also 95% muscle and that shit is heavy so even Ava ‘giant biceps’ Sharpe can’t get her that far.

sara ends up sat on the bed while ava literally undresses her and she manages one last sleepy innuendo and gets one more eyeroll from ava. she puts on a shirt that is definitely a sleep shirt ava had left for herself, but ava’s not going to complain because seeing sara in her clothes makes her heart grow about ten sizes. she just finds the biggest shirt sara has in her closet and puts that on while sara sits on the end of the bed, practically dozing off.

ava manoeuvres her under the covers like: you couldn’t even do that yourself? sara, sobering up slightly is just like, nope, you have to do everything for me it’s in the girlfriend contract.

ava does the temple kiss and then gideon turns out the lights.

bonus:

hangover sara.

she’s good at not throwing up. as long as she is in the med bay a maximum of five minutes after she wakes up, she’s usually fine. ava wanders over with her. sara gets whatever IV gideon is giving her and is like. so. what embarrassing things did i do last night.

ava, who is a saint, and who isn’t going to embarrass sara over things she said when vulnerable, doesn’t say anything. luckily, gideon has no such qualms and relays everything is exquisite detail.

sara, once she’s heard everything: man, i can’t believe you didn’t let us fuck in front of my crew you’re such a spoilsport.

ava, chucking something at sara’s head: see if i carry u to bed next time you idiot

sara: you’re always gonna bc you’re Soft

Ava:.... maybe

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Take My Love: 4/?

It's New Years Eve! Let's wrap up the year with some Firefly AU, shall we?

Special thanks to @sroloc--elbisivni, who wrote the York section this chapter! Thanks Nina! <3

Mild warnings for flashbacks in this one, but generally things are a lot calmer after the last one. 

Summary: Allison Texas is a wanted woman. She stole something very valuable from the Alliance. And even if it’s going to bring a world of trouble down on their heads, Carolina can’t help but think it might be worth it.

Pairings: Church/Tex/Jackie (OC)

Previous

Also on Ao3

Doc checks them both over. Jackie screams whenever someone touches her who isn’t Wash or Donut or Church. (Well, Wash suspects she might not scream if Tex touches her, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that.)

“Well?” Carolina asks. They’ve locked Tex in her room for now, with the old preacher keeping an eye on her. She’d fought at being separated from the two, but wouldn’t answer any questions.

“Uh, well,” Doc shifted. “The blood’s all old, but I’m pretty sure it’s theirs? Nosebleeds, mostly, I think.”

“Nosebleeds?” Wash asks, feeling hollow. Jackie’s hair had been absolutely matted with blood.

Doc nods. “Lots of them. Over an extended period of time.”

Inside the infirmary, Jackie has her knees pulled against her chest, muttering to herself. Nonsense mostly, as far as Wash can make out. Something about a chess game.

“What happened to them?” Carolina demands.

“I’m not sure,” Doc admits. “It’s... weird. Physically they seem healthy. There are some signs of sleep deprivation, but cyro mostly fixed that up. Some bruising on the wrists, but it’s weird.”

Wash and Carolina both look up at that.

“Bruising,” Carolina says. “On the ankles, too?”

Doc pauses. “How did you know that?”

“You don’t think?” Wash asks, half turning to face her.

“I think that if they did that to you,” Carolina says, staring at their little siblings, at where Church has made his way over to Jackie and has curled up next to her, like a cat, “What would they do to a bunch of young geniuses, locked away from the rest of the world?”

Wash feels his wrists twinge. He can only imagine, and he knows he’ll hate the answers.

“We need to talk to Texas,” Wash says. Jackie is pressing her hand against Church’s face and crying.

Wash places his hand against the window. “She’s supposed to be at a fancy school in the Core,” he says, anger coiling in his stomach. “Frank heard from her three weeks ago.”

“I haven’t heard from Church since the war,” Carolina says, looking dull. “I assumed he’d cut off contact after I switched sides.”

Wash suddenly doubles over as Jackie suddenly lurches away from Church, crying out.

Straps around his wrists, a needle in his forehead, pain, pain, wracking pain. Fire flowing through his veins.

“What do you see?” A man he doesn’t know in the side of his vision. “Tell me what you see.”

Wash opens his mouth, and only screams come out.

“Wash!” Carolina pulls him up. “Wash, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, even though he’s shaking, drenched in a cold sweat. “Just--flashback.” A new one. The drugs they’d pumped him full of while captive had blurred his memories.

Carolina frowns. “We need to talk to Texas. We need answers.”

Wash looks up, and sees Jackie curled into a corner, sobbing. Church is curled up away from her, clutching the side of his head.

“Yes,” Wash says. “We do.”

After Tex tells them about the Academy, Carolina has nothing else to say.

Carolina makes her way to her bunk, avoiding the medical bay where her brother is.  

Epsilon yowls at her, hungry, worming his way between her feet. She dumps out a portion of dry food for him, and grabs her messages.

She scrolls through everything she ever received from Church over the years, ever since the last time they’d seen each other. She saved them all, even the stupid little scrawls and insults.

Now that she’s looking for them, she can see them, hidden in the short missives that he’d sent her. Mistakes. Slowly, painfully, she works her way through them, translating them into the messages she now knows are there.

T  H E Y ‘ R E

H U R T I N G

U S

H E L P.

S H E ‘ S

S C R E A M I N G.

H E

D O E S N ‘ T

C A R E.

C A R O L I N A.

H E L P.

P L E A S E.

They lock Tex in the cabin and won’t let her out.

As soon as the ship moves into the night cycle, Tex knocks out the shepherd keeping an eye on her and books it to the infirmary. He’s halfway decent for a shepherd, but he’s no match for her.

And after years of being kept apart from Jackie and Church, Tex isn’t about to let anything stand in her way, especially not an old man who tells her to call him Sarge.

It’s night and no one’s there. The door’s locked, and the lights are off. Tex breaks it with ease, seething that they locked them in again. They had been locked away for years. How dare they try to lock them away again?  

“Tex?” Jackie calls, her voice soft and distant. She’s sitting on one of the cots that have been provided, looking far away despite their proximity.   

“I’m here,” Tex says, moving into the infirmary.  

“Church is sleeping,” Jackie says. Sure enough, he’s curled up on his side, his head in her lap. He looks peaceful—it’s like being back at school, if it weren’t for the look on Jackie’s face—slightly vague and confused, but also distraught. She hasn’t looked present since Tex had dragged her out of the Academy. “It’s his turn.”

Tex swallows her rage. Why are they taking turns? “I’m here now,” she says. “I can keep an eye out.”

Jackie looks thoughtful. “You’ll stay?” She asks, quietly, as if she’s not quite sure she believes Tex.

“Yes,” Tex says, trying not to be hurt. She sits down next to Jackie, who carefully starts shifting Church so he’s between them, then curling around him. Tex lies down as well, carefully laying her arm over Church so she can rest her hand on Jackie’s side.

“I’ve got you,” Tex whispers.

“I know,” Jackie says, wrapping her arms around Church and burying her face against his back. “We’re safe here. Valhalla is good.”

It doesn’t occur to Tex to ask how Jackie knows the name of the ship, when no one’s mentioned it to her.

In the morning, although Carolina is furious that Tex hit Sarge and broke into the infirmary, she agrees to let her stay. There’s no question about Jackie or Church leaving, either. Carolina is not about to let her brother out of her sight, not after those messages she’s found. And she’s certainly not about to inflict that on Donut or Wash either.

It’s… not great, she has to admit. This changes things. When before they’d tried to stick to legal jobs, now there’s three fugitives who are hiding in her ship. Texas can walk around and help on jobs, but Jackie and Church are… unstable. They talk nonsense and gravitate towards each other, sometimes spending entire days without speaking, only hovering near each other, refusing to be parted at all.

They avoid the medical bay whenever they can, and Carolina has caught Jackie lifting up parts of the floor to hide in at least twice. Church is less prone to hiding in strange spots, and instead has ripped up Sarge’s Bible, endeared himself to Caboose, and thrown things at Wash until Jackie snapped and yelled his name.

Tex is of no help in figuring out these behaviors. She doesn’t have answers for what’s happened to them, and is just as likely to egg them on as she is to try to stop them. “They’ll figure things out,” she says. “Just give them time.”

Carolina’s moved Church into her room, not wanting to leave him alone, and not quite trusting him to anyone else. Some nights he sneaks out, and Carolina knows that he’s spending those nights with Jackie or Tex, but she doesn’t say anything, for fear of driving him away. Meanwhile, Jackie bounces between Donut’s room and the room that Wash shares with Tucker and Junior. A few questions to Wash reveals that Jackie also vanishes at night on occasion.

Carolina has no idea what to make of… whatever it is that her father has turned two bright geniuses into. Jackie, from Wash and Donut’s stories, had been a fiercely intelligent child who had liked books and games. Her own brother had been a giant nerd who had fought with everything and everyone, not a quiet, scared man who hates raised voices.

“I’m sorry,” she tells Church, one night when they’re alone in her room, with Epsilon sitting on her lap. “I’m sorry I didn’t see your messages.”

“You were busy,” he mutters, his green eyes refusing to focus on her, instead darting all over the room. “The war, you had the war, grenades and fire, and—”

“Hey,” she says, grabbing his hand. “It’s okay.”

“Not okay,” he says. “He was there, sometimes, he—” Carolina swallows hard. She doesn’t want to hear this, she can’t hear this, she…

He stops talking immediately and lies down, not even getting under the covers.

“Sleep now,” he says flatly.

“He’s not going to touch you again,” Carolina promises, unsure of what to do with the sudden change in pace. She reaches out and touches his face. “I promise.”

“Fifty four percent,” he says, his voice slow and sleepy. Then he closes his eyes and instantly falls asleep, as if he’s managed to flip a switch. Carolina carefully places Epsilon next to him. Epsilon gives her a wide, offended stare, but settles in, keeping her brother warm while Carolina goes about her nightly routine.

She can’t make heads or tails of the things Church says, sometimes.

York hasn’t grown his hair out since before he decided to leave the Core, but in his younger, vainer days he had it tumbling to his hips. He still remembers the routine of caring for it, the oils and brushing and pins.

It’s almost as soothing to practice it for someone else, and he can see the tension uncoiling from Jackie’s shoulders as he runs the comb through her wet hair again and again.

“I can braid this, if you want to keep it tidy. Pin it up so it’s off your neck, too.” It would be easier to keep it clean that way, too, but he has a feeling that she’s spent a long time being made to do things because they were convenient for whoever was looking after her. He adds, “It would look nice, too. Highlight your cheekbones.”

“You’re nice,” Jackie mumbles. “Careful. You don’t have to be. They tried to break us and couldn’t. You won’t by accident.”

York pauses, blinked, and continued, puzzling over that. Delta lets out a shriek from his perch, where he’s gnawing on a bone toy.

“Loose,” Jackie says, suddenly. “I can brush it.”

“Okay,” York says, and ran the comb through her curls again.

“I think your friend can read my mind,” York tells Tex later, when they’re hanging out around the table.

Tex cackles. “Yeah, she does that.”

“I feel like you should be more surprised by this.”

“It’s not—Jackie does that.” Her face goes soft, but York knows better than to mention that. “She’s good with people. She and Church used to have this game, where she’d matchmake couples and Church would break them up.”

York hums. It’s a companion trick, when you aren’t sure what to say.

Reading body language, he can understand. Companions are trained to do the same thing, to hear what hasn’t been said. He knows what that was. That isn’t what happened.

But he won’t start tension for no reason. He’ll just have to wait and see what happens.

Wash’s nightmares have been worse since Jackie’s arrived on the ship.

He guesses that’s not entirely surprising, given at the indications that the same people who had captured him had also been responsible for what had happened to his sister. And, going off the few cryptic comments that Jackie has made in some of her more lucid moments, he kind of suspects that he might have been grabbed because of her.

But his nightmares are not only worsening, they don’t make sense. They’re not like the old ones, which he had known pretty well, but they’re new and strange and… worse. He checks his arms every morning, searching for scars to correspond with the locations of the needles he remembers sinking into his skin, but there never are any there. He dreams of long stretches of time, of other prisoners, even though he’d been kept alone for a short period of time.

His headaches are nearly constant, a loud pounding that’s deafening, and a pain that makes him almost unable to leave the bed on some days.

“I’m sorry,” Jackie says, sitting at the foot of his bed, staring right at him during one particularly bad one. “I can’t stop it.”

“What are you talking about?” Wash snaps. He regrets it; snapping at Jackie these days is almost as bad as snapping at Caboose. She’s not all there. It’s not quite his sister, who had been able to give as good as she got.

She throws a pillow at him. “I’m not fragile!” She yells, her voice shaking and unsure, even as she grabs another pillow, climbs across the bed, and keeps hitting him over and over again. Wash throws up his arms to defend himself, but the blows are glancing at best. “They didn’t break me! They didn’t break you! They’re—they’re bad at breaking things!” Tears are flowing down her face, but she doesn’t let up until Wash grabs her wrists.

“Do you know why?”

Jackie stares at him.

“I’m good with people,” she says, her voice suddenly far away.

“I know, Jackie, but why did they do this?”

“It wasn’t working,” she whispers. “It wasn’t working, or they thought it wasn’t because we were pretending, but then they had you and it hurt too much and I couldn’t help it.”

“… couldn’t help what, Jackie?” Wash knows his grip on her wrists it too tight, but she tries to pull away, and he holds on, because this is the most coherent she’s been in weeks, and he doesn’t know how to handle any of this.

“It worked,” she whispers. “That’s the problem, it worked.”

“You said they didn’t break you,” Wash says, trying to figure this out. There’s something there that he’s not seeing, something just out of his reach.

“They didn’t,” she whispers. “But the other thing did.”

“What is it?” Wash demands.

Jackie shakes her head, her eyes full of tears. “It hurt,” she whispers.

Wash sighs, and lets go of her. She curls into a ball and buries herself in blankets and pillows.

Wash sighs, and lies down next to her. He might as well try to get some rest.

“Say it,” the voice whispers. “Say it.”

“No,” he says. “I won’t.”

Elecriticty courses through Wash, and he screams and screams and screams.

“Say it.”

“Pick—pick up the knife!”

The figure in front of him moves suddenly, and there’s a spike of pain, as the figure picks up the knife while the hand that belongs to the voice suddenly plunges a needle into his temple.

Wash screams, and he turns his head, his long brown hair falling into his face—

He wakes up with a start, and pushes through the cushions to find Jackie, who is also screaming, writhing in place as if being electrocuted.

“Jackie!” Wash grabs her to wake her up.

She wakes, screaming, her eyes flying open, and then she stops abruptly, staring up at him like he’s a ghost. Then she bursts into tears.

Wash tries to soothe her, brushing her hair out of her face. He scrambles, trying to remember a lullaby or something from Iowa, something to calm her down.

It’s then he notices the scarring on her temple, right where he had felt the needle being plunged into his own skull, moments ago. It looks… it looks like the scar that Wash feels like he should have, after that nightmare.

He thinks about the long, brown hair in the dream, the voices he didn’t know, the tests that didn’t make sense, the rooms that were too large, and were filled with strangers.

“Jackie,” he whispers, shaking her slightly to get her to look at him. “Have I been sharing your dreams?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gripping at his shirt with both hands. Her face is damp with tears, and she can’t meet his eyes. He’s not sure if she’s talking to him now, or in the dream. “I try to keep you out. I try, really. But I’m not good enough. It’s too hard.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, numb as his brain tries to process this information. “It’s… it’s fine, Jackie, really.”

Wash goes up to the others a moment later, his head pounding and his walk unsteady.

He leans against the doorway to the common area, feeling like the world is about to tilt on his axis.

“Wash!” Tucker says, looking panicked. He stands up from his spot at the table suddenly, upending the silverware and the protein bar that he’d been eating. “You’re supposed to be sleeping, why are you awake—”

Wash’s feet give out from under him all of a sudden, and Tucker yells, lunging forward to catch him. Wash sags in his husband’s arms, but he struggles back up, because he has to tell Carolina. He has to tell her, so they can put an end to this mystery once and for all, so they can start to figure out what all of this means.

“What is it, Wash?” Carolina is kneeling next to him, her hand cold on his forehead.

“I know what they were trying to do to Jackie and Church,” he says.

Texas appears suddenly, helping Tucker haul him to his feet. “What is it?”

“Psychics,” Wash says, leaning into the warmth and safety of Tucker’s shoulder. “They were trying to make psychics. And I think they succeeded.”

[builder051]

I adore prompt number 22

Nice choice!  Here we’ll have Jason shivering his way through finals week with a fever.

I am running into a tid of a timeline problem, though (and it’s totally my own fault).  I’m doing my best to write these in the order the asks come in, but for whatever reason, I really mixed up the prompts with gen, Thanksgiving, and winter themed ones (seriously, I’m not sure what I was thinking there.)  Since finals week is usually something like the first week of December, I’m really stepping into the future here with this story, seeing as it is currently not yet Halloween.  There have been a lot of Colby requests, and I’d like to write something about the Deangeles kids at Thanksgiving, so I think I’m just going to own up to the time fuck up and say yes, this is the future, and I will eventually get these guys back into the present.  So, I’m really sorry.  Ignore me.  Enjoy the story.

And I’m so sorry for the tease at the end!  It just…felt like the right place to wrap up.  And this is supposed to be a fever one, not an emeto one anyway.

___

The library’s silence is soothing.  Jason lowers his forehead to the open textbook in front of him and shuts his eyes for a moment.  It’s only 4:30 in the afternoon.  He shouldn’t be this sleepy.  But then again, he shouldn’t be shivering with his coat on in a heated building, either.

Jason’s phone vibrates, jolting him back into paying attention.

Colby: Are you done snotting all over your tests?  Come home!

Jason wishes he could just jump in his car and drive home.  He’s been at it since morning, and the finals week block schedule is kicking his feverish ass.  It’s been two hours on, one hour off since 8 this morning, and he still has one more exam to sit today.  And two more tomorrow.

Jason: At 7.  I have one more to go.

Colby: That’s cruel and unusual punishment.  It’s already dark outside!

It’s an exaggeration.  The library’s picture windows frame the beginnings of a twilight sunset, orange touching the undersides of grey clouds and contrasting with the dusky blue sky.  Jason can’t look for long, though, because his nose starts dripping and demands attention from a Kleenex.

Colby: Feeling any better?

After holding in sneezes and shivering in his seat through the first three tests, Jason’s feeling the worst he has all day.  He’s out of cough drops, low on tissues, and doesn’t trust his stomach enough to get a bowl of soup or a cup of coffee from the student union.  He’s beyond ready to start complaining.

Jason: No!  I’m burrowing down for all 12 hours I get before this starts again tomorrow…Fuck this schedule!

Colby: Yeah, idk how u won the lottery with that one.  A 2-day week, but 4 exams in one day…might want to complain to admin.  Maybe that’s what’s making u sick.

Jason: Who knows…  Just hope I don’t die in the next couple hours.

Colby:  Please don’t.  I’d be v sad.  There’s a crying emoji face at the end of the message.

Jason sniffs and wipes his nose, careful not to soak through the precious tissue.  The clock is showing 4:45, which means it’s time to hike across campus for the last exam period of the day.  He’s loath to step into the frigid winter evening air, and even less excited for his final.

The test is in creative writing, which is usually one of Jason’s favorite classes.  The big final story projects have already been completed, but per the university’s policy, each class has to sit for an exam as well.  The instructor’s promised it’ll be just a brief multiple choice test on terms and techniques.  Plus a short writing exercise.

And that’s what he’s worried about.  With three other tests taken today, Jason’s fried.  Not to mention the fact that his fever is literally cooking him in his own skin.  He has no idea what the exercise will be:  Tell a story about this photo?  Write a story about this character? Put this random scene into context?  He hasn’t had time to plan out anything, stow characters and random pieces of plotline in the depths of his overheated brain.  Creativity is about the last thing on his agenda at the moment.

Jason plods diagonally across the grassy courtyard and through a maze of sidewalks to the Humanities building.  As expected, the outdoor temperature bites through Jason’s clothes makes him shiver.  The scent of hot food hits him as soon as he’s through the doors.  The little ground-floor café is serving dinner to a long line of students.  It’s rare for Jason to pass by without stopping for a bag of chips or a vanilla latte, but just the scent is turning his stomach.  He does pause near the trash can to forcefully blow his nose and dispose of the soggy tissue.

The classroom is open, and a few students have already taken their seats.  Jason takes his usual desk near the front of the room, but wonders if he should retreat to the back corner instead.  He hopes the gentle tremor to his hands and shoulders isn’t noticeable, but he’s sure to be the center of attention if he lets loose with a loud sneeze or has to blow his nose.  Considering how things have been going, it’s likely going to be both, one right after the other.

Jason elects to stay put, especially since more students are pouring in now, most clutching warm cups of coffee.  He huddles into himself, jamming his stiff fingers into the armpits of his coat and pulling his chin down below its collar.  Jason’s joints hurt.  He feels ancient.  The warp-speed flicker of the fluorescent lights overhead makes his eyes burn and increases the intensity of his headache.

He’s on the point of shutting his eyes, but the grandmotherly PhD candidate of an instructor bustles in and declares the exam period begun.  The clock still reads 4:59, but if starting a minute early means finishing a minute early, Jason’s all for it.

Test papers are distributed, and Jason uses his favorite blue roller ball pen to scribble his name in the upper right-hand corner.  His sloppy writing is even messier than usual because nerves and illness push champagne bubble quivers down through his fingertips.

The multiple choice section is easy enough.  Four pages, front and back, only amounts to 25 questions or so, and Jason breezes through.  A few require him to pause and consider for a moment, and a few more have him re-reading the questions because his boiling brain is missing things, but all in all, he feels he’s doing well.

Then he flips to the final page in the packet and begins to read the directions for the written section.  Calling it open-ended would be an understatement.  There’s close to no guidance on anything; length, subject matter, characters, it’s all up for grabs.  Any other day, Jason would consider it a nice opportunity to experiment.  Today, though, it just means his mind’s completely blank.

Jason drops his forehead into his empty palm as he taps a series of dots into the top of the page.  He doesn’t have a name for his character. Or a gender.  Ellen, maybe?  He writes about girls a lot.  But wait, is Ellen the name of the girl on Daredevil, the one who’s the secretary? No, it’s something else…

Ellen who lives in Antarctica because it’s so goddamn cold in here.  What’s he going to make her do?  There’s not enough time or space on the page to create much.  Christmas is too obvious a situation, since it’s hanging right around the corner.  Maybe she slams her head into a tree while downhill skiing.  That’d end the story with a bang.

Great, now he’s getting morbid.  Jason shakes his head, bringing vertigo into the mix.  Just pick something and write it down, he tells himself.  He’s wasting time.

“Are you doing ok?”  The elderly instructor is at his elbow, peering down through her thick spectacles at his blank page.

“Hm.  Yeah.  I don’t know,” Jason says all at once.  Too quickly.  There’s too much spit in his mouth.

“Need an idea to get you started?” she asks.

“Just, nothing seems right,” Jason admits, setting down his pen and burying his face in both hands.

“Now, is that you or the fever talking?” the instructor posits, a knowing look in her dark eyes.

“What?”

“This is very unlike you.  I know you’re not feeling yourself right now, or you’d have half the page filled up already.”  It’s more or less the truth.  Most of Jason’s assignments came out longer than required.  And he still handed them in early.

“Yeah, my head,” he says.  A wave of dizziness crawls down from his hairline.  “Kind of, like, nauseous…”

“Then get on out of here, son,” the instructor says.  “Send me an e-mail before the end of the week.  But word on the street is you’re passing with an A regardless.”  She winks at him and takes away Jason’s exam paper before he can do anything to respond.

Finally it sinks in that he’s free to go.  Free to go home and take drowsy medication and go to sleep.  Though he’s feeling more like he’ll have to stop and find somewhere to throw up first.

“Thank you,” Jason says, lifting his backpack and rushing for the door.  “So much.”

[lester-s]

‘i thought i was so smart’

Summary: the baby arrives, and Dan realises just how much being a father means to him.  

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Fluff. Everywhere. (a tiny smidgeon of angst but not really)  

Trigger Warning: a lil bit of swearing, self-doubt, you see a little bit of dan’s anxiety, they cry a lot  

Additional Tags: adoption, future, fluff, parent!phan  

Author’s Note: number two! this one is based off ‘dear Theodosia,’ (lmao the baby is called Piper because I wanted the baby to be a girl and I didn’t think they would choose theodosia as a name)

When Dan married Phil, his favourite number was two.  

They started as two boys, young and afraid, living together, in a small (rather cramped) two bedroom apartment, their love so large, and so true, that they defied every expectation people had bestowed into them. Then when they were married, in a quiet, but a faultless wedding, with only their closest friends and family present, they became two husbands, linked together in a love-filled matrimony.  Together. Two.  

When they finally moved to London, Dan’s favourite number changed again, to twelve. The number on the door of their perfect apartment, that he and Phil had bought together, a sign of their love and trust in each other. On the hardest of days, Dan would walk past the number twelve, after a tiring day at the BBC, or after a trip away from Phil, and remember that he was loved and that he was wanted.  

However, on the early morning of April the 24th 2020, his favourite number changed another time.  

Three.  

The pair had been intertwined with each other, sleeping peacefully, when Phil’s phone began to angrily vibrate against the table.  

Dan awoke first, sleep in his eyes, and a confused haze wandering in his brain. He rubbed his eyes and lifted Phil from his chest, pulling the phone down to eye level.

North London Adoption Agency

Suddenly, he was wide awake and quickly sat upright, putting his phone to his ear.  

‘Hello, this is Daniel Lester speaking, how can I help?’ Try and sound anything less like a call centre worker dan, well done.  

‘Daniel, so sorry if I’ve woken you.’

‘No, no, we were just waking up when you rang.’ Lie.

'Ah, well, we’re very happy to inform you that your daughter was born at 12:34 this morning, weighing 6 pounds, 3 ounces. When you are ready, please bring the documents we sent to you and the hospital bag we have instructed you to prepare to the maternity wing of St Evangeline’s Hospital, as the baby has now had all health checks, and is ready to be taken home. The mother has signed all legal documents and the child is now in our care. I know this has been very long coming for you, congratulations.’  

Suddenly there were tears in his eyes and he could barely muster a quiet thank you before the line went silent. He dropped the phone to the floor, turning to face Phil, who had fallen back into a sleepy daze.  

‘Phil, l-love. You need to wake u-up.’ He couldn’t stop crying, the tears rolling down his face and onto the bedsheets below. ‘Phil, we need to get dressed.’ He reached forward, and switched on the light, before stumbling into the other room to find the clothes they had put away especially.  

He walked back into the room with both piles of clothes in one hand and Phil’s discarded glasses in the other, dropping them onto the bed, tears still in his eyes.  

The elder eventually turned his face towards Dan, opening a single eye to see what was happening around him. ‘Dan…you’re crying. What’s…happening…’ He leant his head against the headboard and pushed on his glasses, looking around at the scene before him. 'Why have you got those clothes…?’  

Dan smiled weakly in Phil’s direction, and suddenly everything clicked. He jumped out of bed and pulled Dan into a tight hug, the pair both crying now.  

'We need the address to the hospital. Get dressed.’  

Phil had never been more terrified. Dan was rambling about how he hoped he had brought everything, and had begun to bounce his knee against the side of the glovebox. Phil could barely even hum in response to what Dan was saying to him, his brain trying to focus on driving and worrying all at once.

‘Dan, do you mind if we pull over for a few minutes?’ Dan huffed a reply, and Phil quickly stopped the car, the hospital in sight. He climbed out and leant against the bonnet, head in his hands. Dan climbed out after him, passing over a bottle of water.

‘I don’t think I can do it.’  

'What do you mean, ’I don’t think I can do it’?’  

'This is too much, Dan. I can’t-’

'Phil,’ Dan laughed. 'The hospital is literally right there.’  

'Yeah, I know.’ Dan ran his hand through Phil’s hair, pushing it back before placing a delicate kiss on his forehead.

’-And we’re gonna fucking smash this parenting thing. Fuck, that kid is never going to want for anything. She’s gonna be polite, and loving, and she’s going to love you. We’re gonna be so good, and I know you’re frightened. Hell, I’m shitting myself. But, like you said. We’ve gone through everything there is to go through, so maybe this is whatever God is up there’s idea of making us feel like we’ve been through the shit enough for us to be happy. Now, drink up, and let’s go get our baby.’

The hospital was sterile and bright, like something from Star Trek, the cold corridors sending shivers up Dan’s spine. The receptionist had been useless, telling them to go to the completely wrong end of the hospital, forcing them to awkwardly ask one of the nurses where exactly they were supposed to be going. She left them at the double navy doors, and Dan pried his eyes away from the linoleum floor and looked through the small square gaps in the door at the corridor ahead. Without pause, Phil pressed the button next to the door and it unlocked, leading them into the curving hallway.  

'Hello, how may I help you?’ The woman behind the desk was young, probably younger than Dan, and wore a purple nurse’s uniform. Phil coughed, and Dan spoke, his voice almost croaky.  

'We’re Dan and Phil Lester, we’re here with the North London Adoption Agency?’ The nurse’s face lights up, and she quickly leads them into a small room.

'I’ve just switched over from infant care so I got to spend some time with her, we had to label her as baby Lester. She’s adorable, sorry to spoil it for you. Here are a few forms you need to sign, and I’ll take any papers you were asked to bring?’ Dan nodded and passed over the files, and the nurse mumbled a quick thank you before leaving the room.  

'Shitting fuck. Why are my hands shaking, Phil, look at this.’ Dan stared at his hands as they trembled furiously.  

'You’re nervous.’ Phil took his hands and kissed each finger, before taking Dan’s cold hands into his own. 'I’m here so you don’t have to be afraid. I’m here.’  

The door opened slowly, and an old woman walked into the room and sat opposite to the pair.  

'Well, we’ve verified all your files, and it seems like everything is in perfect order. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for another moment, sirs, I will bring her to you.’ Phil thanked her and smiled, lifting up the changing bag and placing it onto his lap.  

The woman re-enters, this time with a small bundle in her arms. Dan gasps quietly, squeezing Phil’s hand. 'Now, she’s smaller than you’d expect, but trust me, she’s in perfect health.’ She places the baby in Dan’s arms, and Phil takes out his phone and begins to take photos. 'When you’re ready, you can take her home. Just change her into something more appropriate, place her into the car seat, and sign yourselves out when you leave. Congratulations, once again.’  

When Dan looked up at Phil, he saw the man with tears in his eyes, beaming proudly at the pair.  

'Hello, little Piper.’ Dan whispered, tears falling onto the baby’s blanket. 'It’s daddy here, yes it is. That man over there is Papa. We love you so very much baby, we do. Here, go to Papa, Piper.’ Phil after hesitantly moving closer to the pair, took the baby from Dan, and after being warned so many times to support her head and mind the softer spot, was able to see his daughter for the first time. Dan quickly took out his phone and took photos of Phil and the baby – that would later become his wallpaper

'Piper Jane Lester. My beautiful little baby. You’re so perfect, little one, now are we going to take you home? Hmm?’  

After a few moments of adjusting and changing the baby into something more comfortable – a completely too large Burberry romper – they began to pack things up ready to leave. However, when they stood up to leave, the young nurse from before opened the door.

'I’m so sorry to disturb you, and I’m not supposed to do this, but do you want me to take a picture of the three of you before you leave? I’ll have to be quick though.’

Dan nodded, gratefully, and Phil sat down beside the younger, smiling widely, as the nurse took the photos – this time Phil changing the photo to his wallpaper.  

'Thank you,’ Phil smiled at the nurse as they left through the navy door, not seeing the nurse smile to herself.  

Dan had allocated himself the person to sit in the back seat with the sleeping baby. She was tinier than they had anticipated, much smaller than Darcy had been when she was born. 'Have you messaged your mum yet?’ Phil asked, turning into their street. Dan looked down towards Piper, stroking her face gently. He didn’t want to ruin the time they had alone with Piper, not just yet. If they told their family and friends, they would be bombarded with visitors, and Dan just wanted to have his daughter and husband around him.  

'Not yet, I just want us to have some us time. We’ll facetime our parents later on this week. I want to get used to things before anyone visits, yeah?’

'Sounds like a plan. I’ll sort the baby out, you head on upstairs. I think we left the rocker in the bedroom.’  

A month in, and they were both exhausted, more than they could ever have imagined. During the day, Piper was one of the most well-behaved babies they had ever seen, she never cried, only fussed when she was hungry or needed changing, and fell straight to sleep whenever her parents held her on their chest. However, as soon as the sun went down, she became the clingiest, most unsettled baby Phil had ever met. She wouldn’t fall asleep without Dan holding her, leaving Dan with barely 3 hours sleep every night, and Phil feeling terrible.  

'Dan, let me try and get her to sleep. We’ll move into the spare room for tonight.’  

'Phil, you know that won’t work. We’ve tried everything to make her sleep. I’ll just have to deal with it for the next few months. I’ve already dealt with getting no sleep for a month, I’m sure I can cope a little longer.’  

'No, this isn’t something you get to choose. You’re not a little tired, you’re exhausted. You’ve had about twelve hours sleep in five days. You’re the one who edits all of the videos, has the most subscribers. We need you to be the one who's wide awake all the time. I feel so guilty when I hear you wake up with her every night.  Let me try to get Piper to sleep, and if I can’t, I’ll sit with her in the living room until I can, even if it takes till tomorrow morning.’  

Dan was too tired to even comprehend arguing, so kissed Phil on the head and collapsed onto their bed, sore and heavy from lack of sleep. When Phil next went into the bedroom to pick up Piper’s pyjamas a few minutes later, Dan was fast asleep, his sleep-deprived body effortlessly calm and gentle.  

Finally, after attempts to swaddle went entirely wrong – Piper was able to escape every time – Phil found himself with a tiny baby, very asleep, on his chest. He had taken off his shirt and wrapped himself and Piper into a blanket burrito. With enough gentle humming, she was asleep within minutes.

As he stroked her tiny back, he felt himself slowly drift into a hazy sleep.  

When he awoke, there was a lightness on his chest that hadn’t been there before. He shot up. Where was Piper? His stomach dropped, the same way it does when you go to step down the last stair and realise it isn’t there. His eyes search the darkness in an attempt to find the baby, listening for a slight gurgle or whimper that he could pin to his daughter. Silence. A thousand thoughts were running through his head. Had she rolled over accidentally? Had she got stuck under the quilt?  

'Dan?’ He hissed, his voice desperate and raw. He didn’t expect a reply; he just hoped and prayed that something explainable had happened while he was sleeping to make up for the crippling silence.

He stepped out of bed, the sudden cold forcing him to wrap his arms around himself. He rushed out of the spare room, opening the door to where he had left Dan sleeping.  

Empty.  

He padded down the cold corridor and began to hear the soft sound of piano music and somebody mumbling. The mumbling became clearer as he made his way up the stairs to the nursery. He could only just see through the gap in the door, but to his relief, he spotted both Dan, and the baby, sat in the rocking chair. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but Dan’s voice was so soothing, he couldn’t stop himself.  

‘Now, what do I say to you, Piper? I want to be mad at you but I can’t, no matter how hard I try. You keep Papa up so much. He’s grumpy when he’s tired, that’s why I’ve been staying up with you. When Papa is happy, it makes me happy. He’s always made me feel happy.

You have lovely golden eyes, you know that? We’ll say that’s something you get from me, seeing as you got Papa’s name. Papa said it was to honour your grandad, but I think as soon as we started thinking of names, he put Piper and Philip in there so that you could have his name. Don’t ever tell him that, okay? I’ve always loved the name Piper, and that’s why I let Papa have you named after him.’  

Phil silently laughed to himself, still listening to Dan talk.

'When you cried for the first time, I thought I’d managed to hurt you or something. You were about a day old, and we, well I, was watching some anime. You just started to cry, a deep awful cry, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. It broke my heart to see you cry so much.  

I’m giving every day I have to you little one. Youtube can wait. They can cope without me for a little longer, don’t you think? I never thought this would be my style, burping and feeding a tiny person. I always imagined myself as being one of those people who drifted. Your papa made sure I stayed anchored.’  

Phil smiled fondly at the pair, while Dan readjusted Piper out of his sight.  

‘Oh was that a smile? Does daddy talking to you make you smile, baby? I’ll never get tired of that. You knock me out, I swear. I’ll fall apart every time you smile at me, I hope you know that. Let’s not let Papa know I’m with you right now. He’ll kill me. I don’t care though, I love spending time with you. Even if it’s when you’re crying, and won’t fall asleep without me around. I think Papa cracked it though. You just want to be warm and safe, just like I do.’

Phil yawned quietly to himself. How long had Dan been sat with her?  

‘I promise you, baby, things will be right for you. I won’t let you feel like I did growing up. You’re going to have the best childhood. Pride isn’t the word I look for when I see you, Piper. You’ve brought something to my life that I didn’t have before. I don’t think Papa has noticed yet, but I haven’t had my special medicine for a long time. That’s down to you and Papa. You make so very happy.’

Of course, Phil had noticed. The box of Ativan had been untouched since that night they sat on the floor. Something had changed in Dan, because of Piper.  

‘My daddy wasn’t around much when I was a kid, Pipes. But I swear, I’ll be there for you. I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it means I’ll end up making a million mistakes in the process. I’ll make the world safe and sound, just for you. Someday, Piper Jane, you’ll blow me away. I just know it.’  

Phil knocked gently on the door and was met with a gracious smile from a very tired Dan, and a sleeping Piper.

‘I know you told me to sleep, but you were out cold and she was stirring. I didn’t want to have to wake you up. But you’ve worked it out now, I think Papa gets to put her to sleep from now on.’  

‘That’s more than fine by me. Now, go, Lester. Get back into bed. Let me put Piper in her Moses basket.’

‘That’s more than fine by me.’ Dan yawned, passing the tiny infant over.  

‘You’re daddy’s right. You’re going to change the world, Pipes.’ Phil whispered, placing the baby back into her cot, before cuddling back into bed with Dan.

'Your feet are fucking freezing Phil.’

Part two !!!  

I had to restart over after working on it for 2 days because I’m fussy and hate getting things wrong lmao but ended up writing more than what I did before so you know all good things all good things

[3one3]

The Sequel - 797

Will you be my valentine?

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

The Valentine’s Day breakfast included mini heart-shaped red velvet pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, poached eggs with a leftover-avocado-based faux hollandaise sauce over tomato and toast, and little parfaits with yogurt, oats, honey, chia, and blueberries. It was served to André and Lukas and Lukas’ Valentine’s teddy bear in bed, after the morning sex with the older one and the morning diaper change with the younger one. They all ate together under the covers and watched DVR’d episodes of Die Sendung mit der Maus, which André insisted was the little boy’s favorite TV program for obvious reasons.

He was in a fantastically good mood by noon, and it wasn’t because he was like Christina and got the same kind of antidepressant benefits from orgasms, or at least not just because of that. André was elated because a solution he came up with for a problem was actually working, they were able to build on that solution to make a change that could potentially fix another problem, and they were doing it together. That is how relationships are supposed to work, he thought. His wife finally did the best she could to honestly and completely explain to him how she was feeling, he listened intently, internalized it, came up with a solution, she tried it out, they gave it time, and it seemed to be working. It was working well enough at least to try the same strategy to fix the next problem, and that was a decision they made together really, since Christina consulted him in her evidence gathering and conclusion phases. The player was sure that the fundamental structure of their relationship couldn’t be cracked if it was functioning on such a high level. Even if his wife was right and he was wrong- that living together again and getting Dirk back to the top wouldn’t eliminate their habit of expecting their worst instincts about one another to be confirmed and letting that lead to damaging arguments, he refused to believe that they could be in any serious trouble if they were so good at working together to get to a good place.

“Should we think about getting up and doing something soon?” Christina yawned after finishing her second coffee. Nobody wanted to get out of bed. Even Lukas was content to stay there. He had toys to play with and parents to stop him from falling off the mattress.

“It’s raining and it looks cold out.” André believed his weather statement was a sufficient answer. His time with his family was limited. Soon he would have to venture out in the rain and the cold and go train with his teammates.

“You don’t want to go...somewhere?” His wife really didn’t have designs on getting up either, but she felt kind of bad about coming to visit and spending their whole day in bed, especially since she had nothing to do once he left anyway. There was no flight back to London until morning so she and the baby were staying at the apartment without him that night.

“I really just want Mausi to need to have a nap so that I can f-u-c-k you again now that I’m actually awake. I feel like the proper way to celebrate Valentine’s is to let your girl sit on your face for a while and then c-u-m on hers.” The footballer used his expansive reach to slap her butt as she leaned over to put her empty mug on the nightstand.

“Wow. Much romance.” She rolled her eyes at his crudeness, but wasn’t turned off by it.

“I did order flowers for you, Prinzessin. I don’t know why they’re not here yet.” Seriously, where are her flowers, he thought, checking the time on his phone. I picked morning delivery so she doesn’t feel left out when all her girlfriends are Instagramming theirs. And because she’s not going to be here for very long to enjoy looking at them.

“It’s kind of a busy day for flowery deliver guys.” Christina scooted down the bed to lie completely flat and relish what that did for her spine. She also wiggled her toes and moved her feet around to distract Lukas from the tower he was trying to build with snap blocks like giant LEGOs. He followed and tried to capture her feet under the comforter the way a cat might.

“Does he look sleepy to you?”

“No.”

“What if we gave him more food? Post-lunch nap?”

“That would require me getting up to make him something.”

“I could do it.”

“Whatever you want, babe.”  

André took Lukas and Dave to the kitchen to make a grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Hot, heavy, cheesy food often brought on a nap for the little blonde whose hair was darkening seemingly by the day. Like his father, his locks changed in winter. While the boys cooked, Mom gave in and unplugged her phone to address whatever matters were waiting for her on it, and to send her other valentine a message.

“Hi hello buenos días will you be my valentine?” she wrote with the pink heart and lipstick stain emojis. She also sent him a kissy-face selfie while reclining in multiple pillows, and didn’t even care that her hair was a mess, she had no makeup on, and probably looked as if she just woke up. It was Juan and he was supposed to be her friendly valentine, so it didn’t matter. He immediately sent one back, but he was in the dressing room at Cobham and evidently just about to head out for training based on his cold weather protections. His tongue was sticking out and his eyes were blank, so the overall impression was funny and made her laugh.

“Many women have sent me roses and chocolate. I have not yet decided which one gets my heart. Send a gift and I will consider your application. Bye.”

He’s funny today, Christina snickered to herself. And he’s gotten a haircut. Thank god. He’s so much prettier when the sides are short. What gift shall I send him? She put the phone down for a second to fix her underwear. The seam around the side was stuck somewhere it didn’t belong, likely from her rolling about in bed for hours. Fixing her “front wedgie” inspired an idea for a gift for Juan in keeping with the theme of the day, if not with her designation of the Spaniard as her friendly valentine. There was her main valentine, André, her special valentine, Lukas, and then her many animal valentines too. Dirk was always one of her valentines, for example. Her friendly valentine was going to get a Valentine’s Day gift fitting with the nature of their friendship. She pushed her blanket down and snapped a photo of some of her fingers reaching into her little black underwear and pulling it down a bit, and sent it back with “bye” to match his message.

The photo itself sort of matched one he sent to her before Christmas, and which she saved. Neither photo included a face. For Christina that meant she didn’t have to worry about him showing anyone hers, and that André couldn’t have a cow about the one she saved. The photo album on his phone was dotted with anonymous sexy photos he kept from Instagram. They were both allowed to look at other people like that, and enjoy them. It only bothered the rider when the player did things like pause their foreplay to take a picture, like at Christmas. Then she thought he was getting too into the Instagram girls and wanted her to be like them. Otherwise, she didn’t care what he enjoyed looking at and the reverse was true too. Having the photo she’d just taken on her phone would be significantly harder to explain to him than the one of Juan’s anonymous crotch though. It had to be deleted right away. Christina thought of it like Juan’s hiding her toothbrush in his bathroom. He didn’t hide it because he was doing anything wrong, but because it was harder to explain it than not.

“Chriiiiiiiiis? Does the baby like mustard?” André asked loudly from the kitchen, highlighting a fundamental difference in the kind of Valentine’s Day she was having and the kind she could have been having.

“Not really,” Lukas’ mom shouted back. V-Day is breakfast in bed with a toddler, and the toys used are blocks and action figures rather than ones you order online and come in discreet packaging. It’s waiting for flowers to be delivered, and hoping the kid needs a nap so we can spend time alone. I bet V-Day with Juan would include some obscure kind of roses hand-delivered by him to the library he’d tell me to meet him at so he can show me some weirdly relevant and incredibly romantic or beautiful book, and then dinner somewhere dark and cozy, to be followed by the most intense hour of his face between my legs, and-

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” The BVB man appeared in the doorway to halt her mind’s wandering.

“He’ll eat it but he doesn’t really love it,” she told him about the mustard.

“Okay. Are you hungry again yet? Do you want a sandwich too?”

“No.”

“Are you starting without me?” her partner smiled. The blanket was still folded down away from her lap, and her left hand was back in her underwear. It wasn’t really doing anything significant in there, or even out of the ordinary. The girl who never wore pants in the house often touched herself idly and without purpose. She didn’t even realize she was doing it when André called her out. She had her email open and was thinking about the alternative Valentine’s Day celebration style.

“Yeah, hurry up,” she laughed nonetheless. Thinking about the dichotomy of her celebration and the one she could have had wasn’t about the differences between being with the German and being with the Spaniard. Her reflection was more about the fact that she had a son who would forever color things like holidays. They made the decision to make all their decisions include a third person, and that still felt oppressive to her at times. Her Valentine’s Day morning wasn’t bad, or unsatisfactory. Christina loved making heart-shaped pancakes for her boys, and she loved playing games with them. The loved-up-couple-with-no-kids-style way to enjoy the Hallmark holiday wasn’t any better, or more appealing. It was just another thing for her to think about- to fuel her borderline lamentation of the way things were when she wondered about how they might have been. That was one source of anxiety that André couldn’t do anything about. There was no way to remove a wall or remove a distraction and take that away the way he did for her with her feelings for Juan, or the way they arrived together at the decision to drop some of her sponsors.

Father and son returned a few minutes later with a warm sandwich and a sippy cup of warm milk. André was pulling out all the stops. A heavy meal could force a nap, and warm milk usually made Lukas think it was bedtime. That was a trick both parents employed when he woke up in the middle of the night. Both were aware that no scientific evidence supports the old wives’ tale that warm milk puts a baby to sleep. It was the habit that worked. Christina knew pumping the kid full of cheese and milk was going to make for a pretty gross diaper situation later on, but his dad was so keen to knock him out that she didn’t have the heart to complain about the method. She felt it would be silly and foolish to admonish him for trying everything he knew how so that they could be alone together again before he had to leave. His tactics worked. Lukas passed out and was delivered to his crib. Her flowers showed up too. Two-dozen baby pink roses in a white cardboard bucket arrived for her with a heart-shaped tin of dark chocolate covered pretzels, which she then wanted to eat more than she wanted to have more sex. The footballer had to take them away from her.

“You said you want me to sit on your face. I can sit on your face and eat pretzels at the same time,” she pouted as he walked away with her present. Not fair. You can’t give a girl chocolate on V-Day and then not even let her eat it! Especially when you have it delivered and it shows up late. He could have gotten me chocolate yesterday and had it here when I got up, and then I’d be full of chocolate by now and free for sex. That was just delinquent planning on his part. At least the flowers are pretty, she thought forlornly, glancing to her right at the pink blooms on the nightstand. André came back and went directly to the foot of the bed, from which he crawled between his girl’s legs. She bent her knees and captured his head with her thighs, and moved them back and forth just to be annoying. His beard brushed across her crotch but thankfully for her it was so soft at its longest by his chin that it didn’t poke through her underwear. Even her own hair poked through it from the other side when it was long-ish.

“You’re totally not in the mood for this, are you?” he questioned dejectedly while she laughed at him. His face stuck between her legs and being dragged right and left was unavoidably funny.

“What happened to deep conditioning your hair? Did I make your mom go buy coconut oil for nothing?” The amused rider released her partner’s head and reached forward to fluff his messy hair. It was too long for her taste. He spaced out his trims more in winter because he was always so cold. That affected shape. His head got kind of wide and square at the top, and the longest hair got longer and somehow exaggerated how far back his part started, giving the illusion of a hairline on the march.

“Did you just finish your period? Did you have it between last week and now? Or did you just fuck Juan like every day in between?” The poofy haired blonde sank down to rest his chin on her pubic bone and his cheek on her left thigh. His blue eyes looked mostly sad. I hope it’s one of those two things, he thought. Because if it’s not then it means she’s not into me right now, or not into sex in general, and I thought women are supposed to be approaching their sexual peak at her age. She can’t be going down the other side of that mountain already. That would ruin my life.

“No to both,” Christina frowned. “Why do you think that because I’m not foaming at the mouth to have sex the entire time I’m with you that it means I- I don’t even know. I don’t know what you think it means. I just see it upsetting you.”

“Because I miss being with you so much when you’re not here. We just got our sex life like back into shape over the holidays, right at the end, and I miss it. You come here to me with no appetite for it though, and-“

“That’s not true!” Her complaint was both sad and defensive because she felt unjustly persecuted. “You thought I was reluctant to have sex when I was here a week ago?”

“No, but-“

“Exactly. I wasn’t into it last night because we had a fight, and because I was processing that, and tired from that. We had sex this morning. It was really nice. I don’t understand why it’s a major problem for you that I asked about your hair just now instead of ripping my clothes off and opening my legs in response to you suggesting I’m not in the mood “for this”. Is it just Juan? You think he’s getting all the sex and you’re not?”

“It’s hard not to at least consider that.”

“I’ve been with him one time in a month and a half.”

“Okay.”

“Why did you tell me that arrangement wouldn’t be a problem if it’s clearly a problem?”

“It’s not a problem, Prinzessin.” André shook his head and freed himself from between the rather nice thighs in favor of lying next to their owner. “I’m sorry. It’s easier for me to think it’s his fault that you don’t jump me when you have the chance than it is to accept that it’s my own fault,” he sighed from the pillow next to her.

“It’s not your fault!” Christina groaned back at the ceiling. “There isn’t even an “it”. I wanted to play with your hair and it reminded me that we were going to condition it today with the coconut and the yogurt and honey. I wasn’t trying to get out of anything! Stop being such a baby,” she urged with a pat on his stomach, her tone softening. “I know it’s hard with the team when you don’t get to play much and prove yourself, but you don’t have that situation with me. Turn off the insecurity for a minute, okay? You know better. Relax. And then give me my pretzels back. The least you can do if you’re going to have a breakdown over nothing is give me a delicious snack to enjoy in the meantime, damn it.”

“You’re my favorite person,” the player declared as he clumsily engulfed her head in his arms for a hug. This is why I need her around. She stops me when I’m stupid instead of getting upset about it. It’s just so easy to feel like nobody wants anything to do with me right now though. It’s easy to assume it’s the same with her. It isn’t. Chris isn’t like the people who are only interested when you’re doing something good for them, or solving their problems. And it’s not even like she has to try. She doesn’t get bothered.

“I could be eating pretzels right now while you’re getting over yourself and suffocating me. It would be a challenge, but I’m up for it.”

“Will it be a good Valentine’s Day if I let you go get the pretzels and eat them while I eat you?” He released her head and grabbed a breast to jiggle under her shirt, his concern and anxiety both assuaged. That brief panic was gone, mostly because his wife’s sarcastic prodding and refusal to let him drag them into a serious conflict were stronger than his self-doubt.

“Yeah I guess but it would be a stellar V-Day if you got up and got the pretzels for me since you are the one who took them away in the first place, you mean lazy ogre.”

“Mean lazy ogre? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”  

“Go get my pretzels!” Christina kicked her feet and pounded the mattress with her fists- a proper tantrum that made her Valentine laugh at her first, and then sneak a quick kiss before getting out of bed to fetch the chocolate covered pretzels. In his opinion, she was allowed to do put-on tantrums if the primary reason for them was actually to end an awkward or unhappy situation, and that’s what she was up to. The pretzels weren’t that important. They were a convenient pivot, and when he returned them to her she took her underwear off and invited him to have a field day, no need to discuss who wanted who and how much, and no need to make an awkward transition from fighting to foreplay.

She literally ate pretzels while he licked, sucked, and fingered her to the point where she didn’t need the chocolate and salt anymore and abandoned the tin of treats in favor of making some of André’s favorite sounds, and pulling his dry hair. He thought about leaving her there, on the edge of satisfaction, so that he could enjoy the way she got when she was desperate. He could skip directly to the main event and make her wait until he caught up to her, which would mean begging, sexy pleading faces, taking matters into her own hands, whining, etc., all of which he loved to see, hear, and experience. He loved to be needed that badly. He loved when she just tried to use him to get herself off. But there was an upside to getting her off with just his mouth and fingers too, right away. Christina always felt a deep need to return the satisfaction after a particularly good orgasm. It would get her going again. She’d be diligent, creative, and sensitive to what worked. The BVB man decided he wanted that treatment. He wanted her to enjoy her orgasm and then switch places with him to show the same kind of love with her mouth and fingers. Then he could be lazy and calm too, with nothing to do but recline and be taken care of, or perhaps eat some pretzels.

A midday blowjob of the highest quality was another reminder for him why he desperately needed to get the whole family into one house. After having his fun, and after Christina washed her face, the couple had a serious talk about the move. They called Zoe to get some details, and consulted Tom, Isandro, and the kids. Isandro was tasked with organizing and packing equipment and supplies at home while the horses were in Sweden, though they would still be coming home after. Tom was in charge of getting bedding, hay, and grain delivered to the new place, and making a final decision on hiring another groom. Stefanie and Christina would go over on the first of March, a few days after Sweden, to take “delivery” of the kids’ new apartment and help Tom get stalls ready for the first horse delivery. They were going to ship 5 and 5, split over several days, and use the extra space in the hauler for cargo. That way they didn’t end up with 10 horses and massive amounts of stuff to put away at once. While that was going on, Zoe’s people would be unloading the entire contents of the London house, which they would pack while the rider was in Sweden first and then down in Spain at Juan’s house for the couple of days in between the show and Dortmund. Christina would have Thursday and Friday to calmly get things ready for horses, and then the weekend to alternate between getting her horses settled in and working with her decorator to get the stuff into the new house.

It would surely be total chaos, but André figured chaos might be the best strategy. If his wife got overwhelmed or frustrated with what was happening at the house, she could go boss people around at the barn instead, and vice versa, rather than be trapped doing one or the other and having to get it done so that she could move onto the next one. And it left plenty of time to get situated and formulate a routine before the circus would need to get its act together to go to Omaha for the World Cup Final, god willing. Once the animals and the stuff were in the proper places, they’d just have to worry about getting all the kids moved. Kyle didn’t have much to take with him since the furniture in the cottage belonged to Christina and André and wasn’t moving. André offered to pay for a pod-type moving service for Stefanie and Espen so that they could just load all their stuff into a big container and have it picked up and delivered to their new places, though the latter didn’t actually have a new place yet, so hers would go to the house. The nanny was going to be staying full time with the family for a bit anyway while everyone got settled. That eliminated a headache for his wife, so he was happy to do it.

All that was left to be sorted was the Hazard ponies. Christina needed to find a facility for them with a good trainer and plenty of kids so that Yannis and Leo would still love to go ride, and Wizzy and Cornflakes would be maintained for them in the right way. She was going to keep Isandro on to look after them until that happened. Having just two ponies to take care of would give him plenty of time to work on finding another gig. That situation was the hardest on Christina. She didn’t want to say goodbye to her guy. She knew his next job probably wouldn’t be the same. It really upset her to have to force him out of the family, so to speak. Her partner had a secret plan for that. He was going to try to lure their stable manager to Germany too, even though he didn’t want to be further from his daughter. Tom told him on the low that he would be fine working with the Argentine and splitting the roles at in the new barn. It would be significantly more expensive to have them both on, however, compared to just Tom and a less qualified groom/laborer. The cost only factored into the footballer’s thinking because his wife’s riding was about to become less lucrative. If she ended some sponsor relationships then she was giving up some of her regular income- the kind not dependent on her success in the show ring. It wasn’t going to be a struggle to afford that kind of situation. It just wasn’t going to look all that intelligent on paper, especially in light of how much they spent on the new property without selling the old one. André considered that his headache. That was his problem to bear. He had to figure out how to make the numbers work. He promised Christina that she could have everything she wanted and that it would all work out perfectly, so it was on him to make it tenable, with the help of his agent and financial planner, of course. The three of them still needed to figure out what to do with the London estate too. André didn’t want to sell it, nor see it rot away while out of service, or ruined by a temporary tenant.

“The next time I see you, you’re here for good,” he smiled at her while saying goodbye when it was time to go to training.

“Yeah.” She smiled back meekly, trying to look as enthusiastic and excited about that prospect as her husband. Having a plan was reassuring for her too, but she was still dreading the finality of it all. She was still dreading moving. She even wished she wasn’t spending the night in Dortmund, because she wanted to go “home” and be in London as much as possible before having to give up London life. After the player left, the rider watched Lukas play on the floor and thought about how the best parts of her life were in her London life. Her spell as a resident there encompassed most of the most important things she’d ever done or experienced. That period was coming to an end and it was hard not to worry that it would always be the best period- that the next one, her new Dortmund life, wouldn’t compare. And that had nothing to do with day-to-day living and everything to do with what would happen throughout her life while living there- her career, Lukas’ upbringing, her marriage. Christina wondered if the highlights during “the Dortmund period” would be as special as the ones from the last 6 years.