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purplefrogg · 3 years

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happy birthday tommy

summary: just birthday traditions with tommy tubbo and ranboo

a/n: first fic enjoy‼️

tommy was finally 17. all day he had been going around, telling everyone it was his birthday, and how he was an even bigger man now.

most of them just laughed along with him, wishing him a happy birthday. punz and sapnap challenged him, saying if he was really a big man, he should fight them in a 1v1. jokingly of course, tommy agreed before calling them both bitches and walking away.

his next stop was snowchester, where his best friends tubbo and ranboo lived. they both knew it was his birthday of course, but he still wanted to go visit. just to make sure they remembered.

they did. they also remembered the tradition of “birthday tickles” tommy had started when they were kids, and never remembered come time of his birthday. they thought it was funny, it was like a little surprise gift he got every single year. tommy was extremely ticklish, but very few people knew about it. at least that’s what he liked to think. truth was most people knew, as it was pretty obvious. he always flinched at the slightest of touch, even if it was nowhere near any of his weak spots.

after following the path tubbo had created, tommy walked up to tubbos house, practically kicking the door in.

“GUYYYYS THE BIG MAN HAS ARRIVED,” he shouted, scaring both ranboo and tubbo, who weren’t ready for him to burst in the way he just had.

“hey big man! happy birthday!” tubbo said, walking over and hugging his friend. tommy looked down at the smaller boy.

“happy birthday tommy,” ranboo said, his usual monotone voice, sounding a bit more joyful than usual.

“thanks guys! i am a big man now did you know? i’m 17 which means i can get married and have a wife now,” tommy said, prompting a small laugh from the two.

“let’s go do something! everyone else here is boring, they all told me to go away after a while but i know you guys are ma friendsss. you guys will hang out with me right?”

they both looked at each other knowingly, before looking back at tommy and nodding. tommy smiled and walked out of their house, starting to walk away. he did this a lot, just left without saying anything, expecting them to follow him and know where he wanted to go. tubbo and ranboo both followed, walking behind tommy and following him around.

he didn’t actually go anywhere, he just walked around snowchester, messing with different things and exploring the mansion.

they spent the rest of the day walking around, tommy talking to everyone, tubbo and ranboo following not far behind.

when tommy had enough, they ended up going back to tubbos house to hang out just the three of them. they didn’t get to many chill days, considering the other people around them. luckily since dream had been put in prison it had been easier, but still difficult since they all had other things they were working on.

they had visited michael, and were now downstairs in the main part of the house, talking to each other about random things.

“so tommy, how was your birthday?” tubbo asked. before tommy could answer, ranboo butted in.

“well the days not over yet,” ranboo said, looking in between the other two. tubbo nodded his head.

“ohhh yeahhhh.”

“what?” tommy asked, a confused look plastered on the boys face.

“did you seriously forget? again?” tubbo asked.

“you’re worse than me!” ranboo laughed. a look of realization, made its way to tommys face, and he started to slowly move away from the two of them, trying to negotiate his way out of this.

“guhuys come on. arent wehe a little old to continue this silly little tradition?”

“we weren’t too old on my birthday,” tubbo said back, walking towards tommy. ranboo did the same, trailing only a few inches behind tubbo.

“or mine.”

“yeheah but that’s different!” tommy said. he would never admit it to them, but he secretly enjoyed when they did this.

��no it’s really not, ranboo can you grab him before he runs.”

and with that ranboo grabbed tommy by the arms, holding them above his head as he continued to giggle.

“guhuys plehease.”

tubbo poked at his side, soliciting a small shriek from the blonde boy. tommy tried to get away, twisting and squirming in any direction he could, but he was trapped.

“hmmm, ranboo where should i go first?” tubbo spoke, a playful tone taking over his normal, calm one.

“i don’t know, maybe here,” ranboo said, poking at tommys underarms. tommy tried to pull his arms down, but ranboos grip was too strong.

“nohoho tubbo, guhuys really i mean do we need to doho thHIS-“ tommy was cut off by tubbo starting to wiggle his fingers in his underarms. tommys giggles became louder, and he started to squirm a lot more.

“fuhuck yohou!”

“that’s not very nice!” tubbo said, changing his pace, now drilling his fingers into the boys underarms, and moving them up and down to just above his rib cage.

“TUHUBOHO” tommy yelled, his giggles turning into laughter as tubbo continued this for a few minutes. tommy ended up sliding down to the floor, unable to stand any longer. this made things easier for tubbo and ranboo though.

“ranboo would you like a turn?” tubbo said, as he slowed down, now just lightly running his fingers along tommys sides. tommy fell back into soft giggles again at the change in pace.

“sure,” ranboo said, switching places with tubbo, who was now holding tommys arms above his head.

ranboo started right where tubbo left off, slowly running his finger up and down tommys sides.

“rahanboo plehease,” tommy whined. ranboo chuckled to himself before speaking.

“you see tommy normally i would listen to you, but you haven’t told us to stop once! you must be really having fun right now,” ranboo teased.

“shut the fuhuck uhup. noho im nohot,” tommy replied. of course he was, but once again he’d never admit that outloud.

“mhm, sure, then why haven’t you told us to stop?” tommy tried to think of an answer but before he could he was cut off again. “exactly.”

before anythjng else could be done, ranboo began squeezing at tommys sides and tubbo starting to wiggle his fingers at tommys underarms again.

tommy immediately broke out into a fit of laughter.

“GUHAHUYS PLEHEHEASE! I HAHATE YOHOU!” tommy shouted. tubbo and ranboo started to laugh along, amused at the boys reactions. every year they did this, and every year tommys reactions just got better.

ranboo switched from squeezing at his sides, to scratching at his belly, which provoked an even bigger reaction.

tommy was now thrashing around on the floor, “trying” to escape the feeling. his laughter had gone horse, and he was still trying to get his arms down.

sensing that he had nearly reached his limit, tubbo and ranboo slowed down. tubbo just tracing shapes along the boys collar bones, and ranboo starting to run his fingers up and down his sides again.

tommy calmed down, his laughter calming back down to giggles. eventually the two stopped, allowing tommy to fully catch his breath. they watched as he rolled over onto his side, curling up a bit looking at the two of them.

“you guys are dicks,” he said, once he had finally caught his breath.

“you love us,” tubbo said, smiling and poking tommys leg. tommy shot him a funny look, before looking at ranboo.

“this guy,” he said pointing at tubbo, prompting a small laugh from ranboo.

for the rest of the night until they eventually fell asleep, the three of them spent their time talking and laughing, having fun like the kids they really were.

#lee!tommyinnit #ler!tubbo #ler!ranboo #tickle fic

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taexual · 5 years

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HOLIC - 32 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: fluff

words: 4.3k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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Needless to say, you’ve permanently moved to live on cloud nine ever since last night. Granted, you’d wasted some of your ecstatic mood by sleeping, even though you couldn’t quite remember how you and Jaebum had gotten home from the bar and then passed out in his bed – or, rather, halfway out of it. If you thought back, you could recall – in bits and pieces – how the two of you stuck by each other for the rest of the night and no one found that weird in the slightest. It was almost as if you two behaved exactly the way everyone had expected you to.

You’d tried to sneak away from the rest of Jaebum’s friends multiple times, but it turned out that more people had come to congratulate him than any of you had anticipated, and your very last memory from Mark’s bar included you and Jaebum surrounded by at least ten different people, five of which you’ve never even seen before.

You woke up smiling, however, even though the alarm clock rang almost immediately after you’d closed your eyes, even though your neck hurt from having slept with your head hanging out of the side of Jaebum’s bed, your eyes felt heavy after only getting a few hours of sleep, and your throat was dryer than any desert on the planet. You and Jaebum may not have gotten to share another private – well, as far as private went in a crowded bar – moment last night, but the one that you did get to share was more than enough for your heart that seemed to leap in joy each time you remembered his kiss. That was all that mattered, or so it seemed; your body was simply incapable of focusing on any physical discomfort you were feeling.

Jaebum wasn’t in bed with you but you could hear the water running in the kitchen. He had no business being up this early – he didn’t have to work until the afternoon, after all – but he was probably fighting his hangover. Getting up wasn’t something you particularly wanted, either, but seeing Jaebum was, so with a heavy grunt, you forced yourself to your feet.

Surprisingly, your head only felt slightly heavy and the room didn’t seem to spin in a way that was too fast for you to keep up. You didn’t feel drunk anymore but you didn’t feel too hungover, either – which was a first. It must have been the amount of adrenaline you’d experienced last night with Jaebum, including the sort-of-confirmation of what you and him now were; it had saved you from a very painful morning.

Quietly tip-toeing towards the door of his bedroom, you took a deep breath – your neglected lungs welcomed it and started to sting in complaint; clearly, you were too busy focusing on Jaebum last night and had not allowed yourself to breathe properly – and then walked out into the hallway.

Jaebum was in the kitchen, just like you’d expected. He was just finishing his glass of water when your eyes met. You saw him smile through the transparent liquid and felt your heart explode into a million pieces of blissful confetti that scattered around your stomach, taking the shape of butterflies.

“Hey,” he called out for you after having placed the glass back down, his smile now on full display for you to see and drool over – hopefully not literally.

“Hey,” you echoed and then noticed the box of medicine in his hand. You nodded your head towards it. “Headache?”

“Oh,” Jaebum looked down instinctively, putting the aspirin down on the counter. “Yeah. I’ve finished quite a few bottles last night and my head is throbbing. I couldn’t sleep. Do you need some?”

“No,” you replied, crossing the empty living room and giving him a teasing smirk. “I’m not a lightweight.”

Jaebum responded with a dry laugh. “I had a lot to drink while I was waiting for you to come. Really took you a while.”

“Well, I told you. A kid got loose with crayons. What could be more important than that?”

Jaebum walked around the counter when you reached it and, for a moment, the two of you stood there, barely a meter in between you, your cheerful expressions mirroring each other.

“I’d have thought I’d be more important than that,” he replied.

“That being my job, right?” you countered playfully. “Or are you saying that, since you’re one step away from becoming a worldwide star, you’re going to start paying for everything I need?”

He laughed at this, making you chuckle as well. The sounds merged together just like your heartbeats had last night.

“I’m glad that didn’t change about us,” Jaebum said, taking a step closer to you and removing the distance between you by leisurely wrapping his arms around your waist.

It was an unexpected gesture – although, you did wonder if he’d initiate any form of PDA now that he was no longer drunk – but your heart continued to shed itself into a thousand more pieces of pure excitement as your hands found their way around his neck.

“What changed, then?” you dared to ask.

“Well, for instance, now I can do this,” he spoke before supplying you with an example of pressing his lips to yours in a brief but soft kiss, “and then I don’t have to watch you question your entire existence, wondering what this means.”

You were almost offended. “I did not question—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off with a smile. “I did, too.”

The sense of shame simmered down as soon as you saw him smile, but you still shook your head, leaning it against his shoulder as he exhaled deeply. The two of you were standing there, holding each other in your arms at six in the morning, both of your minds full of memories of last night as your seemingly never-changing apartment attempted to engulf you in the good old routine. By all means, this was a somewhat usual beginning of your day, and yet, at the same time, it felt as if your souls had entered a different realm where nothing was the same anymore, while your bodies remained right where they used to be.

Having breakfast together – even if you’ve already done it countless times before – felt different. Bantering over your bowls of cereal – like you’ve done each time you ate together – felt different, too. Even arguing about who was going to take the shower first – cue a whole bunch of suggestive comments from Jaebum – wasn’t the same, either. But it was a good sort of different. The sort of different that most people didn’t realize they were seeking. The sort of different that, once found—once felt—would never allow you to return back to what was once normal.

And, although this subtle change was frightening, you welcomed it with open arms because it was time. Because you were finally ready for it. You were so sick of the same old routine, painting every single day of your life in the same old black and white. You knew you’d never be satisfied if you had to return to the monochrome world because your soul – that seemed to have been sleeping for what felt like years – had awoken to introduce you to a whole new palette of colors. And, as you unconsciously realized, the most beautiful shade of all was sitting across from you in your shared kitchen.

“What are you thinking about?” Jaebum asked after he noticed your lips stretch into a smile.

“Hmm?” you shook your thoughts off to focus on his words. “Nothing.”

“Yeah?” he knew you weren’t being honest. “You were smiling.”

“I’m always smiling,” you retorted.

“No, you’re not. You’re not a morning person.”

You raised your head from your bowl of cereal and tried to shrug your shoulders in a nonchalant way. “Maybe I am now.”

Jaebum liked to hear this but he still couldn’t help but push you further, “what brought this change upon?”

The shameless flirting was nothing new to either of you and yet all that had happened last night seemed to change the meaning of this, too.

“Not sure,” you teased. “There might be this guy I’m into. He might have a very annoying ability to completely control my mood.”

“Powerful guy,” Jaebum was beaming. “Do I know him?”

“Probably,” you nodded. “He’s a musician. You must have heard his song on the radio the other night.”

“The other night, you say? Sorry,” he shook his head, playing along. “There are only a few things I remember from last night and none of them involve listening to the radio.”

“Oh, yeah?” you couldn’t resist the silly grin on your face now. “What things do you remember, then?”

“Not many but, funnily enough, you’re a part of all of them.”

“That is funny.”

“Hmm.”

Your mouths had stopped talking, allowing your gazes to convey the words instead as the two of you battled each other in an unexpected stare-off, your eyes full of fondness.

Just as Jaebum was standing up to do something – and your heart had leaped to your throat – you heard a scratching sound on the front door of the apartment. Confused, you both frowned and turned in the direction of your hallway.

“What was that?” you asked.

It was possible that you’ve simply imagined the noise – an auditory hallucination wasn’t something that would have surprised you, knowing how Jaebum managed to make the rest of the world disappear for you each time his eyes landed on yours – but then the doorbell rang. Someone was definitely at your door.

However, when a moment later, Jaebum moved to actually open it, there was no one there. No one, but a lonely gray envelope, laying on your doormat.

“This looks like a letter,” he called out to you, closing the door and bringing the envelope inside as you waited in the kitchen, the same confused expression on your face.

“A letter?” you raised your eyebrows. “They hand-deliver advertisements now?”

“It’s—I don’t think it’s an advertisement,” Jaebum said, his eyes widening as he read the writing on the envelope. “It’s addressed to you.”

He didn’t mention whom it was from but the look on his face alarmed you as you grabbed the letter from him and took a look at it yourself. It had your name on it indeed but that wasn’t what made your stomach clench. It was the outgoing address – it belonged to one of the out-of-town galleries that you’d had submitted your portfolio to.

“They sent me a letter,” you said pointlessly as it was obvious that Jaebum had already reached the same conclusion. “W-why would they send me a letter?”

“Maybe it’s kind of like college admissions?” he suggested.

“Don’t they send those through e-mail now, too?”

“I don’t know,” he waved his hand dismissively, then. “Open it.”

To say you were anxious would have been an understatement of massive proportions. Somehow, you managed to locate a butterknife and rip the sealing of the envelope off with shaky hands. Jaebum was this close to doing it for you before you managed to cut it open yourself but he stood back, knowing that this might have been a monumental moment in your life and it was best if you did everything yourself while he cheered you on from the sidelines just like you’d done for him before.

“There’s one sheet of paper inside,” you stated, lifting your scared eyes to look at him. “There’s no way they’re expressing their wish to work with me on that thin sheet of—”

“You won’t know unless you check,” Jaebum pointed out. “And, besides, I don’t think they’d go through this much trouble of sending a rejection letter.”

That was true. More often than not, when it came to jobs, internships, and exhibitions, the managers didn’t even bother with replying if they weren’t interested in you. It was always upsetting and disappointing not to hear back from them but you thought you’ve already gotten used to that. Now, however, you were sure the wave of disappointment was going to swallow you whole if the contents of the letter indeed proved to be unfavorable.

Taking a deep breath, you finally pulled the letter out of the envelope and, after another few more moments spared to calm yourself down as much as you could, you unfolded the sheet of paper and quickly scanned through the words.

They’ve misspelled your last name – that was the first thing you noticed. Or, perhaps, it was you who’d misspelled that in your hurry to get the portfolios out as quickly as possible.

But even in spite of that harrowing mistake written in bold letters at the top of the page, the following sentences clenched your heart. It was the words, “we would love to meet you,” however, that squeezed it so hard, you gasped.

“What?” Jaebum was by your side in a millisecond. “What does it say?”

He didn’t dare to read it over your shoulder and he didn’t have to because as soon as he finished the question, you were suddenly leaping into the air, your features decorated by an expression that could only be described as completely euphoric.

“They said they’d like to meet me,” you squealed out, the letter getting crunched up in your tight grip. “Shit, they said they’d like to meet me!”

“T-they—that’s good!” Jaebum followed your excited eyes with his as you re-read the letter. “Isn’t it? That’s a start!”

“It is,” you confirmed, already having seen this play out at your own gallery. If a photographer was personally invited to meet – and in a letter, no less! – then, chances were, unless he was an absolute scumbag, he was going to get his work exhibited there. “T-they want me to call them to arrange a meeting.”

“Well, do that!” he encouraged, nearly handing you his own phone. “Go! Do it right now!”

“I-I—yes,” you blinked, suddenly glad you had Jaebum in the room with you because his orders helped you get yourself together and pull away from the letter long enough to look around the kitchen for your phone. You picked it up once you found it on the island and then glanced back at the piece of paper in your hands. “Okay. I’ll do it. Am I shaking?”

“Yeah, a little,” Jaebum said, not resisting a smile. You looked painstakingly beautiful in that moment as you were gripping the edges of the letter—of your future—so tightly, he had a feeling the paper was going to rip. But the look in your eyes – the utter excitement, the hope, and the undeniable joy – was making him wish he’d been the photographer so he could have captured this moment and kept it in his heart forever. “Maybe take some time to breathe first, okay? Just a quick minute.”

“Right,” you nodded, inhaling sharply and then exhaling through your mouth. “Okay. Breathing.”

You were obviously having a hard time doing this mundane task so he extended his arms. “Come here.”

You were so far lost in the excitement and the anxiety of this that you merely glanced at him before allowing him to drown you in the smell of his cologne as he embraced you for the second time this morning.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered, gently pressing his lips to your temple in a gesture so intimate, you thought your lungs were truly going to give up on you this time.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” you replied, your voice as shaky as your heart. “Maybe they won’t like me after they meet me.”

“That’s not possible,” Jaebum countered, his arms – wrapped tightly around you – the only thing stopping you from exploding. “They will love you. And if they won’t, then they’re getting their asses kicked.”

You chuckled softly against his chest, working hard on your breathing but still struggling. “Your damsel in distress plan, right? Am I it for this week, too?”

He laughed, surprised that you’d remembered the joke he’d made in his studio a few days ago.

“You’re it for every week,” he said, completely serious.

You shook your head against his shoulder. “You’re not helping me calm down at all.”

Jaebum was laughing again as he asked, “what do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you replied and then, as an afterthought, added in a quiet voice, “just hold me.”

“Okay,” he whispered back, his own heart picking up speed at your request, as he pressed your body against his own harder, leaving no space for anxiety or worry between you. “I’m here.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’ve already accomplished quite a few tasks – you’ve managed to calm your breathing down, even if that had seemed impossible, and you’ve also found a way to leave Jaebum’s embrace and retreat to your room where you spent the next ten minutes, staring at the phone number on the letter before finally daring to dial it.

A pleasant female voice picked up, asking how could she be of assistance. Once you introduced yourself, she asked you to hold, and another minute later, her voice sounded even more pleasant. She made it seem like you were the most important person that had ever called and you wondered if she actually enjoyed this job – customer service was never easy and yet she made you feel genuinely welcome as she told you about how the owner of the gallery and the team of managers were excited to meet you -- or if that was very realistic acting.

“Oh, to be honest, I’d say it’s me who’s most excited,” you said with a soft chuckle. “I’m very grateful for your offer.”

“It’s our pleasure!” she replied. “Would you prefer for the meeting to take place on a work day, or would Saturday work better?”

You glanced back at the envelope. The address of the gallery didn’t seem familiar to you and, with a nervous pang in your chest, you realized that this could have been the gallery that wasn’t just out of town, but was actually across the whole country from you. You’d chosen it because they promised a helpful and welcoming environment for young artists – and so far they haven’t disappointed – but you didn’t really think this gallery was going to be the first one – and, maybe, the only one – who would contact you.

“Uh, Saturday would be ideal,” you said, knowing that you’d have less trouble if you didn’t have to skip work. Then, however, you realized that your car was still at the car service. “Oh, actually, if it’s not too much trouble, could it be next week? I’m—”

“Ah, I’m very sorry, we’re all booked for next week,” she cut you off, sounding still as sweet as ever. “There’s an exhibition by the graduating class of a university nearby. You’re welcome to attend it – the opening night is on Wednesday – but the only available Saturday is this week, I’m sorry. Does that work for you? Or should I look into—ah, well, there’s a spot three weeks from now.”

Three weeks from now was a long time away, you could feel it in the change of her voice. You didn’t think you could wait that long and it was likely that the gallery would change its mind in that time, too. Maybe someone else – someone more eager to meet them and get their exhibition there – would impress them before you even got a chance to see them.

“No, it’s fine,” you decided. “This Saturday will work great. I’ll find a way to come.”

“Very well,” the receptionist replied and you heard her click away at her computer. “Is noon, okay?”

“Yes,” you said. “Twelve o’clock. Works for me.”

Just as pleasantly as she’d spoken before, the receptionist explained how to find the gallery and you realized with horror that you’d have to spend at least a quarter of a day just driving there, not to mention the trip back.

You thanked her again and then, even before you hung up, collapsed on your bed with a loud groan. This was good – you had an interview about your exhibition. It was more than good – it seemed like you were walking step-by-step with Jaebum, both of you slowly approaching your dreams – and yet you couldn’t help but feel like something was bound to go wrong.

Aside from the gallery being a six-hour drive away from you, you were probably going to have to take a bus to get there – or you could beg the guys at the car service to give your car back to you faster but you decided to leave that as a plan B – which meant you’d have to either leave the night before and rent a room in a dingy motel – and hopefully not die there – or you’d have to leave early morning on Saturday.

All of that seemed worth it, you knew it. And yet, the sudden surge of worries overwhelmed you.

“Hey,” you heard a knock on your door and Jaebum poked his head inside. After noticing that you weren’t on the phone anymore, he dared to step into your room. “What did they say?”

You straightened up and sat down properly. “They want to see me on Saturday.”

“That’s great!” he exclaimed, his face breaking into a grin. He was about to cross the room to reach you but then he paused mid-step. “Wait—this Saturday?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

“That’s in two days,” Jaebum pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Oh,” he considered this, finally reaching your bed and sitting down next to you. He was having a hard time reading your facial expression, which hadn’t happened that many times before. “That’s great, though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course,” you nodded, sighing. Maybe you were just ungrateful for the opportunity suddenly tossed your way – you were feeling far too burdened by the number of things you had to do in order to make this opportunity appear more realistic -- but you couldn’t help it. “Except I have a problem.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“This gallery, it—it’s six hours away from here,” you started, “my car’s at the service. I can’t pick it up until Monday. And now I have two days to find a way to get to the interview that my entire future depends on. But, you know, no pressur—”

“I can take you.”

You stopped, his interruption taking you off guard. “What?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged as he always did whenever he offered something that included him going out of his way for you. “I’m not doing anything, anyway.”

“Jaebum, it’s a six-hour drive in one direction,” you reminded him. “Six more hours to come ba—”

“I know how math works,” he deadpanned. “And you’re lucky, my weekend’s free. I’m all yours.”

You haven’t even considered asking him to do this but now that he’d volunteered his help, your heart was bursting with gratitude. “You’d really do this?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “A road-trip. Why not?”

“A road-trip,” you repeated, biting your lip. You appreciated his offer more than you were letting on but you were still doubtful. “It’s six hours, though. I could fly over there but it’s so last minute—”

“Okay, now you’re starting to make it seem like you don’t want me to take you there,” Jaebum said in a laid-back voice.

“No. No, not at all,” you shook your head. “I just don’t want to make you do something like this because t-this is big. This isn’t like you making my lunch so I wouldn’t starve at work - which I’m also very grateful for, by the way - this is... this is on a whole different level. But, honestly, I appreciate you offering so much I could kiss you.”

“Oh,” he straightened. “Well, that sounds interesting. Should we discuss forms of payment, then?”

You laughed in surprise. “I thought you were going to do this as a favor.”

“I was but then you mentioned kissing,” Jaebum replied, “and now I feel like I can’t pass up on an offer like that.”

Encouraged by the excited glint in his eyes, you leaned into him to press a gentle kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“Thank you,” you told him, your voice genuine.

Jaebum’s face, however, was skeptical. “That was the promised kiss?”

“Uh—”

“That’ll take you one and a half kilometers.”

Raising your eyebrows, you watched the challenging look on his face with surprise evident on yours. He was really going to milk this.

Sighing – purely for dramatic effect – you leaned back into him and kissed him again, harder this time, your lips lingering on his for a second longer. You felt him smile into the kiss as soon as you began to pull away.

“Not bad,” he commented. “Three more kilometers.”

You shook your head, laughing. “How long are we going to do this?”

“Ah, well, let’s see. Six hours, that’s about, what – five hundred or so kilometers?” he replied, an excited glint in his eye. “You’ve got four and a half down already.”

“That’s a long way to go,” you said, your heart speeding as it always did whenever he was close.

“Yeah, but we’ve got a lot of time,” he replied after glancing at the watch on his wrist.

“I have to get to work eventually,” you reminded him, watching his smile turn into a pout.

“I’m never a priority for you, am I?”

The needy tone in his voice made your smile widen before you pecked his lips one more time, earning a soft, “one more kilometer” from him.

“You have to work, too, Mr. Pop Star,” you said, standing up from your bed so you could actually finish getting ready now.

“Oh God,” Jaebum groaned, the nickname not sitting right. “Please don’t call me that again.”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, that’s fair. I made myself cringe with that one, too.”

You’ve taken one step in the direction of the door of your room – actually hoping to get ready on time – but Jaebum grabbed your wrist, stopping you and pulling you into him for one last kiss before he let you leave. The number of random kisses that had increased from two to over twenty was starting to make you dizzy, but you kissed him back nevertheless, understanding that you were probably going to be late for work, but not finding enough strength to stay away from him.

“See you later tonight?” Jaebum asked after you finally managed to pull away.

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to catch your breath. “Always.”

chapter directory

#got7 #got7 fanfiction #im jaebum #got7 jb #got7 jaebum #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 scenarios #got7 au #kpop #got7 x reader #got7 fluff #im jaebum fanfiction #jaebum fanfiction #jaebum fanfic #got7 fanfic #holic #roommate au #enemies to lovers au

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dreamingoffairys · 7 years

Text

True Beauty (Chapter 2)

AO3: Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Yes, I know. What the fuck Ever? It’s been ages since you’ve posted anything! And wasn’t True Beauty just a oneshot? A oneshot you wrote like...a year ago?

Yes. I did write the original oneshot a year ago. Buuut then I got inspired and ran with it. I edited chapter one, by the way, so if you ever read the original oneshot, you should go click on the link above and re-read chapter one. The edits are super subtle, but important. And if you haven’t read chapter 1, you’re going to need to in order to understand this chapter.

(You can skip this author’s note if you want, but it’s pretty important explaining my intentions with this story. But I get it if you don’t wanna read all that, I’m rambly.)

I’ve had an idea in mind for a long time, and I decided to go for it. I've noticed there's a lot of stories, particularly in this fandom, that portray depression totally wrong. Now, it isn't necessarily the author's fault: depression is a hard thing to write and understand when you haven't experienced it yourself. That's part of why I've decided to write this story. I have depression and anxiety myself, and not only is this story a great coping method, it's also a way to show people who may not fully understand mental illness what it's like being in our heads. I also hope to portray how society treats mentally ill people: especially schools. I'm trying to show the signs you can look out for, how to help a mentally ill person, and how sometimes, people truly are oblivious.

Of course, this means this story is going to be a difficult read at times. The first scene in this chapter could be potentially very triggering, and perhaps there will be more scenes like this, or even more graphic scenes. I'm not going to sugarcoat anything. Things may not have gotten this bad for me, but I've seen it happen to many close to me. Too much media romanticizes mental illness, thinks that a relationship can cure it. News flash: people in relationships may be happier, but nothing can magically cure mental illness. It takes time, a lot of hard work, and potentially medication.

In summary, I'm trying to portray this as realistic as possible. This is a very extreme case, so not everyone who is mentally ill will act like Rogue does, but I figured after a chapter like the first, Rogue's situation is a difficult one. His actions also add to the common misconceptions that depressed people are just lazy or bad students.

I am not perfect in any means, there will likely be some inaccuracies or in some spots it'll be a bit dramatic. But that's to be expected, as no author can write something completely and totally flawless, no matter how informed they are.

Without further ado, Chapter Two of True Beauty: You're Proud, but I'm Getting Nowhere. I hope you enjoy.

WARNING: SELF HARM. SKIP THE FIRST SCENE IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

A leaky faucet in a bathroom illuminated only by the sliver of moonlight spills icy cold onto pale skin, scratched like fragile porcelain. The clear purity is disrupted by crimson, the heat disrupting the flow of liquid cold, a dance of fire and ice. Only a hiss of recognition and the dripping of water from rusted pipes whispers through the silence of the night, so late that it was early, a cold dark silence that engulfs those inside it with an almost protective embrace.

A pure white sheet descends on stained silver, staining red until the sharp edge shines in the moonlight, reflecting the eyes of its owner, dark as the thick liquid that flows down his skin. The sheet falls into the still water encased in porcelain, only to be taken away in a swirling pattern, sucked out of sight with a single flush.

The deadly sharpness that glimmers with a strangely appealing beauty is hidden away, concealed by a zipper, then shoved behind piles of meaningless things humans insisted on pampering themselves with. Out of sight, out of mind...and yet, his fingers felt empty without it, twitching in the need to retrieve it again, to feel the weight of guilt and release in his palms, to feel it's sharpened edge bring him to actually know pain instead of remembering it.

As he slips out behind the closed door, minding the creaking hinge, the numbness is back, starting at his fingertips and spreading throughout his blood, not hot, not cold, not anything.

As his head hits the sunken, tear stained pillow, his fingers trace the fresh lines that pattern his skin, almost artistic against the paleness of his underarms, a little splash of color to give him something to look at, to remind himself he is still moving, that he can feel the slightest bit of something.

His battle scars. For the first time in the dead of night, the corner of his mouth twitches as if to smile. It did not come, only a single tear, but as he pulls black fabric over the visual pain, he does not feel shame, only exhaustion from today’s fight, the enemy he could not defeat. Tomorrow was a new fight, and he would be ready with words of steel and eyes of resolute determination. Tomorrow...is a new chance for renewal.

The day breaks and Sting Eucliffe is awake the moment the sun rises above the horizon, blue eyes wide and body filled with restless energy. He had a reason to dress up today, and a reason to be excited for school, which is a rarity saved for field trips and movie days, which happened maybe twice a semester.

He had a boyfriend. It was something hard to believe or process, for their school is 97% straight and all of the gay guys are taken. Not only was he in a relationship now, but it was with Rogue. Rogue, whom he’d been crushing on since he’d found out his sexuality, although sometimes it seemed it was even before that. Rogue, who crinkles up his nose when he laughs, whose eyes smile when he scolds you for silly little things, whose laugh could make anyone’s little gay heart melt.

“Sting!” his mother calls from upstairs. “Are you dressed? Normally you’re down by now!”

Sting blinks rapidly and slowly comes to the realization that he’s been dazedly lying on the floor in his boxers daydreaming of Rogue for fifteen minutes. “Fuck whyyyy?!” he whines, cursing his sappy brain and climbing up off the carpet. “Coming Mum!”

He throws on a pink t-shirt, white shorts, his converse, and slides two hair-clips into his hair. By “dress-up” he simply meant wear clothes that showed himself off, like the tightness of this shirt and pants, and then the hair clips for a bit of a cute flare. He skips down the stairs and screeches into the kitchen, taking the wheat toast with butter and cinnamon sugar from his mother’s hands. “Thanks Mum!” he beams.

She chuckles happily as he devours it down, moving to move her husband’s dishes into the sink. “You’re awfully cheerful today.” She smiles at the hairclips, adding, “And you’re dressed all cute… Hmm…” She puts on a fake pondering expression. “Could it be that my little boy is trying to...impress someone?”

“Oho, no need, my dear mother,” Sting grins, setting his plate into the sink. “Already impressed ‘im.”

She laughs, ruffling his hair, to which he loudly protests. “I should've known. I knew you could do it. You two have been so close for so long it was only a matter of time…”

“Yeah, well, I really-wait, how did you know it was Rogue?”

Mrs. Eucliffe laughs joyously. “I just said anyone could’ve seen it coming, didn't I?”

“True,” Sting shrugs, checking the clock on the oven. “Time for me to head out. I hope I can catch Rogue so he doesn’t have to walk alone.”

“You do that, sweetheart,” his mother smiles warmly. “Your father wanted me to tell you to have a good day today and good luck on your test!”

Sting freezes, eyes widening. “Test? Oh shit .” He bolts out of the house as fast as he can, trying not to show his desperation. His feet hit the sidewalk as he moves in the direction of the High School. He sees a familiar figure slightly up the street from him, shoulders hunched in that same gray sweatshirt as always.

Sting runs up behind him, throwing an arm around him and placing a big, sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Rogue~!” he says cheerfully.

Rogue turns his head sharply, looking over at Sting with wide eyes. “O-Oh, hi.” He blushes shyly, eyes downcast out of embarrassment.

“Hi beautiful,” Sting flirts, kissing Rogue’s cheek again and watching the red flood his cheeks. “How are you this morning?”

“Not good…” Rogue mumbles, and Sting’s face falls. “This is kinda cheesy but...it's better now that you're here with me.”

“I love cheesy,” Sting smiles, brushing Rogue’s hair from his eyes. “I am the definition of cheesy, after all.”

“You're the definition of dork is what you are,” Rogue replies softly, and Sting giggles in response. They were nearing the campus now, and Sting takes Rogue’s hand in his and swings their joined fingers.

A rough voice suddenly sounds in their ears as a group of three other teenagers approaches them. “Hey there, Cheney,” one of them sneers.

Rogue freezes up beside Sting, hands shaking slightly. Sting instantly senses trouble. His eyes narrow as he shoots the trio his scariest glare, jaw set and face turned in a fierce scowl.

The boy gulps. “Wh-Whoa, not trying to start something or anything...just sayin’ hi to a classmate.” The three of them quickly rush off, leaving the couple alone on the sidewalk.

Rogue turns to look at Sting in amazement. “How did you do that…?”

“My scariest glare,” Sting throws an arm around Rogue’s shoulder and continues to walk with him towards the front of the school. “But it also was a little bit of the secret art of ‘Touch My Boyfriend and I’ll Fuck You Up’, which emits a magical aura of fear-”

“Shut up!” Rogue laughs, elbowing Sting in the ribs. Sting’s heart flutters, because like always, Rogue looked beautiful blushing and laughing. There is relief on his features not there before, the pressure those three boys put upon him lifted from his burdened shoulders.

Sting smiles softly, “Don’t you worry, Rogue. I’ve got you.” He squeezes Rogue’s hand tightly. “No matter what happens, I’ve got your back.”

Rogue smiles thinly, “You sure you want to have that job…?” He looks down at his feet, shoes shuffling against the pavement. “You’ve basically just signed yourself up for a world of hurt.”

“I know,” Sting says boldly, staring straight forward. The clear morning sky felt refreshing both on his lungs and his eyes. “I’m prepared to do pretty much anything to get you smiling like that again. I miss it. You look beautiful.”

Rogue flushes again, “Would you stop? We just started dating and you’re already pouring it on like it’s been a year.”

Sting shrugs, “I mean...it almost has been many.”

“Oh, shut up.” Rogue bares the hint of a smile. “You were too cowardly to say anything.”

As they approach the school together, Sting can feel eyes on them, as well as whispers. Instead of shying away, Sting simply stands taller and prouder as if to say: hell yeah, that’s my boyfriend. I bet you’re jealous .

“I’ll walk you to your first class, okay?” Sting pecks Rogue’s cheek softly, then squeezes his hand.

“Are you showing off right now?” Rogue asks, raising an eyebrow. “I know you can see the people staring.”

“Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Sting looks genuinely concerned, stopping for a moment to look into his eyes.

Rogue looks away shyly, “You know I don’t like people staring at me…”

“I’m sorry,” Sting mumbles, dropping his hand. “I’m excited, that’s all…”

“I know,” Rogue takes Sting’s hand again. “This is fine...let’s just keep walking…”

Sting smiles and squeezes his hand, then starts walking towards Rogue’s class. Rogue leans on Sting slightly, breathing uneasy, eyes drooping. Sting watches Rogue’s expression, seeing the exhaustion written all over his face, both physical and emotional. It must’ve been another bad night… Sting bites his lip, feeling awful and wishing he could’ve helped. I should ask to stay the night again soon...hold him all night so he feels safe…

The bell rings loudly, snapping the couple out of their daze. Sting awkwardly turns to Rogue, “Well uh...yeah. I’ll seeya later...bye…”

To Sting’s surprise, Rogue takes the riskier move. “I love you.”

Sting blushes brightly, ducking his head slightly, “I love you too, Rogue…” His hand hesitates, fingers brushing against Rogue’s palm as he slowly pulls away and walks down the hall alone.

Rogue sat silently in his desk, pencil tapping against his hand to try and calm his nerves. Usually, he would listen to music to calm himself down, but this teacher was rather strict and didn’t allow it. It caused mild turmoil in him, stuck in a weird limbo of trying to find some inner peace on his own while also longing for the rush of sound to block out the foreboding silence.

Rogue wants to smile, but his mind is too full of anxieties to allow that. But he doesn’t let it win today, not yet, at least. Rogue closes his eyes and remembers Sting’s flustered reaction to those powerful three words: I love you . Rogue said them without even a moment’s hesitation, heart certain and strong. Scared of everything else in his life, this was the one thing Rogue would not shy away from.

Sting meant everything to him. Rogue wanted Sting to know that, he wanted him to see how much love his broken heart could hold. It was bursting at the seams where it had been stitched, ripped long ago by people who did not take care to cherish it. But in this case, Rogue didn’t mind. The warmth of love, like thick blood, flowed like power into his veins, like gasoline finally being pumped into an old, worn down machine. Now all they needed was some happiness to oil the rusted gears.

Easier said than done , Rogue thinks to himself, fidgeting with the sleeve of his favorite sweatshirt, trying to conceal any trace of the mess of bandages stuck to his scarred skin.

The class drags on and on, the class working in almost eerie silence on their worksheets, the only sound besides the click of calculators and the scritch scratch of pencils being a soft tick...tock...tick...tock . That sound was the only thing keeping Rogue tethered to reality, an echoing sound that resonated in his mind, helping him slow the agitated heartbeat within his chest that would not cease.

His fingers twitched. His eyes were unfocused and empty. His breathing was uneven and shallow. He wanted his music. He needed his music. He needed an escape.

A loud gasp escapes his lips at the sound of someone dropping a pencil, breaking the silence. Rogue sits bolt upright in his seat, loudly dropping his own pencil against the desk. It felt like all eyes were on him when he stood up, legs weak and unable to support his weight, hands and fingers twitching and shaking, eyes darting everywhere, trying to avoid looking at anyone’s face. I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here now.

Mrs. Johanson frowns, standing up and peering over the rim of her glasses. “Is there a problem, Mr. Cheney?”

Something she said made it worse. Rogue wasn’t sure if it was the words, the tone of voice, or the fact she was drawing more and more attention to him, the silence breaking down into pieces, with him the sole source of the chaos.

Rogue tries to speak, tries to stammer out an excuse concerning the bathroom or feeling sick. But the only sound that comes out is a strangled half-sob, and before he knows what is happening, his fingers are hooking around his backpack, and he bolts out the door.

“MR. CHENEY! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!”

Rogue knows he should’ve left his backpack: now she’d think he was just skipping class for a joyride. But he needed his music...he was not going to leave it behind. Still running, Rogue’s left hand scrambles around in his backpack until his fingers coil around the tangled mess of black wires, fishing out his earbuds from the mess of paper and old wrappers. Dragged out with them, his phone nearly drops to the trash-littered cement below.

Mrs. Johnason stopped chasing him. Rogue would be relieved, but he knows this school too well to be fooled by that. She called the hall patrol, perhaps the on-campus police officer. This wouldn’t be the first time. He had been suspected of drugs once before, because of his weird, spastic freakouts and spacy behavior. But they had found nothing but piles and piles of crumpled pieces of paper, covered in frantic handwriting grouped into incoherent scribbles. Look all they like, but they would never find the source of Rogue’s supposed insanity.

The chaos is all in his head, after all.

Rogue finds himself outside of the art classrooms, one of the quietest, most isolated places in the entire school. There was an old supply shed out of use now, supposed to be locked tight with a coded lock impossible to crack. But desperation had overtaken Rogue one day, and he’d fumbled with the lock until he found the code just by chance. It was one of the few miracles that kept him alive.

Quickly inputting the code now embedded in his mind, 7246 , he pushes open the old, creaky door, and steps inside. The shed looks the same as always: dark with only a single stream of light flowing through the small window near the roof. Cans of old paint, tubs of broken crayons, buckets of painted rocks and cracked busts...the room provides a surprising amount of comfort.

Jamming the earbuds into his ears and turning on his headspace playlist, he sits down amongst the pencil shavings and paint chips and closes his eyes, back hitting the old wooden wall behind him. He didn’t care how long he was here now, didn’t care if they called home to report his absence, didn’t care if people panicked and called the police. They would never find him here, he was sure of it. He was simply a shadow on the wall, melting into the darkness effortlessly. They thought this shed hadn’t been opened in years, and it was their ignorance, that for once, kept him safe.

Rogue breathes in slowly, smelling wood and old paint. He finds it soothing, in a way, to know that creativity used to be born here, amongst the wood shavings and dim sunlight.

Rogue feels a bit of sweat on his brow, the warm, stuffy surroundings catching up with him. Nervously he removes the sweatshirt he always wore, trembling slightly at the sight of the revealed bandages plastered to his underarms. Biting his lip, he reminds himself he is alone here, alone and safe from judgemental, preying eyes.

Usually, Rogue sets an alarm so that he could go to his next class, but today is not one of those days. Instead, he shuts his eyes and lets himself slip into a meditative state, trying to think of nothing as music washes over him and drowns out all of the shit in his mind.

Sting hears whispers and rumors bouncing from mouth to mouth all throughout the hallways. Something about it felt wrong, far too familiar. Normally, Sting only butts into gossip if it was something that interested him (which was not very often: in his point of view, the lives of teenage girls are boring as hell) but there was something about this that felt important.

“Yeah, apparently he just jumped out of his seat, grabbed his backpack, and bolted,” a girl with pink lipstick on smirking lips says to her friend.

“Maybe he really is on drugs,” laughs the friend, rolling her brown eyes. “I mean, I know the school searched him and found nothing, but maybe he does ‘em before he gets to school, then sneaks out at lunch to a dealer somewhere down the street.”

The usual drug rumors did not spike Sting’s interest. He turns away, about to head towards his locker, when a single word stops him in his tracks.

“Yeah, what an emo freak.”

Sting whirls around immediately, mind flashing back to the night before. “- the bullies pull me behind the school and call me a faggot and beat me for being the worthless trashy gay emo piece of shit that I am-!”

Sting immediately gets in their faces, preparing to intimidate and defend, “Who are you talking about?!”

One of the girls yelps and jumps back, but the one with pink lipstick smiles flirtatiously at him. Sting controls the urge to roll his eyes. Great, another girl fishing for what she knows isn’t there.

“Who? Oh, just that weirdass guy in my first period who’s probably on drugs.”

Sting grits his teeth, his hands curling into fists at his side. This girl is pushing all my buttons... “What’s his name?”

“Rogue Cheney,” she replied easily. “I thought you’d know that by now, considering half the school’s in a bu-”

Sting growls and grabs the front of her shirt, “Shut the fuck up! Rogue’s not on fucking drugs, okay?! I know this for a fact! Ever consider that your words are what’s causing all this shit?”

She snorts loudly, not looking intimidated in the slightest. “Oh Sting, baby, let me guess.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Sting growls, eyes narrowing even more.

“You’re gay for him, aren’t you?” she laughs, acting like this is some sick joke, like she’s trying to insult him. “You could do so much better than trash like th-”

Sting can’t help himself, losing it immediately and punching her straight on the jaw. “MAYBE I FUCKING AM! SO SHUT IT!”

Multiple people scream, stepping back from the scene with wide eyes. A few others whip out their cellphones and start recording. The girl Sting hits falls to the ground, blood streaming out of her split lip, eyes wide in rage.

“YOU BASTARD!” she screams, getting to her feet, trying to wipe the blood off of her face. She springs at him, trying to use her nails to scrape up his face, but he grabs her by the wrist and shoves her back to the ground.

“Don’t you DARE touch me!” Sting shouts, trying to stop the tears from falling. No one fucking understands...all of these people...they’re just making it worse. Addressing the crowd, he shouts, “If any of you wanna end up just like her, go ahead, keep talking shit!”

Eyes widen all around the hallway, holding their phones up and continuing to get it all on record. Sting hears shouting and the sound of teachers and hall monitors running towards the scene.

After that, everything is a blur. Dragged to the principal’s office, they sit Sting in a chair in front of the principal’s desk and leave him there. Sting looks down at the dried blood on his fist, cursing his own lack of impulse control. He used to get in trouble all the time before high school for fighting, and he’d been doing so much better since he arrived here. But that bitch’s words had brought him back, and he’d been unable to help himself from shutting her up like many others before her.

Principal Poher peers over his desk at Sting, sighing softly. “Sting Eucliffe...I thought you’d fixed this.”

“So had I,” Sting says softly. He looks up at the principal straight in the eyes. “But I don’t regret it, Sir.”

Poher groans. “Sting, you need to learn that punching people is not the way to solve problems.”

“They did the one thing I can never accept...” Sting does not break eye contact. “Anyone who hurts Rogue deserves it.”

Sting watches as the principal sighs again heavily, leaning back in his chair and looking highly disappointed. “Rogue breaks a lot of school rules as well, Sting. I’m not surprised the school’s talking about him.”

“They bully him,” Sting grits his teeth, “they bully him like we’re back in middle school! It’s immature, rude, and if they would shut their damn mouths then maybe Rogue could actually handle being in class!”

Poher’s expression darkens. “Sting. That is Rogue’s business, not yours. If he’s having a problem, he needs to come talk to us himself.”

“Am I not allowed to defend my best friend? My boyfriend?!” Sting snaps back, anger rising in his chest. “All the anti-bullying stuff around this school says to not be a bystander, to stick up for those in trouble! But once I do that, I get in trouble, and nothing changes!”

“What we mean by that is to come tell an authority.” The principal starts filling out a form, not looking at Sting, having given up.

“You just said he has to come tell you himself!” Sting shouts, standing up and shaking angrily.

“Sit down, Sting!” Poher commands, and Sting falls back into his seat with venom in his eyes. Clutching the seat’s armrests with both hands, Sting tries to contain his anger and stop the shaking. “Sting, please listen to me.” Poher’s eyes are fixed upon the boy’s face, and Sting refuses to break eye contact, not backing down. “If someone was bullying Rogue to his face, if someone was physically hurting him, and you came to me with names and evidence, we would put a stop to it. Rogue has not been seen since his little stunt this morning-”

“Wait, what?!” Sting cries, sitting up straighter in the chair. “Rogue’s missing?!”

The principal groans softly, “I shouldn’t have said that. But yes, Rogue is currently missing.”

Sting jumps out of his chair and heads for the door, “I’ve got to find him, he could be in trouble-!” Sting grabs the door and tries to open it, only to realize it’s locked. “Dammit!”

“Sting.” Poher’s voice is surprisingly calm. “You cannot go around punching people anymore, unless it is self-defense. If someone is bullying Rogue, have him come to me. It’s just difficult to take your side of the story as pure fact when you are this riled up and Rogue is missing, breaking school rules. If you both come in later this week, I will have a talk with you.”

Sting hangs his head, shaking violently. “P-Please let me go look for Rogue...likely, he doesn’t want to be found...a-and when he doesn’t want to be found, n-no one’s gonna be able to find him but me...I-I’m the only person he trusts...please…”

Poher sighs softly. “I’m sorry, Sting.” He pushes the form out in front of him. “I’m afraid we have to suspend you for two days for fighting. Stay here, and I’ll call your mom.”

“N-No!” Sting tugs on the door again. “Y-You have to let me out, R-Rogue could be in danger-”

“We have people looking for him now,” the principal says slowly. “I’m calling your mother, Sting. Please sit down and stay as calm as you can. Rogue is going to be alright.”

Sting sinks back into the chair, holding back angry tears. Suspended? Rogue’s going to be alone at school for two days… That is, unless he gets suspended too…

“C-Can I text him…?” Sting whispers, but Poher has already picked up the phone to call Sting’s mother. Biting down on his lip hard, Sting sinks into himself and picks at the dried blood caked onto his fist. Why do all of his attempts to help just make everything worse? Rogue was in a bad place, he couldn’t come to the office himself, he couldn’t tell anyone about the pain he had, about the struggle going on inside his mind. They were basically asking Rogue to do the impossible. People this far gone would never show it, never admit it. They would only hide it inside, hide it until someone they trusted pushed just a bit, and then they’d break into pieces in their hands.

Drowning out the world, Sting buries his face into his hands and tries not to cry. I’m sorry, Rogue...

#my writing #stingue #sting x rogue #mental illness awareness #ftfanfic #ftfanfics #true beauty ch2 #mlm #potential triggers

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