#in my defence I’m tired and doing homework

[p0orbaby]

alexia and teacher reader where reader helps teach english to kids in school and she gives alexia english homework to help her with her interviews. but alexia doesn’t do her hw or lessons and gets no hugs or kisses until she does it

-

“Have you done your homework?” you ask, arms crossed, one brow lifted like you do with the Year 5s when they’re clearly hiding a stolen gel pen in their pencil case.

Alexia does not look up from the fridge. “No.”

You stare. “No?”

“No.”

You wait.

She turns around, yoghurt in hand, the picture of casual rebellion. “I had training. And a shoot. And then I was tired.”

You fold your arms tighter. “You promised you’d do at least two exercises from the grammar sheet. Just two, Alexia.”

“I know.” She spoons yoghurt into her mouth like it’s a defence strategy. “But it’s hard. You give me the boring ones.”

“They’re beginner-level past tense.”

“They’re stressful.”

You blink at her.

She blinks back.

Then you say it, calm and deadly: “No kisses until you finish them.”

Alexia freezes mid-chew. “Sorry?”

“No kisses,” you repeat, turning back to the living room with a casual shrug. “Or hugs. Or touching of any kind, actually.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

She follows you, scandalised. “That’s emotional blackmail.”

“No,” you say, dropping onto the sofa with a very teacher-like air of finality. “It’s consequences.”

She stares at you like you’ve announced the death of fun. “You’re so British sometimes.”

“And you,” you say sweetly, “are a grown woman who refuses to do three lines of English homework.”

She stands there for a solid ten seconds, arms hanging uselessly at her sides. “Can I bribe you?”

“You can bribe yourself with kisses. After you conjugate ten verbs.”

A long pause.

Then, dramatically, like it’s cost her a limb: “Fine.”

-

Fifteen minutes later, she stomps into the living room with the worksheet in hand.

You take it like a strict examiner. “Let’s see.”

Her handwriting is suspiciously neat. You scan the page. There’s one correction you make, gently, with a red pen—purely for dramatic effect.

She watches you like a dog waiting for a treat.

You hand it back. “Better.”

“So…?”

You smile. “Five kisses. One for every correct answer.”

She practically leaps onto the sofa, straddling your lap and grinning like a lunatic. “You’re such a menace, you know that?”

“And yet,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “you did the work.”

She kisses you back, all smug and warm and beautiful. “Maybe you should give me detention next.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, I’m tempting you,” she grins, trailing kisses down your neck now. “Next time I forget my homework, you can punish me properly.”

You roll your eyes—but you’re laughing. And kissing her back. And already thinking up her next worksheet.

With added difficulty.

And a reward system.

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i kept it tame so i didn't lose my mind, head chef! jeonghan who terrorises his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! giselle from aespa who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, lots of geographical London referencess, lots of bickering, little bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, fluff obviously and overall just very winter-esque!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @ourkivee @syluslittlecrows @ye0ppl @markhyuckbest @uhdrienne

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this is not edited properly and for that i am sorry...so tired i fear but she is FINALLY done!! thank you @camandemstudios for inviting me to participate in this collab, i've enjoyed every moment of yapping and fighting over pixel cats <33 to alice and addy for listening to me complaing about this fic but seungkwan deserves sm love so i had to do my bit !! i hope you all enjoy and happy new year !! <3

back to masterlist

BEING BERATED BY A SUPERIOR WILL ALWAYS BE A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE.

Whether that be in school, when you are scolded for forgetting your homework, or gaining detention for arguing with your teacher. In the working world, it could be insufficient effort in a team project, perhaps your boss simply being a prick and wanting to make your life difficult. 

Never did you think you would be sitting in front of your Head Chef, remnants of food stuck in your hair and clothing, a sheepish look plastered upon your face as you faced his imminent wrath.

You knew it was over for you—the man at the head of the office sat, sleeveless arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in rage at your dishevelled appearance, his feet tapping viciously under the desk. You never really considered your superior to be a particularly scary figure of power, but, in this light, if he made any sudden moves, there was a slim possibility you would scream.

You wondered whether begging for forgiveness was still on the table.

“Remind me, _____,” he finally said, sighing the words out, “How old are you?” 

A part of you wished to remind him that he was not legally allowed to ask you that. You did not even know why he was asking such a question. Head Chef Yoon Jeonghan had known you for a long time now. He realised it too, but for another reason entirely. “No, scratch that. You’re an age where your brain has developed fully, right? I’m not wrong in assuming that you’re capable of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Of course, Chef,” you answered, trying to find some self-assuredness in your voice. Difficult, in all honesty, when you were covered with salted butter and vanilla extract. 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. “Then tell me why, _____,” he asked, agitation rising, “I caught you with your hands full of whipped cream, throwing it at a fellow chef.”

You attempted an explanation. “In my defence, Chef, you weren’t meant to see that.”

Jeonghan was not amused. “I’m surprised the entire restaurant didn’t catch your antics. If this incident happened during open hours I shudder to think what our customers would think.”

Reining in a sigh, you did not respond this time, positive that another dry quip from you would have your unemployment confirmed. 

It was a little unfair, though. You were not the only one who was caught. 

A drawl resounded from beside you. “I won’t be surprised if half our customers don’t already know what _____’s like.”

This particular chirp had your self-wallowing bubbling to a rage. 

No, you were not the sole culprit, because as you whipped your head to the man who decided to voice his opinion at the wrong time, you caught the shit-eating glint in his eyes and nearly screamed the office down.

You could not stop yourself from crowing out, “Let’s not forget your 2018 meltdown over multiple tiramisu failures, Seungkwan.”

That had him scoffing harshly. “Always digging up incidents from years ago because you have nothing else to bring up.” His eyes hiked up and down your ruined uniform. “I can name your screw-ups starting today.”

“Oh, so I was just pissing about with all this food by myself then,” you snapped, gesturing towards his own mess. His hazel locks had the remnants of whipped cream too, matting his hair, whilst different coloured stains adorned his professional uniform, much similar to yours. However, you noticed he was much dirtier in appearance, which made your lips quirk upward in satisfaction.

He caught on instantly, to your distaste. “You were the one who couldn’t argue properly with me,” he accused. “No wonder you had to resort to childish gimmicks to get back at me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” A turn of your nose. “You look horrendous.” 

“You’re no sight for sore eyes either.” He reached for the thick strands of his hair, matted together with whipped cream. “Do you even know how hard it is to wash off mascarpone?”

“I wouldn’t, actually, because you missed, remember?”

“Oh, you—” 

“Enough!” Jeonghan declared, interrupting you two before any escalations occurred. “Not only were these gimmicks childish and immature, but also a huge waste on our ingredients. Mingyu’s estimated our stock for this week was cut down by 17%.” 

Your surprise was exposed through the twist of your mouth. “That’s right.” Jeonghan sighed once again, many in his arsenal. “Both of your temper tantrums have cost the restaurant financially. Aside from the fact that I will be talking to my therapist about this incident.” 

“Of course _____ wouldn’t care about the restaurant finances,” Seungkwan jeered, dusting off flakes of self-raising flour from his lap. “Nor your mental health.”

“I do care about your mental health, Chef,” you rebuked your colleague’s claim. “If I didn’t, then the stock would have plummeted another 25% at least. That’s why I didn’t touch the vintage dessert wines.” 

“You do seem to have some sense then,” Jeonghan griped, no humour in his smile, “Because if you ruined the wines on Seungkwan I would have fired you instantly.”

Not a warning—a promise. Another one of his infamous sighs exhaled from his coral lips, which he brushed with his wandering fingers in thought. “You both…you both need to stop this. I mean it.” 

“I will stop when she stops,” the man beside you asserted, glaring at you. 

You matched his venom. “I will stop when he stops.” 

“No, you both will stop, because I have had enough.” He locked his hands together, losing all amusement—as if there was any present in the first place. “Christmas period is approaching, and that means changing up the menu for the new quarter. These next couple of months will be incredibly busy, especially given the tourist season and school holidays in central.” 

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he set aside a few files, sliding out a particular piece and studying the details. “As you know, the main menu has been under alteration, but the dessert menu is still the same as the summer. I have already selected the majority of the confectionery, but there is still one more dessert I wish to add to the seasonal collection.” 

He then set his sights on the two of you. “I need you to make this dessert. Hand me the plans for its creation, flavour variety, as well as its marketability in the restaurant.” 

That had you sitting up in your seat. A creation of a dessert—it was something you had concocted in larger groups, back when you were a mere apprentice under Jeonghan’s wing at Camden Market. You had done seasonal dessert preparations for the spring and summer menus, but the winter menu selection was the most prestigious amongst the luxury restaurants within your borough. With locals flocking to central London, tourists from all corners of the world flying across oceans to stay in this beloved city, they wanted nothing more than seasonal excellence. 

An exquisite dessert meant maintaining that expectation of perfection. A dessert was enjoyed at the end of the main meal, and—in your eyes—cemented the opinion of a customer on whether they would return to the establishment, or forget it ever existed. The treats you made left impressions on thousands, impressions you savoured everyday at work, and outside. 

This may just be all your hard work paying off. Finally.

Before Jeonghan could continue, you nodded, all confidence. “I will be happy to accept this task, Chef.”

A snort sounded next to you, and your smugness faltered, replaced with irritation. “You have something to say?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, folding his leg over the other, “I was wondering why you were piping up when Chef was asking me.” 

This time, you were the one that laughed. “Your arrogance makes you look like a dumbass many times, Seungkwan. This is one of those times.” 

He leaned in a little, nodding condescendingly along to your taunts. “Oh do I? I guess it’ll be your turn to look stupid today.” 

“Both of you are looking stupid in front of me,” the boss interjected once more. “Because I wasn’t asking a specific individual.” 

He raised his hands to the two of you. “I’m asking you both to work on this dessert inclusion. Together.” 

You halted. Stilled in the stark, yellow lights of the grand office, evidence of Jeonghan’s success. Success which you have yet to taste on your own.

Success which, unfortunately, might have died with the words that left your superior’s mouth.

For the first time in a while, there was complete silence in the office.

Even Jeonghan found the notion hard to believe. “My God,” he uttered, twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, stunned. “Maybe I should have dropped this news before the food fight.”

You could only stare at the man in pure horror. “I would rather snap raw spaghetti and serve it to you before doing such a thing!”

Seungkwan let out a groan. “Here come the dramatics,” he muttered, but you heard it clear enough. “Anything to make a fuss and delay the business.”

Jeonghan perked up. “Oh, so you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

A smile. “I’d kill myself before working with _____.”

Your huff of laughter had the boy scowling. “And he called me dramatic.”

“Enough!” was the final outcry from your boss, who seemed ready to overthrow the desk in pure frustration. “You two…” he shook his head, raking his slender hands through his long, black hair. “I don’t care.”

The younger attempted to fight his case to the end. “But Chef, this will be a disaster—”

You chimed in for the sake of interrupting, “This will cause the downfall of your restaurant—”

“I don’t care how you two feel,” his interruption was final, his head shaking still. “I don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parted, but then heard the fuck, and decided against saying a word. You should have followed suit, but it was against your very principle to follow his example. “Chef, please,” you tried, almost pleading to be heard out. “Seungkwan and I have completely different palettes too. It’s not even about personal differences.”

“Again, that is a setback I don’t care about.” He stood up from his seat, and almost on instinct the two of you shot up from your chairs, remnants of cooked fettuccine falling from your dampened uniform pockets. The Head Chef took note of this detail. “This…this petty rivalry between the two of you is affecting the people around you now. Both of you are so talented, yet I have seen caffeine-crazed kids behave better than you during rush hours.” 

He rested his hands on the table, his hard gaze razor-sharp. “You both have about eight weeks to hand me the final dessert plan on my table. If I receive two individual plans, or no plan at all, then I will fire you both.”

That was enough for balls to drop. You were fortunate to have none, so only assumed Seungkwan was the victim in this situation.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he exclaimed, and for the first time, you had to agree with him. A horrifying prospect. “We’re halfway through September now!”

“So?”

“You need me on desserts, Chef!” you declared, taking a more outraged stance on his statement. “What the hell will you do when there’s no one to make your amarettis?”

The man was still, face impassive. “I don’t care if you both are my best chefs. There are many big-eyed, desperate Masterchef rejects who will cut off their legs to be trained within this position.”

Whatever snide remark that almost escaped your mouth lodged itself in your throat. You wanted to feel special—like there was a place reserved only for you at the restaurant. 

Now, because of one person, that position is threatened.

“This isn’t fair, Jeonghan,” you mumbled. 

There was a pause. Then, “Don’t make me agree with _____.”

“Shut up.”

The boss took a turn from his desk, walking towards the door. “As I said,” he began, holding onto the handle, “You have eight weeks.” 

He took one last glance at the two of you, a judgement akin to the one the scriptures warned about. “Don’t fuck this up.” 

With that, he left his office with a final thud! of the door. 

And as the weight of the decision finally settled on your shoulders, its pressure making them sag, you looked to the man whose employment rested in your hands—whose hands your employment rested on too. 

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

If anyone was going to get fired, it would not be you.

THE RUSH HOUR OF THE UNDERGROUND TUBE SOURED YOUR ALREADY UNPLEASANT CONDITION.

The Northern line from Camden experienced a few closures, so that resulted in delays, consequently filling the already dingy underground area into a complete sardine-like squeeze. It was horrendous enough the place was like a cesspit of heat and sweat amongst all these commuters, but knowing you were going to be late was enough to worsen your mood. 

You would have complained to your flatmate, but there was no service underneath—the entire commute resulted in staring down the people who held a seat in the jam-packed tube, when you were slotted against the sliding doors of the train. Holding onto the railings for dear life, you could only hope that your colleague had experienced an inconvenience as severe as you had (perhaps tripping over his dirty laundry—maybe even a car crash on the ring road? He could take his pick). 

Once the tube finally reached Leicester Square, you could not struggle out of the train fast enough, tapping out your card and flying up the stairs in two-three steps. The Piazza of Covent Garden was not far away, but London was a city that never rested, and so the people were everywhere. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of moving out of the crowds with precision, so you arrived at your destination, only about five minutes late. 

The columns of Covent Garden’s grand building welcomed your vision. There, nestled to the side with luxury outdoor seating splayed onto the cobblestone, was the Vita di Diamante—Jeonghan’s product of blood, sweat and tears for the world to admire. The Georgian-style front was painted an emerald green, white borders of the doors and windows making the restaurant glow in the soft winter sun. Customers were already queuing, even though doors were not to open for the next two hours. You could not help a small smile forming, chest swelling with pride. 

Avoiding the front entrance, you hurried around to the side doors, this particular entrance already open thanks to Prep Cook Kim Mingyu, who offered a sheepish smile at your appearance. 

“Oh no,” you said in greeting, quickly stepping past him as he closed the door. “What’s that look for?” 

He chuckled, tightening his apron’s bow at the back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan—stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert apprentices to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, butyou did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed messing with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To need only a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I'm not dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

Oh, he was seething underneath that mask of irritation. If you had been any weaker, you would have crumbled under such a withering look. He did not have much to say anymore, thinking that knifing you with his glare would be enough to win this argument. Because he had you as an opponent, it was no easy feat—the two of you said nothing again, staring and staring with mouths parted, almost waiting for an insult to rise from their throats and strike any second. 

Something might have struck—would have occurred under the flickering lights of the dessert station. Perhaps Seungkwan would have said something to make you succumb to your aggravation. Maybe you would have finally killed him. 

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

There stood Jeonghan, tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed as he observed you two. “Standing this close, well…either you’re about to claw each other’s faces off or make out.”

The latter option had you and Seungkwan breaking out of your rageful bubble, repelling from each other like magnets of the same sides. The boy exhaled sharply through his nose, while you swiped up your notes, not even sparing your Head Chef with a glare. “You’re horrid.”

Seungkwan snorted. “I think I’d rather get punched.”

You directed that sour look back at the man who deserved it more. “You’ll have it coming if you keep at it.”

“If you both have wasted enough time fighting,” Jeonghan interjected, always the mediator, “Then let’s get on with it. I wanna hear your initial plans.”

“_____ will summarise,” The younger replied, before you could even begin. “I have to go in a minute.”

You made a face. “Where’re you running off to?”

He returned it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have to pick up my niece and nephew from school. They have a half-day today.”

You could have rolled your eyes at him. “Is this allowed, Chef?” you demanded. “Something as important as the Christmas menu is being discussed, and he’s doing school duty.”

But Jeonghan overlooked your valid concerns, countering, “It’s all good, _____. Seungkwan asked for the half-day a week earlier.”

The said-man handed his notes to the superior. He could not help remarking, “Perhaps if you had bothered to be on time, then we could have fought out another dessert.”

As he exited, bidding his adieus to him, you reined in the temptation to stick his middle finger out. After all, it would have only landed behind his back—the bastard deserved to see it. 

Your boss clicked his tongue at you as he walked over to where you stood. “Good to see you didn’t flip him off in front of me. At least you’re thirty percent professional.”

“Why did you give him the half-day?” This time, you could not restrain the eye-roll. “Sometimes I think he’s making those kids up.”

“_____!” He scolded, bringing Seungkwan’s notepad back on the surface. “I’ve met his niece and nephew, they’re very much real.”

“Or you could be in on the bit,” you jeered, leaning against the countertop. “Trying to piss me off on purpose.”

“Your self-importance astounds me. Not everyone is thinking about you.” A knowing look. “Even the man you happen to hate so much.”

“Well I hope he keeps my name out of his mouth. And his mind, for that matter,” you added for good measure, observing the very door the man departed from. 

Jeonghan followed your line of sight. “You seem to have a hard time keeping his name out of your mouth though.”

Your accused mouth tightened at its allegations. “Are you on my side or his?”

He raised his hands in surrender, a grin breaking free from his lips. “Don’t drag me into your petty rivalry.” Pointing towards your notes, he then changed the subject. “Now, tell me about your rough plans.”

You obliged your boss, running down your initial prospects. He seemed satisfied enough, informing you that he will ask Seungkwan as well, and reminded you to prepare for the early customers.

As you prepared yourself for the open doors, prepping your ingredients alongside the Prep Cook, your thoughts wandered to the man who escaped this menial work, and then the eventual rush.

You and Seungkwan would not be able to create this dessert. Meeting in the middle would be impossible with someone as stubborn as him. Of course you wished to be successful, because that meant Jeonghan would not throw you out into the cobblestones of Covent Garden. You wanted this to go well. 

A sharp breath exhaled from you. You could only hope that Seungkwan hoped the same, or else you would both are completely, utterly, inescapably fucked. 

“HO HO HO!” 

A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “One more ‘ho ho ho’ and I’m shooting myself in the head.”

“Hey!” The slender girl exclaimed, fixing her Santa hat upon her straight hair. “You know I need to perfect it for today.”

You looked beyond her figure to the shop, lit up with seasonal outfits on display. “You’re gonna get the role anyway, Aeri, because no one else will be auditioning.”

The girl tried to push you in punishment, you narrowly dodging her dainty hand. “Go back to slaving away at Jeonghan’s restaurant.”

A mocked gasp left you. “Are you telling me to get back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, so step on it!”

“I’m supporting you, though!” You reasoned. “There is no one in London who can pull off Santa Claus better than you.”

“And what about the world?”

You mocked a shrug. “There’s too many old white men to compete for that title, I fear.”

“See?” She clicked her tongue. “A real friend would lie to me and say I’m the best.”

Shaking your head at her antics, you could not help smiling at her. Uchinaga Aeri was a fiery girl you had befriended in school, bonding over your terrible teachers in one after-school detention. Your paths had never strayed, establishing each other as flatmates when the two of you decided to pursue careers in the big city. Where you pursued luxury food, she sought after theatre and cameras, deciding to be an actress when she landed herself the role of ‘Juliet’ in Romeo and Juliet in primary school, and considered it destiny (she, however, did not have chemistry with her Romeo, because he kissed her like a ‘fish’. In her words, men who cannot kiss should not be romancing other actresses).

“I don’t get the Santa Claus obsession, though,” you wondered out loud. “There are other ways to help kids out.”

“I know, but it’s Christmas!” She waved her arms to the air, gesturing at the winter-themed fairy lights on the mall ceilings, twinkling with every ray of light that caught them. “It’s also adorable when the kids ask you for presents.”

“I think it’ll be cuter with a female Claus, too,” you pointed out. “I wouldn’t put my kid on any old man’s lap.”

“Exactly!” There was a moment of brief pause before Aeri relented. “Also, the mall employees get a 50 percent discount on retail.”

“I knew your ass wasn’t feeling the Christmas charity spirit.”

The girl chuckled, looping her arm around yours. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” You returned her grin with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t gonna miss you screaming ‘Ho Ho Ho’ at every kid in M&S.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but could not contain her laughter. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to work today?”

That made your cheerful expression falter a little. “I was, but Seungkwan took the full day off today, so Jeonghan used it as an excuse to trial out the apprentices.” 

“You know, I still need to meet this guy,” she said, glancing at the street food booths in the middle of the halls. “He’s the only man I know who genuinely makes you go batshit.”

“Don’t get me started again.” You rolled your eyes. “You know, he took his day off for his niece and nephew again. I’m telling you, he’s making these fucking kids up.”

Aeri’s face twisted into concern. “Making up fake kids for a holiday is a little far-fetched, _____.”

“Keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, then,” you crowed at her, “I'm just gonna pretend you're method acting for Santa."

But she was persistent, asking, “When will you let me spread the Christmas charity to your nemesis?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” You twisted your mouth. “I’m saving you the headache.”

“Why the headache?” Aeri then gasped. “Is he ugly?”

You scoffed, looking ahead to respond when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your friend, arm locked with yours, lurched backwards, whirling her head to you. Catching your expression had her demanding, “What the hell?”

But you were not listening to her, because your eyes landed on the very man you were bad-mouthing mere seconds ago. It was insanity how you recognised him, when his face was half-hidden from his signature oversized scarf—the three-metres of red fabric which always irritated you for some irrational reason (possibly because you were always cold, and the stupid, awful scarf always seemed so warm). His black trench-coat covered his slender figure, his hair ruffled, the after-effects of a beanie situated upon them.

Those details were still not important—completely useless when the most prominent addition was a woman beside him, laughing at his quip.

Shit. You did not waste any time.

“_____?” your friend called out, only to be met with your sudden turn on your heel, as, with her ungracious yelp, you hauled her inside the nearest shop, nearly crashing into the mannequins. “Jeez, if you wanted to go inside Zara so badly, then you should have just said!” 

As you hid behind the retail giant’s new winter collection, you observed, a little further away, the two people strolling without a care in the world. You noticed how the man was carrying all the shopping—stores from high-street to designer, which had your eyebrow raising—whilst the woman was pointing towards different stores, perhaps scour all of Westfield if she could help it. 

A frown marred your lips. 

Seungkwan said he was assisting his child-aged niece and nephew—you did not remember said-niece and nephew being one adult woman. 

“He’s on a fucking date,” you seethed.

Aeri, now hiding beside you, tried to find whoever it was that you were glaring at. “Who’s on a date?”

“Seungkwan!” you exclaimed, pointing at him through the mannequin’s arm. “The prick with the red scarf.” But he and his company had walked past Zara, nearly leaving your field of vision. “Wait, we gotta move.” 

The poor girl, who was once again hauled up, and now being led out of the store, tugged at your arm. “What are we doing?” she asked. “Why are you still talking about him?”

“Because he’s there!” You jerked your head towards him and his lady-friend. “Look!”

A sharp breath drew from your friend. “Oh my God! Speak of the dessert devil, huh?”

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

That had Aeri stopping the chase, thus stopping you. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

“To catch him out on his terrible excuse!” you explained, tutting at your friend’s inability to understand the drastic nature of this situation. “I need to see the look on his face when I catch him making the rounds on H&M’s winter collection.”

For some unimaginable reason, the girl did not seem so enthusiastic. “My interview’s in thirty minutes, _____.”

You scrambled for any lame excuse. “This will distract you from your interview nerves!” 

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

“Well, you should because your voice cannot go ‘Santa Claus’ deep.”

Aeri nudged you with her interlocked arm, shaking her head. “Now I’m scared, so fuck you.”

“You're very welcome.” You ticked your head towards your target. “Let’s go.”

As you two began your possibly illegal, certainly socially unacceptable activity, a certain rush thrummed within your veins, as if you had taken something for the exhilaration. Seeing your colleague declare one thing to you, yet do something entirely different—and then to witness it with your own eyes—felt like a scene out of a ridiculous rom-com. He was taking this girl everywhere, offering his opinions on certain collections on display in whatever shop they passed, loud enough for you to hear. Of course, it was expected from someone as opinionated as him—you were not surprised in the slightest. 

“All the time in the world for his kids, huh?” you muttered, sporting a grin which would have had criminals running for the hills.

Even Aeri was spooked. “You really are rooting for his downfall, huh?” 

“You have no idea.”

The two people you tailed went inside the White Tiger, and it was at this point as, when you made to enter the strange shop, you were stopped by your friend. “I’m gonna leave you here.” 

“What?” You tugged on her arm. “You still have fifteen minutes.”

She sighed. “If I tank in my audition, just know I’m going to your restaurant and telling this Seungkwan that you had a wet dream about him.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s diabolical.” 

Her growing smirk had you widening your eyes. “I’ll do you an even better one. If you don’t let me leave I’m calling Seungkwan here and telling him we were stalking him.”

That had your blood running cold. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You don’t think so?” She turned her face forwards, shit-eating expression furthering. 

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

“What the—” You instantly grabbed her arm, aiming to cover her mouth when she waved off your hands, her grin chilling you to your bones. “Oh my fucking God—!”

“Hey, Seungkwan!” Aeri shouted once more, louder this time. You knifed her with a vicious glare, but then she waved her hand, and you whirled your head to where she greeted.

Your face contorted in pure horror as you watched Seungkwan look over his shoulder, slowly turning himself. 

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

It was your legs that suddenly held the reins, dashing into the shop beside your friend, hiding behind the racks of clothing. Your heart beat as if you had run an Olympic sprint, pounding in your ears, and your mouth repeatedly cursed the girl who had instigated all this, praying she embarrassed herself in her audition—perhaps screaming Whore, whore, whore! instead of the classic jingle. You did not think of the logistics, too enraged and embarrassed to think up a solution.

Despite the chaos of customers shopping, the swishing of clothing amongst the racks, and the robotic beeping of cash registers, you peeked through the burgundy cardigans you hid behind, catching the very man you wished to avoid walking up to your friend. 

His voice could be heard from your makeshift sanctuary, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, did you call for me?”

Aeri kept glancing at the shop you hid in. She tried her hardest to restrain her smile as she said, “I did, actually! This is so weird, but my name’s Aeri. _____’s friend.”

You could not mistake it—the realisation striking in his eyes, as they widened, ever so slightly. His mouth parted, then the corners of his lips curled upwards, and suddenly you could have been made of dread and anguish and every fearful emotion a person was capable of feeling. 

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

“_____?” He repeated, and the amusement that dripped off your name had you wishing all men perished. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see a friend of _____’s.”

He raised his hand out, and Aeri reciprocated, shaking it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t have expected an answer like that from you, actually.”

“Is that so?” the man quirked his mouth in a side-smile, all mischief and whimsical. “Maybe I’m fixing my manners for a pretty girl, then.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her chest, her smiling losing all mischief, turning more genuine. “She didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.”

You had to bring a hand to your mouth, aghast. The bitch is being fooled! “I’m not surprised by that in the slightest.” He let out an uneasy chuckle. “I hope you don’t believe the impression she’s made of me.”

“I’ll try not to be swayed,” she promised, sneaking another glance at your hiding place. Although she had not caught your eye, you glared at her for being so obvious. “Though I will admit, I haven’t heard great things.” 

“I’d be shocked if I heard anything positive,” he remarked. “_____, she…” He tugged his lip between his teeth. “I won’t say it cause she’s your friend but…”

“Yeah, nothing too crazy, please,” she warned, “Because then I’d have to tell her, she’d go all ballistic on you, and then she’d complain to me. I can’t deal with this soap opera.” 

“Soap opera?” he said, scoffing. “God, I can’t even complain, it’s EastEnders everyday in that damned kitchen.”

Aeri laughed. “Now I know my friend loves a bit of drama, but surely she’s not the one in the wrong every time?” 

But Seungkwan tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if considering a completely different opinion. “And yet she’s the one throwing food in my face.” 

That had your friend glancing at you through the shop window, a second-long judgement. You glared at her to turn away, she obliging with a shake of her head. “Well…I suppose I can’t defend her against that.” 

His winning smile irked you to the bone. “Exactly.” 

You knew from Aeri’s sheepish scratch of her neck that there was no convincing him, and had unintentionally proved his point. A soft groan escaped you, about to hold your head in your hands. Must bully her about this later.

The need to torture her for the rest of her miserable, Santa-adoring life worsened when he looked beyond her frame, a questioning twist of his mouth forming. “Am I crazy, or was _____ here with you?”

The girl’s helpless, a million-emotions-a-second expression once again exposed the guilt Seungkwan waited patiently for, and latched onto. “Huh. So I’m not crazy.” 

“She just left,” Aeri explained, looking down at her boots. “She had the whole dessert thing to think up, prepare for…you know, the reason you guys are yelling at each other.”  

“Such dedication to her work!” he praised, but even she could recognise the patronising tone, directed at you from afar. If he had caught onto the fact that you were hiding from him, you might as well throw yourself off the highest floor in this mall. 

The condescension had the girl ticking her head. “She is, though. Why else would she be fighting for her preferences?” 

Seungkwan stared at your friend, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I guess you’re right,” he relented, which had you frowning behind the clothing. Given up so easily? 

You could not ponder over it further, because the man looked over his shoulder, no doubt realising he had left his mysterious companion behind. “You must excuse me, Aeri,” he said, “But it was really good to meet you, truly.” 

He held his hand out, which, surprised, your friend shook, lightening up. “You too, Seungkwan.”

As he let go, turning on his heel, you just managed to catch the smirk on his face, hidden from Aeri. “You tell your friend I said I missed her here.”

And off he went, catching her off-guard, and kickstarting your irritation as he strolled back to his date. 

Once you were sure he was out of your distance, you stood, avoiding the flurry of winter clothing, keeping your head down in slight shame at knowing quite a few shoppers had seen you hiding out behind the railings. Another unprecedented consequence of knowing Seungkwan.

Quickly you hurried to your friend, who turned to you, pointing her thumb in his direction. “Oh my God.” 

“‘She had this whole dessert thing to prepare for’?” you greeted, hands on your hips. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d realise you were here!” She kept a finger to her chin, thinking over possible escapes. “I mean, I don’t think he saw you in Zara? You hid better than I thought, honestly.” 

“Shit.” You brought your fingers to your temple, scraping against your skin. “And why did he agree with you on me being dedicated?! Fake-ass.” 

Aeri then raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. I am right. Him being passionate about his work doesn’t change the fact that you’re dedicated to it too.” 

You could only grunt in agreement, glancing back to see him a mere speck amongst the sea of Christmas shoppers. 

Although it was a fool’s hope, you wished that he would not bring up this incident tomorrow. 

THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENS, HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU. 

Not that you were afraid of him—at the end of the day, he was just a man with a small apron and a bad attitude, and you were not letting him get the better of you. 

Except your heart was pounding like an echoing gong, hair standing on the back of your neck. Even your palms were sweating, you flexing and unflexing your hands in distraction. Seungkwan was behind the large commercial hob, cooking something in a pot when he looked over his shoulder, beholding your unnerved presence. 

For the first time since he started working alongside you, he offered you a smile. 

You could have taken the pot and flung the contents on his head. 

“Good morning, _____!” he chirped, the smile widening when you instantly gritted your teeth. “Well rested?”

“Morning,” you replied curtly, tying your apron behind your back. “And yes.”

“Very good,” he asserted, mixing the contents of the pot. He wasted no time in the next question. “How was your weekend?” 

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

“What a coincidence!” he exclaimed, as if you had revealed the secrets of the universe to him.”I went shopping too.”

“So does everyone and their mothers on the weekend, Seungkwan,” you monotoned, hoping he would take the hint.

He took the hint, of course, but chose to disregard it completely. “My weekend was excellent,” he insisted, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim, draining out the residue. Making caramel, then. “I went to Westfield yesterday. Very fun, I’ll say.”

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

“It was so,” he parroted, like the bastard he was. “I actually happened to meet your friend there!” 

Your sigh could have had a laugh rasping out of him. “Which one?” you merely asked, feigning innocence still. 

A snort. “Don’t pretend you have more than one friend, _____.” 

Ouch. “Don’t pretend to know everything about me,” you huffed. 

“Fair enough. I happened to meet Aeri.” Satisfied with the slow melting of the sugar and butter, he finally focused on you, leaning against the hob. “Lovely girl, by the way.”

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

“She told me that you were with her this entire time!” 

It took every atom of your strength to not react to that statement. “I was.” 

“Then tell me…” He made to walk towards you, the only boundary between you two being the huge island tabletops. “How come I was so unlucky to miss you yesterday?”

You clenched your jaw. “I left before she saw you.” 

“Left?” he inquired, hand resting on the countertop. “You see, I remember it more as running away the moment she called after me.”

A Jesus Christ slipped out of you before you could help yourself. Instantly you repelled from his walking figure, hurrying to check the sizzling which had increased. The sauce was forming. “What’d you need this for?”

“Caramel Budino. Don’t dodge the question.” You could feel his gaze on you. “Why did you run away from me?”

You took the spoon set on the side, stirring. “I didn’t run away.”

“Yes you did,” he countered immediately. “I saw you bolt into Zara as if they had a closing down sale.”

“Maybe I was excited about their Black Friday deals,” you asserted, sparing him an irritated glance.

His accusatory stare had you looking back at the pot. “Don’t bullshit with me, _____,” He finally stepped past the countertop. “My God. You were stalking me, weren’t you? You and your friend?”

“What—no!” you denounced. “How can you think that?”

He was not four feet from you now. You tried not to look at him; somehow, in the most bothersome of ways, his eyes were unnerving you—as if you had committed some crime, and were now caught red-handed fleeing the scene. Well, you were caught fleeing the scene, but you thought you had escaped the consequences. 

But you had not escaped shit, and now you had to shrink under this bastard’s malicious, victorious scrutiny. 

“Then why did you run away?” he asked you, all quiet. 

The strange hush of his voice had you blurting out an unexpected response. “Because I think you’re a bloody liar.” 

Finally, you mustered the strength to face him—his confusion had you continuing. “You took the day off yesterday, right? For your niece and nephew? Well I didn’t see these so-called nieces and nephews, but a woman I had never met, or seen, even!” You then scoffed. “I was lucky to catch you red-handed, actually, because I was going to work the closing shift!” 

As Seungkwan took in your sudden accusation, craning his head back the further your words attempted to strike true to his pride, he found himself trying to contain a smile. His self-respect was completely intact from your attacks—the more you spoke, the more he was abashed, not quite believing what he heard from your mouth.

He caught onto what you considered the most irrelevant detail from your outburst. “You…you thought I was on a date?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “And you lied about it!”

But he began to chuckle, and you swore you could have seen red. “Why would I be lying?” he merely asked, hand on his white-cottoned chest. 

“To—” but then you stopped yourself. Not everyone is thinking about you. Even the man you happen to hate so much. You pursed your lips, Jeonghan’s words striking your mouth shut. 

Seungkwan, of course, would not let you keep him in such suspense. “To what?” he demanded, lips parted. “The one time I don’t want you to shut up, and you go mute on me!”

That was enough for you to explode. “To get out of working with me!” 

That had him jerking his head back. He squinted his eyes slightly, genuinely stunned, and you knew then and there that you had assumed completely wrong. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Jesus Christ, _____,” he began, and the beginnings of his god-awful, self-pleasing laugh was back, aching your ears and flustering your attitude. “You thought…you thought I was avoiding you? Like, some kind of bullied victim?”

You instantly rebuked him, stammering, “W-well, that’s not what I meant—”

“You really are self-centred, aren’t you?” he mocked. “You believe that all you want, sweetheart, but you don’t scare me like that.” 

“I didn’t mean scared, asshole,” you sneered. “I meant hate.”

He put a hand to his hip, leaning against the hob. “Hate?”

“Yes, hate!” you clarified sarcastically, but you did not know why you began to sound absurd. Suddenly, you were the child, and he was the adult playing along to your antics. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he dared another step towards you. The shuffling of his clothes against the countertop were the only sounds in the room—that, and the sizzling of the caramel. “Do you…do you really hate me?”

Your brain screamed at you to step away from him. Who was he to come this close to you? Who was he to ask you questions that were meant to stay unanswered?

He seemed hell-bent, however, to break unspoken rules. “I asked you a question, _____. Do you truly hate me?”

Although his mouth twisted in a hard smile, almost condescending, his eyes revealed a completely different sentiment. It was strange, so incredibly unsettling, that you knew the difference between what his words spoke, and what his face exposed. You were not meant to understand him like that.

But you did, and that scared you. 

“Do you?” you muttered, barely audible. If he was not so close, he would not have heard you. 

His gaze flickered all over your face. Your inquisitive eyes, your flared nostrils, your mouth, now parted, inhaling, exhaling. His own lips broke, you catching the grit in his teeth, as if mulling over the options—as if there were options to consider. 

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

He was not answering you, still staring. What was on your face that fascinated him to this extent? You were not so sure, but still, he did not say a word, merely choosing to relish in your agitated features. Your skin thrummed at his stare, the close proximity of his body. Why was it so hot? 

The air around you, that is—not his body. Not that you were thinking of it—the forearms that were exposed from rolling his sleeves, the sliver of his collarbone from two buttons undone at the top of his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Back on his face—his mouth. "I, uh…" you got out, trying to remember how to speak. "I asked you something.” What was the blasted question again?

A slight, minute dip of his head. “I know.” 

He had to stop. What you should have done was leave the room—cease this madness. 

You only prolonged it. “Do you hate me?”

Another silence, and you were going to die. Collapse in this goddamn kitchen, and this creature of a man would be your only witness. 

He then ghosted the slightest smile on his lips, and you hung onto its movement. “I would have loved to…” 

He dared a little closer—any more and he would brush your mouth. “But then I realised you don’t.” Your change in expression had his ghost-like smile sparking to life. “So I can’t either.”

You did not know why the answer pissed you off. “How can you be sure of that?” you seethed. “I can hate you as much as I want.”

“Hmm, no, you can’t.” His eyes were not boring into yours—only at your mouth, too damn close. “Because you don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

You tilted your head back, enough to gauge—or at least attempt to figure out the undecipherable expression on his face. This close, you understood why the customers stared at him, even double-taken at every peek they could manage through the kitchen windows.  

The man was a little beautiful this close, and this realisation haunted you. 

Your mouth tried to release something, a refusal to his claim, but any counter died on your tongue. How well did you really know him? Sure, you were certain that he was a pain in your arse, but what of the man behind the sordid comments, the constant judgement? How much did you know of the man outside of the boundaries of Vita di Diamante? Hell, your lack of information had you second-guessing whether he even was lying about the kids.

(Though you refused, even now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, the kids are either a long-running joke, or Seungkwan’s demons).

Despite all that, his truth was inescapable—solid and present and impossible to deny. You despised him for the entirety of your acquaintance, but did not even bother to know your supposed nemesis. 

Somehow, even after yesterday’s shitshow, this realisation was far more embarrassing than anything you had ever experienced. 

The supposed nemesis watched you discover these revelations, the corners of his lips curling upwards. It was so awful how he understood perfectly, and was now basking in this victory. 

The realisation stunned you so intently you did not grasp the screech-like crackling right next to you. Once the smell of the burnt caramel engulfed your nose, you blinked back, turning to the pot which now looked like brown, volcanic magma after it loses its colour. Instantly you turned the switch off, turning on the exhaust, the smell of the burnt sugar, after realising its presence, now making you ill. Seungkwan only watched you fumble at the stove, finally taking a step back. With that, you were able to breathe. 

Your ammunition was ready. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” 

He took it surprisingly well. “I’ll clean it,” he said, taking the pot and setting it to the side. “It is my fault, after all.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You’re taking responsibility for your actions?”

A glimpse towards you. “I told you, didn’t I? You don’t know me.”

That had you shutting up immediately. 

Seungkwan looked at the clock, realising that the restaurant was about to open. Then his eyes settled on you. “I still can’t believe you stalked me.”

You made a face. “That was not stalking. Well, not the scary kind,” you clarified, which did not make your case any stronger. “And anyway, you still haven’t denied the whole date thing, which means you were lying.” 

Dusting away at his apron, he made to walk to the backdoor, about to call for Mingyu to help with ingredient preparation. You thought he was going to outright ignore you, but then he faced you, a certain smile on his face that you could not unravel.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

And he was off, leaving you even more baffled than you were the first time you accused him. 

ANOTHER WEEK PASSED AT THE RESTAURANT, AND YOU WERE GOBSMACKED TO SEE A SEMBLANCE OF PROGRESS.

One would think that the strange incident in the kitchens would have been talked about further, but Seungkwan made no mention of it—and him making no mentions meant you would cut off your tongue and turn it into a French delicacy before talking about it either. 

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

Never before had you felt so…you did not know how to interpret it, but it was clearly something awful. The man had been an entity you had hated, but you wondered whether the emotion was rendered useless after such a heated conversation. It was so stupid, absolute insanity how you could not stop thinking about the proximity of his frame, his breaths fanning your lips, his questions that turned your entire opinion of him on its axis. 

You don’t know me well enough to hate me.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Though you were cursing yourself, Seungkwan—who was beside you, experimenting on a particular chocolate pudding—took some offence. “What’re you mad about this time?”

Whirling your head to him, you were ready to give him a piece of your delirious mind when you caught the scene before you.

You were already aware he was creating a variation of the Bonet—chocolate, coffee, and rum, mixed and whipped to perfection alongside the core ingredients. He opted to swap the coffee for cinnamon, much to your exasperation. He had already heated his mixture in a not-burnt-to-a-crisp caramel sauce, cooked in a bain-marie—a process of melting chocolate-like mixtures under another pot of boiling water. 

His almost-dessert done, he only had the sprinkle of cacao powder to add to the final product, standing in perfect confidence in front of him. You admired the chocolate excellence, mouth already watering at seeing the soft, textured edges of the pudding. The amaretti macarons at the top contrasted the glaze of the darker chocolate, reflected the lights of the kitchen, and you had to stop your work for the customers, simply admiring the dessert your partner had created. 

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

He was also a born pain in the ass. “If you can eye-fuck my Bonet, _____, then you can compliment it, too.”

Snapping out of the awe-filled haze, you twisted your mouth. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve made in this kitchen.”

“You’re right, actually, because the worst thing in this kitchen was made by your hands.”

Boo Seungkwan—the man who, despite your conflicting thoughts over last week, still managed to rile you into a frenzy. You could have cursed him outright, but this week’s apprentice, Wen Junhui, rushed into the room, bearing the role of Kitchen Porter. “There’s more orders for tiramisu!” He informed hurriedly, bringing a further three-dozen eggs upon the busied countertops. 

You looked up to the poor, clueless man. “You do realise you don’t have to take orders, right? That’s the waiter’s job.”

“Jun, here.” Seungkwan patted to the space next to him. “Help me whip some eggs.”

The apprentice obliging instantly, he began cracking eggs on the side of the bowl, setting himself to work. The man in charge with you focused once more on his creation, adorning a proud smirk as he brought out a long spoon next to him. “We should do a Bonet for the final dessert,” he suggested, cutting a small corner. 

“Of course you’ll say that now,” you said. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m never accepting it with cinnamon.”

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to come back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, a 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Aeri?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. “Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the threat stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeout scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Aeri dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Aeri with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Aeri, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Aeri threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Aeri was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[katie618318]

Okay but where are Cristobal’s kids?

The nearest orphanage? Who fucking knows? Not Cristobal!

[a-smol-cosplayer]

im back on my ‘contributing to the wednesday/wyler fandom as a whole’ here are some incorrect quotes for y'all :)

Enid: I am SPEECHLESS!! 

Wednesday: *narrating*: despite being speechless she managed to lecture me for the next ten minutes 

/

Wednesday: If you had to separate your bees from 49 other identical bees that were all equally excited to see you, how would you determine which bee was yours?

Eugene: I would take my 50 bees home and live like a king

/

Xavier: who would win a fight, Enid or Tyler?

Wednesday: I cant answer that - Tyler is my boyfriend.

Xavier:  so Enid?

Wednesday: definitely 

/

Yoko: I hate going into the kitchen only to realise im the only snack in the house.

/

Tyler: *drops keys*

Tyler: you’ve got to be key-ding me

/

Enid: MURDER IS NEVER THE ANSWER!!

Tyler: Of course not! Murder is the question 

Wednesday: And the answer is always.

Bianca: All of you are wrong. The answer was 12. This is why you all failed.

/

Wednesday: I would be the worst PR manager ever. My client would be like ‘there are rumours going around that I’m gay and a satanist’ and I would just be like ‘haha awesome!’ 

/

Eugene: drug dealer? No, hug dealer! Come here 

/

Ajax: anyone would be lucky to date me, I was called ‘a pleasure to have in class’ when I was in primary school 

/

Wednesday: in my defence I was left unsupervised 

Enid: weren’t you with Thing?? 

Thing: In my defence I was also left unsupervised 

/

Wednesday: idiotsaywhat

Enid: pardon?

Tyler: sorry?

Bianca: excuse me?

Xavier: what?!?!?

/

Enid: Yoko! Did u know that there is a rumour that you are gay!

Yoko: rumour!?!?! a RUMOUR!?!? U mean people are doubting it!?

/

Enid: can you turn the lights on?

Ajax: I don’t need to, you’re the only light I need in my life.

Enid: Ajax please I cant see.

/

Eugene: I’m a genius, I finished this lego set in 3 days!

Wednesday: so?

Eugene: The box says from 4-7 years

/

Wednesday: we’re so in sync, it’s like we finish each others-

Enid: homework

Wednesday: huh?

Enid, sliding her maths work over in tears: please

/

Enid: you were so drunk at the party last night

Tyler: no I wasn’t

Enid: actually you were

Enid: you called a taxi to take you home

Tyler: so? Thats responsible, I didn’t want to put anyone in danger by drinking and driving

Enid: the party was at your house, Tyler...

/

Enid: if a plant is sad, do other plants photo-sympathise with it?

Yoko: I chlorofeel you man

Bianca, tired as hell at 3am: are you guys fucking serious?

/

Enid: I have a boyfriend now

Wednesday trying to be encouraging: a boyfriend?

Enid: *reflexively does a panicked peace sign*

Wednesday: TWO boyfriends!?!?

/

Bianca: do you have any chicken or pork?

Waitress: no, but we have beef

Bianca: oh, WE have beef, huh? You really wanna fight? Alright, let’s do this. Kent, hold my breadsticks.

/

Enid: I changed all of my passwords to ‘incorrect’ so whenever I forget it, it will tell me, ‘your password is incorrect.’

Yoko: genius

Wednesday, already hacking into all her info: dumbass

/

Tyler: I just hid Wednesdays typewriter so she would hang out with us… how long do you think I have left to live?

Enid: 10

Tyler: 10 what?

Enid: 9

/

Enid at 3am at a sleepover: how do tall people sleep? Wouldn’t their feet go right past the blanket?

Tyler: Enid it’s 3 in the morning

Enid: you can’t sleep?

Tyler: …

Enid: is it the blanket?

/

Tyler: Awe look at you Wednesday, getting romantic with all these candles

Wednesday: first of all, I’m summoning a demon

/

Enid: *stabbing air between Wednesday and Bianca with a butter knife*

Wednesday: what are you doing?

Enid: trying to cut the angry tension between you two

Enid: it isn’t working

/

Tyler: I haven’t been this happy since-

Tyler: 

Tyler: oh, wow. I’ve never been this happy!

Tyler: huh!

Tyler: that’s bad!

/

Tyler: I really wish you would just own up to it when you make a mistake

Wednesday, calmly stirring her coffee: I prEFER it with salt

/

Xavier: *hugs Wednesday*

Wednesday: what are you doing?

Xavier: appreciating the little things in life

Wednesday: bitch

/

*playing scrabble*

Enid: I will put down my ‘A’ to spell ‘A’

Tyler: I will put down my ’T’ to make ‘AT’

Wednesday: and I will add onto your ‘AT’ to make ‘BIOSTRATIGRAPHIC’

Enid: *flips board*

/

Wednesday: What if I pour coffee into my cereal instead of milk?

Tyler, taking the coffee pot as he walks by: what if you don’t.

/

Yoko: Wednesday, someone dropped your manuscript

Wednesday: are you joking? That manuscript is my best friend and I will straight up ASSASSINATE-

Yoko: it was Enid

Wednesday: of course she did never mind then. 

/

Enid: truth or dare?

Wednesday: truth

Enid: how many hours have you slept this week?

Wednesday: uhh, dare

Enid: I dare you to go to sleep

Wednesday: I don’t like this game

/

Tyler: Wednesday Addams could slap me in the face and I’d say thank you

Xavier: i’d say thank you too

/

Bianca: theres a monster underneath my bed and its really ugly

Kent, on the bottom bunk: honestly, fuck you

/

Enid: a Z is just a sideways N

Wednesday, trying to concentrate: can you shut up?

Enid: zo

/

Enid: what are you guys doing?

Kent, Yoko and Ajax: *taking a quiz to see what kind of dog breed they are*

Yoko: important stuff

/

[after the gates mansion gets cleared]

Wednesday: Nothing good will ever happen to me again!

[twelve seconds later]

Wednesday: so far my theory has been confirmed.

/

Wednesday: Tyler annoyed me today so I told him that I can’t wait to see what he has planned for my birthday tomorrow.

Enid: but it isn’t your birthday tomorrow.

Wednesday: But there is something special about watching the colour leave his face as the panic takes over

/

Enid: you were supposed to do something about the rat in your locket

Ajax: I did

Ajax: I named him fluffy. He likes coco pops.

/

Wednesday: my boyfriend is too tall for me to kiss. What should I do?

Bianca: Punch him in the stomach so he doubles over then kiss him.

Enid: tackle him

Yoko: kick him in the shins

Tyler: just ask me to lean down?!?!?

/

Tyler: why would you give a knife to a child?

Wednesday: Enid felt unsafe

Tyler: now I feel unsafe

Wednesday: I’m sorry...

Wednesday: Would u like a knife?

/

Ajax: you’re up early

Literally everyone: ......

Ajax: you never went to sleep did u?

/

Tyler: my criminal record? The only illegal thing I’ve done is absolutely killing it on the dance floor

Tyler: hahaha just kidding, I’ve killed a man

/

Enid: why are you smiling?

Wednesday: what? Can’t I just be happy?

Bianca: Xavier tripped down the stairs

/

Enid and Tyler: You will have a hard time believing this because it never happens but it was a mistake we swear—

Wednesday: A MISTAKE?!? *gestures to the table that is on fire*

/

Bianca: Have you ever been scolded by Enid?

Wednesday: Im not scared of her

Bianca: So thats a no

/

Wednesday *doing something risky* : I am going to do this and not you or god himself can stop me 

Tyler: *Starts typing on his phone*

Wednesday:

Wednesday: ..Tyler 

Tyler:

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *panicking* Tyler what are you doing?!? What have you done?!?!

Tyler: 

Enid: *bursting through the door* wedNESDAY ADDAMS DONT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL--

//

this ended up being way to long congrats to anyone that made it in the end

[hephaestiions]

the anatomy of a love letter.

The fact of the matter is: Harry’s pants at writing. 

His homework at Hogwarts had been subpar at best and the letters he wrote to Ron and Hermione and once-upon-a-fantasy to Sirius were too concise for embarrassment. There had been a memorable attempt at writing one to Ginny when that had still been— something, but had the presence of mind to realise comparing someone’s skin to a Sphynx’s belly wasn’t the genius compliment he’d assumed it to be in the shower. 

(Which is more than can be said about Ginny’s judgement at eleven— he still mouths fresh pickled toad at himself in the mirror sometimes— but then again, being eleven is a pretty solid defence for terrible judgement calls.) 

Harry’s just— he’s just bad. The words never say what he wants them to, scratched out lines like wet wounds. He spends hours trying until too many balled up parchments are littered around his desk, and realises he’s forgotten to write what he wanted to in the first place by the time the owl carrying it is a speck in the distance. 

But Draco’s in a remote village in Belgium for research and looks gnarled and green in the thready Floo connection, speaking indecipherable streams of gibberish. So Harry’s here at his desk, staring at the checklist he made last night, trying not to fuck it up too badly. 

1. Dear Draco. 

Darling,

2. Tell him why you’re writing this. Tell him you love him.

I love you. I miss you. The Floo’s shit and you look confused every time I speak. There was that one time after a late dinner when I went to sleep without telling you I love you and you asked me if I wanted to break up in the morning. It’s been a week and you look tired look like you’re waiting for something look like you need to hear it  so here, seven times: I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I re-counted that six times to check if I got the number right. If I didn’t— I meant seven anyway. 

3. Tell him something about home. Tell him you love him. 

The Mimbulus Neville gifted you lives in the shed now. It’s a bit dark, but it’s squirted Stinksap at me twelve times. Your plants hate me. The Venus grew eight heads and tried to eat all my fingers. I put that one in the attic because you said this one needs light. Do you ever want children? Will they hate one of us too? We can’t put them in the attic or the shed. I want to scratch that bit out, but Godric Gryffindor is whispering in my ear. Anyway, I love you. We can talk about children later. Months later, years later. Decades—

4. Tell him about his friends. Tell him they love him. 

Pansy came over two days ago and spent the evening drinking all your wine. She misses you, she told the sofa. She whispered it to the leather, I was watching from the kitchen. Zabini came by to drop off a suit. Hermione left a book for you on the coffee table, something about the intersection of Potions and Chemistry. It’s thick and heavy as three bricks and I think you’ll love it more than you love me. Parvati asked when you were coming back. 

5. Ask about his research. About Belgium.

How’s the birdwatching going? You’ll kill me for calling it that but Orini Onith Onther Ornithomancy takes me four tries. I’m jealous of magical crows. Did you spot the corvids you were looking for? How’s Thomas? Does he still smell like garlic? Is the host treating you right? Are the pillows soft enough? What’s the village like? Are the people kind to you? Are you happy? Do you miss me? I asked too many questions so I scratched some out. Tell me everything, though. Everything you want to. 

6. Tell him you love him. 

I’ll try to write more. I know you’ll laugh at the way I write, this isn’t fancy and I’ve only now realised that this parchment is the one you bought to wrap books, it’s soaked with ink. But— Floo’s shit. And I needed to tell you I love you. And that I miss you. And that I’m very happy for you and your research but that the bed is very cold when I wake up in the middle of the night. I made a checklist and everything. Come back soon When you’re done, I’ll be waiting. 

7. His. 

Yours,  Harry. 

written for the @drarrymicrofic prompt: love letters. 

[kurowrites]

That Boy.

So, as the start into the new year, have Lan Zhan getting hounded by his brother’s groupies and despairing over Wei Ying’s compulsive flirting. :)

---

“Hello, handsome,” the woman said, smiling at Lan Zhan.

Lan Zhan looked at her, and tried to remember if they had met somewhere before. She was carefully styled, wearing a tight black dress and high heels, with long hair and equally long red nails. She looked somewhat out of place in this cosy coffee shop, more like she was on her way to a fancy event than looking for a cup of coffee. It was certainly someone he would remember, if they had indeed met before. She was, however, entirely unfamiliar to him.

And if that had not been enough of a hint yet, there was a certain gleam in her eye that immediately put him on edge. Her smile was friendly, but there was something about her that made her feel not unlike a predator, smiling at her prey before she opened her mouth and swallowed it.

Lan Zhan sighed internally. Another one of his brother’s fans, he assumed.

He was happy about his brother’s success, and he would always support Lan Huan, there was no doubt about that. But ever since Lan Huan had his big break as a pop musician two years ago, right after he left university, Lan Zhan had found himself constantly hounded by fans of Lan Huan. Some of them genuinely confused Lan Zhan with his brother and were thrilled to meet a pop star on the streets. Others confused him with Lan Huan, but also hit on him in the process, trying to shoot their shot with a celebrity. (Which would never happen, Lan Zhan thought uncharitably. His brother was better than that.)

The ones that were possibly the worst, however, were those that had done their homework, realised that Lan Zhan was not his famous brother, and still decided to go after him. Those were usually the ones that were the most difficult to get rid of, and they came in all shapes, sizes and genders.

Frankly, Lan Zhan was getting tired. He was getting tired of people hitting on him in general, but he was particularly tired of people hitting on him because he was the brother of a celebrity who also happened to look very similar to said celebrity.

He glanced at the woman who had accosted him while he was drinking his tea, and tried to figure out which category she belonged to. And, of course, how he could get rid of her quickly and efficiently.

He wanted to drink his tea in peace.  

She did not seem to be cowed by his critical glance, and gestured to the empty armchair across from him.

“Are you here on your own?” she asked. “Do you mi-”

Before she could finish her words, there was a mad scramble, and with rather more noise than necessary, a large cup of coffee was unceremoniously dumped onto the small table between the two armchairs, and one Wei Ying dove onto the empty armchair across from Lan Zhan, throwing his bag under the table as he did so.

“Sorry, m’lady,” Wei Ying said as he pushed his hair, messy from his athletic stunt, out of his face. He smiled at her broadly and in a way that showed that he very much was not sorry. “This place was reserved for me. I fear you have to look for another seat.”

The woman stared at him in disbelief. She opened her mouth, presumably to lodge a complaint, but Wei Ying could not be bothered. Ignoring her, he directed his gaze towards Lan Zhan.

“So Lan Zhan,” he said loudly. “I heard that you got engaged. Congratulations, I have to say. Took you long enough. Where you failing to find the perfect engagement ring or what?”

Without another word, the woman turned around and walked away in a huff.

Lan Zhan was not sorry to see her go. Still, he felt his face twist into a frown. Wei Ying’s words made no sense to him. What engagement was Wei Ying talking about?

“Wei Ying, I have not gotten engaged.”

Wei Ying laughed loudly, his face shining with mirth.

“Lan Zhan! Of course you didn’t get engaged! I just said that to make her leave! You should have seen your face when she descended on you, like a small, helpless rabbit! Of course I had to help!”

He sighed dramatically and reached out to take hold of his overly large coffee cup.

“I know Lan Zhan is handsome and irresistible, but the nerve of that woman. You were obviously not up for conversation! It’s your strictly scheduled tea break! Which is why I will drink my coffee in silence now, so you can meditate over your tea or whatever it is you do.”

He took a big gulp of his coffee.

Lan Zhan considered Wei Ying for a moment. He was obviously grateful for Wei Ying’s unexpected help, but it came with two problems: First, Wei Ying never did anything silently. Second, Wei Ying himself flirted with Lan Zhan incessantly, calling him handsome and whatnot, so in all fairness, he was hardly better than any of the overenthusiastic Lan Huan fans that approached him.

There might also have been a third problem, though Lan Zhan did not admit to that. He definitely did not notice Wei Ying’s handsome face, brightened by his irreverent, sparkling smile. Neither did he notice his long, deft fingers, carelessly tapping out rhythms on the coffee cup, nor the way he was slouched on the armchair in a way that should have looked sloppy, but instead ended up looking artfully draped.

After all, it was only Wei Ying, irredeemable and obnoxious flirt, and there was nothing for Lan Zhan to notice.

Still.

“Thank you,” Lan Zhan said, because he was grateful. “I think she mistook me for my brother.”

Wei Ying raised his eyebrows, an incredulous expression on his face.

Lan Zhan could divine the meaning of that look. After all, Lan Huan was the friendly, approachable one out of the two of them, and he was also a pop star. Certain physical similarities aside, no one with eyes in their head should ever mistake Lan Zhan for his smiling, gentle older brother.

Wei Ying was evidently of the same opinion.

“Haha, Lan Zhan, don’t worry about it,” he eventually replied between two sips of coffee. “I could hardly have looked on while the impeccable, incomparable Lan er-gege was in distress.”

There we go again, Lan Zhan thought to himself, trying to suppress an eyeroll. Incorrigible.

---

It was not often that Lan Zhan went out with his brother, considering that his brother was a very busy person, so of course they had to run into Wei Ying when they did the next time.

Oh no, Lan Zhan thought to himself when he saw Wei Ying’s eyes flit back and forth between Lan Huan and himself.

This, he would have wanted to avoid. Permanently.

It had been his biggest fear, ever since he had met Wei Ying. Wei Ying was bad enough with Lan Zhan, when he could hope for nothing and had no encouragement. How Wei Ying would act once he had the encouragement of a friendly disposition in addition to Lan Zhan’s oh-so-handsome face, he had never wanted to know.

And now they stood in front of Wei Ying, giving him a truly perfect opportunity to compare and judge.

What the judgement would be, Lan Zhan already knew.

(It would never be him.)

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying chirped once he was apparently finished with his thorough analysis. “Is that your brother?”

“Lan Huan.” His brother stepped forward and introduced himself, always a little bit better at being polite than Lan Zhan. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Wei Ying smiled at him, and Lan Zhan quietly begged Wei Ying not to say–

“Nice to meet you, Lan Huan,” Wei Ying said. “I’m Wei Ying, one of Lan Zhan’s university friends. Did you know, Lan Zhan staunchly refuses to talk about you? But actually, I think he’s really proud of you, and he’s just careful to not spread private information.”

Lan Zhan was so surprised about these words, he could only stand there and stare.

That… was not what he had expected from Wei Ying. After all, when it came to Lan Zhan, Wei Ying couldn’t open his mouth without saying something flirty or suggestive.

And know he looked Lan Huan in the face and managed with a simple ‘nice to meet you’?

“Thank you,” Lan Huan replied with a small, but genuine smile, completely unaware of Lan Zhan’s current internal crisis. “I’m proud of him too.”

Suddenly, Wei Ying perked up.

“I know, right?” he asked excitedly. “He’s such a good, serious student. And so smart! And also ha-” he interrupted himself and coughed once. “Well. You are handsome, too. And he’s your brother. So I guess you know.”

He twirled his hair around his finger and pulled once.

“Well, I guess you have things you need to get done,” he chirped. “And I do too. Have a good time! And see you at university, Lan Zhan! Don’t be a stranger!”

With that, he hopped off, quick as a fox.

Lan Zhan just stared after him, not understanding what had just happened.

You are handsome, too.

When had Wei Ying, of all people, learned moderation?

When he turned back to Lan Huan, he found his brother smiling at him widely, and it put Lan Zhan on the defence immediately.

“What?” he asked, rather more harshly than he had intended to.

“Oh, A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, his smile becoming smaller, but also more intimate. “I’m very happy for you.”

Lan Zhan frowned. Why would Lan Huan be happy for him? Because one of his university colleagues had finally managed not to embarrass themselves in front of Lan Huan? Because Wei Ying had managed not to completely expose himself? Because he had somehow survived this encounter without getting his heart smashed to tiny pieces?

Of course, there was no good way to ask these questions.

“I think you should move fast, dear brother,” Lan Huan observed, continuing the conversation without needing any input from Lan Zhan. “He’s very handsome, this Wei Ying, is he not? And smart. You might have some stiff competition if you’re not careful, so you need to be quick.”

Lan Zhan stared at Lan Huan, uncomprehending.

What, exactly, was his brother talking about?

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan sighed when he saw that he had lost Lan Zhan. He reached out and squeezed Lan Zhan’s shoulder once, a quick, familiar comfort. “That boy only has eyes for you, and absolutely nothing else. I don’t think I have ever seen someone more in love.”

His brother let him go and walked away, leaving Lan Zhan standing there, as if he had not just dropped a bombshell of truly earth-shattering properties on him.

That boy only has eyes for you.

That boy.

Only has eyes for you.

 Wei Ying??

[barbarianprncess]

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and “Nobody’s seen you in days.” that would be inchresting 👀👀

for mari my beloved, 

(aka @chironshorseass ) 

as you know this sort of got away from me. one second i was writing a drabble of angst, the next I'm on the 16th page with no end in sight. so this maybe isn’t what you were expecting but have 5k of post-botl/pre-tlo pining idiot besties who are in love :). 

(also this hasn’t been beta’d and i'm welcome to volunteers i just finished and got so excited i had to post.)

(dear one anon who asked for 'forget it you're a fucking asshole' too, if you're reading this, don't worry yours is coming too i promise)

(final s/o to @posallys for letting me scream about them)

24 hours

read on ao3

enjoy <3

                                                      ...

Percy is fucking exhasted.

He was supposed to be back at camp four days ago. The deal was he’d spend weekdays at camp to plan and train and weekends at home to relax. But, he kept putting it off, opting to keep the weight on his chest that’d been pushing him down since last summer bearable, and not crushing the way it always was at camp. So, when he gets through the barrier, aside from nodding hello to Beckendorph and Silena, he makes a beeline to his cabin. He manages to keep his eyes down until he’s standing at his porch steps- and that when he sees her.

Annabeth is pacing on his balcony. She’s wearing jean shorts and her camp shirt, but instead of her typical ponytail her hair is in two intricate braids that reach her breastbone. She’s muttering to herself and wringing her hands together and for a moment Percy forgets. He forgets the past year and all the arguing and the bitterness and he sees Annabeth is worried about something and he reaches out as if to hold her. To wrap his arms around her and tell her that everything is going to be alright.  

But then he remembers.

He retracts his hands.

He clears his throat and Annabeth startles. Her grey eyes are as intense as ever and he can almost see her defences come up. He hates that it's because of him. Annabeth is the first to break the silence.

“Hey.” Her voice is small but clear. Not yet vulnerable, but gives Percy the sense that it could be soon.

“What’re you doing here?” He isn’t sure he said it out loud until she ducks her head and flushes.

“Nobody’s seen you in days.” It’s not the accusation he expects. It's also not an answer to his question. Just an observation.

“I’m here now.” He says it like it’s an invitation. He then becomes incredibly aware that he's still looking up at her from the bottom of the steps, so he grabs his duffel, bounds up the stairs, and opens his cabin door. He hesitates and meets her eye with another silent question. She answers by stepping inside.

He drops his bag by his bed and turns on the light. The air is charged with unasked questions and unfinished conversations. He can’t stand it. He’s about to attempt small talk when she says something that nearly knocks down where he stands.

“I miss you.” She’s wringing her hands again and she won’t look him in the eye, but takes his silence as confusion.

“That’s what I came here to say, that I miss you.”

Percy isn’t sure what to say. Percy isn’t sure this conversation is really happening, she’s broken so many of the fragile rules they’d been following all year. He’s 98% sure this is a really vivid daydream to cope with…. well everything.

He decides that on the off chance this is real he should play it safe so, he states the obvious.

“I’m here. We’re here, together. We’re together and-” She cuts him off and begins to ramble.

“Strained and awkward and it's like there’s this chasm between us of all these things from last summer. From our kiss, to you dying, and then you not dying, and Rachel, and Luke, and Luke being Not-Luke, and it’s like we can’t have a conversation anymore and that sucks ‘cause..”

She pauses for the first time to look up at him and her eyes are shining.

“You’re kinda my best friend. And I miss you. Everything sucks and I'm tired of fighting. And I really miss you.”

Percy’s too shocked to say anything. It occurs to him that he should respond but he can’t find the words. All the unspoken rules they had in place and Annabeth had just steamrolled right through them. Percy realizes his mistake in staying silent as Annabeth flushes and turns to leave.

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” And oh no Annabeth had just swallowed her pride (which he knows better than anyone is no easy feat) to say everything he’d wanted to hear and he can’t let her walk away.

“I miss you too.” The words tumble out of him, clunky and a little awkward but earnest. Annabeth stops and faces him, eyes suspicious in the way that breaks his heart a little bit.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

Annabeth exhales and shoots him a tremulous smile he hasn’t seen in forever, and oh he’d forgotten what it did to his chest when she did. Before he does something stupid like tell her he thinks her smile is the best this he’s ever seen, he clears his throat.

“So…. this chasm you said, what do you propose we do about it?”

“24 hours. For 24 hours everything that I listed before is a non-issue. After that we can go back to…..whatever it is we’re doing now. One day, where we’re just two friends spending a day at camp together..”

“Best friends.” He corrects without thinking. She rolls her eyes, and he almost giggles because he’d missed her eyerolls too.

She holds out her hand to shake, all business-like and gods he missed her.

“Best friends. 24 hours.”

He takes her hand. Her shake is firm, her palms are warm, her eyes are bright, and she is beautiful.

“Where do we start?”

...

Apparently it starts with homework.

After he asked where they’d begin, Annabeth had flashed him a wicked grin, damn-near dragged him off the porch, and made a beeline to the Big House. Before last summer, Annabeth had been “tutoring” him. Once a week they’d head down to the Big House and spend hours combing through myths and legends, practicing Ancient Greek, and all things Demigod 101. It probably wasn’t ever that useful considering Percy barely remembered any of it, but Annabeth had always insisted. After last summer they’d non-verbally decided to take a break from it (eachother), and they’d never started back up.

Usually he’d halfheartedly complain that it was pointless and say some form of ‘I know enough to not die and that's good enough for me’ every five minutes, but today he nods dutifully along as Annabeth talks animatedly about Orpheus, and Theseus, and all the other -eus’s. He’ll ask a dumb question that they both know he knows the answer to, but she answers him anyway. He watches the wisps of hair that refused to be tied down, and counts the tiny sunspots across her nose and the way she wrinkles her eyebrow when she forgets a name.

It’s not terrible. It’s kinda the opposite. He’d forgotten that she made studying not terrible.

He’s so screwed.

...

The stables are almost empty when they get there.

After 2 hours of studying, (one hour of studying, one hour of laughing and talking and calling it studying) Annabeth declared it was his turn to pick the activity. Tired of sitting still Percy lands on tending to the pegasi. It was one of his favorite things about camp plus he got to teach Annabeth something for once. Annabeth was comfortable enough around them but she never spent anytime with them that she didn’t have to.

When they entered the barn, Blackjack gave him a look and he blushed remembering all the times he’d come to the stables with Beckendorph to vent about how much he missed Annabeth, (He didn’t even know horses could give looks but here we are) and silently told him it was a long story and to be cool. Annabeth had stopped next to one of the cleaning stations and was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and they got to work. He showed her how to brush them and how to get tangles out of their manes, where to scritch them and where not to scratch them. He showed her how to check their feathers and make sure their wings were healthy and how to get them to be still enough to check.

Annabeth was excellent with them, gentle hands and kind eyes. Whenever she approached one she would look them in the eye and talk to them like the intelligent creatures they were. Each time she got started taking care of a new steed she’d gently reach for the muzzle and say in a soothing voice:

“Hi, my name is Annabeth and I'm going to groom you today. Don’t worry, I'm friends with Percy, and he taught me exactly how to take care of you. If I’m doing something wrong, let him know and he’ll tell me how to fix it. I promise I’ll do my best to make sure you feel like a brand new pegasus.”

Frankly, it was fucking adorable.

Pork-pie had taken a special liking to Annabeth, telepathically asking Percy if she could groom him more often. When he told this to Annabeth she’d beamed and enthusiastically agreed to come down whenever she could. Percy had off-handedly suggested that they take them out for a bit and Annabeth immediately started to release Pork-Pie from his stall.

They flew over camp for what could’ve been minutes or hours. He was lucky that Blackjack could fly himself because Percy couldn’t take his eyes off his flying partner. Her braids held firm, but a few rebellious curls were now whipping with the wind. The atmosphere combined with the speed they were flying, made her cheeks red and splotchy. Her smile is brighter than the sun, and eyes- gods her eyes were going to be the death of him. The sun and her mood (he had this theory that her eyes changed color based on her emotions) had made them almost blue, they are full of laughter, and Percy adores her. And when she directs her sunshine-smile at him, Percy can’t help but smile back.

(He doesn’t stop smiling until they land.)

...

As they're putting their pegusi back in their stalls, Blackjack decides to give him some advice.

“I know I don’t understand all of your fragile human emotions, but I know enough. There’s a lot of bad in this world of ours, and from what you’ve told me about this war business it's only gonna get worse. You gotta make the most of the good.”  He tilts his head over to Annabeth who is cooing at a preening Pork-Pie.

“You and ladyboss, you’re good together. And really nothing else matters.”

He doesn’t have time to even think about a response when Annabeth is walking over from Pork-Pie’s stall, and telling him it's time for a picnic.

...

(“What did Blackjack say to you? You looked kinda flustered when I got you.” Percy almost drops the plate he’s piling with food from the buffet. He’s gotten three pointedly confused looks at the sight of him and Annabeth together and not strangling each other and a thumbs-up from Grover. He and Annabeth are getting their food and then they’ll go sit by the beach.

“Oh,” He clears his throat and goes with the first thing he thinks of. “Blackjack calls you ladyboss.” Good that's good, not technically a lie either.

“Huh. Weird.” Annabeth, seemingly satisfied with this, returns her attention to the grapes she is adding to her plate.)

...

“Where do you go?” Annabeth asks. She’s sitting next to him in the sand brushing crumbs off her fingers. They had been eating and watching the ocean in comfortable silence and Percy furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Lots of days when you’re at camp for lunch and sometimes dinner you just disappear for hours. And I know you aren’t going home because your stuff is still in your cabin. Where do you go?”

It’s not an accusation, just a question. Percy gets the feeling she doesn’t want to know so she can disturb, she just worries. Percy knows her. He knows she’s always planning for the worst and she needs to be able to get to him if there's an emergency.

(It strikes him that she notices when he disappears and he feels guilty but also just a little hopeful. Because she misses him as much as he misses her.)

He stacks their plates and rests them on the blanket they’d been sharing. Percy stands up and holds out his hand, gesturing for Annabeth to do the same.

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

...

He tells her to close her eyes. She gives him a skeptical look but obliges and holds out her hands, a silent request for him to guide her. It’s almost easier to take her hands in his without those trademark eyes on him. But it’s not any less intense. As soon as their fingers interlock sparks of electricity lick up his arm. Now that her eyes are closed he can look at her face up close without fear. Her curls had gotten more unruly as the day went on, and the ringlets that framed her face blew lightly in the ocean breeze. He leads her slowly towards the ocean, using his powers to dry any spot she walks on. He sees her brows furrow when she notices how far they’ve walked towards the ocean without their feet getting wet, but she doesn’t say anything. He parts the water for her to walk through, and when the water rises above their heads, he forms an air bubble that moves with them, keeping them dry. When they get to a good spot, squeezes her hand signaling for her to stop with him, but tells her to keep her eyes closed. Then he closes his eyes with her and calls out to the ocean's creatures, making himself a beacon.

Here I am, he thinks. The son of Poseidon.

Come to me.

Minutes pass.

“You can open your eyes now.” He whispers.

She does, and lets out a soft gasp, “Oh, Percy.”

He smiles and looks out at the scene before them. He’d come down here after a particularly bad day and just wanted to sit in silence. It was an accident, calling the creatures to him. Subconsciously, he must have sent a message along that he was feeling alone. And all sorts of sea creatures - from greek monsters and to great white sharks to your average cod had flocked to him. And he didn’t feel so alone. So now, whenever he couldn’t take the human world, he’d come down here and talk to the fish.

This time he’d actually concentrated on getting a message out and they did not disappoint. He couldn’t count all the animals that had heeded his call but it was a sight to behold. He had willed some glowing coral from the deeper ocean to stay in that spot, which created a multicolored tint to everything around them.

Normally they come right up close to him, but this time they were hesitant. And as he listened to the creatures and heard more than a few whispers of Athena and stranger, he’s suddenly reminded that she’s the only person he’s ever done this with. It’s his favorite place, and she is the only other person ever to see it.

“It's okay guys, she’s a friend.” He reassures them. When he looked back at Annabeth, her mouth was still hung open and she was staring out at the scene in front of them in wonder. He smiles at her dazed silence and uses the hand he’s still holding to tug her up to the barrier of the bubble. The first creature willing to accept Annabeth is a baby spotted dolphin. He swims towards the clumsily with eager fins and pokes at the barrier with it’s snout. Annabeth's eyes widen in fear and look up at him and it takes a second to realize she isn’t afraid of the animal, but of their bubble popping.

“Don’t worry, the bubble won’t break unless I break it myself, and it’ll last however long I want it to.” He reassures her. He senses her hesitation so he guides her hand up to meet the snout of the baby dolphin who seems fascinated with Annabeth herself. He reaches his snout and head bumps directly into the spot on the bubble where her palm is placed.

Annabeth lets out a laugh, the kind of laugh that sort of bubbles out of you without warning and it’s the best thing Percy’s ever heard. He watches as the shock fades for her features and she pets the infant creature through the sheen of bubble keeping them dry. The animals begin to warm up to Annabeth as well, and as soon as they figure out she’s not some evil Athena agent sent to destroy the ocean, they join in on the fun. Hundreds of ocean creatures of all sizes begin doing tricks, nuzzling up to the flexible barrier, all vying for Annabeth’s attention. Annabeth herself is happy to oblige. Ever consistent, she introduces herself to each creature she meets. She smiles and laughs and reaches out to all the animals she can. Percy is happy simply to watch her and keep the bubble up but then she turns to him, eyebrow drawn together in concern, pointing to a particularly awnry seahorse, and asks what it's saying.

“He says his name is Frank and that he’s ‘too pregnant for this shit.’”

Annabeth stares blankly.

“His words not mine.” Percy offers hands up in surrender.

Then she snorts and then they’re laughing, they’re laughing harder than they have in years, and it's that kind of hysterical laugh where everything around them makes it more funny, and soon Percy’s clutching his stomach and Annabeth is beet red.  As soon as it subsides enough to get words out Annabeth is shaking his arm saying “Do that one! What's he saying? Oh my gods what even is that? Does that one like me? That ones majestic, what's his name? Oh Percy, look!! Look at that one!”

So he translates and they laugh and he teaches her different species and Annabeth nods along like it’s very important stuff. She pets the baby dolphin through the bubble and listens intently to all the animals telling her stories, even though she can’t understand a word until Percy tells her what they said. And when it’s time to go he sees the tears in her eyes and tells Percy to promise the baby that she’ll visit all the time, even though they both know she can’t.

(Apparently the baby dolphins name is Arnold, and according to his mother, he was so enthralled by Annabeth because when he first saw her he thought she was an angel.)

(Percy thinks he’s not too far off.)

...

(“That was incredible Percy. Thank you so much for sharing that with me.” They had been walking in silence as they made their way back to camp using the bubble, enjoying the afterglow of their adventure.

“Yeah, of course.” She smiles at him and looks ahead.

He’s not sure why he does it but without looking at her he reaches out and ever so carefully, and brushes her fingertips with his.

Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t say anything.

Then suddenly, miraculously, her hand tilts and their fingers are interlocked.

And there's no pretense of guiding her somewhere, they’re just….holding hands.

And it's perfect.)

...

Percy thinks if he’s not in love with her, he’s pretty damn close.

Because this feeling, the one he gets in his chest when he looks at her, is what love feels like.  

...

When they resurface, they’re met with twinkling lights and the last three stragglers singing softly at the campfire. It’s almost time for lights out.

Oh.

Oh no.

Annabeth seems to be coming to the same realization, as she clears her throat and lets go of his hand. He misses her fingers immediately.

“So, I guess we should start heading to bed.” She looks at him, hopeful but he’s stuck. Stuck in the feeling of dread at the idea of waking up tomorrow and not having his best friend. Suddenly the idea of leaving her side is so unbearable he can’t speak.

“Goodnight, Percy.” She’s turning around and backing away when the words lodged in his throat come unstuck.

“8 in the morning.” She turns giving him a ‘what are you on about’ look.

“That when you came and got me at 8 in the morning. We agreed on 24 hours. It's only been 12.”

She smiles slow and wide, “You know you're right, that math checks out.”

“We had very clear terms. We even shook on it.”

“Yes we did.”, she nods gravely. “It’s a binding agreement, we can’t just ignore it.”

“So what do we do?”

She flashes a wicked grin. “You aren’t the only one with a secret spot.”

...

Percy arrives in the Big House 20 minutes after curfew was called, exactly as Annabeth had instructed. He felt her presence before she re-materialized in front of him and in a low conspiratorial whisper tells him to follow her.

They sneak down to the basement and Percy is confused when she keeps walking towards the corner. She lifts up a floorboard and starts climbing down a ladder. She beckons him to join her and when he makes it down the ladder, he can’t help the smile that breaks out. It’s a sort of underground attic, complete with a worn dusty couch, blankets and an old TV.

“I found it my first year at camp by accident. I was down doing chores and one of the broom strings got caught under it. I didn’t have many friends except for….” She lets him fill in the blank rather than say the name out loud. “And when he wanted to be with kids his own age, I’d come here. There's only five movies down here and I memorized them.” She looks down at her shoes. “I know it’s not the sea floor but..”

“Are you kidding? It’s awesome. What are the movies?”

They dig around and end up finding two more that apparently seven-year-old Annabeth did not think worth the time. They watch Die Hard first, (“Oh my Gods I can't believe you haven’t watched Die Hard. This is a travesty. It’s a classic Annabeth.”) then Pulp Fiction, ("I can’t believe it, all the shit you gave me for not seeing Die Hard, and you haven’t Pulp Fiction?? You absolute heathen!") and Clueless. ("What? It has to be full of violence and toxic masculinity to be good? It’s a good movie Percy, shut-up.") Before he knows it, it’s 3:54 am shaking with hysterical silent laugher at Annabeth's impression of Dionysus.

“Oh my gods oh-OH! Do you know what we’ve got to do?”

“Uh-oh, what?”

She grins impishly and a little deliriously. “We’ve gotta go to our spot.”

“Ah, of course. Yes, our spot, totally.” He says in a voice he hopes is neutral, in an effort to gage if she’s serious.  

“Oh my gods.” She gasps, offended.

“What.”  

“I can’t believe this.”

“You can’t believe what?”

“You forgot our spot.”

“I’m sorry Annabeth, until four seconds ago I wasn’t aware we had a spot.”

“Oh my gods. I can not believe this-” He can tell she’s messing with him, and not actually mad.

“Annabeth, just tell me where it is.”

“I simply can not believe this, you absolute heathen-”

“Stop calling me a heathen, and tell me where it is.”

She smiles, “I can show you.”

...

“Oh, of course! This is our spot!”

Annabeth chuckles, “I told you.” They’re standing at the edge of the forest at the tallest of the rock clusters to the far left. It's the one they used to go to after their first quest, the place where Annabeth taught him the constellations. The place where he made his first real friend. Not people he hung out with to avoid getting picked on. Not a searcher who happened to like the demigod he found.  His first real best-friend.

They climbed up easily and lay down looking straight up at the sky. Annabeth points up at the floating memorials, and Percy dutifully recites the legends of how they earned their place in the sky. They're shoulder to shoulder and their fingers graze each other for longer than necessary. And slowly they lull into comfortable silence, arms overlapping, at some point Annabeth's head lands on his shoulder. Percy freezes for a while, staying absolutely still as if she’s a wild creature who could bolt at any moment. But then he relaxes, and she relaxes and he’s pretty sure she’s asleep until she takes in a shaky breath and whispers, “Hey, Percy?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re gonna be okay right?” He can tell she's trying to mask the vulnerability in her voice. And he can’t see all of her face from the angle they’re laying, but her nose is on his collarbone, and her hair is tickling his chin.

He closes his eyes, and he thinks. He thinks about Luke and Rachel and how nothings been the same since Percy blew up that mountain.

He thinks about seeing her for the first time, grey eyes wide hair falling off her shoulders and how even after everything he just went through, he felt safe. He thinks about ‘you drool when you sleep’, and the way she looked at him when he was claimed- awestruck and pitiful at the same time. He thinks about rolled eyes, stamped feet, and frustration always just under the surface. He thinks about silent truces, and letting guards down, and shared oreos in the back of a mobile zoo. He thinks about sweaty palms gripping each other in the Underworld, and shaky hands giving him a good luck camp necklace. He thinks about camp fires, stupid jokes, learning about the stars, and how the just fit.

He thinks about postcards and iris-messages, and how she punched Matt Sloane square on the nose. He thinks about how despite the arguing and the confusion about Tyson, she was always there when she needed him. How she didn’t hesitate to sneak out of camp with one of the first species he ever learned to truly fear, because he asked her to. He thinks about her in a dress and how tongue-tied him in guinea pig form. He thinks about her broken sobs and how she clutched at him in their underwater bubble. He thinks about winning a chariot race, the softest of cheek kisses and how in this world of gods and monsters, she’s the only thing he was really sure about.

He thinks about how she was the first girl he ever danced with, and how light everything felt when she was around. He thinks about how it felt strangely familiar when she fell off that cliff, and how only days later realized that it was the same desperation he had when Hades took his mother. He thinks about how gutted it was when he found out she was thinking about joining the Hunters. He thinks about his visit from Aphrodite and how even though she changed form, her hair smelled like lemons the entire time. He thinks about when he saw her on that cliff it was like the sun came out. How he saw her face and it was smudged with dirt and cuts but she was alive and he could breathe again. He thinks about how his throat closed up when he thought Artemis was going to pick her for the Hunt. He remembers how when they danced on Olympus, for a song she was prettier than Aphrodite.

He thinks about planning a movie date, and how he discovered Annabeth doesn’t get any less pretty when she’s mad at him. How she sat right next to him at dinner and how when she fixed his armour, his neck burned wherever she touched him. He thinks about falling in a whole and holding her hand and how they’d done it before but it felt different that time. He thinks about ping pong table meetings and how he became aware of the fact that he’d follow her anywhere. He thinks about the determination in her when she faced the Sphinx, and how the same fire was in them right before she kissed him. He thinks about how she tasted like smoke and salt, and how for the 3.2 seconds that his lips were hers, the first thing he thought was ‘we fit like this too’. He thought he was going to die but it was okay. It was okay that he was going to die, because he had gotten to kiss her. He thinks about Calypso’s Island, and how he dreamt about her every night. How when he crashed his funeral, she held like she couldn’t bear to let go and how that was fine with him. He thinks about the blur that was the labyrinth, full of unshed tears, words that cut, and how despite all the scream fights and the terror, and the barely contained rage, none of it lessened the fierce protectiveness he feels for her. How despite it all, she's still the best thing that's ever fucking happened to him. He thinks about the last line of her prophecy, and how she thought it was about him.

He loves her.

He’s not sure if he’s in love with her because he’s 15 and he hasn’t exactly had time to date around but he knows that for a fact. Knowing Annabeth, loving Annabeth has made him who he is. She is burned into his DNA. Somehow the 12 year old with princess curls and eyes that cut, crawled under his skin. He knows he’s done the same to her, even though they’re both too stubborn to say it out loud. They could never really leave each other, even if they tried.

So Percy shifts so he can see her face in the pale moonlight, brushes a curl out of her face and says,

“Yeah. It’s us Annabeth. We’re gonna be alright.”

She smiles soft and real because she knows him, so she knows he means it. He’s not sure who reaches out this time, but they're holding hands and staring at the sky in a silence that speaks volumes.

They stay like that until it’s sunrise and they have to sneak into their respective cabins. Looking at stars, fighting sleep, and forgetting about the rest of the world.

______________

(They hold hands all the way back to her cabin.)

(He doesn’t stop smiling the whole way back to his own.)

______________

if your still here hi! thank you for reading. send in prompts from this list, or any sentence starter you want to read. ask box is open for those and if you just wanna say hi :)

[geminiwritten]

heatwave ; bucky barnes

fandom: marvel

pairing: bucky x reader

summary: you’re not a huge fan of the hot weather until a certain super soldier finally gets his arse out of bed and gives you a reason to love it

notes: i wrote this over quite a few days so i’m really sorry if its disjointed, and i’m so sorry if its repetitive of my last piece! i’m still trying to get through a bit of writer’s block, so i hope y’all enjoy!

word count: 3359

The heat seemed to wash over you in waves. Pulses of warmth rolling through your body and stealing your breath. Every inch of your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, drawing all the hydration from your body and draining any energy you might have possessed if it wasn’t for the heatwave currently sweeping through New York City.

“Ugh,” you groaned, your head lulling to the side where Natasha laid, “I think I’m dying.”

She let out a breathy laugh, “You’re not dying.”

“I might be.”

“Oh, come on you two,” Sam hollered from the pool a little way across the balcony, “have some fun for once in your lives!”

Natasha propped herself up on her elbows and squinted over the top of her sunglasses, “With you idiots? No thanks.”

“Why are you always such a killjoy, Romanoff?”

“Why are you always such a pain in the ass, Wilson?” you called back, mimicking Natasha on your elbows.

He scoffed, “That’s rich coming from the whiniest member of the team.”

Your frown deepened, this time out of anger and not because of the bright glare from the sun.

“Watch it, Wilson,” a voice called out from behind you, “or she’ll come over there and kick your ass.”

Both you and Natasha whipped around to find Bucky. He had probably only just woken, his mop of hair tied up into a loose bun with escaped tendrils sticking to the hot skin of his neck and forehead. This time, it wasn’t the heat that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Nice to see you’re alive, Buck,” Steve chuckled as he waded through the pool toward where Sam was leaning against the edge.

Bucky rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to say something smart but having his breath stolen as he stepped out of the shade and into the sun. “Holy shit,” he gasped, “it’s hot.”

“Sharp observation skills, Einstein,” Natasha quipped.

“At least Barnes will get in the pool unlike you two party poopers,” Sam said, before copping a volleyball to the back of the head thanks to Bruce’s poor aim.

He spun around quickly, ball in hand and ready to hurl it back at his attacker.

“Well then,” Bucky sighed, now standing beside you, “I guess it’s time for a swim.”

He looked down at you sprawled across your towel, one arm draped over your eyes to shield from the sun and the other resting on your bare stomach. You suddenly felt exposed, nervous under the gaze of his pale blue eyes.

“Want to join me?”

Your pulse thudded in your ears, and you wanted nothing more than to get in the water with him, but the sound of shouts and spraying water reminded you of the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry, Buck, I’ll have to pass,” you replied.

He pushed his bottom lip forward, “It’s your loss, doll, this heat is a killer.”

Your limbs turned to jelly at the sound of that pet name rolling off his tongue.

“Ugh,” Natasha scoffed beside you, “you two are sickening.”

You wanted to turn around and bite back at her, but what happened next had you paralysed. Every nerve in your body ignited, goosebumps rising across every inch of your skin in spite of the steamy weather. Bucky’s fingers curled under the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head to reveal his sculpted body beneath. His abs rolled and tensed as he rid himself of the material and discarded it on the ground, making your mouth water and your head spin with a thousand different unholy thoughts.

A shriek from the red headed woman beside you broke you out of your trance, and only then did you notice the spray of pool water that had washed over you and most of the balcony.

“You’re an arse, Barnes!” Natasha yelled, standing and angrily snatching up her towel.

You pushed your sunglasses further up your nose as you let your gaze settle on the giggling men in the pool. Bucky’s now wet, broad shoulders glistened under the sunlight, his alabaster skin taught across the landscape of muscle.

“Do you want some lunch or are you just going to keep staring like a creep?” Natasha asked as she stood over you.

Your gaze hardly wavered, “I’m not hungry.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, her lips curling into a smirk, “because I think you’ve got a little bit of drool on your chin there.”

If Bucky wasn’t pulling himself out of the water right at the moment, you might have turned around to poke your tongue at her, but instead you opted for flipping her the bird while your eyes remained trained on the pool area.

The rest of the steamy day went by far too quickly. Despite your hate for the heat, you stayed out on the balcony until the sun began to set. Only when Bucky and Sam wrapped themselves in towels and declared that it was time for dinner did you finally put your book away, not that you had managed to read even a single page of it.

“Is it supposed to be this hot again tomorrow?” Sam asked as the three of you stepped inside.

“Yeah,” you replied, “and the day after.”

“I bet you’re happy about that,” he chuckled, watching disappointment sweep across your face as Bucky pulled his shirt over his head

“Shut up.”

He chuckled at your feeble attempt to jab his side, easily evading your attack.

“Alright, children,” Tony called from the kitchen, “dinner’s ready.”

Like moths to a flame, the rest of the team gathered around the kitchen bench where Natasha and Tony had laid out the pre-cut ingredients for everyone to make their own burgers.

“I’m going to have a shower before eating,” Bucky said, to no one in particular as he draped his damp towel over his forearm.

“Do you need any help?” Sam asked, his grin evil, “Because I’m sure Y/N would love-”

“Sam!” you snapped.

Thankfully, Bucky remained oblivious, his brows knit into an adorable frown.

“Never mind, Buck,” you said, “I’ll make sure they save you some food.”

His face broke into that familiar smile that melted your heart, “Thanks, doll.”

Once again, your legs wobbled like jelly and you had to steady yourself on the back of the lounge.

“Ugh,” Sam groaned, “I can’t wait until they day you two finally fu-”

“Language,” Steve interrupted with a disapproving glare at Sam.

You poked your tongue out before turning toward the array of burger ingredients, your empty stomach rumbling at the sight.

The next day rolled around just as the weather forecast had predicted. The air was thick with humidity and the sun blared down just as it had yesterday. Once again you found yourself on a towel beside the pool, half of the team splashing around while the other half laid languidly in the shade.

“Still not getting in today?” Steve asked as he approached the bar fridge near where you had placed your towel.

You shook your head, “I’d rather not get caught in the crossfire of an overly aggressive game of chicken.”

“I mean, you could play the game with us, maybe even get to climb onto Bucky’s shoulders.”

You whipped around, your glare lethal, “What the fuck, Rogers?”

He chuckled, “Sorry, Sam told me to.”

“You are the last person I would expect to stoop to his level,” you said, crossing your arms indignantly.

He shrugged, “Well, no one has told Buck, if that makes up for anything.”

“I’m guessing everyone else knows, though.”

He didn’t respond, only smiled sheepishly.

“Ugh,” you sighed.

“In my own defence, Natasha told me about your crush months ago and I haven’t let it slip once. It’s been-”

“Sam,” you interrupted him, “I know.”

He took a generous sip of water before crouching beside you, “For what it’s worth, I think you should tell him how you feel.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed.

Steve knew he couldn’t say anymore. He knew nothing he said would convince you to tell Bucky how you felt, and he knew he couldn’t betray his best friend’s trust by divulging the fact that Bucky really had confessed his feelings for you before. He decided to let you be, gathering three more bottles of water before heading back to the pool.

The day passed almost identically to the one before it, and so did the next. It wasn’t until two o’clock in the morning on the third night of the heatwave that you felt a sudden change. You awoke abruptly, a shiver running down your spine as cool air blew through the open window and brushed across your bare skin. You frowned at the night sky before tiredly pulling your duvet up to your chin and falling back asleep.

By morning, the heat was well and truly gone. Clouds blanketed New York City, threatening to rain as they rolled angrily across the grey sky.

“I guess it’s back to work today, Avengers,” Tony said from behind his tablet.

Almost everyone was awake, crowded around the kitchen bench awaiting Clint’s famous French toast.

“What work?” Peter asked.

“Homework for you, kid,” Steve replied, earning an indignant frown from Peter.

You couldn’t help but giggle into your mug of coffee, before almost spraying it back out at the sight that then exited the elevator.

Bucky. Shirtless. Again.

You began to wonder what you had done to be so lucky, your heart thrumming against your rib cage so hard you worried that someone might hear it.

“Oh, my, Barnes,” Tony gasped, “you know it’s still in the A.M., right?”

Bucky simply rolled his tired eyes before slumping onto the lounge, mumbling, “Hungry.”

It wasn’t long before Clint served breakfast, everyone scoffing their food as if they hadn’t eaten in days, and soon after that, Peter dismissed himself for school and Tony and Bruce made their way to the lab.

“I think I need to get back into the gym today,” Clint sighed, stretching his arms above his head.

You sighed, “Same.”

“Bucky and I were planning on heading down there in the afternoon actually, we could do a group training session,” Steve said as he filled the sink, ready to wash everyone’s dishes.

“I’m in,” Natasha replied, “I was going to head into town for some groceries this morning, so the afternoon is better for me.”

“Yeah, alright,” Clint added, “Count me in.”

“Me too,” Sam said through his last mouthful of toast, “and obviously Y/N will be there too.”

You turned to him quickly, a frown already etched between your brows, “What the hell does that mean?”

He chuckled, “Steve said that he and Bucky were planning it, so obviously you-”

You elbowed him sharply in the gut before standing from your seat at the dining table and stomping over to the kitchen.

Natasha sighed, “You better be careful, Wilson, you’re playing with fire.”

“But it’s so obvious that they both like each other, why can’t they just fuck already.”

Steve’s ears turned red and Natasha laughed, but neither of them seemed to notice as Bucky finally made his way over from the living area.

“Who needs to fuck already?” he asked, brows knit.

“No one,” Steve answered quickly, “Tony wants help moving a new delivery, I said we’d help him out. Come on.”

He ushered the confused Bucky out of the room, but not before shooting daggers at Sam.

After breakfast you decided to go with Natasha into town. The compound was running low on a few things that Tony always forgot to add to the weekly grocery delivery, so you took your time shopping and chatting. It was nice to simply enjoy the feeling of not having sweat drip from every inch of your skin, though you couldn’t help mourning the sticky weather that would encourage Bucky to constantly walk around shirtless.

It was almost four o’clock when you finally changed into your workout gear and headed for the gym. Most of the team were already in there, and those that weren’t had kindly declined the offer of a group training session.

Steve, Sam, Tony, and Bucky were gathered around the sparring mats each taking turns at attacking the training dummy, while Clint was over by the weights alone. You quickly found Wanda and Natasha on the treadmills and decided to start there.

“Afternoon,” Wanda greeted you, her smile sweet as she swiped the sweat from her brow.

You grinned back, “Fancy seeing you out of your room.”

“I don’t do heat,” she said, “but Nat has just been telling me about how much you’ve been enjoying it.”

You tossed your gym towel at her, gasping, “Oh, shut up!”

The two red heads giggled, thankfully too amused to notice the way your eyes drifted across the gym to where Bucky was training.

After almost an hour on the treadmill, chatting idly about nothing in particular with Nat and Wanda, Steve called the team to attention. Everyone moved in from around the gym, forming a misshapen circle around the sparring mats that he and Clint had just hauled from the storage room.

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Sam said as he plopped down on the floor and began stretching his legs out in front of him, “is the air on, Tony?”

Tony, who was chugging half a bottle of water, simply shrugged and waved haphazardly at the control panel by the main entry doors.

“I’ll check it,” you offered before turning on your heel.

You tapped the screen and it came to life, but the display wasn’t the same as the one in your room. It had more options and dials for more variables than just the temperature, but on the top right of the screen was a little green button that you assumed meant it was on. You chose the dial that looked like it controlled the fan speed and turned it all the way up.

“All good, Y/N?” Steve called.

You nodded before hurrying back to the group, bending your right leg up to your buttocks in a quick stretch. Steve and Nat then took their positions in the middle of the circle and began demonstrating the fight sequences that they wanted the team to practice.

“Now partner up, pick a mat, and practice until you can do it as fast as you can,” Steve said, before looking directly at Sam, “without hurting each other.”

Sam sighed with exasperation as he turned to his partner, Bucky. You turned to Wanda while Nat joined Clint on a mat and Tony stepped up to where Steve was. Each pair started slowly mimicking the moves that had just been demonstrated.

“It is hot in here,” Wanda said, her breath heavy as she ducked your fist.

You simply nodded, too focused on your movements to be able to speak.

Grunts, huffs, and the thud of heavy feet on the vinyl mats echoed throughout the gym for fifteen minutes before Steve called a break. You practically dove for your water bottle, only to choke on the first mouthful of water when Bucky yanked his sweat-soaked shirt over his head. Wanda caught your eye, giggling as you spluttered.

“I thought the heatwave was over,” Clint said.

Tony nodded, “It is, I think the air-con is playing up.”

“It’s broken?” Wanda gasped.

He shrugged, opening his mouth to respond but stopping when Steve spoke first, “Alright, enough chatting, let’s get back into it.”

Over the next thirty minutes, Wanda’s fist made contact with your shoulder, your abdomen, and almost your jaw if she hadn’t quickly noticed that you were too distracted to block her swing. Her foot then collided with your hip twice before she finally gave in on trying to get your attention.

Your eyes were glossed over and glued to the super soldier duelling Sam. His exposed skin glistened with sweat, muscles rippling under taught, alabaster skin. His stare was hard, eyes almost grey as they narrowed on every move that Sam made. Your palms began to sweat, knees wobbling as you watched his tongue swipe quickly across his pink lips.

“Y/N!” Wanda snapped, her fingers gripping your chin and forcing you to face her, “focus.”

“Shit, sorry,” you muttered.

You raised your shaky hands, trying to block out the shirtless man still in your peripheral vision.

By the time Steve called the training session to an end, the air was almost as dense as the storm clouds outside. Everyone was soaked in their own sweat, hair clinging to sticky skin and muscles beneath burning from use.

“I swear to God, Tony,” Wanda said as she draped her towel over her shoulder, “if the air-con is broken, I’m not going to let you sleep until it’s fixed.”

He chuckled, fingers already moving swiftly across the tablet in his lap, “It’s not broken.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” Sam exclaimed, arms gesturing wildly toward the gym’s huge windows that were completely veiled in condensation.

Tony nodded toward you, “Y/N turned the temperature up instead of down.”

Heat blossomed in your chest, crawling up your neck and to the tips of your ears. Every pair of eyes landed on you, a mixture of irritation and amusement etched across the faces of your teammates.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “I got confused.”

Most of the group simply chuckled or shrugged, collecting their things and heading for the door, but Sam took his time. The devilish smirk adorning his lips made your pulse begin to race.

“Far out, Y/N,” he said, “you didn’t have to torture all of us just to get Barnes to take his clothes off.”

Your eyes went wide, brows shooting up toward your hairline as every coherent thought left your head. Your heart pounded deafeningly in your ears.

The team was suddenly silent, those closest to the door hurrying out and the rest quickly rushing after them. Wanda stuck her elbow into Sam’s side before dragging him out by his shirt collar.

Bucky remained, paralysed feet still glued to the ground as he quickly tried to catch up on what had just happened.

“Sam was just joking,” you finally managed to speak, “he’s an arse.”

Bucky blinked slowly, “Yeah… such an arse.”

You nodded, mouth dry as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, “Okay, well, I’ve got to-”

“He is an arse,” Bucky interrupted you, blue eyes wide with curiosity, “but he doesn’t usually lie.”

You didn’t know what to say, your nervous fingers tangling behind your back. His stare was heavy, pressing down on your shoulders and holding you still as he slowly stepped closer.

“Do you like me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I like you, Buck, you’re-”

“No,” one last step and his breath fanned the exposed skin of your neck, “do you-”

This time, it was your turn to interrupt. Every bit of pent-up tension and suppressed desire propelled you toward him, coming up onto the balls of your feet and wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. Your lips crashed into his, so hard you might have worried about bruising them if the thought of a mark left by Bucky wasn’t so thrilling.

He hesitated only for a moment before his hands found your waist, practically lifting you off the ground and squashing your body against his. Your fingers tangled in his hair as his tongue glided across your bottom lip, begging for entry. A low, almost feral growl rumbled up from his chest once you allowed him in, tongues clashing.

You only parted when breath became absolutely necessary, your lungs burning for air. He let you back onto your own feet, though his strong arms stayed wound around your waist.

“Um, yeah,” you said between gulps of air, “I really like you, Buck.”

He chuckled, “Well, that’s a relief because I really like you too.”

He pressed his lips to yours once more before pulling away completely and wrapping his gym towel around his shoulders.

“I need a shower,” he said, taking your hand in his and tugging you toward the door, “and it’s your turn to take your clothes off now.”

END.

[tamakissimp]

senario- selfhate comfort

request: @uhhh-i-like-yaoi​ : Hihiiiii! I loved your last comfort post! Could I have the same bois comforting a female reader who is crying because she doesn’t feel pretty? Tysm!

a/n: ahhh yes. I love writing comfort pieces. I added in some other boys because I ✨felt like it✨

warnings: body issues, insecurity, lack of self confidence

BAKUGOU:

wordcount: 544

The image in the mirror is almost mocking you. The way your own body seems to taunt your mind and pull you into its darkest corners is scary. Scratch that, it's terrifying. You know that the healthy thing to do is to look away. But you can't. Your eyes are fixated on all your flaws. You're so busy with pulling yourself apart from that you don't notice the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

People often talked about how Bakugou was out of your league. You knew that being with someone as handsome as him you quickly learn that, and most of the times their harmful words don't phase you. But maybe you are a little bit more tired today. Maybe you're feeling a bit more down. You don't know what it is, but those mean words seem to get past your defence and straight into your heart today.

You clasp your hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound of your crying. Even now, with shaking shoulder and blurry vision, all you can think about is how ugly you like while crying. "Idiot!".

Normally you would whisp your head around at the gruff voice but not today. "Are you there?" Bakugou asks. A set of knocks on your door follows. Normally you would welcome him with open arms but not today. What if he saw you like this? He would think you're weak. Weak. Pathetic. Ugly. Awful. Disgusting.

Another sob wrecks through your body. Bakugou's body stiffens at the sound. His blood runs cold. Without a second thought, he rips the door open. The sight of you, standing in front of the mirror while sobbing makes his heart ache. "Teddybear?". His voice is softer.

You hold your arms open for him. He takes the note and walks over to you before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. He pets your hair as you sobs seem to get worst. Bakugou mumbles sweet nothings in your ear. All you can do is cling onto him. "What's going on, teddy bear?" he asks.

it takes you a moment before you can reply. Every time you open your mouth to speak another sob wrecks through your body. "I'm ugly," you finally manage to speak. You can feel Bakugou shake his head against your shoulder.

"I-I'm ugly and disgusting and you shouldn't b-be with me," you say. You expect Bakugou to agree with you. You expect him to pull away from you, laugh at you before walking out of your room. But he doesn't.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his grip becoming even tighter as he nuzzles into your neck. "No," he says. You want to disagree but he beats you to speak. "You're pretty. Gorgeous even. And I don't say that to everyone, idiot. You're too good for me.".

"I'll show you," Bakugou says. "I'll show you how pretty you are. I'll teach you how to love yourself....Idiot.". You smile softly. His heart does summersaults as he feels you smile against his shoulder. You nod.

"Okay," you mumble. "Okay. T-teach me how to l-love myself.".

SHOTO:

wordcount: 506

You hate yourself for feeling so down. You hate yourself for not being able to be there for Shouto. You know he needs you. He has more reasons to be self-conscious. Though his face looks like it's sculpted by the gods, the scar that taints his skin is one of his most prominent features.

"Are you alright?" Shouto's calm voice asks. You nod your head. Wrong. You feel bad for lying to him but you don't want to burden him with your problems. Shouto nods. On the outside, he looks fine but he is beating himself up mentally.

He has noticed your distance and he can only fear for the worse. Maybe his biggest fear is becoming reality. That you're planning on breaking up with him, that you're done with dealing with someone as broken as him.

All Shouto does is wrap his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him as you both lay in his bed. You stiffen under his touch. The feeling of his hands running up and down your skin only makes you more self-conscious. Shouto's brows furrow at your action.

"Spit it out," he says. You don't know what it is about his voice, but all of a sudden your eyes fill up with tears. Shouto remains silent until he feels something wet hitting his shirt. He looks down at you only to find you silently crying. He immediately pulls you tighter against him.

"I'm sorry,” you say in between silent sobs. "Fuck, I'm sorry.". Shouto shakes his head as he sits up a bit straighter. He rocks the two of you slightly in an attempt to comfort you.

He's still socially awkward but you're teaching him how to deal with emotions, which includes how to comfort someone. He uses your tips as he searches his mind for anything he did that might upset you. He rubs his hands up and down your back, strokes your hair while sushing you softly.

"Do you...want to break up with me?". His voice cracks at the end of the sentences. He can't imagine a world without but he would rather break up than be in an unhappy relationship. Relief washes through him as you shake your head.  

"No, never," you say. You stay silent for a moment. It's best to just rip the bandaid off quickly. "I'm ugly.". The moment the words leave your lips, violent sobs wreck through your body. Shouto stays quiet which you take as he agrees with you.

You pry yourself out of his arms and beeline towards the door. Shouto stops you, though. His hand wraps around your wrist before he spins you around, pulling you into his chest. You fight against him but to no avail.

"Never, ever, say that again," he says. His voice isn't cold like it normally is. "You're beautiful. Inside and out. I know you won't believe me but please do.". All you do is nod against his chest as you run a hand through his two coloured hair. "Please believe me,".

TOKOYAMI:

wordcount: 360

You and Fumikage often talk about your insecurities. Being with someone who's quirk affects their body as much as Fumikage's quirk does, conversations like that start easily. Normally, the two of you will lay on his bed, limbs intertwined while venting out your feelings. So this time is no exception.

Dark shadow lays on the feet end of the bed, his cold fingers running up and down your calves while Fumikage's warm arms encircle your body. Your fingers run over his feathers. You have no clue what he does to them but they always feel like satin between your fingers. "I'm ugly," you blurt out.

The comforting circles Fumikage was once rubbing on your skin now stop. Dark shadows grip on your calves tightens a little. Sure, these sort of thoughts aren't weird to be shared but that didn't make them any easier to hear. "How come?". 

You shrug. You push your face even further against his chest prompting him to resume rubbing your skin. "Look at my face. Look at my body. I'm ugly," you say. It hurts Fumikage how easily you say those words.

In his eyes, you're an angel. Everything you do is a gift from the gods. Yet you have no problem with tearing yourself down. Though he can't judge since he has the same habits. "You are not," he says. You take a deep breath while waiting for him to continue.

"You're beautiful," Fumikage says. "While my words might not affect you now, I do hope that you can one day see yourself through my eyes. I hope that you will see how beautiful you are, my love.". A soft smile spreads against your lips. 

Dark shadow removes its hands from your calf and nuzzles his cheek against it instead. "You talk like an old man.". Even though your tone is happy, Fumikage can sense the sadness laced through it. 

"You love how I talk," he says. You nod. You lean up and press a hast kiss against his beak. Behind his feathers, a blush warms his cheeks. 

"Thank you," you say. "I hope one day you see how handsome you are too, birdman.".

KIRISHIMA:

wordcount: 787

Normally, you didn't feel like this. Being in a relationship with Kirishima meant that he became your personal hypeman. He took any opportunity he got to compliment you and boost your confidence. Lately, however, the UA has been dishing out heaps of homework and training got more intense. This left little time for you two to spend together. You didn't mind, of course not. You support Kirishima's dream of becoming a hero and you knew it would be like this eventually. You just haven't gotten used to it.

For the umpteenth time this week, you find yourself standing in front of your mirror. A rational person would walk away from the mirror. You aren't a rational person though. Instead, you try on every piece of clothing you own that is even remotely tight fitting. Seeing how the fabric clings to your body, extenuating every lump, dent and curve.

You sigh as you run your hands over your body. Feeling your thighs, arms, stomach. All disgust you to a degree you didn't know was possible. A voice in the back of your head is screaming all your imperfections at you. Your face isn't symmetrical enough. Your stomach isn't flat enough. Your collarbones aren't prominent enough. Everything is wrong.

Tears well up in your eyes as you keep hyper-focusing on every flaw. You want to stop, god you do. To smash the mirror to pieces and spit on it. But you can't. Instead, you can only think about Kirishima's friends.

They're kind, sweet, helpful, hero's in training. The only thing bad about them is how perfect you are. It's hard to not compare yourself to them when they're all models. Momo has legs for days, Bakugou has muscles that you could never have, Iida is as smart as they come, Mina can make every outfit look good, Denki has enough charisma for ten people.

Sobs slowly wreck trough your body. You clasp a hand over your mouth. You stare at your own face in the mirror. Red eyes, wobbling chin, swollen cheeks. Even your crying has flaws.

"Pebble," you hear a voice behind your call. Your blood runs cold as you wipe around. You were too busy with pulling yourself apart that you didn't notice Kirishima entering your room. His eyes are drooping and his smile slowly falling. he holds a small bag in his hand. You can see the feet of a teddy bear and your favourite snacks sticking out of it. A surprise date, how sweet.

You shake your head as you make grabby hands towards him. Kirishima drops the bag and runs over to you, pulling you tightly against him. Your sobs grow tenfold now that you're in his arms. He pushes you as he softly pats your hair. "Let it all out, baby," he whispers.

His strong arms envelop you like a blanket. His cinnamony scent brings you comfort. You always thought he smelt like chai tea. After you told him that, he started drinking chai more. You smile at the memory. Your smile drops, however, once you feel his hands travelling over your body.

"Please talk to me," he says. "What's going on?". Kirishima's heart is breaking. Seeing you in this state makes him rack through his mind to find anything he could have done wrong.

"I'm ugly," you croak out before another sob wrecks through you. He stiffens. He curses at himself for not noticing your insecurities sooner. Normally, he was there to brighten your mood and build your confidence up. Normally. But he hasn't seen you as much as normally.

You push yourself further into his chest, hoping to disappear. "I'm ugly, and- and I'm gross," you say. "And I don't k-know why you're with me. B-Because you're handsome a-and kind and sweet and I-I'm none of that. You s-should just break-".

"No," he says sternly. He doesn't let you finish that sentence. He doesn't want you to. "No, I won't. Don't ever think I will.". Kirishima pulls you off him slightly so that he can look into your eyes. He cups your cheeks while brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

You sniffle but melt into his touch. "You aren't ugly, okay? Say it for me. Come on, say it," he urges you. You nod.

"I'm not-I'm not ugly," you say softly. He nods before puling your to him again and places a kiss on your crone. "I'm not ugly," you say again before silent sobs shake your shoulders.

"I'm just going to have to show you, yeah, pebble?" Kirishima says. You nod against him. Your hand travels up and laces through his hair. Even now, when you're crying your eyes out, you're still trying to comfort him. "I'll show you.".

TAMAKI:

wordcount: 774

Tamaki is invisible. It's something he learned to do over the years and now he can't stop doing it. Hiding in the shadows, his presence unknown to people. People tend to look over him and that's the way he likes it. Being in the big three, however, makes him seen. It makes him stand out like a sore thumb and his shyness draws ever more attention towards him.

Due to this, your relationship has become quite known around the school. And with that people tend to talk about you, gossip about you. You tuned it out most of the time. But when people gossip about you, it's hard not to listen to it.

"I mean, yeah, Tamaki is a total cutie," you hear some girl say. You don't even bother looking at her. You just try extra hard to focus on the homework your working on.

"Right?" her friend chimes in. "I don't know why he's with Y/n. Probably out of pitty. He's sweet like that.".

No. Don't listen to them. Tamaki loves you, you know that. He tells you that every day. He might not be physically affectionate but-

"I don't know. Y/n is just kind of...ugly?". Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. Fucking fuck. "I didn't think they would ever be with someone.".

With that, you stand up. You don't even bother taking your stuff along with you. You doubt that anyone would be interested in stealing your homework or stationary. You can't even look at the gossiping students as you walk past them. Just get to your dorm, that's the plan. If you walk fast you can be there on less than three minutes.

You keep your gaze down as you fight back the tears. You can't cry in the hallways. That weird and ugly. "Bunny?". You lookup. Tamaki is standing at the end of the hallway, next to Mirio. He waves shyly at you. His goofy smile drops as he sees your pained expression. You strud over to him.

Are you breaking up with him? Did he do something wrong? Did you finally realize how much of a useless ball of shyness he is? His thoughts are running wild and worse case scenarios are popping up in his head.

His mind stops when your arms wrap around him. You two never hug in public. It's too scary for Tamaki, too stressful. But now that he feels your shoulders shake and your breath hitch all he can do is pull yours against him. Your hand travels up and plays with his hair while his arms wrap tightly around your middle.

"Am I ugly?" you ask, breaking the silence. Tamaki shakes his head against you, his hair tickling your neck. "’Cuz it feels like it.". His heartbreaks. You're always there to comfort him, to help him when he's on the brink of a panic attack. Now he has to be there for you.

"No, b-bunny," he says softly. His voice soothes you in a way you didn't imagine it would. "You're so p-pretty.". His words are few but you don't care. You know it's already bold that you come to him like this in public. Normally, you would only cling onto him in the comfort of his own dorm.

While he says little, he does comfort you. His touch ground you. The way his strong arms encircle you and warm you up. You press your nose into his neck. His hair feels silky smooth between your fingers. "I'm not," you say.

You feel awful for dropping your feelings onto him like this but you don't know what else to do. Tamaki is the person you go to for comfort, for love. "Who m-made you feel l-like this?" he asks.

You just shake your head as another sob wrecks to you. You muffle the sound by pressing into him. To bystanders, it just looks like a longlasting hug and not like your crying your eyes out.

Tamaki already knows the answer. He would be lying to say that he didn't hear the rumours as well. He hates it. Not just the attention but the bad things being said about you. That you're only with him because he's in the big three. That you aren't pretty enough for him, strong enough for him. He hears them all.

"W-wanna go... to...um..y-your room?" Tamaki asks. You nod. He places a kiss onto your forehead. Your heart warms up at the bold move. You swift so that one of his arms is now swung over your shoulder while the other is holding your hand. You hum softly at the comforting touch. "I-I think that...you're pretty," Tamaki says.

SHINSO:

wordcount: 435

While Shinso tends to be grumpy to others, he never is to you. He treats you with an unknown kindness. He touches you like your made of glass. And you do the same with him. You lean into his touch. You aren't afraid to answer his questions and you never saw him as a villain.

Due to your close bond, you two share your insecurities. It's normal for one of you to barge into the others dorm and just rant out their feelings. Which is how you find yourself here, walking through the halls with pathetic desperation. You don't even bother knocking once you reach Shinso's room. You just rip the door open.

Shinso can immediately tell that you're feeling down. Maybe it's the way your drag your feet more. Maybe it's the way you don't give him a 'hey nice to see you again' kiss. Or maybe it's the fat tears dripping down your cheeks. "I'm gonna talk," you say.

Shinso just nods. He pushes his chair away from his desk. You get the hint and walk over to him, plopping into his lap. His fingers immediately start rubbing circles on your arms.

"I'm ugly," you say. Shinso's heart stops for a second. This was going to be painful for him to hear. "I'm ugly and disgusting. And I-I'm sick of pretending I'm not. Y-You always say I'm p-pretty but I know y-you're lying. I'm not. And-And that's okay.".

You drop your head to let it rest against Shino's shoulder. He just shakes his head. He waits a minute for you to speak again and when you don't he does.

"You aren't ugly, kitty cat," Shinso says. You smile at the pet name. "You're as pretty as they come. Fuck everyone who tells you you're not. Fuck. Them.".

"You're out of my league," you say. Shinso shakes his head. One of his hands moves up to pet your head softly.

"Bullshit. I'm a fucking piece of shit villi-" he says. You lay a finger of his mouth to stop the word from being said. You lift your head and look at him. Even though your crying and your vision is blurry, you cup his face.

You shake your head. "Don't," you say. "Don't so that.". Shinso leans into your touch. It's selfish to treasure your touch in a situation like this but he can't help himself.

"Then you can't say that you're ugly," he says. You close your eyes before leaning your forehead against his. He feels you nod against him. A soft smile spreads over his normally stoic lips.

"Deal," you whisper out.

[sly-merlin]

T h e      E n c h a n t e d      C a n v a s

Pairing :: doyoung x reader ft simmi and her moots

Word count :: ~4k

Genre :: Hogwarts soulmate strangers to ?? Fluff

Synopsis ::

Y/n , a muggle is called to Hogwarts not because of her exceptional talents but due to the fact that her soulmate is a pure/half blood studying in Hogwarts. Her destiny takes her from an average household to the enchanting world of spells and charms. Would she found the one she sought? or sh’d end up losing herself in the new world!

A/n :: this is a Christmas gift for lovely nini - @dvrlingrenjun​ under @neoculturechristmas​ event. Thank you admins for letting me talk to her. And nini!! I'd be happy if you enjoy this even a little bit. I hope you can get some time out from your responsibilities to relax and then we can cry over twice's beauty!! MERRY CHRISTMAS NINI.

With love ,

From simmi(stocking anon)

tagging :: lovely @danishmiilk​  ( warning :: donot expect too much) @astroboy-lele​ (oops! i opened discord and just remembered i was supposed to tag you furou! sowy)

networks :: @neowritingsnet​ @kafenetwork​ @nct-writers​ 

thank you aria @adamfoolcry​ for hyping me up!!!

"A MAGIC SCHOOL?DO I LOOK LIKE A FOOL TO YOU?" you screamed at your parents, their pleading eyes instantly making you guilty.

"Darling! That woman showed us what she's capable of. You can go and learn and it's not like you have much of an option." Your father said, caressing your arm.

They were right. The woman, who called herself the professor of Hogsy or something school, had explained to you the two tier unscripted path of your future. The first thing being that you were invited to study at an elite magic school, the evidence of which was provided by summoning your sketchbooks from your room. Second being, your soulmate was a boy of the magical community so you,inevitably, were a part of it and there was no escape from it. 

"I don't want to leave you alone!" Tears threatening to fall, you requested your parents. 

"Please sweetie. Don't make this harder than it already is. We do not have enough money to provide you with quality education. At least you are getting a chance to improve your life. Do not let this chance pass because of us. Besides it's like a boarding school. That lady did say you'd be visiting us twice a year and that too for two whole months! I see no harm sweetie. You possibly cannot refuse your soulmate right. They need you as much as you need them. So go and live your life. Make your parents proud!" 

Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry,

Year - third

"Then the battery is placed in this small compact space in a very specific way to make the clock work. This small cylindrical unit called battery has very complicated working so we'll discuss that next week. And this week,I won't be bothering you with any homework so go and enjoy. Have an enchanting day." Your professor dismissed the class with a brightening smile.

"Y/n" she called as you were packing your bag.

"Yes mam?" You asked her, hands respectfully crossed in front of your skirt.

"I just wanted to say thank you so much for the automated battery clock that you got. The ones we have are very old and it's a long and tiring process to ask for new ones. Do know how delighted i am to have you in my class. I'm glad you chose muggle studies as elective." She smiled at you and you bowed just a bit to show your gratitude and walked outside for your other classes.

Being a ravenclaw was all about wisdom, intellect, being sharp minded and laced with logic and creativity or this was what the book that prof McGonagall gave you read. The almighty sorting hat, the pillar on which walls of Hogwarts stood, had placed you in ravenclaw. Though the hat did contemplate between every single house, you ended up with ravenclaw. You believed neither in the semi-animate object nor the popular saying that Sorting hat knows you better than you do yourself for you failed to find your own kind. The smart ravenclaws were too bright for you. It didn't help that you were the only muggle in your year. You weren't able to keep up with them and if it haven't been for willy, your only friend in ravenclaw, you'd have ended up going home,without finding your destiny. Not that you were any better at the moment but life was fun with willy and aria, your hufflepuff friend. 

But nothing remains stationary right!

“How are you here already?” you questioned lazily.

“Arithmancy professor fell sick this morning. I've been free since then.” said Aria. You turned to William, who was busy toying with his alligator bracelet. “And you willy?” 

“Huh?” he mindlessly asked. 

“I asked, did you run away from divination again?” you repeated the question, changing the words to suit his ears. 

“Oh no! We just had a small accident in class today.” he giggled, his glasses falling off as he doubled over with laughter.

The potion classroom was soon jammed with third year fellows, all chatting in their own friend groups, enjoying the few minutes before they would be bombarded with over expectation of brewing a girding potion.  At the precise moment, the door was closed shut.

“STOP THE USELESS GOSSIP AND SPLIT INTO YOUR BREWING GROUPS. NOW!”

Prof. Snape thundered as all the students, without a second wasted, dispersed and settled. “Mr. brown.” he called a hufflepuff, “collect the ingredients and mr. kim, care to move yourself and help him.” he instructed two students who complied immediately. “Not that i expect any from you little incompetent students, you shall not prepare more than two vials of the potion or else i won’t hesitate to make you do your laundry in the same foul liquid. Understood!” his warning earned silent gagging from several students at the mention of the awful smell, of which you were not excluded. 

As you got busy in discussing the recipe, noise of shattering glass and a shrill cry pierced through your ears. Before you could raise your head to witness the happening, your left wrist burned as if it was set on fire. Knees buckling, you fell on the floor as sudden inflammation blocked your senses, heart wrenching screams leaving your throat.Your wailing alerted your friends as William instantly unbuttoned your sleeve to view the reason of your pain and gasped at the damage. 

“Prof. snape! Her soulmate mark is burning.” he shouted but your ears were too clogged due to choked sobs to feel the distress in his voice. You slowly opened your heavy eyelids as your wrist was pulled swiftly. With blurred vision, you saw prof. casting a spell,his wand releasing a blue light circling your mark which entered your wrist, momentarily soothing the pain. Your cries softened into tiny sniffles as the spell did it's work. You lifted yourself up with Willy's help while sloppily rubbing at the darkened spot. 

“Oh yes, it’d leave some itching and for the spot and further treatment, you need to immediately go to the hospital wing. Ms. y/l/n and mr. Kim, you both are excused and for your foolishness, 100 points from slytherin.” Upon his command, your head snapped towards the man standing across the room in dishevelled state,probably matching your own,his hand clutching his wrist, eyes holding your gaze.

“Out!” 

Nodding your head, you made your way out, the male following after you. 

Either you were too slow in your steps or he was too brisk, but he seemed to be way ahead of you. Gripping your tingling and heavy hand, you were tracing his path when a pair of shoes met your vision, halting you in the middle of the corridor. 

“It’s stinging y/n. We have to run!” and before you could reply, he was sprinting for the stairs, taking you with him.

“You both are in the same year?” the nurse asked, examining the burnt swans on your wrists. 

“Yes” you both replied in unison, eyes meeting for a second before you  averted your gazes. The head nurse noted something in her register before she went to extract some bandages and potions.

“is the skin still burning?" The nurse queried, taking doyoung's hand but he pulled his hand and pointed for you. 

"She's more hurt. Check her first please" he mumbled, noticing your incessant scratching and ragged breathing. She shook her head and proceeded with the treatment.

"Why were you playing with the potions?" She scolded Doyoung while applying the healing potion. 

"I wasn't!" Doyoung retorted as he straightened his back in defence. "It got spilled by mistake when I was finding seaho-RSES!" He screeched as the medicine stung.

"Seahorses are kept in see-through containers mr. Kim and don't you nincompoops know that golden marks are sensitive to heat. Why were you wearing a folded shirt in a potions class when clearly you were exposed t-

"The temperature madam!" Your eyes never left his face as you witnessed the misery he went through in the past few minutes and which you were going to experience in a few seconds. 

"Give me your hand miss y/n" 

The liquid ignited it again but as she massaged on it, the skin felt cooler than before and when she wrapped the white bandage, the sharp needles alleviated into cold jingling. You carefully glanced at doyoung through your peripheral vision only to find him staring at you with wide eyes. Saving yourself the humiliation, you tried to hide your face into your neck which only annoyed you further due to the wetness of your fresh tears mixing with sweaty moisture, creating what felt like a puddle but you endured it, calculating the weight of the outcomes.

"Do stop by every day for a change of bandage unless you want to live your whole life with black wrists which I clearly don't have any problem with kids!" She jested before leaving for her office. 

You stayed seated beside doyoung, the newfound soulmate, wondering if he was as nervous as you were. Fisting your clammy hands, you mustered all the courage you could, ready to introduce yourself but the greeting travelled back through your throat when he hopped off the hospital bed and departed without uttering anything. 

Your recently dried eyes were sprayed again with his callous action as millions thoughts ran through your throbbing head, heart constricting under the weight of silence. 

Did the man for whom you deserted the whole world for, rejected you?

"HE DID WHAT?" Aria hollered and looming forward, slamming her hands down on the table. At her reactions, you felt your own anger bubbling again but the disorder generated by the recent incident and William's reasoning, you stopped yourself from forming any conclusion.

"Will you calm down." 

"No willy, don't you want to rip that sly boy apart. How dare he! I’m going to- wait you told him before me! That's not fare." She whined, diverting her own attention.

“stop shouting aria. Let people eat in silence. An-and we don't know why he left. It could be--maybe he wanted to use the washroom or he wanted to hide his pai-

"Stop defending him willy or I'll pour this porridge over your head" willy pouted at her remark and slided down his chair to avoid her.

"Stop bickering and tell me what should i be doing now! I have a soulmate for god's sake!"

You had finally found the reason for your presence in the castle, your soulmate, kim doyoung and you didn’t know how to proceed.

"I guess wait y/n and at least you were saved from the awful odour of the gird today. Sicheng almost fainted in front of professor but that was a hilarious sight girl. You missed it" you saw rolling her eyes at the mention and you mirrored her reaction,resting your head on the table as Willy's ironic statement only intensified the pounding.

Wait! But for how long?

"YOUR FROG BRAIN DID WHAT?" Simmi jumped off the bed to face doyoung, her hand reaching for the transfiguration book.

"I-i- i got nervous!" He whined and cringed at his pathetic excuse. He was busy folding and unfolding his poor ear,apparently in nervousness, when his best friend thwacked his bicep with the heavy book.

He cried out loud, grasping his arm with one hand, “do you want to die!” he glowered at her. 

“How could you miss your soulmate when she was right there in front of you for two years." She said before working on his arm again. 

“I’m not the only one! She also missed me.” he reasoned, holding his hands up in refuge from her neverending attacks. “Wait!” he exclaimed, pondering over his words. “How could she not know I was her soulmate when almost everyone knows I've got a gold swan embroidered.” his face fell in despondency and the horrible and hurried conclusion his thoughts took him to. “Simmi what if she- what if she never wanted to find me and that-

“Merlin’s beard shut yourself up and mail your family. They need to know their baby boy is all grown up now!”

He nodded in acknowledgement of the suggestion but his wandering mind refused to rest until he was sure of his qualms. 

Maybe he should wait! But for how long?

My love was sleeping, but there was fragrance in the air

Doyoung roamed around in circles, his heart unevenly drumming, body so warm under the strain of muddled thoughts that the moisture was seeping through the bandage. The response of his parents, lying on his bed in the form of a letter, had relieved him of the worries of any prospective opposition. Not that he didn’t know his family, he wasn't too convinced how their family would address the sudden revelation of his soulmate being a muggle. You were going to be the first muggle in his family and the first ravenclaw after his great grandmother. The first line of the letter “we are elated to know that your soulmate is a human and not your piano” had eased him for the remaining part. Now that the dragon was out of the dungeon, the subsequent troubles were giving him splitting migrains. 

In the past week, he had tried to approach you after a painful shove from taeyong and simmi but he had to retreat due to your very malevolent comrades. The mental conversations he had with you continued to be in the confines of his head but nothing arrested him from searching for you in the crowds. You had always been there, in the same classes, in the great hall, in the corridors but you were nowhere when his eyes sought you. Just a week has passed and he found himself getting more and more conscious of your presence. He wanted to hijack and become a part of your convivial life yet he lacked the needed courage. 

So he resorted to wearying his legs by moving around. Maybe Some blood rush from his branches to brain would give him some clarity.

By degrees, the thumping of his spirit corresponded to the swooshing of the sea creatures.

He might have been too young to fall in true love but slowly, he knew, he was falling for that little golden swan.

Hidden from the rest, you were completing your assignment when the chair besides you was drawn out. You raised your head with the intention of getting the chair vacated for your friends but watching the Kim doyoung occupying the seat, you shot up instantly,ready for your escape. Fumbling with the ink and books, you whirled around only to be stopped by the boy.

 You glanced at him for a moment before pulling your hand ,which he was tugging at , back. 

"Stay. Your friends won't be coming today. I won't say anything. Please" he requested with his doe eyes looking up in a hope to catch yours. 

Wordlessly, you sat down.

He kept his promise. 

No word was spoken that day or the next day or the next week. 

The intense silence that engulfed you that day soon morphed into a tranquil one. The one of the familiarity, of the silent exchanges and of the growing unbreathed bond.

By the end of the month, the green leaves sacrificed themselves for the birth of fiery red ones as the days became shorter, the sun became mischievous and the gold on your wrists started gleaming more than ever.

One month later 

“Gamps’ law of transformation? Didn’t we read it last year?” doyoung asked perplexedly, taking the reins of the conversation, again.

“Prof. told me to prepare an assignment which would be used for the younger students.” you replied sheepishly, dipping the quill in the ink. 

“Pure ravenclaw” he muttered, looking lovingly at you. These days, he did it more often than he could count. He wanted to say more but the fear of your refusal always held him back.

“Not so much” 

you heard his muttering! He wanted to pry further but saved it for a later discussion. 

He shifted himself towards his own chair and worked on his sheet as the ticking of the grandfather clocks muddled with scratching of the quills filled the empty corner. 

It wasn't home but it certainly felt like one!

Two months later

“Give us our y/n back” aria whisper yelled to taeyong.

“She’s doyoung’s soulmate, doyoung is my best friend hence she is my best friend as well.” taeyong retorted, dramatically flaring his nostrils. 

“Don’t forget we live at the same place taeyong and simmi won’t be there to save you baboon face.” amused smiles adorned everyone’s faces as they saw both of them quarelling. Some things were always constant. 

You sipped on your hot chocolate that warmed you up as you and doyoung went through the revision for the last exam. Without being asked, he helped you with his encyclopedic knowledge. you were grateful for his assistance but never said anything for you felt like the feather silence between you was too delicate to breach. 

So you spoke through your eyes.

And he never failed to hear you.

Wrapping the scarf around your neck, you sprinted for the dining hall, tightly holding onto the white chocolates tightly. 

At the end of the hallway, you saw another figure running over in the same state as you.

“Did you get shorter?” he said, grinning ear to ear. Glancing up at him, you scanned through his features, in case you had forgotten in the christmas holidays. 

“This is for you!” you both said simultaneously, extending your hands

“Open it for me!” you requested.

Under the emerald covering was an elegant and vintage fountain pen, engraved and decorated with turquoise stones. “This is so beautiful.” you told him before taking it from him. You traced over the name kim carved onto the nib of the pen. You raised your brows in question to which he responded quickly , “it’s my great grandma’s. This is your Christmas gift from the Kim family. I know it’s small but you are invi-

“It’s precious. You are giving me a family heirloom when all i got are some homemade milk chocolates for you.” your smile faded as you avoided his sight.

“How did you know white chocolates are my favourite?” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly.

“Mom said you’d l-

Before you could complete your sentence, he prised the chocolate box out of your grip, sprinting for the great hall.

“OH KIM DOYOUNG! GIVE ME MY SHARE!” 

YEAR - FOURTH

“Why are you always so quiet?” 

“I’m never!” you defended yourself. 

Doyoung didn’t know why he was talking about it now and here, out of all places, in front of whomping willow.

“Tell me!” he pressed.

“I talk to a few and it’s enough.”

“Do you know you are intimidating?” you raised your chin to scrutinise the sincerity in his words.

“I am not!” 

“To those you don’t know you, you radiate passive energy. My slytherin friends wanted to introduce themselves but they got scared and ran away. Honestly, i was also a bit-

He trailed off, slouching on the bench as your eyes bored into his. His head hung low in apology for he knew, he must've crossed the line but for the first time, you decided to show him your dauntless side.

“Hogwarts did that to me.” you said, wearily. “I was happy with my parents, drawing and colouring in my art books when suddenly i was told that i’ve been living in a wrong way. That there is a secret magical place where i have a soulmate. I was angry because i had to leave everything behind. And then i was sorted into ravenclaw. And i was distorted when i found out that i wasn't smart enough for them. I couldn't solve the riddles! William was the one who showed me how to do it properly. It felt awful knowing that the only place that was supposed to be my home for next seven years wasn't the place where i belonged to.” you spoke calmly but doyoung felt your distress and let you continue without any interruptions. 

“I was an eleven year old. I never wanted to fend for myself in a place full of strangers. I -i imagined my life to be a canvas full of colours that i wanted to design for myself. The borders, the paint, the drawing, i wanted to design it for me. But then an owl screeched and i felt like someone had shortened my canvas and after all these years, i feel it’s completely disappearing.” it sounded like someone snatched the life out of your voice. But your visage remained soft, drawing doyoung in. 

“So you like art.” he asked with curiosity. 

“Yes. i love art.” you said, eyes fixed at the movements of the branches of whomping willow.

“Can you please teach me?” he urged and within a second , the air filled with the fragrance of your happiness.

“ why wouldn’t I. what do you wanna do in future doyong? Aria wants to arithmancer, william would be a healer and sicheng, he would be a star quidditch player.”

“I don't want to worry about it right now. Let’s just live in today.” he answered back, smile gracing his lips at the thought of a future with you.

You both relished each other’s company until the temperature froze the both of you.

Removing a  snowflake from your lashes, he made a promise to himself that he’d help you find something that’d put ice on all the bitter memories you had. 

YEAR - FIFTH

THE GREAT HALL

 “Doyoung’s got a howler!” yuta and simmi fist bumped each other, already too excited for the letter to be opened. Of all the howlers they have received, doyoung and yuta’s were record establishing and they expected mrs. kim to maintain the status quo this time as well.

The howler jumped in the air and as the seal opened, doyoung’s heart dropped at the voice. It was not from his mother but his sister and it shouted humiliation, if he was being polite towards her. 

“MS. Y/N!” 

You choked on the juice as you heard your name. 

“MY DEAR TO-BE-SISTER-IN-LAW, HELLO! I’M IVET, THAT DENSE DUDE’S LITTLE SISTER. MUM HAS SENT YOU SOME ART SUPPLIES AND SHE WANTS TO KNOW IF YOU COULD PAINT HER SOMETHING TO DECORATE THE EMPTY WALL IN HER ROOM. SHE’D BE DELIGHTED AND IF YOU GET TIME,PLEASE DRAW SOMETHING FOR ME TOO. AND DOYIE BRO! BRING ME CHOCOLATE FROGS FROM THE TRAIN! SHOP FROGS DOESN'T TASTE THE SAME. FORGET THIS TIME AND I’D MAKE SURE YOU REGRET YOUR EXISTENCE. I hope we can meet soon ms. y/n. By.”

The howler exploded and so did the whole room. Several snorts, chuckles, happy curses were exchanged as doyoung lowered himself under the table to avoid the shame. 

You checked your paint supplies attached with the howler and as your lips curved up, he knew what he was going to pursue in his life. 

Your happiness and immortality.

When i found you, there was magic 

“Mr. kim if you wish to ogle at ms.y/l/n instead of paying attention to my words then i’d suggest please fail your o.w.l.s so i don’t have to face your affection filled face from next year.” prof snape growled, throwing the head of vial on doyoung’s face. 

He was going to fail potions, you thought gesturing him to apologise.

“And 20 points from slytherin and 10 points from ravenclaw!” you both ducked your heads in an instant, forcing a poker face to save yourself from further trouble.

When i found you, rain smelled good

YEAR - SIXTH

When i found you, desires awakened

“No simmi! This is a slytherin dungeon. I cannot go inside!” you warned simmi, who, all of a sudden was adamant on showing you her room, at midnight. 

“I love you but please don’t call this a dungeon.” she held out her hand before you could correct her. “Yes i know this is practically a dungeon but we call it seascape.  Close your ears, you don’t wanna hear the password. You nodded, palming your ears.

“Yutaisthegreatestbeingintheworld” you snickered as she recited the words.

“Our prefect is a dung brain so please excuse.”

Door opened to darkness but a dim light slowly floated towards you as you walked inside “Nox”  your wand rose high up in the air. You made out doyoung’s figure and before you could calculate, the whole room resonated with a syncless birthday song.

And you knew, you were enthralled by this boy.

You heard my prayers, you answered my heart’s call

“I love you aria. Would you give me the honour of being the snitch of your life?” sicheng, aria’s ravenclaw soulmate confessed to her with a promise ring. 

“The ice prince finally melted!” You and william, hands joined, jumped in joy as you watched aria’s eyes glistened with glee.

You rushed upstairs to find doyoung as you forsaw the end of your wait.

Panting heavily, you dragged doyoung out of prof’s room, his step gracefully flowing with yours in a instant.

“What are yo-

“What do you smell in amortentia?” you stopped abruptly and asked him, gasping for air.

“Wh-a-t” he giggled nervously, his hand patting his chest to control his own breathing. “What has gotten ov-

“Answer me kim doyoung.” you whispered, strictly.

He was quiet but you understood the stillness of his heart veiled by the thumping and you felt him losing his composure when his hands cupped your face, 

"I-i smelled white chocolate, lovely lillies-

"Hurry up Kim." You hit his chest with your fist with requirement of the answer.

He chuckled, his bunny teeth enlightening his chiselled face while he looked at you like you were something special to him and you no more just wanted to feel it. You wanted him to say it, express it like he did when he read the poetry from your book or like the random scribbles on his notebooks. You wanted him to move on from the shy glances and profess that you were his and he was yours. 

he licked his lips as he gulped harshly before continuing,

"And you. You-your hair. Your lavender scent. Your innocence. Your d-dreams. Your colours. Your paints yo-

Pulling him by his tie, you placed your lips on his soft ones, leaving them with a smack. His hands wrapped around your waist to embrace you in the warmest hug you'd ever received from a loved one. As your head laid on his chest, you heard his heartbeat for the first time, making you feel closer to him than ever. 

"How would i ever requite your love Kim doyoung" you asked, closing your eyes.

"Maybe a portrait would do!" 

Kim doyoung became the canvas of your life,giving you the liberty to paint him in your colours and  your love and you became the smudged ink to his enchanted diary, without whom he would've failed to fill the pages.

You'd grow old but the swans born out of you would tell the stories of the years gone by.

[maladaptive---daydreamer]

No more secrets

(This is set in 6th year, no voldemort being back business)

Sunlight filtered through the dormitory windows onto your sleeping form. You had asked your older brother to teach you a charm to bewitch your windows to reflect the weather outside, growing tired for the green murk courtesy of the black lake. You fluttered your eyes, blinking the sleep from them and rolled over to check the small clock at your bedside. Despite it being the weekend your body still woke you up at 7 am like clockwork, causing you to groan in frustration and smack your bedsheets

“Some of us are trying to fall back to sleep, you know” Daphne grumbled from her bed, beside you.

“Seize the day miss Greengrass” you replied, deciding you might as well get out of bed and follow your own advice.

You kicked your sheets off and made your bed before gathering your things and heading to the prefects bathroom for a shower. You returned to the dormitory with clean hair that smelt of your apple shampoo dressed in some comfy muggle clothes you purchased. Despite their shortcomings, muggles really knew how to dress comfortably. You had stumbled across Piccadilly Circus while trying to get to Diagon Alley during the Christmas break in your fourth year while on your own. In one of the shops you had seen joggers folded on a display and just had to purchase them, they were warm and soft, perfect for cold days.

“My, my what would your pure blood ancestors say if they saw you dressed like a muggle” Daphne teased from her bed.

“Someone has to be the family disappointment don’t they” You replied, putting your clothes in the laundry basket.

“I highly doubt you’re the family disappointment, Y/N, you’re top of the class in basically everything, you’re the first prefect in your family too!” Lily said. She was easily the most positive witch in Slytherin house and hated to see you bring yourself down like that

“Well, Granger is all those things and she’s a mudblood, our parents don’t care about academics as much as you’d think they do” Pansy interjected

“Pansy, no one asked you. As I recall this was a conversation between Daphne, Lily and myself” you snapped, knowing she was attempting to remind Lily of her half-blood status.

Pansy scoffed and rolled her eyes, over the last few weeks she had really been struggling to hide her dislike for you. It didn’t bother you, Pansy was a bitch to put it quite plainly. You wondered how someone could be so venomous and be content with their life.

You began to gather your things to head to the library after breakfast. 6th year meant you and your classmates were inundated with homework from all your classes. You hoped you could get ahead of your work so you could keep Sunday free.

“It’s literally Saturday, why are you voluntarily doing work?” Daphne asked, her head barely visible from under her duvet cocoon.

“If I didn’t, who would you run to at 11pm on Sunday evening because you forgot to write your charms essay?”

“You are a true friend Y/N Y/L/N”

“Hey, Y/N,” Pansy hollered

You looked at Pansy and waited for her to speak

“If you see Draco at breakfast, you mind telling him I’ll be a bit late?”

“I don’t think he’ll care Pans” Daphne replied for you

“Oh but he will, we’re going to the library to do out potions work together”

You were about to frown but stopped yourself, Draco had promised you that the two of you would write your 3 feet of parchment together. Lily caught your eye knowing how you felt about the platinum blond.

“Sure thing Parkinson” You said, with a sickly sweet smile.

You turned on your heel and went down the stairs into the Slytherin common room, despite it being only 8.30 on a Saturday morning, the common room was densely populated with slytherin students of all ages. A small group of second years were sitting on the floor playing gobstones in your path. They looked up and paled, scrambling to move out of your way.

“Scaring second years now are we Y/L/N” The voice of your friend Blaise Zabini asked.

“Me? Of course not, Zabini, I’ll leave that to you and your friends” you replied waking out of the portrait hole

“It hurts me that you think so lowly of us” He feigned hurt as he began to walk alongside you

“I apologise for hurting your feelings”

“What would your father have to say, hearing you apologise to a half blood”

“Here’s me thinking you knew me better, you already know I don’t care for the purity of blood”

“Where are you headed to after breakfast”

“The library, I’ve got a ton of homework to do”

“Have you heard about the party the 7th years are planning?”

“Nope, not that I’m interested anyway”

“This is coming from the girl who managed to get half the quidditch team drunk off fire whiskey the last time we had a party”

“What can I say, academia looks better on me”

“I can’t say I disagree with that. You should still come, bring your friends along too, it’s been a while since we all got together.”

“I’ll see if Daphne and Lily want to come along.”

The two of you had reached the door of the Great Hall

“There you are Zabini, we’ve been waiting for ages” Draco yelled from across the room

You and Blaise walked to your normal spot on the Slytherin table. He took a seat and you stood behind the bench.

“By the way, Malfoy, Parkinson said she’ll be late. Have to do the potions essay you promised you’d do with me a bit later”

“Y/N I-”

You rolled your eyes and opted to grab some sliced of toast wrapped in some tissue and go straight to the library rather than listen to whatever excuse Draco had planned to spew out.

You settled yourself near the fireplace pulling your textbooks out and laying them around you. You managed to write your charms essay, aswell as your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay and some reading for Transfiguration. You looked up at the big clock in the library and noticed it was past two, your stomach rumbled, clearly upset at the measly breakfast of 2 slices of buttered toast and some water. You gathered all your books again and stuffed them back into your bag and headed to the kitchens. The house elves were well aware of what you preferred to eat for lunch and handed it to you wrapped in a gingham handkerchief, you settled yourself by the window eating your lunch enjoying the view over the grounds.

“Y/N”

You looked up to see the face of your academic rival.

“Hermione”

“Do you mind if I take a seat?”

You shook your head and she sat down next to you.

“I was wondering if you could help me”

“Wow the great Hermione Granger needs help? From me?”

“I- nevermind it was silly of me” She got up feeling flustered and began to walk away

“Lighten up, Granger, it was a joke”

“What would you do if you liked someone, but they had a girlfriend and probably don’t like you back?”

“You’ve finally admitted you like Weasley huh” You patted the window sill next to you, prompting her to sit down

“What? No! Ron-“

“You do know Lavender has been slipping him love potions right?”

“But that’s against the rules! She could get expelled for that”

“She doesn’t care Hermione, if I were you I’d slip a bezoar down Weasley’s throat and see what happens after that”

“How do you know? That she’s been making him drink love potions?”

“I saw her buying some in hogsmeade”

“Well thank you for your help” 

“Can I ask why you thought I’d be the best person to come to for this advice?”

“Well to be quite frank, I don’t know myself. All my other friends are Ron’s friends too, I didn’t want them telling him anything. And we’ll you’ve been the kindest to me, and I would like to think despite everything you respect me. So thank you for your help” With that she got up and began to walk away

“Hey by the way, Granger, he’d be an idiot to turn you down”

Hermione flashed you a true genuine smile before returning to the Gryffindor common room.

You finished the remnants of your lunch and headed back to the dormitory. Daphne and Lily hadn’t left their spots on their beds.

“Who’s up for a party tonight?” You asked the both of them, a wide grin across your face.

After some further information from some 7th year girls, you, Daphne and Lily found yourselves standing outside the room of requirement at 9pm. Despite being a small, debaucherous get-together, in true Slytherin fashion the three of you were still impeccably dressed. You wore a thin silver satin blouse with a plunging neckline, a blouse he bought for you over the summer, along with some fitted black paper bag trousers and a pair of Chanel flats.

The door opened to reveal a room that looked exactly like the Slytherin common room only the table in front of the fire was covered in alcohol and snacks. Blaise, Draco, Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle were sat in a small group off to the side. Draco’s head snapped up when he heard the door open and he looked as though his breath catched in his throat. You knew he was trying not to stare but it was like he couldn’t move his eyes off you. You’d be lying if you said this wasn’t the effect you wanted to have. Daphne ran off to a 6th year boy that she had been flirting with and you and Lily headed over to your friends.

“You made it!” Blaise exaclaimed getting up to hug you.

You saw dracos knuckles whiten even more as he gripped his butterbeer. You hugged Blaise back, after all, it was Draco who wanted to keep the two of you a secret. Blaise hugged Lily too and the two of you sat down. You made a point to sit directly opposite Draco, forcing Blaise to sit on the arm of the sofa with his arm resting on its back. A butterbeer had been forced into your hand which you sipped every once in a while whilst making conversation with your friends. You had noticed Pansy almost sticking to Draco’s side. She’d laugh overly loud at any small thing he said, even if it wasn’t funny, and failed to get Draco to dance with her numerous times.

After a while the 7th years announced the commencement of a drinking game. They placed an empty bottle on the floor and spun it, if it landed on you, you had to choose a truth or a dare, if you didnt want to do the option you selected, youd have to take a double shot of firewhiskey. You chose to sit it out, standing on the outside of the circle only a few steps away from Draco, who coincidentally also decided to sit out.

“I like the blouse” He commented, taking a swig of his butterbeer

“Thank you, it was a gift” You replied, folding your arms together to accentuate your cleavage. 

“Would have preferred you wearing it with just the two of us. Goyle won’t stop staring at you.”

“Well if you offered to take me to a nicer place than a broom cupboard or the empty classroom on the fourth floor, then maybe I’d wear it”

“I was told you were talking to Granger today”

“And? Am I not allowed to speak to people?”

“Not that filthy mudblood”

“Does it really hurt your feelings that bad that she’s smarter than you despite being muggle born that the ONLY thing you can comment on is her blood status?”

“I don’t want you to be seen talking to her again”

“Newsflash, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not Parkinson, I won’t obey you like some lost dog.” And with that you moved further away from him leaning on a column in the corner of the room. 

So far people had only chosen to spill truths, some choosing to take shots instead of their truths. Daphne and her little boyfriend had been dared to enjoy 7 minutes in heaven, made possible by a random broom cupboard supplied by the room of requirement, it had been more than seven minutes and you were sure you’d get a detailed play by play back in the dorms. The empty bottle of fire whiskey landed on Charlie, he joined hogwarts in 5th year after being in America for the last few years.

“Truth or dare Charles?” Blaise asked, rubbing his hands together

“Truth”

“Who do you think is the most beautiful girl in this room?”

“Oh that’s easy, Y/N”

The whole group turned to look at you. You could see from the corner of your eye that Draco had tensed up. He himself slowly turned his head to look at you

“I have to admit, Charlie, you have great taste. You’ll go far in this world” You said, smiling.

“I’ll go as far as you want me to”

This caused the whole group to laugh and return to their game. You checked the clock and saw that it was getting close to 1am. You tapped Lily’s shoulder and she got up.

“Leaving already girls?” Blaise asked from his spot infront of the fire

“It’s getting late, parties aren’t Y/N’s scene anymore anyway” Lily replied smoothing out her skirt

“I’ll walk you back to the dormitory, I’m rather bored here myself” Draco offered, finally getting free of Pansy

“No need, Lily and I are big girls, we can get ourselves back without Filch finding us.” You replied cooly

“I insist”

“No no, Draco. Stay, enjoy the festivities”

You and Lily snuck out of the room of requirement and returned to the dorms undetected.

“What was going on with you and Draco?” She asked while the two of you were getting ready for bed

“Nothing”

“It sounded like the two of you were having a tense conversation”

“You know how Draco can be, always trying to one up everyone”

“Did you hear about Pansy and Draco?” She asked once she was comfy in her bed.

“No” you put your hair brush back in the drawer and got under your own covers

“I heard from Marietta in the year above that Parkinson was bragging about how her and Draco went on a date today. Apparently he took her to the black lake for a picnic”

“Well good for them, I hope they’re happy”

“I know you like him but maybe now she’ll stop being such a raging bitch”

“Maybe, goodnight Lily”

“Goodnight Y/N”

You weren’t crazy, you knew Draco wasn’t stupid enough to even attempt to cheat on you. Your family was just as affluent and your father was just as influential as Lucius for him to know that a cheating scandal between two of the oldest pure blood lines would not turn out well for him. Yet it did nothing to stop the anger bubbling up inside you.

You and Draco began to get closer during your 5th year. You two studied together often and you both were prefects, made to patrol the corridors at night. It was inevitable for the two of you to strike up a bond. You didnt expect your bond to become so strong that an owl would end up dropping a letter on your bed one rainy summer afternoon, with a letter from Draco enclosed about how bored he was over the holiday. The two of you sent letters back and forth, he even floo’d into your bedroom when your parents were out. On the first hogsmeade trip of the year, he asked you to join him and he asked you to be his girlfriend. However, he wanted to keep your relationship a secret. He knew that people would talk and both of your parents would find out, it would lead to talks for the future, something he was not ready for. You saw where he was coming from and agreed, you just didn’t think it would end up like this. In the beginning he tried, he really did, he’d leave cute notes in your bag, he’d hold your hand under the table, save you a seat at dinner, even sneak you into his dormitory, but a few weeks ago, it all suddenly seemed to stop. But you were sick of it. You deserved to be treated better than you were being treated right now.

You awoke on Sunday feeling slightly less angry than you did when you went to sleep. Sunday’s were the day you and Draco would lock yourselves in an old empty classroom on the fourth floor and finally get to be yourselves. You went down to breakfast and sat in your usual seat, waiting for him to make his way down. You were half way through a bowl of cereal when you noticed him walk in with his boys, and Pansy. You dropped your spoon into your bowl causing milk to splash everywhere

“Merlin’s beard Y/N!” Daphne yelled, scooching to the side

You and Lily grabbed some napkins to clean up the small spillage.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite” You deadpanned

You got up and walked past draco, purposely bumping his shoulder on your way out. It hurt you more than it hurt him but you still had a point to make.

“Jeez Y/L/N, watch where youre-” Pansy Scoffed

“Oh fuck off pansy” 

“Y/N!” 

You ignored him and carried on walking out of the hall. You heard his footsteps behind you and he managed to catch up to you, grabbing you by the wrist.

“What is the matter with you?” He demanded

“Me? What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothings wrong with me you’re the one acting crazy”

“Firstly, I don’t like your tone. If you’re going to shout at me I refuse to listen to another word.”

“I’m sorry but I don’t understand what the issue is”

“My issue is YOU”

You ended up raising your voice to a volume too loud for Draco’s liking and he pulled you into a nearby storage cupboard.

“This is my problem draco, being forced to hide everything. Arguing in a fucking broom cupboard for fucks sake.” You sighed

“Y/N, you know how-“

“No, I am tired, Draco, sick and tired of hiding, of keeping secrets, of not being able to come and collapse next to you when I’m upset”

“You can still do that,”

“No I can’t, you always surrounded by one of your posse members. If it’s not Crabbe or Goyle then it’s fucking Parkinson. Did you know she’s going round telling everyone you took her to the black lake for a picnic?”

“She said what? I didn’t even see her yesterday, Blaise and I went to the quidditch pitch after breakfast.” He had a face of visible disgust on his face at the thought of people thinking him and Pansy were a thing.

“Well yeah now the whole school thinks you’re going out with Parkinson and you’re not going to say anything to stop those rumours”

“You know why, princess”

“Yeah you don’t want to think about the future. But if thinking about a future with me really scares you so much Draco, why are you still with me? Surely if you just kept yourself single, you’d have no future to worry about and no girlfriend breathing down your neck”

“You know that’s not what I mean”

“Then what do you mean? Because -” you cut him off, you were starting to get annoyed and he could sense it

“If you stopped interrupting me, I’d be able to explain my thoughts” He said calmly, placing both his hands on your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eye.

“Speak then”

“Yes I don’t want to think about my future. I don’t want to think about what ministry career I’ll be forced into to keep up my family’s reputation, who I’ll be forced to call my friend for the sake of appearances, what I need to name my first born child. I don’t want to think about all the skeletons in the Malfoy family wardrobe that I’ve yet to discover. This, me and you, it’s so innocent, so pure. You get me, you see me for more than my family name. And I want to protect this. I don’t want our parents getting involved and tainting what we have.”

“It’s the only way we-”

“Interrupt me once more and I’ll hex you.” 

You closed your mouth and decided to listen for just a short while more.

“However, if the key to your happiness, and the future of our relationship, is for everyone, including our parents, to find out about us. Then I will walk straight into that hall and stand on the table and announce it to the whole school.”

“You really mean that?”

He nodded

“So if your father sent you an owl tomorrow that says we have to get married in the summer...” you linked your wrists together behind his neck, swaying slightly as you looked up at him

“I’ll marry you. I would sacrifice my own life if it meant I could see you smile.”

“Bit dramatic there, Malfoy” you laughed

“You taught me well, Y/L/N”

“I’d rather you didn’t embarrass the both of us by getting up on the table. You can hold my hand though.”

“Anything for the Slytherin princess.”

You smiled and gave him a quick kiss before getting out of the broom closet. Draco took your hand and held it firmly in his as you both walked into the great hall.

He started to think out loud about his breakfast but you watched for the reactions of your peers as you made your way to your table, no one was really shocked, most of them looked up and smiled excitedly before chattering to their friends, you walked past the gryffindor table and heard the words ‘bet’ and ‘owe’ get thrown about. Once you got to your friends Draco waited for you to sit down, right next to Pansy, before sitting on your other side with his arm around your waist.

“Y/L/N and Malfoy? I never saw that one coming” Blaise laughed, the sarcasm evident in his voice.

“Well get used to it, Zabini, cause you’ll be seeing it a whole lot more” You responded, moving closer into Draco’s lap.

Long gone were the days of hiding, as well as the days of Pansy Parkinson thinking she could steal your man. 

[lifeistooshorttowasteyourtime]

Different worlds, same heart - Chapter 6

Chapter summary: The charms course has come to an end and it’s time to say goodbye although (Y/N) is not ready yet, Tina and the Scamander brothers too close to her heart. In a most personal farewell, she finds herself wanting to delay her return to Hogwarts while Theseus holds her in his warm embrace, admitting he’s also going to miss her.

PART 1 – PART 2 – PART 3 – PART 4 – PART 5

***

“Don’t hold back” (Y/N) smiled at her opponent.

Theseus smiled back and the both of them started to throw spells at each other, some verbal, some not, putting in practice what (Y/N) had taught the Aurors in those last weeks. The rest of the group observed them fighting, not knowing which one could win.

After good ten minutes, Theseus threw a non-verbal spell which made her fly back and, before colliding with the floor, Newt caught her. She smiled up at him and then at his older sibling who was panting a bit tired. The rest of Aurors started to clap, which (Y/N) joined smiling brightly.

“Well, I think I can’t teach you anything else. If you need any more help with the spells, your leader is fit enough to help you out” they all laughed and Theseus bowed jokingly “it’s been a pleasure working with you all, really, and I can’t thank you enough how comfortable and welcome you’ve made me feel in the last weeks. I’m going back to Hogwarts, but if you need anything, I’m a jump away. Thank you so much to you all and good luck”.

The room erupted in claps, all of them approached (Y/N) to say goodbye in a more personal note, making her tear up a bit because of the warm farewell from the Aurors. The Scamander brothers and Tina waited till the end, not really knowing how to say goodbye.

“Oh no, I’m not ready to say goodbye to you three just yet” she said looking briefly a Theseus “I would like you to come to have dinner at my home, if you want of course. Don’t want to impose at all”.

Tina smiled brightly “it will be a pleasure!”.

(Y/N) smiled back and looked at the brothers who nodded “count on us” said Theseus.

The woman blushed with a small laugh and the four of them talked about the details for that night meeting.

“See you tonight” said the older Scamander once they were going to part ways at the door of her house.

“I’m looking forward to it” she smiled happily before turning to step into the building.

Theseus chuckled watching her disappear and kept a small smile while going back to his own house. There, he couldn’t help but think about the times she had been there, at the beginning because of her nightmares but then because they just enjoyed each other company. Those walls had known her tears, her laughs, her confidences and vulnerability. And he turned sad. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye either.

That night, Theseus picked up Newt and Tina before leading them to (Y/N)’s house who welcomed them warmly.

“It smells amazing, (Y/N)” Tina said when they stepped into the living room.

“Oh, thank you, dear. I’m not the best when it comes about cooking but I’ve learnt a thing or two back in Hogwarts, some elves are quite chatty. Please, get yourself comfortable!”.

“I have to go down the suitcase to feed some creatures” Newt mumbled shyly.

“May I go with you?” (Y/N) asked with big eyes.

The magizoologist was surprised but nodded with a smile.

They all ended up going down the staircase, Theseus wasn’t much a fan but enjoyed seeing his brother discussing with (Y/N) about some of the creatures and how Newt gravitated towards Tina who couldn’t stop smiling in Newt’s presence. Theseus chuckled watching how his little brother fell in love even more with the brave Auror. Meanwhile, he couldn’t help but admire how (Y/N) was fascinated with every creature, a special spark in her eyes and a permanent face of amazement.

Once they were all having dinner at (Y/N)’s dinning room, they all talked about their future plans, without mentioning the possibility of a futile future if Grindelwald won.

“I know I’m going to get old in Hogwarts” the professor said “I can’t imagine myself doing another thing”.

“As I do with creatures” Newt added with a small smile.

“You would be a good teacher of Care of Magic Creatures”.

“I-I don’t see myself being-being a teacher”.

“I said you would be, not you should be” she smiled at him “you are a free spirit after all. But I’m going to pester the director to make your book the basic one for that subject”.

Newt blushed but smiled at her with thankfulness.

Tina had to go back home before midnight so both women embraced each tightly, promising to write each other and visit as soon as they could. Newt, as the gentleman he was, offered himself to go with Tina. (Y/N) and the magizoologist shared a short hug as an expression of the affection they had harbour for each other in the last weeks, promising to keep in contact. Besides, Newt knew his brother wanted to have his own goodbye.

Theseus helped (Y/N) to clean up after the dinner in the muggle way, wanting to stretch the time they still had.

“If you… If I asked you again to join the Aurors, would you?” Theseus asked when they both were drinking a cup of tea while chatting in the living room, she titled her head smiling and he coughed “Miss (Y/S), would you kindly reconsider to occupy a position between our lines in the Auror department? It would be a pleasure to work along side such a brilliant mind”.

(Y/N) laughed letting her head fall backwards a bit, remembering all the times Theseus had asked the same in the past and making him smile brightly “you know my answer but… You’ve made me doubt for a moment. Made me see myself working with you”.

Theseus shook his head “if I have made that, I’m terribly proud of it”.

She smiled and nodded “you should, yeah. But you make it easy. I mean, I…” she blushed looking down, her shy side coming out again. He sighed and put his hand over hers calling her attention “I’m going to miss you”.

(Y/N) pressed her lips into a thin line and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her face against his shoulder. Theseus hugged her back immediately and kissed her hair, not an unknown act from him. She sighed and flexed her fingers against his back before pulling away slightly to look at his eyes “I’m going to miss you too”.

Both of them smiled but decided it was time to part ways and they went to the main door. She smiled sadly at him and crossed her arms over her chest, feeling lonely suddenly “promise to write. I think I’m going to go mad worrying about your role as leader of the Aurors”.

“Don’t worry too much, concentrate in teaching the future generations”.

“Don’t ask me not to worry about you, I hold you dear, you know?”.

Theseus smiled and she uncrossed her arms shaking her head while her cheeks turned red. He observed her and decided to take both her hands between his, making her look up at him shyly.

“I promise to inform you of my wellbeing, I hope to hear about how much the kids learn with you”.

(Y/N) laughed and squeezed his hands a bit. He smiled and kissed her forehead softly before pulling away completely, their hands losing their hold slowly.

“See you soon, (Y/N)” he smiled.

“See you soon, Theseus”.

He disappeared in the night while she sighed closing her door. She put her hand over her chest and closed her eyes hoping it would slow down.

The return to Hogwarts was marvellous, she had truly missed the school and the children so going back to the routine wasn’t that difficult. But to be totally truthful, she sometimes missed teaching the Aurors. Actually, she missed her time with her friends. And the one that was more even though her head told her not to admit what her heart desired.

Three weeks later, in which she exchanged letters with Tina, Newt and Theseus, she was in her class with Hufflepuffs and Slytherins when a silver figure flew by the window. One of the students opened it and the figure went to (Y/N) but, before it could say anything, it disappeared.

“Professor, what was that?” a boy asked with curiosity.

“That was a Patronus, McArdle. You will learn it in Defence against Dark Arts” she coughed before looking at the children of first year “I’m afraid the class has to end now. Go back to your common rooms, please. Not homework for tomorrow”.

(Y/N) alerted Dumbledore and the director with her own patronus before going outside of Hogwarts and apparated to the ministry, her heart telling her she would find Theseus there waiting for her.

[ootori-sibs]

Kyoya's second shot

Episode nineteen: Kyoya's sense of self!

Tw: assault, self harm, self hate

“Thanks for waiting for me, Kyoya.” Tamaki looked so tired, toying with his own hair nervously. He kept glancing down the hallway, clearly upset at having been yelled at. Kyoya couldn’t blame him, he hated being yelled at as well. Unfortunately Kyoya couldn’t comfort him as he wasn’t supposed to be aware, so he gave a soft half-smile and stepped forward.

“How did it go? Who was it?”

At that, Tamaki promptly burst into tears, clinging to Kyoya tightly, “she kissed me! She kissed me and then Haruhi yelled at me and- and…” he just started to wail at that point, clinging to Kyoya even tighter. Kyoya hated emotions and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with this, especially when the other hosts came out to see what all the noise was about.

“It’s alright, maybe she’s not really angry at you?” Kyoya remembered that when he was tiny and people still cared about him, how his older siblings would just pick him up whenever he was upset, not much else, just lift him up. Sadly, Kyoya wasn’t strong enough to pick Tamaki up, he was struggling to even hold him up as Tamaki cried.

The hosts helped Tamaki into the room, the twins asked what happened but Kyoya ignored them, cradling Tamaki to the best of his ability. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Tamaki…” to anyone hearing, he was whispering condolences to his friend, but for Kyoya, the statement was so much more. Kyoya felt incredibly guilty, that's why plan b had been a last resort, Kyoya hadn’t wanted to hurt Tamaki this much. He’d made Tamaki cry and he felt absolutely horrid and filthy about it.

After a while, Haruhi returned to the club room, looking furious. She sat down, clearly seething. The hosts swarmed her, asking what had happened, why was Tamaki crying? Haruhi told them that Sieka had kissed Tamaki, and that she had told Haruhi that he’d willingly gone to meet her. Tamaki couldn’t deny this, but honestly he wasn’t even trying, he was too busy crying. The hosts were clearly torn on who’s side to take, as Haruhi had clearly been wronged but Tamaki had clearly also been wronged, and he was the one crying about it.

“The letter wasn’t signed, he only went because he wanted to know who it was and why they’d write that kind of letter when the entire school is fully aware that he’s with you.” Kyoya glared daggers at her, knowing that it was a risky move, but he genuinely didn't care at this point, how dare she yell at Tamaki, "you're being selfish to think you were the only one hurt by that happening, look at him. Take a good look at that man and tell me you're angry at him, go ahead, we all know you don't love him so you have no right to scream at him for being assaulted!"

He'd stood up at that point, towering over Haruhi, who looked shocked and even guilty. The other hosts were shocked, but there were murmurs of agreement, then Honey spoke up, "Kyo-chan has a point… it really wasn't Tama-chan's fault."

Haruhi sighed, and took a step backwards, hand over her face, "god… I know, I know, I'm sor-"

"If you knew, then why would you scream at him?" Kyoya crossed his arms, moving his head slightly so the light stopped hiding his eyes and the other hosts could see the tears in his own eyes, "I'm getting to the end of my tether with you, Haruhi, if you hurt my friend again I swear-"

"Kyo-chan, calm down."

Kyoya tensed up, glancing back at him, then to Tamaki, the tears freeing themselves and spilling down his cheeks. He huffed and stormed out of the room, not wanting the others to see him cry. Once again his own guilt consumed him, he wondered if he was even allowed to feel guilty, wasn't he too evil for that at this point? He just went to sit in the library, cursing himself for leaving his laptop in the clubroom. He took out his notebook and a pen, entering a quick entry.

12:30 -I snapped at Haruhi, she’s angry at Tamaki, tamaki hasn’t done anything wrong. Sieka kissed him, it wasn’t like he wanted it. Although I suppose she’s supposed to get angry.

Kyoya wasn’t a fan of sketching with pen, but he didn’t have any pencils on hand. So he really had no choice, he didn’t even know what he was drawing, all he knew was that there were no construction lines in said drawing. It seemed to be a figure, surrounded by others, all eyes on the centre, a devil, an evil entity with no care for the pain behind him. Was this how Kyoya saw himself? Or was this just a thoughtless doodle? Even Kyoya didn't know.

Back in class, Tamaki quietly informed Kyoya that Haruhi wouldn't be joining them for the sleepover, or any of the after-session meetings for the week. Kyoya was fine with this, but expressed guilt for having snapped at her the way he did, glancing away from Tamaki as he did so. Tamaki seemed upset by this, putting a gentle hand on Kyoya's shoulder, "Kyoya… it's ok, I understand you're angry at her, you have every right to be. In fact, I'm happy that you're looking out for me, I don't know what I'd do without you."

He couldn't get those words out of his mind, what would Tamaki do without him… oh that was wonderful, to think Tamaki needed him, to think Tamaki appreciated him… it made Kyoya's heart swell. He simply adored the idea of Tamaki needing him, of course Tamaki needed him; who else was going to protect him from Haruhi? At first, Kyoya had thought he was the villain, he was willing to be the villain and just go full throttle into it… but as things progressed, he began to think that the villain was actually Haruhi. She didn't love Tamaki, she yelled at him, she was willing to brag about not loving him… she was so cruel, poor Tamaki didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

It was ok though, Kyoya would protect him. Kyoya wasn't willing to let his darling best friend get hurt, crush or no crush. The fact that Tamaki recognised and approved of Kyoya's defence of him, it made Kyoya so very very happy. He carried his newfound pride really well, standing up a little straighter and carrying himself better. The difference was visible but no one asked about it, probably because they were too scared. It had been a while since Kyoya seemed so together.

The rest of the day went by wonderfully, with nothing going wrong. Kyoya was quite happy, although the other hosts seemed a little hung up about the day's events. Whilst hosting, Haruhi kept glancing towards Tamaki, but Tamaki didn't even glance back at her, and that was the best feeling for Kyoya, he was finally getting his way. Haruhi was finally getting what she deserved, she should never have hurt Tamaki like that. It was her own fault.

By the end of the day, Tamaki was still being loud and excitable, but there was an underlying level of pain there. Kyoya did his best to keep Tamaki's mind away from Haruhi, even going so far as to suggest that Tamaki come over to his place for a little while. Obviously Tamaki was excited at the idea, and they were very quickly sitting in the limo, with Tamaki babbling on about all the fun things they could do once they got there. Kyoya didn't say much, just stared at him from behind his glasses, enjoying the sound of Tamaki's voice.

He couldn't help but to wonder how it was for Sieka, how did it feel to kiss Tamaki? Kyoya knew Tamaki wore lipgloss, he couldn't remember what flavour Tamaki had said it was though, so he wasn't sure how it would taste but he knew it would be good. Tamaki hadn't wanted to kiss Sieka, so he likely didn't cooperate with her, but Kyoya couldn't help but imagine how amazing a kiss that was precipitated would be, the way Tamaki moved would be felt through every breath, life and love flourishing on his tongue as the world melted away… just the idea was enough to drive Kyoya mad.

That evening was wonderful, they listened to music and did homework together. Kyoya found it easier to bring himself to do things when Tamaki was there, he wasn't sure if it was the aura of energy or the pressure to look good in front of his crush. The reason didn't really matter, but the main point was that Kyoya was enjoying spending some time with Tamaki. After around two hours, or maybe an hour and a half, Tamaki spoke up with something that caught Kyoya off guard.

"Have you been hurting yourself lately?"

Oh, Kyoya hadn't been expecting that. He suddenly felt unsure, had he? He struggled to recall, the entirety of last week had been a blur for him really, so he wasn't sure what was what. “Well my bodyguards took my razors so…” that was before getting grounded wasn’t it? For some reason Kyoya knew he remembered sitting on the bathroom floor at some point that week and- “the scissors,” his words took the both of them off-guard, Tamaki glanced up from where he had been gazing at the cup of tea in his hands.

“What?”

“I took the twins' fabric shears... “ Kyoya paused for a moment, realising that his victory of memory was not going to be as much of a victory in Tamaki’s eyes, and that he’d just confessed to more self harm. “I…” the weight of what he’d just told the blonde dawned on him and he remembered how he’d promised to never let Tamaki see him like that again, “I’m sorry…”

He hadn’t been expecting to be sweeped up in a big hug and given small kisses on the top of his head, Tamaki had shouted something in french and continued to murmur french words to him softly as Kyoya just sat there in his arms. It was wonderful and though Kyoya was shaking he still felt tingles on his skin every time it brushed against Tamaki’s own. Only when the air was still and Kyoya had stopped crying- he had been crying? Only when there was silence did Tamaki speak words that Kyoya understood, pressing their foreheads together, “never apologize for that, ok? It wasn’t me you hurt, I’m just upset because I care about you and don’t want to see you hurt. The person you’re hurting is yourself, but I think that person doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. You're hurting my best friend, Kyoya, can you promise me you’ll stop hurting my best friend? I know you’re in pain, I know that’s why you caused more, and I’m trying to help you, okay? But I can’t help if you don’t let me, please tell me if there's something I can do to make you feel better, is there?”

Kyoya didn’t want to move, making the barest little nod possible, but Tamaki understood and smiled. He didn’t want to speak as he spoke, hearing his voice and how pained and weak he sounded, it was awful… “can you stay with me tonight..? I don't want to be alone…"

Surprisingly, Tamaki agreed, and he even set up a blanket and pillow fort for them to sit in. Kyoya could be distracted from his all consuming guilt for a moment or two when Tamaki pulled him in close and wrapped a blanket around the both of them, he was so warm… it was hard to think in a situation like that. With every slow breath and chuckle that made Tamaki's chest shift just a little, with every little blue or gold sparkle in his violet eyes that seemed like the stars in the sky, with every little hum that left his lips and floated in the air giving off warmth, Kyoya fell just a little more in love.

Love was a funny thing; Kyoya had always thought it was stupid, just a chemical reaction, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was actually a very romantic person. There was nothing Kyoya wanted more than to simply be help by someone who saw him, someone who understood who he was and who he wanted to be. That was what made this so much worse, the fact that Kyoya was now a horrible person made him scared for Tamaki to see him for what he was. He would never be seen, he could never be loved… not like this.

The thing that brought Kyoya hope, however, was the fact that Tamaki had always been one to look through a person, to see the person they wanted to be. He'd always encouraged Kyoya to be the person Kyoya had always dreamed to be, but now that dream was unclear; constantly shifting and changing, Kyoya didn’t know who he wanted to be anymore, it was so strained and fuzzy for him. The idea of the true self was slipping from his grasp as he made each step towards what he wanted, narrowly avoiding his doom at the hands of his own psyche. It was beginning to grow too much for even him to handle, but he didn’t trust himself to even try to do anything about it, what if he hurt people more?

A song, a lullaby in a tongue too foreign for Kyoya to understand, but familiar enough for him to name it. Tamaki ran his fingers through the villain’s hair, grounding Kyoya as he let the words wrap like a blanket. He was singing softly, Kyoya couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard tamaki sing- had he ever? The sound was wonderful, something to make him relax. Kyoya was a beast in that moment, an animal, he didn't trust himself to speak nor move, only laying, shivering in the blonde’s arms. Kyoya thought back to how he’d hurt everything, the people he’d cared for. He silently prayed for forgiveness, not to any god- Kyoya wasn’t a man of faith, but he had faith in his friends, he hoped when the truth came undone, they’d see through his actions to see who he was inside.

He made a promise, to them and to himself; there would be no pain caused nor received all week, they all deserved a reprieve. Kyoya knew he had a large amount of control over the pain his friends were experiencing, but as he caught a glimpse of the sadness in Tamaki’s eyes, he prayed Haruhi would allow them all to rest.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

Words: 4,734

Series’ Masterlist

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Chapter Nine: More Bad News.

Mel had to stay in her bedroom because of the dreadful headache she was suffering. 

The back of her hand was burning, and she could see the skin actually starting to get a mark. 

She wanted to see Ron's try out but she didn't want to fall unconscious in front of everyone. The girl rolled over on her bed, holding her hand and trying to ground herself, but her mind was fixed on Harry and his awful temper. It was true that he didn't deserve the punishment, but she didn't deserve to feel it either!

She went back to the common room, her head feeling heavy. Ron immediately walked up to her and handed her a butterbeer, he was beaming.

"I got in!" Ron did something he'd never done before and hugged her. "I'm on the team!"

"Blimey, Ronnie!" She grinned. "A Prefect and Gryffindor's keeper? You'll be getting dates in no time!"

"Lady!" Fred spoke up. "You knew about this?"

"I helped him train!" She said. "He's good isn't he?"

"He's all right," George shrugged.

"Let's hope his massive nose doesn't get it the way..." Fred smirked.

"Oh, shut up," Mel rolled her eyes.

"Come and make me," He taunted.

Luckily for her, Harry walked in right at that moment, and Ron dragged her with him to meet the boy.

"Harry, I did it, I'm in, I'm Keeper!"

"What? Oh — brilliant!"

"Have a butterbeer. I can't believe it — where's Hermione gone?"

"She's there," said Fred.

Hermione was sleeping soundly on one of the chairs.

"Well, she said she was pleased when I told her..." said Ron.

"Let her sleep..." said George, and in no time a bunch of first years surrounded him and his twin.

"Come here, Ron, and see if Oliver's old robes fit you," said Katie Bell. "We can take off his name and put yours on instead..."

Angelina walked up to Harry and her.

"Sorry I was a bit short with you earlier, Potter. It's stressful, this managing lark, you know, I'm starting to think I was a bit hard on Wood sometimes... Look, I know he's your best mate, but he's not fabulous," She made a vague movement towards Ron. "I think with a bit of training he'll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I'm banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper's a real whiner, he's always moaning about something or other, and Vicky's involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she'd put Charms first. Anyway, we're having a practice session at two o'clock tomorrow, so just make sure you're there this time. And do me a favour and help Ron as much as you can, okay?"

Harry nodded and then he turned, his gaze fixed on her.

"You're... you're bleeding."

"Huh?" Mel frowned.

Harry reached for her hand and Mel stepped back.

"I'm fine," She grumbled, walking to where Hermione was sleeping.

"It's happening again, isn't it?" Harry insisted.

"It never stopped," Mel scoffed. "Turning your back on me did nothing."

"You... you were supposed to be safe..."

She looked at him, his voice came out so utterly defeated that she had to take a moment to answer.

"You really thought it'd work?" Mel asked, this time softer. "What am I supposed to say? That I'm sorry? 'Hey, at least you tried!'– I told you..." Her shoulders fell, she had no energy to be angry. "Harry, I told you... What d'you want me to say?"

He stared at her, speechless and disappointed.

"Oh, guys, it's you..." Hermione stirred up in her place. "Good about Ron, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." She responded without breaking eye contact with Harry. "Yeah... I'm really happy for him."

"I'm just so — so — so tired. I was up until one o'clock making more hats. They're disappearing like mad!"

"You and those hats," Mel sighed, finally looking down at her friend.

"Listen," The boy sat in front of them. "Dumbledore said we should stick together, right? All right– I'll tell you what happened– I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm– and it... it stung! It reminded me of... you know..."

Hermione started slowly.

"You're worried that You-Know-Who's controlling her like he controlled Quirrell?"

"Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?"

"I mean... the Order believes it's very likely Voldemort has a few spies there..." Mel admitted.

"I suppose so," said Hermione. "But I don't think he can be possessing her the way he possessed Quirrell, I mean, he's properly alive again now, isn't he, he's got his own body, he wouldn't need to share someone else's. He could have her under the Imperius Curse, I suppose... But last year your scar hurt when nobody was touching you and didn't Dumbledore say it had to do with what You-Know-Who was feeling at the time? I mean, maybe this hasn't got anything to do with Umbridge at all, maybe it's just coincidence it happened while you were with her?"

"She's evil," said Harry glancing at Mel's hand. "Twisted."

"She's horrible, yes, but... Harry, I think you ought to tell Dumbledore your scar hurt."

"I'm not bothering him with this. Like you just said, it's not a big deal. It's been hurting on and off all summer — it was just a bit worse tonight, that's all —"

"Harry, I'm sure Dumbledore would want to be bothered by this —"

"Yeah, that's the only bit of me Dumbledore cares about, isn't it, my scar?"

"Don't say that, it's not true!"

"Mel, do you think he'll care?" He asked her, and in his voice, she could tell he was asking for real advice.

"I reckon he'll say it's normal now that Voldemort's alive," She sighed after a bit of pondering. "Doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, though. As I said, he asked me to help you."

"I think I'll write and tell Sirius about it, see what he thinks —"

"Harry, you can't put something like that in a letter! Don't you remember, Moody told us to be careful what we put in writing! We just can't guarantee owls aren't being intercepted anymore!"

"All right, all right, I won't tell him, then!" said Harry getting up. "I'm going to bed. Tell Ron for me, will you?"

"Oh no! if you're going that means I can go without being rude too, I'm absolutely exhausted and I want to make some more hats tomorrow. Listen, you can help me if you like, it's quite fun, I'm getting better, I can do patterns and bobbles and all sorts of things now."

"Er... no, I don't think I will, thanks. Er — not tomorrow. I've got loads of homework to do... why don't you ask Mel? I still have the hat she gave me, she was getting quite good..."

"Nope, sorry," Mel got up and made her way over to the twins and Ron. "Too busy, got loads to do..."

She felt something warming up on her pocket and pulled it out. She smiled down at the watch on her hand, a message glowing on it.

'Sunday, 5 pm'

"Anything interesting?"

"No, just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married... Wait a moment– Oh no... Sirius!"

Mel dropped her fork.

"What now?"

"What's happened?" Harry took the paper so violently it ripped in half.

"'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer... blah blah blah... is currently hiding in London!"

"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Harry. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform..."

"What? You didn't say —"

"Oh no– if they saw him in the platform that means they saw him with my mother!" Mel realized in horror.

"...'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous... killed thirteen people... broke out of Azkaban...' the usual rubbish– Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all. Dumbledore did warn him not to."

"Poor Snuffles, he'll go crazy..."

"Hey! Look at this!" Harry gave a start.

"I've got all the robes I want," said Ron, glancing to what Harry was showing him.

"No, look... this little piece here..."

TRESPASS AT MINISTRY

Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watch- wizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defence, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.

"Sturgis Podmore? but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"

"Ron, shh!"

"Six months in Azkaban! Just for trying to get through a door!" Harry exclaimed.

"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door — what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?"

"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?"

"Wait a moment... Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember? Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"

"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught."

"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed. "No — listen! The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!"

"Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true," Hermione shook her head. "Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on Self-Fertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch..."

"We've got Quidditch Ron and I," Harry hurried to say.

"You can come with me, 'Mione," Mel told her. "I'm going to meet Erick in the library, anyway..."

But as soon as she said it she wanted to take it back. The idea didn't feel as appealing as going alone. She decided to bail on it and find another day to meet him in private.

"Hang on– it just came to me– I... I have to do something," She got up, picking up her bag. "Apologize to Erick for me, won't you? Tell him I'll meet him next week..."

"Oh," Hermione's smiled faltered a bit. "All right, I have a few questions about charms, maybe he knows..."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked as she joined them.

"Don't ask, keep walking," She said. "I don't feel like studying, that's all."

"If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you're getting tired of your study sessions..."

"I would never," Mel frowned. "I know what you're trying to suggest, but you're wrong. Now shut up and keep going."

Harry nodded silently, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"Wish I had your dedication," Ron told her. "The schoolwork isn't killing you. I mean, we can do it tonight and we've got tomorrow. Hermione's the one that gets too worked up about work, that's her problem... D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?"

"Yeah, I do. Still, this is important too, we've got to practice if we want to stay on the Quidditch team..."

"Yeah, that's right– And we have got plenty of time to do it all..."

"And you've got me– not that I'm going to give you the answers just like that, but you know, I'm clever and all..." Mel shrugged.

"Well..." Harry looked at her when they reached the dressing room. "See you in a minute..."

Mel nodded shortly before walking to the stands. What was happening to her? She didn't know how to act around anyone anymore. Didn't feel like herself, always bottling up every emotion...

She spotted Malfoy and his team waiting to see the newest Gryffindor addition. Ron had a very thin ego and they couldn't afford to lose him on the very first day.

"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy called as the Gryffindor lot walked out of the dressing room. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a mouldy old log like that?"

"Don't get involved..." Mel mumbled under her breath.

"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" Pansy Parkinson yelled. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?"

The Slytherins hadn't noticed her since she was a few seats behind them, and she didn't want them to, they were bound to tease her and she needed to stay out of trouble.

On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.

"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.

"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!"

Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie.

"Okay, maybe..." Mel started, "maybe I'll get involved just a little..."

The lot was now singing 'Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers,' and many things happened at once: First, directly from her palm, a bunch of red sparks burst and surrounded the Slytherins with an explosion. They covered their faces and jumped out of their seats, trying to put them down. Mel gasped and covered her mouth in shock, she hadn't intended to do that, but there was nothing she could do now.

Back in the Quidditch field, Katie was bleeding profusely, and Angelina stopped the practice to take her to the infirmary. Pansy turned around and spotted Mel, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"You!"

She smiled as innocently as possible. "What's wrong?"

Pansy pulled out her wand and Mel stood up, her smile fading.

"Do it– See what happens, dear prefect, once the teachers find out you attacked an unarmed student."

"You attacked first," She snarled, the rest of her classmates had scattered away, though the firecrackers followed them around.

"Did I?" Mel leaned closer and jumped over the seats that kept them apart, one row after the other. When she was finally in front of her, she added, "Prove it."

No one knew she could do wandless magic. Not to mention that when Pansy asked her to empty her pockets –'prefect orders,' she'd sneered– there was nothing but a pocket watch.

Far from feeling ashamed, a wave of power hit her. No one had to know, and as long as she kept a low profile and a sweet attitude, she could make Pansy and Malfoy's lives an actual hell.

The twins approached the next day when they found out she was the only one near enough the Slytherins to set them on fire. Nothing bad happened to them, but it sure scared them off, and they weren't planning on going back to the training sessions any time soon.

Mel liked the twins' praising and she spent the rest of the day with them, leaving Ron and Harry to do their homework alone.

As a consequence of this, many students approached her. Now that she wasn't around Harry so much they seemed to think she had more common sense than expected. Not that she was talking rubbish about Harry, but she was definitely more likeable when she wasn't attacking others in order to defend him. That without mentioning she was far less loud and dramatic than years prior.

She went back to the common room that night with a bunch of new friends, even better, friends from different houses. Ron didn't like that, he was upset because she hadn't been there to help him as she'd promised. His anger only got worse when he received a letter from his older brother.

"Well," Harry said jokingly once they finished reading it, "if you want to — er — what is it? Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."

"Give it back," He snatched the letter. "He is —the world's biggest git." Ron ripped the letter into small pieces and threw them in the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finished sometime before dawn..."

"I wonder what rubbish is the Daily Prophet writing now," Mel said absently.

"Oh, give them here," Hermione said abruptly, taking the boy's homework.

"What?"

"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them."

"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver, what can I — ?"

"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,'– Where are you going, Mel? You promised you'd help them too. Sit down."

Mel groaned, but she took Harry's paper and started to review it.

"Thanks a million, girls," said Harry, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah, shut up," Mel grumbled. "Don't interrupt me or I'll mess it up."

"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met, and if I'm ever rude to you again —"

"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione.

"Harry, you really have to pay attention to the things you... Harry?" Mel looked at the boy, who was now crouching next to the fireplace.

"Er — Harry?" said Ron. "Why are you down there?"

"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire."

"What?" Mel dropped to her knees as well, pushing the essay aside.

"Sirius's head? You mean like when he wanted to talk to you during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — Sirius!" Hermione squealed.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," The man grinned. "I've been checking every hour."

"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry laughed.

"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."

"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione in horror.

"Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry, I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."

"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —"

"You sound like Molly– This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable."

"You impulsive piece of– You... you..." Mel stammered.

"All that you're wishing to call me, Emily has called me twice already this week," He shook his head. "It's fine, I swear, I just wanted to reply to Harry's letter."

"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione.

"I forgot! Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"

"No, it was very good," said the man with a proud smile. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar. Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"

"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion, so maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention."

"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often."

"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?"

"I doubt it. I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"

"She's foul enough to be one..."

"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."

"Does Lupin know her?"

"No, but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

"She called him a half-breed during class! I had to bite my tongue to not yell at her!" Mel scolded.

"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione.

"Scared of them, I expect. Apparently, she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —"

"Sirius!" Hermione said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"

"So what are Umbridge's lessons like? Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"

"No, she's not letting us use magic at all!"

"All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.

"Ah, well, that figures. Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

"Trained in combat? What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic. Mel leading the group, of course."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with. Certainly, Mel's good enough to lead the class but to lead an army? That's crazy!"

"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione in outrage.

"Yep. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge."

Mel remembered her talk with Dumbledore. In a way, he was training her as if she was going to lead an army, but the mere idea was crazy! He'd said it himself, Mel wasn't supposed to take his place, he just wanted her to be better.

"D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"

"I don't know, I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher, Emily and me here..."

"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?"

"Ah... well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him– But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you four get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."

"But if he was supposed to be back by now..." said Hermione.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay. Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid, it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay. When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"

"NO!" They said altogether.

"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously.

"Oh that," Sirius, grinned, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"

"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"

"All right, all right, I've got the point! Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"

"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry.

"...You're less like your father than I thought," he said coldly. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."

"That's not fair, Sirius, now you're in danger—" Mel started, but he ignored her.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Emily -or maybe Kreacher, dunno- coming down the stairs. I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"

"Oh, get out," Mel huffed.

Sirius vanished with a pop, and Mel carefully turned to Harry.

"Don't listen to him, Glas–" She stopped before they nickname could fully leave her mouth. "Harry. He's just throwing a tantrum."

Harry let out a heavy sigh, stood up and grabbed his essay.

"Thanks for the help. I... I appreciate it."

He went to bed after that.

'MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER "HIGH INQUISITOR"'

Mel visibly deflated on her seat, wondering if this was just another nightmare.

"So now we know how we ended up with Umbridge! Fudge passed this 'Educational Decree' and forced her on us! And now he's given her the power to inspect other teachers! I can't believe this. It's outrageous..." Hermione started.

"I know it is," growled Harry.

"Oh, I can't wait to see McGonagall inspected," Ron said happily. "Umbridge won't know what's hit her."

"I..." Mel shook her head. "I don't even know what to say..."

"That must be a first," said Hermione, "we'd better get going if she's inspecting Binns's class we don't want to be late..."

Umbridge did not inspect any of their morning classes, and Mel was surprised to see an E on her potions essay, graded as if it were her actual O.W.L. examination, which did nothing but to boost her ego even more than her little trick with the fireworks. Hermione was still talking about it with their friends during lunch.

"So top grade's O for 'Outstanding,'" she was saying, "and then there's A —"

"No, E– E for 'Exceeds Expectations.' And I've always thought Fred and I should've got E in everything because we exceeded expectations just by turning up for the exams."

"So after E, it's A for 'Acceptable,' and that's the last pass grade, isn't it?"

"Yep," said Fred.

"Then you get P for 'Poor' and D for 'Dreadful.' "

"And then T," George reminded Ron.

"T?" asked Hermione. "Even lower than a D? What on earth does that stand for?"

" 'Troll,' " said George.

"You lot had an inspected lesson yet?" Fred asked once everyone stopped laughing.

"No," said Hermione with interest, "have you?"

"Just now, before lunch," said George. "Charms."

"What was it like?"

"Not that bad. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. You know what Flitwick's like, he treated her like a guest, didn't seem to bother him at all. She didn't say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good, that was it."

"I can't see old Flitwick getting marked down," said George, "he usually gets everyone through their exams all right."

"Who've you got this afternoon?" Fred asked.

"Trelawney —"

"A T if ever I saw one —"

"— and Umbridge herself."

"Well, be a good boy and keep your temper with Umbridge today. Angelina'll do her nut if you miss any more Quidditch practices."

"Don't worry about that," Harry gave her a sort of sour look. "Mel will take care of that."

The girl barely looked up from her plate to glare at him, that particular morning she didn't feel like fighting, not after the way Sirius had talked to him.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @sarcasticallywitty15​

[emsvegetables]

“Hello!!! I'm loving your fics a lot!! Could I have Kuroo from the prompt list with #32 "How are you still standin?" Thank you so much!!“

ofc anon!!!! thanks for requesting heh!!!!

In your defence, it’s not your fault.

It really isn’t.

It’s a jumble of things that conspire against you that caused you to be what you became now.

First, there was the fact that your hairdryer broke down on you when you came out of the shower, your hair soaking wet and wrapped up in a towel.

Then, there was the other fact that you still had a shit ton of homework to complete by the next day, and it was sitting prettily on your table, just waiting for it to be touched.

Okay. Two things that you had to deal with. Not a big deal, right? Your hair could dry on it’s own, right? You just needed to get started on your homework, right?

So you made a big mug of coffee for yourself, and settled into the chair by your study table, ready to go through the stack that was still sitting prettily on your table, your towel in the laundry basket, your hair let down to air dry.

So far so good.

But then, you decide to stand up to stretch, and just walk around your room and sip at your coffee.

And everything goes to hell.

You trip over AIR, which makes you even more pissed of about the situation that you found yourself in, and promptly spilled the coffee onto your comforter and duvet.

So you have to throw those in the washing machine, and you spend an hour scrubbing away the stains from the crisp white linen sheets, and then you suddenly realise that you’ve not finished with your homework, and you rush back to the pile in your room to complete it.

When you’re finally done with your homework, it’s well past midnight, and you’re terribly and horribly tired, the coffee already flushed out of your system, and so you crawl into bed, ready to have a good night’s sleep under your warm covers.

That’s when you realise, your warm covers are still washing in the washing machine, and you’re way too comfortable to stand up to get another set, so you close your eyes and let yourself drift off into a deep slumber.

Then your alarm clock rings, and you climb out of bed with a fatigue that you know is from staying up to finish that stupid stack of useless worksheets assigned by a horrible teacher, shivering a little, which you suspect is because you slept without covers last night, and you get ready for school.

-

Kuroo knows that there’s something up with you when he spots your lethargic figure slinking up towards him at the bus stop where the both of you meet everyday.

“Hey, love, you okay?”

His concerned tone pierces through your hazy thoughts, and you manage a smile at him.

“Perfectly fine!” you shift the books that you’re holding up with both hands to your right arm to shove a thumbs up at Kuroo.

Kuroo immediately reaches out to lift the books out from your hands and flinches when he makes contact with your cold fingertips.

“Shit! Do you have ice cubes up your hands or are you part reptile?”

You roll your eyes at Kuroo’s dramatics, and you press your fingers gingerly to your cheeks.

“Just cold. Mornings are always like that, right?”

You beam a thankful smile at him when he takes off his jacket and drapes it around you, and you wrap yourself in its warmth.

-

His suspicions are heightened when he watches you out of the corner of his eye the entire morning, watching you blink slowly when the teacher writes something on the board, and your hand moving slowly across your notebook.

That’s weird. You always copied down notes quickly.

Then he watches you droop slowly forward, and soon enough, you’re resting on your desk, your eyes shut, your notes forgotten.

He laughs silently when he sees a little drool roll down your chin, but snaps his attention towards the front because he needs to take down notes to share with you later.

He comes to find you during the break to tease you about how tired you were, and wraps and arm around your waist to pull you towards him while you’re talking to Yaku, and pecks a quick kiss on your forehead, but recoils when he feels how hot it is.

“Jesus! You’re hot!”

Yaku groans,” stop being such a simp, Kuroo.”

Kuroo furrows his eyebrows, and reaches out his hand to place it on your forehead, and his eyes narrow when his hand feels the exact heat that he felt when his lips touched your forehead.

“Are you having a fever?” his eyes are boring into yours, and he reaches one of his hands into Yaku’s bag, which he knows has a digital thermometer stored in one of its zippers which could take your temperature.

Yaku, meanwhile, is too busy staring at you concernedly to scold Kuroo for rifling through his bag.

“39.7,” Kuroo frowns, when he glances at the thermometer after using in to scan your temperature,” love, how’re you still standing?!”

He instantly scoops you up and carries you to the nurse’s office, nodding a head at Yaku when he says that he’ll cover for the both of you.

-

The nurse’s office is empty, which isn’t a big surprise. Their nurse was never there.

He places you gently onto one of the beds, and pries through the cupboards to find a fever cooling pad and some medicine.

After he pets the cooling pad onto your forehead softly, and spoon-feeds you the medicine, he’s lacing his arms with yours, and you see his eyes narrow as they stare into yours.

Which brings you to where you were now.

“So, (Y/N), what’s this i hear about you not taking care of yourself?”

His voice is angry, but his eyes are concerned.

You bite your lip when you meet his eyes once more,” sorry.”

“Did you not get enough sleep yesterday?”

“What time did you sleep?”

“Did you eat yesterday?”

Kuroo’s turned into mother-hen mode, and he fires the questions at you, all the while rubbing small, comforting circles into your hands with his thumb.

You cringe when you realise that you had to admit what you did last night to Kuroo, who was still staring expectantly at you.

“I slept at 3am yesterday,” you tense when you hear a sharp intake of breath,” i might have spilled coffee onto my covers? And i threw it in the washing machine to wash them. And...”

“And?” Kuroo’s eyes are still narrowed as he waits for your final blow.

“I might have decided to sleep without covers on with my hair still a little wet because my hairdryer broke and i was too lazy to get up and change my sheets,” you mumble quickly, praying that Kuroo didn’t hear what you just said.

You tense again when Kuroo sighs, and look at him warily when he brings his hand up to ruffle your hair.

“What did i say about taking care of yourself, (Y/N)?”

You frown when you see his disappointed look.

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head, before smirking at you.

“Guess i get to come over and take care of you tonight,” he’s grinning widely as he winks at you.

You don’t even have the energy to bring your hand up to hit him.

ahhh i’m so sorry i MIGHT have gotten a little too carried away while writing this short one-shot hahahahahahahah IM SORRY ANON I HOPE YOU LIKE IT THIS WAS THE FIRST THING THAT CAME TO MY MIND WITH THIS PROMPT!!!!

[shhhlikeme]

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #6

———————————

A/N: 1 word, 5 letters: D R A M A

Pls peep the vote at the end! I know there are not very many of you who read this so I want to make it enjoyable for y’all 🥰 it’s sooo important to me that I write what makes me happy

OUTTAKE 5 WAS POSTED HOURS BEFORE THIS ONE SO CHECK IT !

‼️THIS IS THE 10TH PART IN A SERIES READ THE OTHER PARTS BEFORE THIS ONE: ‼️

TABLE OF CONTENTS

———————————

Hours After You Noticed Aone For The First Time And Had Lunch Together! 🤫🥩

With a very discreet bounce in his step, Aone Takanobu walked into the Date Tech boys volleyball team changeroom after exchanging numbers with you after school.

“AONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Upon entrance, the entire team jumped him, tackling him to the ground while shouting praise and acclamations of joy loudly!

Aone was actually grinning, shoving the boys off of him to pretend that he was annoyed.

But anyone could tell that this mountain man was on cloud 9!!!!

Futakuchi reached out his hand to help Aone up and the mountain man took it. They shared a look that only Aone knew meant his best friend was happy for him. Proud of him.

Actually, Kenji’s look was one of happiness and pride, yes, but it was also full of nerves for his friend’s potential heartbreak. But Aone was too overjoyed inside to pick up on that.

“So Y/N finally knows your name!” Koganegawa yelled as he jumped on Aone’s back.

Shrugging the big boned setter off, Aone blushed. He has never been happier in his entire life and it was kind of embarrassing that the whole team knew why that was.

“I’m very happy.” Aone nodded at his team who smiled brilliantly back at him. “But please, do not get your hopes up. I’m trying with everything in me not to get mine up, in case Y/N decides she doesn’t like me. She and I are just going to start talking for now. And for that I am grateful.” Stomach in knots, Aone bowed to his team in thanks for all the encouragement and praise.

“But Aone-senpai, Y/N asked you to lunch! We all watched you guys, she looked ecstatic talking to you and she even glared at these other girls in the hallway because they were checking you out!”

Aone’s heart dropped. “She did?”

Kenji smiled, patting him on the back. “Saw it with my own eyes too, big guy.”

Aone felt like he was so happy he could sing, but he knew how odd that would look coming from such a big and serious guy like himself.

“Oh. Well... that’s quite nice.”

What a turn of events! This morning, Aone was going through another day with a heavy heart because the love of his life would never like him back. Then, it only took him defending you against the class snitch for everything to change......

✏️ Earlier That Day ✏️

Aone was sitting in class like any other day, doing his work, listening to the teacher intermittently and your daily conversation with your friends. The teacher excused himself to run a club errand for 20 minutes, trusting the class to stay quiet and complete their homework. Like most typical high school classes, the volume raised as soon as the teacher stepped out. Aone glanced over at your talkative self for the 15th time that period and noticed how much you were glowing because your team had returned last night placing second at Regionals. You looked radiant, absolutely stunning with your brighter smile and louder angelic laugh.

In Mountain Man’s daydream, he imagined telling you that you looked beautiful today followed by a congratulations for placing second. You would rush over to him and kiss him in thanks then start ripping his clothes off so that you could—

“Y/N! I am sick and tired of you and the rest of the popular kids not listening to the teachers instructions! What part of ‘stay quiet’ is hard to understand in that pea brain of yours!?!??!”

To Aone’s left, sitting in his row, he looked for the yelling voice. It was who everyone (except Aone) called ‘the class snitch’ and school mascot: Tsume Lian.

Also known as Y/N’s arch nemesis.

Seating looks like:

Y/N glared at him.

“Tsume, no one was talking to you.”

“I know that, dork!” He fumed. “BECAUSE WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE TALKING! I’m trying to do my homework as asked, and you and the popular crowd just ignore everything the teacher says and it’s disgusting! I’m tired of it! I want you expelled!”

Aone noticed Y/N’s startled expression at the prospect of being expelled, because he knew from overhearing your conversations that your parents were this close to sending you to Seijoh to get your grades up and live on campus there. According to your gossip last week, if you failed another class or got another complaint from a teacher then your parents would under no circumstances allow you to cheer again.

Aone clenched his fists tightly around his pencil because he couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Motomu or Kindaichi drooling over you at his enemy school.

One of Y/N’s friends who Aone knew as Kusa, spoke up in defence of Y/N. “Oh shut it, Tsume. Us chatting isn’t bothering anyone else.”

“I don’t care! You cheerleaders think you can do anything you want and that’s that!! YOU WILL face repercussions if I can help it!”

Kusa feigned fear. She turned her entire body toward him in her seat, meaning business. A bitch had time today.

The entire class gave this drama all of their undivided attention when they witnessed that move, ready for the show like:

“Oh yeah?! And why are you just snapping about this now, huh? Why not before?” Kusa snapped. You put a hand on your friends arm, silently trying to tell her he isn’t worth her energy.

“Because I realized just how selfish, inconsiderate, and deplorable you good-looking, popular women are! You don’t deserve to be bowed down to like I thought! You should be treated like everybody else!”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N interjected. “No one treats us like that. Even if they did, we don’t ask them to nor do we ask to be popular and we especially don’t ask for special treatment, Lian. Why are you so mad??? Get your life.”

COLLECT HIMMMMMM 👏🏾👏🏾

Aone smirked to himself. In all his years of crushing on you he has never seen you look so fierce and he too put his pencil down to enjoy what was a different and fiery side of his crush. It made him want to fuck the shit out of you, you looked so sexy. Aone found he liked every side of you.

“I did have a life. I was a mascot and—“

“—And you were spending too much time looking up our SKIRTS instead of hyping up a CROWD, making the first years uncomfortable and borderline stalking Y/N so badly she asked that we terminate you! You are lucky she kept that to herself for so long! 🤬 And THAT’S why you’re mad!”

The class collectively gasped. Some whipped their phones out to snapchat the gossip. Aone widened his eyes in silence, since he was in between, he was looking back and forth at the fight like a tennis match.

Hahahaha 🎾 

Live footage of the classes reaction when Kusa READ TSUME FOR FILTH:

Tsume went red with anger, but anyone could tell that he was guilty guilty guilty !!!!

“When the teacher returns, I’m telling him and the principal the truth that you Y/N are a bully and you constantly disrupt the class! Who do you think they’re going to believe?! Their best student? Or their worst?! Say hi to AobaJohsai summer school for me!”

You frowned, scared out of your mind because Lian was right. The teacher’s believed everything he had to say and ever since you exposed him for sending you creepy messages and inappropriate pictures from a fake account that you knew was his, the class snitch has had it out for you. Even if the cheerleaders had your back, your parents would just think they are trying to protect you and never believe it! Tsume Lian was smart and dead set on planning your demise. It was unfair. You wanted to cry. Kusa whispered something to you in encouragement but you could feel the back of your eyes warming due to impending tears.

Meanwhile, with Mountain Man - Today was a day of firsts in his ‘Crushing on Y/N’ book. It was the first time he’s ever seen you glowing because of the Regional results, it was the first time he’s ever seen you so sassy, and now............. Aone notes that today is also the first time he’s ever seen you on the verge of tears before.

Unlike your glowing and your sassiness, Aone decided that he hated the last first more than anything in the world.

It consumed his emotions, how badly he didn’t want to see you cry.

“You really are slimy, Tsume. Wait until Katana hears this.” Kusa spat, rubbing her hand up and down Y/N’s back to soothe you as you willed your tears not to fall.

Seeing you so sad, Aone’s heart clenched.

He knew what it was like to be hurting but he never ever wanted that for you—not ever.

“Hey Y/N-chan, why don’t you show me that video your mom got of our reaction to us placing second yesterday?? I’d love to see it.” Kusa has accurately distracted you because she texted Katana what was happening and Katana knew just what to do until she got there.

You smiled, thinking about the overwhelming happiness from yesterday when your team placed second. You whipped out your phone and showed Kusa, smiling and giggling in a matter of seconds as it played.

Aone was glad you seemed good.

He turned to look at Tsume, who seemed to be raging inside. Shooting daggers at the two cheerleaders because they weren’t crumbling under his threats. They were laughing, in fact. Ignoring him as if he didn’t matter. Aone could tell Tsume was a ticking time bomb with how mad he was. His anger toward you looked severely unhealthy.

You let out a rather amusing laugh with Kusa as you two pointed to your screen and Aone’s heart skipped a beat because he loved that laugh so much. God, he is so fucking whipped.

When you laughed like that though, it sent perverted-snitch Tsume over the edge, bubbling over in anger like a piping hot kettle.

Aone watched him with studious eyes as Tsume took a deep breath to say something else that Aone was sure would stop your harmonious laughter that he adored......

“Y/N—“ Tsume started, but without warning, THE AONE TAKANOBU, DATE TECH MIDDLE BLOCKER, OUR MOUNTAIN MAN, interrupted him! Stopping all speech in the class with his simple, deep-voiced command:

“Leave her be. She’s having fun.”

The class:

The class went silent because they’d never really heard Aone’s voice before. :S

Still riled up, the class snitch took one look beside him (he was too distracted before) as to locate the voice. Once his eyes set on the verrrry muscular and verrrry mountainous man sitting between him and Y/N, he decided it would be smart to not be riled up anymore. A drop of sweat leaving his hairline, Lian scanned Aone’s gigantic body with his eyes, seeing that the volleyball player just barely fit in his desk—he gulped.

Aone had a relaxed expression, meaning to say what he said nonchalantly, but one needs to remember that Aone’s relaxed expression looks like this:

Needless to say, the ex-mascot almost pissed himself.

Is that Y/N’s b-b-boyfriend now? Tsume wondered to himself in panic as several more drops of sweat ran down his face.

“O-o-ok-o-o-oka-okay-y....” Tsume stuttered out as he turned back to his school work.

Five minutes later when the teacher came in, Tsume had nothing to say. He only had a sweat damped stack of homework to give him before he fled, not waiting for the bell of dismissal.

Did I frightened him? Aone thought.

He didn’t mean to. Sincerely. He was as gentle as giants come (except in bed if you rile him up enough or when someone is bothering you).

The class went back to normal and Aone continued working too.

But one person didn’t—no, couldn’t go back to normal:

You.

You sat in your seat still slack jawed because someone you didn’t know came to your rescue and quite possibly single handedly stopped your expulsion. How have you not noticed him before?! He is gorgeous!

Tall, muscular, handsome. Shiny white hair, beautiful lips. And he came to your defence.

In your opinion , he was a FINEASS mountain man! 🏔🤤

Yes ma’am!!!!

Anyway, while everyone was talking, working and minding their own business—including Aone—you slid out of your desk and bounced over to his happily.

“Hi! Thanks so much for defending me a little while ago!”

Bitch, this was you: ☺️😊😄

lost ass

Aone raised his head to look at you, jumping back slightly because he never even heard you approach. He stared up at you with a heart that stopped beating, absolutely speechless.

WHAT IS HAPPENING? He thought. YOU WERE TALKING................TO HIM? You were NOTICING..............HIM?!

😱😳🤯

You reached over to touch the handsome giant’s arm in his sweater, smiling at him endearingly.

“I’m Y/N! It’s nice to meet you!”

yeah you lost af, bitch 😐

Aone wanted to say something, he did. But he was just too shocked that the girl he thinks about nonstop, the girl he wishes was his, the girl he just had a wet dream about last night, was talking to him and only him for the first time.

Unexpectedly!

Takanobu always thought you two would first speak because of Futakuchi or the teacher but not because of him.

Aone couldn’t fathom the fact that HE made this happen! HE was the reason you were over here!

Aone: 🤯🤯🤯

It was ALL. TOO. MUCH.

He couldn’t speak.

You removed your hand from his arm, silently chastising yourself because you shouldn’t touch people without permission.

Not that Aone minded. That boy would want you to touch him anywhere, on anyday, at anytime that pleased you.

“Sorry.” You looked down shyly, then met his serious expression again, wanting to be sure he knew how grateful you were for his help.

“Um.... you probably don’t know this but you getting that pervert to leave me alone is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. And you did it for a stranger like me, no less.”

A/N: RUB IT IN THAT YOU DONT KNOW THE MAN MORE, WHY DONT YOU ?! 🤬

You tucked your hair behind you ear while holding his gaze. Aone could only nod because his throat was dry. You looked so incredibly perfect up-close and he wanted to make sure he remembered this. He just couldn’t speak.

Feeling a little awkward now because you just tried starting a conversation with this FINEASS classmate of yours to only get a nod in return, you laughed timidly.

“Okay, well I guess I’ll...” you turned on your heels so you could make your way back to your desk with your L. “....see you later.” You finished, telling him over your shoulder.

Much like when he defended you against Tsume, Aone didn’t know what came over him then: maybe it was all the memories of him feeling heartbroken that you’d never notice him or return his feelings—maybe it was the promise he made that he would do something toward pursuing you if you would just notice him first—or maybe is was because his best friend Kenji would have his HEAD if Aone told him he let you walk away right now without trying....... after TWO YEARS.........that compelled him to respond to your “see you later” bravely, FINALLY UTTERING WORDS TO YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS ENTIRE LIFE:

“When?”

^Asked Aone, just as you were walking away from him.

You stilled, feeling excitement in your body because he answered. You spun around and jumped back in front of his desk. You gave him a questioning look.

You responded, “When, what?”

Even though he was melting under your attention, Aone couldn’t give up now. He had to shoot his shot. This may be his only chance.

“When is later?” He elaborated.

Huh? You thought.

You blinked at the stunning classmate. What is he—OH, does he mean.....

“As in...when will I see you again?”

Aone nodded at you, holding his breath.

You massaged your chin, thinking 🤔.

You can admit you wanted to know more about this gorgeous man who came to your rescue. There was something about him that made you feel safe and warm. You couldn’t quite place it. You’ve never wanted to spend time with anyone outside of cheerleading more than this guy—so you owed it to yourself to explore that small feeling, right?

“Okay. Well, how about now? Lunch is after this period. Would you want to have it with me?!” You asked cheerily.

Though he didn’t show it, inside, fireworks went off in Aone’s mind, heart, and stomach...!

Actual footage:

Aone nodded quickly. Way too quickly for someone who did not want to come across as the most eager beaver in the world.

But he was...... and you noticed. It made you smile.

“Okay. So when the bell rings you can walk me to my locker and I’ll put away my stuff, then we’ll go to yours....then we can go head to lunch together. Sound good?”

Aone nodded quickly again!

You gave him the big smile that made him become a simp for you in the first place and you took your seat again.

Takanobu was so excited he literally almost stood up to spin the hand clock that hung up beside the door himself so that time could go by faster. He couldn’t even move to text Kenji because he knew his hands would shake.

He just sat there, his mind whirling mad until the bell finally rang. You said bye to Kusa and watched as this blonde hottie stood up from his seat, towering over you.

God, he was so freaking HOT! You wanted to jump him.

At the same time students filed out of the class, Aone turned to you as he collected his things then slung his bag over his shoulder.

“May I carry your books for you, Y/N?” Mountain man asked sheepishly in his stern voice.

Your heart fluttered by how cute and sweet he was to ask!

“Umm, sure! Thank you so much!” You smiled and handed your heavy books over.

You two walked beside eachother and Aone held the door open for you. You didn’t know why he was being so nice but you couldn’t lie that you felt very charmed.

“Y/N.”

You looked up at the handsome giant with curious eyes after he called your name.

“My name is Aone Takanobu by the way. You introduced yourself before, but I did not answer. I’m sorry. Either way, I knew who you were already. It’s very nice to meet you.”

Your smiled widened as you bounced on your feet while walking. “Very nice to meet you too, Aone Takanobu. I’ve actually heard of you before.”

Aone’s eyes lit up like 👀

“Wait r-really?”

Omg precious bby 🥺🥺🥺

“Yes. At a cheerleading sleepover. All good things, don’t worry. It’s just funny because I said that night how hopefully I’ll meet you and now here we are!”

Aone chuckled as he held open another door for you. When he did and you two walked down another hall, he caught sight of two very conspicuous volleyball players (one looked eerily like Justin Bieber, the other looked big boned) hugging eachother and slumping down to the ground at the sight of you and Aone. Aone rolled his eyes, thinking that they were lucky you never noticed your surroundings.

“Here we are.” Aone repeated, shooting a secret thumbs up at his friends who were on the verge of crying.

***

Nearing the end of an enjoyable lunch for both of you where you spoke a lot and Aone listened with heart eyes: he pulled your chair out for you, he was responding, he was chuckling, and overall hanging onto your every word, never wanting your time together to end. You became rather smitten.

***

“The bell is gonna ring soon, Aone. I just want to thank you again for buying my lunch and spending this time with me! I know it was super random!”

Aone got lost in your eyes as you said his name, because he’s never taken a moment to analyze how nice it could sound if it was caressed by your voice. Also, he’s never heard his name said by someone so beautiful (when it wasn’t being said in a question). He was BATHING in joy.

Although Aone didn’t answer and he’s maintained his stoic expression the entire lunch, deep down you felt that this man had a thing for you. He was very intense so it was quite obvious. But since you enjoyed the lunch so much and you were starting to have a thing for him, too, you wanted to confirm:

“Also, Aone-san, I’m happy to know that you can say more than 4 words 😲! I asked my friend earlier and she said you basically never speak.” You exclaimed, fishing.

Aone smirked, feeling the need to defend himself on that front. “It is true that that is the consensus of the majority of people who come in contact with me. However, that is because there exists few people, that I feel inclined to speak to.”

Hook, line, and sinker. Your eyes twinkled at his words. He looked like a jock but sounded so eloquent! You loved it:

“Oh wow well you spoke a lot to me today so I guess I must be a little special then, huh.......?” You twirled your hair around your index finger as you asked, causing Aone to almost drool.

listen, you...kind of..... wanted mountain man.

And you were only flirting minimally okay.....minimally, so don’t judge

You just wanted to know if your suspicions were right that he had a little crush on you or if he saw you as a friend

Aone looked down at you, thinking of a way to respond to you asking if you were special to him.

A/N: 😣🤞🏾AONE DONT CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DONT BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾DON’T BE CREEPY 😣🤞🏾

“This is our first time speaking. So I am not entirely sure if you’re special yet...” He started.

You quirked your eyebrow attractively, anticipating how he would end that sentence.

“...But I hope that even after this lunch ends I can take you out again a few more times, Y/N-chan—somewhere nice and off-campus, perhaps—so that I can truly decipher whether you are or not.”

You quirked your eyebrow even higher, impressed by the smooth way he told you he wants to keep seeing you!

WELL SIS HES ONLY HAD 2 YEARS OF PRACTICE I MEAN—

“I’d love to.” You accepted, making Aone smile.

He was absolutely stunning when he smiled, it was almost unfair.

The bell rang.

“Mind walking me back to my locker, Aone?”

Aone stood on internally shaky legs that he willed to be normal. “Of course.” He took both yours and his tray and dumped it out before escorting you out of the cafeteria.

✏️ Back in the Locker Room ✏️

“We are happy for you, Aone.” Kenji patted his large friend on the back.

“I had your voice in the back of my mind, Kenji-san. I owe this happiness to you and your support. I know you’re worried that I’ll get my heart broken and be crushed but I’m thankful for you supporting me anyway. You will forever be my brother.”

———————————

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica

Outtake #7: CLICK HERE

THE VOTE! ☑️

Upcoming outtakes (NSFW):

Losty Aone answering Kenji’s call while you’re having sex. He told you to please wait but...um....no. Hang up, buddy 😈

When you tease poor Losty Aone during class and make him want to f*ck you hard

You telling Aone that you’re horny before his game knowing you’d be cheering next to him the whole time being suggestive

Sending Aone a nude for the first time

First Kiss (In which Aone gets his first urge)

Discovering Aone’s ear kissing kink

Upcoming Fluff outtakes:

Aone on your first birthday as a couple

The official confession

Aone Embarrassingly telling Y/N about the things he did when he was crushing on you :/ (cupcake, donation, wet dreams, hoping to be your tutor, etc!)

When Aone fills in at one of your cheer practices!

Aone having to save you from your annoying admirers

Send me an ask/message/comment below with the number(s) of the outtake you really want me to write and the ones with votes will be done

Say “Losty Aone Story nsfw number ___” or “Losty Aone Story fluff number ___”