#i was listening to the lyrics absentmindedly to the ‘I haven’t learned how to be human’

[pearlsdiamondsandvodka]

hmm thinking about fallen hero sidestep + against the kitchen floor by will wood ”lord knows i owed you more than im pretty sure i could give anybody” “i cant pin down what normal people want from foreign objects” “it just don’t come natural to me to think you’d want me for me” “i just haven’t learned how to be human like you are yet” “im still lonely that morbid sort that even company cant cure me. and the more you reassure me the less i trust” “im not a real person just the shit you can’t make up” “im just as exposed if i take off my clothes when we make the closet thing to love im capable off” “APOLOGISING FOR MY LIFE AND EVER ENTERING YOURS I KNOW YOU GOT SCARS OF YOUR OWN BUT HIDE MY KNIVES BEFORE YOU GO I’LL EITHER DIE OR LIVE ALONE”

[jaskiersbeloved]

if you can hold me like you used to (cause I never hated myself more)

summary: Virgil has a nightmare. But it isn’t his.

authors note: I really wasn't planning on the second part, but you guys convinced me! I hope I've managed to meet your expectations! The title is a bit changed lyrics from cavetown's song "i promise, i'm trying"

tag list: @icequeenoriginal, @astrozei, @myspatialspace, @coconut-cluster

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He felt like he was in the void. Void filled with sharp thornes of the roses, that he so loved. But the buds of the flowers where nowhere to be seen. Just the thornes, that ripped through his white robes, got caught in his hair, made his hands bleed.

The sword seath was empty, so he couldn't cut his way through.

He needed something to protect himself. An armour. A shield. Anything. But all he got were his own bare hands, that the thornes would ruthlessly cut through, leaving the bloody scratches on them.

But that wasn't the worst.

Though he wished it could be silent, eveytime a thorn has cut his skin, the wind would softly blow and whisper in his ear.

The voices would be different, but the message would still be the same.

That would be an amazing prank.

Cut.

Because Roman would make ya sick.

Cut.

I wouldn't know who the evil twin is.

Cut.

Tears have been falling from his face, while he was willing the voices to leave him alone.

But deep down he knew they were right.

He stopped abruptly, looking helplessly at his bloody hands. The voices were louder now.

I am not feeling any love OR misery!

He scoffed, hearing his own voice.

Back then he thought he would at least keep it in check. Or that maybe someone would react. But well. No-one did. So maybe he hid it well or maybe...

The thornes around him grew. They started to inch closer to him, as if fed by his own selfhatred.

How pathetic, he couldn't help but think. And yet, he didn't react.

He felt tired. Exhausted even.

Your big admission is dwarfed by your gargantuan failures.

Failure. That's what he is.

The thornes were now at his legs, slowly winding around them.

It hurt. He knew it hurt but he felt numb to it.

Let's talk about something we're both familiar with, Roman. Mistakes.

He sobbbed. The tears were falling to the ground.

So many mistakes he has made.

Maybe that's why they didn't need him?

The throny vices encircled him higher and higher, creating a sharp cocoon around him. The thorns were piercing him, little by little. But it didn't matter. Nobody would led him a helping hand right now. He has hurt too many to be even worthy of that.

So he let the vice grow. Maybe like that he'll finally rest. Maybe like that he finally won't hurt anyone.

The vices grew.

Virgil woke up with a start. He was breathing hard, so hard that it took him a few precious seconds to calm down and realize where he was and what has actually happened.

This wasn't his dream. That he was sure of. And he knew, who dreamed about it and has woken up as well. He could practically fell his anxiety through the door.

Virgil sighed.

Roman hasn't left his room since the last video. He allowed almost nobody to enter. The only person who could was Virgil, for what reason, he wasn't sure. Maybe because he was the first one to reach out to Roman after he sunk out?

But the creative side wasn't the only one who preferred staying in the room in the past few days. If Virgil were to be honest, he would say, that almost every side opted to not leave. Everyone avoided each other like the plague.

On the few rare occasions on which Virgil noticed any of them, they looked awful. Logan seemed tired. Patton had constant red rings around his eyes, probably from crying and he were always chewing on his lips. Virgil haven't seen either Janus or Remus, but he felt their anxiety as well.

All in all, everyone was a mess.

He lifted his covers and left the bed.

The nightmare worried him.

When a side was particularly anxious, Virgil could feel it. But when the anxiety was so hard that it caused the given side to have nightmares, it sometimes would manifest itself in Virgil's dreams.

That's exactly what happened now. And Virgil didn't like what he saw. Not even a little bit.

Quietly he opened the door to his room and stepped into the hallway.

He anxiously ran a hand through his hair, thinking.

Promise me...

Roman still didn't promise. And in the nightmare he had actually given up. And Virgil just... Had to check.

So he mustered whatever courage he had and walked straight to Roman's room.

Walking there, he couldn't help but notice how the hallway, and the Mind Palace itself, have changed.

Before the video it was warm, bright and welcoming, giving the familish, safety vibes, that Roman and Patton represented. After it , it looked more gloomy, cold and unwelcoming. Virgil couldn't help but wonder if that was because the two sides were so down recently.

Stopping in front of the door, he took in a big breath. His anxiety spiked.

What if Roman wouldn't want to talk with him? What if he wouldn't open the door? What if...

He has to try. For Roman's sake.

So he rose his hand and gently knocked.

The door flew open almost immediately, startling Virgil. But what it reviled, made his heart clench.

Roman were lying on the bed, curled in himself, just like he did, when he first came to check on him. His hands were in his hair, gripping it so hard that Virgil actually worried he'd rip them off. No sound escaped the side. The only thing that gave him away were his shaking shoulders.

"So you saw, huh?" he heard Roman's murmer. The side didn't even look at him. He just started blankly into the distance.

Virgil stepped into the room and quietly closed the door.

"Yeah" he said. Then after a moment he asked "Can I get closer?"

Roman shrugged.

"Sure. It's not like it matters anyways."

The bitterness in his voice caused the cleanch in Virgil's heart to grow stronger. He has never seen Roman in that state.

He sat at the edge of the bed.

He noticed the sash, that Roman used to wear, on the floor. Virgil furrowed his brows. The vibrant red was gone, replaced by a particulatly pale shade of pink. So pale, that it was almost white.

Virgil pressed his lips, trying to decide what to do.

While he himself wasn't a very touchy person, he knew Roman was. The creative side often needed to be touched to feel better. And though Virgil usually felt uncomfortable with that, he was willing to put his own feelings aside for Roman.

So he lifted his hand and started to rub comforting circles on Roman's back. It seemed to help a little, as the side's deathly grip on his hair eased up.

"How much have you seen?" Roman whispered, while still not looking at him. Virgil sighed. There's no point in lying now.

"I'm afraid that all of it" he admitted. Roman absentmindedly nodded his head.

"I see" he muttered. He let go of his hair to press them to his heart. "And what do you think about it?" he asked.

That I'm really worried about you, Virgil thought, but didn't dare to say this aloud. Roman was too deep into self-hatred right now. He'd take it as he was hurting Virgil because he dreamed about it and most likely use it to convince himself how bad of a person he was.

So Virgil just moved his hand up to the nape of Roman's head and started to comb through his hair.

"That you don't feel so good" he said, mentally cringing at how lame this had sound. Roman chuckled, but there was no humour behind it.

"You think?" he scoffed, with an edge in his voice. Virgil only pressed his lips.

For a moment there was only silence around the two of them. Finally Roman spoke up.

"I'm so tired, Virgil."

"I know" he said sadly.

"And you know... I just... Want to disappear. To finally rest."

Hearing that, Virgil tensed.

How did you duck out?

Promise me...

The echoes of their past conversation rang in his ears.

"Ro," he started, forcing himself to sound calmly. "you know you can't do it."

"And why not, Virgil!?" Roman suddenly snapped sitting up and finally turning to him.

Virgil muffled a gasp that almost escaped him when he saw Roman's face.

Skin pale, red-rimmed eyes and bags under them so dark, that they could rival his own.

"Why not!? I HAVE a replacement, you know! I have a twin, who would HAPPILY take my place! I am expendable! A failure! The one that makes a mistake after mistake and simply cannot seem to learn from them!"

Angry tears started to fall down from Roman's face as he screamed. He hid his face in his hands, making a strangled sound.

"You're not expandable" said Virgil, feeling his heart breaking a little, seeing his... His friend so devastated. "Nor are you replaceable."

Roman scoffed.

"Oh really?" he said bitterly. "How so? Because my ideas are flawless? Or maybe because my opinions are valued? So much that everyone would listen to them and actually take into consideration, huh?"

"Because you're you!" Virgil yelled back, shocking Roman into silence. The creative side dropped his hands, looking at him, startled. Virgil sighed.

"Roman" he began slowly, thinking about the next words he should use.

This was his moment to convince Roman to calm down and to start regaining his confidence. And Virgil will be damned if he fucks it up.

He looked Roman straight in the eyes and has put one hand over his heart.

"Trust me, when I tell you this. You are not expendable. Nor you are replaceable. You are Thomas' creativity. His passion. You influence his happiness. It's you who drag him into the stage. Who makes him believe in himself. It's you who caused him to create his vines and his YouTube videos, against my judgment." He smiled softly at the memory of this, before continuing. " It's you who helps to create drafts for the episodes, who comes up with the themes. Who pushes Thomas through every audition, who comes up with alternative ways to his ideas. That cannot be replaced, Ro."

Roman was shaking. Virgil could only hope it was because of emotions. And those good ones.

Suddenly a phrase from the dream rang in his ears.

Lend him a helping hand.

With one hand still pressed to his chest, he extended his other one torward Roman in an offering gesture.

"If... If you feel like you want to disappear, please, come to me, Ro. I can help. You deserve the help, okay? It doesn't make you weak or stupid. It's actually very smart and shows your strength. That you know that there's something wrong and that..." he stopped, seeing as Roman tried to avert his gaze. He couldn't let that happen.

Virgil let go of his chest in favour of gently putting two fingers under Roman's chin to turn his head in his direction. He smiled weakly, seeing the side's teary eyes. He used his thumb to gently wipe the ones that escaped and continued. "...and that you are brave enough to fight. Smart enough to ask for help, when you see there's something wrong going on with you. It doesn't make you a failure. Never ever that. It makes you a victor. Because it's a victory against self-hatred, Ro. A small one, but it's still a victory. And when you decide to go to fight with that, and trust me, it's going to be a long war, you're not going to be alone."

He stopped thinking back to the dream.

He needed something to protect himself. An armour. A shield.

"I will be your shield, Roman" he said and Roman actually gasped. He started to shake his head, but Virgil pressed on "Because you deserve one."

"But... I have hurt you in the past! So how can you..."

At that Virgil has actually smiled.

"Because, and listen to this carefully, Romano, you regretted it and you made a conscious effort to improve. I told you earlier, I have noticed the effort that you try to dial down your insults and they are more playful, than anything else now. And if you could do that then, you still can do that now. You are a good person, Roman. A good person, who, yes, has made some mistakes but is able to recognize them, apologize and is willing to improve. And that's what makes you different from Remus. That son of a..."

"Language" Roman muttered weakly. Virgil playfully rolled his eyes.

"That... Side never even apologised to you for smacking you with a mace from all of things. And honestly I cannot imagine Remus apologizing to anyone. Plus imagine how the Imagination would look like if Remus took the wheel."

Roman immediately shuddered at the thought, which made Virgil's lips quirk up. He was on the right path. So when Roman shook his head, trying to say something, Virgil didn't let him.

"And I know that you are confused because of the last video. Yes, Patton can be wrong, but that doesn't make him wrong about everything. And you have the qualities of the prince, Ro. You are good. You are kind. Just. Strong. Brave. And above all, you are loved. We all miss you."

During the conversation, Virgil inched a bit closer to Roman, and finally they were touching by their foreheads, which made both of the sides blush a bit because of the intimacy of the gesture.

The last sentences, Virgil whispered.

"All of us. Absolutely every single one. Patton worries about you so much. Logan as well, and yes I am sure of that, because he was the one who informed me first. Talk to them if you don't believe me. I assure you, they will agree with me." He took a shuddering breath. Now or never. "So, Roman... Take my hand. And I'll help you. I promise" he finished and held his breath.

For a long, scary moment Roman was just staring at him, teary eyed. His breathing grew quicker. But as Virgil was about to accept his defeat, suddenly one of Roman's hands shot up and grasped his extended one. The creative side used it as a leverage to pull Virgil closer and he hid his face in the crook of his neck.

"Please" he whined with a broken voicr, scooting himself closer to the anxious side. "Please, help me."

At that Virgil started to sob as well. He used is unoccupied hand to encircle them in a hug and enterwinded their fingers with the one that Roman held in his grip. He hid his face in Roman's hair and sighed.

He won this battle. He actually did it.

"I promise" he whispered. "I promise, I will."

And even though Roman still didn't promise him that he won't duck out, Virgil felt somewhat calmer. Because now...

Now there was some hope.

On the floor, the sash gained colours.

[justhereforseverus]

A Rose by any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet

Miserable_toad

Chapter 14: I would not wish any companion in the world but you

Summary:

It's the day of the Yule Ball but you had a rather unpleasant night. Full of anxiety, hopes and uncertainties you follow Severus to the dancefloor.

Notes:

Lyrics by Taylor Swift from the song “This is me trying.” I’m obsessed with her latest album ‘Cardigan’ so I’m not sorry at all to include the lyrics here. This fic won’t be over anytime soon. Still much to work through with these two. I have to admit, I wasn’t very satisfied with chapter 13. Sometimes I tend to pack way too much of my own insecurities/anxiety and stuff in there, which might ruin the story for anyone outside. I apologise for that.

Listen to the song here to set the mood during the dance: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bdLTPNrlEg

Thank you all for your kudos and comments!! They really make my day every single time! Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter Text:

There were no classes on a Saturday, and we’ve all been busy with our own preparations for the ball. I woke up nervous, scared and numb. I had a nightmare in which I was back in London in our old backstage area. He was there, threatening us, yelling at us, making our life hell. As a consequence, a heavy cloud hung over me. I was looking forward for this evening for weeks and now anxiety reigned my heart. In addition, I’ve found another note in my pidgeon hole with the familiar red lettering of ‘whore’. I tried to calm down with tea and did some reading in my studies, thinking to myself: “Please don’t ruin this evening. Everything is going to be fine.”

Severus had send me an owl to let me know he’d pick me up at 6. Punctual as ever, he arrived at point 6 on my doorstep. He was wearing a finer version of his usual buttoned-up jacket made of soft cord fabric. His jacket was embellished with green and golden tendrils growing all over it. He wore a finer white silk shirt underneath and his longer signature sleeves were decorated with sparkling silver buttons. All this was matched with his usual black trousers. His hair elegantly framed his face and looked fluffy and soft. A white handkerchief with a lily printed on it was put in his breast pocket. He looked at me for a moment with eyes wide open, then bowed down and kissed my hand. “My lady, you look wonderful tonight.” I chuckled and thanked him for the complimemt. He looked very handsome tonight, too. On the way to the ball, my anxiety still overcame me and I couldn’t stop shaking. He put me aside in an empty hallway to ask me how I was. I just told him I had a rough night with some nightmares and was incredibly nervous. But that I was also looking forward to the evening. He looked at me worried and then said: “It’s fine. I have to admit.. I’m nervous, too. This is the first time I’m having someone next to me. But..” and here he took up my hand and squeezed it: “It’ll be fine. I don’t care about them or their words. I just want to be here with you and we can go whenever you like.” I nodded and smiled.

Usually teachers who are not head of houses do not stand in the first row when the opening dance is undergoing. Unless of course they are the chosen dance partners. Thus, I stood in the front with Severus as I was his official +1 (though I was invited individually as every staff member). Next to us stood Dumbledore who held hands with McGonagall, Flitwick who, as I was told, usually chose his wife but she was unable to make it this time, so he went with his friend Madame Pomfrey instead. Sprout had brought her tall red-haired girlfriend named Chloe. While we watched the head boys and girls dance, I could feel the eyes on me and Severus. He held my hand tightly but looked as aloof, desinterested and confident as always. I looked around and caught Remus sitting on one of the tables behind me smiling and winking at me. Sirius sat next to him in a dashing red velvet suit. He had put his hand on Remus shoulder and the other in front of his mouth, clearly hiding his laughter. I jokingly rolled my eyes when I saw him and waved.

After the head prefects had their chance to dance alone, the headteachers would be next to join. Remus told me that Severus had never joined in the dancing before and usually left quite early. This time it was different. He led me to the dancefloor and I almost tripped over my own feet because I was so nervous. But he was a marvellous dancer. Despite Remus’s training in the days before the ball, I was dead focused on not making any missteps. Severus though led brilliantly and thus it turned out ok. I think at least. He looked so satisfied and I forgot everything and everyone else in the room including my own anxiety for a while.

After the opening dance was over and the music changed into something faster and more casual, we returned to the tables reserved for the staff. Remus and Sirius came over our way. Remus was the first to talk: “Hello Severus, I didn’t know you could dance so well. That was a great performance. I could learn a thing or two from you.” Severus replied rather dismissively but polite: “Thank you, Professor Lupin.” And then… said nothing else. Silence. You could feel the tension in the air. To break the ice a bit, I said: “I hope I’ll see you two on the dancefloor soon. How are you, Sirius?” Sirius replied, after giving me a hand kiss while looking rather cheekily at Severus: “Oh, my lady, I’m doing very well tonight. And just you wait. Me and Remus have plans to dance all night and it will certainly be a show worth watching.” - he winked. He then turned towards Severus with the utmost politeness and a sarcastic little bow: “Hello to you, too Professor Snape! We haven’t seen each other for a long time. I’m glad to see you are well.” Despite these relatively harmless words you could tell he was enjoying this in a way he shouldn’t. Severus looked unimpressed with an elevated eyebrow on Sirius. He replied rather cold with a slight hint of sarcasm: “Hello Mr Black. Yes, I am. What a surprise to see you’re honouring Hogwarts with your presence once again.” “Well Sni.. “ and here Remus punched his elbow into Sirius side. “Professor Snape, someone has to take care of Remus as long as his girlfriend is gone. He isn’t exactly my type, but I volunteered to keep this scruffy professor safe.” And here he patted demonstratively Remus’s shoulder. Remus looked back at him with a very puzzling expression but then took him by the hand and said “We probably should get to the dancefloor now. Come on, Sirius.” Both waved at us and then moved towards the dancefloor.

I turned to Severus: “Well that was.. something. Sirius really tried. Why do you hate each other so much again? Remus just told me that Sirius was quite the troublemaker and you both didn’t get along at all back in school.”

Severus mouth frowned before he dismissively replied: “Long story not worth telling. But yes, I agree he was a troublemaker, always willing to put others down that he didn’t like. James Potter and he were a horrible combination that endangered the life of others. I see he hasn’t changed much, though he apparently can be polite now if he needs to… with a little help. But to change the topic: Who is Remus girlfriend?”

“ It’s Nymphadora Tonks. Do you know her?”

He nodded: “Yes, briefly. Smart girl but always seemed to be with her head somehwere else and very clumsy. Remus was always the most responsible one of the infamous Golden Trio. Guess, she is a good fit. In the end, we all got older. She might have changed.”

“She is really nice. They’re a wonderful couple.”

Severus looked absentmindedly around: “Indeed. Would you like something to drink?”. We both got some wine from the bar and sat at one of the tables in the back. It was quite empty. Most staff were either on the dancefloor or standing around it to watch the others. The bar was also rather crowded. Severus put his arm around me, and we were watching the dancing crowd. I felt a bit better now that the official dance was over. Some people continued to stare at us and then whispered in hushed tones. It made me feel uneasy but at the same time kinda proud. Though, I wanted to finally clear something up no matter how much I dreaded the question. I asked with a shaking voice: “Severus. Are we.. are we a couple?”

He looked at me like I’ve just declared that I was a lizard and the earth was flat: “What kind of question is this?” - he blured out. “I assumed that would’ve been the case for a while. I’m surprised you still saw this as an open question.”

Ouch…..damn me. “I mean, yes? I don’t know... You were so open in London but here. Obviously, we shouldn’t be all lovey dovey in front of everyone all the time but I thought you wanted to keep it a secret here. Either because you weren’t sure or because you were ashamed or something. Of course, now that we danced together and we’re here as a couple for everyone to see it’s more clear but.." I sighed..."Ok, I don’t know why I thought.. ugh.”

He drew in a long breath before saying: “You’re right but I wanted to wait until you act on your accounts. I don’t have problems showing affections here. But you seemed hesitant about it and maybe you’re not the type for that stuff. Yet, I’ve always seen us as a couple. I didn’t think we had to officially declare it somehow.”

“I’m sorry.. you know how I am.”

“Yes, I know. And that’s fine. Even though it doesn’t have to be said out loud, I say it now: I want to be in a serious relationship with you right now.”

I could feel how my cheeks turned pink and said in a hushed voice: “I do, too.” And then he leaned towards me and kissed me in front of everyone to see. I could hear more murmurs around us. But I didn’t care, and I think Severus did neither.

Remus and Sirius indeed put on quite a show on. Sirius was an absolute show off and danced like a professional pop background dancer at times but Remus was not far behind. It was clear that Sirius had learned how to dance to impress whoever he wanted at that moment. I could see how that works out though his occasional awkward breakdance moves are a bit too much at times. The rest of the staff were equally impressive. Dumbledore danced like a 13 year old in a tik tok video and the students loved it. I’ve never seen a 130 year old dancing that passionately while staying cool with the kids. I also joined them on the dancefloor at times and once sang loudly along Queen’s Bohemian Rapsody with Minerva, Sprout and Chloe. It was a lot of fun. At one point, the students of my drama group invited me to their little circle to sing along some songs. Severus stayed behind for most of the evening though he did talk with Flitwick and Albus. Every time I looked towards him, he smiled though. When I returned to him, he said:“It’s a marvel to see you dance.”

I blushed but then replied: “Why don’t you try it then sometimes? I’m sure you’d have fun.”

He cackled: “I don’t think anyone wants to see me on the dancefloor being silly. I’m not the type. Bats don’t dance after all.”

A slow song came on and the dancefloor organised itself in couples intimately intertwined. Suddenly, Severus stood up and offered me his arm: “But I think, I could make an exception with this song.”

I was beaming and we went to the dancefloor. The song felt like soft snow falling and the lyrics wrapped us in like a warm blanket:

“I've been having a hard time adjusting. I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting. Pulled the car off the road to the lookout. Could've followed my fears all the way down.”

Many thoughts ran through my head. I often was incapable of focusing on the moment. I still had to prove myself and my position at Hogwarts. The thing was the play. Would anyone notice if I had to go? Did I change anything in the few months I was here? And why do I still feel haunted and chased by all these old prejudices. I felt so battered and wounded.

“And maybe I don’t quite know what to say. But I’m here in your doorway.”

I never thought I’d find someone like Severus here. That I’d tried to love again at all. But there was still so much that lingered in my heart and mind. My life is far from perfect. I had to fix my sleeping schedule, to fix my fears and insecurities, to battle whatever is happening here. Why does he like me when he usually demands perfection from anyone around him? I still couldn’t explain that. But I knew I’d try my best to keep him, to make him happy, to hold him. My thoughts returned to his gaze. I was dancing with the most beautiful man at this school. My head on his shoulder, his hand on my waist, his breath in my ear. Still, I was scared, and I didn’t know why.

“They told me all of my cages were mental. So I got wasted like all my potential. And my words shoot to kill when I'm mad. I have a lot of regrets about that.”

I thought about why I left London. Why, my life went like it did. There was so much he didn’t know about what happened to me, about what I did to others. About who I had been. But was this really important? On the other hand, he admitted he hadn’t told me much about his past either. Will this all last? He was like an enigma wrapped up in a riddle but at the same time… I felt like we were bound with an invisible string.

“I was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere. Fell behind all my classmates and I ended up here, pouring out my heart to a stranger But I didn't pour the whiskey.”

Once everything looked different. I was so full of passion, dreams and hopes. But they had been crushed up to the moment that I came here, defeated but hopeful to escape everything. Yet, I was wrong in thinking that nothing would happen. I remembered the first time I broke down and how Severus sat next to me. The first time he was truly kind despite my childishness, my broken memories. The first time, I saw my scares clearly and recognised his presence as my medicine.

“And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you. You're a flashback in a film reel on the one screen in my town”

The nightmare last night had hit me hard, made me remember things I’d rather forget. Yet, I’ve never been happier than in this moment. I looked at Severus, gazed into his black eyes and wanted to lose myself in him, to never think again. To drown in his eyes forever. His face was full of kindness and love. He was exactly how I always imagined love could and should be when I was a teenager dreaming. This realisation scared me at the same time. In that moment, he moved closer and kissed me in the middle of the dancefloor under the dim purple lights with the mirrorball above us. I melted in his embrace. He tasted like wine and daylight and a warming fire.

“I just wanted you to know that this is me trying”

And that’s all I wanted and all I’d ever do. Trying to make this work. Trying to create something from the broken shards of my life. I wanted to melt them down and start anew with you.

When the song ended, we went outside the hall. His hand in mine, he was beaming and even with his usual aloofness and control he couldn’t hide the fact that he was happy. And I was happy to see him that way. Though I couldn’t quite believe I was the reason behind it. To hold such a treasure and call it mine feels unreal. We stood on the balcony for a moment, looking at the Hogwarts grounds from above. His arm was wrapped around my shoulder and he seemed to hum along to the song we heard from inside.

I looked at him and said: “Never seen you this chippy before. I could get used to it.”

“Mhh..” he replied. “Yes, I can’t imagine why. Must be the wine. Or..”

And here he put his hand on my chin, closed the distance between us and said with a cheeky smile: “A certain nymph has enchanted me.”

I laughed: “Didn’t know anyone could do that to the famous master of potions and the dark arts.”

“Well, IT IS certainly possible but only when I want it to.”

“Then I feel honoured.” - I exclaimed and followed him back inside as it got quite cold.

Most of the staff had retreated to their sleeping quarters by now as it was very late. Even Sirius and Remus sat happy but exhausted on a couch deep in conversation about something. Small groups of students were on the dancefloor talking, dancing or just watching the DJ doing his thing.

Severus suggested the following: “What do you think about retreating to my quarters? I think we have served an appropriate time of duty at this party.” I agreed. I also felt the tiredness in my bones and  I longed to be alone with him.

[justanalto]

it’s q&a time!

tagged by the lovely @besidemethewholedamntime! 

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? light blue or red, depending on whether my hair is wet or dry

2. Name a food you never eat. there isn’t much I don’t eat, but if I had to choose, a very specific melon candy that just tastes nasty.

3. Are you typically too cold or too warm? too cold! I got too used to university heating and now I’m cold all the time

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? willing myself to start my friend’s profile so I can build up my portfolio before deciding to get on Tumblr. or i was scrolling through Tumblr. i’m not sure. 

5. What is your favorite candy bar? i’m pretty partial to a good kit kat bar, especially because they come in so many flavors! 

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports event? how do we define professional? because I’ve been to a baseball game, but i don’t know if we’d call college sports games ‘professional’. 

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? one of the lyrics i was harmonizing along to absentmindedly. couldn’t tell you which song it was, though...

8. What is your favorite ice cream? mint chocolate chip! 

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? tea! leftover from this morning and kind of cold unfortunately

10. Do you like your wallet? yes! i bought it at camden market when i was in London last year. it’s made completely of cork and i call it my adult wallet because i spent my college career wandering around with my wallet on a lanyard/attached to my phone case. 

11. What was the last thing you ate? ....a salad

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? lol no

13. The last sporting event you watched? the super bowl, I think? after that they sort of cancelled sports

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? either cheesy or caramel. no in between. 

15. Who is last person you sent a text message to? one of my friends, because we were discussing her diet coke intake

16. Ever go camping? i have! not for a long time, though. 

17. Do you take vitamins? i’m trying to on a regular basis, LOL. when i do i literally have to take a whole mouthful of ‘em. 

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? nope! 

19. Do you have a tan? i haven’t had a proper tan since July 2018 because i spent last summer in the north of england/interning in an office environment. and now of course we’re all stuck at home

20. Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Chinese food, because i can guarantee it won’t make me sick! 

21. Do you drink soda with a straw? it depends. is it out of a can or a cup? or a mug? where am I? if it’s a can, no, I’ll just chug it straight out. if it’s in a cup, probably. in a mug, i’m probably at home, so no again.

22. What color socks do you usually wear? white ones....

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i live by the motto that you can speed to exactly 5 miles per hour above the speed limit.

24. What terrifies you? heights, this goddamn pandemic and turning out to be worthless

25. Look to your left, what do you see? my door with my honors college hat hanging on the doorknob

26. What chore do you hate? washing the goddamn bathtub. i HATE cleaning tile grout.

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? the Australian students I met while I was on exchange. either that or finding nemo

28. What’s your favorite soda? ginger ale. is that a soda? if not then Pepsi. I do miss vimto tho

29. Do you go into a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? usually i go in, but I can be convinced to use the drive-thru.

30. Who’s the last person you talked to? my dad. I asked him if he wanted me to make him a salad for lunch.

31. Favorite cut of beef? ribeye, probably. 

32. Last song you listened to? ‘Grow As We Go’ by Ben Platt

33. Last book you read? I’ve been stuck on the same book for weeks -- “Into the Interior’ by Michelle Cliff.

34. Favorite day of the week? it’s quarantine, what are days anymore. jk i’d probably have to say either Mondays or Wednesdays, mainly because I know what day it is due to the fact that there’s new try guys content. 

35. Can you say the alphabet backwards? ...no. but maybe i’ll learn to?

36. How do you like your coffee? past coffee and straight into espresso, and at that point, i take it only with the following dunkin’ syrups: thin mint, heath bar or red velvet. and then with a ton of almond milk. iced. 

37. Favorite pair of shoes? either a pair of gray ankle boots I got two years ago or my black flower-patterned sneakers! 

38. The time you normally go to sleep? 2-2:30ish? I’m trying. 

39. The time you normally get up? 9, but whenever on the weekends. 

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? sunsets for the sole reason that I’ve been awake to see the sunrise only a handful of times, one of them voluntary. 

41. How many blankets on your bed? three, although I have accidentally kicked one to the floor.

42. Describe your kitchen plates. they’re round and white with a floral pattern around the edges. it’s nice and pastel, and I’m pretty sure we’ve had these plates since before I was born. there are some newer ones, but they’re kind of the same. 

43. Do you have a favorite alcoholic beverage? anyone who knows me will know that i am an ABSOLUTE lightweight. i drink like a fresher, which is to say i drink mikes, Smirnoff ices, twisted teas, angry orchard and rekorderligs (rip rekorderligs, i haven’t had them since i got back from Europe and they’re fantastic). i also like pink moscato LOL. 

44. Do you play cards? not in the way of poker or blackjack? I play the kids’ games, like 21 and Big 2. 

45. What color is your car? silver

46. Can you change a tire? ooh, no...although I should probably try to learn...

47. Your favorite province? Tuscany province, because Florence is literally the only place I’ve been to that’s located within a province. other than Quebec, but I really liked Florence. 

48. Favorite job you’ve ever had? i’ve had maybe 3 in my life and while being a temp was enriching, i worked at a dunks for a spell and kind of found a family there! so that was nice. 

49. How did you get your biggest scar? went down a hill on a scooter, wiped out and almost got hit by a truck. it’s on my ankle. 

50. What did you do today that made someone else happy? ha....nothing? although I hope my family appreciates that i did the dishes. 

i tag: @swifteforeverandalways @crazyrichfilipinos @peacequack @coffee-esque and anyone else that wants to do it! 

[dragonflystudi0s]

Words: 1,368

Ahain, for @hopeidontabandonethis youtuber logince au! Gonna tag @fandersfic-logince

÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷÷

Logan arrived in front of the overly large mansion. His friend Patton would perhaps describe it as "extra." Suddenly he was hit with a wave of feeling out of place.

Obviously, this Prince Roman was extremely rich. He had to be, if he wanted to afford such a lavish lifestyle.

Logan took a moment to compare himself to his surroundings as he walked through the mansion. The building itself was of a Gothic architecture style, appearing from the outside similar to a castle. The interior was as one would expect a rich person to live, completely decked out with expensive furniture and art. The thing that stuck out to Logan the most were the colors, for as he explored he found mostly red, white, and gold.

Fits the prince theme, he thought to himself. He then started comparing his presence and lifestyle to Roman's. Roman was rich, famous, comfortable. Logan, on the other hand, worked at Starbucks to afford rent and the parts of tuition that his scholarship didn't cover.

He expected Roman would have high-tech, professional level recording and video equipment, whereas all Logan had in that sense was a semi-professional mic and a basic camera.

"Ah, Logan!" A loud voice called to him from a room down the hall. Roman stepped out, waving him down.

Logan gave a half smile and walked over to Roman, nodding in greeting.

Apart from equipment, another difference could be found in appearance. Roman wore a red, flowy silk blouse, soft white slacks, and red fluffy socks. He had perfectly styled hair, flawless skin, and a dark smoky eye.

Logan's eye was caught by Roman's jewelry: the garnet ring adorning the man's right middle finger and the delicate silver ivy ear crawler beginning at his earlobe and ending at the top shell of his ear.

He stood with an air of confidence, yet a laid-back one. His motions were wide, sweeping ones, and everything he did had a sense of freedom to it.

Logan's dark clothes and stiffness were a stark contrast to the light, airy, delicate appear of Roman. Logan had a soft black polo, black jeans, and his favorite blue tie. He wore no makeup, meaning his light dusting of freckles were clearly visible.

His nervousness was obvious in his deep blue eyes, but he held himself confidently and starkly. He kept his shoulders back, his head up (it was required for the 5'5" Logan to see the 6'3" Roman), and his face calm.

"Welcome, my feisty frenemy!" Roman's voice broke through Logan's thoughts.

Logan shook his head to clear it, looking up at Roman. "Hello to you too, princey."

Roman gave him a show-stopping grin and excitedly waved him into his studio.

Logan glanced around in sheer wonder at the size of it, before going over to examine the equipment. "Jaguar, I'm impressed."

"You should be, it's the best brand in the world!" Roman exclaimed, flopping down onto one of the large fluffy beanbag chairs and gestured for Logan to join him.

Logan sank into the ine opposite Roman, setting his bag down on the fluffy ruby carpet. "So, did you have anything in mind?"

"I was thinking another go at the rap battle approach."

Logan nodded. "As I cannot sing, that appears the right way to go about it."

Roman chuckled at that. "I'm sure you can sing, Specs, you just don't try!"

"I see no point in singing."

"Its just lyrical rapping!"

Logan rolled his eyes. Roman huffed in dramatic annoyance.

"Whatever, pocket protector." He sighed for effect before sitting up and crossing his legs. "So!"

"I vote we spend the video, ah, ugh what's the term!" He mumbled the last part, flipping through his slang cards. "Aha! I believe the word is 'roasting' each other?"

Roman rolled his eyes at the card. "Such a nerd. Yes, the term is roasting. And I wholeheartedly agree!" He flashed a brilliant, heart-stopping smile Logan's way.

It truly was heart-stopping, as Logan swore he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of it. Roman's beauty truly was out of this world, and Logan felt a slight blush rising as he thought about it. He quickly squashed those thoughts and grabbed a notebook from his bag.

"Alright then, we'll need lyrics. Or did you intend this to be freestyle?"

"Well, I think the best place to start would be with a general list of nicknames and insults, and build off that." Roman leaned forward in the beanbag chair, absentmindedly messing with the fluff on the chair as he spoke.

"I'd have to agree. That may just be the smartest thing you've ever said to me, if not ever."

Roman made an offended prince noise. "Ah! How dare you!"

Logan chuckled. "Well that was effective."

"My dear pocket protector, you may be known as Beat Teach, but I'd say you still have lots to learn, so shut up and listen, your Prince is 'boutta burn." Roman smirked.

Logan grinned, leaning back. "Burn me if you want to, Princey, I'm as cold as ice. But I must say retaliation won't be half as nice. You say you're out to kill but for you it's just a lie, the only burn you can give is your image to my eyes."

Roman stumbled a bit at that, but quickly recovered. "Say what you want, oh my logical one, but your grasp on this rap is good as done. You cannot win, you're five foot three, you're overall inferior. Just give up, submit to me, bow down before your ruler."

Logan's mind took that and ran with it. Ran right into the gutter, in fact. He blushed and stuttered, attempting to find words.

"What do you have to say for yourself, hmm?" Roman purred, leaning in very close. So close, in fact, that their lips were almost touching. Then, almost as if nothing had happened, he leaned back and flashed an award-winning, smirk-like smile.

"Well, I enjoyed that! If only we could remember what we said!"

"I have an exceptional memory," Logan said, not looking up from where he was writing them down. He kept his head down partly to write, and partly to hide his blush.

"Wonderful!" Roman beamed and clapped. "Well now, I'd say I'm starved, haven't eaten all day! Shall we eat, and then record?"

Logan closed the notebook. "I agree completely."

"Let us go forth!" Roman smiled and extended his hand in aid for Logan to stand.

Logan took it and stood, giving Roman a small, shy smile.

The two opted for Roman's Extra-Special Fantabulous Mac N Cheese, which, despite the extra name was truly 'fantabulous'. Logan made a mental note to add that word to his slang cards.

Once they finished, Roman led him back to the studio, and they wrote and recorded into the late hours of the night.

It was 11:30 when either of them noticed the time.

"Oh, Logan, you best get home!"

"I really should." He stood and got his stuff together. "For the video-"

"Don't worry about it, it'll be finished and posted tomorrow! Now, did you walk or drive here?"

"Walked."

"Then allow me to drive you home."

"You really don't have to."

"But I must!" Roman insisted. "It's dangerous for you to walk home by yourself in the dark!"

Logan sighed. "Alright. If you insist."

Roman grinned and led him out of the house and down to the garage. He opened the door of a red (car) and helped Logan in before getting in himself and speeding off.

"Goodnight, Specs!" Roman called, dropping him off in front of his apartment building.

"Goodnight to you too, Princey," Logan said in return before going inside.

As Roman went to sleep that night, he couldn't get his mind off the way he had teased Logan, the almost-kiss that had happened, and how cute the nerd was. He promised himself he'd return to the Starbucks where Logan worked the next day, just to see the cute boy's eyes light up on sight of Roman. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, thinking of what could come in the future.

Logan had similar thoughts as he fell to sleep, overthinking the almost-kiss and the teasing. His final rational thought was of Roman's dazzling smile, falling into a peaceful sleep.

[scourgewins]

How It All Began...

(Okay, sorry I don’t post nearly as much as the Drawing Entity does. I’ve got four fanfictions I’m working on at the moment, including the Mafia AU one. Bear with me, folks. This particular piece is about how Sammy came to be hired at Joey Drew Studios, and is, again, not related to Mafia. There is a fight scene later on, and a bit of blood, but nothing too gory, in case anyone’s bothered by that.)

Gosh, this place is huge, Henry thought to himself as he exited his car, a pack of art implements slung over his shoulder. The young animator stared up at the massive studio, which he would now be working at, his brown eyes wide with wonder, taking it all in. It all seemed like a dream. Ever since he’d met Joey when they were teenagers, he had always talked about how he would own a cartoon studio one day, one that would become renowned worldwide. Henry wasn’t sure about the latter bit, but the former had come true; he and Joey had started a cartoon company, and today was day one in the long journey ahead.

The door to the studio swung open, and Henry watched as Joey stepped out, grinning as he caught sight of him.

“Well, Henry,” he said, “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing, Joey.” said Henry, feeling a wide smile spread across his face, “How did you afford something this big? Even with the money I donated, we couldn’t have been able to buy this.”

“Oh, I just asked my parents for some cash, to add to the loan. I had to be a bit vague on the details of why I needed it, but it all worked out.”

Henry frowned, “You mean you lied to your parents?”

“Lie is such a strong word…” Joey said, “I merely kept some information from them. Now, are you just going to stand there gawking, or do you want to go inside?”

Excitement at stepping into the studio he’d helped to found drove the doubt from Henry’s mind, and he followed Joey inside.

The place looked a bit worse for wear. There were some loose floorboards that creaked worryingly, seeing as how if they broke one would fall into the downstairs area below. Joey assured Henry he’d get them fixed as soon as the studio was up and running. There were cobwebs everywhere, and as soon as Joey switched on the light, Henry swore he saw a mass of insects crawl away. Henry glanced at his friend skeptically, and Joey responded with a slight shrug, then led the way to a space next to the entrance. In it was a drawing desk, and a chair. It was very simple, but Henry found it one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen, for as Joey gestured to it, he stated, “This is your space.”

Henry gazed in wonder for a second more, then seated himself at the desk. He could just picture himself drawing here. Joey smiled at Henry, then briskly turned away.

“Alright,” he said, “We have to get down to business. We have to hire animators, repairmen, musicians, voice actors, projectionists, everyone we’ll need to get this company up and running.”

“But, Joey,” Henry began, frowning, “We haven’t even moved in yet. Shouldn’t we wait to hire people until we’ve gotten all of our equipment in here?”

“All of that will come in due time, don’t worry.”

Henry’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue; when it came to business matters, Joey usually knew what to do. “Okay, so what’s our first move?”

Joey smiled, “We call upon an old friend.”

Twenty minutes later, Henry and Joey found themselves in front of a dilapidated apartment building. It was two stories high, and one of the windows in the first story had a sizable hole in it. Again, Henry wondered who it was they were meeting. I hope Joey isn’t about to hire a ruffian. Joey had refused to answer any of Henry’s question during the drive there, seeming to enjoy his suspense. Henry decided he should ask again.

“Joey, would you please tell me who we’re going to see?”

His friend glanced at him for a second, then proceeded to march into the building, “Someone who will make our cartoons one of a kind.”

Henry hurried after him, “That doesn’t fully answer my question…”

Joey swiftly ascended the staircase, with Henry following nervously behind. The inside of the building was as rundown as the outside, and Henry couldn’t help but feel wary. The whole place seemed quite shady. A few people walked past them, giving them suspicious glares, which didn’t help. Henry felt his muscles tense instinctually, ready for action. Joey, for his part, seemed quite relaxed and confident, and as they reached the upper floor, turned swiftly left and halted at the first door they came to, giving it a sharp knock.

At first, no noise was heard, then there was a slight shuffling sort of sound, as if someone were looking for something. Quiet ensued following this, and Henry glanced at Joey, who was waiting patiently for the door to open. Eventually it did, but in a rather unexpected manner.

The door flew open, to reveal a man around Henry and Joey’s age, wearing clothes that probably had not been washed in a while. He had long, tousled blonde hair, and eyes that were strikingly blue, and blazed with hostility. Henry didn’t take in any of these traits at first, though, for his main focus was on the wooden bat the man held in a two-handed grip.

The door had been open barely a second before the man exclaimed, “Listen, pal, I don’t want any trouble, now why don’t you just-” He had raised his bat while he spoke, and Henry found his right fist clenching, and before anyone could do anything, he had landed a solid blow to the shocked man’s jaw. The man reeled backwards, his entire face slack, and fell down in a dead faint onto the floor.

For a moment, Henry and Joey just stood in silence, then Joey gripped Henry by the arm and dragged him into the unconscious man’s room, slamming the door behind them, and locking it for good measure. Turning to Henry, Joey eyed his friend crossly.

“Why the heck did you punch him?”

Henry, in his turn, grew angry, “He was about to hit us with a bat! What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to let me handle it. He wouldn’t have hit us if you’d given him time to recognize me.”

“Well, I’m sorry. Next time I’ll just wait patiently as someone raises a bat, to see if they know you.” Henry replied, sarcastically.

“Thank you!” Joey returned. Henry glared, but decided not to engage any further. Instead, he looked back at the disheveled man, still out cold.

“Help me get him to his bed.” Together, Henry and Joey lifted him up, and plopped him down on the bed, placing a pillow beneath his head. As they did so, Henry took the time to examine the man’s room. There was nothing remarkable about it, except for the large amount of musical instruments strewn about the place. There was a bass in a corner, a banjo resting by the bed, a clarinet on a shelf, and a harmonica lying on a desk littered with sheet music. Henry glanced at Joey.

“So we’re hiring a musician?”

Joey nodded, a smile spreading over his face, “We’ll be one of the first cartoons to include music! And on top of that, we have a master musician to compose it!” Joey gestured to the man on the bed, who was now drooling a little. Henry looked at Joey skeptically.

“Well, I don’t think he’ll want to work for us, now.”

“Baloney!” Joey declared, “Once we’ve explained everything to him all will be forgiven and he’ll be thrilled to take our offer.”

Henry doubted this would all work out as smoothly as Joey hoped, but decided they’d deal with the matter once the man woke up.

“What’s his name, anyway?” he asked.

“Oh, his name’s Sammy, Sammy Lawrence.”

The name didn’t ring any bells, so Henry asked Joey how he knew him. His friend explained how the two of them had met in college, and how impressed he had been with Sammy’s music skills.

“He knows how to play most every instrument you can think of, and could probably learn how to play another like that.” He snapped his fingers. Henry raised his eyebrows, impressed with the man already. If what Joey said was true, then their cartoons would be unique, indeed.

The two of them sat in silence, waiting for Sammy to awaken. Henry settled himself on the edge of the bed, while Joey occupied the only chair in the room. After awhile, they both grew bored, and took to exploring the tiny living space the uncleanly musician resided in. Henry plucked absentmindedly on the bass strings, and even took up the bow and scraped it experimentally on them. The sound was so unpleasing, though, that he stopped. Joey studied Sammy’s music sheets, then proceeded to rifle through a pile of books that had not been touched in quite some time, upsetting a few on to the floor.

“Hey,” said Henry, “leave that alone. It’s rude to go through people’s things.”

“Says the man fiddling with the bass.” Joey replied, continuing what he was doing.

“At least I haven’t disturbed anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put these books back in their messy pile once I’m done browsing.”

Henry turned to face him, “This isn’t a library, Joey. This is where someone lives.”

Joey looked up from scanning a book titled, ‘Lyrics Journal’,“Well, I have to do something to preoccupy myself, since my business partner knocked out the man we came to see.”

“I had good reason for doing so.”

Joey eyed his friend sternly, “We were never in any trouble. Honestly, Henry, how could you ever think that I would willingly put us in danger of anyone?”

“You’ve done it before.” Henry muttered, just loud enough for Joey to hear.

Joey glared, “When?”

“That incident at the bar.”

“I knew we could handle those goons.”

Henry stared hard at his coworker, “Those guys at the park.”

“They needed to be taken down a peg.”

“That guy with the knife!”

Joey paused for a second, nervously gazing at the floor, “Okay, I admit… that one probably should have been avoided.” So saying, he absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder, where Henry knew he had sustained a scar from that fight. He himself had gotten a scar on his right arm, which he, too, unknowingly rubbed, recalling the event.

The two sat in an awkward silence for a couple minutes. Henry was just about to resume strumming the bass strings, when he heard a long, drawn out groan from the bed. Glancing at his friend, Henry hastily moved back to his previous spot on the bed, while Joey retook his seat on the chair.

Sammy Lawrence sat up groggily, rubbing his jaw carefully. His blue eyes lazily roamed over Henry and Joey, then sharpened after a second, and became fully alert as he sat up. Both Henry and Joey just stared at the alarmed musician, until the latter’s face broke into a grin.

“Sammy!” Joey said, in a warm, cordial tone.

Sammy’s gaze darkened, “Joey.” he replied, sounding not at all friendly. His eyes shifted to Henry, and he glared, “Person who knocked me out.”

Henry nervously met Sammy’s gaze, “I thought you were going to attack us.”

“I thought you were someone else,” Sammy explained, still scowling, “but even so, I might still have tried to knock you out, Joey.” Joey met the man’s accusatory stare with an expression of innocence.

“Me? What have I ever done to you?”

“Have you honestly forgotten?”

The blank look on Joey’s face told Henry that he had no idea what Sammy was talking about. The musician sighed, “You picked a fight with somebody, then left me to defend myself, alone.” Here his eyes blazed with a sudden fury, “They smashed my violin!”

Joey’s brow furrowed as he seemed to remember these events, “I think I recall someone getting a little testy with us, but I’m sure I didn’t run out on you.”

“Tell that to the remains of my violin.” Sammy growled.

Joey shrugged, “If it’ll please you.”

Henry was sure Sammy was about to strike Joey, so he hastily stood between them, “Alright, everyone calm down. Nothing will get resolved if we resort to blows.”

“Maybe not.” Sammy said, with a grim smile, “but it’ll sure feel good!” With that, he pounced toward Joey, but was halted as Henry held him back. The furious man struggled against Henry, wriggling this way and that, but the more experienced man held him in a tight grasp. The unsophisticated and non damaging nature of the blows Sammy inflicted on Henry as he fought to get free told the cartoonist he was not used to physical violence. So, Henry easily shoved him back, and Sammy could only glare at them with a cold dislike.

Just as Sammy opened his mouth to speak again, there came a loud knock on the door. Instantly, Sammy’s face grew pale, and whatever words he was about to say died in his throat.

“I’ll get it!” said Joey, obviously wanting to gain Sammy’s favor.

“No! Don’t!” But Sammy’s warning came too late. Joey had unbolted the door, and opened it to admit two big, rough looking men, with an identical leer on their faces. Henry distrusted them instantly, and Sammy’s panicked expression told him his caution was well-founded. Already, his hands were curling into fists.

“Can we help you, gentlemen?” Joey asked, politely. Henry knew his friend well enough to know that his friendly demeanor was just an act, and that he, too, was tensed and ready for a fight.

“You can’t,” said one of the burly men, “but he can.” He pointed at Sammy. The musician’s pale face flushed with red as he glowered at the man.

“I told you, I don’t want any trouble.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten any, if you’d just given us what we asked for.” The other man spoke up.

Sammy’s furious gaze pierced the two men, “I am not giving you any of my instruments!”

“You see,” said the first man, rubbing one of his knuckles in a casual, yet obviously threatening manner, “that’s where the trouble comes in.”

Henry stepped forward, “I recommend you think about your next move. Either walk out of here and leave this man in peace, or stay, and face the consequences for doing so.”

The first man shrugged, “I think we’ll stay, consequences or no, and-”

Henry was anticipating the punch coming his way, and was already dodging to the side, just as the fist hit the air where he’d been. In a flash, Joey had pounced on the other man, and the two instantly became locked in combat. The adversary Henry faced gave an exclamation of anger at having missed his target, and turned to face him. The cartoonist delivered two blows to the other man’s face as he did so, and the man reeled back, but recovered quickly and swung a right hook towards Henry. Henry tried to dodge this one, but Sammy’s apartment was so cramped, that he ended up stumbling into the bed, on which the musician was crouched, fearfully watching the skirmish.

The blow caught Henry right in the jaw, and stars exploded in his vision. But, years of brawls had taught him well, and he rolled with the punch, so it was not as effective as it would have been. The two foes faced off again. Henry realized his enemy was much stronger than he was, and he’d have to fight smart to win. He aimed a punch at the man’s solar plexus, which he blocked with contempt. Beside him, he heard the smack of a blow that had hit home, and the subsequent grunt as someone reacted to it. Henry knew it was Joey who had dealt the blow, so didn’t take his eyes off his enemy. His opponent, however, glanced over at his comrade for a moment, which was all Henry needed to deliver three solid blows to the man’s gut. The man stumbled back into the the desk, gasping, and Henry raised his hand to deliver a palm strike to the man’s face.

“No!” came Sammy’s anguished voice. Henry spun toward him, afraid Joey’s foe had gotten past him and was attacking the helpless musician. But Sammy’s cry was only for his banjo, which Joey had grabbed and was about to use to smack his enemy. Turning away, Henry caught a fist full in the face, and fell with a loud crash to the floorboards. The other man was on him in an instant, raining blows on his head. Henry just had time to throw his arms protectively over his face, but the force of the punches still made his vision blur. There was a small pause in the man’s assault, probably to get his second wind, and Henry took the opportunity to sit up and elbow him straight in the mouth.

The man reflexively lifted a hand to his face, and Henry used the moment to wriggle himself away from the man, kicking him in the stomach as he did so. His opponent gasped, and scowled at Henry, reached for him, then stopped. Henry had no time to react as the man grabbed something nearby, and raised it up. Henry just had time to recognize it as Sammy’s banjo, before it descended towards his face, and he was forced to cover up again, hoping for the best.

But the blow never came. Instead, there came a loud whack sound. Henry allowed himself to cautiously peek up at his adversary, who was swaying where he crouched, his eyes rolling up. Moving out of the way, Henry watched as the man collapsed in the spot where he’d been, unconscious. Above him stood Sammy, with a bat in one hand, and his banjo in the other. He observed his victim for a moment, then dropped the bat and hugged his banjo tight.

“Nobody touches my banjo.” he said, icily.

Henry didn’t know what to do for a moment, then turned as he heard Joey’s laugh of triumph. He had successfully knocked his enemy out, though by the way he clutched his hand, Henry was pretty sure he’d broken something doing it. Looking back at Sammy, Henry watched as the musician plopped down on to his bed, looking a tad bewildered. Henry sat down beside him, breathing hard, absently swiping a hand under his nose as he felt something wet. Looking down, he saw his hand was smeared with red. Apparently he’d gotten a bloody nose in the skirmish. Glancing down at his unconscious foe, Henry saw a tiny trickle of blood under his nose, and that was it. He was certainly a tough fighter, Henry thought, nodding to himself.

Joey came over and sat next to Henry on the bed, still grinning at his victory. Henry was sure that grin would turn to a grimace once his adrenaline lowered and he felt the pain of his broken hand. Sammy continued to clutch his banjo to him, staring at the bodies on the floor.

“I guess we’ll have to call the police.” he said, quietly.

“That’s usually how it goes, yes.” Henry agreed.

“You won’t have to worry about those idiots any more, Sammy.” Joey added.

“No,” said Sammy, suddenly realizing this, “I won’t.”

Joey was silent for a moment, then he looked the musician in the eye and said, as innocently as possible, “Do you think you could return the favor by letting me hire you?”

In a flash, Sammy’s glare was back, “I still haven’t forgotten what you did.”

“Nor did I think you would,” said Joey, “I made a mistake back then, and I am truly sorry.” He looked down at the senseless men on the floor, “Take these unconscious bodies as a sign of my good will.”

Sammy continued to glare, but was silent, and Henry liked to take that as a sign that he was warming up to them.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, sincerely, “for knocking you out earlier. And I also wanted to thank you for saving me from that man. I’m not sure what might have happened had you not intervened.”

Now Sammy was at a loss for words, and all he did was stare at the two of them for a while. At last, he looked down at the floor, and said, gruffly, “You’re welcome.”

Another silence ensued, until Sammy again spoke up, “What exactly did you want to hire me for?”

Joey grinned, “I’m glad you asked. We’re starting a cartoon company,” he pointed to himself and Henry, “and we need a musician to add music to our cartoons.”

Sammy frowned, “Films have sound, now?”

“Yes!” said Joey, surprised, “You didn’t know that?”

Sammy shrugged, “I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

Henry brought them back on track, “What do you say, Mr. Lawrence? Will you take the job?”

The musician considered it for a moment, then shrugged, “It sounds better than playing the same old music at the club every day.”

Joey looked at him eagerly, “So you’re in?”

Sammy glanced at both Henry and Joey, “I’m in, but only if you buy me a new violin.”

“It’s a deal.” said Joey.

[adamcoled]

melodies of love | elias samson

elias samson x reader

summary: elias finds a certain notebook of lyrics and ends up finding out a lot more along with it. 

word count: 1,521

a/n: something pretty short that i felt compelled to write outta nowhere. this is the song i used, give it a listen because it’s so cute and lovely. also, i found writing in first person to be a little ? strange ? after my first time writing in second person with my aleister fic, so i mayyy be writing a lot more in second person pov

tagging: @reigns420 (i’ll create a tag list of anyone who wants to be tagged in my writing, so lemme know if you want to be added!)

Whenever Elias was home, which was rare given his career, the house was never silent. Between low humming and near-inaudible singing, his musical aptitude always lingered about, creating a pleasant atmosphere that I had grown to miss when he wasn’t around. Without his presence, the air felt dismal and the quietness was unnerving, pulling at my heartstrings mercilessly. I’d become so accustomed to his voice that I’d half-jokingly suggested he send me a plethora of voice messages of even just his humming to subdue my saudade. He’d sent just one, ultimately deciding it felt weird.

So, I’d learned to absorb his voice into the crevices of my brain, to create a solid replay of his gentle humming and singing that I could hear vividly whenever I needed it. There was something so calming about it that almost all my qualms could be stifled just by closing my eyes and listening. Most of the time when I found him strumming his guitar lightly while sitting on the edge of our bed, I’d settle myself on my side behind him, sometimes falling asleep, sometimes just thinking. Once, he’d turned around and found me lying there with my eyes closed, he’d asked me what I was doing.

“Listening,” I had said simply, and he accepted that answer wordlessly, unaware that within the depths of my mind were all sorts of thoughts running rampant. I was wondering what the lyrics he sang meant to him, what he liked about the song he was singing. But to him, I was just listening.

Sometimes, I’d find myself singing along mindlessly, my voice coming out whisper-like because I never wanted to distract from him, the one with the unmeasurable talent. Whenever this would happen, Elias would turn his head towards me for a few tender seconds, gifting me the sight of his half-smile as encouragement to sing a little louder.

“Sorry,” I shook my head in disagreement, “I don’t want to disrupt.”

And while I was grinning as I said it, I think he could tell there was a little more behind my words. I’d always been a little unsure of my voice, a little insecure. “Not disrupting, I want to hear it,” he reassured, still strumming softly, “never really get to hear you, but your voice is so...captivating.”

Captivating, I thought to myself, laughing silently. If only he knew it was his voice that was doing the captivation, pulling me closer to him each time I heard it.

“Maybe someday,” I affirmed, leaning my head onto his shoulder as the conversation ended and he resumed his tune. It was the most unadulterated form of serenity and I wished I could freeze time in this moment, though I knew it would pass all too quickly and come the next day, he’d be on the road once more.

He’d be on the road once more and I would write lyrics I’d usually end up scribbling out, lyrics often about him that he’d never get to hear because I would never find them worthy of falling on his ears. There was a notebook of lackluster words I kept stored away in my bedside dresser, only seeing the light of day when Elias was gone and I was alone. Elias knew I could at least hold a note, but I wasn’t sure I would ever tell him about the songwriting. I had yet to write anything I thought was good enough to be shown to him, anyway.

Recently, I’d taken slow strides to complete a song I genuinely liked, one I could be proud of for once. Each day since Elias had left for a week, I would devote half an hour or so to putting words on paper, words that captured my utmost love and appreciation for the man who’d become the most important person in my life in ways everyday speech couldn’t. I was determined to create something that would speak for me.

On the sixth day of Elias’s weeklong absence, I’d written one last lyric that I felt completed the song, though it still had to undergo my heavy scrutiny before I considered it truly finished. And of course, I’d probably begin to overanalyze it and scrap it just as I did to all the others. Before I could begin that task, however, I decided a shower would be beneficial to give my thoughts some time away from what I’d been so focused on for days. After all, a drained brain doesn’t function nearly as well as a refreshed one. Absentmindedly, I left the notebook on our bed and forgot about it as I enjoyed the feeling of warm water droplets hitting my skin.

Without sparing a single thought, I entered the bedroom, ready to tear apart the lyrics I’d written, only to be startled by the absence of my notebook and a figure sitting on the side of the bed with his back turned to me.

“Elias?!”

He wasn’t supposed to be home until late tomorrow evening. Yet sure enough, when his name left my mouth, Elias turned around with the book of trashed ideas resting on his lap. Oh no.

“You never told me you wrote songs,” he responded, ignoring any other aspect of the situation. Like the fact that he was here when he was very much supposed to still be on the road.

“Because I don’t,” I corrected, taking a seat next to him and reaching for the book, “not good ones, anyway.” As my fingers inched closer to the notebook, he pulled it further away, out of reach. I wanted to argue, but there was no point; he’d already read it, anyway.

“Then what are these? You scribbled them out, but not enough, because I could still read them and I can’t figure out why you thought they weren’t good.”

Now he handed the collection of songs to me, but he reached over and turned to a certain page. “This one. It’s the only one that hasn’t been covered up.”

It was the one I had just finished an hour before.

“I just wrote this one – I started it when you left on Thursday. I haven’t gotten around to finding a reason to hate it yet,” I tried to joke, but neither of us laughed. Instead, he got up and retrieved his guitar, finding a melody quite quickly before stalling his strumming.

“Good, because there’s nothing to hate about it. Now, go on,” Elias coaxed, “sing it. I bet it’s even better coming from those pretty lips of yours.”

“Elias, I – “

“No, no. I want to hear you sing it, and I want you to hear yourself sing it so you can realize how good you are.”

He picked the melody back up, and I was silent for a few moments; the way his gaze was so transfixed on me proved that he wouldn’t let up until I sang, but I wasn’t sure I had it in me. The song was about him and I’m sure he knew, so it was also a little strange.

Once I finally found my voice, everything fell into place at once. I had never realized singing a song for someone to that same someone felt so blissful, so simple. The lyrics emptied from my heart and into my voice, making it so much easier than singing anything else. And the two of us were looking at each other, really, truly looking at each other and into the depths of each other’s beings. A smile that graced my lips caused my voice to waver for a second, but it didn’t ruin anything at all – in fact, it seemed fitting.

“I can’t believe this has happened to me….but I, I feel alive because of you.”

Every word I had ever wanted to say to him came out in that song, every emotion, every utterance of love. Suddenly, I wanted to revive all the songs I had deemed substandard because honestly, they weren’t. They were the most real, significant things I had ever written and Elias deserved to hear all of them.

“You light up my life even when it’s dark.”

Now, we were both smiling and I had transformed the ending of the song into a rendition full of euphoric giggles. My voice gradually faded, as did his strumming, and once it all was over I didn’t know what to say because I had said it all in that song.

“Beautiful,” he complimented, pulling me into his side and pressing his lips to the crown of my head. “Now, who was that about?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I pushed him playfully, watching as he smiled triumphantly.

“I think I do,” he agreed, “but I want to hear you say it.”

“You. I wrote it about you, Elias.”

His lips left the top of my head and made their way to my own lips, his thumb and forefinger tilting my chin. “Doesn’t that just make me the luckiest man,” he breathed out, foreheads connected. “A beautiful song written for me by a beautiful girl with a beautiful voice; it doesn’t get any better than this.”

[floralseokjin]

;lit me up (m)

you find yourself becoming captivated by a mysterious, handsome author, but you may have bitten off more than you can chew…

pairing | kim namjoon x reader genre/warnings |  author! namjoon, smut, slight angst, romance words | 9,222

note | extracts taken from the bts highlight reels, found here and the serendipity lyrics, found here. Inspired by the song found here.

The first time you meet Kim Namjoon—or maybe a more fitting description is see… The first time you see Kim Namjoon, you’re late for class. It wouldn’t matter on a usual Wednesday afternoon, but today it’s different. Where as usually at the fluorescent overhead lights are beaming down on the students, continuous rolls of murmurs and hushed whispers taking up a good ten to fifteen minutes of the lecture as your blithering idiot of a professor, who’s surely too old for the job by now, tries to find his glasses, which are more often than not perched at home on his head—(no one bothers to inform him that sadly, happy for philosophy class to be delayed as much as possible)—there is never a need for the rest to notice your tardiness.

But today’s different. You have a guest speaker. A local author ready to talk about his new novel. You have almost forgotten in your haste to make class. Who would have blamed you, guest speakers were always equally as boring, if not more, than Professor Choi, and that is saying something. Indeed, when a guest graced you with their presence, you and the rest of your classmates took it as a sign to take forty winks. Rest up time right before a mid-week drunken celebration for making it half way to Friday. But like you said, today is different…

For a start, the hall is silent as you enter, fifteen minutes late this time around. Not a sound goes amiss as the only voice that fills the room is that of the guest speaker. It’s dark too. All lights turned off, just the white glow of the wall projector that Professor. Choi is trying to set up. Today everyone notices how late you are. The guest pauses as he notices your arrival, large oak doors creaking open interrupting his train of thought.

Whatever he is saying catches on his tongue, “oh,” he lets out instead, looking up in your direction and suddenly the whole class is following suit—of course they would. Your cheeks heat up, no doubt a dark rosé appearing on the apples, hopefully hidden by the dim lighting of the room. It’s not like you get embarrassed easily, but when multiple human attention is on you at the same time, it’s hard not to feel a little humiliated. You bow lightly in apology, a soft “sorry” leaving your mouth that no one can probably hear at all and you begin to make it as quickly as you can down the middle aisle. Just your luck the only free seats in this dingy hall are in the front.

You pause by the second row, choosing that over the front any day of the week. You make sure to sit on the edge or the row, but you inwardly groan, because there is no way you can go undetected today. There are only a few people sat in front of you and you aren’t shielded by any. You quietly get your things out your bag, painfully aware the guest is waiting for you to be done, eyes on you, which means the rest of the class’ are too. You ignore it and when you’re done you causally lean your chin in the palm of your hand, eyes glazing over the tall stranger. Now you’re waiting for him. You are the queen of pretending, and you will not be fazed by this embarrassment.  

He coughs awkwardly, clearing his throat as he rocks on his feet and then he begins to speak again. You wonder if you can master the art of falling asleep with your eyes open in five minutes flat. It’s nothing to do with him. This class is just plain boring. You wind in and out of concentration as he introduces himself, wondering what you’re going to wear out tonight. Clubbing is the only thing on your mind, needing to let your hair down, it’s been over a week since you went out last and that ended disastrously. Maybe you’ll wear that black spaghetti strapped dress you bought on Saturday…

“Okay, so let me repeat for those who missed it,” the stranger spoke, although you are in your own little world to notice him take another glance at you. “I’m Kim Namjoon. A philosopher turned author… I’m here to talk about my new novel ‘Love Yourself’… fiction, but influenced by real life events… the process of finding your inner self… accepting your faults and learning to truly love yourself…”

You sigh quietly. It’s no use trying to zone out or drop off down here at the front, his voice is too loud and it keeps interrupting your daydreams. You’ll just have to be forced to listen. Your eyes travel back to the man in front of you, giving him your full attention for the first time since you stepped in. He’s tall and broad, chocolate brown locks styled gracefully, strands framing his face. He’s handsome too, features alluring in a way that’s so discrete you really have to pay attention to realise. And then you can’t look away. His skins is smooth, but features rugged. He looks like he’s graduated a few years before you. The way he holds himself is graceful and light, his lips part and you blink, realising you’ve spaced out again, but for totally different reasons this time.

He’s talking again, something about his novel, and suddenly you perk up. You’ve never been so interested in a class—especially this one. You suddenly want to listen to what he has to say, even if it’s just to pay him more attention. You concentrate on the sound of his voice, letting it lull through your ears and fight the urge to close your eyes, because you want to watch the way his lips move with each word.

“I shall read you an extract,” he begins, leaning forward on the desk to pick up his book.

You follow his movement, watching eagerly as his hand outstretched and long fingers wrap around the spine of the hardback. You swallow loudly, the sound echoing in your mind. What is up with you? He grips the novel hard, skin around his fingernails (neatly cut, you might add,) turning white. Maybe he’s nervous, you don’t know, but you manage to take your eyes off his hands for a moment to glance back up at his face and balk in shock when you see him looking right back at you. The shock on your face must equal that on his and he jolts, shaking his head slightly as he busies himself with finding the page he needs.

A flash of something runs through your body—what? Excitement, adrenaline, nervousness? You can’t place it, but one thing’s for sure, now you’re even more intrigued… Maybe he’d caught you starting at his hands and was questing your problem? Did he realise you were checking him out? Are you checking him out? You’re unsure of what is going on… Maybe he’s annoyed you interrupted his talk, but why would he look so panicked when you caught him looking…? Nothing makes sense, but curiosity swirls inside your abdomen, just as your heart stops when he looks up again…

You haven’t looked away yet, and this time you can’t miss the way his eyes magnetise to yours, as if he can’t help it. He’s slower to look away too, although his orbs are still wide with shock. A surge of confidence washes over, watching him clear his throat and pause before he starts to read, his actions delayed, as if his mind is elsewhere. Excitement bubbles inside you as you take a look at his fingers again, they’re playing absentmindedly with the cream pages, as if he’s affected by something….by you, dare you think?

He begins reading a passage and you find yourself being even more captivated by his voice. It’s deep, it flows. It’s pleasant to listen to; soothing you, relaxing you, but most of all, despite the attraction you feel to the physical things about him, his words stir something within you, enchanting you in a different way.

"Some moments become more vivid with the passage of time. Yesterday's many encounters and goodbyes existed for this moment. Every alley and crossroad I walked through were all meant to lead me to this very place. That kind of moment is what I mean."

His voice is crystal clear, projecting all the way to the back of the hall, and your eyes stay glued to him, taking in each movement of his perfect rose-tinted lips. You urge him on, because for some reason you’re hooked, hanging off each word, which is like poetry falling off his tongue. His eyes reach yours again, for just a split second, but you notice it and the room is starting to become stuffy, some kind of tension clouds your being, and you can’t place what it is. There’s the inklings of something happening between the two of you here, and you’re unsure what it is…. You’re surprised no one in the room has noticed because it’s all you can feel, but then again, you realise, as you take a few cautious glances around you, no one is paying any attention to this class. It may as well just be he and you…

"The sound of cicadas that chirred like showers end in an instant. In the abrupt silence, I realise life's immense beauty...Even if this were a dream, this is where I choose to be. However, why is it that the happiest moments usher in such fear?"

You frown, finding yourself deeply into this story. There’s something about his voice that makes this story intense, you could listen to it forever. He could read you the whole novel right now and you would not care. You could sit here for hours—days even and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. You’d welcome it. You’d beg for it. You shake your head at the thought, fidgeting in your seat. What is going on? You need to snap out of it, a good-looking man shouldn’t affect you this much…but he is… You find yourself leaning further out of your seat as he carries on, wanting more of the story, almost as if you wanted to jump straight inside it…

"Looking back, I had known all along that underneath the glittering world before my eyes lay my deception. That everything was to collapse with a breath of wind…"

You jumped in your seat as he slammed the book shut with one of his large hands, gulping loudly as the noise rings in your ears and you let yourself fall back against your seat, disappointment washing through you as you realise you aren’t getting more of the story. You glance up to see him watching you again and this time he doesn’t look away. In fact, he looks amused somehow, maybe by your reaction? Whatever it was, you feel embarrassment wash over you and it is your turn to look away, a fresh blush emerging on the apples of your cheeks. You feel relief flood over you as he begins speaking again, finding it easier to concentrate when he’s distracting you like this. You listen eagerly, mouth slightly parted, gaze intense as he begins to talk about his work.

You hang off every word that afternoon as he speaks about the meaning of love and every emotion that comes with it. He insists it’s all his personal opinion of course. He tells you love is what you make it. It can feel different for every person, some people can’t even experience love. Some people don’t even deserve love… You wonder if he’s in love right now? You find yourself searching his left hand for a wedding band, but to your unexplainable glee, there isn’t one. Your eyes catch for what seems like the hundredth time this afternoon, and exhilaration fills your every vein. You don’t understand what’s wrong with you, you’re never usually like this…

Love isn’t even something your interested in. You admit you’re a hopeless romantic in the fiction world. You love reading and watching anything related with the emotion; the joys, the hopes…the torments especially. Love is a wonderful thing, but it’s the one feeling that can hurt you the most in life. That’s why you’re not interested with it. You’ve never even let anyone come close to breaking your heart because you can’t let them in. Dating is as far as love has ever gotten you… and even that’s something you’ve given up on…

However, for some reason this author—Kim Namjoon, has you hooked. You can’t tell if it’s because of his looks, his work…or worse, the underlying attraction you feel radiating between you both, as if tied together by an invisible thread. It’s only heightened by each fleeting look you send each other within the two-hour time period.

You should feel relieved when it’s time to leave, but all your body feels is bitter disappointment.

Is that it?

The next time you see Kim Namjoon—or this time, a more fitting description is meet… The next time you meet Kim Namjoon is the very same night.

You’d ended up forcing yourself to go out tonight in the end. After the lecture you’d found yourself not being able to stop thinking about the tall, handsome stranger. It’s as if you needed to know more about him, as if you had some sort of unfinished business. In a maddened attempt to get to know him better, you had rushed to the library half way home and had searched high and low for a copy of his novel. Once you’d found it, you had stared hard at the midnight blue cover, as if you were searching for answers as to why you were so curious about this man.

You had been half sure you were going to cancel your plans of getting drunk tonight to stay at home and read, but you had shaken yourself out of it at the last minute, wondering what the hell was wrong with you! So, back at home on your bed lay Kim Namjoon’s novel, and here you are trying to forget about him and have some fun. It isn’t working out…

For what must have been the tenth time, you are sat in a side booth (where you had been all night, you may add), thinking about the mysterious author. You have even concocted a plan as how to contact him. You’ll read his book, binging it over the weekend and then you’ll email him telling him how much you enjoyed his work. It’s a silly plan but your mind is clouded of only thoughts of him…and that’s when you look across at the bar and see just who your heart desires.

You can’t blame it on the alcohol—you’ve been nursing the same glass of wine since you got here. So, you just presume it;s fate. Something you don’t believe in but it seems the universe is working in your favour tonight. It’s meant to be. There was a reason you were so mesmerised today in a class you usually fall asleep in. Your heart skips a beat as you watch him sat at the bar, a whisky in his hand as he swigs at it every now and then. There’s something about the way his shoulders are slumped and how he’s all alone that piques your interest even more. There’s an aura too him, almost melancholy, and you’ve never been more curious of a human being before in your life.

You need to go up to him. You need to talk to him. This is a sign and against your better judgement—the way more rational side of your brain—the irrational side wins. After all, you’re certain you weren’t imagining what happened today in that hall. There was something between you two and now this was the gods working things in your favour. Kim Namjoon is an itch that needs to be scratched. And you would do anything to numb the irritation.

The few steps that separate you both seem to go on for eternity as you walk towards him, heels clanking on the wooden floor, nothing like your heartbeat which is rapidly beating inside your rib cage. You’re nervous. You don’t understand why. Approaching men is no big deal for you, but you guess all those are nothing compared to him. He’s older for a start, definitely more mature, and he’s mysterious. He’s no college kid looking for a quick hook up, no strings attached. You’re not even sure you want him just for sex. Of course there’s an underlying sexual attraction that you feel vibrating in your bones but deeper than that, you want to get to know him, to unpick his brain and find out what’s inside. He seems interesting and this is the second time today you’ve ran into him.

You finally reach him, although he’s yet to notice and you take a deep breath before sitting on the stool next to him, acting as casual as can be while you lean forward, acting as spontaneous as this whole thing is. You don’t think before you speak, otherwise you’ll just wimp out. What’s the worst that could happen? He ignores you? Doesn’t matter, you don’t have to see him again…hopefully…

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You force your voice to sound light, waiting for his reply with bated breath. His head’s down, seemingly lost in his own little world and it takes him a few seconds to realise the voice is talking to him. When he finally looks up after a beated pause, his eyes widen in surprise. You try to give him your best sultry smirk, you don’t understand why you’re trying so hard, but you hope it works, even as the following seconds stretch by in silence.

“Or not,” you ramble on, shrugging, “it’s a small town after all.”

Panic fills you for a second. What if he has no clue who you are? What if you had imagined all those looks he’d been sending your way? You’re about to give up and run away, when he grins at you; it’s less cheerful and more like a smirk, his pearly whites making your heart flutter. If you’re not imagining it, there’s intent behind the small action, and you look down at the bar immediately, willing shades of crimson to stay away from your cheeks. To distract yourself, you begin to drum your nails on the wooden bar.

“You were in the class today, right?” He finally asks.

His voice is deeper than you remember from a few hours ago and you find yourself lost for words, physically forcing yourself to look him in the eye as you nod in reply. Your eyebrows knit together as you survey him for a moment. There’s something different about him. For one, he’s not looking away from you, unlike earlier on in the day. There’s something in his dark eyes as he watches you—almost eagerly. He seems more confident. Your eyes fall to his drink, empty, ice cubes melting. He’s well oiled—not drunk, because you don’t notice him swaying about the place. It’s just enough to give him some dutch courage and you feel elated as you look back at him to realise he hasn’t taken his eyes off you this whole time.

“What a coincidence,” he comments, his tone amused by something.

You lean further towards him, an elbow resting on the bar as you rest your cheek in the palm of your hand and you raise an eyebrow, “fate, right? You philosophers believe in garbage like that?”

He chuckles at that, shaking his head slightly and he looks away for the first time, eyes falling to the bottom of his glass. He hesitates for a second, as if he’s contemplating getting another drink. He decides against it and raises an eyebrow back at you. You’re blown away by how striking his face is close up like this; eyebrows and eyes dark, lips plump, chocolate locks more tousled tonight, as if he’s been pulling at the roots…it’s sexy, and excitement is swirling around in the pit of your stomach.

“We do—well, I do,” he replies finally. “Don’t you? You seemed very interested today, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me…”

This guy, you thought, your heart skipping a beat. The whiskey must have worked tonight, the confidence is radiating off him and effecting you greatly. Dare you say, you’re feeling giddy. There’s something between you both, you can feel it in the air, like an electric current.

“You piqued my interest,” you shrugged, desperate to keep your cool.

“Did I now,” he nods, voice an octave deeper, but he’s not looking at you any more.

“Did I not pique yours?”

He looks back again, dark orbs meeting your mischievous ones. There’s no point denying it. He knows you’d caught him looking a plethora of times.

“You did,” is all he replies and you feel jubilant, trying to hide your obnoxious grin.

“So, is drinking alone on a Wednesday night a habit of yours?” You ask, your free hand landing on the bar to drag your nails along the wood. He watches with great curiosity.

“Is it not a habit of yours too?”

“It’s not,” you shake your head, halting your movements. “I came with friends.”

He looks behind him for a moment, eyeing the bar as if to search for friends he didn’t even know the faces of. Your breath hitches when he leans back in, face dangerously close to yours, and it’s not like you to become so nervous, but you guess this man isn’t a normal conquest.

“Where did they go?” He asks, voice so deep now you feel it rumble through your core.

You swallow loudly, words failing you and he chuckles, sitting up straight again.

“Want a drink—hm, what’s your name?”

Your sit up straighter too, needing to clear your mind. This never happens to you. You’re never affected by a man like this, but then again, usually they’re childish college idiots that don’t know their way around life, let alone a vagina….you bet Namjoon does…. Jesus, what is wrong with you? But now you can’t get the mental images out of your head. Your gaze falls down to his fingers, still wrapped around the empty glass; they’re so long and bony and your mind goes straight to the gutter. You stumble with your words, feeling like an idiot as you mess up your own damn name!

“Er, it’s ____,” you finally get out.

He takes it in, as if he’s mentally letting the syllables embed in his brain and suddenly they’re falling off his tongue, silky and smooth and once again, causing an inferno between your thighs.

“____, so, do you want that drink?”

You shake your head immediately. Another drink will only cloud your head more and you need to keep your wits about you. The upper hand is something you need, and even though the new, freshly confident author is appealing, you liked it better when he was the one affected by your presence.  

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” you hum.

“I agree,” he nods, pushing his empty glass away, as if to show he’s had his fill tonight too.

You take a deep breath. You can do this. Glancing down at his hands again to check for a wedding band, needing to make sure and desperate to not make a fool of yourself. Relief floods over you when you see there’s just a ring on his right hand, and that’s when you go in for the kill. There’s something between you, you can feel it. He can too. You know it. There’s an amorous tension in the dingy bar and you could cut it with a knife. You’re about to.

“I got your book out the library today,” you tell him. “I can’t wait to read it.”

“You’ll probably find it boring,” he shrugs, after a moment of looking surprised by your revelation.

You pray this isn’t ruining the moment, but you need to him to see the deeper meaning. It’s not just his book you’re interested in, that had just been a step in the doorway when he wasn’t sat in front of you, eyeing you up like he wants to eat you.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you insist, taking a deep breath as you pluck up the courage to place a hand on his knee. “Even now.”

When your palm makes contact with his covered flesh he jumps slightly. He doesn’t relax, his muscle tense under your touch and you go in for the jugular.

“Maybe you could read it to me sometime?”

Your voice is as luscious as you can make it, maybe you’re pasting it on a bit too thick, but it seems to do the trick. You watch Namjoon gulp, eyes flickering back and forth between yours, when he speaks it’s a croak, as if his words are stuck in his throat.

“Read it to you?”

“It would be much more interesting if you’re there with me,” you nod, squeezing his knee as you begin to trail your fingers up his thigh. His breathing stutters as you travel further and he looks between his legs and your face repeatedly. An eyebrow is arched seductively (you hope,) on your face, telling him this is exactly what he thinks it is.

He swallows once. Twice. A third time, and then he finally speaks.

“Are you sure all you’re interested in is the book?”

He’s making it black and white. He needs to know if what you’re implying is true. Of course it is.

“Oops,” you grin, leaning in, “you got me.”

Your hand is dangerously close to his crotch. You’ve never felt for invigorated, your blood is pulsing dangerously loudly in your ears and you’re not stopping. He does nothing to stop you either. In fact, he’s watching all the while, eyes trained on your hand, no blinking; like if he did, you’d disappear.

“What do you say? How about it?” You purr against the shell of his ear, and you finally hit your destination, palm pressing against the length in his slacks.

He’s half hard already.

❁❁❁❁

Next thing you know, you’re in the back of his car, your dress bunched up to your hips, panties hanging off one foot and his head between your thighs, his flush lips wrapped around your clit as you chew down on the inside of your cheek, trying to stifle the moans that are leaving your mouth periodically.

It is when he adds two of his fingers, the cold metal of his ring pressing against your sensitive flesh you just about lose it. Your whole body is on fire, skin clammy and hot as you try to make sense of what is happening. Today is a shocker, that is for sure.

You tug at his chocolate locks, desperate to stop him in fear of coming too soon. All the blood is rushing to your head and you can’t think straight. He growls against your core and that’s enough for you fidget under his hold, eager to get free and take a few deep breaths. He pulls back and watches your reaction, pleasantly curious, in his next action blowing cold air against your slick mound. It tickles and you squirm, a squeal leaving you as he pulls his fingers out of you and clamps both hands around your hips, disabling your movements.

You’re panting as you watch him, sure that you could come from him just staring at you, eyes blown out black, mouth and nose covered in your arousal. What a pretty sight. You absentmindedly smooth down his fringe and smile meekly, glad of the reprieve. It doesn’t last long and you groan when he pushed his two fingers back inside you, feeling around your sensitive walls.

“You cum too quickly,” he comments, and you giggle weakly, amused at the frown on his face.

You reach forward to iron out the crease between his eyebrows, “I haven’t yet.”

“You’re close though,” he insists, and to prove his point he pumps his fingers inside of you once, an action that has your ass lifting off the clammy leather seating as a yelp leaves your throat.

You whine slightly, fingers latching around his wrist to halt any more movement he may feel like adding. Your eyes lock and your heart jumps. This is weird. This shouldn’t feel so natural, but here you are with a stranger’s face millimetres away from your vagina. The stranger part isn’t what’s weird; you’ve hooked up with many strangers in your time, but none have felt like this. Usually they’re a one off, a distant memory come the next morning when you leave their bed and stumble home.

As if on cue, Namjoon removes his hand from between your legs again and cocks an eyebrow, “wanna ride to my place?”

Your heart thunders in your chest and you nod quickly, biting down on your bottom lip as you visualise what’s in store for the night. In the back of your head, you feel it strongly—tonight won’t just be a one off…

And you’re right. Over the weeks that follow, Namjoon and you continue to meet up. He doesn’t live too far away from your apartment and you find yourself there quite a few nights a week. His place his small and cluttered, décor dark and mismatched but it suits him, you guess. It’s definitely got character and so has he. You’re surprised how drawn you are to him, interest unwavering as you get to know each other better. You could spend hours listening to him; his views, his opinions, his stories. He’s unlike any person you’ve ever met before. He listens too, and he gives you advice. You form a bond, and it becomes addictive.

The sex is amazing too. When you aren’t talking, you’re fucking each other’s brains out. You’ve never had so much sex. You’ve never had so much sex with just one person. There’s an unmistakable sexual tension between you that can’t seem to be quenched. Like your bodies were made for each other. Nothing makes you feel more alive than when he’s inside you, pleasuring you, making you come…

The sexual attraction is there, but it runs deeper, you’re positive. You joked about fate when you first saw him at that bar, but now a part of you may start to believe it. Namjoon says he was supposed to find you that day. The universe brought him to you and he isn’t letting you go. Your heart flutters when he says that, even more so when he calls you his muse. For the first time in months he says he can write again, his latest release having drained him dry of every drop of creative juice inside his body. You ignite something inside of him again and you joke it’s the power of a woman’s young, hot body. He laughs, but tells you your greatest turn on is your brain. That’s a new one, and from anybody else you wouldn’t believe them; it sounds like a foolproof way to get inside a gullible girl’s pants, but for some reason you believe every word Namjoon says. Which is lucky for him after you unravel a secret he’s been keeping from you…

It begins because he won’t let you see inside his notebook. You know he’s writing poetry in there and the curiosity is killing you. Is he writing about you? If so, what kind of things is he penning down? Whatever it is, he’s adamant not to let you see and you pout. The next best thing is for him to read you extracts from his book, he still hasn’t taken you up on the request, despite weeks passing by since he ate you out in his car.

You’re laying on his bed when you find the discriminating evidence. He’s at his desk, as per usual, scribbling away. You’re bored and you want him to pay attention to you, so you reach for his copy of the hardback that’s on his nightstand. He’s too distracted to hear, even when you ask him to read to you. You flick through pages and pages, trying to find something and that’s when a polaroid falls out. It’s him and a woman, smiling up at the camera. Namjoon’s arm is around her waist and your first thought is, they look so in love.

Your first instinct is to think he’s cheating. It would explain his dingy flat. Maybe it’s a guise for work, a place where he can write, but in reality, it’s where he brings back women. You. How stupid have you been?! You jump to that conclusion and let him know it; shouting and threatening to leave if he doesn’t tell you the truth. He seems unwilling to, but when you begin to storm out, he grabs your wrist, desperate to make you stay. He’ll tell you, he promises.

What he confesses, isn’t a confession at all. More like a very sad reality. One he’s been living for the past year. He’s divorced—freshly as of five months ago, although it’s been over for a year. His ex-wife cheated on him, an affair for four long months behind his back. It left him heartbroken and lost and he’s only just got his life back together, with the help of writing; his novel, which holds all his secrets, hidden behind the word fiction…

You’re filled with a sense of pity. You’ve never been cheated on, never letting someone in deep enough for that, but you can guess how it feels. And you also know Namjoon didn’t deserve it. He’s sweet and conscientious, always thinking of others and you’re mad that someone could treat him like that. Romance in real life isn’t for you, but marriage is the biggest step someone can take. If they aren’t going to stick to their vows, then what’s the point?

He’s still hurt by it all, you can tell; tormented and scarred and somewhere deep down jealously stirs in your stomach. Something you’ve never experienced before. Why would you need to be jealous of anyone? Especially of someone who you don’t know…. You shake your head and push those thoughts away, needing a distraction. You’re sitting next to him on his bed, your hand on his shoulder as you comfort him. He looks sad and you want to make him happy again. You want to distract him too…

One of his eyebrows cocks up when you sink to the floor, kneeling in front of his seated form as you pry apart his legs. He lets you of course, a hungry look flashing in his eyes as you run your hands up and down his thighs, his muscles flexing at every feather light touch. He stays silent but his breath hitches in his throat when you reach for his belt buckle. A couple of your fingers graze against his crotch and you feel it—he’s half hard already and you hide your glee. Knowing you have this effect on him makes you jubilant, you feel the power coursing through your veins and settling inside your heart, which hums happily inside its cage.

You pull down his pants with haste, his cock bobbing out, coming to life with the hit of cold air. You take him in your hand instantly, dipping your head so the flat of your tongue presses against the engorged tip. He lets out a shaky breath, but his eyes never close, he keeps his pupils trained on your face. You don’t look away either, lapping at the hot flesh as you glide your fist over him, back and fore; he grows harder and harder, until you feel the strongest vein pulse in your palm. You take him deeper into your mouth and he moans throatily, head falling back. You come up for air and he entangles his fingers in your hair, the smallest of pants leaving him as he watches you swirl your wet muscle against him, brushing against the red slit. You smirk when his body jerks into you, taking him fully back in your mouth, feeling alive from the burn that travels down your throat.

“I’m so glad I found you,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter.

You close your eyes at that. Letting the words sink into your mind, more warmth fills you and suddenly you’re living to pleasure him. His gaze is soft now, features relaxed and your steel has won. You want him to forget about her and this is the only way you know how. You choose to believe his words. It’s fine. It’s sex. But as you continue, you realise the determination inside of you may run deeper, especially when he releases, hand caressing strands of hair and your face as you pull away.

It’s at that point, you feel the cold metal of his ring. The shock hits you like a bullet, and you watch with wide eyes as his right hand falls to his thigh. The metal band across his ring finger is gold and simple; akin to a wedding ring...just on the wrong hand…

A foreign feeling swarms your whole being but he’s unaware. How silly you are… It’s been staring you in the face all this time, just in the wrong place. He wears his wedding ring on the wrong hand, a permanent reminder of the vows he made and the ones she broke. Her face flashes through your mind as you close your eyes, trying to rationalise your thoughts. What is wrong with you? But you know you’ve realised something and you don’t know how to feel…

Namjoon isn’t over her. And with that the jealously consumes you; your heart squeezing tight, a physical pain searing through your stomach, like a knife cutting away at your insides.

Life returns back to normal after that, or so you tell yourself. You learn to ignore the jealous niggles that try to confuse you and Namjoon doesn’t bring up his ex-wife again. The only reminder you have that she exists, is the ring on his wrong hand and the polaroid that stays hidden in his work. It’s just sex, you repeat to yourself; a perk to the friendship you and he have formed. So what if he’s using you to get over her. You’re using him for pleasure.

You tell yourself that but every time you find yourself under him, there’s a ferocious heat that threatens to burn all your beliefs to the ground.

Tonight is no different. It starts off the same as always, he at his desk scribbling away while you’re on his bed. You’ve carefully peeled off what little clothing you had on to reveal black silk underwear. You distract with sex the best and you use it on him well tonight, dainty hand travelling between your legs as you rub and prod at yourself, vocals melodramatic, but it has to be that or nothing. You put on a show as your writhe around on the bed, legs stretched wide open, panties soaked through. Namjoon doesn’t move nor does he look behind him, he continues working diligently, but you don’t give up. There’s something about the way his back is unnaturally poker straight that tells you everything you need to carry on—he’s listening, and he’s enjoying.

When you come hard against your fingers with a silky moan, no sooner have you slid your hand back up your body, panties falling back in place, he’s up from his chair, standing at the foot of the bed wordlessly. He’s already shirtless and the sound of his belt buckle unclasping sends shoots of excitement through your body. You’re close to ceasing up when he’s finally naked and hovering above you, stripping you bare too, and then your body is on fire when he enters you, caressing your body like you’re fine china; delicate and pretty.

Sometimes you think your body was made for him. You’ve never thought such a thing before, but when you’re with him like this you’ve never felt so alive. He lights up your whole body, nerve endings tingling and you never want him to leave you. You cling to him, hoping if you hug him tight enough he’ll realise what words can’t say. This is all new to you…feelings…and you don’t know what to do with them, let alone how to express them. You wonder if he cares at all? What are you to him? He says so many words but to you they feel empty…because you’re always reminded of whose shadow your in. Are you good enough for him? Do you make him feel the same? Do you make him feel better?

You wonder if this is God playing a trick on you… Feelings and emotions you can’t explain taking a hold of your body, and you can’t do a damn thing about them. Why must the first person you fall for not be ready to do the same? You don’t know if he ever will… You wonder how this happened to you...and you wonder how you can stop it…

Stress comes in the form of dreams. You spend your days hiding from your feelings, pushing away all your anxieties, but that just means they’re there to torment you in your sleep. You don’t even realise it until you explain it to Namjoon one night. He can tell something is gnawing at your brain so you let him. You want to talk to him. You tell him about the same recurring nightmare you’ve had for days now; it always starts off the same… You’re leaving class to begin to walk home, as time passes you start to walk faster, your heart thudding in your chest as if something bad is about to happen. It’s not until your running for your life that you realise you’re being chased. When you turn around there’s no one there and then you wake you with a start, doused in a cold sweat, your heart beating ferociously in your chest.

“You’re running away from something,” he tells you immediately and you frown, trying to think.

The realisation hits you hard when he kisses you on the forehead and your heart flutters… An act so sweet and intimate you can’t breathe for a second.

It’s you.

You’re running away from yourself. That’s why there’s no figure behind you in the dream.

You’re running away from your own feelings.

Like a bad omen, not a week later and it’s over. There’s nothing to run away from anymore. It caught up with you.

You blame your morbid curiosity and your self-doubt. He’s always writing in his notebook and you wonder what an earth it could be? You bet it’s about her. It has to be. Why else wouldn’t he let you see inside?

You read it one night when he’s in the shower, shaky fingers riffling through the pages as you try to find something condemning. You frown as you come across pages and pages of scribbles, small phrases here and there, definitions of words…

Serendipity.

An occurrence and development of events by chance, or so it’s written down here. A happy accident… You read on with bated breath, trying to find an explanation to his mind, but you only get more confused…

I watch you from behind, only because now is not the time.

The whole universe is different from yesterday, just from your happiness.

When you call me, I become your flower. As if we were waiting, we bloom until we ache.

The cosmos aligned for us...

You are me and I am you...

Let me love you.

You read the last line over and over again, your heart dropping. No matter how many times you read it the sting doesn’t go away. You’re even still staring at the page in disbelief when Namjoon comes out the shower, dread filling his face. You see red immediately.

“This is about her, isn’t it?”

His look of uncertainty soon turns to shock and all he can do is splutter as you hurl more accusations at him. Finally, silence falls across his bedroom as he cuts you off, words leaving his mouth that make no sense.

“It’s about you,” he tells you. “It’s all about you, every page.”

You don’t believe him. You can’t believe him. He’s playing a cruel trick on you and you explode. This is not how it’s supposed to be. Life doesn’t play out that simply for you. He’s using you as an excuse for getting caught. He’s using you as an excuse, period. Because he’s still in love with her…

He rubbishes your claims straight away. Telling you he’s been over her months ago, long before he met you. He tells you he wants to be with you and that it’s meant to be. Fate. That word again that you hate. You hate it with all you have because it mocks you. It’s not fate. It’s a curse. You’ve fallen for someone you can’t have and the pain inside your chest hurts like crazy, your heart heavy.

“Listen to yourself,” he admonishes. “I don’t love her anymore.”

He speaks slowly and clearly but it’s no use. You won’t believe him, not when the evidence is staring you right in the face.

“How can you say that when you still wear your ring?”

He looks shocked for a moment, as if the fact has only just dawned on him. He looks at his hand as if he’s seeing it for the first time and you scoff. You’re not that stupid, you fail to believe he’s just been wearing it all this time out of habit.

“I-It doesn’t mean anything,” he stutters, as if he’s desperate for you to believe him and he tries to reach out for you, but you push him away. “I’m sentimental, it’s hard just to drop something that once meant everything to me.”

You shake your head. Bullshit. “She still means everything to you,” you yell.

“She doesn’t,” he insists and that’s when he tears the ring off his finger, holding it up in the air, making sure you’re watching before he throws it in the trash can.

“____, I love you.”

Your heart blooms for a second. Words you’ve never heard directed at you before. The feeling is foreign and your head feels dizzy, but as soon as you take another breath you come back to your senses. You can’t believe him. He’s confused. He doesn’t mean it. You can’t live up to her. He doesn’t want you like that…

You shake your head more frantically. You need to leave. You need to get away from him.

“Being with me won’t help you get over her,” you tell him, positive it’s what he’s trying to do. You push past him, stopping at his door when he calls you back for a second. His words conflicting you, but you are certain you’re correct—he’s still in love with his ex-wife.

“If you read my book you’d realise there’s nothing to get over any anymore.”

You just dismiss him angrily and walk out.

The weeks that follow are some of the loneliest you’ve ever had. You can’t stop thinking about Namjoon. Everything you do reminds you of him. He’s even in your dreams. He gives up calling you after a few days, telling you, you know where he is if you want to talk. It takes everything you have to ignore him, but you do it because you know it’s for the best. You know best.  

His novel haunts you too. You can’t bring yourself to hand it back to the library, constantly checking it back out over and over again online, like you’ve been doing for the past few weeks you’ve known him. You’d wanted to read it from the very first time you’d seen him, but the damning development had scared you into taking the plunge—you knew you’d read something you didn’t like, something that would make you sick with envy.

And now his words are haunting you. What does he mean ‘there was nothing to get over anymore?’

His book stays on your nightstand for the next couple of weeks, a constant reminder of what you had and what you’ve lost. Every time you pick it up to read, the smell of the pages takes you right back to his bedroom and you’re so filled with emotion you can’t catch your breath. His words swirling around you head… I love you…. He loves you. You so very much want it to be true, but despite maybe the answers hiding inside his book, you can’t do it. You continue to run away from your feelings…

Trying to get over Namjoon proves difficult, especially because you can’t stand to have another’s hands on you. Sex used to be pleasure, now it just reminds you of him… Tonight isn’t any different, making a total fool out of yourself when some guy tries it on with you. You kiss him, shutting you eyes tight as you try to block out images of Namjoon. You try to concentrate on the guy’s hands against your body, but it’s to no avail. He isn’t Namjoon. It isn’t Namjoon’s hands on your body and it isn’t Namjoon’s mouth against your own.

That’s what the problem is. Nobody is him…

That’s how you find yourself back at home after pushing the guy away from you, creating a scene that wasn’t even his fault. You want to sleep but your brain is still awake and it’s when you toss and turn for what feels like the hundredth time, that the midnight blue binding catches your eye. His novel. Your heart sinks inside your chest. You know it’s the only way to get over him… So, you reach out with shaky hands, turning on your lamp as you sit up, propping your back up with pillows.

You read it to let your heart be put to rest. You read it to be proven right. To finally see that your suspicions were correct, that Namjoon’s still in love with his ex-wife… You read it to try and get over him.

However, instead, you realise that you’ve been wrong all along…

You can’t put the book down from the first page. His writing captivates you immediately, poetic and intense, just like his personality and you find yourself reading all through the night and early next morning. You smile, you laugh and you cry, the world of fiction invoking something deep inside of you, because only you understand the truth behind his words… It’s not make believe for him; it’s real and it’s raw, and he’s been through it…

He’s lived it.

The truth dawns on your slowly and you suddenly feel very stupid… It’s true. Everything he said. He doesn’t love her anymore. He was already over her before he met you. He wasn’t a broken man. He was just someone who met a person and fell for them… You… He really had thought it was fate and you had chucked it all back in his face. There was no competition, no second best, just you and him… He wasn’t using you to try and make everything better. It was already better and it became something more when you appeared in his life.

He loves you and you’d just walked away…

A couple of weeks pass again, and you continue to check out his book, if not to have it as a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. The easy thing to do would be to meet him and apologise, to tell him that you want him and that you love him too, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. You wonder if he hates you now. You would hate you. You’d practically told him how to feel—what was real and what wasn’t. You’d disregarded him and you didn’t deserve his forgiveness…

So instead you just went about your every day life; classes, work, home. Life becomes mundane again, no excitement without Namjoon and each day you are reminded of how much you miss him and how much of an effect he had on your life and on you in general. You wonder what he’s doing at stupid moments in the day, like at 7am he’d be having his first coffee of the morning or at 4pm on a Tuesday he’d take his weekly walk down to the railway station, watching different kinds of trains pull in as he’d try to gain inspiration to write.

Tonight, you are thinking of him once again. Your friends have noticed there’s something down about you and you’ve let them drag you out finally, to their glee. You don’t realise until you see the décor of the dingy bar, memories flooding back to you like a tsunami…this is the place where you first met Namjoon properly. The nostalgia hits you hard, and you’re glad you’re sitting down, sadness mixed with a tinge of joy, remembering back to the good times. That’s why you can’t bring yourself to leave. You want to live for a moment in past memories.

It’s when you’re lost in thought that you feel the creeping sensation up your spine; as if someone’s watching you. Like a sixth sense you know already and you look up to see him, sat at the bar; akin to the first time. Your heart skips a beat as he smiles at you, dimples forming and then your heart is swelling inside your chest, twice it’s size. Everything makes sense again. He’s there. He’s real.

Fate.

That word again. And you finally believe in it.

Because you love him.

You’re in love with him.

The feeling is new and you didn’t realise it would be so obvious, so definite. You feel it everywhere, in each muscle, in each bone and in each pore.

Before you know it, you’re standing up and you’re walking over to him. He looks back at the bar as you take a seat next to him, a coy smile on his face as he swirls his whisky around the glass, ice cube clinking. You take a deep breath, feeling at ease now you’re finally in the same vicinity as him. You take a curious glance at him to find he looks just as pleased.

“I read it,” you finally say after a few moments, and he dips his head, trying hard to fight his grin.

“What took you so long?” He questions, voice light as he teases you.

You smile to yourself, “I thought I was right.”

“Stubborn,” he dismisses, nudging you with his shoulder and you giggle. “Want a drink?”

You nod lightly, and shuffle your stool closer to his, thighs touching before you stretch out your hand to clasp his fist in yours.

“Is this fate?” You ask and he pauses to look down at you, happiness flashing in his eyes.

“Only if you want it to be,” he murmurs.

You’ve never wanted something more.

You squeeze his hand in reply. He’s warm and you sigh in delight, you’re home.

[atomiktaco-moved]

Sing with me?

(This is pretty long. Sorry about that. Also please excuse my mistakes it’s like 3:20 am as I type this on my phone.)

It had been days since Anti had received his gift from Jack. The small ukelele was hanging on his back with the strap over his left shoulder as he ran. He was heading to the meeting hall normally used by the IIplier Egos to meet up with his friends.

‘The Host is gonna love this!’ Anti thought skipping up to the door excitedly. He opened it and hid his right hand behind his back as he walked toward the meeting room. 'Perfect timing!’ was all that crossed his mind as the Egos began to stand up and put away their belongings. The first to speak was Dark. “Ah, if it isn’t our favorite little glitch.” He spoke softly and sweet as everyone looked at the door. A chorus of 'Hello’s soon followed Darks comment. “I presume you’re here for The Host?” Dark said raising his eyebrow as his lips curled into a small smirk. Anti nodded furiously and after a small exchange he and the Host were off.

“Anti. Where are we going again? I would like to know the setting.” The Host asked behind the green haired boy who was practically dragging him. The boy jumped a little at the thought of the location.

“We’re heading to the flower garden remember?!” He almost screamed in excitement as the Host nodded. They reached their destination soon after and Anti began to put the final touches on his surprise. The Host softly narrated their surroundings to get his bearings then fell silent.

“Anti, I feel as though you have a particular reason for bringing me to day other than describing the flowers to me.” The Host chuckled a bit at the bouncing boy in front of him. Anti pulled up a chair for the Host and helped him sit down.

“Ok!” Anti began, “So I did have a surprise for you today. It’s a two part thing so be ready!” His voice full of happiness and determination to get his gift perfect. The Host nodded and couldn’t help but let a smile dance on his lips. “First off there’s this!” He said placing a red and gold rose flower crown on the Host’s head surprising him with the sudden act.

“Thank you Anti! I bet it’s lovely. Do you… mind describing it to me?” The Host’s tone began faltering during the question. He was still not used to asking others to describe his surroundings for him. Anti began describing to the best of his ability and watched the Host’s expression as he described the crown almost getting distracted in the process.

“That all I have to say for the flower crown. Now to the second part of the surprise! As you know, Jack gave me a ukelele as a gift a few days ago and I learned a new song! I wanted to play it for you as a gift. I’m not the best singer though so bare with me.” He said bouncing on his feet as he talked. Anti pulled up his own chair and sat cross legged on it. He began plucking the strings to get a sense of the key then cleared his throat. Anti began playing and sang softly as to not hurt the Host’s ears.

'If you ever find yourself stuck in the middle of the sea, I’ll sail the world to find you If you ever find yourself lost in the dark and you can’t see, I’ll be the light to guide you’

The Host chuckled at the word choice of the song Anti chose as the green boy stopped and realized his words. He instantly began to apologize but the Host urged him to continue. Feeling a bit guilty, Anti continued to play due to the Hosts request.

'Find out what we’re made of When we are called to help our friends in need

You can count on me like one two three I’ll be there And I know when I need it I can count on you like four three two You’ll be there 'Cause that’s what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah Whoa, whoa Oh, oh Yeah, yeah’

Listening intently and tapping his foot, the Host decided to the surprise the boy had prepared for him around. With a smirk on his lips the Host sat up straight gaining Antis attention and began singing the next verse.

'If you tossin’ and you’re turnin’ and you just can’t fall asleep I’ll sing a song Beside you And if you ever forget how much you really mean to me Everyday I will Remind you

Ooh Find out what we’re made of When we are called to help our friends in need’

A small pause occurred and only the sound of nearby birds and the wind could be heard. A smile grew on Antis face as he began to play again and both males sang the chorus trying their best to harmonize.

'You can count on me like one two three I’ll be there And I know when I need it I can count on you like four three two You’ll be there 'Cause that’s what friends are supposed to do, oh yeah Whoa, whoa Oh, oh Yeah, yeah’

They broke out into a fit of pure laughter and joy as they finished the song a few verses later. The Host let out a small happy sigh and fixed his disheveled hair looking in Antis direction.

“Anti…” he paused gaining the boys attention, “This has been one of the best gift I’ve ever received and the most fun I’ve ever had. I’d like to thank you from the bottom of- oofh!” The Host was cut off abruptly by an unannounced hug from Anti which he soon returned. They stayed that way for minutes on end enjoying the others company. The Host absentmindedly began playing with Antis hair as he whispered a soft 'Thank you’.

The Host soon got pulled away from the bliss due to a call from Dark he would have rather not answered saying he needed to return soon. After telling Anti what Dark said, they both walked back to the meeting hall as slowly as they could while having Anti stop and describe everything around them to buy some more time together. All while neither of them wanting to be too far from the other settled on linking their arms together as they walked feeling comfort in the others warmth.

(How did I do? I haven’t written anything in a while so sorry if it’s not that great. Hope you like it anyways!)

@fandom-jumper01

ANGIE U DID AMAZING OH MY G O D

When i was reading the lyrics i was like, wait i think i know this sonG

And then the chorus and then bAM

MY SOUL WAS BLESSED ONCE AGAIN

[royal-despair-threads]

Takuma & Petra [Prologue]

Petra was...basically at a loss. How could this guy call himself a musician when he didn't know any Jazz? That was basically blasphemy and, honestly, Petra was embarrassed for him. This simply wouldn't do. Not at all.

"Alright. I can't teach you this shit in one sitting, but the Major 7,  Minor 7, and Minor 9 chords are your new best friends. Can you at least manage to play those on your own?"

Quickly receiving his instrument from its case, Takuma's fingers darted across the fret board, his right hand plucking at the strings as he did so. The chords echoed out one after another, carefully mixed together as to create a nice tune.

"I'm the SHSL Acoustic Guitarist, of course I know how to play those chords. It'd be pretty pathetic if I didn't."

"Well thank fucking god, for all I know, you're one of those musicians that just plays everything by ear," Petra said. She wouldn't even be surprised considering the massive idiocy this guy had displayed earlier.

"Anyway, those chords are pretty commonly used in Jazz. There are obviously a shit ton of others, but it's probably better we start simple," Petra explained. "Now. Choose a random key, I literally could not care less what it is. Just play whatever you want within that key, don't worry about following any specific melodies. It can just be random. A huge part of Jazz is just improvisation. You can do that, can't you?"

Giving the Jazz Singer a cheeky grin, Takuma couldn't help but dart his fingers along the strings, plucking out a little tune that almost sounded jazzy.

"Can I improvise? How do you think I learnt to play guitar?" He almost sounded cocky as he spoke, though a subtle hint of fear still remained in his voice.

What? She'd taken a punch to the face like it was nothing. He had every right to be afraid.

That was decently close to Jazz and the best Petra could probably expect from an amateur. It took dedication to truly accomplish the soul and passion it took to play Jazz. You couldn’t just play a silly little tune and call it a day.

“Oh, so you did learn to play guitar by ear,” Petra said. Or at least something similar. Based off his comment, professional training wasn’t really a ‘thing’ for him. “Whatever. Your tune was okay, but I wouldn’t call it Jazz. Kinda pathetic that a musician can’t perform in multiple genres.”

"Well of course it wasn't Jazz, you can't honestly expect me to pick it up right away, can you?" Takuma chuckled quietly, his fingers pressing down hard on the strings as he did so. Unable to resist the opportunity to show off his skill, his left hand darted along the fret board, a fast-paced, aggressive song that could only be described as Punk echoing out. From there, the tune almost seamlessly transferred into that of an R & B song, his fingers shooting to the headstock, retuning the strings as he played.

Eventually, the song faded into silence. A silence that was instantly broken by Takuma. "I only said I didn't play Jazz. Never said I couldn't perform in multiple genres." Oh god, he sounded cocky again. "Hell, I even did Country music for a bit." His voice suddenly went monotone. "Those were dark days."

So he was able to play all those genres, but not Jazz? Petra just pursed her lips in frustration. How could a self respecting musician just...never play Jazz before? She was somewhat disgusted. Was she supposed to be impressed he could play a bunch of genres he didn’t care about?

“Yeah, no shit those were dark days,” Petra said. “You played fucking country before Jazz? Come the fuck on.”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“Have you even heard any Jazz songs before? You have to have at least heard It Don’t Mean a Thing If it Ain’t got that Swing? Or Swing, Swing, Swing. Or even Fly Me to the Moon.”

Please dear god tell her he wasn’t that hopeless.

Absentmindedly plucking at the strings, Takuma gave the redhead a small smile. "To be fair, I only started playing different genres because people asked me to, so I guess I just never met anyone who was really into Jazz." The smile twitched for a moment, just a moment, as he continued. "We don't talk about the kid who asked for County, people say that if you do, you'll never be seen again."

The mischievous glint to his eyes made it clear he was merely joking with that last part, but when he heard Petra's next question, a more thoughtful expression spread across his face.

"Not a big fan of Frank Sinatra, something about his voice just doesn't work for me, I dunno. I prefer the works of Charles Mingus and Miles Davis, though I did also enjoy listening to the other songs you mentioned." He paused for a moment. "That said, I haven't heard any of your work, so for all I know, you could be better than all of them combined." He made sure to flash the singer as charming a smile as he could manage, most likely hoping to get a reaction from her.

So he'd never met anyone who was really into Jazz before. Wow, that really showed what poor shape the world was in, lacking in Jazz fans. Absolutely disgusting.

"You'll never be seen again? What did you do? Murder him? Is his vengeful spirit out for blood?" Petra asked teasingly, though she actually seemed pretty interested in his answer.

"Mm, well, I only bring up Frank Sinatra because he's more entry level. Your knowledge of Jazz is better than I expected, even if you can't play it," Petra said. "My work is mostly covers, dumbass. People don't exactly come to Jazz lounges to hear anything recently written, they want to hear the classics. I'm a singer, not a songwriter. I have like two fucking originals and I didn't even write them. What about you, you actually write your own songs?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything to the kid, it'd put a serious stain on my permanent record." Takuma spoke in a relaxed tone, similar to that of someone talking of the weather. "That being said, one of my friends knew a guy, who knew a guy, who my lawyer tells me i'm not allowed to say anything about." All of this was clearly a joke, but at the same time, one could never be too sure with him. "It's a shame too, that kid owed me ¥500."

However, with the next question, Takuma suddenly seemed to appear rather timid, his grin seeming more forced, and his eyes glancing anywhere but Petra. "I-i mean, I've kinda been working on, erm, one or two songs in my spare time." He couldn't help but raise his hands up, palms outwards, in a worried manner. "T-they're not any good though, the lyrics are rather boring, and the chords don't flow together yet..."

Suddenly remembering who he was talking to, the guitarist's head quickly shook, his usual grin returning as he ceased the action, a hand reaching up to brush his hair back to its usual state. "We're getting off topic here, you have some original music? I'd love to hear it sometime, if you don't mind."

Petra’s excitement and interest evaporated at Takuma’s response, returning to a bored, almost annoyed, one.

“I genuinely have no idea what you’re even trying to say anymore so I’m not even going to attempt to respond to that clusterfuck,” Petra sighed.

As for his music, on the subject of it, Petra couldn’t help but notice the drastic attitude change, from bizarre and cocky, to a nervous mess. She smiled to herself. Oh? Was this a weakness she’d spotted? Good to know. She would have to build him up to really break him down. Well, that was an option anyway, she was still mulling it over. “Well dear, it probably won’t sound good if you have such little confidence while playing. You know you can make nearly anything sound good if you play with confidence. You mentioned lyrics, do you sing as well?”

And there went the moment of vulnerability, but that was fine. Petra had already seen what she needed.

“You want to hear my original stuff? I can’t imagine why, but whatever. Do you want me to sing for you now or something?”