#ignore my inability to draw a consistent hand <3 thanks

[mars-ipan]

they're going to go see barbie feat. @angelshardz 's oc, Razz!

[ubemango]

commission 5: otiyr!hoseok

note: for anon who was so kind to help me back in November! I am so sorry this took so long to get out v_v;;; ........... I hope you enjoy ;_;!!!!!

note 2: U kno when person A be like *super tough on the outside AND has no Knowledge of baring themselves to someone AT ALL AND!!!!!! IS SOFT TO ONLY ONE PERSON BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY CAN BARE THEMSELVES TO THEM* and then person B be like *I am the only person they can bare themselves to so I try really hard to get them to come out of their shell ONLY IF THEY WANT TO this is a healthy relationship I like to poke at them sometimes, it’s fine*? Yea this is that but make it more pine-y. Best friends to lovers? It’s more likely than you think!

Coach Park blew the whistle. Obviously this meant that practice had finished, but Hoseok was convinced it’s what called upon the bad omen.

The hockey team’s time at the rink ended right at 3pm. This gave Hoseok exactly ten minutes to shower, three minutes to fend off a nagging Yoongi for practice again the next day, and twenty seconds to realize he had one minute to reject Soojin if he wanted to make it to class on time.

He had no idea how long she’d been there. She sat like a flower, right at the edge of the bleachers, cardigan wrought so tight around her shoulders as if to fend off the tundras. He wondered if she was waiting for Jeongyeon—the figure skaters got the rink for the next three hours now—and that is when he made the fateful mistake of catching Soojin’s eye right when he was about to slip through the exit.

“H-Hoseok!”

First, the freeze-up. Hoseok adjusted his gym bag for the sake of fidgeting; he didn’t even get the chance to pretend he didn’t see her, creep away unnoticed. She’s fast, anyhow, hopping over the bench and standing shy in front of him just as he’s turned around.

“Hey,” she greeted.

Hoseok nodded, only slightly pained. “Needed something?”

Behind her, Hoseok watched Jeongguk coming up, wiggling his eyebrows at him right as he passed by and out the door. Flaunting that exit like it was meant to encourage him to stay just a little longer. Hoseok felt threatened. Soojin took no notice.

“Yeah… it’s—well. How are you?”

“Fine.”

(Soojin most likely had no idea he had class at 3:15.)

“Oh! That’s… good. Well—I don’t want to keep you for long, and I-I know… i-it’s kind of sudden, but. We’ve been talking for a while now and I just—wanted to ask if you wanted to—just—hang out, someday. Like go out, or whatever.”

Ah, Hoseok thought sadly, I’m going to die, right here.

The first response he considered was to refute her claim that they’d been talking for a while—Soojin had offered help with chemistry homework when Jimin wasn’t available for tutoring anymore. He wasn’t aware that discussing the halogenations of alkanes over text qualified as the talking stage. That made him feel weirdly old.

Something else he considered: she was very pretty. He could admit to that. Soojin had eyes like raindrops, small ears with moon-shaped studs. An easy gait except for when she was nervous—and she looked very, very nervous.

Soojin was a nice person. Soojin deserved a nice answer.

“I don’t want to,” he said, which was not a nice answer.

He realized this the second Soojin’s gaze dropped to the floor. It reminded Hoseok of those sparkly cartoon girls, the teardrops that teased, never fell. She wouldn’t cry. No one ever cried for him like that.

“Ah—sure, that’s… fine.”

Hoseok never prided himself for being curt. He was just consistent at saying the wrong things, he remembered you saying, and he had lecture starting in less than a minute. Combine all these together, mix in the inability to read a situation properly, and you got the everlasting unease of being Utterly and Ridiculously Fucked. He felt very pained now.

Hoseok watched Soojin fidget again, shifting her stance. Contemplating that exit Hoseok just wanted to go through.

He was supposed to say something now.

“You can delete my number, if you want. I don’t mind. You don’t need it anymore, right? Since we already handed in that assignment.”

She was quiet. Slowly, Hoseok watched her face transform into what he could only guess was unabated anger. Her nose scrunched.

Then she slapped him.

Hoseok, holding his cheek (which did not ache at all, Soojin wasn’t strong like that), watched her stomp out, shoving the doors open with an animosity he didn’t think she had.

He was most definitely going to be late for class.

.

.

.

The astrophysics study commons is a quaint, aggressive space. There’s posters of Saturn and chalkboard lining the walls with confusing equations scribbled in white and at least five people arguing about velocity in the corner farthest away. This is where people find answers and actually make sense of situations. Hoseok  discusses his tragedy here for this exact purpose.

You sit back in your chair, playing with your slide rule. “She text you after?”

“Nope.”

“Did you want me to give my opinion?”

“Sure.”

You slap him.

“What—!” Now Hoseok has had plenty of time to dwell on his follies last night. But a second time? He wonders if he actually deserves good things in his life. He rubs at the poor spot on his cheek. “You didn’t need to resort to violence!”

“You’re so stupid!”

It’s not unlike you to tell it as it is. He’s known you for seventeen years now, the nicest thing you’ve ever said to him was back in fourth grade when you’d called him a good co-parent of your pet caterpillar. “Damn.”

“I mean you’ve always been bad with these things but I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

“Like what?”

“Be a complete asshole,” you deadpan.

“I didn’t think it was that bad—“

“You told her to delete your number!”

So it was a bad move. He recognizes this. “It’s not like I don’t feel bad.”

The silence lingers as you catch your breath, watch him pensively. Something about the speed of light is being discussed in the background. He feels weirdly exposed.

“I want to try something,” you say finally.

Hoseok’s eyes narrow at you. “What.”

You stare at him blankly. For a second he thinks you’re going to slap him a second time, but instead comes—

“Hoseok, I really like you.”

The coldest, startling feeling runs up his spine. He reflexively says, “That’s disgusting,” and comes to the conclusion that the universe hates him.

“See! You can’t just say that!” You squawk.

“Why not?!”

“What if I had secret feelings for you that had been festering for years and you broke my heart?!”

“Do you?” Hoseok says, slightly alarmed.

“Wha—would you be mad if I did?”

“I would be mad if you did.”

“See, that’s what I’m saying. You’re so mean about feelings.” He watches you focus on the chalkboard behind his ear. He briefly remembers drawing a loopy spaceship on it. “Look. I’m gonna pretend to be a girl confessing to you, and I want you to be more—sentimental. Okay?”

This is the weirdest thing about you. For someone so annoyingly logical about science, you still somehow kept in touch with romance. The dewy-eyed. Everything Hoseok didn’t know. He remembers junior year and the slow dance with Yubok, and how he accidentally fumbled his knuckles against her back—too low, she’d whispered harshly—and how you’d come back from hiding behind one of those big planters near the entrance, looking sparkly and gentle, mussed up, and somehow he knew you were having the best night of your life, and he’d just accidentally ruined his. He remembers that he has never been cut out for this.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hoseok sneers, thinking about how the universe loved you.

“Too bad,” you say. “I’m gonna start. Hoseok?”

He might get smacked a third time if he doesn’t comply, so he replies, “Yeah?”

You feign shyness. Casting your eyes down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I-I… Well, I just wanted to… tell you something.”

“Sure,” he says.

Your timidness slips into anger in a blink. “I said be sentimental!”

“What—did you want to tell me?” He tries again, shrinking.

“I think—Well, I think you’re really cute—and—“ you cross your arms, and he so badly wants to yell at you to stop— “and… I was wondering. If. You wanted to grab coffee sometime?”

His answer rolls down his tongue too fast for him to catch. “No,” he says flatly, and instantly he flinches to block your slap against his arm.

“Hoseok!”

“I can’t take this seriously.”

“But I want you to be in tune with your feelings,” you whine.

“I’m plenty in tune with my feelings,” he argues. “And I’m feeling invaded right now.”

“There’s a good two feet between us right now.”

“You’re breathing in my direction, it’s enough.”

You ignore this, and reach for his hand lain flat on the table. “How does this feel?”

Surprisingly, the first word that comes to his mind is safe. But that is not a safe response. “Feels—like you’re holding my hand?”

“Ugh. Just—look into my eyes,” you urge next.

“Okay.”

They don’t curve into softness like Soojin’s does. Your gaze is hard, strikes him so hard it’s almost mortifying. Then your hand squeezes his. He discovers that he likes it.

“I really like you, Hoseok,” you say, oozing sweetness in your voice. Subdued, something you were not. Hoseok wants to throw up. “So please just consider me, okay?”

He nods, speechless.

You revert right back to your previous stance and let go of his hand. It’s almost like a betrayal. Hoseok wonders why his heart is leaping. “So how was that?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he spits.

“I’m helping you. Look. Let’s make it a thing! I’ll teach you how to be romantic and all that stuff.”

“I’m not trusting the expert of Tiger Beat romance, thank you very much.”

You ignore his quip. “You’re a good guy, Hoseok. Soojin might’ve come on a little too strong and so did you but—really! You’re a good guy! Who deserves love and stuff because it’s just nice to have!”

Hoseok sighs. It’s not that he hated the idea of being in love, he just couldn’t help but be unavailable. Pre-occupied. He said things he didn’t mean. You know this about it him.

“Fine.” And before you can cheer, he adds, “But don’t… tell anyone about this.”

“But the big scary hockey man getting slapped by the tiniest person on campus story is so—“

“Don’t push it,” he says.

“Whatever.” You snort. “Yes, fine, it stays between us. Yay! Okay. Tomorrow I have a study group so we might need to meet up two days from now, let me check my schedule…”

You grab your planner from your bag, scanning the pages. Hoseok has the vaguest feeling that he’s in trouble.

[justanotherone16]

He pressed send. And then he waited. The extreme tedium of simply waiting was not something that Mycroft Holmes could tolerate. His brother’s erratic behaviour and inability to accept the normalities of every day life was well known, and indeed Mycroft’s unwillingness to play along with the inane and mundane of ‘normality’ could well be inferred. Few people, however, successfully inferred or recognised that Mycroft’s consequent impatience manifested as restlessness too.

Dr Watson would surely come. He always does. Mycroft drummed his fingers rhythmically on the black folder that rested upon his lap. In times gone by Sherlock didn’t have a Dr Watson that Mycroft could go to with sensitive information, or emotional conundrums. No, in times gone by, he just had to take it straight to his brother. All things considered the widening of the tiny pocket of trust around Sherlock was a good thing; there was considerably less chaos.

A thick film of fog choked London, almost Dickensian in its persistence to blanket the city. November was in full swing and the days were drawing in rapidly. Today, the fog and the biting, piercing cold only served to cheer on the early darkness, that was knocking at the door in spite of it being just 15:42.

Mycroft was so lost in his pondering that he was somewhat startled when the car door opened suddenly and the familiar figure of John Watson ducked into the car and settled next to him.

The scent of winter air clung to John’s coat and his cheeks were rosy with cold. He rubbed his hands together in a feeble attempt to warm them.

“I hope you’ve planned at a stop at a coffee shop, I’m freezing my bollocks off” John joked as leaned back into his seat and blew hot air in between his hands.

Mycroft pushed the small red button near his window which rang through to the driver. “The closest Nero please.”

The car pulled away slowly and joined the chaos of the London afternoon traffic. “I didn’t expect you to agree, should I be worried?” John asked lightly.

Mycroft didn’t speak, he just opened the folder in his lap, which had been fulfilling a singularly percussive purpose while he had been awaiting John’s arrival. Mycroft took 3 separate pieces of paper and passed them wordlessly to John.

John’s brow furrowed as he scrutinised the contents, trying to understand the context. “Okay so three dead men... yeah I don’t get it. Why are you showing me these?”

Mycroft took a deep breath, placed the folder on the seat beside him. “Jonathan Callaghan, Zachary Noble and Jack Sharpe. Long-term heroin addicts that Sherlock has had previous associations with. All overdosed on Tuesday evening.”

“Shit... how?” John shook his head as he perused the documents, wincing inwardly at the photographs.

“Their heroin was laced with a fatally high level of fentanyl. It would seem that the quality of heroin circulating the streets of London is categorically unsafe.” Mycroft gave John a knowing look.

“I don’t think he’s using”.

“No, he isn’t. I would know”. Mycroft assured John.

John put the paper down and turned to face the elder Holmes. He was balding quickly now; ageing fast.

“Right so, why are you telling me?” John asked.

Mycroft rubbed his face with his left hand and when he spoke, there was more than a hint of resignation. “Because Sherlock will hear of these deaths soon, and more I should imagine. Many of his homeless network will fall victim to this. And... Jonathan in particular, was quite close to Sherlock, well about as close as anyone could get to him during this time of his life. Jonathan saved his life three times. Once he personally provided mouth to mouth and administered adrenaline that I had provided him with. The other two occasions he called me, even on pain of death from Sherlock. I... well I will always be grateful that Jonathan was with Sherlock in those... instances.”

John was sat dumb struck. That was a lot to take in; a great deal to unpack, with a man who rarely paused long enough to unpack anything.

“So, Sherlock will be upset? I’ve never heard him mention any of them, or Jonathan?” John tried.

“I should think so... He rarely discusses his past with drugs, I think because the regret, shame and fear of the power it had over him is too much. But, I do fear when he finds out he will be somewhat aggrieved. I don’t believe he will seek out drugs to cope with that, given what he will know about the chemical composition. But I can never be sure with Sherlock. And when I saw, saw these photos of these men. Men I have interacted with, men who have saved my brother’s life on more than one occasion- dead... I can’t help but picture, in my worst nightmare, Sherlock in the same state. This news will come to him. Not from me, probably not from you. But he will hear. And once again Doctor Watson I must ask you to look after him. Please.” Mycroft’s voice was uncharacteristically small. The pain of the past and anxiety for the future swam in his eyes.

“Of course I will look after him. Always. Although, for all of Sherlock’s complaining it doesn’t sound like you’ve done such a bad job yourself. In these kinds of conversations, I am increasingly surprised that Sherlock was alive to meet me.” John lowered his voice too. He didn’t see eye to eye with Mycroft and he never would. And there were half a million things that John wanted to tear into Mycroft for. But the care he had for his brother was clear and unrivalled.

“Thank you, John.” Mycroft smiled weakly.

John smiled grimly in return. “So alongside being there for Sherlock and keeping an eye out. You know he will pursue this. Try to find the source and stamp it out?”

Mycroft nodded and took a long sharp breath. “Yes I know. And I’m sure he will be successful. I’m primarilh concerned at how he will take the passing of Jonathan, Zachary, and Jack. You know... He went back to find them once he had gotten clean himself, for his longest period of sobriety, not long before he met you. He offered to fund their own rehabs. All three men declined of course. For various personal reasons.”

John was consistently surprised at what he did not know about Sherlock. While the pair of them virtually ignored the swathes of Sherlock’s life that were taken up by being high and shooting up, the effects and associated risks seemed to lurk everywhere.

“Perhaps I should tell him? Tell him what you’ve told me so that we have some control of the situation?” John asked.

“No. Sherlock won’t appreciate the idea that I am soundboarding you. If you must bring it up. Tell him only that I had made you aware of the lethality of heroin currently for sale in London and nothing else.” Mycroft firmly answered.

The car stopped outside a cafe Nero and the driver got out of the car, locked it, and strode into the shop to order coffee.

“When Henry returns with your coffee, walk back to Baker Street. Sherlock will assume you got the Metropolitan line at 4pm.” Mycroft said conspiratorially.

John nodded and defaulted to silently waiting for the driver to return with his coffee. “Are you okay Mycroft?” John asked seriously.

“Me? Yes of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

John just eyeballed Mycroft, trying to the best of his ability to convey a ‘don’t be dense, I’m not fucking stupid’ sentiment in response.

Mycroft stood down his defences and sighed. “Yes, I am okay. Just, let me know how Sherlock is. And... I’ll, well I’ll thank our lucky stars that Sherlock did live past 30. And have a quiet toast to Jonathan Callaghan, who saved my brother 3 times and deserved far more than he got in life. That’s your coffee John. Don’t worry, it’s decaf, soya milk, one vanilla syrup shot. Text me if you need anything.”

A steaming cup of coffee was passed back to John. He couldn’t help but notice the Christmas theme on the cup- that time already?!

“Right, yes, yeah. Thanks for the coffee and, um take care. I’ll be in touch.” John said climbing out of the car, the chill in the air swiping at him as he did so.