#i think we settled on bedtime story for the 'genre' like its something a parent would read to their kid.

[frecht]

the problem is that because i was above my reading level like my entire childhood i have no scale of what age is what audience for books. im making a picture book for my book arts final and my teacher asked me what the audience was and i was like i odnt know. 5 year olds?

[starlit-serenade]

Along the Red Thread | Chapter 3

🧣 Summary: It is said that a red thread connects people who are soulmates and destined to be lovers, regardless of place and circumstances. What makes this difficult is that you stopped believing in love a long time ago. OR. You go to Korea to visit your father after several years. There, a mysterious red thread that seemingly only you can see shows up when you least expect it, and you meet a childhood friend you’d never thought you would see again.

🧣 Chapter 3: 4,342 words

🧣 Pairing: Reader x Kim Geonhak (Leedo) / Characters: GenderNeutral!Reader; Kim Geonhak (Leedo); Kim Youngjo (Ravn); Lee Seoho (Seoho); Lee Keonhee (Keonhee); Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong); Son Dongju/Xion; a couple of OCs;

🧣 Rated: T / Warnings: Mentions of divorce (Y/N’s parents); Mentions of abuse (physical); Instances of abuse (non-physical); Mentions of child abuse; Swearing / Genre: Angst; Fluff; Soulmate!AU (Red Thread of Fate); ChildhoodBestFriends!AU; Happy Ending;

《 Boy Group Masterlist // ONEUS Masterlist // Series Masterlist 》

“Sunho, let’s go to school, alright?” you call out. Sunho runs out of his room, all dressed for school with his bag ready, and he grabs onto your hand. “Ready to go?” you ask. He nods aggressively.

It’s been just over two weeks since you arrived in Korea, and you’ve been adapting quite well to it here. You’ve spent most of your time reading to Sunho, who loves spending time with you. You’ve read him ‘The Kissing Hand’ about once a night as a bedtime story, and several other books throughout the week, and you have been taking him to school for the past week, while his mom and your shared father go to work. It’s easier for them, plus you feel helpful and you get to know your little half brother.

You and Sooyeon haven’t gotten along much since she yelled at you two weeks ago. Ever since she talked about and criticized your upbringing by your mother like that …

You’ve felt the tension between you and her ever since then. Your anger has gone down, but it’s difficult to see Sooyeon and not rehear those words she spoke. She hasn’t apologized, hasn’t even suggested that she feels bad for insulting you or your mother. You and Sooyeon have had quite a few disagreements like that since then, about stupid things like your screen time–you’re a college student on vacation and she isn’t your mother–and eating habits. Sooyeon started staring and watching you as you simply exist. It’s really as if she’s looking for something to yell at you.

You walk with Sunho to the bus stop you take to get to his school. The stop isn’t too far from your father’s apartment, so you hold his hand as you lead him onto the bus, and hold his hand throughout the ride.

After you wave Sunho off, and he waves goodbye back before joining some friends his age and disappearing into the school building. You  hum as you head back to your dad’s apartment, hands in the pockets of your pants as you listen to music through your earbuds. As you walk back toward the apartment, something on the ground catches your eye.

You frown and move off to the side of the sidewalk, kneeling down as if to tie your shoelaces, and you reach over to pluck up the end of the red thread, lying on the sidewalk.

You stand up again, clutching the thread tightly in your hand. It’s been just over a week since you last saw the red thread. It’s a different day, different place, but it almost certainly is the same red thread. You look up, and watch as the thread, a bright red, runs down the sidewalk ahead of you and turns left ahead, disappearing around the block.

You frown. No one else seems to notice or see the string. No one did the last time you saw it, either. They continue about their days, stepping over and around it without even sparing it a glance.

You follow the red thread, coiling it up in your hand and rolling it into a ball as you walk along the path. Miss Sooyeon would probably be appalled by the fact that you’re picking up a random string on the ground. To be fair, you have no idea what this string is, where it leads and where it’s been. You have no idea how dirty it is. But at the same time, this is the second time you’ve seen this thread since you arrived here in Korea. Last time you saw it, it vanished mysteriously after you ran into someone at the store. How can you not be curious about this mysterious red thread?

You follow the string down the street, making sure to be much more mindful of your surroundings so that you don’t run into anyone on the sidewalk, and don’t get run over by a car or bike. You continue walking, and you see ahead that the string leads to a bus stop on the sidewalk, several people waiting in its shade. As you walk closer to the stop, you can see the string wound around the poles holding up the roof, and hanging from the ceiling. You stare up at the string, intrigued, and come to a stop beside the structure, observing how the thread is wrapped around the black pillar.

“What are you looking at?”

You almost jump at the deep voice beside you, and clutch your heart. You see a man next to you, around your age, black hair, eerily familiar. He’s looking between you and the bus stop structure curiously.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. He frowns, tilting his head to you. “Wait, you’re the person from the store the other week.”

Oh, that’s where you’ve seen him! He’s the man you ran into at the store when you followed the red thread two weeks ago!

Oh. Oh!

That’s embarrassing.

“Oh, yes, that was me,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Sorry, again, about bumping into you.”

“No worries,” he says. “So how has your second week here been? Two weeks, right?”

“Yep. It’s been fine,” you say. “The city is beautiful.” There really is no other way to describe it. You’ve enjoyed reading to Sunho. You’ve enjoyed the small amount of sightseeing you’ve done.

“Excellent,” he says. “By the way, I’m Geonhak.”

He holds out his hand to shake, and you shake it.

“I’m Y/N,” you say. He tilts his head curiously.

“When I lived internationally, I had a friend by that name. Where did you say you were visiting from, again?” he asks. You tell him what city you come from, and his eyes widen.

“Your last name wouldn’t happen to be … Y/L/N, would it?” he asks. You nod.

“It is. How did you know?”

He laughs. “I lived there during middle school. If I’m not mistaken, we went to school together, and we were friends,” he says.

You frown, thinking back. There’s no way this man could be the Korean kid you were friends with, all those years ago. But now that you think of it, his name was Geonhak …

“Geonhak Kim?” you guess. He nods and beams at you.

“Yes, that was me!”

“Oh, that’s so … amazing that we’ve met again! It’s been so long,” you say, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

“No worries,” he says. “It took me two weeks to recognize you. It’s been many, many years since we’ve seen each other, so it’s understandable. How have you been, Y/Nie?”

You smile at the name Y/Nie. You can almost hear it in his much younger voice, from when you were kids. His voice certainly has gotten deeper since you were thirteen.

“Not much. I just finished my freshman year of college, but as I told you, I’m here visiting my father,” you say. “How about you? How have you been?”

“I, uh …” He glances around before leaning toward you. “I’m an idol,” he says, his voice somewhat lowered.

“An idol? A K-Pop idol? A celebrity?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he says. He’s smiling almost confidently, but his rosy, blushy cheeks are telling you he’s a bit shy. “I’m part of the Korean idol group ONEUS.”

“Oh, that name sounds familiar,” you say, thinking back to where you recognize the name from. “Was it 'Valkyrie’?”

“Yes, that was our debut title track,” he says laughing. “Oh, have you heard of us?”

“Yeah, I listened to 'Valkyrie’. I liked it, it was nice,” you say. “So since we went to school together, you became a celebrity. If memory serves, you were into dance and used to sing. Nice to know it went to good use.”

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

A screech sounds as the bus pulls up to the bus stop. People line up at the now-open door and start entering, scanning their cards and finding a seat.

“Ah, that’s me,” Geonhak says. “Here, let’s quickly exchange numbers. Here’s my phone, just put in your name, and I can put my number on yours.”

You give him your phone and type in your own phone number, putting 'Y/Nie Y/L/N’ as the contact name. You give Geonhak his phone back, and he gives you yours back.

“Bye, Y/N,” he says, smiling brightly. “We should talk soon!” He waves before joining the line for the bus. You wave goodbye again as the bus departs before frowning to yourself. You came to this bus stop for a reason, didn’t you? What was it?

Oh. Right.

You look back up at the roof of the structure, but the red thread is nowhere to be seen. Not dangling from the ceiling, nor wrapped around the supports like before. You look down at your hand, but, once again, the thread has vanished. You glance around, but there is no red thread to be found.

“What … ?”

After glancing around for a moment, you settle with the fact that the red thread has, once again, completely vanished. Slightly disappointed by not figuring out the mystery of the red thread, you head back to the apartment.

You sit in your room, on your bed, working on your computer. You have a bit of summer reading to do for school, and so you’re getting a bit of a head start now.

You have your earbuds in both of your ears, playing all of ONEUS’ music on shuffle. After learning that your childhood friend is now famous and a member of a popular music group three days ago, you wanted to check out their songs. And you really like their music, their first album especially.

Bored with the reading, you take out your phone and open contacts. Geonhak hpad named himself in your phone as 'Geonhak 🐥’ when you gave him your phone three days ago, which you found extremely cute.

You and Geonhak have been texting back and forth since you exchanged numbers. Mostly just talking about school, life. You talk about hobbies and how you both have been since middle school. Once or twice, you mentioned living with your mother and without your father, but it was never a main topic of conversation.

It’s nice to think about meeting your childhood friend. Especially now that you think of how he was always so kind to you when you would come to school and tell him about what your dad did to you or your mom. He would comfort you, he would listen to you. And, from what you remember, he was generally just a fun friend.

“Y/N!”

You look up in surprise. Sunho stands in the doorway, carrying his favorite book 'The Kissing Hand,’ in his arms.

“Hi, Sunho,” you say. “Do you want me to read to you before dinner?”

“Yes please,” he says. You pat the spot on the bed next to you, and he comes and sits down there. He places the book down and smiles widely. You reach over to open the book when you hear the front door open. You swear your heart stops at the sound of the door slamming shut.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to slam the door!” Your father’s voice is loud, and you let out the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding.

You can hear Sooyeon respond in Korean from the kitchen. With your limited knowledge or Korean, she says something along the lines of, “It’s okay! I just made dinner! I was about to get the kids.”

A couple minutes pass, and then suddenly the door opens to your bedroom and Sooyeon pokes her head in.

“Hello you two,” Sooyeon says. “Dinner is ready.” She repeats it again in Korean for Sunho.

“Okay-yee!” Sunho jumps off the bed. “Let’s go!” he says in Korean. You follow him to the dining room, his loud footsteps echoing through the hallway as he runs to his usual spot.

The four of you take your seats at the table. You sit to the right of your father and across from Sunho, Sooyeon sitting diagonally from you.

Dinner passes by in a flash, and after you finish washing your dishes, your father pulls you aside. Sooyeon is washing her and Sunho’s dishes.

“Y/N,” your father says. You feel yourself stiffen a bit. “I heard from your Eomma that you’ve been being disrespectful these past two weeks.”

You frown. “Disrespectful?” You look over at Sooyeon, who was watching over her shoulder. She quickly looks back at the spoon she’s washing, and you look back at your father.

“She told me that you’ve been arguing with her,” he says. “You’ve been talking back to her.”

“She was talking about mom!” you exclaim.

Your father slams his hand down on the table, and you jump back, hands around yourself like a shield between yourself and him, your head down so that you’re looking down at his shoes.

A moment passes.

“Did I ask what she was talking about?” your father asks, his voice loud and booming. You don’t know if it’s real or in your head, but it feels like his voice is echoing off of all of the walls, both in your house and in your head.

“No,” you say. Your voice is so quiet. “You didn’t.”

“Right. Now, I don’t know what you’ve been arguing with your Eomma about. But I want you to apologize to her,” your father says.

You chew at your lip and turn toward Sooyeon, who is leaning against the kitchen counter. Sunho is nowhere to be seen. Your brain has gone fuzzy, and not in a good way like when you have your favorite food after many years. Instead, it’s like when your mind has gone blank in fear.

You stare at the floor, and watch as a single tear  falls from your eyes.

Without even thinking about it, you rush to the doorway, shove your feet into your shoes as fast as you can, and run out the door, down the stairs, and out of the building.

You have no destination in mind. You’ve never been to Korea before. So you run down the only street you’ve run down before. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, protecting you from everything else. Once you feel safer and far away from the danger as possible, you stop and take a deep breath.

It’s dark out. The sun must have set only an hour or so ago. It’s also cold, because it’s night time. Not frightfully cold, but cold enough that a small gust of wind of wind makes you shiver. You look up at the moon in the sky, shining brightly. It’s awfully calming.

After inhaling the fresh air deeply, you look down. Lying there, you see–for the third time, a red string. One end lying at your feet as if placed there deliberately. You frown and pick it up.

It’s the same shade of rest as the last two times you found a red thread on the sidewalk. As you examine it closer, you can see bits of glitter between the strands that are twisted together to build the string.

You look up and follow the string. As you turn the corner, you see that the string leads to the bust stop right ahead. As you approach, you realize that this is the same bus stop you’d followed the red thread to two weeks ago.

The thread is strewn wildly about the bus stop. Coiling around the poles that support the rest of the structure, thrown over the roof and dangling over the edges. You can see the glitter on the string twinkling from the streetlight next to the stop. It’s pretty. It’s beautiful. But you’re still confused as to why this thread is here, why it was there before–twice–and why the thread keeps vanishing.

With one end of the thread still in your hand, you walk over to sit down on the bench within the bus stop. You look around you at the thread dangling around the exterior Of the structure. The glittering string is really pretty.

You hear footsteps nearing and look over to the side. Someone is approaching from down the sidewalk. You squint as they walk beneath the streetlight, until you recognize their face.

“Geonhak?”

The man in question is wearing a white shirt and a jean jacket. It is indeed Geonhak, and as you continue looking at him, you see that he too is holding an end of the string in his hand. He squints at you for a moment, then the bus stop covered in red string, then back at you.

“Y/N?” He walks closer, until he’s standing right next to the bus stop, and you can see he’s frowning. “What are you doing out alone so late?”

“Nothing,” you say.

“What–have you been crying?” he asks. You touch your cheeks and realize they’re wet from when you ran out of your father’s apartment only minutes ago. You quickly wipe away at the tears.

“Oh, no. I mean, yes I have. But don’t worry about it.”

“Are you alright?” He sits down on the bench next to you.

“Yeah. I just got in an argument with my father.”

“I’m sorry. Do you need anything? Can I give you a hug?”

You sniff. “That would be nice.”

He leans over and hugs you. You hum, and thank him after he pulls away.

“So what brought you out here?” you ask. “So late.”

He opens his mouth, then pauses. “You know, I’m not entirely sure. I went outside to get some air, and I followed this red thread … here?”

You look up at the string still dangling from the roof.

“Yeah,” you say. “I, uh … Is there a hotel that would possibly be open about now? I don’t feel safe going back to my dad’s apartment tonight.”

“I don’t think there’s anywhere you can go this late. However, you could come to our dorm,” he says. “We share a bedroom, but I could get you covers and you could sleep on the couch. I promise it’s comfortable. And I can help you get a hotel room tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t want to be a bother to you and your members,” you say.

“Really, I don’t mind,” he says. “Please. I don’t want you staying out here in the dark.”

“Would your management be okay with that?” you ask. The last thing you want is to get him in trouble with his superiors.

“I could tell them in the morning that you’re a friend and you needed a place to sleep,” he says.

“Oh. I’d really appreciate that.”

He stands up and stretches his hand out for you to take. You allow him to pull you out of your chair, and follow him down the sidewalk from the direction he came.

“My members might be shocked to meet you, but I’ll explain to them that you just needed a place to stay for the night and that you’re a friend,” he says. You follow him, your hand in his.

“Okay,” you say. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. Remember when you and I would have sleepovers when your parents got into fights?” he asks.

You nod. You remember you would go to his house, or less often, he would come to yours. Your dad never wanted any of your friends to come over to your house–you didn’t know why–but your mom insisted on letting Geonhak visit. You can vividly remember when he and you would try to play games and talk over the sound of your father yelling at your mother for things out of her control.

“Just like old times.” Geonhak chuckles.

You follow him to his dorm building. He takes you up using the elevator, and opens the door to his dorm. Your hand still in his, you follow him inside. You can hear chatter inside, and as Geonhak leads you further into the dorm, you can see the source of the voices.

One of the two people in the room is staring intently at his phone, a boy with wavy hair who looks quite a bit younger than yourself and Geonhak. The other person in the living room, a brown haired man, looks up as Geonhak closes the door behind you.

“Geonhak, how was your walk?” The man looks at you. “Oh! Who’s … who’s this?”

“This is my childhood friend, Y/Nie,” Geonhak says. “From back when I lived internationally.”

“Y/N? The friend you’ve been talking about?” The wavy haired boy looks at you and waves cutely. “Hi. I’m Dongju, Xion.”

You wave back, smiling widely. This boy’s smile is contagious, you can’t help but smile when he smiles. “Hi.”

“I’m Kim Youngjo, Ravn,” the brown haired man says. He smiles a warm smile, and you would be lying if you said your heart didn’t flutter a bit at his smile.

“Yeah, this is my friend Y/Nie,” Geonhak says. “Y/N needed a place to stay tonight, so I offered. If that’s okay, Youngjo.”

“Sure,” Youngjo says. “Y/N, if you need anything, feel free to let us know.”

“Thank you,” you reply. “I don’t want to be too much of a bother. Hopefully I can get my staying conditions sorted out after tonight. I’ll get a hotel tomorrow or something.”

“No worries,” he says, standing up. He walks over and shakes your hand. “Our other members are out right now, still at the studio I believe, but they should be here any time soon.”

“Alright, I’ll get you some bed covers and pillows from the next room,” Geonhak says. “Youngjo, can you show Y/N around a bit?” He disappears into the next room, leaving you with Youngjo and Dongju.

“So that over there is the kitchen,” Youngjo says, gesturing to the area that is so very obviously the kitchen. “And that room is the bedroom that we all share. You can come in if you need anything, though you might not want to disturb Geonhak when he sleeps.”

You frown. “Why?”

Dongju cups his hand next to his mouth.

“He sleeps without his shirt on,” he whispers loudly. “You might not want to see that.”

You laugh a bit.

“So you knew each other as kids?” Youngjo asks. You nod, and he smiles softly. “That’s sweet. And you two didn’t plan on meeting here?”

“Not at all,” you say. “I’m here visiting my father. I actually ran into him–literally–at the store just after I arrived back here.”

“Oh? That’s quite a miracle that you ran into each other accidentally,” Youngjo says, laughing. He has a genuine, happy laugh. “Are you not staying with your father?”

You shake your head. “No. He and I … don’t really have the healthiest relationship,” you say. Usually you wouldn’t want to tell a stranger about this. But Youngjo and Dongju–who is sitting on the couch nearby–both seem friendly, and for some reason, it slips out.

“I’m sorry,” Youngjo says softly. “I know we’ve only just met, but I am her for you and am willing to support you. I’m sure Geonhak is too, as your friend.”

“If you need to stay here another night,” Dongju says from the couch, “feel free to do so.”

The door to the next room opens, and Geonhak walks in. He’s changed into a new white T-shirt and black sweatpants, and he’s carrying two large blankets and a pillow, stacked on top of each other.

“Alright,” he says. “I have two blankets and a pillow. I promise they’ll be comfortable, but if you need anything, you can wake me up at any time to ask.”

You nod. “Thank you so much. It should be enough for the night.”

Suddenly, the door opens behind you, and you nearly jump in surprise to turn to him. A very tall man enters, and freezes at the sight of you.

“Keonhee! This is my friend, Y/N,” Geonhak says quickly. “They need to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” the tall man, Keonhee, says, sighing and placing his hand over his chest. “I thought you were a burglar for a second.”

Keonhee walks in further, and two other men follow, one much shorter than Keonhee with blond hair, and one with a much more normal height. They seem much less shocked at the sight of you, probably because they heard Geonhak’s explanation to Keonhee.

They all introduce themselves to you. The shortest one with light hair is named Hwanwoong, and the other man is named Seoho. They’re all kind and sweet and welcoming and friendly. You spend a bit of time getting to know them, exchanging numbers and talking about your time in Korea.

With it getting so late, they all eventually head to bed. Geonhak stays with you as they go. Once the lights in their bedroom have gone out, and the blankets have been set up on the couch, Geonhak smiles at you.

“If you need sleeping clothes, you can have this,” he says, holding out a large white T-shirt. You thank him, and hurry to the restroom to change. As you exit, you can see Geonhak leaning against the wall next to the couch.

“I hope this is comfortable enough for you,” he says smiling widely.

“It is, I promise,” you say. “Thank you, Geonhak. You didn’t have to do this. Your members didn’t have to do this. So thank you.”

He hums. “I sleep on the top bunk of the bed right across from the bedroom door. So if you need anything, please wake me.”

“I will.”

“Alright. Well, good night,” he says.

“Good night, Geonhak. Thank you for helping me.”

He heads to bed, and you watch him disappear into the bedroom. You settle beneath the blankets, and feel yourself falling asleep. You’ve had a long day, so it’s reasonable that you’re tired. Your eyelids are heavy, and you fall asleep in Geonhak’s T-shirt almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

[eternaljouska]

Redamancy, Epilogue - Lee Jihoon

Pairing: Husband!JihoonxReader

Genre: Angst, the tiniest amount of Fluff

Chapter: one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | end | EPILOGUE |

Word Count: 2.3 K

Recommended Song: Paul Kim - Every Day, Every Moment (This song’s mentioned in the comment from ch4 by @younghee-17 , I looked up the translation, and I thought why not. So, thank you, hehe)

--

Jihoon tumbles out of his carelessly-parked car with various utterances of profanities. He is late. He is late for his sons’ bedtime story, which is a capital no. Especially since the promise for that was exclusively made between the three of them, the words of a man.

Upon arriving in front of the kids’ room, Jihoon knows that he is in a bigger problem than he thought he would be in before. You are placing the book you’ve just finished reading back into its shelf, signaling that the boys had been waiting for Jihoon until they become too tired and let you read instead.

When Jihoon catches your gaze as you walk out the room, he can’t help but bite the bottom half of his lips, knowing that you will definitely confront him. However, as soon as you reach him, Jihoon speaks up first, trying to put off the inevitable. “What was it that you read them?”

“The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids.”

“What? That was like—“

“Don’t worry. They’d fallen asleep before the wolf knocked the second time,” you assure him as his expression twists in slight exasperation.

“Why do we still have wolf story? I thought I’ve gotten rid of them all.”

You raise your eyebrow at his seemingly exaggerated response. “It’s in one of the new books you bought. It’s something like a collection of a hundred bedtime stories. What’s wrong with wolves, though? In the end, the story either serves a good message or ends with a good ending.”

Jihoon sighs, realizing that he’s going off a little too strong. “I told you they have nightmares about the wolf. That’s all.”

“Yeah, sure. That is indeed all,” you remark while crossing your hands in front of your middle, challenging him.

“It’s just- Do you remember when the kids visited the hospital? They- They talked about the Big Bad Wolf being the reason of you staying in the hospital. The Big Bad Wolf being the cause of that whole catastrophe. The Big Bad Wolf being me.”

A tight smile makes an appearance on your lips as you think about the event that happened a few months ago. Your children, they are sensitive, observant, and understanding. The degree of each of those qualities that they possess is impossible. One that’s still fresh on your mind was when a few days after you brought them back home, they caught on what’s happening. They noticed that you had done things differently than how they’re used to, and they even asked you about that. In the end, you had to sit with them and explain your best about your amnesia. They didn’t have full comprehension of it, but their spirit didn’t die at the news that their mother forgot everything about them.

“Oh, so Mommy doesn’t remember me and Jimin?” Jaemin had questioned with panic strewn all over his face.

“But Mommy knows us now. How could Mommy know if Mommy doesn’t remember?” Jimin scratched his head in confusion, but amid your tears, you chuckled.

“Mommy may not remember now, but Jaemin and Jimin can help Mommy.”

Jimin clapped his hands together at this. Squealing, he said, “Yes! We can help Mommy remember! Mommy! Jimin knows the way to school! And Jaemin hyung can do breakfast. It’s all good, Mommy!”

“Yes! I can pack my own lunchbox,” Jaemin added, his eyes brightened at the prospect of helping your recovery. “And if Mommy has questions, Jaemin can ask Uncle Boo or Mommy can ask Daddy instead. Daddy promised to be home a lot, right, Jimin?”

The younger boy nodded. “Yes. And Jimin can ask Mrs. Seo for help, too! And Grandma! So Mommy doesn’t have to worry.”

And helping you, they did. On the first day of you driving them back to school—after a long discussion and a lot of begging to Jihoon—you had stopped abruptly in the crossroad even though the traffic light was still showing green. There were a lot of honks, and your head suddenly pounded so painfully. You couldn’t hear your sons calling for you, too caught up in the memory of your accident. You didn’t know what’s going on, just that suddenly you’re sitting on the sidewalk with a stranger, who you figured helped you out of your car and moved it from the middle of the street. There was an officer who’s asking you questions, which you couldn’t pay attention to since your head was spinning so hard.

Jihoon arrived eight minutes later, worry painted on his trembling figure. He thanked the stranger and the officer and brought you and the boys home. Jimin was crying. He received a pat from the stranger that told him he’s done a wonderful job, and that calmed the boy a little. Jaemin was holding onto your hand and clutching your phone in his palm. Later that night, you found out that Jimin shouted out the car window for help, and Jaemin called Jihoon to the location. And also, your driving permit was confiscated by Jihoon.

That was not the only time they had helped you out. They told you about the conference at school before Seungkwan did and even explained to you what’s supposed to be happening and pointed out who is whose parent. They helped you remember important dates. They helped you remember their favorite meals or colors or stories. And slowly, you gained those little memories back with their and Jihoon’s help.

You have remembered Jihoon and everything that he’s done, so you understand the immense repentance he felt. You understand him, and therefore the easy forgiveness that slipped out of your lips once you feel like you’ve remembered enough to make a decision. You’ve forgiven him. And it makes you feel at peace that everything now seems to fall back into the right places. But you don’t know that Jihoon’s not there yet. You don’t know that he’s still worrying.

Back then, Jaemin and Jimin had pointed out how you always stayed up late and how Jihoon’s never around. They even volunteered to be substitute guards for Jihoon to ward off the Big Bad Wolf that they believed was the reason you’re hospitalized. Their imaginative brains failed to recognize the fact that even though a nightmare of the Big Bad Wolf is real, the creature itself never existed. Even so, they had tried to make sense of the situation with the limited knowledge that they have. And after everything, it’s really not a surprise that Jihoon would fit himself in that fictional role.

“Jihoon,” you coo, placing your thumb and forefinger on his chin to raise his head. “You’ve never been a Big Bad Wolf.”

“Do you think so?”

The look that he’s giving you is unsure and unguarded, and this makes your stomach churns. You don’t want him to be insecure like this. You want him to show you that little dimple of his or roll his eyes at you or smirk or anything but that. “Yes. You’ve never been a Big Bad Wolf, Ji,” you repeat.

His gaze on you softens, and now it feels like a million butterflies take flight inside your stomach. You hold your breath and let your eyes separate ways with his, trying to keep your feeling on check. But then you remember the real reason you had gone out of the children’s room and straight to him. And you blame Jihoon for successfully distracting you. So you look back up, mirth twinkling in your eyes. “Never. Never a Big Bad Wolf,” you pause, a small smirk forming on your lips. “You’re small.”

“What?” he snaps, his disbelief is as clear as crystal. “I take offense in that!”

“Yeah, sure. But first, I need to talk to you about something.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen in surprise as he curses, “Shit! You get to this part.”

“You know I’m going to confront you?” you ask as you raise your eyebrow once again.

“Yeah, you’re giving me that look. I’m sorry, Y/n. I know I promise to come home before the kids fall asleep. I swear I clearly told Mr. Kim I’d agree if the meeting is quick, but God, no quick meeting is quick enough. It’s infuriating! Seungcheol hyung needs to stop buying that tiny amount of stock every time and just fucking take over that place already.”

You chuckle in amusement, momentarily forgetting your intended topic of conversation. “The whole Seventeen members can help him with the stock or whatever. You can buy their stock, so why don’t you?” You pause, waiting for him to respond, but he doesn’t. “I believe it’s not only about the money, Ji. Anyway, that’s not what I want to talk about. But that is surely why the thought resurfaces.”

“Alright, what is it?” Jihoon gulps.

“Let’s get you ready for bed first, okay? Go take a shower or change your clothes.”

“No, I don’t want to hear bad news before going to bed.”

You let out another chuckle before answering, “Okay. Then at least let’s go to our room.”

Jihoon begins again with his speech of apology once you both enter your room. Lying down on the bed, you watch him making all his frantic gestures. “Jihoon, c’mere,” you interrupt with a tilt of your head, motioning him to lie down with you. You open your arm wide, reaching for him as Jihoon carefully climbs the bed. Once Jihoon settles down beside you, you bring his head under your chin and let his arms and legs wrapped around your body. “Let me talk, okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbles.

“Thank you”—Jihoon stares up at you, utterly bewildered since that’s not what he expected—“You’ve worked hard to make things right between us and the kids. You’ve changed for the better, or I’d rather say, found your way back to the Jihoon I knew. Thank you. And it’s probably not fair and really cruel of me to bring this up, but I don’t think that leaving things alone in my head would be a good thing.

“Jihoon… Have you… Have you ever thought what would’ve happened if- if I hadn’t made it?”

Jihoon’s head jerks up to face you, absolute dread evident in his eyes. “No! What are you talking about?”

“No, shh, hear me out. I’m alive, I know, but… Had that thought crossed your mind?”

“No, please, don’t say something like that.”

“Jihoon… That could’ve happened. Or I could’ve forgotten everything and had no way of remembering. I don’t know, Jihoon. The thing is… Back when you gave me a tour, you didn’t notice that a lot of the flowers are withering, did you? Just like how you knew nothing about the broken pots.”

Jihoon lowers his head as he mutters inaudibly, “No, I didn’t. I- I have no ideas.”

“You love me… right?”

“Of course! It was- I was—“

“But what about the kids? Do you love them as much as you love me, Jihoon?”

“Y/n…”

“If… If I had died, what would’ve happened? Would you have fallen too deep into your grief that you left them alone and uncared for like my garden?”

“Y/n, please, stop.” Jihoon buries his head in your chest as he tightens his hold around you. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You place your palm on top of his head, giving it a few strokes before resorting to play with his hair instead.  “I know. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry that I put it like that. You’re a good man. Ji, I know that. But I need to put that thought inside your head. Because frankly, I’d rather you love them than me.”

“I love them. I don’t know, maybe- maybe I do love you more. Maybe that’s because I love you first. Maybe that’s because you’ve stayed with me the longest. I don’t- But… I- I love them, too. I love them, Y/n. And I promise you I’ll show them.”

“Yes, Jihoon. I believe you. And you have shown them. I just hope that it wouldn’t stop, ever again.”

Both of you stay in that position—tangled in each other—in silence for a long time. But it was only until Jihoon extricates himself from you and sits down, wearing the expression akin to one of a lost puppy. “But… Baby, Y/n-ah…” he starts, his lower lip is caught in between his teeth. “I know we just discussed this, but can- can we send the kids to Busan this summer holiday?”

He receives one raised eyebrow from you, you obviously judging him.

“No, listen- listen to me first. I know I said I’ll show the boys that I love them, meaning I need to spend more time with them, which I do and still doing. And, um, maybe, family trip, but, I- You- You know… I was thinking… can we go to, like, another honeymoon? I mean, for recovering purposes! I- I know that you’ve remembered a lot now. But you know, because of what happened, I’m afraid that our memory only leaves a bitter note since you remembered it—me in the Han River’s Big Tree and our wedding—back when I was a, um, jerk—“

“Was?”

“What? I’m not anymore! Am- Am I? I mean- This kid discussion, I know I was wrong, and I- I’m trying hard to make it up and make it right. You- you said it yourself that I’ve worked hard. I’ll keep—“

Any abashment from his earlier request leaves Jihoon’s features as panic takes over, and it makes you chuckle in further amusement. This man.

“Ya! I’m serious. Do tell me if I’m becoming a jerk. I don’t want us to—“

“I know. I love you. You’re not a jerk, Jerk.”

“Whatever. I love you, too, I guess,” he deadpans, rolling his eyes at you before he grins so wide you can see almost all of his teeth. “So, our honeymoon?”

--

알 수 없는 미래지만

네 품속에 있는 지금 순간 순간이

영원 했으면 해

The future is unknown

But each moment of being in your arms

I wish it would last forever

--

Taglist: @thatfangurltho @chwenchew @la-hermosaluna @heolykpop

A/N: This ends, people. Well, not really, but, I FREAKING FINISHED A STORY!!! I have never finished writing anything unless it’s for school, so this is a major accomplishment :’) Thank you for everyone who’s been in this journey with me. I appreciate you all, thank you, thank you, thank you ❤️ ❤️ ❤️  

(and translation credited to colorcodedlyrics, but they credited it to Paul Kim (?))

[huffleporg]

The Bookshop Around the Corner - A CSSS 2017 Fic

Hello @snarkycaptainswan4! I’m your secret Santa! Surprise!!!! I’ve really enjoyed talking to you these past weeks, and I hope you like this fic I wrote for you. Based off of the list of your favorite movies, you seem to really like Rom-Coms, which is a genre that I’ve never actually written before. So this was a bit of a challenge for me, but I do love a challenge as the Captain would say. ;) I certainly hope I did one of your favorite movies justice with this fic. 

Anyways, Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year and Merry Christmas since that’s today!

Here’s your fic:

The Bookshop Around the Corner [G] 4k words [Ao3] 

For the past five months, Emma Swan has been talking to RollyJoger online, little does she know, he's actually the man that just might run her small bookshop out of business.

Characters: Emma Swan, Killian Jones, Alice Jones 

Warnings: mentions of previous relationships for both characters, season seven inspired some parts of this AU

Beta read by the amazing @best-left-hook-jones.

Emma wished that the stress of the day could wash off of her the minute that she crossed the threshold of her apartment, but unfortunately, she was granted no such relief. She let out a sigh, set down her purse, and hung her keys up on the hook by the door before heading to the kitchen.

Uncorking the half-finished bottle of wine, she started looking for a wine glass. Finding none in her cabinet, she opened the dishwasher full of dirty dishes. Grumbling, Emma picked out a wine glass and ran it under some water. “Alcohol sterilizes,” she murmured to herself. Besides, the only person who could have drunk out of it was herself, and she wasn’t exactly worried about what she could catch from herself.

Full glass in hand, Emma turned and walked to her bedroom, hope rising in her chest for the first time in hours. “Please let him be on,” she said softly, repeating it several times until she was sitting in her comfortable black chair in front of her cluttered desk. The pseudo-prayer of hers increased in speed as she opened up her laptop and woke it up from its deep slumber. Finally her desktop materialized. Quickly, she clicked on the application to open it up. As the chat app whirred into gear, she took a gulp of wine.

And there he was.

<i>RollyJoger</i> with a little green dot next to his name.

Emma broke out in a smile. She set down her glass of wine and clicked on his name to open up the private chat window. As it popped up, she saw the end of last night’s conversation that had gone on far later than she should have. She had been yawning the whole morning after staying up long past her bedtime talking to <i>RollyJoger</i>. But, after the past five months since she had met him in the Single Parents of NYC forum, that had ceased to be something new.

At long last, Emma began to type.

<i>LostGirl815: I feel like I’ve been waiting all day to talk to you, so I’m so glad you’re on. </i>

It didn’t take more than a few seconds before she saw “<i>RollyJoger is typing</i>” below her message. She took a sip of wine and waited.

<i>RollyJoger: Me too. Feel like that every day to be frank.

LostGirl815: Same. But today especially.

RollyJoger: Why? What happened?</i>

She brought her glass to her lips as the memories of what had felt like one of the longest days running the bookstore since she had opened it flooded back to her. It had started off good enough; a storytime for the kids meant to make up for the fact that during the summer break the children spent little time around books. She had finished her coffee while she had watched the handful of children come in and sit around the large rocking chair on the circular rug in the center of the bookshop.

After making sure their children were settled and ready for the half-hour of stories, a few parents began to wander the shelves of books, but most just sat down in the metal folding chairs, pulling their phones out. No doubt they had realized that there was little that would entertain them in a children’s bookstore. It was nothing new for Emma. Considering how this particular story time was meant for six-year-olds and up, she rarely expected the parents to get especially involved. This wasn’t a toddler or baby storytime.

Most of the children and parents that came in were familiar faces. Only three faces were ones that she had never seen in the shop before. Emma looked at the blonde little girl with a well loved toy elephant, chattering on excitedly to a man sitting on the rug with her who she could only assume was her father. From her angle behind the counter, Emma could only see the back of the man’s head. A boy a few years older than the girl came over to the father and daughter, holding out a chapter book Emma recognized as one in the Redwall series. It was one she had seen Henry read several times when he had been in elementary school.  

Knowing that she would only get upset if she let herself dwell on memories of reading books with Henry- the way she did every week he spent with her ex - she turned to Mary Margaret. “I think it’s about time I got the storytime started,” she said, setting her mug of coffee down.

Her best friend and co-owner of Duckling Books gave a nod. “Seems like everyone’s settled,” she said. “What are you going to read to them today?”

Emma held up the two books that she had picked out for today’s storytime. “Some new arrivals.”

“Hello everyone,” Emma said, walking over to the story circle, “Welcome to Duckling Books summer storytime! I’m so glad to see you today.” She reached the big rocking chair and sat down, looking at all of the children there.

As her eyes scanned the crowd of familiar faces, she found herself drawn to the newcomers. Having already inspected the faces of the girl and boy, she felt her gaze lingering over the father. Dark hair that was a few shades darker than the little boy’s led to reddish stubble around his jaw. Bright blue eyes were focused on the fidgeting little blonde girl beside him. He leaned forward to whisper something to her, and the girl stopped, staying still, but only for a moment. There was something in his face that sparked some recognition. Had he been here before? No, she prided herself in being able to remember their customers. She had to have seen him somewhere else.

Emma felt the back of her neck grow hot as she realized just how long she had been staring at the father. Trying to keep her composure, she continued and began to introduce the first story of the day, hoping none of children had noticed. The father certainly didn’t seem to have noticed; he had been much more focused on the children with him than on her. That, at least, was a relief.

The rest of the storytime went much more smoothly, but that was mostly through a concerted effort not to look in the direction of the stranger. Once it was over, she got to her feet. “If you liked the stories you heard today, you can find more like them here. Just ask me or Mary Margaret and we can help you find the perfect story for you.”

As the group of children and adults started to disperse, Emma began to collect the two books that she had read.

“Thank you, Miss!” said a child’s voice.

Emma turned around to see the blonde girl with her elephant. “You’re welcome,” she said kindly, smiling at the girl. “I’m Emma Swan. This is my and my best friend’s bookstore.”

“I’m Alice,” the girl said brightly.

“Nice to meet you, Alice.”

“Alice,” said a soft, accented voice. “You shouldn’t bother Ms Swan while she’s working.”

Emma looked up from the eager girl to see the dark-haired man approaching, his bright blue eyes fixed on hers. Beautiful eyes. For a moment, Emma was speechless, but finally she found her voice. “No,” she said shaking her head. “She’s not bothering me. Quite the opposite. I love getting to interact with children.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Why else open a children’s bookstore?”

Children’s books was hardly the line of work she would have expected for herself to fall into, but when Mary Margaret had come up with an idea to distract Emma from the stress of the divorce and what she was fairly sure was the most bitter custody battle in New York history, Emma had found herself drawn to the plan. It had become her pet project, and now, five years later, she was glad that she had seen it to fruition. It was hardly the most successful bookstore, and it had taken a hit since the large chain bookstore ‘French and Jones’ had opened a store just two blocks down, but it was her and her best friend’s business. And she felt like they did a damn good job of it, all things considered.

The man gave a small smile and shrugged his shoulders. “Some people get into the book business because of a love of books,” he said. “The social part doesn’t enter much into the equation.”

Emma grinned a little. “What? Are you a librarian?”

“Something like that,” he said. “I actually--”

“Are there more stories?” interrupted Alice, tugging on Emma’s flannel sleeve, clearly bored with the adults talking over her.

“Alice…” sighed the man.

“Yes, actually,” Emma said, amused. The little girl definitely seemed to be a bit of a handful. An adorable handful. “We have the elementary school storytime every week this time until Labor Day. Then we hold it Monday at four. We’ve also got a book club you can join, if your father gives you permission.” She glanced over at the man who shrugged his shoulders. “Mary Margaret runs that book club, so you can talk to her more about that.” She pointed to her friend who was currently ringing someone up for a stack of books.

“Book clubs,” said the man. “That’s a very good idea. I like it. Can help keep the kids engaged with books. Important. Especially during-”

“The summer,” Emma said at the same time as the father. She grinned. “Yeah, that’s what Mary Margaret and I were thinking. My son loves books, so during the summer he would use the time to read more books than he did during the school year. But not all kids are like that.” He son was special, she knew that.

“I don’t think Alice has picked up a book since June. So a bookclub should be good for her.”

“Good,” Emma said smiling. “It’s the best book club around here, if you ask me. I’m biased, though. But you certainly won’t get anything like it at ‘French and Jones.’ They’re really not that personal there. I like to get to know my customers and engage with them. Not just ‘here, get your book, come back again, we don’t care if you do though.’” It was certainly a little bit cathartic to insult the competition, especially when she knew that she could definitely offer the community something that chain bookstore never could.

The expression on the man’s face changed from a smile into something that Emma couldn’t quite read. “Every place has its strengths and weaknesses,” he said, his British accent becoming slightly more prominent. “And-”

“Papa?” Alice said, putting the formerly white elephant in between his arm and hip, “does she not like your books?”

Emma began to feel the blood in her face drain. No wonder the man had seemed familiar to her. This was none other than Killian Jones. She had only ever seen pictures of him before, but she had spent enough time hating the name to instantly feel her own demeanor change. All the former warmth and cheer was gone from her voice as she said, “What are you doing here?” She folded her arms and glowered at the man. “Is this some kind of corporate espionage?”

“What? No,” said Killian, taking a hold of Alice’s hand. The girl just stared at her father confused as he continued, “I just wanted to take my daughter and nephew to a story time. Where’s the crime in that?”

“And using kids to spy?” continued Emma, staring at the man in disgust. What kind of ruthless businessman brought his child and nephew with him to spy and steal ideas. “First you come to this neighborhood trying to run me and all the other local bookshops out of business, but now you’re trying to steal ideas from us.”

“Okay,” said Killian, backing up. “You seem to have gotten the wrong idea.” He held up his hands. “I’m only guilty of wanting to go to a storytime. I promise you, ‘French and Jones’ has no plans to start a book club or start having story times.”

Emma let out a laugh. “Oh, let me guess, you’re going to give me your word as a gentleman?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t mean anything to me. I’ve got zero reason to believe you.” Trust was something that very few people had earned from Emma Swan, and Killian Jones was the last sort of person to gain it.

Killian let out a defeated sigh, looking out the ground. “Alice, find your cousin. We’re leaving,” he said firmly enough to prevent any protests from the little girl, who quickly hurried off to find the boy. Killian Jones took a few steps closer to Emma and said, “Believe me or not, but it’s not what you think it is, and I’m sorry that that was the conclusion your mind jumped to.” He paused, seeming to be fighting the urge to say far more that he should, finally concluding, “Have a nice day,” before joining his daughter and nephew by the door.

The slam of the door practically reverberated around the bookshop.

Emma felt everyone’s eyes on her as she walked to the back room.

There had been no improvement the rest of the day. Mary Margaret had glowered at her all day only to give her a tongue lashing at closing about being rude to a man who clearly just wanted to bring his daughter to storytime and have a family day. A shipment of books from a vendor had gotten lost somewhere in Virginia and the shipping company had no idea where they were now. A toddler had gotten sick all over a display of books and the mother had taken the kid out of the shop before they could get her to pay for the books her toddler had ruined.

All in all, it had been a miserable day. She had been surprised that when she’d left it hadn’t started raining on her to add insult to injury.

At least now she could relax with RollyJoger and drink her wine. She would take her victories where she could get them.

<i>LostGirl815: The person who’s responsible for all my work troubles tried to pretend he was a nice guy today.

LostGirl815: So that was fun.

LostGirl815: Felt manipulated by the whole thing.

LostGirl815: My friend is mad at me now.

LostGirl815: And I had to clean up toddler puke.

LostGirl815: Great day.

RollyJoger: I thought your son was 15.

LostGirl815: Not my kid’s puke.

RollyJoger: Outstanding.

LostGirl815: How’s your day? Has to be better than mine. </I>

For a few agonizing minutes, there was nothing but the agonizing <i>RollyJoger is typing</i> message on the screen. Emma leaned back and sighed, not sure if her virtual penpal had accidently pressed a key while getting up to deal with something or if she was about to get a novel of a response. Or maybe he kept on typing and deleting what he was saying. “Come on, Rolly J,” she murmured, “talk to me.” She drained her glass of wine and got up to pour herself another. When she got back, she found his message waiting for her.

<i>RollyJoger: Can’t say it was horrendous or anything that awful, but it was far from the best. Had taken the day off of work to be with family, but my partner had some crisis with her husband, so I had to go into the office and deal with business. I come home and my daughter is crying because she left her favorite toy somewhere we aren’t ever going back. On top of that, my ex (the witch) called, so I’m going to have to muster up the strength to call her back and find out what she wants.</i>

It was a situation Emma was familiar with herself.

<i>LostGirl815: Might I suggest wine?

RollyJoger: I prefer rum.

RollyJoger: Or beer.

LostGirl815: In all seriousness, that does sound like an awful day. I’m sorry to hear about that.

RollyJoger: It’s okay. Not much you can do about it.

LostGirl815: I can try to cheer you up.

RollyJoger: I should be trying to cheer -you- up.</i>

Warmth that had nothing to do with the wine flooded through Emma. She smiled and typed:

<i>LostGirl815: You already have.</i>

<center>***</center>

Emma yawned as she unlocked the door to the bookshop. Talking to RollyJoger last night had made the hours fly by, like it did every night. She had looked at the right hand upper corner of her laptop and been shocked to realize that it was 12:48 a.m.

Even now that she was facing another morning exhausted yet again, Emma didn’t regret it. She loved her nightly chats with RollyJoger, the man who knew more about her than arguably anyone else in her life. She had confessed things to RollyJoger that she had never felt capable of opening up about to even Mary Margaret. At first, she had chalked it up to the fact that it was different talking to someone anonymously online where she wasn’t Emma and he was just a stranger with a boat as an avatar. It was safe to confess things this way. There was no chance that he could betray her. There was no way to see the judgement in his eyes. He simply listened and told her things from his own life that seemed equally buried and equally fraught.

Emma knew how he and his brother had had to start working under the table when they were in middle school in order to keep up with bills after their father had gotten laid off. She knew how his first real love, an older, married woman, had gotten sick and had died and he hadn’t even been able to pay his respects at her funeral. He had even confessed how his trainwreck of a marriage had been simultaneously the best and worst thing in his life as it had given him his daughter, who meant the world to him.  

Emma knew him, even if she had never seen his face.

To prepare for opening at nine, Emma walked around her shop, tidying up and doing tasks that she had been too tired and mad to do the night before. She straightened up the displays, reshelved misplaced books, and went to the back to replace books that she knew had been bought the day before. She walked through the baby book section, the early readers section, but she stopped when she came to the chapter books section.

An elephant stared back at her - as best it could with only one black button eye - from where it sat on the shelves containing the fantasy novels.

Emma’s stomach slipped up into her throat.

“Alice,” she whispered, picking up the well-loved stuffed elephant.

Was it a coincidence?

There were many fathers of young daughters in New York City. Many of them were business owners with female business partners. Any number of them could have had their daughters leave behind cherished toys at places where they would never be welcomed again.

It had to be.

Emma tried to tell herself that. There was no way that sneaky, conniving Killian Jones was the man that she had been talking to for months online. No, that man was kind. He cared about strangers, wanted to make the world a better place, valued his family above all else, and had never once given her a reason not to trust him. He couldn’t be Killian Jones.

And yet, Emma found herself reaching towards her phone, about to do something she promised herself she wouldn’t do: download the chat app onto her phone. She knew that she would probably delete the app later - and if RollyJoger was in fact Killian Jones, she might even delete her account altogether, she thought - but right now unusual and confusing circumstances demanded that she log-on right now.

Her chat friends list was very short, so it wasn’t hard to find him with a yellow idle sign beside his screen name. “Let me be wrong,” she murmured, “please let me be wrong.”

<i>LostGirl815: Is it an elephant?</I>

Not sure whether or not he would actually see her message, Emma tentatively put her phone back in her jeans pocket. “Let me be wrong,” she continued to murmur as she continued to go about her tasks for opening shop.

Feeling her phone buzz, Emma practically jumped. She reached into her pocket and pulled it out, reading the message from the lockscreen.

<i>RollyJoger: ???</i>

Emma let out a sigh. If he didn’t connect it to his daughter right away, that had to be a good sign. Or perhaps they had simply talked about so many things that he had forgotten that he had mentioned his daughter losing her favorite toy.

<i>LostGirl815: Is your daughter’s favorite toy a stuffed elephant?</i>

For several agonizing minutes, the <I>RollyJoger is typing</I> message kept on popping up and disappearing. That alone was enough to confirm Emma’s fears.

<i>RollyJoger: Please tell me you’re the friend.

LostGirl815: I can’t.

RollyJoger: Bloody hell.

LostGirl815: The bloodiest. </i>

All of the hope and happiness that had surrounded her chats with RollyJoger were beginning to leak out slowly, as if she were a balloon that had been punctured.

<i>RollyJoger: Can I come over and get it for her?</i>

Without any hesitation, Emma typed:

<i>LostGirl815: Of course.</i>

She knew what it was like to have an unhappy child. She would do anything for Henry. Face her ex and his horrible father. Walk through fire. Drink poison. Anything at all without question.

<i>RollyJoger: I’m coming over now.</i>

The green active light by his name turned grey.

Emma swallowed and put her phone away. She glanced up at the clock. A half hour until she would be opening shop. She didn’t know when she should expect Killian Jones, the man formerly known as RollyJoger, to arrive. She didn’t even know what she would say to him when he did come. She could just wordlessly hand him the elephant and let him walk away. That was certainly an option, but it was something Emma wondered if she actually, truly could do. This was still the man she had spoken to every night for months. This was the person she had shared her secrets with and who had confided in her. This was the only person she had encountered since her divorce that had made her feel something.

Hope.

And something else, something she was still afraid to name.

Emma looked out the window of the shop and saw him standing there outside, hesitant. In a few strides, Emma was opening the door.

“Emma, I-” started Killian.

“I know,” Emma said quickly. “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have accused you of spying.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t blame you for making that conclusion. It was… dubious.”

Emma held out the elephant. “You were here for the same reason you’re here now,” she said softly. “You’d do anything for her. Even face someone who…” She let out a laugh. “I thought I hated you. But here I am… here we are… I don’t hate you. After all that we’ve shared these past few months, I don’t think I could.”

He took the elephant from her and nodded slowly. “Aye, but there’s another reason.”

Emma looked at his eyes, willing him to meet her gaze instead of staring awkwardly at their shoes. “The same reason you wanted to meet in person,” she said quietly, remembering how two months ago he had suggested that they get coffee and actually talk together in person. She also remembered how she had said no, believing that it would be safest to keep things as they were.

“Aye.”

Emma took a breath, calculating and weighing the options before finally reaching out and grabbing the lapel of his black business suit and pulling him closer to him. She pressed her lips to his, and she wasn’t surprised to find them open for her, allowing her to kiss him deeply. She felt one of his hands come up  to cup the back of her head as he leaned forward into the kiss. She could feel an almost electric energy radiating from him and their touch.

A couple breathless minutes later, and Emma pulled away from the kiss as suddenly as she had started it. She grinned when she saw him follow her, seeking to prolong the kiss. “For the record,” she panted, “I still hate your business model.”

“I… can live with that,” he murmured, his nose nuzzling her cheek before he covered her mouth with his.