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dragonkeeper19600 · 3 years ago

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Jaws: The Musical (Concept)

So, out of curiosity, I looked online to see if anyone had ever adapted a musical from Jaws. There is a musical called Bruce that’s scheduled to debut in Seattle next year about the production of Jaws (and I would be interested in seeing that), but as for a musical of the Jaws story itself, I found one that’s for kids and about 48 minutes long.

Now, I’ve never seen this musical, so I cannot attest as to its quality, but, in my opinion, both of those choices are wrong. This musical should be the full two acts, and it should be aimed at adults.

I’ve been brainstorming, and I think I’ve got a hypothetical musical all mapped out. You might think a musical based on Jaws is silly, but a lot of successful musicals have been adapted from really strange things (such as a comic book artist’s coming-out memoir, a crappy Roger Corman movie, and a collection of goofy cat poems), and I feel like a Jaws musical could be really epic. The story easily lends itself into a two-act structure. The first act is the shark attacks on Amity Island, and the second act is the hunt for the shark in the Orca.

However, the musical wouldn’t make the mistake of putting lyrics to John Williams’s iconic Jaws theme. The theme would obviously be used as a leitmotif throughout the show, but it’s not the type of song that lends itself to lyrics, and I think that would be corny,

So, the musical would play out like this:

ACT ONE:

The movie opened with Chrissie’s death, so the stage show will do the same. The scene will be short and all dialogue, no singing. The shark will also not be seen, but its presence will be implied by the music, lighting, and Chrissy’s acting.

First song: “Welcome to Amity Island.” Functions as an intro to the setting of Act One. The tone is joyous and celebratory as the islanders welcome the flood of tourists that always come in the summer. A big portion of the song is sung by Mayor Vaughn as he sings about what a wonderful vacation spot Amity Island is. We also meet Brody, and a dark undercurrent is introduced to the song as he finds Chrissy’s mangled body.

Brody, of course, takes steps to close the beach right away, but he’s stopped by the Mayor, who sings the second song, “Summer Dollars,” where the Mayor insists that closing the beaches is bad for the town and that Brody shouldn’t be causing an unnecessary panic and causing hysteria that could drive tourists away. Brody tries to argue back but in the end, Vaughn has his way.

Brody returns to the station, apprehensive about keeping the beaches open. Here, we’re introduced to Brody’s wife, Ellen, who saw no problem with visiting him at work since nothing ever happens on Amity Island. Brody expresses his uneasiness, but Ellen assures him that his fear of the water is making him overestimate the danger. This gets Brody’s coworkers curious, so, with a little prompting from Ellen, Brody sings his first solo, “Drowning,” about his fear of the water. In the song, Brody sings about a childhood incident where a bully held him underwater at a public swimming pool. Not only did this give him a fear of water, but the bullying he received as a child is what set him on the path to become a cop, since he wanted to be able to protect people from suffering the same mistreatment he did. However, he moved from New York City because the working environment there was unfriendly to cops who wish to protect and serve instead of, well, being typical American cops.

Next song: “Blue Sky” Just as the Mayor wished, the beaches are open, and summer is in full swing. Brody is there with his family, anxiously keeping an eye on the water. The rest of the ensemble doesn’t share his anxiety, however, as they frolic and play in the sun. Brody is jolted to his feet several times by the sound of screaming, but it’s always a false alarm. However, the mood turns scary as we segue into the next song:

“Shark!” - While out swimming on his raft, young Alex Kintner is attacked and eaten. Brody sees it and screams the title of the song. It’s pandemonium as people rush out of the water, and the song is fast-paced and chaotic. However, it ends on a mournfully quiet note as Mrs. Kintner calls for her son. (”Alex? Alex!?”)

Quick scene transition, and we move immediately into he next song, called “Something Must Be Done.” Here, at a town council meeting, the townspeople argue back and forth about what to do about their shark problem. I imagine the music here sounding like the “Mayor’s Meeting” theme from The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. Brody argues strongly in favor of closing the beaches (in song, of course), but he is shut down not only by the Mayor but by the rest of the townspeople, who still rely on the income brought in by the tourists. People throw around various suggestions, with one woman finally declaring that she’ll reward whoever catches the shark with three thousand dollars. The song descends into a cacophony as people argue over each other.

The noise is interrupted by the screech of nails on a chalkboard. It’s Quint who sings the titular song, “Jaws,” as he sings about his job as a shark hunter and how dangerous sharks can be. (”Those jaws will swallow you whole. / A little shakin’, tenderizing’, down you go.”) He offers to kill the shark for ten grand, not three. The woman who made the offer balks at the high price, and the Mayor explains that kind of money isn’t in the budget “right now.” Quint takes it in stride and tells everyone they’ll know where to find him if they change their minds. He’s supposedly addressing the room, but he looks right at Brody as he says it. He can tell Brody is the only one who will actually listen.

Many sailors of various aptitudes come to Amity Island, hoping to catch the shark and cash in on that three thousand dollars. Among the new arrivals is Hooper, who introduces himself to Brody as a marine biologist from the Oceanographic Institute. Hooper sings his intro song, “Beautiful,” referring to his views on sharks. Hooper recounts how he was bitten by a shark as a child, but instead of coming to fear them, Hooper walked away fascinated by them and now views sharks to be beautiful creatures. However, the song takes a somber note as Hooper is brought in to examine Chrissie’s remains, and the word “Beautiful” is shifted from referring to sharks to referring to Chrissie when she was alive. (“She was just a kid. / So much of life to live. / Now, bits and scraps are all that’s left. / Of a girl who was once so beautiful.”)

“Hell of a Fish” - The fishermen succeed in catching a large tiger shark, presumed to be the shark that killed Alex and Chrissie. Brody joins in the celebratory atmosphere, but Hooper examines the dead shark’s teeth and is convinced they’ve got the wrong fish. The Mayor and the fisherman who caught the tiger shark argue that this is the shark that’s been causing the trouble, while Hooper argues back that it’s definitely not. Hooper angrily demands that he be allowed to dissect the shark to confirm whether there are human remains inside, but Mayor Vaughn rejects his request. He doesn't care if they’ve got the right shark. He doesn’t believe a third attack will happen either way. (”We’ve got a hell of a fish to show. / And shark attacks are pretty rare, you know?”)

This song is interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Kintner, in funeral attire, who goes up to Brody and slaps him. She then sings “My Boy Is Dead,” a slow, tragic lament about her son, Alex. (“He was just a boy. His whole life still ahead. / Now, I’ll never know what he would’ve been. / Because my boy is dead.”) Mrs. Kintner blames Brody for not warning the town after Chrissie’s death, and Brody takes the blame to heart. The song ends with a callback to “Hell of a Fish,” as Hooper bitterly remarks that he hopes Mayor Vaughn is right about the tiger shark being the culprit, otherwise there’s a “hell of a fish” still out there somewhere.

“Cloud on the Horizon” - Song is kicked off by a TV reporter, who delivers a brief story to the audience about the recent shark attacks on Amity Island. The holiday-making resumes on Amity’s beaches, but people are more nervous than before, The ensemble sings amongst themselves about whether they should go in the water. They finally do so with a little encouragement from the Mayor. Meanwhile, Brody encourages his son Michael to stay in the shallow pond.

“Shark! (Reprise)” - A shark fin is spotted in the water, and the ensemble takes up the alarm, scrambling while frantically singing a reprise of “Shark!” However, the alarm dies down when the fin is revealed to be a fake worn by a swimmer. However, a lone woman takes up the cry again as the shark is spotted swimming toward the pond where Michael is. The music ramps up as the shark takes down a boater mere feet away from Michael, and the audience gets their first clear view of the shark.

“Red Sea” - The song functions as a reprise of “Blue Sky,” but also contains musical elements from “My Boy is Dead.” Brody pulls his son Michael out of the water, unsure of whether he’s still alive. Luckily, Michael is only in shock. Ellen runs to call for an ambulance. As he waits by Michael’s body, Brody sings his second solo, loudly berating everyone in town, including himself, for allowing this to happen three times. All of the beachgoers, including the Mayor, are cowed by his song.

“(Can’t Find) a Good Man” - This is the first song between all three crew members of the Orca. Brody goes to hire Quint to kill the shark, agreeing to pay whatever he wants. Quint knows he has Brody by the balls and keeps upping the price, demanding additional payments like various kinds of booze and a color TV in addition to the ten thousand dollars. Brody agrees to all of it, but Quint’s one crew member refuses to go out after the shark, so Quint fires him. Hooper and Brody volunteer to go along, but Quint is reluctant to bring them aboard. He contemplates whether he should go alone, since Hooper and Brody will be useless on deck. Hooper loudly argues that he's qualified and “doesn’t need this working class hero crap,” but Brody is more gentle and persuasive. He reminds Quint that his own son was nearly killed by this shark and feels he owes it to both his family and the town to help in whatever way he can. Quint is won over by Brody’s humility and agrees to take them both on.

“Farewell, Amity Island” - Reprise of “Welcome to Amity Island” and the Act One Finale. Like “Welcome to Amity Island,” this is a huge ensemble number, this time centering around the Orca’s upcoming departure. Several characters come to see the ship off as Quint yells at Hooper and Brody, including the Mayor and Ellen. The Mayor apologizes to Brody (“I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. / My own children were there in that same red sea.”), where Ellen bids a tearful farewell, knowing she might never see Brody again. Brody’s sung farewells are intercut with a spoken back and forth between Quint and Hooper, as Quint snarks at everything Hooper does. The song also contains instrumental traces of “Spanish Ladies.” Brody and Ellen’s embrace is broken up by Quint as the Orca shoves off.

ACT TWO:

After the act two opener (which is an instrumental of “Jaws,” the song Quint sang earlier), we return to the Orca where Quint fishes off the stern, loudly singing “Spanish Ladies” a cappella. It sounds pretty good, but he’s interrupted by Hooper, who yells that he’s been listening to Quint sing for three hours and can’t take it any more. Brody has no choice but to listen to the ensuing back and forth as he chums the water.

The childish behavior is interrupted when Quint gets a bite. He's convinced it’s the shark, but Hooper, still annoyed with Quint, believes it’s some kind of sport fish. Hooper begrudgingly goes to help Quint pull in the line, but a moment of inattention causes the line to snap.

“City Hands” - Quint berates Hooper for losing the shark and trying to tell a professional shark hunter how to hunt sharks. Their animosity finally erupts into an angry duet as they hurl very personal insults at each other, with Hooper calling Quint a drunken, senile sea dog, while Quint berates Hooper for being a coddled, privileged city boy. Their musical fight looks like it’ll get physical when Hooper snatches the beer Quint was drinking out of his hand and chucks it into the ocean. Luckily, Brody breaks it up, pointedly reminding them why they’re here and that they don’t need to be at each other’s throats when the shark will gladly do that for them. Quint sheepishly apologizes to Brody and only Brody. Hooper likewise backs down.

Brody returns to chumming the water only to toss a shovelful of chum directly into the shark’s face. The shark is right beside the Orca, and it’s huge. There is an instrumental score but no singing as all three men work together to try and bring in the shark. The shark seems unfazed by all the bullets and harpoons they shoot into it, but they manage to attach one barrel to the shark. Quint is satisfied that the shark will tire itself out with the barrel attached and that all they have to do is wait it out. Brody is all for returning to shore and calling the Coast Guard, but Quint ignores him.

Scene transition, and we’re in the ship’s cabin that night. All three men are staying up to wait for the shark, and they’ve had a bit to drink. Quint catches Brody examining the rope burn he got on his hand earlier in the day and reassures him that it won't leave a permanent scar. This segues into the duet “Something Permanent,” as Hooper and Quint compare scars. The tone isn’t angry and harsh as before but jovial and upbeat. Clearly, the earlier animosity is forgiven.

“Those Eyes” - This is Quint’s solo about the sinking of the Indianapolis. Brody asks Quint about a scar on his arm that he hasn’t mentioned. Quint offhandedly mentions it’s a tattoo he had removed. When Hooper makes a joke about it being a “Mother” tattoo, Quint informs him it’s actually for the U.S.S. Indianapolis. Hooper clearly knows the story, but Brody doesn't, so Quint tells it. The song is slow and eerie. The words “those eyes” are used to refer to both the sharks’ eyes and the eyes of his crew mates as they were devoured or lay dead in the water. Quint sings that he still sees those eyes looming up at him in the dark of the night. He then catches the looks on Brody and Hooper’s faces and chuckles darkly, telling them not to look at him with “those eyes.” After all, they delivered the bomb. No one comments on this, but all three men have now sung their backstories at some point in the show.

Hooper quietly starts to sing “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” The other two join in. Their singing is interrupted by the shark ramming into the ship.

The crew scramble back on deck. Quint, his mind still swimming in the memory of the Indianapolis, wildly fires a rifle at the shark, but he only succeeds in driving it away, Hooper goes belowdeck to assess the damage. The ship can still run, but it’s struggling. Brody loudly advocates returning to shore, but Quint refuses.

The shark returns, leading to the next song, “Barrels.” The song has a lot of dialogue and instrumental but also functions as a reprise of “Something Permanent,” as Quint gleefully proclaims his intent to leave “something permanent” on the shark. The crew manages to attach three barrels to the shark, but they lose track of it again.

Quint decides that since barrels and weapons don’t seem to be working, and the ship is only becoming more damaged, that the thing to do is lure the shark back to shore and drown it in the shallow water. Hooper warns Quint that he’s overtaxing the engine, but Quint only leans harder on the throttle. The engine gives out.

Brody goes to the radio to call the Coast Guard for help but is shocked when Quint smashes the radio with a baseball bat before the message can get out. This leads to an even angrier reprise of “City Hands,” now with Brody insulting Quint instead of Hooper, calling him “certifiable.” Quint shouts more than sings that he can handle it and he doesn’t need rescuing “this time.” The song shifts to the slower, gentler melody that was used when Brody calmed Hooper and Quint before as Quint tells Brody he vowed that would never be helpless in the water again. Both Brody and Hooper, who was heard the entire outburst, are struck silent.

“Beautiful (Reprise)” - Hooper somberly volunteers to be lowered into the anti-shark cage. Brody argues against it, but, for once, Quint is willing to hear Hooper out. Hooper sings about how putting himself in harm’s way is his only chance to the tune of his intro song, “Beautiful.” Hooper then admits that Quint is right, he hasn’t been through what Quint has, but he’s willing to try and prove his worth. Quint and Brody realize they don't have much choice and agree.

Hooper goes into the cage. Brody takes Hooper’s glasses, and Hooper gives them both one last look before he puts on his mask and goes under.

“In the Cage” - Instrumental. While below the water (which is just another part of the stage covered in blue spotlights), Hooper tries to attack the shark with the syringe on the end of a spear, but he drops it. The shark begins to break its way into the cage, but Hooper manages to escape and hides behind some rocks, apologizing to the men above for failing.

Quint and Brody, of course, can’t hear him, nor can they see what’s happening below. Quint and Brody pull up the cage to find it mangled and empty. Brody is devastated, thinking that Hooper is dead, but Quint seems to be truly unraveling. He sings a shaky reprise of “Those Eyes,” this time obsessing over the look Hooper gave them before he went under. He frantically recalls that he saw the same look on the faces of his crew mates after the sinking of the Indianapolis. Tragically, the song also functions as a callback to “My Boy Is Dead.” (”It’s far too late for me now to take back the things I’ve said. / They’ll haunt me ‘til my dying day. / Because that boy is dead.”)

“Quint’s End” - Instrumental, spoken dialogue. Quint can’t get the last image of Hooper out of his mind and begs him to stop looking at him like that. Brody is alarmed as Quint’s pleas to Hooper change to pleas to his dead crew mate, Herbie Robinson. Quint has slid into a full-blown PTSD flashback. In his mind, he’s back in the waters of the Pacific thirty years ago, surrounded by sharks and dead crew mates. Brody tries to calm Quint down by reminding him where he is, but at that moment, the shark leaps onto the stern, and the Orca lists backwards. (In my head, the Orca set is on some kind of platform that can be raised at an incline.) Both men begin to slide toward the waiting jaws of the shark. Brody manages to grab onto the door frame leading into the cabin. He tries to hold onto Quint, but Quint slips out of his hand. Quint tries to fight back against the shark, but with a sickening crunch, Quint falls silent. The shark retreats with Quint’s lifeless body.

“Smile!” - Payback time. The Orca is sinking fast, and Brody knows that if he ends up in the water, it’s game over. Brody manages to ward the shark off with one of Hooper’s scuba tanks. The shark takes the scuba tank into its mouth, giving Brody the chance to climb onto the mast with Quint’s rifle. The music ramps up in speed and intensity as the shark closes in. Brody’s singing ramps up to match as he fires at the shark again and again, reminding himself of his promise to protect others and vowing that this shark will never kill anyone again. Then, with a final, bombastic, “So, smile you son of a bitch!” he gets a hit on the tank, and the shark explodes. He whoops and hollers as the music swells.

The finale instrumental is both sad and sweet. The sinking mast deposits Brody in the water. Hooper surfaces besides him. They laugh together, relieved that it’s over. Hooper asks about Quint, but Brody only responds with the single word, “No.” Hooper and Brody are close enough to paddle back to shore, so they do just that. As they set off, Brody begins to sing, “Show Me the Way to Go Home.” Hooper joins in. The curtain falls.

#jaws #the musical #i spent way too much time on this #steven spielberg #martin brody #matt hooper #quint #ellen brody #mayor larry vaughn #fan fic #what if #long post

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detectivedamian · 4 years ago

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As usual, following Jon unintentionally breaking Damian’s heart, Jon realizing he’s head over heels for his best friend, and the ensuing miscommunication:

Damian approaches Jon with a ticket to an expensive, exclusive cruise. Jon is skeptical at first: who else is coming along? Nobody, Damian assures him. This is strictly between the two of them-- and he needs to keep it quiet. Jon, of course, is elated. A cruise! Over summer break, their most sentimental, important season! How romantic! He’s swooning the whole trip over, imagining all of the adventures they’re going to go on and all of the memories they’re going to make.

And then they get to the cruise, and actually their tickets are complementary as they’re meant to be masquerading with an all-kids group whose members keep going missing. This is a mission. Damian is very confused about why Jon is snippy and moody the whole trip.

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At some point, Jon gets into trouble as Superboy. He gets his body swapped with some female artist visiting Metropolis. This chick is somebody Damian has told him time and time again that he appreciates, that her art is dark and it feels like she understands where he’s coming from, she isn’t a “simpleton”, and he can sense the maturity and artistic integrity in everything she does. Jon, of course, is jealous, he’s totally convinced Damian likes this girl. So while Kon and the girl (in Jon’s body) are looking for a way to undo this, Jon decides to go mess with Damian a little.

How funny would it be if the “mature, poetic, distinguished” girl of Damian’s dreams shows up and acts more like Jon? Hah!

Well, not very funny, actually, because Jon quickly finds that, while put off and confused, Damian kind of seems to like her-- him? Jon her. He suggests the same things he did as Jon, the paddle boat, sitting closer, reading romantic Shakespeare pieces together, and Damian goes pink, but does it all without complaint. When Jon reaches across the boat the take Damian’s hand, Damian actually squeezes it and looks into his (her) eyes. Jon is actually starting to get a little upset that this was so easy, and not to mention, he’ll have to return to his own body sometime.

But then again, this is everything he’s ever wanted. To be with Damian, to be in a romantic setting, to have Damian looking at him like that. He pulls Damian closer, and he leans in.

Then Damian presses a finger to his lips. Jon’s eyes pop open in surprise, and behind the finger, he mutters “something wrong?”

Damian looks sad and says “You understand pain better than anyone else, any competent artist could tell as much from your portfolio.” Jon is confused. Damian’s eyes become dark, and he lowers his head. “I was drawn in by your work, you know why?” Jon blinks and laughs nervously, because no he has no idea why? And Damian sighs and says “That collection you debuted in Metropolis was inspirited by a broken heart, was it not?” Jon, of course, agrees, because what else is he going to do? So Damian continues to say: “That is where my heart is, too. I do not usually speak of these things, but my love has been unrequited for some time, and the longer it goes on, the more I fear myself a fool.” And Damian explains-- how upon meeting her, he was shocked to find she was in fact cut not from his cloth, but his... friend’s, that being with her today has given him a taste of what could have been. But, he laments, this person is his friend, only his friend, and the closer they get, the harder it is to hide how he feels. Things keep happening that get his hopes up, but he knows it’s all in his head. This friend could never see him that way.

Jon takes both of his hands, asks him who this person is, because he’s pretty sure it’s him but he needs to know. Damian opens his mouth to respond, but the creature responsible for this little body swap intervenes before Jon can hear his confession.

From here, Jon now has to fight this thing in a totally human body, and Damian has to protect him (her). It’s in the midst of this fight that Kon and this girl (in Superboy’s body) show up. Damian starts barking at her to do something useful, and she’s very confused about why this random kid is talking to Superboy like this. Meanwhile Jon in her body, next to Damian, is gesturing for her not to respond, and he yells out “Grab it by the tail!” Which she does.

Damian takes this as an opportunity to end this, while it’s distracted, but unfortunately for him, this thing is a little too aware of what’s happening-- Damian gets hit or two in with a tree branch he found, but it’s useless. It grabs his body and throws him across the park. Jon helplessly watches, hand extended, as Damian gets flung a football field’s distance, and the girl flies after Damian.

This is when the body switch happens again. In his panic, and with the willpower only a super holds, and her urgency to not have the traumatic experience of watching somebody die, Jon and this girl switch bodies again.

Damian’s flying through the air, wincing, trying to grab any tree that passes by just to slow himself to a halt. But then there are arms around him, and he’s pulled into somebody’s chest. Jon, now back in his body, takes the brunt of the damage, which is nothing at all to him. They roll around a few times, until they land with Jon on top of him. Damian slowly opens his eyes to see Jon, who is smiling down at him. Damian is breathless as Jon looks over his face and says: “You okay...?” He can see the red in Damian’s face, and he just kind of... knows. It’s him. Damian’s in love with him.

Damian blinks back to life and wacks him on the chest, yelling, “We’re in the middle of a battle here, Superboy! Head on the field!”

With Superboy back in his body, and Kon there to help, the creature is taken care of pretty fast. Superboy lands with Damian on his arm, and the girl, now back in her body, comes running over. Her entire personality has changed, Damian notices with some bewilderment; she’s a lot more monotone and smooth, charming but the way a witch in the forest is. Nevertheless, Damian takes her hand and presses a kiss to it, thanking her for her time, today. She’s amused, Jon is twitching behind Damian’s shoulder, fuming. Jon crosses his arms and pouts while Damian says the last of his goodbyes.

Jon decides to keep this whole thing his little secret.

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From here on, though, Jon is more sure of himself when he tries to get mushy with Damian.

Instead of turning around for Robin to climb on his back, Superboy wraps an arm around Robin’s waist and pulls them flush together. (Damian sputters and gets snippy and demands not to be manhandled. Jon ignores him).

When Damian��s lifting weights, Jon will spot him-- but instead of messing with him by putting a finger on the weights, he sets his hands over Damian’s and counts with him. (Damian quickly grows flustered, the most Jon has ever seen him. He refuses to look him in the eye.)

When there’s a pretty girl in distress, Jon still does get a little pink, but the moment he sees Robin withdrawing to give him the space to flirt, Superboy will wrap his arms around him from behind under the guise of flying them back to base. Robin hates being restrained this way and ends up squirming enough to wrap his arms around Superboy’s neck so he feels more secure. He WILL avoid conversation unrelated to the mission, and he WILL avoid looking him in the eye.

At Christmas, Jon will purposely catch Damian under the mistletoe, and while Damian is going on a rant about how they are not the target of the tradition and how it’s a poisonous plant, Jon will lean in and squeeze him tight and blow raspberries into his cheek. Damian squeals.

Jon stares more openly at him, and it makes Damian nervous. He demands answers, but Jon won't give him any. He just evades and talks about their current mission, or pretends to be curious about something Gotham-related.

Jon will rest his head against Damian’s shoulder when they’re lazing in their fortress. Damian tells him to get off, but he doesn’t, and Damian relents because he does, in fact, crave this contact from Jon.

Jon will sometimes mess with him and get a little too close, lips a little too near, and Damian will push his face away with his whole hand, loudly proclaiming him to be in his space. Jon can see the pink under his mask.

Jon will ask for a reward for saving Robin on a mission, then pointedly poke at his own cheek, indicating he wants a kiss. Damian is convinced he’s joking and not at all serious, so he laughs at him. Jon sighs. He’ll make Damian realize this is mutual eventually.

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At one of the galas, an extravagant wedding announcement, a slow song plays, people are holding each other close, looking into each other’s eyes. Even Bruce is on the floor with some beautiful rich woman. Jon inches his way across the floor and taps Damian on the shoulder. Damian turns around, eyebrow raised, and Jon coughs into his hand, cheeks turning pink: “I guess we should probably dance or something, huh?”

Damian frowns and responds, “You’re here as my friend, Jon. I don’t need a pity dance. If I wanted to flit about with a high-class harlot, I would.”

Jon sets his hands on his hips: “I was asking because it looks like fun, but I guess you’re allergic to that sort of thing, aren’t you?” And that will not fly, because the only reason he declined was because he could, because the media won’t care about him rejecting his friend’s dance.

Damian glares at him and goes to grab Jon’s hand, only to find Jon is already reaching for his. To his surprise, Jon pulls him close, one hand at his waist, the other holding the hand Damian hasn’t set to Jon’s shoulder. Jon leads pretty easily, despite Damian knowing the steps more fluently. Damian expects Jon to dance a little goofier, but this is... tender. (That was, of course, Jon’s intention.) Jon’s eyes won’t leave his, and that look in his eyes is making him nervous. He hides that he’s swallowing and says, “Jon...?”

Jon’s smile just softens, and he pulls him closer. To Damian’s surprise, Jon sets his chin on his shoulder, dance turning to a light sway. It makes his heart stop, and Damian can feel his whole body melting at the touch. He wants to pull away, to push Jon off and make a show of how perfectly platonic his feelings are-- but this may be the only time he ever gets to hold Jon like this, with an excuse like this. He leans his head against Jon’s shoulder and slides the hand at his shoulder down to rest against his heart. He can feel it beating against his hand. (Jon can hear Damian’s, and he’s tempted sorely to bury his nose in his hair, but he doesn’t. That would be weird. So he turns and smiles into the side of his neck. He knows Damian can feel it because his heart skips a beat.)

#damijon #jondami #supersons #super sons #Damian Wayne #jonathan samuel kent #Jon Kent

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 14 first part

(RR The Untamed Masterpost) (Canary’s Pinboard - more Masterposts)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Murder Turtle, Continued

Lan Wangji wakes up after a good night's sleep leaning against a rock wall, to find that his leg is no longer splinted, and his perfectly clean and unbloody headband has been put back on his head while he was sleeping.

Leaving aside the "not waking up" part of things, how, exactly, did Wei Wuxian get his headband on without mussing his hair? Did he bring a crochet hook?

Wei Wuxian gives him a sitrep and then they cozy up and have an extended conversation about the nature and history of the Tortoise of Slaughter. Wei Wuxian is interested in everything Lan Wangji has to say, and Lan Wangji talks a lot more than usual; they are completely on the same wavelength here and are enjoying swapping obscure knowledge.

Lan Wangji: My lacerated leg and I are actually super aware that it has big teeth, but thanks for the reminder.

In the course of the conversation, Wei Wuxian mentions his plan to 1. sneak into the tortoise's shell and 2. drive it out of its shell so they can attack it.

OP did a little tortoise research and learned that the only species of turtle that can leave its shell is the Koopa Troopa.

Good news for Wei Wuxian: If you jump on its shell in the right spot, you can rack up a pile of extra lives.

Does that make the Tortoise of Slaughter a giant Koopa Troopa? Perhaps...the king of the Koopa Troopas?

I'm gonna say yes.

(More after the cut)

Let’s Go Killing

Wei Wuxian is exhilarated by the idea of fighting a giant dangerous monster with Lan Wangji. Some day Wei Wuxian will found the Nike clan, because his motto is definitely "Just do it."

It's sweet how, in his romantic notions about chivalry and Lan Wangji, he's completely elided the original reason they were (sort of) told to venture together.

Wei Wuxian: I'm still on the "find the Yin Iron" quest; I'm just skipping the "suppress it" part.

Wei Wuxian weighs up their chances against Bowser and tells Lan Wangji that even if they die, it will be badass to be killed by a famous monster, so they won't have to feel embarrassed.

This is the exact moment that Lan Wangji's feelings for Wei Wuxian go from "smitten" to "gagging for it."

Lan Wangji: as soon as we get out of here I'm going to borrow a whole lot of books from Nie Huaisang

The boys come up with a plan that involves a rather long montage of collecting archery equipment and deconstructing it. This potentially-dull montage is fun to watch because they are both very, very good looking.

Artists who want to draw Wang Yibo as an elven archer, this is your episode.

Now we suddenly have, with zero explanation, telepathy. Ok, sure. It seems to work kind of like a phone conversation, in which they say specific things to each other, rather than like Cherry Magic telepathy where you can hear everything the other person is thinking. Or at least, neither of them is embarrassed, so I assume they are maintaining some mental privacy.

Club Ruohan

Same, Wen Chao, same

At some point there is a boring sequence at Club Ruohan. Wen Ruohan doesn't know where Xue Yang is, but really wants his hunk of Yin Iron. Wen Chao thinks that WRH's 3 pieces of Yin Iron should be able to beat Xue Yang's 1 piece, but apparently he is dumb and that is not how math works. O...kay? OP does not understand this either but whatever, Wen Ruohan is boring, moving on. This scene is really just here to make us think about Yin Iron before Wei Wuxian jumps into Bowser's shell.

Bigger On The Inside

So then Wei Wuxian climbs into Bowser's shell, which is, to quote The 12th Doctor, bigger on the inside.

Bowser’s shell is the approximate size of my entire house. It is also bathed in a hellish pure red photo filter, which OP has done her best to remove for these gifs, because it gives me eye strain and it obscures Xiao Zhan's hotness.

Camera Operator: What did I do?

Wei Wuxian wanders around inside, finding random corpses encased in slime cocoons. Tortoise, spider, xenomorph, whatever. There are also random curtain things hanging all over, and then at one point Wei Wuxian stares into the face of a corpse, and then does a jump scare response at the camera operator even though nothing particular happened.

I imagine the corpse was supposed to open its eyes and say "killl meeee" but it got censored. He also makes about 8 other faces at the camera operator, so we get that the inside of this TARDIS-like tortoise shell (must...resist...temptation...to...say...TORDIS) is yucky.

Lan Wangji waits outside listening to Wei Wuxian telepathically complain about the smell. He is anxiously clenching a bundle of string and an arrow, and wishing he could clench Wei Wuxian Bichen instead.

Serendipitous Yin Iron

Wei Wuxian backs his way through the TORDIS until his butt bumps into a sword that is steaming with resentful energy. That's right: Wei Wuxian is about to pull a piece of Yin Iron almost literally out of his ass.

He grabs it and is overwhelmed by its screaming resentful energy and has to let it go again.

So this is what a vibrator with 4 batteries feels like

When Bowser comes looking for him, however, he quickly decides to go for it, grabbing the sword and singing "I've Got the Power (Gonna Make You Sweat)"

Wei Wuxian plunges the sword into Bowser's lower jaw, and Bowser pulls his entire head out of his shell with Wei Wuxian attached, while leaving the rest of his body and all rational laws of physics inside the shell.

Gamera Versus the Cultivators

What follows is one of the more ridiculous action sequences in the history of the world, and I say that as someone who likes Mothra movies.

Wei Wuxian hovers in a perfect horizontal plank while “hanging from” the sword, which is held well below the level of his torso. While Bowser spins him around. For much of the time, Bowser keeps his head still and just waves his neck around.

Lan Wangji and the camera operator do everything they possibly can to make "guy pulls on string" look interesting.

Everybody tries really, really hard and the actors are great at pretending something is there when it isn't, but this whole sequence is just horribly conceived.

What works well, though, is the Yin energy and Wei Wuxian's wrangling of it. He starts off being frightened and overwhelmed, and looking like it's too much for him; I dont' know if they made his face puffy on purpose or if that's just what happens when you spend days hanging from the ceiling fighting an imaginary monster. But he looks slack and unwell as he grapples with the iron sword.

Which makes this moment, when he gets control of it, deliciously creepy. He uses the power of the Yin Iron to stick a bunch of pokey things into Bowser's neck.

Lan Wangji has seen him struggling and now sees him...not struggling. Which scares the piss out of him, and he moves to finish the fight as quickly as possible, slicing up his hand and breaking the string. Combined with the pokey things, this does the trick and Bowser dies while Wei Wuxian faints and falls into the water.

Do the Whumpty Whump

Lan Wangji rescues him and wakes him up, and Wei Wuxian clutches the Yin Iron sword and tells Lan Wangji that he was knocked out by the screaming of disembodied voices.

This certainly sounds like a strange and dangerous phenomenon, so Lan Wangji carefully asks him to explain everything.

Ha ha ha j/k. Lan Wangji asks him exactly nothing about the strange sword or the black smoke or his weird evil smile or his new power over pointy objects. Lan Wangji appears to have a Star Trek: TNG level of unconcern about strange phenomena happening directly under his nose. But in fact he has noticed what's up, which is why he will be instantly distressed when he sees Wei Wuxian's flute moves at the Wen Corporate Headquarters.

Wei Wuxian has a fever (stay positive test negative) and comments on Lan Wangji's being so nice to him.

Wei Wuxian: I could never have imagined Lan Er Gongzi acting this concerned about me. Lan Wangji: what else have you never imagined me doing, while we're on the subject?

Lan Wangji transfers a stream of spiritual energy to him. Lan Wangji has so much spiritual power he can be a battery for Wei Wuxian without breaking a sweat or, like, noticing whether Wei Wuxian has a golden core or not, for that matter.

Wei Wuxian basks in the nice feeling of gigajoules for a while but then decides he's bored. So then he pouts, whines, and cajoles Lan Wangji in exactly, EXACTLY the way he whines at Jiang Yanli. I think this, while annoying of him, is a leap forward in his relationship with Lan Wangji.

He's letting his guard down and not just allowing Lan Wangji to take care of him; he's demanding to be cared for on multiple vectors, when he asks the guy who's already busy healing him to sing to him as well.

Lan Wangji obliges, singing him the song he composed about their love cultivation journey, while Wei Wuxian (or possibly Lan Wangji) (or possibly both) has a flashback to assorted sexy interactions that they've had so far.

Wei Wuxian memorizes the song perfectly on one hearing, before passing out.

Writing Prompt: Baldur’s Gate III / Untamed Crossover AU featuring elf archer Lan Wangji

I DARE YOU

Soundtrack: 1. Everybody Dance Now by C+C Music Factory 2. Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf

Wei Wuxian fainting tally (cumulative): 3

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #the untamed gifs #the untamed meta #the untamed spoilers #restless rewatch the untamed #my gifs #canary3d-original #asian whump

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thearvariblues · 4 years ago

Text

Valdo Marx Plays Matchmaker

AKA Geralt has to deal with the fact that Valdo Marx isn’t quite as he had imagined him. To begin with, he’s not, in fact, a he.

“She’s a woman,” Geralt announced, his yellow eyes wide with disbelief.

Jaskier snorted, staring into his beer.

“Thank you for the information, I had no idea.”

“No, I mean… A woman.”

“Yes, Geralt, you’ve already said that.”

“You never told me she was a woman!”

“Shut up. I must have.”

“Never,” Geralt said firmly, shaking his head.

“I must have referred to her by a pronoun at some point, you just never listen to me.”

“I do listen to you, Jaskier, and you never did.”

Jaskier took a large gulp of beer and shrugged.

“Well, now you know. So what?”

“So what? I always thought it was some old, wrinkled… ballsack from Oxenfurt! A pompous prick, you always said, an insufferable cockalorum–”

“Yes, and?”

“And now I find out that he’s… she’s… That Valdo fucking Marx is a…”

“Woman, yes, Geralt, we’ve been through this!” Jaskier moaned, desperately trying to ignore the ridiculously boring music and the high, melodic voice that filled the air.

“It’s a shock, that’s all I’m saying,” Geralt grunted.

“Yeah, well, whatever. Finish your fucking beer, I want to get out of here.”

“Writing a new song?” Geralt smirked. “Because that rhymed.”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier groaned.

Geralt took a drink, contemplating.

“You know, I don’t even know why you hate her so much. She’s quite good, actually. Reminds me of you.”

“She is nothing like me!” Jaskier hissed.

“Well, if you listen carefully–”

“Don’t you ever dare comparing me to Valdo Marx!” Jaskier growled. “I have enough of it every fucking time I go home to Lettenhove. Oh, Julian, have you heard Valdo’s new composition? It’s so good, don’t you think? Julian, couldn’t you be more like Valdo instead of following a Witcher around, it’s so unbecoming of a young man like you. Oh, Julian, have you heard that your sister–”

“Wait, your what?” Geralt blinked.

“Sister, Geralt, try to keep up.”

“Trust me, I am. Desperately,” Geralt said. “But you don’t make sense, Jaskier. You talk about Valdo one second, and then you start about your… Hold on. Are you telling me that Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, is…”

“Is, in fact, my sister Madeleine, yes.”

“Your sister Madeleine,” Geralt repeated. “Fuck.”

“I’d rather if you didn’t,” Jaskier sneered.

“Are we talking older or younger here?” Geralt asked, eyeing the troubadour on a tiny makeshift stage. She was wearing a plain, dark blue dress made of some kind of a glossy fabric. Her skirt was so long it brushed the boards of the stage with her every movement, but it didn’t look like she cared, she just played her lute and sang and had no idea how entrancing she was. And she did remind Geralt of Jaskier.

The bard muttered something unintelligibly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“For fuck’s…” Jaskier sighed. “Twin. My twin sister.”

“Oh.”

“Older by three fucking minutes, and she’ll never let me forget it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Jaskier snorted. “Always better than me, our Madeleine. Born first, learned to walk first, learned to read first… The only thing I started to do first was playing the lute and singing, and what does she do the second I decide to travel and become a bard? She follows in my footsteps, trying to outdo me once again. And she fucking succeeds!”

“That’s not true, Jaskier,” Geralt smiled, placing a hand on Jaskier’s forearm. “She might be the more… artistic one of you two, but she will never be a better a´performer. And I can’t hear people singing her songs like they do yours, can you?”

“Well… If you put it like that… Oh, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

The song had ended a few seconds ago, Geralt realized. And Jaskier was now staring, utterly terrified, towards the stage.

“She’s noticed us,” the bard mumbled. “She’s coming here.”

“Oh,” Geralt said. “Fuck.”

Jaskier huffed, watching as Geralt pulled a clean shirt over his head.

“What?” Geralt grunted.

“Nothing,” Jaskier muttered, looking away.

He was sitting on a bed in their shared room in the tavern and trying his very best not to brood. And he knew very well that he was failing spectacularly.

“I had to say yes, Jaskier,” Geralt sighed. “It would have been impolite not to.”

“And you’re all about politeness,” Jaskier mumbled. “Like every time you show up covered in blood and guts and brain occasionally–”

“That was one time.”

“Well it’s not very polite to barge into the room, tell my lovely date to go fuck herself and immediately start taking off your filthy clothes, is it?! The moment she saw your impossible, muscular, god-like torso, I stood no chance!”

“Is there any point to this babbling, Jaskier?” Geralt sighed.

“Well, yes. That you should have said no to my fucking sister when she asked you to have dinner with her!”

Geralt smirked.

“Are you jealous, bard? Did you want to have dinner with her yourself?”

“No, I wanted to have dinner with–” Jaskier started before promptly cutting himself off. “It’s just so… Madeleine, you know?!”

“What is?” Geralt frowned.

“She always has to steal what’s mine!” Jaskier groaned, letting his body fall onto the hard palliase. “My success in music, my parents’ affection, and now my Witcher.”

“She won’t steal me, Jaskier,” the Witcher in question said. “I would first have to allow myself to be stolen.”

“Yeah, wait until you’ve talked to her for five minutes. I bet you’ll like her way more than you like me.”

“Nonsense. There’s no one I like more than I like you.”

Jaskier blinked in confusion, raising his head to look at Geralt, who was, for some reason, blushing.

“What did you just say?” the bard asked.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered, fleeing the room.

Valdo Marx was nothing like Jaskier had ever described her, that was the first thing Geralt realized.

She wasn’t pompous. She definitely wasn’t insufferable. And she wasn’t a, well, cockalorum.

She was quite nice, actually, and she really did remind Geralt of her brother. She was intelligent, she was funny… And well, she was pretty, he had to give her that.

Not nearly as pretty as Jaskier, though, his traitorous brain put in, and Geralt nearly choked on his beer.

“Are you alright?” the woman smiled. “I’m not boring you, I hope.”

Geralt shook his head.

“No. Please, go on.”

Oh, and she spent the entire evening talking not about herself, like Geralt had expected, but about her brother, about his songs, about his successful students from Oxenfurt… About their childhood. And Geralt, who had never heard a single word about Jaskier’s life before Posada, was beyond fascinated.

“Well, as I was saying, Jaskier’s always so competitive,” she chuckled. “Everything’s a race for him. I don’t know how many times I told him, dear heart, we don’t have to be enemies, but he just doesn’t listen.”

Geralt nodded solemnly.

“I know. He even accused you of trying to steal me from him.”

“Dear, I would never,” she said. “I know how madly in love he is with you, I couldn’t–”

“He’s what?!” Geralt gaped.

Valdo’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth in shock.

“Oh, my. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud, it just slipped,” she gasped. “Please, don’t tell Jaskier that I revealed his secret so carelessly!”

But Geralt was already rising to his feet, finishing his beer on the way up.

“Excuse me, madam,” he croaked, slamming the tankard on the table. “I need to go and speak with your brother. Right fucking now.”

Valdo Marx was busy wolfing down the boiled eggs and sausages she was having for breakfast when, suddenly, a shadow fell on her table. Before she even managed to lift her eyes up, her brother unceremoniously plopped himself down on the bench opposite of her.

“You traitorous bitch,” he growled.

“And good morning to you too, Julian,” she grinned at him. “Sausage?”

“I hate you,” Jaskier muttered, grabbing one from her plate. “You did it on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Of course not. What do you think of me, little brother?!”

“Only the worst.”

She chuckled.

“It was mother’s idea, if you absolutely need to know,” she muttered with her mouth full of scrambled eggs. “She told me to do anything to make you pull your head out of your arse and finally confess to that Wolf of yours.”

“Lies. Mother would never say arse.”

“Right. She said backside. My bad.”

“Hmpf,” Jaskier hummed. “May I remark that making me confess and telling him about my feelings, making it seem like an accident is not the same thing?”

“You may not.” She shook her head, sighing. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’re both denser than cousin Amelia, is it? Look, I tried. I wrote that romantic ballad about him, claiming it was a new song by the famous Jaskier–”

“Oh, of course. I should have known that complete atrocity was your doing! That sloppy excuse for a ballad that could have ruined my reputation!”

“Jaskier, one of your most popular songs is about a girl wanting to jerk you off.”

“Your point being?”

She laughed, letting him steal another sausage.

“Nothing, my dear. How was your night, anyway?”

“I think you know damn well,” Jaskier said, smiling. “Actually, I think the whole town knows.”

“To be honest, I think our mother in Lettenhove knows that your Witcher loves and desires you back. He wasn’t exactly trying to keep his voice down.”

“Believe it or not, but he was,” Jaskier grinned. “He just wasn’t very successful.”

She nodded, finishing her breakfast and getting to her feet.

“Well, my work here is done, dear brother. Will you pay for my meal? I think I deserve it for what I’ve done for you.”

“Always so humble,” he said. “I still hate you, Madeleine, you know?”

“I love you too, Julian,” she winked. “Oh, and by the way, mother sends her love and demands that you bring the Witcher the next time you come to visit. She said there is a monster in Lettenhove that desperately needs to be slain.”

“Well, if it’s urgent, I could try convincing Geralt to…” Jaskier started before pausing. “Right. She meant grandmother, didn’t she?”

“I’m afraid so,” Valdo chuckled, grabbing her cloak. “Well, I’ll be on my way. See you around, Jaskier.”

“See you,” the bard replied, trying to hide a smile. “Valdo Marx.”

#geraskier #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #my fics

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sope-and-shine · 5 years ago

Text

Lost and Found

-> Namjoon x Reader -> Soulmate!AU // Fluff -> 6.2k (This fic was at 6,199 before post, and I couldn’t let that happen) -> Summary: In a world full of soulmates and soul marks, you just had to get stuck with the dynamic duo. -> Warning(s): none // maybe just fluff

A/N: I suggested the name to Belle as I was drafting the post, and she said she’d sue me if I didn’t use it.

ALSO! A BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO BOTH @multycoloredtaco and @purpletigertaetae for reading this and giving me some really good feedback! I love you both SO MUCH!

* * *

Soulmates have always come in several different shapes and sizes. They’ve always appeared to each other in various ways. Your mother and father met by their own personal song that only the two knew of, one that played when they spared a thought to the other. Your aunt had found your uncle with a timer on her wrist, and your grandpa had the unfortunate fate of meeting your grandmother while catcalling her. According to him, it was a very eventful day, but at least her words to him finally made sense. Everyone in your family - besides your great aunt who hasn’t aged since the late 1890s - has had the amazing luck of finding their soulmate. Not everyone gets the luxury of being with their soulmate how they planned to. You’re actually friends with a shop owner who lost his soulmate about a year ago and hasn’t seen any color since. You honestly couldn’t imagine the pain he’s been through. Thankfully, your soulmate mark was not as painful.

It was just extremely annoying.

As a child, you never questioned the items that would appear in your room, thinking of them as odd gifts that your parents or your brother would leave for you. You were no stranger to finding a single sock under your bed, the occasional candy bar tucked away in your backpack, or the odd action figure that you would take to your brother thinking it was his. It wasn’t until the first homework assignment with ‘Kim Namjoon’ scrawled at the top that you began to think something wasn’t right. And that was only the beginning of what was to come.

As the years went by, more and more random items began appearing in your room at your parents house, your dorm in college, and finally your very own apartment. Each item you placed in boxes under your bed as a way to keep a piece of him with you until you could find him. However, you never imagined how forgetful and chaotic your soulmate could really be. You have everything! Clothing items, more homework assignments, various books, glasses, baby photos, and you even have a random girl’s phone number! You were tempted to call her when you first found it, but you figured that would be too weird. Instead, you continued to organize everything under your bed in hopes of giving it all back to him when you would finally meet.

Of course, you were a victim to your soulmate mark as well. Many jewelry items had disappeared from your room without a trace as a result. Hoodies, stuffed animals, and even a bra that you could’ve sworn you put in your gym bag - part of you hoped he’d hide it away because not only was it a cute bra, it was also expensive. Recently though, you’ve both been a lot more responsible. You haven’t seen any new items appear in your apartment for almost a month, and with your soulmates track record of losing 11 items in one day, a month was a huge record on his part. But you were starting to miss the gifts that would give you clues to him.

After you found out what your soulmate mark really was, you started looking forward to what would be left in your room next. Of course, it wasn’t always a win on your part, and sometimes what he lost was very questionable, but it always made you laugh when another item appeared in your room. At first, it was weird to think about someone else’s stuff appearing in your room with no prior warning, but it made you feel special to know that he was ultimately giving you pieces of himself every time he let something out of his sight. They made your long days more bearable. It makes you wonder if he’s the type of person to shower you with gifts when you feel upset or just to show his affection when he felt it was necessary. Especially on a rough day like today.

There was nothing wrong with your job, you loved everything about it! Life as a lead optician was actually a very rewarding job in the end. Helping others choose the best glasses for their face and individual personalities was one of your favorite parts, you loved watching little old ladies try on vibrant, colorful frames to feel youthful. They’re always very excited to see clearly again. Then there are all the little kids who would sit down with you to get glasses for the first time, and the look on their faces when they finally got to see the world clearly was heartwarming. Their soft smiles and wide eyes filled with amazement always made you feel a little softer inside. However, not everyday was a good day, and today was really not a good day.

Everything was going perfectly fine until the 3:30 appointment showed up at 5:00 after the doctor had already left for the day and demanded to be seen. The doctor’s technician was so scared trying to explain to the patient that they’d have to reschedule their appointment, and the poor thing was just trying not to cry over the one person who couldn’t understand how society works. Obviously, as the lead optician on duty you took over, but this patient was one of the most inconsiderate people you’d ever had to deal with. Demanding to be seen, demanding to buy glasses with an old prescription, demanding to speak to a manager - which at this point was actually you, so done and done - and just cursing up a storm at you and your fellow coworkers who all tried to help explain. The whole ordeal just took way longer than it ever should have to deal with, and it probably took at least 25 years off of your life.

“Why do people feel that they need to be rude to get what they want?” Soohyun had asked you, “Do they think it’ll just magically fix everything?”

You had agreed, “It’s like they think you’re really just messing with them. Like, “Oh no, sir! You’re correct! I apologize for the inconvenience, let me pull that out of my ass for you!” Though maybe not appropriate for the work environment, you’d at least made her day just a little better with your humor.

On days like today, a nice warm shower and a cuddle pile with all of the pillows and plushies that cover your bed made everything much better when nothing new appeared in your room. If the odd gifts the universe left from your soulmate couldn’t cheer you up, then you’d do it yourself. And that you did. Nothing felt better than the warm water washing away the day’s pain and suffering, the delicate fragrance of the coconut shampoo you splurged on easing your worries down the drain. The floral body lotion and leave-in-conditioner you’d bought on the same shopping excursion also help your body relax, their scents so intoxicating to you, that you almost topple over onto the tiled floor of your bathroom from the instant pleasure they pull from you. Instead, you make your way to your bed, adorned in your comfiest PJs and fluffiest socks.

However, you weren’t expecting to land on something so hard and uncomfortable when you plopped face first onto your sheets.

“What the heck?” Pushing yourself onto your knees and pulling back the covers, you find a small, golden trophy resting comfortably in the warmth of your sheets. On all sides it reads, ‘MNET Asian Music Awards’ with a small plaque reading, ‘2017 MNET Asian Music Awards: Artist of the Year’ at the bottom of one side. It takes you a moment to understand fully what you hold in your hands before it actually hits you.

Your soulmate is an idol.

A forgetful idol if he lost such an important award, but at least this gave you a lead as to who your soulmate is besides one of the most common surnames and a few measly pairs of mismatched socks.

Setting the award to the side, you grab your phone from your nightstand and unlock it, clicking on your browser and typing away. You look up the artist of the year from 2017 and find the top result to be a boy band called BTS. According to Google’s nice little summary and AllKPOP’s top article, they seemed to be pretty famous. Of course, you’ve heard of them before, and if you heard one of their songs then there was a good chance you’d probably recognize it! But you’ve never really been one for boy bands. You were more into kdramas if you were to be completely honest, they’re definitely your guilty pleasure and way more your speed than handsome young men dancing on stage in front of screaming girls trying to get in their pants. Could you really blame them? No. Not at all. Given the chance, you’d take it, but it wouldn’t be anything special if it wasn’t your soulmate.

Your soulmate.

Namjoon.

Changing your question, you search for ‘Kim Namjoon BTS’. If he actually pops up, then that would mean you actually know who he is.

Finding the nerve to press search, you are bombarded with three pictures above a description of him right off the bat - You hate to admit it, but soulmate or not, he’s definitely handsome. You click on a random site you hope will give you some useful information about the man who’s most likely your soulmate and are immediately redirected to something called K-Profiles. The site itself starts off with a group picture of all the members, followed by their names below it, and their social media handles under that. You’d have to look them up later.

The first member you come across is your soulmate himself. He has his blonde head resting on top of his arms with a soft, dimpled smile as he stares right back at the camera. Eyes locked onto his through the screen, you can feel your heart speeding up just from looking at him. You can’t help but smile back at him as if he can actually see you. As if he were right there ready to come out and say ‘hi’.

He’s absolutely breathtaking, and it isn’t even him.

You continue your hunting, scrolling further down to learn as much as you can about him. How old he is, when he was born, where he was born, what his favorite color is, you want to know it all! You learn that he’s the leader of the group, that he used to be known as Rap Monster before he changed it - that USB in the box under your bed made a lot more sense now. You learn that he has a sister, and that he and his band members are advocates for UNICEF, and that this man was so incredibly intelligent yet also known as the ‘god of destruction’ to those around him. But also listed on his profile is his soulmate mark.

“As said in a V-Live where RM explained a stuffed animal he kept on his desk, anything RM loses will appear with his soulmate and vice-versa. He has yet to meet his soulmate.” You read. You’ve lost quite a few stuffed animals to Namjoon, hopefully, it wasn’t an embarrassing one that would haunt you later.

You come to the end of his profile and to the top of another handsome man, yet you don’t scroll down. You haven’t learned enough. You need to know more about him, about how you can meet him. You have to know more! And that’s how you find yourself still up at 5am the next morning still wide awake watching yet another video interview of your soulmate just to hear his voice. A part of you is embarrassed for staying awake all night for some guy, but another part of you can’t let it go when you’re so deep already.

* * *

You called into work after your late night-early morning escapade, telling them you caught something from one of your friends and wouldn’t be in for the next few days. There was no way you were going anywhere with the sleep you just got, and it wouldn’t be fixed in one day either. Even after sleeping the morning away you were still tired from your late night-early morning endeavor. It’s not like you really cared though, you had just found out who your soulmate was. And unlike a lot of other people in the world, you had an entire collection of videos dedicated to just your soulmate and his passion.

It didn’t take long for you to dig your nose back into the screen of your phone just to watch him make that gorgeous, dimpled smile. There were so many videos where he talked about you, sharing some of the items you had lost with his fans like they were his best friends. He looked so proud to be showing off your things, and the look in his eyes when he’d get lost in his own thoughts just looking at them made your heart melt.

You’d heard your mom and dad talk about how happy they were to have a special song just for the two of them. Your mom used to tell you all about the day your father tracked her all the way from the grocery store, pushing through the crowd like a love interest in a kdrama because he heard her humming their song to herself. At a young age you always thought it was sweet and wanted to meet your soulmate just like your mom had, but you eventually realized as you got older that a strange person following you home is not something you want. However, now you kinda wished it could work like that, seeing that your soulmate was practically untouchable.

Of all the people in the world, you just had to get stuck with a celebrity with millions of girls from all over the world fawning over him. Getting chased in the streets must be on this guy’s workout regimen by now! How were you supposed to get anywhere near him without spending over $1,000 just to look at his face?

“How much are those fan-meet things?” You ask yourself aloud. Innocent enough, but nothing could’ve prepared you for the entire process that came with going to just one fansign. This wasn’t something you could just buy a ticket for. No. You had specific steps that you had to follow or you wouldn’t even stand a chance. There were so many steps that you were tempted to just find his company and blast music until security came to take you away. Maybe you’d at least get to meet him when they filed a restraining order.

No. You HAD to meet him. You haven’t saved all of his lost things just for you to chicken out now.

So, you made a fancafe account and waited for their next promotion to purchase an album, you waited for the lottery winners to be announced, and you almost doubled over when you saw your name on the list from the store. You thought 3 months was long enough, but the 24 hours before the event were the longest hours of your life. So long that you couldn’t even sleep!

That’s where the wrench comes in.

You hadn’t meant to stay up so late at all, but you were really excited to finally meet the man that’s been losing everything he touches - especially now that he’s started losing air pods under your bed. So, when you woke up at 10:30am for the fansign that started at 11, you knew you’d messed up.

You messed up bad.

Of all the irresponsible things you could’ve done, staying up late was not the one you should’ve chosen to do. Now, you’d have to wait even longer to see him. Maybe the universe was right to give you both the worst soulmate mark known to man.

It wasn’t like waiting for the next fansign was bad, but it wasn’t the best either. Everyday that passed was another day that you had to watch him through a screen. Seeing his dimpled cheeks smile at the camera - at you - making your heart race. He was so close to you, but he was so out of reach. When the next fansign did come around, you had to make sure you made it on time so you could see it in person for yourself.

That’s what you told yourself.

To your credit, you almost did do that! But you had no idea there would be so much traffic. Not only that, but you’d tripped and dropped the box of things to return to him on the street and had to pick it up before anyone saw what it was you were holding. Because of those small issues, you made it to the venue five minutes after they had closed the doors.

“Please, I’m only five minutes late!” You beg, breathing heavy and labored. You stare at the worker just doing her job with high hopes that she would have some sort of empathy for you, but her face showed no remorse.

“If you wanted to be let in, then you should have been on time.” She scolds, closing the doors on you and leaving you outside to wallow in self pity once more.

At least the first time you’d messed up you were in the comfort of your own home where you could cry over your failure. Now, you were left in the open for everyone to see your mistake. You were so close too. He was just behind the doors. Waiting to see the adoring faces of his fans that you should be a part of.

Yet you’re on the streets.

* * *

“Don’t you think you’re going a little overboard?”

“What makes you say that?” You turn to your friend from your seat on the ground outside of the shop you’d purchased your album from, dressed in a light hoodie with a coffee in your hand. The light of day just peaking through the cracks between the buildings as the street lamps turn off for a new day.

At this point in your journey to meet your soulmate, you weren’t going to take any more chances. The store didn’t open for another 3 hours, and the event started an hour and a half after that, but you were going to be sure you had your ticket and made it to the venue on time. You didn’t care how early you were, you were going to see Namjoon if it was the last thing you did.

The poor, tired woman seemed to pick up on your indifference to your change in behavior and sighs, “Nothing in particular. I’m just concerned that maybe you’re taking this to the extreme now.”

“I’ve tried and failed three times already, Bomi. I cannot miss another chance to meet them!” You explain, taking a sip from your warm cup.

“Maybe the universe is trying to tell you that they’re just a boy band and you shouldn’t get so excited over them. They all have soulmates anyways.” Of course she didn’t know that you were going because one of them was your soulmate, but you couldn’t risk anyone finding out and telling your soulmate before you could tell him.

“I know that, but it’s worth it!” All the hours you’d spent waiting, watching their new content, reading their tweets and various posts from other social media wishing you could see him in person for just a moment. This was the fourth attempt, and you didn’t want to continue this cycle of hit and miss. “I’m not missing it this time.”

“Well, waiting outside of this shop so early just to get a ticket that’s already yours is absurd!”

“You didn’t have to come with me.” You grumble. It wasn’t like you didn’t know that. You were very much aware of the fact that it was insane. It was something you thought about every time you failed to make it into the venue! Having her reiterate what you already knew did not make it any easier.

However, your acquaintance wasn’t having your response, “I did. You blackmailed me into coming with you so you’d actually do it right, remember?”

The vague memory of sending her an embarrassing picture you had as a way to convince her to come flashes through your mind. So maybe your methods were unconventional, but they worked. “That’s not important!”

You both continue to wait by the store’s entrance, making light conversation as more people begin to show up for their own tickets. Of course, you knew they’d be here, that’s why you left extra early to be there first. It was a good thing you did too, because as the time ticked on and the line grew longer, it became obvious a lot of fans had purchased their albums from the same store you had. Even as the store owner arrived to start their day, not at all surprised by the line that had formed for them, there were still fans lining up for their tickets.

But in the end, you were first to arrive and receive your ticket, and that made you one of the first to the venue.

“Alright, we made it. This is where I leave you.” Bomi hikes her bag further onto her shoulder and turns to face you one last time before she leaves, “Don’t make a fool of yourself in there. And do not show them your airpod collection!”

‘Oh, I’m returning the airpod collection…’ You think to yourself, sending a quick wave goodbye to her.

Waiting for the doors to the venue to open didn’t take as long as you’d thought it would - security check taking even less time. You found your seat pretty easily as well, being placed on the left side of the empty table in the middle of the sea of chairs. Taking the time you have while everyone finds their seats, you take a peek inside of the box you’d brought to grab your album and just look at everything you’d brought to begin their return to Namjoon. You made sure to bring every pair of air pods you had found - and hadn’t sold on eBbay - a few old homework assignments, USB’s, pictures he’d taken through his pre-debut, and the trophy he’d misplaced that lead to your discovery.

Hopefully his band members wouldn’t be too upset with him.

You’d learned a lot about each of them over the two years you’ve spent trying to meet with Namjoon. So many times you’d been tempted to put yourself on the fan page or DM them on Twitter, but you were too afraid of being drowned out by other ARMYs or one of the other boys blocking you before Namjoon could see. No doubt they each probably had hardships of their own trying dodge fans claiming to be their soulmate. Watching as they each come to the stage individually, you could see why anyone would lie to call them theirs. You couldn’t deny how handsome they all were - you’d be lying to yourself if you said you thought they weren’t handsome - but no one could compare to your Namjoon.

If you get the opportunity to meet his stylist, then you’re going to give her the biggest hug for making him look this amazing! It was just a plain white, button down shirt tucked into a black pair of dress pants, but the top two buttons of his shirt undone and the grey, satin suit jacket with the addition of black, square glasses and his brown hair neatly parted to the left make him look like a god - should they exist. He takes your breath away, even if you’ve seen every picture and fancam you were able to find. The universe really said, “this one deserves the best” and threw you the biggest catch out there. You could only hope he enjoyed the simple pair of jeans and pastel yellow sweater you’d thrown on for the occasion.

It takes a while before they begin the meet and greet part, the boys introducing themselves and asking questions, letting their fan sites take pictures before they turn their attention to the individual fans as they pass them. With every moment that passes by, every row you watch stand and enter the line to the stage, you become more and more nervous. Of course, you knew your soulmate was truly Namjoon, but you were still terrified to reveal that truth in front of everyone. You’d seen a few announcements regarding the boys and their soulmates, talking about how their respective soulmate would be treated like another one of the boys and would be protected by BigHit as soon as they were found. You knew you’d at least have his company behind you, but…

What about his fans?

You can’t help but fester in your own thoughts, letting them consume you even as you make your way into the line with your box. You try your best to muster up the courage you need, but the looming presence of the table getting closer and closer makes your breathing harder. All you need to do is remain calm. They were just people.

The people who’ve spent almost 7 years with your soulmate.

And your soulmate himself.

No biggie.

“Ma’am.” The voice of the staff keeping the line interrupts your internal panic, pulling you back to reality. He points to the table where an excited Taehyung smiles eagerly at you with an empty space in front of him. “You’re next.”

“Yes! Thank you.” Reeling from embarrassment, you quickly kneel down to the space in front of the table. You give a small bow and hand over your album to the boxy-smiled boy in front of you, your hands shaking from how nervous you are. All you had to do was make it through 5 more boys and you’d meet your soulmate.

5 more people....

...and you’d meet your soulmate.

A hand lands on top of your own, “There’s no need to be nervous!” Taehyung is bright and happy, calmly running a thumb over the back of your hand as he uses the other to sign your album. His eyes shift from you to the paper and back to you, “You’re doing great~”

You felt a little bad for probably ignoring him. He must’ve been trying to introduce himself when he’d noticed you’d spaced out yet again. Yet here he was, acting as though it wasn’t even that big of a deal. Of course, he still had about 50 more people or so to have a minute conversation with, but he genuinely seemed to care. It made you feel more confident.

“Thank you.” You say, a smile gracing your lips. You were still nervous, but at least now you felt calm and somewhat collected to at least make it through the other members. You move onto Yoongi, then to Jeongguk, to Jin, to Jimin, and then to Hoseok. Once again, you’re feeling a little guilty about the time you spend with him. It wasn’t like you weren’t excited to be in front of him, but your soulmate was less than 2 feet away from you looking like he walked out of a Vogue photo shoot with a happy little smile on his face. Hopefully, if all goes well you can apologize to him for being distracted.

The staff moves everyone along and your time finally comes. You bid Hoseok a quick thank you and goodbye and move yourself in front of Namjoon, his box tucked close to your body as a way to keep you grounded.

Namjoon takes your album from Hoseok before he turns his full attention to you, his dimples that you’d been obsessed with since you’d first seen them making an appearance. His dark brown eyes stare into your own, “Hi, what’s your name?”

You’re so entranced by the man in front of you that you almost don’t respond. You manage a quiet, “(Y/n)...” But you’re so stunned and breathless that you think about repeating it just to make sure he hears it.

“Really?” He asks. His eyes widen for just a moment, and you know he recognizes it from a homework assignment or a book you’d probably lost with your name in it. You watch his shoulders as they tense and then relax as if they’d never lifted in the first place. “I really like that name. It’s one of my favorites.”

You watch him turn to the album in front of him, looking for the page you’d like him to sign. Being in front of him now, you feel your confidence grow. You can’t help yourself, “Really? Is there a reason?”

“I’ve just always liked the name.” He says, looking up momentarily with a tight smile. He probably didn’t want to be too obvious about his soulmate - well, you - so fans wouldn’t go looking for you. That must be the one downside to the life of an idol. You watch him carefully, taking in the way he handles your album with care. You watch him flip through pages, his smile slipping for a confused frown. He looks at you, “You don’t have a question for me?”

You jump at the sudden realization that you hadn’t given him the box yet, “No! I do…” This was it. You look from him to the box you’ve clung onto for two years, “It’s inside the box.”

Carefully, you slide the box forward, feeling the nerves you’ve been feeling all day spring to life. He takes it from you with a grateful smile, probably expecting a bear or something you’d made yourself just for him. But judging by the look on his face, you can tell he wasn’t expecting to find the objects in front of him. His shocked face makes you chuckle.

“I’ve always wondered how one person can lose so many things. I understand homework and socks, the airpods, but an entire trophy, Namjoon? How do you lose a trophy?” You ask. You wait for an answer, but he looks as if he’s completely shut down. His jaw hangs open ever so slightly, and his eyes are wide in disbelief. You see a glisten in his eyes and your amusement turns to worry, “Are you okay?”

The leader turns to you, glistening eyes staring into your own. His mouth opens and closes and it looks like he’s trying to find the right words to say, “I-...I don-...oh my god, you’re actually here.”

You watch as the shine in his eyes turn to tears that slowly roll down his cheeks, his mouth struggling to decide if he wants to frown or smile. You’re more worried than anything, “Wah-! Don’t cry! Why are you crying?!” You reach for his hands that still rest on the sides of the box, mimicking what Taehyung had done for you when you first stepped up to the table. “Please don’t cry.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” He says softly, his voice cracking ever so slightly. You’re still confused if he himself is happy or not, trying to make sense of why he’s crying when he just met you. You watch his eyes drift over you with an unclear expression. Was he happy? Was he sad? Were you supposed to be reacting the same way?

“You’re beautiful…” He says, teary eyes meeting your own.

“So are you.” You respond. It’s only after the words fall from your mouth that you realize what you said and you try to correct yourself, “Handsome! I meant to say you’re handsome! You’re very attractive in a very masculine way, but that’s not to say you don’t express femininity well when you choose to and you look good all the time and-” Amidst your struggle for the correct words, he’d begun to laugh at your own expense. Not how you imagined this meeting to go, you shrink back to your side of the table, “I’ll just stop talking.”

“No! Please, keep talking.” He begs, moving forward to come closer to you. He pulls on your hands that still connect across the table, squeezing to reassure you that he still wanted you to be near him. It felt so nice to have him hold your hands, so nice and comforting, that you must’ve missed the glistening in your own eyes, “Now you’re crying!”

Your hands pull from his to hide your face, “No I’m not, it’s just raining inside!”

As you try to wipe away your tears, you hear the voice of Jimin call over the speakers just off to the side of the table, “You’re not supposed to make the fans cry!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon defends. In all fairness, you did make him cry first, so this was probably fair.

Hoseok claps his hands together, his voice just subtly coming through the speakers as well, “This is so sweet! We’re all witnessing two soulmates meet for the first time!”

“It’s like a movie, but without the flower petals.” Taehyung adds, having a mic of his own on his side as well.

“Miss.” Another staff member appears next to you, only this time they’re offering a hand and a smile, “Could I have you come with me?”

You’re nervous at first, not sure if going with this staff member would be the best idea. However, the presence of Namjoon’s hand on your own once more draws your attention to his heartwarming smile, “It’s okay.”

You nod and stand, allowing the staff to lead you behind the table and into the hallway to a waiting area. They have you sit on the couch, assuring you that Namjoon and the others would be there to see you soon. This at least gave you a moment to collect your thoughts and come to the realization that you really just met your soulmate after so much hard work to get there. You’d thought plenty of times that you’d regret trying to meet him this way, but now you couldn’t be more elated that you actually got to speak to him and hold his hands. You made him cry - what were hopefully - tears of joy! Even as their manager sits down to make small talk with you while you wait for the end of the fanmeet, you can’t help but to feel as if you’re on cloud 9.

It’s not too long until you hear that the meeting has come to an end, making your heart rate speed up. Once again, you take a deep breath in and let it out, preparing yourself to face Namjoon again. Only when he does come in, you both just stare at one another. Him from the doorway with his members waiting behind him and you from your spot on the couch. You’d already met, you’d already held hands, but this...he was right there.

“Well, are you going to talk to her or just look at her?” Jin asks, a mischievous smirk gracing his features as he stares at the younger.

It would seem that the small jab at the leader was all he needed to push himself forward, legs moving swiftly across the room in long strides just so he can reach you. You stand, intending to meet him halfway, but he’s already pulling you into a much needed embrace before you even get the chance. His arms wrap over your shoulders, caging you close to his chest as he leans down to rest his head on your own. He smells so nice, and his embrace is so warm, they almost distract you from the wetness you feel on top of your head.

“Namjoon…?” You ask, worried you might make him cry more by asking.

The man himself pulls back, quickly moving to wipe his tears as if he hadn’t already cried in front of you already, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so emotional right now.”

“Don’t apologize. I think it’s cute.” You assure him. You look down, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself, “Much cuter than showing up to your fansign with a bunch of your things.”

“How long have you known?” He asks.

“2 long and painful years.” You sigh. Thinking back on everything you’ve done since discovering who and where he was, you can’t help but be thankful it worked out this time around, “I’ve tried coming to a fan sign 3 times before this.”

“Couldn’t win a ticket?” Jeongguk asks from the side, a bottle of water in his hands.

Your sheepish smile turns into a strained one, “Yeah...we’ll go with that.”

Yoongi seems to pick up on your change in attitude, “Don’t tell me…”

“No wonder the universe put them together, they’re a match made in heaven!” Jin laughs, the sound being much more entertaining in person. The other members of BTS continue to talk amongst themselves, discussing the scene before them as well as how exciting the day had been. But Namjoon, instead, focuses all of his attention on you.

“Please tell me you’re free for the rest of the day.”

For once, you were more than happy to use your holiday time, “I’m free for the rest of the weekend.”

“Good.” He says, giving you another look at his beautiful, dimpled smile.

“Good...”

* * *

“So, what’s in the box?”

380 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 5 years ago

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). general angst.

tags / warnings. everything about this is pain. you can literally spin in a circle and point at somewhere on the page and it’ll be pain. i’m sorry.

beta reader(s). @midnighttifa (your comments make my days better, @pars-ley (you’re so lovely), and @papillonsgf (i owe you my life and all my love). thank you, my dears! 💖

wc. 3k

chapter three.

You’d thought they’d left - all the memories of him. Packed into cardboard boxes and plastic bins, folded between clothes and bare picture frames.

You realise now, they’d only been hiding, waiting for his return.

The smell of your perfume. His favourite one, strawberry jam and cosy cedar wood. It calls to moments together, of his face buried into the side of your neck. Wandering hands and wondrous laughter, warmth crowding everywhere. The wet of his teeth against your skin as he’d smile. Springtime and Sunday matinees, fresh picked fruit and messy kisses.

The mirror in your hallway - the one you’d taken too many photos in front of, that’d you almost broke one drunken stumbling night. The one he’d loved you breathless in, with a hand at your throat and another on your waist. Where he’d whisper sweet nothings with eyes only for you. Where your little piece of paradise was preserved by a pretty iron frame.

The tee shirt that you’d washed and promised to return but never had, keeping it as a trophy. A rightful reminder of his love. How it fits you just right without fitting you at all, comfortable and lazy and effortless. A mirror image to the one he wears now.

You find pieces of him scattered everywhere, swept under rugs and tucked within cupboards. He’s there in the kettle that whistles and the tea that steeps, dipped in the honey pot and hidden behind your curtains. He’s there in your thoughts, tucked away on the top shelf that you pretend doesn’t exist.

Even as he sits, still and unimposing on the couch you’d both picked, he’s everywhere.

How is he everywhere?

“Want some help?” It floats across the space, comfortably as if he’d never left. It fits easily, familiar and lovely. You hate it. You hate how it makes you feel, digging up emotions you’d buried from their rightful place in the ground.

“I’m fine.”

A lie. Lily white and inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things.

You’re not quite sure why you bother. Whose feelings were you sparing - his or yours?

“You sure?” It’s closer than you anticipate, a ghost of a breath over your shoulder. It sends your mind reeling, feet following in the same fashion as you all but slam into the hard block edge of your counter. You nearly topple mugs as you go, only avoiding a disastrous mess when hands find you, catch you like that’s what they were made for.

Jungkook’s an indomitable figure, palms searing heat into every nerve ending beneath his touch. You can’t help the way you instinctively lean into him. You love him somewhere deep in your bones, in the stardust that makes up every atom - a moth drawn to his flame.

But you knew better now. Fly too close to the sun - you’ll only get burned.

“Please don’t touch me.”

It’s you who breaks away first, turned towards the scent of chamomile and lavender. You can only imagine his expression; it’ll twist out of shape, crooked like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.

You suppose you have, but he’d thrown the first punch.

“Why’d you invite me in if you’re only going to ignore me?” It hits like a shot to the gut, exactly as it’s meant to. He isn’t asking for the sake of asking - he’s asking so you’ll cry yourself hoarse and find comfort in his arms. He’s asking because he knows the answer and he wants you to regret it.

You know it. You know this side of him, even if you wish you didn’t.

Even if you wish he was still the same boy who you’d fallen in love with years ago, full of sunshine and promise. The one who’d have held you all night, kissed you senseless under the moon and held your hand through the sunrise. Who’d break his own back bending over, weather a hundred storms for the people he loved.

It’s a silly wish - a useless one, wasted on shooting stars and broken bones.

He would never be that boy again. He’d come too far, changed too much. You hardly even recognise him now, cut from stone rather than cloth. A thousand sharp edges you catch your hands on when you foolishly reach for him. He is an incomplete masterpiece and you’ve never been artistic. There’s nothing for you here.

A mug is extended - an unnecessary apology. An olive branch in the form of your old ritual. “Please don’t say that.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Can’t do or say anything.” It’s petulant and angry, a riot crowded behind his teeth. You’re worried what the words might do - how they’ll beat you black and blue.

“I don’t know what you expected.” You can’t hide the exasperation, the overwhelming sadness that starts in your heart and branches out into your veins. It creeps further, presents itself prettily in jewels nestled along your lash line and the tremble of your chin. You’d cry if you weren’t so tired, every ounce of your effort eaten up by the boy that glares at you now and demands more than you can possibly give.

He sighs - a long, unbroken sound - and something shifts, snaps into place as if the entire cosmos has aligned to allow this moment.

He looks like him suddenly, like the version of himself you’d thought long lost. It’s hidden in the peculiar shape of his mouth, uneven around his frown; it’s there in the light of his stare, where sunbeams pour past boarded up windows. It’s there, even where you can’t quite see it, in the corner of his soul and his drifting heart. He’s always been a wanderer.

But then he moves, retreats back to his seat and to himself.

He feels farther away than the moon, his silence that of the stars.

You take a careful sip of the liquid that burns through ceramic - anything to distract from the cold hands of memory that claw at your neck. You turn words over in your hand - test them for clarity and weight, a jeweller inspecting their most prized possessions. Was there anything you could say that would make this better? That would fix this gaping, Jungkook-shaped silhouette that tore a hole right through you?

You remember how you’d fallen for him, tumbled headlong into love with him - intensely, blindly, wholeheartedly. It’d been easy then. You’d dived into depths too shallow, climbed trees too fall; you hadn’t thought your heart would break, even if every other part of you did.

You’d thought it’d all be worth it.

Instead you’re left with alkaline bones calcified under paper-thin skin, parchment sewn together by shaking hands and sodden by saltwater. It’s hardly a body at all, ripe for the picking and bruising and tearing beneath teeth like knives.

Can you blame him for how he hurts you when you’d already hurt yourself?

There’s a tang on your tongue. It pools between seams, dripping misery into your mouth and swallowing the sob that’s formed in a wave. It crashes against your teeth, stings the pink of your gums with salt; it rises and crests, engulfing sandy shores you’d once built your home upon. It comes and comes and you can’t stop it - sound bursting forth like a siren song.

He’s upon you then, utterly defenseless to your call. He crowds you before he can think twice about it; a drowning man seeking air. It’s a pretty metaphor for a pretty boy. What he doesn’t realise is that he is a galaxy all his own - not a sailor lost at sea but a swirling vortex not fit for human life. Jungkook contains no oxygen of his own, smothering you in what he calls love and feels more like hell.

“I’m sorry.” It disappears into velvet, clinging to silk like electricity. They spark in your eyes, electrifying your thoughts. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

Arms do the opposite of what they’re meant to. They crush your resolve beneath the weight of them - pry open your insides - and you’re crumbling. The agony comes in sheets, like September rain. It streaks down your cheeks and soaks your clothes, sinking beneath your skin until you’re waterlogged.

“Don’t say that. Don’t you say that to me.”

Don’t lie to me, you think.

He speaks the words he thinks you want to hear, weaving them until they’re a muzzle for your sadness. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.” As if good intentions make up for the way your heart aches.

They don’t. .

“Forgive me. Please. I need you.”

Forgive him. Forgive him? You don’t even know what you’d forgive him for. You’re certain there are more skeletons in his closet than in the ground. Dig one up and another three would rise - some sort of awful hydra’s head born from your nightmares.

“I can’t.” It claws itself out of your throat and into the air that suffocates, ripping it apart with teeth and nails. Hands find the collar of his shirt and it isn’t clear whether you’re shoving him away or clinging to him. You can’t make up your mind, fisting the material between your fingers until the strands might snap. It feels terribly familiar, like the thing behind your ribs that’s six seconds from tearing.

You’re pushing and pulling, hitting and halting. Hauled in a million different directions. It’s too much.

“What’re you sorry for?” A fist to his chest, right where your heart lives (or dies, rather). Your demands are barely coherent, words with no beginning and no end. “Tell me. Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

He could push you away. It’d be easy, really. You half expect him to. He hates being told what to do.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for not realising how good I had it. I’m sorry for forgetting about what we had. I’m so fucking sorry.” They’re confessions you’ve heard a hundred times. Over the phone, through the door, on his knees. It never changes - a recital he knows intimately well. “I’m sorry for letting you down.”

You shouldn’t have expected more. It would never come - not with him. Not from him. He had too much to lose and you’d never be enough. Nothing in comparison to those thin white lines, those flashing lights, those women.

You thought you’d known that. You’d had three long years to learn that.

These apologies aren’t answers; they’re excuses.

You peer up at him - into those wondrous eyes, so full of light and swirling with constellations - that you don’t think he expects it when you thrust your hand into his chest, past sinew and gristle to find the truth. It squeezes, incremental, around the organ that you’d once thought beat in time with yours. Silly girl. It hardly beats at all.

“That’s not what you should be sorry for.” The tears still fall. They come, relentless, as if his mere presence undoes all your hard work; they carry your words, pull them off your tongue like white water rapids. “You should be sorry you’re asking me to forgive you. You should be sorry you’re putting me through this.” It’s those same fists, over and over again, as if you might force something more out of him.

“I’m sorry I can’t let you go.”

“Please let me go.”

“I can’t. I can’t.” Jungkook cries like his tears might sway the tide. “Stay with me. I can’t do this without you.” It’s a lie - a terrible, poorly-dressed lie - but he speaks it like the truth, like you’re his truth.

He begs as if he doesn’t remember the harsh sting of reality and how it fits within your story. He pretends like these chapters haven’t been written together, passages underlined in garish red ink. He acts oblivious to the mistakes you point out, refusing to read between the lines even when they’re written in.

Fault lies with him - mostly, wholly - carried in the palm of his hands with small portions - sections of his knuckles - divided up to reflect the ache of your mutual loss.

He knows that - but knowing something doesn’t mean facing it.

“I need you, Pumpkin.”

“You don’t need me.” Hasn’t needed you in years, far longer than even the last three. He’d found others to need, others to fill the gaping you-shaped hole he swore was real.

Women with beguiling eyes and beseeching mouths. Women whose names you never learnt but whose perfume found a home somewhere along your shelves, whose clothes masqueraded as yours when you’d find a wayward scrap of lace in the back pocket of his jeans. Women who took your everything - but only because he’d been ripe for the taking.

I miss you, he’d insisted over those first few weeks. I can’t wait to come home to you. Nothing’s the same without you.

You should’ve known then that someone so used to having it all would never let go so easily.

In a perfect world, you would’ve fought less, given more - uprooted your whole life to travel across the world with him. He would’ve stayed at your side, found his vice in the shape of your smile, the beat of your heart. You would’ve been happy. Together.

You wonder - would it have made a difference? Or would all paths have led to this? Had you been doomed from the start? Star-crossed lovers?

You’d like to think so. Passing blame helps - softens the pain and drowns out the what-ifs.

You never had a chance.

He wants to tell you it’s true, that none of them mean anything close to you. He wants to tell you that you’re the love of his life and that, when he gives this all up - flickers out like a star that’s burned too bright - you’ll be the one he crashes into. You’ll be the only arms he seeks, his northern star in human form.

But you told him not to lie and you’d insist he was, so he doesn’t.

He stares at you instead, soft and sad and so desperate he can trace the fractures in your composure as he levels you with that unwavering intensity. It stutters to life a hundred hummingbird wings; he can practically hear them buzzing about in your chest. He thinks they’d burst out of your chest if you weren’t careful, caging them beneath brass.

“I love you,” he tells you, words so sweet, so tender - a melody he strings together only for your ears. It warms your cheeks and fizzles quietly in your stomach, melting away the ice that crystallises your heart and turns it cold. He strips you bare with the admission, hoping to find some sort of acceptance in your eyes.

He forgets that he is not a blameless boy and your body is more than a confessional booth.

You believe it when you say it, half-hearted and defensive. It would hurt more if it weren’t so wet. “You don’t love me.”

“I do.” What can he do to convince you it’s true? He thinks he’d do anything if it brought you back to him - where he wants you most - tucked away in his arms and his head and his heart. “I swear I do.”

He reaches for you with high hopes. It’s silly of him, he knows. You’re lightyears away, tucked among the stars. It’s where you belong, out of reach and shining bright. He can’t deny how badly it hurts. He wants you here, beside him; he wants it selfishly, as he wants most things.

“You don’t love me, because you don’t hurt the people you love.” It’s a phrase Jungkook’s heard before. From your lips, from movie screens, from god knows fucking where. What a stupid phrase. He didn’t mean to hurt you. He didn’t mean a lot of things and didn’t that mean anything?

Each time it comes, it agitates him, stewing his blood to a boil. It simmers in his veins like witch’s brew, a love potion rotten and ruined - sweet milk gone sour..

Was this that - a relationship that had run its course? A bond past its expiration date?

“I love you,” he repeats, ever harder. As if the words might turn to amber, remain forever on the top of his tongue, crystallised and perfect. It feels like it. He’s told you enough times, ever since he was fifteen years old - practically an eternity.

“”You don’t.” It’s your own insistence, biting and cold and yet somehow still a summer’s day. You weren’t always like this. He’d driven you to this. But you were never very good at keeping him out; warmth always crept in, sunlight streaming through the clouds. That was the glory of your love. It was irrefutable.

Your skin may have thickened but the fire roars on.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much.” He holds you, seeks to burn the truth of his words into your marrow. Thumbs sweep the point of your chin, right below where he’d like to leave the impression of his mouth.

There’s a sadness in your eyes - an ocean of melancholy that turns them bitter blue. “Love is sacrifice.” You pry each finger from your face, turn knuckles alabaster with your gentle ministrations. A part of him wishes you’d tear them clean off; your kindness hurts more than your hate. “And sacrifice is something you’ll never understand.”

You lead him to leave, just as he’s led you through hell. You don’t falter when the door of your home swings open, the one in your heart slamming shut in tandem.

When you tell him to go, he isn’t ready - wants to spend the rest of his life in this place with you - so you guide him out, with a tiny shake of your head and a click of the lock. He stares at the wood grain when it shuts in his face - memorises the patterns of the home you’d built together. He stands there longer than he should, setting sun searing upon his shoulders. He should leave, he knows.

But you’re his weakness and he doesn’t know whether he loves you or hates you for it.

author note. this was really meant to just... explore their past a little bit? so i hope that comes across? actual plot movement will be forthcoming. tysm for reading!!! 💜

tag list. @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain

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lykegenia · 4 years ago

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Trust, But Verify

Convinced that Unit Bravo isn't everything they seem to be, Detective Leah Kingston decides to return to the warehouse that she knows plays some part in the mystery of Wayhaven's first murder in years, this time with Tina as backup. But sometimes, what is said on patrol doesn't stay on patrol, which isn't great when the subject of conversation is a certain new arrival with a dazzling smile and warm brown eyes.

Read on AO3

The air in the office holds a studied silence, from the members of Unit Bravo who have arranged themselves around the room like they’re on a photoshoot, and from me ignoring them so I can finish updating the board with information about the case. There’s precious little to go on so far. Adam called it a waste of time, but working as a teammeans everybody needs to be on the same page, and now I can feel a certain amount of spite creeping into the thoroughness of my notes.

I can’t afford to let it. Getting bull-headed means things get missed.

“What information can you give me about the other victims?” I ask.

“Nothing that will help us here.”

Nate passes a guilty glance between me and his glowering leader, but all it does is get me even angrier. Folding my arms, I turn to Adam, temper finally frayed enough to let my professional veneer slip.

“Did my mother send you to sabotage my case?” I demand. I shouldn’t, but today has not been a good day.

Adam glares. Somehow, the silence in the room deepens.

“I’m only asking because so far you seem to be trying your hardest to seem incompetent and uncaring about the fact that a woman has been murdered. If you can’t show even basic respect for that then you can get the hell out of my office and not come back.”

“Detective…”

“Are you here to help or not?” I’ve dealt with Saturday night drunks and middle managers angry at getting parking tickets – hell, I’ve had to face the mayor’s bluster more than once – and though Adam looks like he knows more ways to break someone’s bones than any of those guys, I’m willing to bet he’s on a much shorter leash.

Finally, the muscles working in that square jaw unclench just enough for him to loose a strained breath through his teeth. “We’re at your disposal.”

“Glad to hear it.” My shoulders relax a little. “The better we work together, the faster we’ll solve this, and unfortunately all the legwork has to come first.”

Nate steps forward, visibly relieved that we haven’t come to blows. “What do you want us to do?”

“We need to trace the victim’s last steps,” I say. Coming up with a plan gives me something to focus on. “Bank records, phone records, CCTV. If we can find out where and when she met the killer, hopefully we can follow the thread back to them. Someone should ask Verda if there’s any way to track down the equipment the killer needed for the transfusion, too,” I add.

“Anything else?” Mason drawls from his corner. He’s started on another cigarette.

“Nate very kindly said you’d all go and check out the Farris warehouse later. We think it might be the murder site.” I don’t miss the look Adam shoots across the room, but it’s not important. “Be careful when you do, when I was there yesterday I ran into some unsavoury characters.”

“Really?” Felix asks, grinning. “If we see them I’m sure we could take them.”

Nate rolls his eyes and Adam grinds his teeth again, and neither of them are doing anything to soothe the off vibes I’ve been getting all morning.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply, turning to grab my coat off the peg. “While you’re on that, there’s something else I want to chase up.”

“What something else?” Adam asks, his eyes narrowing as if he can hear the uneasy tick of my pulse.

I shrug, already half out the door. “I’ll let you know if it pans out.”

“One of us should go with you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but Tina and I will be fine – Tina! Fieldtrip!”

She looks up from the papers on her desk and gestures to the steaming mug in her hand. “But I just –”

“Now. We can stop off at Haley’s later.”

There’s a pause as she glances behind me, assessing, no doubt lining up a bunch of questions to ask me as soon as we’re out of earshot. “Sure thing, Detective.” She pulls on coat and scarf and sidles closer. “Day one and the power’s already gone to your head, I see.”

I stifle a smile and turn back to Unit Bravo, who are all leaning around the door of my office in various attitudes of surprise. “I almost forgot, while I’m out I’d be grateful if you could add the information on the other victims to the board. It should help.”

“We’ll see to it,” Nate promises when his colleague only flexes his biceps in response.

“I appreciate it.”

I’m almost to the door when I catch Felix sigh and mutter I don’t think she likes us very much, but I straighten my shoulders and step into the already darkening winter day, not allowing the prickle of guilt to take hold. They’re not here for me to like them, they’re here for a job – and I need to figure out what that job really is.

Tina shoots me a dubious look as I pull up outside the Farris warehouse and cut the engine. There’s still some light left, though the thick growth of trees crowds most of it out, and aside from a few harsh alarm calls from birds flitting between the trunks, the place is lifeless. Silent. The moon watches us from just above the top branches, hanging in the sky like a spider in the corner of its web.

“You changed your mind about letting Unit Boyband have this one?” she asks.

I reach behind me for my flashlight and check the safety on my gun is locked before kicking open the door. “There’s something not adding up about them, and I want to know what it is. Nate practically contorted himself trying to think of reasons for me to stay away.”

“And so here we are.” She sighs and follows. “Just like the good old days. As your friend, I think you’re being a bit paranoid.”

“Shady government agencies bring that out in me.”

“Just as long as you’re not expecting to split up in there.”

I toss her a grin. “Not even for a Scooby Snack?” I chuckle at her flat look. “Don’t worry, after those guys put that dent in Nessie last night, I’m not taking chances.”

With a wary look around, she unholsters her own gun and takes position on my left. “That dent looks like it was made with a sledgehammer.”

“Yup.”

We fall silent as we cross the threshold, crumbs of rubble cracking under our boots. The wind blows in from behind us, rustling the ivy reclaiming the walls, distorting sound, but unless someone is keeping very still, there’s nobody else here.

“Sooooo… it’s ‘Nate’ is it?” Tina ventures as we climb the stairs to the first floor. The artistic endeavours of Wayhaven’s teenagers scroll the walls, the empty cans and bottles from last summer’s illicit parties still scattered in the far corners.

“That’s what he asked me to call him,” I reply carefully. “It’s what the rest of them call him too.”

“Uh-huh.” She peers down at something. “Cigarette butt.”

“Recent?” I catch a shadow to my left, but when I chase it with my flashlight, it turns out just to be pigeons again, scattering for some reason of their own.

“There’s still ash on it, so I’d say so.”

“Bag it.”

While she kneels and starts the usual procedure for getting evidence into one of the bags we both carry with us, I pace the rest of the floor, peering around rusted heavy machinery and into the dustier corners in case of footprints. With so many people passing through, though, it’s unlikely we’ll find enough to connect anything to the murder – at least not anything that would stick in court.

“You have seen him eyeing you up though, right?”

“What?” I glance over, startled by the suddenness of Tina’s voice. “Who?”

Her tut would have made any disapproving grandma proud. “Nate.”

“Tina, I met him this morning.” One last glance around. “This floor’s clear.”

“So?”

“So when has he even had an opportunity to ‘eye me up’?”

“Oh, that’s right,” she sing-songs, “you were too busy doing your best to make the grumpy one quake in his combat boots, but I see everything. His mouth was hanging open and everything. And that was after your cosy little trip down to the morgue. I’m telling you, babe, you have a shot.”

We go one at a time down the stairs, which means she can’t see me roll my eyes, but as we turn to take our first proper look at the ground floor, the idea wiggles in to distract my better judgement. Nate has certainly made a better first impression than most of his team, but that’s not exactly hard, and his face looks like one that’s used to smiling, to smoothing ruffled feathers. If I maybe noticed the warmth of his hand when I shook it earlier, or caught the faint scent of whatever aftershave he uses when we were walking down to see Verda, then it’s still not something to lose my head over. It’s not something that matters.

“As your friend, I’m duty-bound to say that I think you’re delusional,” I say, deliberately light.

“Over here.”

Tina’s flashlight rounds on the transient’s camp I found yesterday, a loose pile of tattered blankets and a few rusted oil drums converted into fire barrels, only now with more light, there seems to be little evidence of recent occupation. No trash, no scuff marks beyond what could be explained by the passage of my own feet and the strangers who ran into me, and no odour of an unwashed body.

And yet…

Still crouched, I glance at the walls, try to imagine them blurred as I hold up my phone screen with the photos copied from Janet Greenland’s. She had known she was going to die, with enough advance warning to try and leave some kind of message, and then hidden them where her killer would be unlikely to look.

Tina breaks the concentrated silence. “What’s so delusional about someone finding you attractive?” It helps, the distraction from the grisly reason we’re here.

“Nothing in particular,” I reply. “People have wanted to sleep with me before. It’s just not something that would work.”

“Why not?”

I stand and walk slowly, still with my phone up in front of me. “One, this is a temporary assignment. Once we catch the killer, Unit Bravo will be whisked away to somewhere far more exotic than Wayhaven with far more interesting people.” I stop. “Two, he’s technically a colleague, which is never something that ends well. And three…”

The last of Janet Greenland’s photos line up with the view ahead of me, minus the difference in our height.

“Three?” Tina presses.

“I’m not interested.” It’s a ready answer, but she scoffs all the same.

“Oh come on, you mean you don’t think he’s sexy as hell?”

From somewhere behind us, there’s a loud crash as a piece of masonry collapses. We wheel, ready for something to come at us, but after a long moment, nothing else moves. Probably a rat, or a piece of the ceiling that was ready to go anyway. Even so, Tina keeps her back to mine as I return to my snooping.

“That’s not a no,” she wheedles after a few more minutes of silence.

“He’s –” The right description eludes me for a moment. “He’s good-looking. He seems nice, for what it’s worth. But that doesn’t mean he’d stay, and it doesn’t mean he’d be interested in anything… beyond casual. I have more worthwhile uses for my time than trying to guess a stranger’s motives for noticing me.” The bitterness isn’t something I meant to slip out, but thankfully there’s no comment on it. Tina knows enough about the fiasco with Bobby to leave that particular sleeping Rottweiler lie.

Besides, I’ve found where Janet stumbled into the warehouse – or tried to get out. By one of the broken windows some of the stones have tumbled and turned the mossy sides underneath, and a few threads of material are snagged on the jagged edge of the glass that are the same colour as the jacket she was wearing. There’s just enough light left to photograph it, but without any evidence of the killer or any kind of struggle, there isn’t much else to be done. Wayhaven doesn’t have the resources to dust an entire warehouse for prints.

“I remember being told at the academy that we should try to collect all the evidence we can,” Tina says, when I make no move to reach for a bag.

“That’s what I’m doing,” I reply. “Sometimes it doesn’t all look the same, that’s all.”

She eyes me with a frown, though the corner of her mouth is fighting a smile. “What did I tell you? Paranoid.”

Sitting in the Facility cafeteria barely a week later, a plate of unappetising mince and mashed potato in front of me, it’s hard to believe how much a life can change. Hunting for petty clues, looking through bank records and phone calls as if any of it would have turned up anything useful – not even the vindication of knowing I was right about my mother’s team does much to lessen the lurch the world has taken since learning that the man I was hunting is not only a vampire, but that he’s hunting me, too. The thought puts me off eating. Or maybe it’s the tests, or just that the food itself isn’t very good.

I’m in the middle of drawing a passable mixed media landscape with my fork when a shadow falls across my plate. Nate smiles at me, genuine if somewhat nervous, one hand holding a mug of tea and the other on the back of the chair opposite mine.

“May I sit?” he asks.

I’ve barely seen him since the first night I was here, between all the debriefings and the sessions with the scientists, and even those brief glimpses have been accidental, moments of stumbling into each other in the corridors of Unit Bravo’s section of the Facility. To have him seek me out, in a place that reeks of leftovers, stirs an unfamiliar flutter behind my ribs that turns into a smile to answer his.

“Please do.” I gesture, and his smile grows wider, and I cast about for something that will avoid me floundering in awkward silence. “I didn’t think I’d see you here – not because you don’t need to eat!” I add hastily. “The smell of stale coffee is almost too much for me with just human senses.”

He doesn’t seem too offended, and just shrugs. “I like the ambience. People here are just being people, no matter what species.” As he speaks his eyes cast over the nearly empty room, and the pockets of agents and supernaturals at other tables buried in conversation. A person could visit a thousand parallel universes and a cafeteria would look the same in every one.

“The more things change…” I mutter, following the line of his gaze.

A smile touches his lips. “You have no idea.”

I really don’t. Not compared with someone who’s lived so long and seen so much. In the pause that follows, I turn my attention back to my plate, and the interrupted tree I was trying to capture in the foreground with an overcooked slice of carrot.

“You’re quite the artist – I mean it!” he adds, holding up his hands at the sharp glance I throw his way.

“This is the part where you say you met some famous painter or other, isn’t it?” I grumble, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Van Gogh did sell me a painting once – not one of his own, I’m afraid.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say the statement was meant to impress me, and that the sip he takes of his tea is more to hide a smirk than because he’s thirsty. Still, his eyes grow serious as he taps the mug back on the table, and the measured way he looks me over makes me want to twist my fingers in my lap.

“What?”

“You seem to be handling the revelation of all this rather well,” he replies, muted, with a flicker of a softer smile. “We should have trusted you with it sooner.”

For a moment I don’t answer, both startled by the admission and caught up in an echo of the resentment that’s characterised so much of my time with Unit Bravo so far. It’s not a comfortable feeling, not now I know the reason behind the secrecy, but the morning after my second visit to the warehouse is still fresh in my mind, Adam’s flat ‘no’ when I asked if they’d found anything, and the way Nate glared at the floor, arms folded and shaking his head in tacit disagreement as the others waited for my reaction, as if they knew I wouldn’t believe them.

“I’ll admit, ‘new co-workers are secretly vampires hunting down a vampire serial killer who’s picked me as his next target’ wouldn’t have been my first guess for what was going on,” I try with a shrug. “I assume it’s not something everyone responds well to.”

“Most people who find out don’t have to deal with the serial killer part.”

Sometimes, in the face of such absurdity, you just have to laugh. Nate seems pleased that I haven’t run screaming, amusement warming the sympathetic way his gaze lingers.

“Actually, I wanted to thank you,” I say, after another moment of silence.

“For what?”

I shrug. “For wanting to tell me – trying to tell me, even though you had orders. Not everyone would do that.” My mother springs to mind as a prime example.

“It was clear you were going to find out anyway. You’re pretty incredible that way.” His gaze on mine is heavy, soft and intense but tinged with regret as well, and he looks away. “But after you went to the warehouse, it was also clear you didn’t trust us. It’s not a great combination for trying to keep someone safe.”

“How did you know I was at the warehouse?”

“I, uh…” He clears his throat, not meeting my eye. “I followed you. One of us had to, just in case Murphy came back.”

He seems… embarrassed more than anything, as if following me was somehow something more shameful than lying to my face, and it’s not what I expect. And then I remember my conversation with Tina while we hunted through the ruined building. Damn. My fork sets against the edge of my plate with a faint clink.

“You were in the warehouse – when I was in the warehouse,” I check, just in case there’s no real reason for the sudden flood of heat into my face.

“I was.”

“And you heard everything me and Tina were saying with your hypersenses, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t exactly need –” He stops, smiles an apology. “Yes, I heard everything.”

I roll my lips together, chasing something to say. My fingertips drum on the table. “There’s no chance you could just… forget all of that, is there?”

And now the smile curls into something smoother, sleek like a cat. And guess who’s the canary.

“I would rather not.” He purrs it, and my insides squirm. “But since we’re on the subject of… things you said, I feel the same way. About matters of the heart. They’re too precious to be treated casually.”

I stare. There’s more in the words than I really want to acknowledge, certainly more than I can respond to in the middle of a public place full of creatures I thought were myths for most of my life. His brown eyes search my face, patient, until I can’t stand it anymore and drop my gaze to the table, and he covers by taking another sip of his tea.

“That’s an elegant way to put it,” I manage, after what feels like an eternity. He’ll still be leaving once we’ve caught Murphy, and now that we’ve got a solid set of leads on him, that won’t be long at all.

“I hoped you would think so.”

“It must be hard to have any kind of relationship with… all of this.” I wave my hand around the room. “The secrecy and the travelling, I mean.”

His head tilts, the smile returns. “You don’t think it’s the vampire thing that would put people off?”

“No.” I don’t miss the way his mouth twitches upwards at that. “Vampires have become fashionable in the last few years, so I hear. Even if you don’t sparkle.”

“I’d hope my wit does, at least.”

I can’t help it, I break into a laugh at that. It’s so easy to feel comfortable around him, to want to be closer and spend hours just talking. When I knew he was lying, it was an easier feeling to ignore.

“You could always find another vampire,” I point out. “That would solve it if you thought it was a problem.”

It confuses him. His brows furrow as if it was something he hadn’t considered, as if the conversation has taken a turn he didn’t expect, and I use the distraction to look at the clock, high on the wall where clocks always are in cafeterias.

“I need to go. It’s stab-Leah-with-needles o’clock.”

“So soon?” he asks.

It’s not entirely untrue, but I’ll have to walk slowly not to be early, because god forbid they think I’m eager for more tests. My heart skips a little, and he can probably tell, but this whole conversation has veered far too close to gates I locked a long time ago, and do not want open again. I shrug.

“The sooner I get through everything they can think up, the sooner I can go back to catching Murphy.”

“The sooner this whole case is finished.” He watches me, the unspoken half of the sentence left hanging.

“The sooner Wayhaven is safe again.”

In the end, that’s what matters. I can’t lose sight of it.

#in this house we talk about our feelings #but only if we're not talking about *our* feelings #and only if our bff bullies us into it #twc #the wayhaven chronicles #n sewell #nate sewell #nate sewell x detective #leah kingston #tina poname

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ts1989fanatic · 4 years ago

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Taylor Swift, Britney Spears and the media cycle that demands pain from our pop stars

Emma Clifton 08:30, Feb 16 2021

Britney Spears was robbed of her public image during the height of her fame. Taylor Swift was robbed of her music during the height of hers.

Why does our pop culture system seem so intent on punishing the very women who keep it afloat. Emma Clifton looks at a decade in young singers – and the variously terrible ways they get treated while in the public eye.

There was a theory floated on the podcast You’re Wrong About that ‘fame is abuse’ and you’d be hard pressed not to agree if you were one of the many people who saw the recent New York Times documentary Framing Britney Spears, and realised just how badly we as a society treated Britney Spears before, during, and after her rise to fame.

The paparazzi, the media, the comedians – and then the fans and look-i-loos who continued to buy all the magazines that ran headlines about what a train-wreck she was, when really she was just someone in her early twenties, trying to raise two children while being one of the most famous – and hounded – people on the planet.

The documentary discussed at length how we as a pop-culture obsessed society love to build up a talented, attractive young woman and then buy popcorn in preparation of when we can gleefully watch them tumble from grace.

(And it’s not just pop stars, of course; the resplendent rise and then the racist fall of Meghan Markle’s position in public opinion is one of the most recent examples we have of when good headlines go bad.)

When I was working at Creme magazine, between 2009 and 2012, our pages were over-flowing with talented young pop singers: Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez, The Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Rihanna, One Direction, Justin Bieber.

When you look back on the decade that has passed by since, time has not been kind to any of these people.

Either the showbiz demon took something from each of them – or they had to completely disappear from sight for years at a time in order to survive. Sometimes both.

There have been eating disorders, drug overdoses, rehab stints, broken marriages, abusive relationships, chronic illnesses. These kids – and they were kids – were so young when they started, they’re already on their fourth or fifth reinventions.

Most of them haven’t hit 30 yet.

And when you’re a female pop star, so many of these reinventions revolve around your sexuality.

Heck, when I was at Creme, Demi, Selena and Miley were part of the ‘purity ring’ club, where they all gushed about staying away from sex until marriage while their stylists dressed them in the tightest clothes possible.

The message from the marketing teams behind each of them was very clear: Sell sex, but don’t ever enjoy it.

This is the same battle Britney faced a decade previously – look like a Lolita, but make sure you never have sex with your long-term boyfriend because then you’ll be expected to cry about the shame of it on national television.

This was also the time of paparazzi trying to take up-skirt photos (exactly what it sounds like) of female actresses as soon as they turned 18; 18 – the age where you can legally have sex in America – was a big deal in pop culture.

There was a countdown for when the Olsen Twins turned 18. When Lindsay Lohan turned 18, Rolling Stone ran a breast-focused cover shoot with the headline: ‘Hot, ready and LEGAL’. And it was just fine! Totally accepted. These girls, they were always up for it, right?

And then we get to Taylor Swift.

Taylor is re-releasing Love Story, the song that made her famous, the song that I first heard in the shower (yes, I had a shower radio) when I was 20 and immediately started crying, because it hit me square in the middle of my pop culture diagram: love songs and references to Romeo and Juliet.

It’s from her second album, Fearless, which she wrote when she was aged 16-18 and which won her four Grammys, including Album of the Year. It’s also an album that no longer belongs to her and she can no longer perform, due to some millionaire f...wittery committed by her former manager. But we’ll get to that.

From 2008 onwards, Taylor became a big deal for her music and then, like it always does for women, her love life became the centre drama.

She never talked about a purity ring (thank God) and she sung pretty openly about sex from her third album onwards (Sparks Fly, an iconic song), plus she had the audacity to date a bunch of boys and look happy while doing so. Naturally, her punishment awaited.

To this day, she is still ridiculed about lyrics she wrote in her first couple of albums… songs she wrote herself when she was literally a teenager.

If I had had written an album when I was a teenager, it would have been about my crush who caught the bus, Kevin from The Backstreet Boys, worrying about my thighs, and, I don’t know, my cystic acne.

I’m just saying – we let powerful men get away with s... they pulled when they were young with the old line ‘boys will be boys! They were just kids!’; it just never seems that generosity is never extended to young women and their far more harmless explorations of teenage sexuality.

Because she had yet to have a public mental health crisis or rehab stint, it was clear that Taylor was never going to be the architect of her own media downfall.

Luckily, one was invented for her. After a long-lasting stoush with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, where absolutely no-one (including Taylor) came out looking good, Taylor suddenly because persona non grata in pop culture and the long-awaited comeuppance began.

And so, she disappeared – in a way that celebrities can do these days. (As a side note, can you imagine how different Britney Spears’ life might have been if she had been allowed to disappear for a couple of years?)

It was only when she released her documentary Miss Americana on Netflix that the public got what it had been craving the whole time – the dark side of Taylor Swift’s fame.

An eating disorder, a sexual assault that she ended up being sued for and, then, the poisoned cherry on top, losing the rights to all her past music thanks to her old manager.

Finally, our hunger for bad news had been satisfied. We had seen her scars and so we could allow her back into the spotlight again.

It’s been interesting watching the roll-out of new music from so many of these female artists during a pandemic: Selena, Demi, Miley, Ariana Grande are among the singers who have eschewed the normal long roll-out of publicity in order to release their own music, without much of the media fanfare that typically accompanies it.

Taylor herself released two albums, without any of the (slightly inane) games she normally includes in the lead-up. You can’t help but wonder that – stripped of their endless touring, performances and appearances, these female artists have found some freedom in being able to just get back to the actual work.

If a pop star releases an album in the middle of a pandemic and no-one is around to give a shit about any of the outfits she’s wearing, does it still count? Turns out, yes.

Following the betrayal of Britney, Taylor, Miley et al by the media, you can see the slow change to have total ownership of their voice these artists have taken.

Social media can be a devil for many reasons but it has overtaken journalists and publicists as the middle man when it comes to how these women get portrayed to the public. Beyoncé has been instrumental in this – it was she who first released an album overnight back in 2013; a move that came without warning and changed the entire industry forever.

She who stopped giving interviews almost entirely, choosing to use her own platforms to get her message and music across. As a result, she’s never been more powerful and she’s never been more private.

As an explicit ‘F... you’ to the powers-that-be who bought her music from under her, Taylor has announced she will be re-recording all of her old albums.

Stories about millionaires against millionaires rarely draw sympathy from a reader but it does highlight how little actually belongs to the artist at the end of the day.

They can have limited control over their image, their public appearances, their private life, their work and their songs. And these are the success stories – these are the people whose names we know.

You have to hope that anyone young and female entering the music business has their eyes very wide open as to just what can go wrong – and what can go wrong even when everything goes right.

The first album Taylor is re-releasing is Fearless, the album that is the most chock-a-block with fairy-tale imagery and glittery optimism.

She’s promised that the songs will be new interpretations on the old originals and that seems only fair.

You can’t help but think that those fairy-tale songs are going to sound a whole lot different being sung by a 31-year-old who’s been through the public wringer then they were as a wide-eyed 16-year-old, on the cusp of making her dreams come true.

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messiisgodibeliveinhim · 4 years ago

Text

Taeyong

I just wanted to rant about everything that happened. So here I am.

So initially I didn't want to watch the concert because of the obvious lack of Taeyong. But i did watch it (ill*gally) on Twitter Live Stream, to see who would cover for Taeyong and how.

Okay, first of all, is it just me or was there an actual lack of preparation and production for the concert??? Like, compare it to SuperM's Beyond Live. The VCRs, the camera direction, the stage, the AR effects... Everything looked so good and exciting. But for this one, they didn't even try. The production was lacking severely and the AR effects were barely used. Everything looked rushed as if they didnt actually plan it set by set. The VCRs were just all the footages from other videos clamped together. There was nothing new or cool about this Beyond Live, even with the increased price. Overall, it looked cheap. I think, the only saving grace of this online concert were the boys themselves.

Secondly, the boys who covered for Taeyong did a good job. Obviously, no one can come close to even performing and delivering like Taeyong but the boys did fine, considering that they had to practice his parts for only 2-3 weeks. And it's a daunting task to fill such huge shoes. The pressure that the boys felt, especially the newbies Shotaro and Sungchan, to try to fill that gap, must have been immense.

But of course, NShittyzens took this as an opportunity to sh*t on Taeyong, saying stupid things like 'XYZ ate Taeyong up', 'ABC made Taeyong's song his own', 'MNO killed Taeyong's part and I think he should've been part of the original line-up instead of Taeyong', 'I hope my bias gets to shine now', 'My faves really took this "opportunity" and showed the world' etc.... Like??? Are you really that dense or just spewing bs like this cuz y'all want attention??? The same thing happened when Taeyong missed the KBS mid-year festival and the other boys covered for him for Kick It.

If y'all truly believe that you're bias only shines when Taeyong is absent, then it shows how insecure you are about you're faves talents and abilities. If you truly think Taeyong's injury is an "opportunity" for your fave, then there is clearly something wrong with you. If you think you're fave ate Taeyong up in any manner, then it shows that you just hate Taeyong. If you think Taeyong is replaceable, then you're doing piss poor job of convincing yourself. Taeyong doesn't need NCT, but NCT needs Taeyong.

He is not just the leader, but also the main dancer, main rapper, sub vocalist, the center of the group and the face of the group. He has also contributed to the group with over 30 songs and has choreographed for some of NCT songs. He is NCT's idea bank, with the numerous times he has come up with something new and interesting for their concepts or choreography (For Example: The Jungle Gym for Neo City tour, the epic finger move and Mark stepping on Taeyong for the Kick It choreography, the chandelier scene in MAW, etc) . Many professionals have constantly praised Taeyong for his creativity and excellent inputs.

Taeyong was there from the very beginning of NCT and has carried the group on his back for 4 years now. And he has always remained kind and humble, even with all the misdirected hate that he faced for years. He always puts himself down and praises all the members, no matter what. He has juggled between groups, 5 comebacks and numerous concerts, this year alone. His schedule list looks like the Bank Statement of one whole year. The way the man has worked for the past 2 years is insane. And upon that, the burden of being the leader of a group with 23 members??? Can y'all even imagine the amount of weight on Taeyong's shoulders???

And yes, the injuries he has constantly sustained for over 4 years now. We have seen various footages of him having neck braces, holding his waist and limping. He has also talked about the continuous back pain or how he was sick for 3 days after shooting a MV. SM had known exactly the extent of his injuries and still overworked him to the bone. Now his waist disc injury has relapsed and we still dont have a statement on his health or time of recovery on ANY of the SM Official Accounts. Not one word. We had to find out through a platform that's barely used and most non-twitteratti NCTzens didn't know about this whole ordeal until after the concert began.

What boils my blood is that SM knew about the relapsed injury way before, gave the boys enough time to practice Taeyong's part, but announced the concert by advertising Taeyong all over it, last Monday. And they literally only made the announcement after the concert ticket cancelation period was over. F*cking money whores! F*ck SM!!!!

The worst part of it all are the NShittyzens. Most of you didn't care about the fact that SM not only neglected the leader's health but also scammed Taeyong's fans. When TyongFs began to get refunds for the concert, some of you accused them and started dictating what they should do with their own money, pulling sh*t like- 'Taeyong as a leader, wants his group to do well. Now he would be sad knowing that fans dont care about the group cuz y'all are getting your refunds'. Really? Cuz most y'all who said this watched the concert illegally, makes it even more funny to me. And its none of you're business, how anyone else spends their money. And if you think Taeyong cares about SM losing money, then you're just stupid. If it's anyone in the whole group who'd say 'F*ck Capitalism!', it's Taeyong. So STFU!

Also, when TyongFs started demanding an official statement from SM about Taeyong, some of y'all went- "You're just a fan. Y'all dont have any right to cross the boundaries of Idol-Fan relationship and ask for personal stuff. Other artist fans didn't get any official statement, so why should you?'. We didnt ask for his f*cking medical records. We just want a statement from SM's official accounts about his health and his time of recovery. That's it. SM has refused to acknowledge the injuries of other artists before, doesn't mean that this pattern has to continue. And as fans, we are entitled to know about the artist, cuz WE CARE...! Cuz a waist disc injury relapsing aint a small thing. The amount of pain that Taeyong is probably enduring right now.... We dont even know the extent of it. We dont know how long he needs to recover or even how long SM will give him to rest. We don't know anything and we are scared. So just wanting a statement about it, isnt 'crossing the boundaries' as you put it. So again, STFU!

Y'all don't care about Taeyong, fine. The least you can do is respect him and not discredit his hardwork. After everything he has done and continues to do for NCT, y'all keep going with the 'Taeyong is the villain' narrative. He isn't stealing your faves lines or screentime. He isn't pushing them back to 'shine more'. He isnt the bad person you think he is. Y'all rejoicing now that he is injured, happy that your faves got to take up Taeyong's part or just hateful saying your fave was better than Taeyong.... It just ain't it.

No other group leader gets the kinda hate Taeyong does, even though he does 5 times the work for the group than any other leader. Yes, Taeyong has multiple positions the group, all deserved. Yes, he is a very charismatic and an amazing performer on the stage, that lures new fans in. Not his fault that he grabs everyone's attention. Yes, he is very talented in so many aspects. But that doesn't mean you get tobblame you're faves mistreatment on him, cuz he himself is being mistreated by SM. So don't come at me with you're 'SM's golden boy' bs! I will taze your ass and watch supernanny as you crawl under the carpet!

Maybe you're right about how you're faves dont get to shine enough when they're on the same stage as Taeyong, cuz his charisma and aura is very magnetic, you can't help but watch him and him only. I thought only TyongFs have this kinda tunnel vision but apparently, all of you have it as well....

Here's the thing. You don't like it when Taeyong gets praised all the time, whether its his dance or rap or anything at all. Cuz you don't like Taeyong. So why are you even focused on him and TyongFs. If I don't like anything, i simply ignore it. So instead of focusing on Taeyong, focus on hyping up your fave (again, by not dragging Taeyong, not even subtly). It ain't hard, trust me.

At least have the human decency to not rejoice over the fact that he is injured. The sh*t i see online everyday, some of y'all have totally lost it.

And lastly, no one can eat up Taeyong. No one can do his part better than him. Hell, no one can even come close to doing what he does. So get that delusion outta your heads. Its embarrassing.

#Taeyong #Lee Taeyong #Bubu #NCT #NCT 127 #NCT 2020 #Beyond Live #RESONANCE #Kick It #Respect Taeyong #Get Well Soon Yongie #We Miss You🌹#Take As Long You Want #We'll Wait #Thank You Taeyong #F*CK SM #F*CK NshittyZens #F*CK Taeyong Antis

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fanfic-corner · 4 years ago

Text

Darling, So It Goes

Happy holidays, @slothbaby424! I may not have had as much time as I would like to have had to work on your @destielsecretsanta2020 fic, but I hope you enjoy it anyway (so sorry but it has not been proofread. At all). And a big thank you to @exmintha for the idea when I was struggling!

Again, here’s the playlist. It’s not necessary, but I like listening to music while writing and it’s got a load of Christmas bops on as well!

And, here’s the fic! It is 4639 words, and here’s the link on AO3 if you prefer.

{o0o}

“Pretty please?”

Dean huffed in annoyance, shifting from foot to foot. He really didn’t want to spend a day being pestered by demanding young children and their parents, but when Donna asked like that… well, he wasn’t a monster. “Fine. But if anyone gets any kind of bodily fluid on me, I am out.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, sweetheart,” she replied, grinning wildly, and Dean had to smile back. And so, that was how Dean Winchester found himself decked out in the full Santa outfit - beard and hat included - for the Wayward Sister’s Christmas party.

Ever since they had set up the girl’s home, Jody and Donna had insisted on a big Christmas party. The first year, it was just a way to entertain the kids for the day, but since then it had evolved into an affair of epic standards. Practically the whole of Sioux Falls would show up at one point or another, usually with presents in tow. One year, Jody had confessed to Dean that they probably wouldn’t have been able to keep going without the support they got at Christmas.

To start with, Dean was not a good Santa. There were so many children that he had to keep track of, and who all wanted something and asked awkward questions that he didn’t have the answer to, and the hat was itchy and he could hardly see past the beard. By the time lunch rolled around, however, he had gotten into the swing of things, and was actually starting to enjoy himself.

That was when a stranger dumped a litre of chocolate milk over a guest’s head.

{o0o}

Castiel had been very grateful to get an invitation to a Christmas party, especially one from the people who had helped him adopt his son. He had learnt the hard way that society really doesn’t like gay people adopting kids, even if they were single.

Two hours after arriving, however, he was starting to have second thoughts. There were way more people than he expected and he had never been what someone might call a ‘social butterfly’. More like an ‘anti-social slug’, as Gabriel had once called him. The food was nice, but as it turned out, not all the people were.

“So, where’s your wife? Leave you with the kids, did she?” a man - Zachariah, Castiel thought his name was - said, punching him in the arm slightly harder than necessary.

“Oh, no, I enjoy doing things with Jack. And I’m not married.”

Zachariah looked Castiel up and down, and let out an interesting noise. He supposed it was probably meant to resemble disbelief, but to him, it sounded like an elephant stomping on a whoopee cushion. “Divorced, are you?”

Castiel raised his eyebrows. Did this man realise he was asking wildly inappropriate questions? He had half a mind to say ‘widowed’ just to see his reaction, but he didn’t dare. “No, I’m not.”

Zachariah seemed mildly uneasy at that, as if he wasn’t sure what other options there were left. “Well, I’m sure a nice lady will come along soon.”

“Actually, I’m gay,” Castiel corrected. So what if it wasn’t 100% true? In his opinion, this idiot deserved to be made as uncomfortable as possible.

Zachariah’s reaction was a little more… extreme than he was expecting. And, by extreme, what Castiel meant was that the man seemed to go through several stages - disbelief, at first, then confusion, and then his posture turned rigid and his face started turning a deeper and deeper shade of tomato red - before completely exploding into some kind of homophobic rage.

Castiel wasn’t even listening to the man ranting, just picking up words like ‘Jesus’ and ‘disgusting’ and more slurs than he could count. He was more concerned by all the children nearby who could hear the garbage this man was spouting, and he needed a way to quickly shut him up.

So, he took the obvious route, and poured the entire carton of chocolate milk that he had got for Jack over his bald head.

{o0o}

Dean felt, as Santa, he should probably go and sort out whatever argument the two morons were having that led to the waste of a perfectly good drink. He had been concerned about kids getting some kind of gunk on him, but apparently adults were equally messy.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Dean asked, standing slightly in between them even though he couldn’t imagine either of them starting a fist fight. The guy covered in milk looked furious, but he was the kind of jerk who wouldn’t want his suit to get any messier than it already was, and the other dude looked like he was in some kind of shock.

“This- This queer just assaulted me!” Suit Man shouted, and Dean suddenly and rather desperately hoped that that chocolate milk was never coming out.

“Excuse me?” he asked, not entirely sure how to respond to that.

“It’s disgusting. They shouldn’t be able to raise a child in that lifestyle. It’s appal-”

“Shut up,” Dean said, rather forcefully and uncomfortably aware of the entire room’s eyes on him.

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said, shut up. What is really disgusting here is your behaviour. You think it is okay to be horrible to another human being just because of who he loves? Now that is bad parenting.”

If anyone asked him later, Dean would say that he was fuming. That his anger was clouding his judgement. That this dude was being an asshole at Christmas in front of kids. Maybe that’s why his brain spotted the teachable moment - no one argued with fucking Father Christmas - and leaned down, slowly pulling the other man towards him and kissing him gently.

To be honest, Dean was sure that he would pull away. In fact, he gave the stranger plenty of time to do so. But instead, he kissed back. Maybe he was in shock. Maybe he also saw what Dean was doing. But they kissed, and Dean knew, somehow, that it was the beginning.

{o0o}

Castiel went to that stupid party because he thought it would be a good way to entertain Jack for the afternoon, and instead left feeling simultaneously embarrassed, with the bonus of a random man’s number. Who he had kissed. In front of a room full of people.

To his continued surprise (although Castiel thought that perhaps there was a limit on how many surprises he could process in one day), the man - Dean, he said his name was, seemed genuinely interested in going on a date with him.

The Roadhouse didn’t look like a particularly romantic spot, but he was not backing out now.

“You must be Castiel.” A stern-looking woman looks him up and down before nodding in approval. “I’m Ellen. You better not hurt my boy,” she warned with a threatening smile, gesturing towards where Dean was sitting in a booth in the corner. He was clearly not reading the menu, his eyes glassy and unfocused, but he fiddled with it anyway, his leg restlessly bouncing under the table.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted as he sat down, hoping he was hiding his nerves as well as he thought he was. Remember, fake it ‘til you make it, Meg’s voice reminded him. She had been so excited when he called her about his date, threatening him with unspeakable violence if he didn’t show up. Although, Meg could threaten unspeakable violence about anything. She once left the entirety of his cutlery drawer under Castiel’s duvet just because he forgot to feed her cat once.

“Hiya, Cas,” Dean replied, grinning at him. Even though he was clearly nervous, he still seemed sincerely glad to see him, and it warmed his heart. “You don’t mind if I call ya that, right? Oh - before I forget, you should totally get the Elvis burger. It’s absolutely amazing.”

The meal went remarkably well, considering that Cas usually avoided dates like the plague. First dates were the worst - the annoyance of getting to know each other, and the inevitable awkwardness at the end - and he rarely saw anyone more than once. After a particularly bad night, which had ended with Meg having to come and pick him up from a park during a thunderstorm, Cas had sworn off dating. Yet, here he was, and he couldn’t deny he was enjoying himself.

Just as they had finished eating, two girls bounded up to the table. They clearly knew Dean somehow; one was skinny and blonde and Cas could swear that he could see a knife peeking out from her apron, and the other had flaming red hair and a t-shirt which proclaimed ‘the internet is broken, so I’m outside today’.

“Wanna decorate cookies with us?” they exclaimed at the same time, and before he could process what was happening, Cas had been dragged over to the kitchen where there was already a tray of perfect biscuits cooling on the counter.

The next half an hour was spent in a whirlwind of icing and sprinkles and sugar, and Cas loved every minute, although he really hoped that none of the cookies ended up being given to customers, because he had seen Jack make mud cakes more hygienic than this. Charlie sat in a corner on her phone, blasting Christmas music while focused on texting and taking pictures, whereas Jo was thoroughly entertaining herself by drawing inappropriate designs on her biscuits. Dean and Cas’ actually ended up looking okay, but neither of them were artists, so the cookies still looked like they had been decorated by a toddler.

When they were finished, they left Charlie and Jo to clean up and went back into the main area of the now empty restaurant. A new song came over the speakers, slow and enchanting, and Dean offered Cas a hand. “A dance before you go?”

Dancing with Dean, Cas decided, was magical. They swayed together, gradually getting closer and closer until their chests were pressed together and Cas’ head was resting on Dean’s shoulder. For a minute, Cas could forget everything but this moment. He allowed himself to simply be lost in the music and the warmth of Dean’s body, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat and feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

As the song ended, Dean carefully pulled apart just enough to lean down and join their lips in a tender kiss, and Cas thought that he could be in heaven.

But the kiss only got deeper and suddenly Cas’ mind flickered back online just in time to remind him what a ridiculous idea this was. Red flashing lights screamed and wailed and reminded him of what always happened, and the sudden warning jolted his body into action, pulling away from Dean in a panic.

Dean looked down at him with a lazy smile, only frowning when he realised something was wrong. “Cas? Wha- did I do something wrong?”

Cas was shaking his head and reversing all at once, all higher functioning processes having been thrown out of the window. He was babbling, apologising and saying it wasn’t Dean and all the while he knew he was on the edge of some kind of embarrassing meltdown, so in the end, he let his feet do the talking, and fled.

{o0o}

Dean didn’t think the fact he hadn’t left his house in two days had anything to do with the best date he had ever been on ending with the other dude running out on him, but apparently Charlie did. She had been pestering him all day, asking if he wanted to help her decorate for Christmas or go and get milkshakes or watch a film. No matter what she suggested, Dean always declined. He wasn’t feeling it, and if it had anything to do with the trenchcoat staring at him from across the room, he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone.

It wasn’t the first time someone had run out on him, of course, but usually that was on a particularly awkward date or if something bad had happened. He just couldn’t understand what had sent Cas running out of the Roadhouse like that, so panicstricken that he forgot his coat which he came with. Dean didn’t think he had read the situation that badly; in fact, he had been sure that the other man had been enjoying their date.

He sighed and pulled the pillow over his head, trying to ignore his phone as it pinged constantly. Yeah, it was probably Charlie spamming him, but there was always the chance it could be Cas…

Charlie: What about we just go on a really long drive?

Charlie: You can pick the music

Charlie: You shouldn’t be cooped up on Christmas eve eve!

Charlie: Dean Winchester, you better not be ignoring me

Charlie: Dean???

Ellen: You still coming to the party tomorrow?

Oh, shit. Dean had totally forgotten about the Annual Roadhouse Christmas Bash. It was the perfect opportunity to distribute the presents and cards he bought, there was plenty of delicious (and free!) food, and it was generally the highlight of his Christmas. Everyone would be there - Ellen and Jo, Bobby, Charlie, and practically everyone else who lived within a hundred mile radius.

No matter how down Dean was feeling, he wouldn’t miss it for the world. In his opinion, family came before everything.

Dean: course i am

{o0o}

“Come on Clarence, it’s Christmas!” Meg encouraged, nudging Castiel’s shoulder. “I’ll go with you, and Claire can watch Jack. She already agreed.”

Castiel looked down at the napping toddler, one thumb in his mouth and a teddy clutched tight in his tiny hands. It felt like he had barely spent any time with his son in forever, even though he knew it wasn’t true. He knew that if he really didn’t want to go, Meg would let him weasel his way out of this particular social gathering, but he couldn’t help but think that it might be good for him.

“An hour’s all I’m asking,” Meg begged. He was surprised she hadn’t threatened him with Nair or something yet.

“Fine.” Just one hour, and then a quiet Christmas. What could possibly go wrong?

{o0o}

Dean had busted out his favourite leather jacket, and (at Charlie’s desperate begging) was even wearing just a bit of eyeliner. He was determined to not let his failed date ruin his favourite thing about Christmas, and he would be damned if he spent another minute thinking about Cas.

(So, maybe he had brought the forgotten coat along with him, but that was just so he could give it to Ellen in case Cas came in the Roadhouse again! She was much more likely to see the dude again than him, anyways. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that - because of Charlie’s enthusiasm to get inside - he had left the thing in the Impala's trunk.)

For the first hour, his plan entirely succeeded. He was distracted by the gift exchanging and the procuring of food and catching up with old friends and avoiding people he didn’t like (namely that one girl who delivered food for Ellen sometimes who he could swear was a demon). It was only after the hour mark when he swore he saw a familiar mop of dark hair, but he immediately dismissed the thought. No way.

He went into the kitchen and chatted to Benny for a while, enjoying catching up on his old friend’s life. Perhaps he got a bit distracted when he heard a familiar gruff voice in the hallway, but other than that, he was sure that his mind was playing tricks on him. Besides, Jo was always up to something. Just because she had a glint in her eye when she came into the kitchen, it didn’t mean anything special. Probably just that some poor fool had a whoopee cushion on their chair somewhere.

It was about halfway through the party when Dean’s plan really started to fail. The music suddenly seemed too loud and the once friendly crowd suddenly made him feel claustrophobic. The smell of burgers and chocolate - no matter how delicious Dean knew they were - was making his stomach roll. The best course of action, he decided, was to step outside for a few minutes, to get some fresh air.

He didn’t expect to find Castiel already out there.

{o0o}

Meg - being Meg - had absolutely insisted, upon their arrival at the Roadhouse, that she didn’t know that it was the location of Castiel’s failed date. Apparently she had been invited (with a plus one) because she occasionally delivered food for them or something, but Castiel smelt a lie in there somewhere.

It would be fine. One hour, free punch and food, and he could go home. He could avoid Dean for one hour. He might not even be there.

An hour in, and Castiel was sure he wasn’t there, in fact. He politely greeted Ellen (who glared daggers at him, which he felt he deserved) and Charlie (who apparently knew Meg). He had a conversation with Jo outside the kitchen (which mostly consisted of him asking where the toilets were and Jo asking if he had called Dean). In fact, he was actually having a fairly pleasant time when he realised that they probably wouldn’t make it home in time to relieve Claire of her babysitting duties, so he quickly rushed outside to call her, but she didn’t pick up.

God only knew where Meg was, but she was - as she put it - a ‘big girl who could handle herself’, so Castiel didn’t bother waiting up. He simply called a taxi, hoping it would get there before he froze to death. He still hadn’t managed to find his favourite coat, and he had deeply mourned his loss.

He was so caught up in hopping from foot to foot and thinking about how much of a tip he was going to give Claire that he nearly didn’t hear the voice coming from the doorway.

“Cas?” Dean Winchester asked.

Fuck, he thought, slowly turning around to be met with the sight of the gorgeous man with a handsome jacket and eyes like a forest. Oh, he was so fucked.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replied instead, not sure what else to say.

The younger man walked up to him tentatively, as if any quick movement he made might scare Cas off. “Uh… what are you doing here?”

“Meg convinced me to come,” Cas answered, his eyes never quite meeting Dean’s.

“Meg? She- Is she your girlfriend?” Dean looked hurt, but Cas couldn’t help but laugh.

“God, no. She’s my neighbour,” he chuckled.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean mumbled.

It was a lot quieter outside, but even with the background noise - wispy notes of music and the occasional growl of a car’s engine in the distance - their silence seemed deafening. Neither of them was quite sure what to say, and even though Cas knew that it was him who owed Dean the explanation, he did not have the energy to explain himself. In all the twenty two years in which he had understood his sexuality, he had never once been able to describe his experience succinctly, or even in a way that wasn’t babbling nonsense.

Of course the taxi was taking its sweet time to show up.

“I’m sorry,” Cas blurted out, at the same time Dean stammered, “why did you leave?”

They are silent for another moment. “It’s hard to explain,” Cas hesitated.

“Well, I’d kinda like to know,” Dean snapped, wincing as the words came out of his mouth. “Sorry, ignore me. I’m being a dick. You don’t have to explain if you don’t want-”

“I’m asexual,” Cas declared abruptly, cutting Dean off.

Dean opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, trying to process this. Cas knew, he just knew from the look on his face that this conversation was going to be as horrific as it is every. Single. Time.

“I’ve not heard of that before,” Dean eventually stated.

Cas sighed. He liked Dean, he genuinely did, but it was usually The Talk that scared people off. “I’m not sexually attracted to anyone.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbles, sounding disappointed. “So, the other night…?”

“Romantic and sexual attraction are two different things. I enjoyed our date, but I… panicked, at the end. People tend to, uh… expect things, and I didn’t want to lead you on. Sorry, again. I should have handled it better.”

“S’okay. So you don’t have sex at all?” Dean asked, deadpan. Suddenly, he realised what he said, and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “I am so sorry. That is such a weird question. Don’t answer that.”

Cas huffed out a laugh, watching his breath disappear into the night. Looking up, he watched as the stars winked at him against the inky backdrop, and he took a deep breath. “Would you like to go on another date?”

Cas finally allowed himself to look at Dean, and he was greeted with a warm, sincere smile. “I would love that.”

The moment was broken when Cas’ phone rang, and he fumbled to pick it up with his frozen fingers. “Claire! Sorry I’m late, I’m on my- what’s wrong? Claire, slow down. The hospital? Shit, I’m on my way.”

Cas glanced up at Dean, barely registering his concern, only managing to choke out, “Jack is in the hospital.”

{o0o}

Dean didn’t even hesitate. There was no way in Hell he was gonna let Cas wait for a cab when his son was hurt, and he was bundling the distressed man towards his car before he could even protest. “Which hospital?”

Cas stood by the passenger door completely rigid, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Dean, what are you doing?”

Dean looked at him incredulously, one eyebrow raised. “Giving you a lift, dumbass. Baby is way faster than any taxi.”

“Baby?” Cas asked, but he got in the car anyway.

Luckily, the Roadhouse was only a twenty minute drive away (if you went by the speed limit, and Dean most certainly did not) but even that seemed like an age when he was trying to simultaneously not crash the car and comfort the man in the passenger seat. Dean didn’t have any kids of his own, but he could imagine that this was the worst possible thing that could happen to Cas; to have your own child in danger and not being able to be with them must be torture.

Cas was opening the car door before they had even come to a full stop, and by the time Dean had parked, he was already inside. By the time Dean caught up, he was already deep in conversation with Jody’s daughter, who was distraught. It was almost scary; Dean remembered her as the girl who had thrown a full grown man out of a second story window because he groped her, and every interaction he had ever had with her had made her seem like a badass.

“What’s going on?” he asked, gently shepherding them towards a seat in the waiting room.

Cas wasn’t listening. He had already stormed off and was in a heated discussion with the receptionist, who kept shaking her head more and more forcefully.

“A dog attacked him,” Claire hiccuped. “Just came out of nowhere and started tearing at him.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Dean assured her, bringing in a hug. He didn’t even care that she was probably getting snot all over his favourite jacket.

Cas stormed back over, looking like he was ready to level a city. “They won’t let me see him until they’ve operated.”

“Shit,” Dean replied, a plan forming. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do. Claire, you go outside and call Jody and ask her to pick you up, ‘kay? I’m gonna call someone at the Roadhouse to bring some supplies so we can camp here overnight if we need to… Cas, do you have a spare key or something? I can get someone to pick up some stuff from your house that you might need?”

“Meg has a key,” he sniffled.

Fifteen minutes later, everything is as sorted out as it can be. Bobby - the only person left who is safe to drive - was giving Meg a lift to Cas’ place to pick up their things and to bring some food, and Jody was there to pick up Claire.

“It’s not your fault, kiddo. Go home and get some rest, we’ll keep you updated,” Dean reassured her.

An hour later, the doctors agreed to let Cas in to see Jack, assuring them that he will be absolutely fine. When Cas finally untangled himself from Dean’s side, he seemed reluctant to leave him, but Dean just smiled gently at him and squeezed his hand. “I’ll wait right here,”

In the end, Jack gets discharged the very same night, coincidentally right as Bobby and apparently an entire ensemble from the Roadhouse show up. Jo is there with enough leftovers to feed an army, and Charlie and Meg had enough blankets and bags of clothes with them that Dean winced when he spared a thought for the state Cas’ house was going to be in.

It was a little awkward when Cas walked out of the hospital with a sleeping Jack in his arms, bundled in one of the many blankets, but Bobby just huffed and offered to give them a lift back home. Charlie clambered into the Impala without a second word - it would not be the first time she had slept over at Dean’s while drunk - leaving Dean to say goodbye.

“Night, Cas. And Merry Christmas,” he said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replied, and they both knew he wasn’t talking about the holiday wishes.

{o0o}

The next time they actually managed to see each other was New Year’s Eve. Dean had shown up on Cas’ doorstep with chocolate, an armful of fireworks, and his usual lopsided smile. Obviously, he was not going to be refused.

They set the fireworks off as soon as it went dark, Cas holding Jack a safe distance away while Dean lit them, his silhouette dancing in the darkness of the garden. The bangs elicited excited squeaks from Jack, his eyes open wide in awe. He had never seen fireworks up close before.

After Jack had been tucked into sleep, Cas returned downstairs to find Dean lounging on the porch, two glasses of champagne poured. They sat outside for hours, watching the explosions of colour mix with the stars until it was impossible to tell them apart.

Cas couldn’t help but think that Dean was beautiful in this light; mellow and golden, his eyes sparkling underneath a halo of sparks.

Before long, it was a minute to midnight. “I… can I kiss you again?” Dean mumbled, his eyes flicking over to Cas nervously.

He smiled reassuringly. “I think I would like that.”

“Oh, uh, awesome.” It was hard to tell, but he was sure that Dean was blushing furiously. “I just wasn’t sure if you were, like, aromantic or something.”

Cas’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You know what that is?”

“I googled it all after you told me. Figured I should probably learn all the terms, y’know?”

All of a sudden, Castiel realised that he might be falling in love. No one had ever bothered doing anything like that for him before.

A chant started up in the distance, a thousand voices all counting down at the same time.

Ten

Nine

Eight

Dean gently cupped the back of Cas’ neck, pulling him closer until he could feel the warmth of his face.

Seven

Six

Five

Cas smiled up at him, lost in the forests that he called eyes.

Four

Three

Two

“Happy New Year, Cas,” Dean whispered, and their lips collided, better than any firework.

#i hope you enjoy #destiel #my writing #fanfic #destiel secret santa #christmas

20 notes · View notes

kim-seungmine · 5 years ago

Text

dream the night away

title: dream the night away

characters: (fem) reader x hwang hyunjin of stray kids

genre: slice-of-life, romance, angst, best friends to lovers au, idol au, idol!hyunjin, hyunjin centric, inspired by 3racha’s cloud 9 but not really?

warnings: minor character death, sometimes heavy, slow burn (aka i wanted it to be but i wasn’t patient enough), i tried to proofread, i gave up trying to format text convo on tumblr, i think they kiss a lot.

word count: 11.6k i’m so sorry

synopsis: one night, hyunjin wonders how he long can stay floating on cloud 9 before he loses his balance and falls all the way down to the pits of hell. After that, nothing feels right.

disclaimer: this is idol!hyunjin so i just wanna say that this is not how hyunjin is in real life and im not trying to convince you that he feels the things in the story. some parts are inspired by the things they’ve said but everything that happens here is pure fiction... which actually goes without saying since this is a fanfic, but i just feel the need to say it. for my personal long ass author’s note, you can read it below.

Hyunjin is met with darkness when he steps into the dorm. It used to be more packed, it used to be messier, and it used to be really loud. Now he only shares the dorm with the 00z who are surprisingly quiet if you think about it. Seungmin sleeps early, Felix has his headphones stuck to his ears and plays games until the sun rises, and Jisung is snugged somewhere watching movies. On busier days, Seungmin and Felix are at the company for lessons and Jisung spends the night at the studio with Chan and Changbin. Hyunjin, meanwhile, usually has some photoshoots.

However, tonight feels unnaturally quiet, especially since Hyunjin has just won his first Bonsang as a solo artist. He switches the lights on, and his friends are soundlessly huddled together by the fridge, Jisung holding a small cake.

“Surprise!” Seungmin exclaims rather flatly as Hyunjin drops to the floor out of shock, shouting profanities. Felix proceeds to grab some candles from the kitchen counter and lights them up. “Come on, blow the candles."

Hyunjin lets out an amused sigh, rising to his feet before blowing all the candles out. “Please tell me these aren’t those candles that stay lit n—what the hell.”

He continues blowing, his friends giggling while Seungmin groans. “Why did you have to curse? I was about to post that on Instagram Story!”

“Why are we doing this anyways? We’re not 18 anymore,” Hyunjin protests half-heartedly. He can’t really remember the last time they gave each other a proper surprise. It feels like ages ago. Jisung scoffs, searching for a knife inside one of the kitchen drawers. Slicing the cake, he retorts, “Your dramatic ass loves surprises, stop denying it.”

“Anyone has anything to do tonight? The hyungs want to come over,” Felix informs while typing on his phone. Hyunjin’s vibrates after a few seconds; everyone on the Stray Kids group chat must be congratulating him.

Seungmin opens the chat, frowning. “Where’s Jeongin?”

“He hasn’t been replying since hours ago. That brat probably fell asleep. Just ask his bro if he’s home,” Hyunjin suggests, about to reply to Chan’s message when another message pops up.

y/n: sorry i couldnt watch the show

y/n: but i saw the news! congratulations!!

y/n: so proud of you, as always!

Hyunjin’s eyes light up at your messages. It’s been months since he saw you; he’s been busy with his solo debut and you’ve been busy with school. When both of you were children, you often pictured how life would be. Hyunjin would be a famous soccer player for Manchester United and the captain of South Korea national team. You would be studying to become a doctor.

He finds it funny that you’re doing the exact same thing while he’s doing something he never even imagined before. Hyunjin is always amazed at how well you planned your whole life and executed every single plan, albeit not always instantly.

After all these years, though, he dares to say that both of you turned out okay. Amazing, even.

“Order whatever you want. I’m eating outside but I’ll be back soon,” Hyunjin tells his friends, bombarding you with messages before you turn your phone off, the thing you always do when you’re about to cram.

Seungmin arches an eyebrow. “Y/N?”

“Yeah. I asked whether she wants to eat gopchang with me.”

“You should really be careful.”

“Everyone knows we’re best friends. No one will make a weird rumor or anything.”

Jisung clicks his tongue. “Well, do you?”

Whenever someone talks about you, it always leads to this very conversation. Hyunjin decides to let Jisung’s question (sarcasm) hang in the air, but he knows the answer. Yes, he knows you and him are just best friends. Does he like it that way?

Hyunjin knows the answer to that too. He only pretends that he doesn’t.

You’re already slurping your soup when Hyunjin says hi to the restaurant owners, Mr and Mrs. Jang. “Oh Hyunjinnie, I just watched you on TV. You won something, right?” he asks. His wife ushers him to sit down, putting extra servings of kimchi on the table.

“Why didn’t I get extra kimchi?” You pout, shooting a jealous glare at Hyunjin who’s busy explaining what a Bonsang is to the owners.

“You did a good job, then,” Mrs. Jang coos. “You don’t need to pay today. It’s on us!”

You quickly put your spoon down. “What about me? I barely sleep thesedays, and I’m not as rich as Hyunjin!”

“Aigoo, you started eating before your friend came then demand for free food. You’re lucky we love you as much as we love Hyunjin.”

The couple laugh at your reaction, jokingly scolding you for being whinier than Hyunjin when it used to be the other way around. He smiles, remembering all the times he forced you to eat his eggplants for him and the times when he begged you to help him study because he needed to beat all of his friends.

“Eat,” you scowl. “You only have half an hour to brag. I have a night shift.”

Out of the times you’re being petty towards him, you were only seriously petty once: when he beat your English score in ninth grade although you were the one teaching him. He had to bribe you with a week’s worth of Haribo jellies before you stopped ignoring him.

Hyunjin giggles. “When’s your exam? Tomorrow?”

“Next week,” you whine. “But I have so many things to do! And I think someone stole my notes, I can’t seem to find them anywhere. Do you even understand half the pain I’m going through right now? All I need is one solid hour of sleep.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

You widen your eyes, eyeing Hyunjin from head to toe. “Sometimes I forget you’re Stray Kids’ Hyunjin.”

He pretends to stab himself on the chest. “That h-hurts,” he fake-groans. “Then who do you think I am?”

“My neighbor,” you answer. “—who doesn’t even live at home anymore.”

“To be fair, you’re practically holed in hospital now.”

“Yeah but I go home every two weeks? You go home twice a year.”

“Excuse me?! I went home on your birthday… in the middle of a tour! I could’ve been sleeping or practicing, but I came home!”

He always “argues” with you until both of you are out of breath, clutching your chests because it somehow feels hilarious. You drink the last few drops of the soup right from your bowl, setting it back on the table and empty your glass in one go.

“I don’t have enough energy for this,” you sigh dreamily, prepping your head on your arm. “Tell me about everything. Your first Bonsang.”

Hyunjin can still hear his fans’ voices chanting his name and cheering for him as he delivered his speech while sobbing (this is what he hates from solo promotions, nobody else is there to stop him from crying or taking over the mic from him so he could calm himself down). He remembers every single word he said and the proud faces of his fellow artists. The thrill, the triumph, the satisfaction, the love… it’s making him emotional all over again.

He grabs a tissue to blow his nose. “I was surprised when the company said that I was invited. Our group hasn’t made a comeback this year, and although my song did chart quite well, I never expected they would even invite me.”

“They gave me a 5-minute stage! I was so happy, I sent you my rehearsal videos, right?”

You nod, imitating one of the moves in his dance break.

“Everything was even more amazing on stage, with Stays watching me. I think I was possessed during the performance… I was goddamn nervous though.”

“Yeah, I watched it on the way here. You kept licking your lip, I don’t care if your fans think that’s hot. To me you’re just a nervous mess…”

Hyunjin has started to pout when you add, “… who did a very great job nevertheless! It’s just that I’ve known you so long. You can’t hide anything from me.”

He notices how you’re holding your breath, waiting for him to respond. After years, Hyunjin thought he would take negative comments much less seriously, but apparently it didn’t become easier. It became harder, so hard that he had to take a 3-month hiatus last year.

With you, everything is different. You can tell him that he sucks big time and he’ll take it seriously, but he never gets offended. There are a lot of times when people treat him like he’s made of glass (or a snowflake, Seungmin once said), but you treat him the way you’ve always treated him and he loves it. None of his other friends understands, but your honesty is priceless. It’s what keeps him going; he knows you’ll never cherish him less no matter what you say about the way he dances and raps, or the way he looks and behaves. And he’s sure that his honesty also means the world to you. You are each other’s toughest critic, but it will never change anything.

“Hyunjin.” You place your hand over his, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. It just slipped out of my mouth.”

He chuckles, flipping his palm to squeeze your hand. “You idiot. You just stated the facts.”

You squeeze his hand back before pulling away. “I’m looking at Hwang Hyunjin of Stray Kids who sold over 100.000 copies of his first solo album, who won Bonsang for the first time, who gets worshiped by everyone he locks eyes with—except for me of course. I’m a very proud friend.”

“Stop it.” Hyunjin rolls his eyes, but unable to hide his smile once he sees you grinning like a happy child. “How much time do we have left?”

You glance at your phone, sighing when a reminder for you to study pops up. “5 minutes. I have to go back to the hospital soon.”

“Can you even study during your shift?”

“I have to,” you mumble. “Anyways, thanks for dragging me out. I did miss you after all.”

“I missed you too,” Hyunjin says, probably too quick for his own good but he doesn’t regret it.

“I’ll be going now.” You stretch your limbs, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “Any last words before I go to war?”

“I should be the one asking you that.”

“Oh, right.”

Chan is the only one awake by the time Hyunjin gets back home. He huffs in regret, knowing that the hyungs decided to stay over to celebrate his Bonsang win. The leader greets him with a bear hug, carefully avoiding Felix and Minho who are fast asleep on the floor. “We’re so happy for you!” he whisper-yells. “How was Y/N?”

Hyunjin returns his hug with an even tighter one. “Thanks hyung. You composed the song after all! And sorry I came back too late.”

Chan shakes his head. “Nah, it’s fine. At some point we forgot why we were here and just started playing mafia.”

“Y/N is fine, anyways, just tired.”

“She’s always tired, isn’t she?”

“Yeah. It turns out that medical students are probably more tired than us.”

Hyunjin leads Chan to his bedroom. Each of the 00z has their own bedroom now. It’s much more convenient and they can arrange their stuff however they want to (they avoid entering Jisung’s room as much as possible), but Hyunjin misses the mess at times. The old dorm was cramped, either too hot or too cold, and way too noisy, but it was home for quite a long time.

Chan seems to be having the same thought. “We miss you kiddos sometimes,” he laughs. “But we fixed that sliding door. It closes properly now.”

“As long as Changbin hyung keeps opening it with too much force it will be broken again in no time. Trust me.”

Both of them are lying on Hyunjin’s king size bed, staring at the sideboard table he dedicates for his music show—and now, music award—trophies. “The kids don’t really say it but they’re all so proud of you. I’m proud of you. I raised you well, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you kinda did.”

“Kinda?!”

“I’m joking.” Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “You raised all of us. We raised Jeongin. And we raised each other.”

“3racha are almost finished choosing the final songs, you have 2 weeks to relax then we’ll start production right away. Our next tour won’t start until May, so we have plenty of time to prepare everything.”

“Ohhhhh I can feel my bones breaking already. We’re getting old,” Hyunjin whines.

Chan pats his thighs, cracking his knuckles before jumping out of bed. “You’re getting old,” he teases.

“I’m glad, though. Everything finally works out the way we wanted to. I guess we can say that we’re doing well now, right?”

Chan doesn’t wait for Hyunjin to answer and leaves the room right away. The latter ponders the rhetorical question for a while, recalling the goals they have reached for the past few years. Entering the Melon chart (and staying on Top 20 for a week), having one of the most successful world tour, winning prestigious awards at prestigious music awards, 3racha getting acknowledged as the industry’s top composers, 00z winning music shows for their unit debut last year, Jeongin getting drama roles, and last but not least, Hyunjin’s successful solo debut.

Feeling nostalgic, he scrolls through his phone, looking at old photos and silly videos. Looking at the lyrics he wrote on his note app. Then he goes through @realstraykids’ posts on Instagram, from when Jeongin still had braces until tonight. The latest selcas on his own official account are still getting likes, the fans showering him with praises.

Hyunjin has ticked off everything from his wish list. He has reached every goal he set a few years ago. They are doing well. He’s doing well.

He looks at his surroundings, immersing himself in the space and peace of his room that he once craved desperately. He’s supposed to be at peace now, but his mind won’t stop buzzing, asking himself what to do next.

For the very first time, Hyunjin realizes that he’s now floating on Cloud 9. Everything is perfect, he’s living his dream life. But at the back of his head, he can hear the clock ticking, ready to push him over the edge the moment he loses his balance, watching him fall all the way to the pits of hell.

Everything is perfect, but why does his heart feel so empty?

Hyunjin’s brows furrow as he tries to catch some comments the fans are posting. When he was a rookie he couldn’t get used to how fast the comments come in, and it’s something that doesn’t quite change. Probably he got used to it at some point, but they kept gaining fans that the comment section is always extremely active.

“Hyunjin oppa,” he pronounces the words slowly. ”Spo-spoiler please!”

He lifts his head to give the viewers a secretive smile. “Nope.” He wiggles his forefinger. “You have to wait for the teasers!”

“Ohhh the comments! You guys are so excited I can’t keep up!”

More comments flood in, and Hyunjin has to press his phone screen in order to read the one comment he’s been trying to read. “Recommend me a song, please!”

“Uhhh—” He takes some time to think of the songs he’s been listening to, tapping his fingers against the surface of the table while the comments keep coming in, but this time he spots words that stab him right on his gut. With trembling hands, he lifts his phone, clicking the report button as subtle as possible. His vision grows blurry as he reports every single comment that has the word “fuck you”, “die” or “talentless” in it.

The pause has become too long and too awkward, so he stops himself from reporting more and stares at the lens. “Ah, song recommendation!” he exclaims. “I have quite a lot but thesedays I’ve been listening to 00z songs a lot. We had so much fun promoting together.”

Hyunjin feels his other phone vibrating in his pocket, probably his mother checking in. It gives him a boost of energy, and he tells his fans he’ll stay with them for 10 more minutes. “When we’re just talking like this, I’m always reminded that we’ve come so far,” Hyunjin says, a smile on his face. “It feels good to know that all of you are making time for us, for me, after your busy day. And no, I’m not sleepy. Don’t worry, everyone!”

He reads some more comments, mostly cheesy pickup lines to cheer himself up as his brain is still trying to get all the hurtful words out of his system. “Ah, I think I have to go now,” Hyunjin announces lowly. “I have to go back to practice, if not Chan hyung will barge in and drag me back to the practice room.”

“What? You want me to get scolded by Chan hyung? Why are you so mean?!”

Hyunjin ends up staying for 20 more minutes before finally ending the broadcast. Conversation with his fans is something he values a lot; it gives him strength and makes him laugh. It makes him feel loved and he wants his fans to feel the same.

But it’s equally tiring. He has to brace himself for some less-than-nice comments, sometimes they are way too severe for him to handle that the company sues all the commenters. You’ve told him over and over again that those people aren’t his fans.

Everything could’ve been worse. Hyunjin still considers himself very lucky that he has much more fans than haters. Still, he often imagines how it will feel if he has no hater at all, since he does have some friends who seem to only hear pretty words.

Hyunjin stays inside the room for a few more minutes, replying to Seungmin’s messages and assures him that he’ll be back soon. He idly plays one of their songs he hasn’t heard for years, the song that was always included in their setlist before being replaced by some other songs. Hyunjin initially thought he wouldn’t need that song anymore, but tonight, he needs it. Maybe he needs it more now than before.

After making a mental note to ask the other boys to add the song back to the concert’s setlist, Hyunjin leaves, cursing himself for taking too much time to regain his composure.

Should I stop or not? Should I give up or not?

“Hwang Hyunjin, stop coming into my room without my permission! You literally trespassed into someone else’s property!”

Hyunjin groans into his pillow, instantly regretting his decision to pick up your call at midnight. “I didn’t!”

“Don’t lie to me. You took Gureum with you!”

He takes a quick glance at the rabbit plushie he placed on top of his pillow. Last night, he did go home because Kkami (everyone calls him old man now) got a little sick. “I miiiiight have made a quick detour next door when I was about to leave.”

“You’re pathetic. You got soooooo many plushies and toys and cute headbands from fansigns and you stole my Gureum.”

“Stop guilt tripping me! I missed Gureum, okay? Why didn’t you take him to your dorm?”

Hyunjin senses your hesitation as you clear your throat. “Well, sometimes seeing Gureum only makes me miss everyone more, so I just left him at home.”

Now he feels guilty. Your parents are currently staying overseas to take care of your sick little sister. He pictures you coming to an empty home every two weeks, exhausted and not having anyone to welcome you.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Our superstar isn’t busy?”

“I am, but I’m willing to sacrifice my precious time for my best friend.”

You scoff over the phone, but telling him to hurry up before ending the call. Hyunjin packs his clothes and toiletries, along with Gureum—his birthday present for your 11th birthday. You almost never sleep without it, yet the plushie still looks brand new.

Unable to hide his smitten smile, Hyunjin grabs his keys.

The apartment complex where Hyunjin lives has changed a lot over the years. The soccer field he used to play at is now a playground. The little bookstore you loved so much is now a bakery. Now there’s a big shopping mall right across the building. After saving up for a while, Hyunjin asked his parents whether they wanted to move to a bigger place. He kind of hoped that they wouldn’t want it because he wanted to stay close to you (although coming home is a real challenge for him). Luckily, his parents said no.

He enters your door password leisurely, recalling the time when your parents told him to take care of you.

So far, you’ve been the one taking care of him.

Hyunjin heads straight to your bedroom, opening the door and sees you curling on your bed. The mattress he sleeps on whenever he stays over is already laid on the floor.

“Gureum!” you yell when he throws the squishy rabbit to you. Hyunjin drops his bag and settles himself on the mattress, staring up at you.

“How’s your sis?”

You scoot towards the end of the bed, showing him a photo on your phone. Your sister is smiling; she looks much better than before, but still very pale and thin. “I haven’t called her,” Hyunjin admits. “But she got the albums I sent to her. Sent the ones signed by the others too. That kid loves Jisung, do you know that?”

“I got her into Jisung.”

He sits up, looking almost offended. “Your bias is Han Jisung?”

“This world doesn’t revolve around you, superstar.” You flash him a cheeky grin. “I wanted to ask you to let me go to the backstage again last tour, but I restrained myself. As your kind best friend, I shouldn’t abuse my privilege.”

“You know that he never cleans his room, right?”

You hum, “Nobody’s perfect, Jinnie.”

“Oh come on!” Hyunjin protests. “If it’s Jeongin I understand although he also never cleans his room. But Jisung? And you’re calling yourself my best friend!”

��He’s funny!” you argue. ”He has a nice voice—it’s really sexy when he raps, he dances well, he wrote all my favorite Stray Kids songs, and he actually had the balls to fight you. A real champ.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, making a gesture to snatch Gureum away from you. “And at the end of the day, you love him,” you add. “He makes you laugh too.”

Well, it’s a fact he can’t refute. You ask, “Do you think I should hit on him or something? Will people call me out? Does he have someone?”

“We are not having this conversation Y/N. I don’t care if both of you are my best friends, you’re not dating Han Jisung. What happened to that ‘hot senior’ Jung Jaehyun? The last time we called, you were so in love with him.”

The mention of Jaehyun’s name causes you to slump into your bed, covering yourself with your thick blanket. “I sort of blew it up,” you mumble. “He asked me on a real date and I said no.”

You seem to hit realization that’s way too late, and now you’re hollering, “I said no to Jung Jaehyun! Oh my God Hyunjin… I’m such an idiot!”

Hyunjin can’t contain his giggles. Relief washes over him; you and Jaehyun seemed rather serious and while he wished you well, the thought of you being with someone else always pains him. He knows he’s not allowed to feel that way just because you’re best friends.

Most of the times, he can’t help it.

“He’s a real gentleman and he said he was into me. ME. Everyone would throw themselves at him but he came up to me and I flat out rejected him. What the hell is wrong with me?!”

You’re rolling on your bed, whining and kicking at the air. “I tried not to think about it but… it was just a date? Even if I didn’t end up dating him at least I could tell my grandchildren that I went on a date with Jung Jaehyun!”

“Is he really that great?” Hyunjin asks, out of curiosity but laced with jealousy he hopes you can’t see. His words sound distant to his own ears, triggering his fear of losing you.

“Yeah, I guess?”

You nudge his legs when he doesn’t respond. “How about you? Everything’s fine? You don’t look happy thesedays.”

Hyunjin never lies to you. You have a full access to his heart; he lets you in on his happiest days when life feels like the shiniest summer. He also lets you in even after the messiest thunderstorm when he feels that everything is fucked up. This time, he wants to lock you out. There’s nothing to see, there’s nothing to fix.

His heart is empty—he is empty, and he wants to protect you from the bleakness of it.

“I’m fine, just been arguing with Felix and Minho hyung over the song we’ll perform. It feels too monotone for me, but they think it’s perfect,” he explains, not completely lying. “I don’t know if I’m being selfish but somehow I just can’t let it go.”

“Have you tried explaining to them? Not how you feel, but how the song is. You can always go technical, you don’t need to worry just because Minho is more experienced.”

Hyunjin sighs. “I did, but probably it’s just me.”

“Do you wanna talk things out?” You yawn, squishing Gureum into your chest. “Or do you want to just sleep?”

He glances at the clock. “We both need sleep. It’s almost 3A.M.”

“Alright. Good night—I mean good morning!”

Hyunjin stretches his neck to look at you, your eyes are already closed. He relaxes his body and tries to sleep, but his jumbled mind keeps him awake. Hyunjin waits until you’re fast asleep before scooting closer, softly taking your hand in his before closing his eyes once again. He did it a lot when he was younger, holding your hand until he fell asleep. You nagged at him because it woke you up, but you never told him to stop doing it.

Tonight is no different.

“Hyunjin?”

“Sorry.”

You turn to him, “It’s okay.”

He mumbles a thank you, ready to go to sleep when you move to the mattress. Hyunjin gulps at the close proximity, it’s been too long since you slept on the same bed as him.

“Hyunjin, I missed you.”

Hyunjin heard a theory somewhere: 3.A.M-conversations are the most honest. It’s a little over 3A.M now, and he doesn’t how much of that theory is true, but your words fuel something deep within him. The feeling so strong he has to tear his gaze away from you. Hyunjin slowly pulls you into his arms, patting your back in rhythm with the clock.

He grazes his lips on your shoulder, mouthing his reply quietly, “I missed you too.”

You nod against his chest, pulling your hand out of his grasp so you could circle your arms around his torso.

Hyunjin falls asleep almost immediately, succumbing to the warmth and comfort you radiate.

He’s going to be alright.

“Do you think I’ll ever debut?”

Hyunjin takes off his SOPA jacket, plopping onto the bed while you’re munching on a pack of jelly. “Let me sleep for 10 minutes. I have to go to the company after this.”

You slap his thigh. “Why do you always sleep in my room? If I got a dollar everytime you sabotage my bed I’d be really rich now. Get out, you have practice!”

He reaches for your knee, using it as a pillow. Hyunjin feels you soften as you card your hand through his hair. “Is it hard? Are those mean hyungs still bothering you?”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “Changbin hyung told those motherfuckers to mind their own business.”

“Stop cursing!” you hiss. “It’s not cool, and what if you accidentally curse on broadcast later? You have so much to learn…”

Hyunjin opens his eyes and smiles when he meets your gaze. “Do you think I’ll ever debut?” he repeats his question.

“Have you seen yourself dancing? You’re better than most of the trainees I saw at the open showcase. Plus you have so many girls screaming your name. No offense, but that is definitely a plus point.”

You give his head a little smack when you notice doubt flashing through his orbs. “I believe in you, Hyunjin. Don’t doubt yourself,” you tell him softly. “And if you need someone to give those ‘motherfuckers’ a lesson, just call me. I know some people who can shut them up.”

He lets out an obnoxious gasp. “Are you a gangster now?! Your parents are going to be so disappointed in you. Looks like you have to say goodbye to medical school now…”

You sigh, now it’s your turn to look at Hyunjin with doubt in your eyes. “I’ll get in, right? What if I flunk my results later?”

“This is why I hate smart people,” he bemoans. “You rank first in the whole school, stop saying nonsense.”

Both of you a few more minutes lying in silence. When he waves you goodbye, Hyunjin feels like he can soar.

He’s safe with you, and you’re safe with him.

“Hwang Hyunjin, get off me!”

Hyunjin wakes up to you trying to untangle your legs from his. He catches your flailing legs, removing his before examining your face. “It’s almost noon. Aren’t you running late?” you pester, pointing at the clock.

“Lunch?” he asks.

This is supposed to be awkward. Hyunjin can’t recall what happened a few hours ago before blushing—he’s never been that intimate with you before. You two have had a fair share of platonic cuddle sessions, but last night felt different.

“Not yet,” you mutter. “I just woke up. Oh God my back hurts.”

He wants to know whether you feel the same, but you’ve made your way to the bathroom before he could ask anything. “What do you want to eat?” you yell, almost incoherently due to the toothpaste in your mouth.

“You’re not going to shower?” Hyunjin playfully shrieks.

“It’s my day off!”

“My mom must’ve cooked something. Gimme 10 minutes.”

Although he’s done this at least a hundred times, it’s still hard for Hyunjin to leave home. Seeing his he’s never able to stop his heart getting heavier at the sight of bidding his family goodbye until God knows when.

“Please come home more Y/N,” his mother asks you, raising her eyebrow. “Hyunjin seems to randomly pop up whenever you’re here, so please, come home more.”

You smack his back loudly, causing him to let out a choked groan. “I’ll teach him a lesson, don’t worry.”

Hyunjin gives his mother a sheepish smile, knowing all too well what she meant. He pulls you out before she starts grilling him for information, yelling one last goodbye before closing the door. You search for something inside your bag, stopping him from pressing the elevator button.

“You left something?”

“My dorm key,” you answer, walking back to your own unit. “You should just go,” you say. “It’s in the middle of the day anyways, we shouldn’t be seen together.”

Hyunjin follows you inside, watching you rummage through one of the buffet drawers. He notices how your shoulders are slumped and the way your eyebrows furrow. As his mind wanders to last night once again, you jab at his stomach lightly. “Hey, you’re spacing out.”

“Oh,” is all Hyunjin can say. He takes a good look of you, something he always does before he parts ways with you. Before he can stop himself, Hyunjin has wrapped his arms around you, letting you hear his erratic heartbeat. He still misses you, even after spending the whole night together.

Eventually, you pull away. “I’ll go first.” You ruffle his head. “See you when I see you?”

“See you soon,” he corrects you.

You smile, taking your bag from the floor and when he blinks, you’re gone.

Hyunjin still misses you now, even when you were just in his embrace a few minutes ago, burying your head into the crook of his neck. The empty space in his heart seems to expand whenever he thinks about you.

It hurts.

Minho ends the dance practice and everyone collapses on the floor the moment the music stops playing. Hyunjin immediately restarts the discussion they had before practice started.

“We used to sing both Grow Up and You Can Stay, why do we have to choose one now?” he demands while all of them are sprawled on the floor. “Our fans miss it too, I think it’s the perfect chance to bring it back.”

Chan takes a deep breath, nodding at Hyunjin. “I can’t see why not,” he says with a chuckle. “I don’t even remember why we abandoned it in the first place.”

Hyunjin does, and he knows Chan does too. It was simple, really. The song that once gave them comfort turned into this big monster made out of their worst nightmares. Each member had cried to the song during some of their concerts, and now performing it in front of everyone always brings back the painful memories.

“Yeah, we should sing it again,” Felix adds, kicking Jisung’s leg so the latter would sit up and voice out his opinion. “Well.” Jisung scratches the back of his head, “I’m cool with it.”

The rest of the group mumbles similar answers and Chan claps, giving Hyunjin a thumbs up. “Hyunjinnie is all grown up,” he praises before gathering his things and leaves. Hyunjin snorts at the leader’s compliment, but his sparkly eyes can’t fool anyone.

He pulls out his phone to relay the happy news to you, but the sparks in his eyes quickly fade when his messages from hours ago are still unread.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?” he asks.

Seungmin checks his phone. “5A.M.”

Hyunjin wipes his sweat, chugging his water. Their American tour starts in a few days, and while he’s ecstatic because they’ll be performing at LA Staples Center for the first time, he also feels uneasy.

He takes out his phone, opening his contacts and stops when he sees your name. He stares at the number he remembers by heart.

“You okay?” Seungmin asks. “If you’re worried about District 9’s formation change, don’t. You nailed it today.”

“District 9…” Hyunjin trails off. “We’re getting too old for District 9.”

Jeongin grunts in agreement. “Whenever we finish my head always spins for like a minute. It’s been too long.”

“Yah,” Seungmin scolds him. “You need to get it checked. What if there’s something wrong with your head?”

The youngest does an exaggerated head banging, earning a kick from the puppy-like boy. Hyunjin chuckles at the two’s antics; some things never really change, and he’s grateful that this is one of those things.

Seungmin throws a playful punch at Jeongin’s stomach one last time before focusing his gaze back on Hyunjin. “Seriously though, did something happen?”

Hyunjin’s brain has a lot of template answers to questions like this, but the cliché words on tip of his tongue feel burning. His friends wait patiently as he fumbles for words, blinking his tears away when he fails to find the right words.

“I don’t even know if there’s anything,” he finally concludes. “It’s just—ever since Bonsang, it’s been hard. It’s been… nothing. Empty.”

Seungmin and Jeongin only nod, as if they understand how he feels. They probably do, Hyunjin thinks. Maybe he’s not the only one. Maybe all of his members have experienced it at some point, although at different times. Hyunjin feels slightly relieved at the thought. I’m not insane.

When he was a trainee, he thought everything would be fine once he debuted. It was, to some extent. But he was young and naïve, and when things beyond his control happened, Hyunjin barely managed to stay afloat. People told him how to handle stress, how to voice out his concerns, how to manage his body, mind and soul. He knew how to survive, theoretically.

No one actually taught him nor the other boys, and for an 18 year-old boy, feelings got intense quickly. After some trials and errors, everyone figured that it was best not to bottle up their feelings. Once again, it sounded easy in theory. In reality, with so many things happening at once, most of them eventually created a space in their own heads to seal everything in. They endured.

Jeongin looks at him with hesitation, rubbing his hands together. “It happens,” he reassures him. “It’s okay to worry about it, hyung. But worry about it with me, please!” Jeongin raises his tone. “You can barge into my room anytime. You can annoy the hell out of me, but stop suffering alone, will you?!”

Seungmin can’t miss the chance to tease the maknae. “Says the one who cried alone all night long in the bathtub after losing his voice.”

“If I hadn’t found you, you would’ve passed out,” Hyunjin adds. Jeongin lifts his hands in defeat. “Whatever. But I meant what I said.”

“Our Jeongin is so dependable,” Hyunjin coos.

“You say that all the time.” Jeongin rolls his eyes. “And then still baby me.”

Seungmin takes Hyunjin’s phone from the floor, passing it to the owner. “Call Y/N.”

Hyunjin panics a little. “Why?”

Seungmin shrugs. “Better days start after meeting the person you want to see the most!”

“Speaking of you and Y/N,” Jeongin quips. “You guys aren’t in high school anymore, stop flirting with each other and date already.”

Hyunjin gets a surge of bravery and dials your number, but immediately regrets his decision with each passing minute. He almost ends the call when you finally answer. “Hyunjin?”

“H-hi,” he stammers. “Busy?”

“Kind of... What? What happened?”

“Can we meet? I only need a couple of minutes. You’re in Seoul, right?”

“I am. Hyunjin, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

It’s scaring me too.

“I want to tell you in person. Where are you? I’ll come to you.”

Hyunjin isn’t sure when the lines between best friends and something more started to get blurry. The worse thing is, he realized it way too late and things got complicated before he could do anything about it.

“It’s too late to back out,” he mouths to himself while opening the stairwell door in the hospital you’re currently at. You’re sitting on one of the steps, dozing off as your head hits the wall every now and then.

Hyunjin runs his hand through his hair, guilt consuming him. He sits beside you, pulling your head to his right shoulder. The two of you always attended the same school until high school, when he decided to enroll in SOPA instead of a regular school. Since then, he never really knows what’s going on in your life. You told him about your close friends, the small fights, medical students’ inside jokes, the good looking boys, all the knowledge and experiences you’re grateful for despite the never-ending suffering and constant lack of sleep. You told him everything, but he’s never actually seen you in your world.

You’ve seen enough of his world—you’ve gone to his concerts, awards shows, even fansigns (as a prank because you wanted to see him getting all flustered while pretending not to know you). Hyunjin never has the time or makes an effort to do the same, and while it’s completely understandable due to the nature of his job, he feels like he’s going to lose you.

As he brushes your hair out of your face, Hyunjin asks himself whether he’s good enough for you.

“Whoa,” you suddenly whisper, straightening your body. “Did I fall asleep?”

Hyunjin stops you from getting up. “You must be tired.”

“So are you.” You remove his hand from your head. “So tell me. What’s going on?”

You’re here, sitting beside him, only wanting truth to come out of his mouth. Hyunjin bites his lip, the urge to just let go is eating him up, his soul begging him to get some answers. The familiar hollowness is back, and tears start to roll down his cheeks.

This isn’t the first time he cries in front of you, so you just pat his head, waiting for the tears to stop. “I’m sorry,” he groans. “I’m so sorry Y/N.”

You lift his head, eyes looking straight into his. “What for?” you mutter. “Hyunjin, please tell me.”

Hyunjin makes a silent plead at himself to toughen up, but it’s hard when you’re staring at him like this, wide eyes filled with raw concern and sincerity that never fail to touch the deepest part of his heart. “Hmm?” you prompt, still patting his head ever so softly.

“It’s been hard,” Hyunjin sniffles. “It’s hard to look forward to the future. I feel restless all the time. I have nothing to fight for. It’s…,” He makes gestures with his hand in attempt to explain it better. “… empty.”

You wipe his tears with the sleeve of your white coat. “Do you know why you feel that way?”

Hyunjin nods. “We’re doing well, we really are… and that’s probably why. Everything is going too well I don’t know what thrills me anymore. I thought I’d feel content once I reached all of my dreams, but that’s not the case.”

He examines your face, rehearsing the next lines in his head again and again. You cock an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. And the last bit of Hyunjin’s defense crumbles with every blink of your pretty eyes.

“And you… I miss you all the time. Even when you’re right here with me, I still miss you. I have to hold back whenever I’m with you because I don’t want you to run away from me. I love you, Y/N. I don’t know when it all started but maybe I’ve always loved you and it hurts me not being able to tell you that. The emptiness… it gets worse whenever you tell me we shouldn’t be seen together or that you have to go or when you have other boys like Jaehyun who are clearly better for you than I am because they can be there for you. I love you so bad you don’t know how hard it is to go through days without you, without kissing you good night, without hearing you laugh for me. I keep thinking, ‘what if you’re suddenly gone?’ Maybe you’ll leave me someday, maybe you’ll tell me that you can’t be my friend anymore, but I need you, Y/N. I love you and I need you here with me to keep going. I—”

Hyunjin watches you slowly—very slowly—retract your hand from his head as words fail him, and he feels as if his guts are being hammered to pieces. He can’t read your eyes, can’t even try to define what your gaze means.

You eventually stand up, pulling him up with you. “I’m not the answer, Hyunjin,” you mutter. “You can’t expect that you’ll never feel empty again once I say that I accept your feelings. It’s just—it’s not fair. This isn’t just about us not being together.”

“But—”

“I know,” you cut him off, your body start shaking due to all the tension. “I know. That’s how you feel, and I can’t dictate you what to feel and not to feel. Think about it like this…”

You pause to check if he’s still listening to you. He nods, weakly.

“… you spent years working your ass off to get recognition from everyone, and you did it. Don’t ever forget that, I’m begging you. So all of your dreams have come true and you feel lost now… it’s okay. You have a lot of time, Hyunjin. You can always have a new dream, you can have a thousand more. Don’t make me the answer to everything just because you haven’t found any other answer.”

You wait for him to respond, but Hyunjin is frozen to his spot. His world is now upside down, and he doesn’t know how long it will take to fix everything.

Your phone rings, snapping him out of his trance. You look at him apologetically. “I have to go.” Those damn words again. “Ask Seungmin to help you ice your face, you don’t want to show up at the airport with swollen eyes, do you? Call me before you take off, okay? Hyunjin?”

He can only nod, trying his best to give you the most reassuring smile. He feels everything all at once: shock, shame, sadness… but mostly regret because you’re right.

You always are.

“Have fun on tour! Send me all the photos you take!”

Now it’s turn for Hyunjin’s phone to ring as you make your way out, leaving him alone. He’s about to press the green button when the door opens once again. Hyunjin lets his phone ring, watching you fidget with your hands.

He’s still pretty much tongue-tied, but forces himself to ask, “Did you ever… love me? As more than friends?”

To his surprise, you take quick steps towards him, tiptoeing to press your lips on his. Your eyes are closed, your hands are tied to your sides and it takes Hyunjin his whole willpower to refrain himself from pulling your body closer, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the life out of you. He closes his eyes and just stands there, accepting whatever you’re willing to give him because there’s nothing he yearns more than your love and trust.

Hyunjin almost whines when you pull away with red cheeks and teary eyes. “Come back to me when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you. Only you.”

It’s Hyunjin’s 10th (or 11th? He can’t really remember) visit to New York, but he’s still as excited as a kid with his lollipop. After years of traveling from country to country, Hyunjin realizes that he just doesn’t get bored, ever. Each place holds a special memory he keeps close to his heart, something sentimental that motivates him to go back every chance he gets.

“Stand there,” he motions at Seungmin—the only one who’s willing to accompany him walking around the Empire State Building for the nth time—to stand at the spot he points at. Seungmin follows his instruction, smiling when Hyunjin starts counting. They examine the result and Seungmin shoves his leg. “I guess you finally learned something.”

Hyunjin feigns hurt, setting his camera’s focus on a group of kids, holding his breath before pressing the shutter. “As if you taught me anything.”

He glances at his bandmate who’s busy taking photos with his own camera. Photo hunting with Seungmin is always in Hyunjin’s “limited free time” itinerary. They’ve strolled around so many cities together, sometimes it takes the whole day if time allows them. Strangely, Seungmin never gets bored of it either and although it’s no surprise since he loves photography more than anything else, Hyunjin is grateful.

“You never say no whenever I ask you to take photos with me,” Hyunjin states. “Why?”

Seungmin frowns. “What kind of question is that?”

“Just wondering,” Hyunjin mumbles. “We do pretty much the same thing everytime. Sometimes I force you to go to the places we’ve been to… don’t you get bored?”

“It’s always different everytime, I thought that’s why sometimes you take photos at the same place? It’s never exactly the same, don’t you think?”

Hyunjin goes through the photos he took in New York last year, smiling at some of them as he recalls the funny anecdotes behind them. When he slips his phone back into his jeans pocket and lets his eyes wander… yes, nothing is exactly the same.

“You truly are a photographer. When’s your next exhibition, Photographer Kim?”

Seungmin snaps his finger. “Ah! Exhibition! I forgot to ask you, why don’t we held a joint exhibition this time?”

“You want to show your photos along with my photos?”

“Why not? Yours are amazing too! And you’re my best friend, it’ll be fun.”

Hyunjin imagines having his photo framed on the wall. Small placards pinned underneath, containing the words he constructs to explain each of them. The fans will come to feel how it feels like to be here behind the lens. Maybe people who don’t even know him will come too, and get a chance to actually know him.

He reaches his phone to relay the idea to you, smiling to himself when he finds messages from you instead.

y/n: [sends a picture]

y/n: ahreum finally woke up today! isnt she pretty?

me: everyone is prettier than you

me: you must be happy!!

y/n: ??????

y/n: oh. she asked me to recommend boygroup songs

y/n: i made her listen to every single skz song

y/n: and your solo songs!!!!

me: awwwwwww

me: and you cant be doing this for free right?

“Is that your best friend slash girlfriend?” Seungmin is suddenly standing behind him, reading over his shoulder. “You guys are so cute it’s making me feel sick.”

Hyunjin sighs, gazing at the busy street upon him. “We’re not dating. At least not yet.”

“What happened? Just realized that I never really asked.”

“She asked me to come to her when I’m ready.”

Seungmin looks at him quizzically, but decides not to press him further. “Are you ready now?”

They’re flying back to Seoul next week, and while he thought he wouldn’t be able to enjoy the tour, he truly did. He thinks of all the good things that have happened: the sold out shows, the happy tears, his improvement, the upcoming exhibition with Seungmin, and lastly, you—the one who’s patiently waiting for him.

There have been a lot of times when Hyunjin feels like he’s everywhere but nowhere at the same time. It sounds scary, but now he realizes that he only needs to admit that he’s indeed everywhere, but never nowhere.

“Almost.”

The instrumental of Grow Up starts to play and all the boys rush back to their designated positions. The atmosphere turns a bit more sentimental as the bridge approaches, they’re just looking at each other while Minho is singing his part. In the past, they often teased each other during this very part, afraid that they would break down if they let their emotions overtake them. Hyunjin averts his gaze to the audience, watching the beautiful color of their lightsticks light up the huge stadium. As he gestures at some of the fans to stop crying, Hyunjin thanks himself for convincing the others to add the song back to their setlist.

The song comes to an end, and Chan gathers everyone to make a circle. Hyunjin feels pats on his head and back, Chan’s voice drowned by the fans who are still singing. He can’t resist the urge to turn around, so he does just that, and what he won’t trade what he sees for anything.

Their fans are standing there, eyes focused on everyone on stage as they sing each syllable perfectly. Changbin follows his gaze, and soon all of them are facing the audience again, listening to every wish, every hope, and every message relayed through the lyrics of the song.

Hyunjin lifts his mic, eyes darting to Chan who gives him a nod of approval. “Thank you,” he begins. “This is our last stop for this tour, and I can’t be any prouder and thankful to all of you.”

He lets the translator translate his speech before continuing, “I had a lot of worries before the tour started. I honestly thought I wouldn’t be able to go through everything.”

“You made our dreams come true,” Hyunjin continues. “You made my dreams come true and I naively thought that was the end of everything. But I learned a lot during this tour, and once again, you made this happen. All the pretty words you told us, they mean a lot. They always will. I realized that this will always be my dream, no matter how many times this has come true. I want to make you, who stay with us throughout everything, happy. I want to be here for a very long time. I want to be with you, to be with the members and our family, for a very long time.”

He stops when he feels he can’t continue anymore, letting the others take the spotlight. He gives each of his bandmates with a loving gaze, stopping at Minho who lets tears roll down his cheeks this time. Jeongin is giggling beside him, walking over to wrap the tsundere hyung in a firm hug.

Hyunjin thinks they’ve really come a long way.

Being back home usually gives Hyunjin a peace of mind, but when he sees no notification on his phone, he feels weird. He dials his mother’s number, his heart grows even more anxious when she picks up.

“Oh Hyunjin-ah, did you just land?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you come over here? Or do you have an important schedule?”

“No, we get 2 days off. What’s going on?”

“Y/N’s sister passed away. Sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, we didn’t want you to panic.”

“Eomma! How could you?”

“I’m sorry. This is Y/N’s request as well. She’s been here for 2 days and no one can make her eat anything. Can you take her home?”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“You’re going to live in Germany! You’re such a lucky kid!”

The little girl smiles bashfully as you pout at her. “The luckiest girl on Earth,” you add, fixing her messy hair.

“If you’re so jealous of me, why don’t you come along?”

“Are you kidding?” you exclaim. “I’m on my way to be the greatest doctor in this country. You can’t change my mind.”

“Alright, it’s time to go,” your father interrupts, giving you one last hug before whispering things into your ear. Hyunjin steps back to allow you say goodbye to your family, tearing up at the painful sight. Your father, a doctor, accepts an offer to work in a hospital in Germany and takes the whole family with him since your sick little sister needs more intensive treatment.

But you’re staying to become a great doctor like your father, hoping you’ll get a chance to cure your sister later.

“Please take care of her, Hyunjin. We trust you,” your mother tells him. Hyunjin nods, enveloping your hand in his. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here monitoring her every move and drag her back home whenever she spends too much time at the academy.”

Your sister laughs, bowing to Hyunjin. “I also want a boyfriend like Hyunjinoppa! Please take care of our unnie.”

You yank your hand away from him. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Hyunjin seems unbothered by your statement, bowing to your family to annoy you more. “Our family will take care of her, you can trust us.”

Your sister’s smiling face greets Hyunjin as he enters the funeral home. He stares at the photo then closes his eyes to pray, whispering strings of apologies that’s always too late. I’m sorry I never visited you. I’m sorry I failed to take care of your sister. I’m sorry I didn’t call you enough.

He bows to your family, the first bow since years ago, and he wishes he could turn back time. Hyunjin turns to you, gazing into your tired eyes. Your mother pulls him towards you. “She hasn’t eaten at all. Can you please bring her home, Hyunjin? I hope you’re not too busy. I’m sorry that we meet like this.”

“Hyunjin just landed in Seoul. How could you force him to come here?” you snap, returning his gaze. “Go home. I’ll call you later.”

Hyunjin almost yells in frustration, but swallows everything before dragging you out, only tightening his grip on your wrist when you try to pry his hand off of you. You keep shouting at him, yelling at him to stop, but Hyunjin doesn’t budge. He drags you all the way to his car, opening the passenger door for you.

“Get in the car, Y/N.”

Without waiting for you to move, he lifts your body and sits you down, fastening your seatbelt. “Please don’t push me away,” he pleads. “Why do you always tell me go home, go back to practice, to leave… why?! I promised your parents to take care of you. I promised your sister, why aren’t you letting me do that?!”

“I never asked you to do that,” you mutter through gritted teeth, causing Hyunjin to grip your shoulders.

“You only said that to hurt me,” he replies. “Even now you’re still trying to push me away. I want to be here Y/N. Don’t you want me here?”

You avoid his eyes, keeping your gaze on your clasped hands. “Tell me,” Hyunjin challenges. “Tell me that you don’t want me to stay with you, and I’ll leave.”

He waits for you to respond, letting out a relieved sigh he doesn’t bother hiding when you shake your head. “Want you here. Thank you.”

“Have you cried?”

After your sister was born, you were told not to shed tears in front of her. Your parents always scolded you if you started crying when you saw her in pain, and after some time, it became a habit. A habit that Hyunjin absolutely despises since it makes you suppress your feelings, as if punishing you for having feelings.

“I don’t know… maybe I haven’t.”

“You lost your sister, you can cry. Your parents cried a lot too, it’s fine.”

You nod, resting your head in the crook of his neck when tears start to well up. Hyunjin presses a kiss on your temple, finding himself tearing up the moment you start sobbing, something he has never witnessed although he’s known you for almost his whole life.

“Is this your Armani suit?” you manage to voice in the middle of sobs and snorts. He takes you into his embrace, chuckling, “Yes, but you can ruin it however you want. Another privilege as my best friend.”

“Can I abuse this privilege?”

“Ruining my expensive suits?”

“No,” you laugh airily. “Crying when you’re with me.”

Hyunjin cups your wet cheeks, gently pushing your hands away when you want to wipe your tears away. “Anytime. You can cry, laugh, curse, get angry, get drunk… you can do anything when you’re with me.”

And that’s all it takes before you start sobbing into his suit again. Hyunjin is standing there for the longest time, sandwiched by the passenger seat and door of his car with you in his arms. He doesn’t care, he will do it all over again, and he will do much more. For you, and only you.

“Where are you? It’s past midnight already!”

“Hwang Hyunjin, you’re lucky I’m willing to go home when I have a morning shift tomorrow,” you scold him over the phone.

“It’s my birthday! Wait, it isn’t even my birthday anymore!” he whines in an obnoxious tone that never fails to upset you. He giggles when he hears you huff, the sound of the elevator signaling that you’ve already arrived.

“You asked me to buy you a cake right before I left,” you hiss. “Now open the door, I’m outside.”

The call ends and Hyunjin rushes to the door. You’re carrying the red velvet cake he requested, the candles already lit and Hyunjin tries not to melt at the way you look at him. He did ask you to buy him a cake and “surprise” him at your apartment, but he is nowhere near ready to see you like this: all smiley and cheery for him despite sounding annoyed over the phone.

“Happy birthday,” you sing song, your smile growing wider as he blows the candle. Hyunjin returns your smile before taking the cake from you, pulling you towards your room. “Go get changed, I’ll slice the cake for you.”

A few minutes later, both of you are seated on your couch, talking about every little thing while enjoying the cake. Hyunjin tells you about Stray Kids’ upcoming comeback, a very special one since Minho choreographed the title track. You tell him about various cases that happened in the hospital while wondering if you’ll ever finish medical school and actually be a doctor.

Everything feels the way Hyunjin expects it to be, until you put your empty plate on the table and look at him straight in the eyes. “Hyunjin…”

He quickly swallows and places his plate on the table as well, never breaking eye contact with you. “What?”

You gulp. “Do you remember when I asked you to come find me when you’re ready?”

“Feels like yesterday.”

“Well,” you murmur. “I’m just wondering if you’re… ready.”

Fire lights up in his stomach, and before you can continue, Hyunjin is already trapping you between his body and the couch. “I am,” he says. “Are you?”

You brush his fringe with your fingers. “You were waiting for me?”

“You told me to start dreaming again, so I did,” Hyunjin recalls. “And I realized that all of my dreams are right in front of me—you, my family, the hyungs, Jeongin, the fans… keeping you guys with me is something I’ll always dream of although all of you are already here.”

You pout at him, but Hyunjin doesn’t miss the proud gleam in your eyes. “Then what’s taking you so long?”

He pinches your nose. “I waited for you to be ready, as you said before, it wasn’t just about us being together. I don’t want you to choose me only because you feel like you need me. I want you to… want me… to love me with a clear head. Just like what you wanted me to do. I want to give you the world, but only if you allow me to.”

You circle your arms around his neck, sighing happily, “You gave me the world, Hyunjin. You listen to me, you console me, you give me a shoulder to cry on. You’re the only one I’ve ever waited for, and I’m so glad that you came back to me.”

Hyunjin is sure that his whole system has stopped working, the words you just uttered feel like the strongest, yet the sweetest liquor he’s ever tasted. He is drunk on the love you offer; he’s drunk on your touch, your smile and everything you want to give him. You’re driving him nuts, completely nuts, but it’s the only thing he wants to feel. You are the only one he yearns to feel.

You seem to sense his burning gaze and start nibbling on your bottom lip. “So this is the part where you kiss me…”

“This is the part where I kiss you…”

You shake your head. “This feels weird. You’re my best friend.”

“You kissed me,” Hyunjin reminds you. “It’s not like we’ve never done it before.”

“No, but—” You pause to let yourself breathe. “I kissed you. This is different, I’m not going to survive you kissing me.”

“For the love of God Y/N, just—”

You point at your lips. “And I still have my lipgloss on!”

Hyunjin is caressing your reddening cheek now, trying to destroy the last bit of your defense. “And what’s wrong with that?” he asks softly.

“It’s sticky! Our lips will get stuck and it won’t be romantic.”

“So what do you want to do? Go into your room and wipe it off with a cotton pad or something?”

“Yeah, let’s do—”

Hyunjin doesn’t let you finish as he finally dives in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that set both of you on fire. He hums when he feels your body relax in his hold, allowing him to savor you with so much longing and want. Hyunjin lets his heart take the lead, kissing you harder whenever you tug the ends of his hair and making him putty under your touch. It never feels enough, it feels like he only gets hungrier everytime you return his kiss, the feeling of your lips moving against his almost destroys him.

Nothing is stopping him now, he came back to you and you welcomed him with open arms. Hyunjin leaves one more open mouthed kiss on your lips before pulling away with a loud pop, taking in the sight of you trying to breathe. You slowly meet his eyes with flushed cheeks, eyes mirroring his own and Hyunjin tries to remember every single detail. “God I love you so much,” he hears himself whisper.

You smile, lifting your hand to trace his face delicately. “I love you.”

“Are you mine now?” Hyunjin knows this is childish, but he wants to hear it. He longs to hear it.

Thankfully, you’re willing to play his game tonight. “Only yours.”

“No more mourning over Jung Jaehyun?”

“Jesus Christ, do you need to stoop that low.”

“Yes.” Hyunjin pecks your nose. “He doesn’t listen to K-pop, right? Introduce him to me.”

You roll your eyes. “I love you, why the hell are we talking about Jaehyun now?”

“Then what should we talk about?”

“Since we’re on a competition to ruin the mood, lemme burst your bubble: my parents are moving back in next week so we need another place to do... this.”

“Okay,” Hyunjin answers. “What are we gonna do now?”

You wrap your legs around his torso, making him gasp. “I don’t know, kiss me again? I’m gonna tell you this just once, but I, along with thousands of other people, have always wanted to kiss you. It made me feel pathetic, but it is what it is.”

Hyunjin blushes, but refuses to lose to you. “You tried to make me not kiss you a few minutes ago and now you’re desperate to kiss me. Was I that good?”

“Hmmm I guess so,” you hum.

He swiftly lifts your body, grinning when you tighten your hold around his neck. “Well, I’m yours to kiss now,” he teases, trying to walk into room without knocking into things. You leave soft kisses all over his face, prompting Hyunjin to walk faster so he could just kiss you already.

When your back hit your bed, Hyunjin stops to admire your face. “I kissed you a long time ago, don’t you remember?”

Your eyes widen. “You? Kissed me? With those plush lips? When?!”

“You don’t remember? But it was our first kiss!”

You spend the next few minutes racking your brain before nodding. “Ah, it did happen a long time ago.”

“It’s okay, maybe you wanted to forget that moment. It was your darkest time, and I probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Shaking your head, you run your thumb along his lip. “Thank you for staying with me all these years.”

Hyunjin closes the gap between you once again, hoping to chase away all the sorrow inside your soul. You pull him closer, making him practically lying on top of you, feeling your chest rise with each touch of his lips on your skin. “Thank you,” a kiss on each of your eye, “for,” a kiss on the tip of your nose, “making me,” a kiss on your lips—this time he lets it linger, “dream,” a kiss on your chin, “again,” and a kiss on your neck.

It took Hyunjin so long to understand the world, and now he still hasn’t understood even half of it. But in the middle of his journey, he met you. He learned to dream, he learned to love you.

And he learned to love himself.

The door opens with a bang, revealing an incredibly panicked Hyunjin. He just finished training when he received a call from you, who said nothing but, “I won’t let you walk home alone.” You wouldn’t end the call throughout his way home, but refused to say anything else and almost making Hyunjin dash to the police station.

Hyunjin sees your shadow, letting out a small scream when he spots you lying on the floor in the dark. He runs to you, about to carry you back into your room when you stop him. “I feel like crying,” you rasp, choking on your saliva. “I can’t stop it.”

It’s been a month since your family left, and while you’re trying your best to be a big girl and live the way you always do, it’s not easy. Hyunjin lies beside you, eyes locked on the tears rolling down your cheeks. You never cry loudly. You never sob nor wail. You just cry silently, mostly in the dark so you can’t see yourself crying.

Hyunjin takes your hand in his, hovering over you before tracing your tears with his lips as if it can stop them. He pecks every wet spot, slowly getting to your lips. He leaves a chaste, barely-there kiss before wrapping his arms around you, whispering comforting things until you start falling asleep on the hard floor.

Hyunjin hopes you’ll allow yourself to cry however you wish to someday.

a/n: i was so happy writing this that i almost cried when i finished because i know i’m going to miss writing this one. this story feels so sentimental, happy and sad at the same time and probably that’s why i feel so attached to it. ive wanted to write this since last year, even before “give my heart a chance”. i always wondered what would happen after we reach our dreams and i hope you’ll feel a little better after reading this (especially if you’re experiencing the same thing). this story is a long journey, but i hope you’ll enjoy it.

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zhydoesart · 5 years ago

Text

ultimately i believe we’ll be okay

ships: romantic LAMP

word count: 2.4K

AO3

Summary: "It's so cliché to say these things, but repetition is a key / I think I'm better when I'm with you / But I worry when you're gone..." Being in his apartment alone gets to be too much for Patton. It gets to his head. But his boyfriends rush to the rescue, and while that doesn't fix everything, it does make Patton feel better.

the song lyrics used here are from a song called Ultimately by the artist Khai Dreams.

taglist: @moxiety-my-love @celeste-tyrrell @lavender-static @acompletemusicalnerd @treasureofpriam @bitteryjittery-andveryglittery @unicornofdarknessstuff @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear

Patton jumped, blinking as he resurfaced out of his thought-induced reverie. His phone vibrated a familiar pattern in his pocket, and despite having recognized said pattern, he still had to check the caller ID.

Virgil, it read. Patton smiled at the contact photo he'd chosen, a candid picture he'd taken of Virgil when the emo hadn't been looking. It was a pretty photo, and even though Virgil had raised a fuss, pouting as he demanded that Patton delete it, Patton had decided to keep it.

Although the picture was a little over a year old now.

He really needed more pictures of Virgil, huh?

"Agh, no," he said. "C'mon, Patton, don't get distracted! Answer the call, silly!" He swiped left.

Neither spoke right away, each waiting for the other to speak first. The only thing Patton could hear from his end was Virgil's slightly labored breathing.

"Hey, Virge?" he asked, concerned about the sound of the breathing and curious as to the reason for the call. "What's up? Something wrong?"

"I…" Virgil sighed. "I dunno. Sorry, I probably didn't need— didn't need to call you, I just needed— to, to hear your voice. It's stupid, I know. You know what, never mind."

"Wait!" Patton exclaimed, astonished. "Don't go, it's okay! You're not bothering me or anything, I promise." Virgil let out a relieved breath. "I was just thinking when you called, actually, I was feeling a bit lonely myself. With Roman out of town, and Logan staying with you…" Patton chuckled half-heartedly, deep blue eyes downcast.

"Speaking of," he changed the subject, "where is Logan? You wouldn't have called me if he were there, right?"

"That's not true," Virgil protested. "Although Logan is out right now, getting groceries, or whatever." There was a momentary silence as they each pondered what to would say.

"Do you need me to come over?"

"No, it's fine, Pat. You shouldn't have to go out of your way just to make me feel better. Besides, Logan'll be home soon."

Patton attempted to stifle first his disappointment that Virgil hadn't asked for him and second the irrational flash of jealousy and longing that came with Virgil referring to his and Logan's shared apartment as home.

None of them had a house big enough for their three boyfriends to move in, so for the moment, they were forced to split into pairs. One pair shared Patton's and Virgil's apartments at all times. Every so often (typically every few weeks), they'd shuffle around so they wouldn't have to miss each other for too long. That wasn't to say that they didn't practically live at each others' houses already, there simply wasn't enough space to live there full-time.

And now Roman had left town for a callback he was excited for. If he got the part, he'd be filming closer to home, but the callbacks took place in a studio a few hours away. It had only been a little over 24 hours now, but Patton had already begun to miss him. At the moment, Logan and Virgil were sharing Virgil's place while Roman stayed with Patton, but with Roman gone, Patton was all by himself.

Over the years, Patton had come to need constant validation to combat the self-deprecation and feelings of being alone that had come with his depression. Now, he could still receive that validation if he were to text Logan or Virgil, but he couldn't help the nagging sensation that he was bothering them.

"Patton?" Patton blinked, he'd been stuck in his own head again. Clearly Virgil had been talking, but Patton hadn't been listening.

"Sorry, Vee," he replied sheepishly. "I got distracted, I wasn't listening."

"Well, I was just saying that Logan's back now, so…" A rumble of a voice that was probably Logan's muttered something from next to Virgil, and Virgil agreed quietly. "Hey, Pat, I'm gonna give Lo the phone, okay?"

"Hello, Patton," greeted Logan warmly in his familiar dulcet tones, the kind of warmth that he reserved solely for his boyfriends, and Patton almost broke down right then. He took a shaky breath to steady himself before he could speak again.

"Hey, Logan." His voice cracked on the second syllable of his boyfriend's name, and Patton winced.

"Are you alright?" Patton grimaced. Logan sounded worried now, which meant he could tell something was up.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Patton wrung his hands, hoping the conversation would shift soon. "Nothing's wrong," he reiterated. Logan's silence was so pointed that Patton could practically hear his raised eyebrow.

Logan sighed, and Patton could imagine him running a hand absently through his smoothly gelled black hair. "If something was wrong, you would tell us, correct?"

"You know we won't judge," came Virgil's slightly muffled voice. "We've all been through some hard stuff, remember?"

"I… I don't know if I can…" Patton leaned against the counter top, suddenly feeling as if he couldn't get enough air.

"It's alright," Logan assured, and Patton could hear his smile, and suddenly it was too much.

He let out a strangled sob, clutching at his head.

"I… I'm sorry, I don't know what's— what's wrong," he said through tears, his chest heaving and eyes blurry.

"That's it." A clattering came from the other end of the line, almost as if someone had stood. "We're coming over there."

"No, no, you don't have to do— to do that," hiccuped Patton.

"Too late, we're coming!" said Virgil, sounding as though he was holding the phone once more. "Logan's gonna drive, I'm gonna stay on the line, okay? We'll be there in a few minutes, Patton."

Patton sniffled, smiling faintly through the tears that kept streaming down his cheeks. "Okay. See you soon."

Then there was the sound of, presumably, Logan and Virgil running down the stairs, which was unusual for Virgil and more so for Logan. Several doors slammed, and soon a car alarm beeped as said car unlocked.

"Hurry up, buckle up," snapped Logan briskly, and Virgil audibly dropped the phone (hopefully into his lap) as he fumbled with the buckle.

"Operation Cheer Up Patton is go, I guess," Virgil snorted into his phone. He lowered his voice. "Y'know, Logan is taking this very seriously. Of course, he doesn't know the name of the operation, but he started sprinting for the staircase before I'd even stood up!" Patton smiled; that he could imagine. While not a lot of things could motivate Logan to full-on sprint, his boyfriends were one of the few things that would.

"Whoa, shit!" Virgil swore with no warning. "Sorry, Pat, it's just— LOGAN! Jesus fucking Christ, slow down! At this rate, we're gonna crash!" He panted slightly. "Sorry, Patton. I know you don't like it when we swear, but now I know why we never let Logan drive! He drives like a maniac." Logan muttered something Patton couldn't hear. "Yeah, I don't care why we're speeding, Logan! I don't want to go to jail!"

"Virgil, what's going on?" Patton knew he sounded worried, but it didn't matter because he was.

"Sorry, Patton. I bet that was scary, me just yelling out of nowhere. It's okay, we're okay. Nothing happened. Logan's just a crazy driver, is all." The sounds of the car slowed, quieted, then came to a stop, probably as the car did. "Hey, we're here, we'll be right up."

Virgil didn't talk as he and Logan ascended in the elevator, but Patton listened quietly all the same. Right now he was latching onto the quiet sounds of his boyfriends' breathing as if for dear life.

The elevator dinged that familiar sound Patton had heard every day for years now, the sound that signaled that you'd reached your floor. Presumably, Logan and Virgil had stepped out.

"We're almost there," Virgil murmured into his phone. The sounds of… running?... soon started up again, stopping on the other side of Patton's door. "I'm here," he said as he opened the door, and Patton heard an echo for a moment until Virgil hung up the call.

Virgil was standing in his doorway, panting, face flushed, hair mussed, but Patton thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Logan stood just behind him, face neutral as always, but the slight tilt to his eyebrows told Patton he was worried.

"Hey," Virgil said, a lopsided half-smile on his face. "You okay?"

Patton raised a hand to his face. He still seemed to be crying. "Better now you're here." He tried to laugh but it came out choked, and he wiped at his cheeks again.

Virgil hurried over to Patton, who still leaned on the counter to keep his balance. Logan soon followed, closing the door behind them as he approached. Virgil placed a gentle hand on Patton's face, using his thumb to further dry his face.

"What's wrong, Patton?" asked Logan. He took one of Patton's hands in both of his own and squeezed gently.

Patton sniffed. "I don't really know. It's the depression, I'm sure, but— I feel so alone sometimes, you know? Roman's gone and you're both staying at Virgil's, it's… hard for me."

Virgil was gazing at Patton like he was the only person in the universe, or the only one that mattered, anyway. His brown eyes were filled with such concern and compassion for Patton, and his hand felt pleasantly warm against Patton's skin.

On the other hand, Logan's gray-blue eyes were searching for something within Patton's own ocean blues, his hands colder than Patton's, but not unpleasantly so.

"Honey, that's not true." Logan lifted Patton's hand up to his mouth and very lightly brushed his lips against the back of Patton's hand. Patton barely suppressed the shiver that threatened to run down his spine. "You're not alone, I promise."

"You know you can talk to us," interjected Virgil, stressing the last three words. "You're not a bother, I worry about that too! It's alright, sunshine." His brows furrowed as he thought. "Why don't you stay with us until Roman gets back?"

"There's not enough space," argued Patton.

"We'll make space," Logan said firmly. "This matters to you, and therefore it matters to us."

"Okay," Patton said. He'd stopped crying, and he wiped at the last of the tears with the sleeves of his cat hoodie. He seemed vulnerable, and Virgil couldn't help but wrap his arms around his boyfriend. Soon he felt Logan's arms wrap around the both of them as well.

"Why don't we cuddle?" suggested Logan quietly into Patton's hair. The black-haired man usually didn't initiate contact, so this was a rare opportunity and they took him up on it immediately.

Patton's bed was warm and covered in a million pillows. Virgil shoved a few to the side so they could lie down. Patton positioned himself directly in between his boyfriends, tugging them closer to him.

"Is this helping?" asked Virgil.

Patton thought. "You know what, I think it is." He squeezed Virgil's hand and buried his face in Logan's chest. "It doesn't quite make up for Roman not being here, but it sure does help."

Something clattered in another room, and Patton frowned, sitting up to listen. He held a finger to his lips, and Virgil sat up to join him.

Keys jangled, and Patton stood slowly. Who could be in their apartment?

He crept over to the door, peering out cautiously—and was met with a welcome sight. That windswept brown hair, those bright green eyes; there was only one person it could've been.

"Roman?" slipped out of his mouth, and Roman turned to look at him, expression a little guilty.

"I'm back early. I meant to surprise you, mi alma." Patton loved that familiar lopsided grin of Roman's.

"How'd it go?"

Roman beamed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I got the part! They loved me!" Patton barreled towards him, throwing himself into Roman's arms, and Roman spun him around before setting him down. Their laughs met in the air, Roman's deep, hearty chuckle intermingling with Patton's higher giggle.

"You did it! I'm so proud of you, and I missed you," Patton murmured into Roman's lips, eyes closed.

Logan and Virgil now stood in the doorway, watching with loving eyes.

"We were just having a cuddle puddle. What do you say, Ro? Wanna join?" Virgil asked nonchalantly.

"Duh," was Roman's only response. "I'd never skip out on a cuddle puddle. But I've got an even better idea than doing it in bed." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Patton playfully smacked his arm. "Why don't we bring the blankets and pillows out here? Make a fort? Watch some movies?"

"That is acceptable," replied Logan, but the corners of his mouth had curled up.

"Yeah, sure," shrugged Virgil.

"That sounds great, let's do it!" exclaimed Patton happily, blue eyes glimmering excitedly.

It's possible that Patton jumpscared Logan by hiding in a closet while they were looking for pillows. And maybe Virgil tripped several times on the same leg of the couch on the way to and from the living room. Perhaps Roman and Virgil ended up arguing over who should get the Lilo & Stitch pillow.

It was a joint effort to position the couches so that they could drape several blankets over it. Logan and Roman pushed one couch while Patton and Virgil took the other. Out of the four of them, Roman worked out the most and was the most outwardly buff, but Patton, despite his lack of height and cuddly appearance, was also deceptively strong, as they'd learned when he'd taken to picking them up to princess-carry his boyfriends around their apartments.

Once the blanket fort was in place, Patton stood back to survey their work. Roman, on the other hand, didn’t wait even a moment to lie down, and Logan shook his head in mock exasperation before the other three joined him.

Patton ended up in the technical “center” of their cuddle puddle, although with four of them it was hard to tell where the center was. Still, amidst their tangled limbs, Patton felt safe there, with the three loves of his life.

Having his boyfriends with him certainly didn’t make his depression go away—nothing could do that, Patton had to heal—but it definitely helped to quiet the nasty little voice in his head that told him he wasn’t worth loving. Like this, with the fire in the fireplace and the sounds of Moana starting to play, embraced in his boyfriends’ arms, he could pretend he was all better. And for now, that’s really all Patton can do.

#sanders sides #ts fanfic #ts lamp #patton angst #ts sides #ts fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts patton #ts virgil #ts logan #ts roman

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