#i think what fully did me in was when rat a tat started i like soooo thoroughly lost my shit i was Done for 😭

[thekidsarentalright]

3 days post fob and my voice is entirely completely gone 😭 which is so funny bc ive never fully lost it after any other concert but ig fob was on a mission to kill me and they succeeded fjdndkd

[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapters 4/4.5 - Louder Than Bombs/Rubber Ring

“Phil, I think you are the strangest person that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Hey, you’re equally weird,” he teases. 

“I know. That’s why I think you’re so wonderful.”

I’m back with my 1950s historical Oxford university AU fic-cum-novella-thing. Sorry I haven’t been posting the chapters to Tumblr! Here are chapters 4 and 4.5 - soon I will be posting chapter 5 (possibly the last chapter!)

Click me to read on Ao3! 

Or keep reading under the cut...

Chapter 4 - Louder Than Bombs

The passing of time, and all of its sickening crimes, is making Phil nervous again.

Sitting sideways at the top of his bed with his feet swinging off the edge like a bored schoolboy, he idly fumbles with the pages of an open book as he stares into space, waiting. 

Last Sunday he had promised Dan that he could use his room as a space to get homework done. Tonight, the gravity of the situation has only just begun to dawn on him. He imagines the scene with a quickened heartbeat; Dan sitting only a foot away, using his chair, working at his desk and writing with his pens, Dan pacing around his room, scrutinising his photographs, flicking through his records and reading the titles of his books. Phil doesn’t know how to prepare himself. Meeting up in public is one thing, but a private visit to his room feels like quite another.

He laughs out loud at himself. Private visit? Dan’s only coming to study for Christ’s sake. 

Speaking of studying, he has his own work to attend to. Lying on his lap is a copy of Beowulf, deliberately planted there to create the impression of a student deeply engaged in a spot of serious reading. Unfortunately for Phil Beowulf has been unable to capture his imagination, and so instead he has spent the last ten minutes or so staring at the contents of his hastily tidied room. His desk is decluttered, his bed has been made, and all the odd pairs of socks have been picked off the floor and put away in preparation for Dan’s visit. 

All is silent bar the low hum of his desk lamp. It’s a quiet Friday evening, and the normally raucous quad now only echoes sporadic bursts of hushed chatter. Tonight’s sky is peppered with clouds that pass the moon at random intervals, periodically obscuring a strange halo that encircles the bright rock in a mysterious reddish glow. The curtains lie wide open, and a streak of moonlight falls on the pinboard opposite his bed. Littered with cinema tickets, clippings from environmental magazines, ripped out pages and uncashed cheques, the most recent addition to the board is a cluster of pictures he took of the photography club on an impromptu walk by the River Cherwell. The top photograph shows Bill squinting at the sun while Mary gives Beth a precarious looking piggyback ride, both of them smiling as John holds his palms up to the toppling ensemble and posing as tourists do next to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Phil remembers how the group of them skimmed stones across the muddy water, competing to see who could get the furthest, until Beth had beat Bill’s expert hand with a fluke stone that skipped so far into the distance that none of them could tell where it had landed. He thinks of that day with a smile. Good times.

*rat-tat-tat*

At last! Springing off his mattress he dashes towards the mirror, spruces up his quiff, takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

“Hallo! Ho-”

Phil is interrupted as Dan comes crashing into the room, stumbling past him and lurching towards the desk as a large pile of books, folders and papers fall from his arms and scatter across the surface in a heap. He releases a long sigh, and then turns around to face his host with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry for bursting in here like that. My arms were starting to get cramped under the weight of all these books, and I had to put them down. Anyway, how are you?” 

“I’m fine but err, quick question,” Phil starts. “Why didn’t you just use a bag?” 

Dan’s smile fades and his eyes glaze over, mouth opening and closing as his brows furrow in confusion. “Now that you mention it, I um, don’t know why on earth I didn’t think of that.” He throws his hands into the air. “God knows what’s up with me.” Embarrassed, he turns around and begins to organise the jumbled papers.

“What’s all this you’ve got here then?” Phil asks, flopping down onto the bed and leaning his back against the wall as he watches Dan.

“It’s mostly some notes about Schubert. We have to study the last few decades of his life, so I bought a few books from home with me that I thought I’d be able to flick through. And um,” he picks up a piece of paper, “I’ve also got to work towards a portfolio of compositions, so really I’ve got a mountain of stuff to do.”

“Sounds daunting.”

“Mmmm.” He sits down in the chair next to Phil’s desk, adjusting the angle of the lamp as he kicks off his shoes. “So,” he continues, turning around, “what are you up to then?”

Phil nonchalantly waves his book in the air. “Just Beowulf.” 

Dan scoffs. “Just Beowulf? Come on, Phil! It’s only one of the most important pieces of English literature of all time!” Shaking his head in disbelief, he turns back around. “‘Just Beowulf’... Jesus.”

After a couple of minutes of silence Phil suddenly realises that Dan has started working. As in actually working. In the past they had both joked about being chronic procrastinators, and so Phil had predicted that the night would end up with them talking about books, politics or musicals instead of doing homework. He’s a bit surprised that Dan was serious about wanting to use his room just to study in, and to be truthful, he’s also a little disappointed. 

To make matters worse, as the other boy works away Phil finds himself unable to concentrate on the book in front of him; no matter how hard he tries to focus, all thoughts invariably trace back to his companion. He examines the back of his neck, the collar of his shirt, the knit of his jumper and how it falls on his lanky build. Dan will occasionally sing or hum a tune to himself, scribble something down and then repeat that same harmony with a few added notes, moving the fingers on his right hand as if he were in front of a piano. It’s a peaceful sight, captivatingly peaceful, and his concentration trickles down the drain. To hell with reading anyway. 

His thoughts meander back to a familiar daydream; Dan’s life in Wokingham. Phil’s imagination frequently returns to a scene of Dan sitting in a lavish study, playing the piano as golden sun leaks through an open window, balmy air wafting inside on a sweet summer evening. In tonight’s incarnation Phil envisions himself there sitting on the wooden floor, pondering over verses of romantic poetry, reading aloud a particularly pleasant stanza to Dan who would glance up from the piano and give him one of those warm, glowing smiles where his dimples make him look utterly angeli-

It’s a silly dream really, very silly indeed, and Phil feels ashamed for ever having dreamt it. With a glum sense of self-restraint, he turns back to his homework and tries extra-hard to concentrate on it. 

An hour or so passes in the little room on staircase nine, and after a while Phil finds himself lulled into the lethargic contentment that only rewards avid readers, and to his amazement he realises that Anglo-Saxon poetry about Danish kings and mythical beasts isn’t as tedious as he had previously dreaded. 

Satisfied with his progress, he bookmarks his page and closes the book with a thump. Dan’s neck twitches at the sound, and, as if abruptly reminded of the existence of the outside world, he drops his pen, massages his hands, and stretches his long, slender arms out into the air behind him. 

“Right, I’m throwing in the towel or else I shall die of a Schu-verload,” he exhales, leaning backwards and cracking his spine on the back of the chair.

“Schu...verload?” 

Dan swivels around to give him a dry scowl. “Schubert-overload, you fool.”

“Oh!” Phil exclaims, and the pair of them erupt into laughter. “Sorry, my brain has just been fried by one-thousand year old poetry. I’m feeling a bit,” he yawns, “a bit sleepy.”

Getting up from his chair and stretching some more, Dan paces over to the window and peers out of it before unhinging the lock and propping it open. Cold air sails through the room, ruffling his curls as he stares out into the dark night.

“Nice view you’ve got from up here.”

“Thanks,” Phil quips, fully aware of the fact that his room faces into a fairly dull courtyard.

“I’m serious. I think it’s grand that you’ve got a view of the chapel. It’s terribly romantic.” He steps away from the window, attention turning to a nearby shelf which houses a small record collection that appears to spark his enthusiasm. “You’ve got some superb albums here. Handel, Tchaikovsky, Chopin…” He looks over to where Phil has propped himself up against his headboard. “I respect those choices.” 

“Thanks, although I mainly put them on for background noise. I’m not a major classical geek or anything.”

The other boy guffaws. “Like me?”

“No, not like you,” Phil tuts, and his pretend frown turns into another yawn.

“Busy day?” Dan grins.

“Busy day, busy week, busy month. Hectic month, in fact.”

Nodding in solidarity Dan sits down at the bottom of Phil’s bed and reclines with his back against the wall, closing his eyes with a faint smile still on his face. As the pair of them sit in silence Phil's own eyelids get heavier, and budding in his chest is a drowsy desire to snuggle up into a cosy cocoon and burrow into the bedcovers, falling deeper and deeper into the comfort of his soft, warm sheets...

When he awakes, Dan is staring straight at him.

“Hmmm, what? Did I fall asleep?”

“Quite possibly. God, I know I’m about to.” Dan’s eyelids flicker downwards as his smile fades. He looks exhausted, really exhausted, and Phil feels like there’s something he should do about it.

“Hey.” 

Dan’s shoots up. Phil shuffles across his narrow bed and moves closer to the wall, patting the small space next to him in invitation. The other boy’s eyes widen for a moment before he melts into a soft, sleepy smile, then gets up slowly and gingerly sits on the bed, lies down next to Phil, then shuffles around so that he’s facing...facing him...and then closes his eyes as if it’s nothing.

Phil blinks in confusion. His more logical side knows that sleeping on the same bed as a friend is something that people do without batting an eyelid, but next to Dan it feels different - symbolic, even. Regardless, or perhaps because of that feeling, he shuffles round to face the other man and observes his sleeping face, his pale skin, his dark freckles, his thick brown eyebrows and long brown eyelashes. 

Suddenly, the eyelashes open.

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me use your room to study in, you doofus,” he teases, words coming out slightly sluggish.

“Mmmm, that’s alright. It’s the least I can do considering how you spoiled me last Saturday. I think I should be the one thanking you.”

Dan shifts slightly, and Phil feels their shins are now pressed up against each other. His soul sings. If he were more awake his heart might be racing in an exhilarated panic, but in his tired state all he can do is feel strangely happy. Happy...and cold.

“Why on earth is it so freezing in here?” he asks, confused and a little dazed, and as he props himself up on his elbow he sees that the window has been left open. “Da-an!”

“What?” he whines through the pillow.

“You didn’t close the window!”

“Close it then.”

Phil groans, flopping back down onto the bed. “I can’t be bothered!”

“Well in that case we’ll just have to huddle together like penguins then,” and with his eyes still closed Dan moves across the bed until their faces are centimetres apart. Now Phil’s heart starts to quicken.

“I can’t, it’s too much.”

Dan’s eyes fly open as Phil gets up from the bed and walks over to the window. Worried that he’s made a deadly mistake he buries his head into the pillow and waits for Phil to order him out of his room, out into the cold, out into the darkness for a long, lonely walk back to his own miserable dormitory.

The window clunks shut, and then the bed becomes a lot heavier. Dan removes his face from the pillow to see Phil gazing down at him.

“I thought…I thought you were about to abandon me.”

“What? Abandon you? Where would I go?” He chuckles. “I was cold, that’s all. I wouldn’t leave you here like that.” 

Dan beams up at him with flushed cheeks. “You still cold?”

A smirk lets itself out. “Maybe.”

Dan unfurls his right arm across the width of the bed and lifts his left arm into the air. Phil slowly begins to panic. A hug? Is he pulling him in for a hug? A hug with Dan and his arms wrapped around him holding him lying there together on his bed a-

Okay. 

Enough.

Phil looks back at Dan. His stare is dark and strong, profound and meaningful, and it makes him feel safe. He takes the plunge and lowers himself down. Dan pulls him into a hug, arms wrapping around his back and drawing him close to his chest. Phil can hear the low thump of Dan’s heartbeat and smell the warm, musky scent that lingers on his jumper. He places his arms on Dan’s ribcage, fingers fiddling with the cable knit patterns. The pair adjust themselves slightly, moving shoulders, moving heads, moving their legs and intertwining them together, drifting off to the wide, sleepy sea in a boat built for two.

Chapter 4.5 - Rubber Ring

Phil had been asleep.

Phil had been asleep, until somebody had knocked on his door. 

Phil had been planning on going back to sleep, until through the still of night he had heard a familiar voice whispering his name.

Shaking the sleep from his bones, Phil opens his curtains, stumbles towards the door, turns the key in the lock and prepares himself for whatever lies waiting for him in the hallway.

“Dan?”

“G’d evening”

“W...what are you doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Fancy a stroll?”

“A stroll? Are you insane?” Phil repeats mockingly, shivering from the cool air in the hallway. “Dan, it’s...” He checks his wrist, and frowns when he sees that it’s naked.

“1 a.m. on a Wednesday night? I know. So, what d’you say?”

Really, he should say no. He really should. It’s one in the morning, it’s a weeknight, he’s got lectures tomorrow and the weather outside is probably cold enough to freeze him to his core within five minutes. He should say no, he really should, but there’s something about roaming the shadowy streets at midnight with Dan that’s far too exciting to turn down.

“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll be right with you.”

Diving back into his room to grab the first items of clothing that he sees, Phil can’t help but feel slightly frenzied. When Dan was in his room last it had ended with the pair of them falling asleep entangled in each other’s arms. Phil hadn’t forgotten that. He had far from forgotten that. Memories of that night had floated through the air ever since, landing on him with the delicate wings of a wistful daydream that left him blushing as it flew away. Now, to both his surprise and his delight, this same boy is knocking on his door and asking for his accompaniment on a ridiculous small-hour escapade.

As he wraps his scarf around his collar, he looks across the room to the moonlit part of his pinboard. One particular piece of paper stands out, and he moves in closer to read it - it’s a quote scribbled onto a scrap of blue paper.

“I looked up at the mass of signs and stars in the night sky and laid myself open for the first time to the benign indifference of the world." 

How strange. He’s had that Albert Camus line scribbled onto a piece of paper for years now, and yet never in his life has it seemed so appropriate as it does right this moment. With a peculiar feeling of rebirth he thrusts his feet into the nearest pair of shoes he can find, and opens the door into the corridor. 

Dan is leaning against the wall of the hallway. The pose strikes him as familiar, and with a shock of nostalgia Phil is transported back to the night when the two of them first met. He remembers how Dan stood in the doorway to the photography club - arms folded, ankles crossed, sly smirk plastered to his mischievous face. How things have changed between them since then. 

Phil locks the door, pockets the key, and when he turns around Dan is staring absentmindedly at the floor with his eyes boring holes into nothingness. Suddenly he blinks, looks up, and his eyes instantly meet Phil’s with a vivid, bittersweet gaze that makes everything else in the world feel like it’s falling away.

It feels like the passing touch of a stranger’s hand on the small of his back at a lavish party. It feels like the shock of a cherry liqueur that stuns the taste buds and leaves behind a decadent, sumptuous and moreish aftertaste. It feels like the sight of a full moon from the balcony of his Grecian holiday home, wind rustling through the leaves as the waves whisper beneath him. Phil’s heart melts... and then he realises. 

He just might be in love.

“What are you thinking about?” Dan asks, breaking the silence as his eyelids hang low. Phil looks at those dark, pretty eyelashes on those dark, pretty eyes, rolls his shoulders back, and sighs.

“Mmmm, nothing.” 

He turns to walk down the narrow hallway with Dan following close behind. They push through the heavy wooden door at the end of the hallway and descend onto the staircase, making their way down the steps that lead out of the building.

“So tell me then, how did you manage to get up to my room?” Phil inquires. “Did Rapunzel let her hair down over the Fellow’s Garden wall for you to use as a rope to climb up?”

Dan laughs. “No, not quite.”

“Well go on then, how did you do it? Surely the main college door would have been locked?”

“Not tonight apparently, I pushed it, and lo and behold it was open. There wasn’t a porter there either. Poor sod’s probably raiding the college’s wine cellar,” he adds with a chuckle.

“Dan! The porters aren’t drunkards.”

“I know I know, but it must be bloody boring just sitting there all night. I know I’d raid the stash if I were them.”

“What, and allow unruly boys who can’t settle down to come and break in to the college grounds? You’d make a great porter.”

“That is why I am not a porter, but a devilish, wicked boy who breaks into colleges so he can sneak into other boys’ bedrooms,” he smiles.

Phil’s mind almost shuts down at that latter part. Out of sheer bewilderment his brain decides to respond by bellowing out “you are a saucy boy” in his best Lord Capulet impression, which has the effect of making Dan double over into a fit of laughter, tears streaming down his face as he wheezes the word “saucy” through silent giggles.  

As they exit the building they’re struck by the biting December cold. Careful to tread lightly across the echoing stone slabs, they stealth across the smaller quad that Phil’s bedroom faces into, creep past the chapel, and step through to the larger quad wherein lies a perfectly-maintained square lawn.

“Hey!” Dan whispers.

“What?”

“Shall we walk across the grass?”

“What? Dan! We can’t do that!” Phil hisses. “We’ll get caught and fined and-”

“Oh stop it! We’re already breaking the rules by sneaking out past 10 p.m. Tarnishing an overly-pampered lawn isn’t any worse.”

Before Phil has time to protest, Dan has already set foot on the forbidden pasture.

“Dan stop! For fuc-”

“Catch me if you can!” 

The boy runs around in circles as Phil loiters on the edge, deliberating on whether or not he should join in, until he looks around the quad and, upon seeing nobody, finally decides to indulge in Dan’s game. They race around the turf, skidding and slipping and ripping up the grass. Phil tries to reach Dan, but no matter how hard he struggles he never seems to be able to catch up.

“What’s that Lester? Too slow are we?” Dan taunts, placing a hand on his hip.

That’s it, Phil thinks. 

Time to put Dan in his place. 

With a final burst of energy Phil lunges forward, hurtling himself towards the other man in a push that sends them crashing to the floor, foreheads colliding with a knock that’ll have both of them bruised by the time the sun shines.

“Ow, shit! My head!”

“You alright?”

Phil rolls off onto the cold lawn, swiftly disentangling himself from the mess of limbs as Dan pushes himself off the ground with a grunt of effort.

“Jesus Christ Phil! What are you, some sort of juggernaut?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Sometimes I don’t know my own strength.”

Dan breathes in deeply, eyes flitting over Phil’s body before travelling back up to meet him.

“Evidently not.”

There’s a moment of silence as they recover, and Phil notices that a few blades of grass are stuck to Dan’s face. Without thinking he reaches out a hand to brush them off, fingers briefly skimming across the surface of the boy’s cheek. Dan’s eyes are wide, and his breath is hot against Phil’s hand, lips parted as his eyes lock with Phil’s. There’s a presence in those eyes that Phil has seen before. Inspecting. Asking. Phil wants to trace his thumb across the surface of Dan’s panting mouth with those big, blinking, innocent eyes staring up at him, maybe slip in a finger and feel that soft, wet tongue...but the flare of uncertainty in his chest tells him to remove his hand, stand up from the ground, and say “shall we get going then?” in the steadiest voice he can muster.

After hoisting Dan up from the ground they creep across the quad towards the lodge where the porter sits. Or rather, where the porter normally sits.

“Hmmm. Still nobody here,” Dan confirms, crooking his head around the front desk.

Phil opens the latch of the small door and steps out. “Quickly then. We don’t want to get caught.” Dan hurries across the cobbled entrance, following him through the exit as it shuts behind them with a soft click.

As soon as they’re out the college gates Dan reaches into his coat and pulls out a small bottle of alcohol. Ah. That would explain a lot. He offers it to Phil, who nods in gratitude and takes a sip.

“Eurgh!” 

Dan laughs. “You don’t like whiskey?” Phil screws his eyes shut, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the taste. “Ah well - more for me!” 

On second thoughts, if Dan’s already drunk Phil doesn’t want to be the only one who’s sober, and so he reaches for the bottle with grabbing hands as Dan takes a healthy swig. Although he raises his eyebrows at Phil’s unexplained change of opinion, he hands it over regardless. As they amble through the streets Dan takes the drink back, downing it at an alarming rate, and by the time they’ve made their way to the highroad the vessel is as good as gone. 

“Ah, here we are,” Dan cries, “the theatre!” Phil winces - he’s a little on the loud side.

“I saw a fan-tastic production here the other week. The Phantom of the Opera it was. Bloody blil..bloody brilliant,” he slurs, waving the empty bottle around in his hand. “Very fine chap playing Erik, very fine...” He sighs. “I wanted to be an opera singer, y’know. Dunno know what ‘appened to that.”

Phil frowns. “What d’you mean ‘dunno what happened to that’? You can still have a shot at it.”

“You know, that’s very true,” he mutters, “very true...” 

As they walk down the deserted road the only sound to be heard is the clacking of their heeled shoes, until they turn down an ill-lit side-street and Dan begins to hum a tune that sounds familiar. 

“Is that-”

“The Phantom of the Opera? You didn’t say you’d seen it!” 

Before Phil can gush about his love of musicals, Dan unexpectedly bursts into song.

“Beneath the opera house,

I know he’s there,

He’s with me on the stage,

He’s everywhere.”

For a moment, Phil forgets how to think. He hadn’t expected Dan’s voice to be so high pitched, so silky and delicate and feminine.

“And when my song begins,

I always find,

The phantom of the opera is there,

Inside my mind.”

Dan nods his head as if expecting a reaction. Ah. The next part of the song is sung by The Phantom. Hesitant to embarrass himself but too tipsy to care, Phil takes in a deep breath and attempts to remember the lyrics.

“Since once again with me,

A strange duet.

I power over you,

Grow stronger yet.

You give your love to me,

For love is blind.

The phantom of the opera is now,

Your mastermind.”

He looks back at Dan, whose gawk transforms into a grin.

“Those who have seen your face,

Draw back in fear.

I am the mask you wear.”

Another expectant look from Dan. Oh!

“It’s me they hear!”

If he’s correct, they sing the next part together.

“My spirit and my voice,

In one command.

The Phantom of The Opera is there,

Inside your mind.”

Phil could have died on the spot - their voices sound amazing together. He turns around to beam at Dan, but Dan’s too busy acting to notice.

“The Phantom of the Opera,

He’s there.

The Phantom of the Opera.” 

He waltzes out into the road, obviously getting into it. Phil follows, and their voices combine more. 

“Sing once again with me,

A strange duet.”

“My power over you

Grows stronger yet.”

“You give your love to me ,

For love is blind.

The Phantom of The Opera is now,

My mastermind.”

“Sing my angel of music!” Phil cries.

“He’s there,

The Phan-tom of the O-per-aaaaa”

“Sing once again with me,

For a strange duet.”

Dan finishes off the song with the highest note Phil has ever heard come from a man. Bursting into laughter, he bows to a one-man audience as Phil claps and shouts “bravo!”, throwing invisible roses onto an invisible stage before turning to walk down the street.

“Thank you, thank you,” Dan giggles, buzzing with adrenaline as he looks at Phil, who responds with equal spirit. He isn’t quite sure what just happened, but something about their voices combining together like that felt spectacular. It felt special. As their smiles fade, Dan looks as though he wants to speak.

“Phil,” he begins, “can I...can I compliment you?”

“Of course.”

“You have the most incredible voice. Seriously.”

Phil is stupefied. Really? His voice, “incredible”? 

Something wells up inside his chest, something wild and fleeting and frantic that makes him want to sprint and shout and bowl Dan over with a tackle or a hug or just give in to his long-restrained yearning and just grab his charming, boyish face and just kiss it-

Instead, he reaches out a hand, and lightly taps Dan on the nose with his finger.

“Phil, I think you are the strangest person that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Hey, you’re equally weird,” he teases. 

“I know. That’s why I think you’re so wonderful.”

It’s his shy smile that tips Phil over the edge. He reaches out and pulls Dan into a hug that’s forceful and rough, throwing his arms around his shoulders and squeezing him tight as Dan instantly wraps his arms around him, gripping with equal vigour until they can’t get any closer.

“Thank you for agreeing to go on this mad walk with me. It’s just that I...I couldn’t sleep. This stupid performance is in two days and I’ve got so much work to do and I-” His voice cracks. Phil says nothing but rubs Dan’s back in consolation. After a while, the other boy pulls away. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, avoiding Phil’s eye.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re stressed, it’s understandable. I don’t mind anyway, it was my pleasure.” They begin walking. “Don’t worry about all this school work, you’ve got enough time to sort it out before the performance. If you don’t finish it, who cares - you can do it over the holidays.”

With a big sniff, Dan nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

“As for Friday, I’m sure it’ll go smoothly. If you fluff a line just get your sword out and start duelling the audience with your fencing skills. They won’t know what hit them. Literally.”

“Let's hope I don’t fluff anything then, because I don’t want to have to kill you in a sword fight.”

“Aha! How bold you are to assume that I would lose! In fact, I, Philip Michael Lester, otherwise known as... Lance Lester, am a master of sword fighting, known throughout the land for my trusty steel and quick foot.” He snatches at the bottle in Dan’s hand, holding it by its neck. “This was my father's poniard, do you see? I'd be loth to see 't look rusty, 'cause 'twas his.”

Dan cackles, high pitched and loud. “Oh Phil, you’re such a geek, you know that right?”

“Oi - that’s Lance Lester to you!”

“Oh yeah? More like Feeble Phil,” he teases, jabbing at the other boy’s stomach. It doesn’t take long before they start to pretend-fight, scuffling in the street and tussling with each other all the way back home, gradually getting louder and more competitive until they circle back to Turl Street.

“Hey, hey, shhh!” Phil hisses. “We’re back at my college.”

Dan unclences Phil from a headlock and looks up. “We are indeed. Let’s hope the door’s still unlocked.” 

Phil gives it a gentle push, and it opens with a creak. Wriggling free from Dan’s grasp he slips into the entrance, standing with one foot it and one foot out, propping the door open with his chest.

“Well, good luck for rehearsals then. I’ll be at the chapel for…”

“For eight o’clock.”

“Eight o’clock. Right.”

Dan’s face falls. 

“My God.”

“What? What’s the matter?”

“I nearly forgot. Oh, what a disaster that would have been.” 

Phil raises an eyebrow. 

“On the night of the performance the chap I share a room with is going out, so I’m inviting a handful of people back to my room for a little party afterwards. I kept meaning to invite you but I never got round to it. Please say you can make it!”

“It’d be my pleasure.” 

Dan beams. “Perfect, I’ll see you there.” 

He turns away and walks up the street, hands thrust into his trouser pockets as he hurries back to his room. Phil stands at the door, watching. When Dan reaches the corner of the road he turns his head to face backwards, and, although he’s too far away to be sure, Phil is certain that he can feel the warmth of a smile shooting through the air and landing on his breast like the golden tip of Cupid’s pointed arrow, spreading through his body with a tender warmth.

[keepingupwithlinmanuel]

"I just love this island so much": Lin-Manuel Miranda after "Hamilton" debut in Puerto Rico

Mr. Miranda, born and raised in New York City to parents from Puerto Rico, is devoted to the island; he is hoping that the run of “Hamilton” here will call attention to both its needs and its riches. Multiple members of Congress are expected to come see the show while it’s here.

“People are going to come to Puerto Rico because of ‘Hamilton,’ and hopefully spend a lot of money here,” he said. “But they’re also going to see blue tarps and they’re also going to see how much work there is to be done.”

...

“By coming here, in the most concrete possible way he is using the theater to intervene in the enormous difficulties this island has,” said Oskar Eustis, the artistic director of the Public Theater, the New York nonprofit where “Hamilton” began. “He’s pumping millions of dollars into the economy, and he’s drawing a spotlight to Puerto Rico — he’s using his megaphone for exactly what it should be used for.”

Talking with reporters, Mr. Miranda responded to questions on a handful of political issues. He called “absolutely monstrous” the possibility that the Trump administration might take money budgeted for disaster relief to pay for a wall along the Mexican border.

Asked about violence in Puerto Rico, he called it “a virus that is affecting all of the United States, and Puerto Rico at this moment.” But he also said, “I’m thrilled to welcome everyone to this island. They shouldn’t have reservations” about visiting.

Mr. Miranda said one part of the show had become unexpectedly emotional — the song “Hurricane,” about a storm that hit St. Croix in 1772, newly resonant given the storm that hit Puerto Rico in 2017.

“I wrote that song years ago, and it’s very difficult to sing here,” he said. “I didn’t get through it the first time I did it on stage. I was able to get through it tonight.”

During a boisterous standing ovation, Lin-Manuel Miranda pulled out a Puerto Rican flag, waved it in front of the captivated audience and then wrapped it around his back to exit the stage.

"I just love this island so much. And I just want it to be proud of me," Miranda told reporters on Friday after the premiere of his Broadway hit "Hamilton" in Puerto Rico, where the award-winning playwright and musician traces his roots.

...

Because the island is still recovering from devastating hurricanes and struggling to address years of economic instability, the Miranda family put a $10 price tag on 10,000 tickets — including many for university students — through a lottery system. Miranda said seeing ticket winners proudly announcing their hometowns on social media was extremely gratifying.

"It's become a pueblo roll call, who's won the lottery," he said, referring to the Spanish word for town.

"I visited the first time I think a month after Hurricane Maria to see the island," said Miranda, shifting between English and Spanish. "I thought I'd never see winter in Puerto Rico. But Puerto Ricans are the most resilient people on the face of the earth. I mean any other city that would survive this long without power and the resources they lost… I'm awed, every time I come here."

...

If singing "Hurricane" was the emotional peak of Friday's performance at the Centro de Bellas Artes for Miranda, he identified bringing his father out on stage during the curtain call as the most joyous.

The senior Miranda announced that fundraising pegged to the 17-day San Juan Hamilton run and carried out by the Flamboyan Arts Fund — a branch created by the Miranda family in collaboration with the Flamboyan Foundation dedicated to childhood education in the U.S. and Puerto Rico — is expected to raise $15 million to support arts and culture, which will boost the island's economic recovery.

"No one has worked harder," said Miranda of his father. "I really thought there were moments he was not gonna survive. My dad's worked in politics and been the most efficient guy in the room his entire career, and the whole thing was a test for this. So him getting applause was the highlight of my night."

...

The roar of excitement and instant standing ovation that greeted the rat-tat-tat percussive notes of the opening number went far beyond any standard response to a musical that invariably raises the temperature in the room. But the show-stopping explosion of cheers when Miranda took centerstage and sang his first words, “Alexander Hamilton,” was off the charts. He had to pause, remaining focused and in character, for almost a minute before being able to continue with, "My name is Alexander Hamilton."

This was the unmistakable sound of Puerto Rico giving a returning hero's welcome to its spiritual son.

"I've never felt anything like it," confessed Miranda later. "It's like performing to outer space. 'Alexander Hamilton'… whoosh! I didn't see anyone standing. I just felt it. I felt a cheer, that's the first time I felt a cheer. I felt my hair move from the cheer and I will never forget it."

Miranda addressed the abrupt decision to relocate the San Juan run from its originally planned home on the University of Puerto Rico's Rio Piedras campus following protest threats as strictly a matter of safety concerns given local limits on police access to college campuses. 'If there's just a slight chance that anything goes wrong, I cannot have that on my conscience," Miranda stressed. "I can't have anyone getting hurt."

Security personnel and metal detectors were much in evidence Friday night, but the evening was strictly celebratory, with only a small group of about a dozen protestors outside to draw attention to a cause unrelated to Hamilton.

While Miranda's public support for the PROMESA debt restructuring plan was seen by some as controversial, notably in light of proposed cuts to college funding, he clarified that he fully supports debt relief: "I'll say it again, I believe that austerity on students is wrong. I believe that squeezing the generation that is going to grow up and inherit this island is wrong. And particularly in the wake of Hurricane Maria, that debt forgiveness is the only way to really get a clean slate and a fighting chance for Puerto Rico.”

Asked if the San Juan opening now ranks as the most emotional experience he's ever had performing in Hamilton, Miranda said: "I think it's tied with the first. When you start writing this thing and it takes you a year to write one song, the moment it actually gets off the page and you hand it to the audience is the most gratifying because it's the result of several years of hard work."

"Hamilton's been in the world for almost four years now," he continued. "We've been planning for Puerto Rico for two of them. So double opening night by the fact that I love this island so much I just want it to be proud of me. This was a homecoming, in a way. It felt very special."

Full video of the press conference here.

[jaeminlore]

Ace of Hearts | Junhui

summary: jun works for cupid inc, and wonders why his arrows aren’t working on a certain girl. he decides to go down to investigate, and realizes he knew a lot less about love than he had originally thought. words: 6k+ category: cupid!jun x asexual!reader, fluff, comedy

There you were, as always, reading a book in the corner of the bar while your friends went on and mingled. Every once in awhile someone would come to your table, and you’d talk to them for a few minutes before returning to your book. Your pale t-shirt stuck to your collarbones, thanks to the growing humidity of the room. Jun himself felt a bit flustered from the heat. Of course, that could just be because heat rises, and Jun was hiding in the rafters. He sighed under his breath, squinting his eyes in an effort to see what you were reading. He wished he had brought a book with him, or his Gameboy at the least.

He wasn’t even supposed to be out tonight. This was Wonwoo’s shift. It was Wonwoo’s job to find you love, but the slacker just had to come down with a fever the night before. Sending a curse to his friend back at the head office, Jun extracted his bow and a single arrow. The bow was made from a Blackwood Tree, enchanted specifically for his hand. The arrows were basic, used by every other cupid in business. The simple baby blue arrows with dark blue tips looked rather beautiful, despite the frightening end. Jun poked it with the pad of his thumb. Blood soon appeared, and he quickly brought his thumb to his lip in and effort to stop the flow. At least Wonwoo sharpened them before he got sick.

Jun loved his job. Any other night, he would’ve thanked the stars above that Wonwoo had gotten sick. There wasn’t anything Jun loved more than pricking people in the butt and making them fall for the person next to them. If he were assigned any place else, he wouldn’t be complaining. But he was complaining, because you were there. You were the bane of every cupid’s existence. Absolutely no one had successfully found love for you. It was as if you didn’t feel arrows at all. Not to mention if someone else was pricked and set their sights on you: you would simply brush them off.

Jun would’ve loved to just ignore you. To move on to the next person and shoot them in their behind. Perhaps they would actually appreciate Jun’s hard work. He couldn’t ignore you because you were in the books of Cupid Inc. It was contracted that you were looking for love and would be an easy target. Jun really wanted to find the person who wrote down your name and make •them• try and find love for you. At this point the boy didn’t even feel like trying. However, he could be fired if he didn’t complete his job. With that thought as his only motivation, he held up his bow and pulled the string back until it met with his temple. Once the blue point was directed right at your hip, Jun released, his fingers loosening as he did so. The arrow soared across the dimly lit bar and landed right in the skin of your tailbone.

You jolted slightly and looked around. Jun thought that perhaps, just this once, he had actually succeeded in getting you. His hopes were soon smashed when you furrowed your thick brows and returned to your book. He shoved his bow back in his bag with vigor, not knowing how else to vent his frustration. Usually, if you were anyone else, you would approach someone by now. You were supposed to take their hand and lead them outside to hail a cab and start your adventure. Instead, you simply curled into a ball and smiled at whatever you had just read. Your pale lips distracted Jun for a moment, before he turned his head, wondering why the arrows didn’t work on you.

Before he could come up with a plausible answer, you were saving your place in your book. Oh, no. Jun knew this meant he had about two minutes before you were out that door and gone. His boss’s voice played over in his head: “If you fail this one again, you’re leaving Cupid Inc.”

He cursed under his breath. Your black heels seemed to clack louder with every step, almost to taunt Jun. Hey! Look what’s getting away!

Maybe you were a witch. That would explain why the arrows didn’t work on you. Jun went over theories as he walked outside, hoping to follow you home and question you himself. He never considered himself a hands-on cupid, but if you needed a bit of a push, he would help. Maybe you were shy. Maybe the arrows worked and you just brushed off the lustful feelings they gave you because you couldn’t approach anyone without having a panic attack.

As he rounded the corner and saw you walking up the steps towards a rather boring and not at all witch-like apartment, he pouted his lip. Eyebrows furrowed, he anticipated your next move: closing the door before he could approach you. This was all well, supposing Jun could just knock. He ran his fingers through his hair and trampled up the steps, nearly tripping in his escapade to your door. Then he knocked with a short rat-a-tat-tat.

You opened a meager fifteen seconds later with a single eye peaking out. “Hello. What do you want?”

“I’m Jun,” he said, curiously peering at your face. You looked dashingly beautiful under the lamplight, and the natural contour gifted to you by the shadows made Jun think that perhaps you really weren’t human. Perhaps you were something else altogether. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come back tomorrow,” your voice was a tad gravelly, and although it was a sound Jun wasn’t used to hearing, it was one he found himself wanting to hear again. Before he could proclaim this, you shut your door in his face, and the click of your deadbolt had him stumped for options.

It had to be nearing midnight. Jun supposed he could wait around until sunrise, where he would hear your voice again. The eagerness that that thought brought to him was almost enough to keep him awake. However, as soon as he curled up beside your apartment door, his eyelids fell heavily against themselves. It wasn’t long before soft snores escaped his lips, and your neighbors who worked night shifts thought you had a very drunken stalker camping outside of your home.

You nearly forgot about the strange man. He took you by surprise, certainly, with his copper-colored hair and mischievous eyes. What was more surprising was his speech, and the way he urgently expressed his need to talk to you, as if he were some messenger from an adventure novel. The book you were reading just had to be The Hobbit, and your mind went to far away places, wondering if the strange man was your very own wizard, coming to convince you to help him and his dwarf companions kill a dragon.

The thought had you chuckling as you flipped over a blueberry pancake. The batter slid unevenly for a moment, but with a tilt of the pan it was back to a normal, somewhat oblong, shape. In the midst of flipping your next pancake, a harsh rap of knuckles against wood frightened you, and you accidentally flipped the batter halfway out of the pan. Steam hissed as the drippy batter fell onto the hot stovetop, and you rushed to clean everything up before it charred and made your stove messy.

Once that situation was taken care of, you jogged over to the door and swung it open, fully expecting it to be the mail lady delivering your package. Instead, it was a sleepy boy, sporting the same familiar hair color you saw just the night before. It was easier to see him now in the morning light, so you took your time studying his features. You were just tracing the slope of his nose with your eyes when he cleared his throat, causing you to jump in embarrassment. Redness shot across your cheeks as you struggled not to look embarrassed in front of him. It wasn’t every day a handsome man came up to your door and asked to talk.

Whatever he wished to talk about might not be positive, though, and you had half the mind not to let him in. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I’m Jun,” he said. He voice was smoother than you remembered, a velvet drizzle of caramel to warm your eardrums. “I’m a cupid.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his joke. “A single cupid? Isn’t there only one cupid anyway?”

“Technically, yes.” Jun rolled his eyes as if he got this question all the time. “We’re all ancestors of the Cupid. It’s a family business. Cupid is our calling card, like a surname for humans.”

“So if you aren’t a human, what are you?” He was lucky it was the morning, and the bizarreness of the conversation hadn’t crossed your common sense yet.

Jun covered his mouth with the back of his hand and yawned, “I suppose some kind of god. A demigod maybe. Or I could be an angel.”

“What if you’re a demon?” you played a long.

Jun nodded seriously, “That would explain my devilishly handsome good looks.”

It took three beats before you could no longer hold your laughter. You snorted at the boy, who still looked rather serious as he struggled to remember his ancestry. “Maybe you’re just a fairy.”

“Ah, I think that is it,” Jun said, eyes sparkling, “Although it’s not as interesting as a demigod.”

He didn’t look particularly bothered by the crisp morning. His thin t-shirt battled the wind, and goosebumps rose across his arms, but he showed no sign of discomfort. You found yourself believing his strange words and nonchalant attitude, so you opened the door wider. “Would you like to come in? I just made pancakes.”

As soon as the pancakes were in front of him, Jun popped the cap off of the syrup bottle and began to drown his. You sat across from him, nothing but a bit of whipped cream on your own pancakes, and rose the question, “What did you need to talk to me about.”

Jun looked up from his syrupy pool. “I’m a cupid, like I said before. I was assigned to find you a match, but you have yet to take the bait. It’s as if my arrows don’t affect you at all.”

“I wonder why. Did you actually hit me?”

“Yes!” Jun said, “Just last night I got you but you never made a move!”

You thought back to the previous night, where you had read in the corner of one of the bar’s many booths. Your brain walked through the evening, wondering if you ever got the urge to approach someone. “I-I can’t think of anything. That’s weird.”

Jun shoved some pancakes in his mouth and chewed quickly before swallowing and starting his rant, “Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to get you laid for weeks and yet nothing happens. It’s like you’re immune for something.”

Before you could stop it, a giggle erupted from your lips. “Laid? That’s what those arrows make you want to do? No wonder they don’t work on me.”

Jun’s eyebrows crinkled. He cocked his head to the side and met your eyes with an innocently curious gaze. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m asexual, Jun. It means I’m not really into sex. If the arrows produce lustful feelings, they aren’t going to work on me.” Your eyebrows rose and you smirked, “Unless they activate my lust for adventure, of course.”

“That would explain why you’re always burying your nose further into your book after I shoot you.” Jun sat back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest. For a moment, a fond smile adorned his face. Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, replaced with a look of deep thought. “Well, how am I supposed to find you love, then? I’ll get fired if I don’t.”

“Sex doesn’t equal love,” you said.

As you got up to get more whipped cream, you heard Jun sigh behind you. “It doesn’t? What does?”

You shrugged and popped the cap off of the can. “Love is hard to explain. It can be expressed through physical actions like hugs, kisses, and sex. But it’s also the little things. For instance, if you made sure I put on my seatbelt every time we were in a car. That would be a small act of love. Telling me there is broccoli in my teeth before I go out and embarrass myself in public is a small act of love. Holding my hand when it’s dark and scary would be a small act of love.”

“Holding hands is physical,” Jun pointed out.

“It usually isn’t sexual though,” you argued.

“So what do you recommend I do?” Jun asked. “If my arrows won’t work, how will I find you a mate?”

You grabbed both yours and his empty plates and transferred them to the sink. A soft hum escaped your lips as you thought about it. “Maybe you should make different arrows. Manufacture romance arrows and friendship arrows. That way people like me, or people who simply aren’t ready to have sex with a complete stranger, can fall in love in other fashions. Better, more concrete fashions.”

Jun brought his thumbnail up to his lips and bit down nervously. “Maybe it could work. I guess I’ll go search for ways to make them. I can’t make them at Cupid Inc., though. They’ll fire me.”

“You should let them fire you,” you retorted. “Make a new corporation and base it around making people happy, rather than getting people laid.”

You could see that your words were turning circles in the boy’s mind. The concept of romance in itself seemed so new to him. It was nearly laughable how much he didn’t know. So much for Cupid.

“Happiness,” he mulled over the word. “That is a good emotion. It’s different than pleasure, but not in a bad way. It could work.”

Jun showed up three days later, his arms so full of strange items that he could barely knock to alert you that he was there. He managed to kick your door, making you think someone was trying to break in. As soon as you saw his sheepish smile over a pile of junk, you relaxed. “Hey, Jun.”

“Y/n,” he greeted, walking past you and dumping his collected items onto your floor. “I have enough resources to make five arrows. They’ll be my prototypes and you’ll be my lab rat.”

“Honored,” you deadpanned.

“Seriously,” he said, “the more I thought about it the more this could work. I mean, just today I kept noticing all these couples and they seemed so happy just being beside each other. I think I’m beginning to understand love. So we’re making love arrows. Not lust arrows. Not passion arrows. We’re going to make people fall in love innocently, through shy gazes and hesitant hand holding.”

“Nice pitch,” you said, “How long did that one take?”

“Literally twenty minutes,” Jun rolled his eyes. “But it sounds great, right? The CEO of Cupid Inc. is bound to accept our product with a pitch like that. And think, I wouldn’t even have to be fired from the family business.”

“Our product?”

“You’re my business partner, right?” Jun asked. “This was your idea, after all.”

You bit your lip. “I’m a human.”

“Which works so well. Who better to have as a partner for a human product than a human itself?” Jun looked far too excited. You wondered how long he had stayed up, practicing pitches and looking for inventory. The bags under his eyes told you it had been awhile. Without much thought, you reached up and brushed the bangs off of his forehead. Jun’s eyes widened and he looked eyes with you. A blush appeared on his cheeks; he cleared his throat before looking to the ground. “So… should we get started?”

“Yeah,” you said absentmindedly as you looked around. “Except I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Oh, well it’s all magic,” Jun said. “I transfer my magic into a potion and that’s what we dip the tips of the arrows into.”

You bit your lip and sat on your rug, pulling your knees up to your chest. Jun was quickly to follow. His nimble fingers grasped for the shaft of the arrow. “So maybe you can craft the arrows while I mix the potion?”

Eyebrows furrowed, you nodded. Once Jun showed you how to craft, you came to realize that it wasn’t hard at all. It was essentially drilling and screwing. You were done with all five arrows in less than fifteen minutes. With all the free time you had, you watched Jun work his magic — quite literally — into one of your saucepans. Somewhere inside of you was a mourning for the stainless steel, but it was quickly replaced with overwhelming curiosity as the mixture turned a thick purple. It looked like a galaxy pattern, but there was something deeper about it. The hues were darker — more blue — and they went on for infinities. Your eyes were wide as you stared at the mixture. “So…that’s it? That’s the stuff that makes you fall in love?”

When Jun looked up, you were already gazing into his russet eyes, searching for an answer. He swallowed his saliva subtly. Never in his life had he wanted so badly not to shoot a client. After spending even the short amount of time with you that he did, he felt instantly drawn to you. You were beautiful and joyful, not to mention, the two of you shared the same taste in books. Jun found himself thinking about your pancakes often, and also whether or not he would ever see you again after this. He thought of waking up and seeing you making the pancakes he never realized he would crave so much. He thought of kissing your cheek and setting the table for breakfast. Even a fantasy so simple had his cheeks rosy. Sweat dampened his palms, and he was quick to wipe them on his thighs before answering. “I’m not so sure about love anymore, Y/n.”

“What do you mean?”  

Jun averted his eyes from your careful scrutiny. His tongue darted out from behind his lips to wet them. “Well…it’s fake, isn’t it? All that we do? This whole business is a scam, isn’t it?”

The hurt look on his face made you want to lie. “Not necessarily…”

“It is,” Jun moaned. “Even these arrows won’t work because all this has to come naturally.”

Before you could argue, he grabbed the saucepan and got up to pour the contents down the sink. He flicked the garbage disposal on, and your apartment was filled with the loud gurgle of the machine. “Uh, what happens if you put a love potion in the garbage disposal?”

Jun shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe two rats will fall in love.” Without missing a beat, he turned to your counter and lifted himself onto it. He tapped his chin with his pointer finger, “Now back to brainstorming. Should we start a matchmaking business?”

You — with a bit of effort — crawled onto the counter with him. His shoulder bumped yours in greeting, eliciting a giggle from both of your mouths. You wondered how he could bounce from one project to the next so quickly. It was hard to keep up, but you didn’t mind the challenge, “We could start a matchmaking business. We could work for a charity… that makes people happy.”

“We could reunite families!” Jun exclaimed. “Like, imagine if Batman has been reunited with his parents! He would’ve been so much happier!”

“Jun,” you whispered gently, “Batman’s parents are dead. That was a part of his character development.”

“Oh. Nevermind.”

You let your head fall onto Jun’s shoulder. “We don’t have to worry about it now. It’ll come to us soon.”

Jun nodded, his own mind begging for a bit of rest from all the brainstorming and excitement. “Well let’s move to the couch or something because if we fall asleep on this counter it could be disastrous.”

When you didn’t answer, Jun craned his neck to try and catch a glimpse of you. “Oh. You’re asleep. Cute.” Before he could stop himself, he poked your cheek. You only moved closer to him at the contact. “Alright, snuggle bug, I’m just going to pick you up for a moment, just until we reach the couch.”

He felt awkward, hooking his arms under your knees and torso. Truth be told, he had never been this close to a human before. There was a warm, fuzzy place in his brain where common sense usually resided. Perhaps this was a human trait? Like, you must’ve been letting off a defense mechanism to keep him from harming you, right? Jun shook his head, thinking that he needed to get out and meet new humans. He needed to compare research notes with himself.

There was a wool blanket folded on top of the couch. After laying you down, Jun pulled the blanket up to your chin and tucked it under. He leaned down, lips puckered towards your forehead, before stopping. Maybe you wouldn’t like to be kissed while asleep. Maybe you wouldn’t like to be kissed at all. He still wasn’t quite sure of a lot of things about you. With a tender smile on his lips, he brushed your bangs off of your forehead and whispered a quiet goodbye.

Before heading to your apartment, Jun stopped at the local library. He was dying to research more about human love and emotions. He wanted to grasp how you were feeling, and why he felt the way he did around you. He wanted to know why you smelled like safety and why your eyes twinkled with starlight.

After grabbing a few different human behavior and philosophy books, he settled into an overstuffed chair in the corner and began to read. He was quick, his eyes scanning the words with eagerness and curiosity. He hadn’t even realized the time going past until a boy around his age tapped him on the knee. Jun peeked at him from over the rim of his book.

The stranger had fluffy blond hair and glasses. His smile was charming and just as mischievous as Jun’s normally was. Unfortunately, Jun didn’t feel fuzzy in the brain when this boy smiled at him. He didn’t even react when the boy began talking. “I’m Jeonghan. The library’s about to close soon; just thought I’d let you know.”

He walked away, and Jun was quick (and clumsy) to follow after him. “Wait!”

Jeonghan stopped. He looked worried. “What is it? Are you alright?”

Jun shook his head. “I’ve been reading books all day but I still can’t find what I’m looking for.”

“What is that?”

“Well, I want to know why my brain gets fuzzy when I look at someone.”

“What do you mean?” Jeonghan rose an eyebrow, “Is your vision blurry? You should go get glasses.”

“No,” Jun shook his head. “My brain.” Seriously, why do humans always misinterpret things? “My common sense disappears and my chest gets warm and my brain goes fuzzy. Like, I can’t think.”

Jeonghan’s confusion was quickly replaced with a knowing smile. “Ah… you’re innocent aren’t you? Don’t you know about attraction?”

Jun blinked at him.

“You know,” Jeonghan urged. “It’s like when you see someone, and they’re the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. Or they’re funny and kind. Or they smell good and their laugh fills your mind whenever they’re gone. That’s attraction.”

Jun’s eyes widened. “I think I have that! Well, is it contagious? Is there a cure?”

“What you you going on about? It’s not a disease,” Jeonghan laughed, “You must be drunk. Can I call someone to take you home?”

“No. I’m walking,” Jun said. “I’m not drunk either, I just need to know what attraction is. Does it affect a lot of humans?”

The librarian came by then, and told them that is was closing time. Jeonghan followed Jun out, an amused smirk on his lips. “Well, it affects most humans, yes. Sometimes it affects people less or more, depending on the human.”

Jun pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “It doesn’t affect Y/n at all. At least, the sex part. That’s what she’s told me, and I’m trying to learn more about her…”

“Well, people can not like sex and still be attracted to others. It just depends on the person. Humans are complicated, you know,” Jeonghan said.

“Tell me about it,” Jun grumbled. “When I’m around her I feel it more. Attraction. Do you think she’s the cause of it?”

Jeonghan snickered. “I think she might be. You really are out of it, aren’t you? How about I walk you home?”

Jun shrugged. “If you insist.”

You opened the door as soon as the doorbell rang. “Jun! I’ve been waiting for hours! Are you okay?”

Jun grinned at you, and pulled someone behind him. “Really sorry about that, Y/n. This is Jeonghan. I met him at the library. He says I have a disease.”

“What?” You looked at Jeonghan strangely.

The light-haired boy shrugged, “I think he’s drunk or high. He’s saying weird things that don’t make any sense.”

Jun huffed. “I already told you I wasn’t drunk. Second of all, please stop talking about me like I’m not right here. Y/n, I have a disease called attraction and you caused it.”

You snorted. “Okay, it wasn’t the smoothest pick-up line, but I’ll take it.”

Jun groaned and grabbed his hair in frustration. “You humans never listen. Stop talking nonsense and help me find the cure to this disease!”

Jeonghan bent down and whispered in your ear, “What’s going on?”

“He’s just forgotten his meds,” you whispered back, hoping you sounded convincing enough to please the stranger. “He gets a bit confused when that happens. Thanks for bringing him home.”

“No problem,” he still gave you a weird look. “Do you need me to help, or…”

“No, no,” you assured him. “Everything’s alright.”

Jeonghan passed a distrusting look toward Jun. Then, he pulled a notepad and pen out of his back pocket. “Here’s my number, alright? Call me if you need to.”

“Thank you,” you said, your cheeks growing warm at his gentle smile. With one more nod, he was gone, and you were left with a very frustrated Jun.

“Sit down,” you told him. “We need to talk.”

Jun fell back into the sofa, his hand immediately grabbing your throw pillow. He cuddled it to his chest and pouted. “I don’t see why you guys have to make fun of me. It’s not my fault I don’t know human customs. Why would I? Do I look like a human?”

“You do, actually,” you said. After receiving a glare from Jun, you cleared your throat. “Anyway, it’s not a disease or an illness. It’s a feeling. All the symptoms are there, but it’s not dangerous or anything.”

Jun huffed. “Great. So I just looked like an idiot in front of that human.”

“I’m sorry,” you patted his knee gently, “It’s just that I don’t know what you do and don’t know. I thought attraction was a thing Cupids should know about.”

“Why would we?” Jun asked. “We don’t get attracted to each other, and it’s not like we come down onto earth often. Even then it’s only on business, like now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “But you told Jeonghan you were attracted to me.”

“Of course I am,” Jun said with no embarrassment whatsoever. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been working on your case for months, wondering for the life of me why someone as beautiful as you would need help finding love. And now, after spending just a few days with you, I still can’t figure out why.”

“It’s because I’m Ace,” you told him, “and not all humans like that.”

“What do you mean?” Jun suddenly looked upset. “You can’t get a date because you don’t like sex? Isn’t that like someone rejecting me because I like pineapples on my pizza?”

You crinkled your nose. “To be fair, I would reject you for that.”

A laugh erupted from your lips when Jun shoved your side, a gentle smile on his face. Without warning, he tackled you into a hug, his warm breath on your neck calming your senses. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “This is more than okay.”

“Good.” Jun pulled you down until the two of you were cuddling on the couch, your bodies squished together awkwardly. “Because I think I could hold you all day long if you’d let me.”

Jun’s words still stood when he woke up, nose pressed against your soft neck. You smelt good, and your skin was smooth and soft against his. With his arms around you, he felt safe. Safe and happy and hopeful, that today would be another happy day spent with you. It was horrible, because he’d only known you properly for a few days, but like he had told you before, he felt attracted to you. And it didn’t matter how humans defined it, because Jun defined it himself as a disease; a disease that overwhelmed him with the urge to be with you today and tomorrow and the next day until it turned into eternity and Jun still wasn’t tired of you.

But that was all part of the disease. Because Jun wasn’t used to human affection. He wasn’t used to knowing how it felt to be with someone else. You, however, did. That was why you didn’t like him back. That was why, to you, he was only a friend. A business partner. He came here to find you love; real love. Not this infatuation-affection lovesickness he had. He was going to do his work, and then he was going to return to Cupid Inc.

Maybe he could restart his arrow project. Maybe he could make them into confidence arrows. Instead of giving people false feelings, it could just show them the feelings they already had…

“Y/n!” Jun sprang up, effectively rolling you onto the floor. Your back hit the rug with a loud thud, and you squinted up to see Jun’s concerned face peeking down at you, “I’m so sorry, but you have to help me out. I have a new arrow project.”

“You couldn’t have waited till I woke up to tell me?” you grumbled, sitting up. Your nose brushed against Jun’s for a moment before he pulled himself up, grinning.

“But this could work! This could be the rebranding we talked about!”

“I thought we gave up on that.”

“Too quickly,” Jun agreed, “Now my idea has evolved properly. It’s foolproof.”

“Alright,” you sighed, “What is it?”

“Okay… So what if I could make an arrow that brought your true feelings to life? The ones you already had, so it wouldn’t be fake at all.”

You got up and sat beside Jun in the couch, crossing your legs. “That is actually not a bad idea. Can you think of any cons before we get started?”

Jun furrowed his eyebrows, “Cons?”

“Reasons not to do it,” you explained. “Something that would make us quit halfway like last time.”

Jun shook his head. “No, this is it. This is the one that’s going to actually work.”

You hadn’t felt like cooking breakfast, and you didn’t trust Jun to use any more of your cooking ware. So while he worked on his arrows (once again), you went to McDonalds to pick up some breakfast biscuits and coffee.

Upon returning, you saw that Jun had simply made more arrows and piled them onto the coffee table. Instead of the one he had already used, he managed to unearth another one of your lovely saucepans and fill it with an oozy blue liquid.

In his defense, you hadn’t told him that the saucepans were off limits. For all you knew, he might actually think they were for potions, or magic slime, or whatever else that stuff could be.

Jun himself was wrapped in one of your blankets like a burrito, only his head and arms peeking out from the cozy exterior. He was on your laptop, eyes barely lifting to tell you hello. You unwrapped a biscuit and held it in front of his mouth. “Eat.”

He opened his mouth and took a bite before pulling back and going back to the laptop screen. Through his partly-swallowed food, he managed to get out, “I’ve brewed a few different coating that I think will work. My best shot, no pun intended, is coating the arrow point with this blue stuff. It’ll give the victim clarity to see who they love. Who they truly love. I also have a green one boiling on your stove. That one will help people gain the confidence to approach someone, or kiss them, or whatever they want to do but don’t have the guts to do.”

You broke out into a smile. “Jun! These are genius! It’s like a way to help people without forcing them to do anything they don’t want to do. It’s like cutting out the creepy middleman and creating a whole new brand.”

Jun rose his eyebrows, and for the first time you saw him smirk. It was filled with pride, and didn’t last lost as it gave way to a cheesy grin. “You really think so? Do you think they’ll accept it at Cupid Inc.?”

“I have no reason to think they won’t,” you sat down and pulled some of the blanket off of Jun so that you could wrap it around yourself as well.

“C'mere,” Jun shifted, pulling you over his lap, so that you could rest against his collarbone and he could finish his research. “Now, I was thinking that I could try them both out on you, if it’s okay. Maybe I’ll shoot the clarity arrow at Jeonghan and the confidence arrow at you?”

You lifted your head and braced your hand against his stomach as you stared at him. “What? Why Jeonghan? I thought you were the one with attraction.”

Jun giggled nervously, “Well, I’m a cupid. And I’ll be heading back to Cupid Inc. soon anyway. You’ll need a human to look after you while I’m gone. Also, Jeonghan blushed when he gave you his number. That’s a sign of attraction: I looked them up.”

You couldn’t really explain the disappointment you felt as you sank back down, you head falling onto Jun’s chest effortlessly, like it was meant to be there. You felt stupid, like some teen romance protagonist who was so angstily in love with her best friend.

Except this wasn’t some teen romance novel and you weren’t in love with your best friend. You were crushing on a cupid, and that seemed much, much worse. Because it was like mythology: messy and unattainable and more than likely something you would regret in years to come. But this was Jun, someone who wanted people to find love, not some Narcissus who only loved himself.

You didn’t even know you were gripping Jun’s shirt until he grabbed your hands and gently pulled them off of the fabric. “Is it not a good idea?” he asked worriedly. “Should I give it up and try again.”

“No, Jun, it’s just…” You clenched your eyelids tightly before opening them and looking into the boy’s eyes. “Do you not want to even try to be with me? Do you really think I would rather go out with some random boy at the library than you?”

Jun opened his mouth to say something, but he unfortunately wasn’t sure what to say. “I-I, well, um, I just thought…”

“What?” you asked. “Jun, it’s okay.”

Jun sighed and lifted a hand to run through his hair. “What if it’s not right? What if… I mean, I’m a cupid. I don’t know how human customs work and I certainly don’t know how human love works. What if I’m reading my feelings wrong and I end up breaking your heart? I’m scared I’m going to hurt you.”

“Jun,” you cupped his face and pressed your forehead against his, breathing in his scent and shaking your head at his nervous exhales. “Jun, it might seem like it but humans don’t have it figured out either, okay? I’m scared, too. I haven’t been in many relationships, and none that have lasted more than a few months. It’s nerve wracking, because I don’t know if you’re going to fly up to Cupidsville and leave me for someone else.”

“I don’t think I’d ever do that,” Jun said, lifting his head only slightly to kiss your nose. “Maybe… Maybe I can talk Wonwoo (he’s one of my friends up there) into taking over the arrows for me. He can get them manufactured, and I can stay down here, with you.”

“What about money? Food? A job?”

Jun bit his lip and looked away sheepishly, “Okay, What if I still worked at Cupid Inc. for the money, but came down here to hang out with you and sleep.”

“I’d like that a lot,” you said. “I-I like you a lot, Jun.”

“I like you a lot too, Y/n,” he grinned, and for the first time, you noticed his uneven teeth. Something inside of you soared at the thought of getting to learn more things about him every day, slowly, at your own pace.

“As much as I like cuddling with you, we should probably get up and do something productive now.”

“No,” Jun wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squished you against his body. “I’ll have to take these arrows back to Cupid Inc. tonight. For now, I just want to hold you.”

And that’s what he did.