#ive been reading something where everyones calling everyon chaps.

[bloomfish]

asbolutely love it when I'm reading something and there's a british character who's like "oi oi! better tell the chaps and blokes i'm a right bloody sod"

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 17 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language and depictions of medical treatment (mentions of an IV, not overly descriptive), fluff (!), angst, A LOT of pent-up emotions, SLOW BURN

words: 15.5k (help)

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 17 ► looking sideways when i say i’m okay with the past, but i’m afraid of what i might say if you ask

When you regained consciousness, it took you a few more minutes to understand what was happening.

In your hazy mind, the first clear thought you could grasp was a memory: Jungkook had gotten into a fight. Instinctively, you imagined yourself standing up and finding him. Not because your job required you to—honestly, you weren’t sure what job you even had at this point, your mind hadn’t sorted itself out yet—but because you wanted to see if he was okay.

You tried to open your eyes, but the room was spinning, and you felt a little queasy from the unexpected vertigo.

You shut your eyes again and tried to focus on your other senses—as best as you could without moving—hoping that this would answer some of the new questions forming in your mind.

You did not know where you were or how you got here, but the room was warm. The lack of proper ventilation made the air feel stuffy.

You didn’t hear any background noise, so you assumed you weren’t at a hospital. But you could hear a lot of shouting in the room. You thought you discerned three different voices, but they were all talking over each other, so it was hard to tell.

You were lying on something soft but scratchy, and a heavy duvet pressed you into the bed. It felt comforting, but you were starting to sweat.

Someone’s hand was on your wrist, their fingers cold.

Reflexively, you squeezed their hand.

“Don’t move,” someone whispered right next to you. Jungkook, you realised. “We’ve called a doctor.”

Your initial reaction was relief. He was here, so he had to be okay.

Your next reaction, however, was pure panic. You didn’t need a doctor. You just needed a minute.

“We should have taken her to a hospital,” another voice argued. “I’ll never forgive you if anything happens to her.”

That had to be Luna, you were sure of it. Your eyes remained closed, but you could envision your friend with her arms crossed over her chest, regarding the boy next to you with a scorching glare.

You didn’t like this mention of a hospital.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand again, but even as he tried to explain to Luna that you would go on a particularly bloody rampage if he took you to a hospital—he had a point and you would have felt grateful if you hadn’t been so distressed—she still wasn’t hearing him.

You opened your mouth and felt your chapped lips tighten painfully.

“No hospital, please,” you croaked in the voice of someone who had been a successful chain smoker for over fifty years.

You heard Luna whisper-yell, “you’re unbelievable, the both of you!” and you tried to open your eyes again, but nothing had changed. It still felt a bit like gravity had taken a day off as the room and everyone around you continued to float.

You heard a faint voice that you did not recognise, and from the official tone and the immediate chill you felt inside, you deduced that it was the doctor.

“I’m going to administer a very mild sedative,” he said—to whom, you weren’t sure. Your insides felt very heavy. “And set up a drip. Make sure she doesn’t move much or the catheter will—oh, see, like that. That can’t happen.”

Your muscles spasmed involuntarily. Something pricked your arm. You didn’t mind needles, but you did not like IVs. You didn’t need to be sedated.

“I don’t think—” you tried to say when you felt something cold on your arm—the doctor’s hands, presumably, in very unpleasant, squeaky latex gloves. “I don’t think I need this.”

“Can you open your eyes for me, please?” the doctor asked.

“No,” you said with what you hoped was a shake of your head. In reality, you merely wrinkled your nose. “T-that is not something I can do right now. But in a—”

“Your body needs rest,” the doctor explained. Jungkook moved closer until he was clutching your hand with both of his. “It won’t knock you out, but it will relax you, make you a little drowsy. That will likely help you fall asleep naturally. Is that all right?”

You lacked the strength to tell him that you were already very tired—or the strength to tell him that you still had things to do, so you couldn’t just sleep.

The memory of the flooding at the venue in Manchester came back to your mind and your muscles tensed again.

Really, you were about to refuse, but there was hardly anything you disliked more than inconveniencing people. They had invited a doctor for you. He was just doing his job.

“Okay,” you said in quiet defeat.

“Your friends are in the room with you,” the doctor said. You felt a cold sensation on your arm. “They will stay with you and make sure you get plenty of rest. Even after you wake up, you must spend as much time in bed as you possibly can.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” you heard Jungkook object. “Give us a specific time, or she’ll be out of bed as soon as she wakes up.”

Silence followed. You tried to imagine what was happening. Jungkook must have looked very eager—in his exaggerated manner, which resembled desperation rather than hope. Luna probably nodded in agreement. The doctor, if he was kind enough, smiled at them patiently.

“Two days,” he finally stated. “Today and tomorrow, at the very least. If she has to walk, someone should accompany her. But don’t keep her on her feet for too long. I’ve seen the crowd of people outside this room—don’t tire her out. There should only be one or two people in the room with her, all right? Proper nutrition, sufficient sleep, and a—”

You felt yourself drifting off, and the doctor’s words faded and merged together until you were no longer sure whether you were imagining what a doctor would say in this situation, or if he was actually speaking.

When you opened your eyes again, Luna and Maggie were seated in the armchairs next to your bed. The room had stabilised, allowing you to take in your surroundings before Luna glanced up from her phone and Maggie pulled out her earpods, noticing that you were awake.

The space around you appeared to be a hotel room. Next to the bed stood a metal bar with bags of faint yellow liquid on it. A catheter was attached to your arm and an intravenous line led to it from the drip. You shivered at the sight of it.

“Oh!” Luna’s gasp drew your attention back to her. She dropped her phone on her seat and straightened up. “How are you feeling?”

Right away, Maggie jumped up and removed her earpods.

“Confused,” you spoke and immediately tried to clear your prickly throat.

Maggie leapt forward and grabbed an empty glass from the bedside table. She poured some water from one of the three bottles on the floor and handed it to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had water. It tasted heavenly.

“You’re in a hotel room,” Luna explained as you drank. Maggie sat down on the armrest of her friend’s chair. “In Manchester.”

The mention of the city made you glare at her, and both girls breathed a sigh of relief. At least you knew where you were in a broader sense.

“It’s 7 PM,” Luna said after checking her phone. “The band has a day off tomorrow because the concert’s been postponed—”

“Because of the flooding,” you finished, leaning forward to put the glass back on the table. “I remember, Luna. Thanks. What, um—how come I’m here?”

Luna looked at Maggie for a moment, wordlessly asking her to take over the story.

“Well, you fainted,” Maggie started. She wasn’t usually a woman of many words, and this time was no different, which you found comforting. If Maggie didn’t think it was necessary to talk for hours, then you must not have been doing that bad. “Jungkook found you.”

“Yeah,” Luna had to interject with more details—she was still irked about his decision to book a hotel room instead of a hospital room. “And then he spent half an hour describing your symptoms. It took the doctor all of one second to diagnose you with burnout and put you on a vitamin drip. He told us to keep you on bed rest and watch for any more nosebleeds or fainting spells. If they continue, you’ll need to go into urgent care.”

You wanted to ask questions—where did they find this doctor? Where was this hotel? What was happening at the venue?—but the girls were on a roll.

“Meanwhile, I wasn’t even allowed in the room,” Maggie said, returning to her chair and sitting down properly. She was upset that she had missed what Luna had just summarised for you. “The doctor told us that only one person could stay, but neither Luna, nor Jungkook agreed to leave. So, no one else could come in until you were feeling better.”

“Jungkook was the one who decided on the hotel room, by the way,” Luna remarked, seemingly glad to finally express her frustrations. “I argued. I think you should at least have a blood test done. What if you’re anaemic? But—”

“I’m not anaemic,” you finally interrupted as you settled back on the bed. The mattress quickly adjusted to the shape of your body. Closing your eyes, you had to admit that the bed was really quite comfortable. Perhaps you could stay here for a few more hours. “This has happened to me before. I’ll be fine.”

Luna sighed. Her knowledge of the last time this had happened to you came from Jungkook’s haphazard stream of thought as he tried to explain to the doctor that the two of you had been in this exact situation before—you, unconscious, and he, on the verge of losing his mind.

Honestly, for a moment, Luna thought the doctor had considered sedating Jungkook instead of you.

“I knew you were going to say that,” she muttered after a minute. “Jungkook seemed to believe you’d shoot us all dead if we took you to a hospital.”

Gratitude bubbled up in your chest, but when you saw your friend’s solemn features, you tried to soften your response.

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” you said. “I would have smothered you all with pillows."

Maggie scoffed, and Luna rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips still turned up.

“Nice to see you haven’t gained a sense of humour while you were out,” Maggie teased.

“Ha,” you responded dryly—but you were smiling, too.

Luna crossed her legs on the armchair to get more comfortable. She glanced at Maggie anxiously. The girls weren’t sure if they were tiring you out with their conversation, but you were looking up at the ceiling, not indicating that you were tired in any way, so they decided to continue.

“So, want to tell us how this happened, then?” Luna asked.

You turned your head to her. “I was hoping you’d tell me. I can’t exactly remember.”

“You fainted,” Maggie reminded you. Luna leaned over and gave her a pat on the arm, thanking her for this valuable reminder.

You smiled gently. “You mentioned that. Where’d the doctor come from?”

“Oh, Jungkook found one,” Maggie said. “There’s a clinic across the street from the venue. And this hotel is right next door.”

“Oh.”

A minute passed as you attempted to piece it all together.

You could not remember any of this, but the news that Jungkook had taken care of most things was not calming. He must have really been going out of his mind.

You were curious about where he was, but you didn’t want to ask. Your paranoid mind made you think that any question about Jungkook that was not related to Rated Riot was unnecessary and would, therefore, be misunderstood. Your friends already seemed like they were resisting a few additional comments for the sake of your health.

“So,” Luna started after a quiet minute, “how come you fainted?"

You exhaled and tried to scratch your eyebrow, but the catheter tugged painfully at your skin, and you winced instead.

You dropped your hand back down. “I-I... I guess I overestimated myself.”

Luna pushed the IV stand closer to your bed so you could have more freedom with your limbs. You nodded gratefully.

“You’re going to have to slow down,” Luna said. “It’s no longer negotiable, I’m afraid. If you don’t listen to us, we will take you to a hospital.”

It was the plural pronoun that bothered you the most, but you forced yourself to swallow your discomfort at disrupting the daily routines of your friends.

“I’ll be alright soon,” you said. “And I promise this won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” Maggie chimed in. “And what’s with this hatred of hospitals? You don’t like that they’re full of people who want to help you feel better?”

“I don’t hate them,” you said, which wasn’t entirely true. Your experiences in hospitals included your mum crying, and you’d rather not relive that—not so soon after your brother broke his leg. “I just don’t have time for them. I’m okay.”

Luna gave you a stern look. Even Maggie, who was usually quite calm when you said you were fine, was glowering a little.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I’ll endure this drip and then I'll be okay. Thank you for being here.”

Luna made a deliberate scene of fixing the bags on the metal stand—clearly intending to emphasise the seriousness of your condition—and then lowered herself back into her armchair.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Smiling at both of your girls—to distract them from further discussing your health—you said, “I love you.”

“We love you, too,” Maggie said. “And, babe, just so you know, it’s not just us. There was—everyone was here. The concierge nearly fainted when he saw us all in the hallway.”

Your smile quickly fell. “What do you mean, everyone?”

“We took care of it, don’t worry,” Luna interjected, sensing your growing panic. “Maggie and I talked to Seokjin, Jimin, and Namjoon, who then spoke to the rest of the staff and escorted them out. And Jungkook took care of his band.”

The panic lingered. Your job was solving crises, not causing them. You did not like this.

“He took care of them?” you repeated, swallowing.

“Well, they were very worried,” Luna explained, glancing at Maggie for help. Maggie only nodded, indicating her agreement. “And, uh, they were very loud, too. He told them to go and texted them updates every ten minutes.”

“God.” You closed your eyes and carefully tried to prop yourself up into a half-sitting position. “What updates? I was asleep.”

“That’s what he’s been texting them,” Luna explained. “Every ten minutes, on the dot. And then Taehyung texted me, asking why I kicked his best friend out of your room—which is ridiculous because I did not kick him out. But you’re my best friend, so technically, I would have had the right to kick him out if you were uncomfortable.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose with your hand and shook your head, an involuntary smile creeping onto your face at your friend’s protectiveness. “I’m comfortable. Thank you.”

“Are you going to see him?” Maggie asked.

You looked up at her. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “He’s right behind the door, you know. Glued to the wall in the hallway.”

Your gaze slid down her dark blue jacket and focused on the mirror on the wall behind her. “Oh.”

“The doctor said he would need to go to the hospital, too, by the way,” Luna said, earning a surprised look from you. “He said the bandages around his head looked very threatening.”

You pressed your lips together. You’d expected that, but you still felt a fleeting twinge of disappointment—you’d covered his wounds to the best of your ability. And the bandages were honestly not the worst part of this.

“The doctor hasn’t even seen what’s underneath,” you said.

“He has now, actually,” Maggie replied. “He went to the emergency room about an hour ago to have them changed.”

You were too taken aback to properly understand her. “Jungkook did?”

“Yeah,” Luna said, pulling her phone out. Your mind tuned out her next few sentences as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that Jungkook had gone to the emergency room on his own accord. “—and he called us from the hospital. Apparently, he pestered the nurses with questions about what else we could do to help you feel better. They told him to leave, but he wanted to hear from us—in case we thought you needed anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought a heart monitor here, just in case.”

Maggie snickered—but caught the serious looks on the faces around her and covered it up with a fractured cough—while you groaned and rubbed your eyes. You wouldn’t have been surprised, either.

You exhaled. “Yeah—I-I’ll see him. If that’s okay with you?”

Both girls nodded and got up from their seats. Before they went, however, they convinced you to accept their help to complete the difficult task—as you pointed out while rolling your eyes—of walking ten steps to the bathroom, and then ten steps back to your bed. Clearly, they were taking the doctor’s orders very seriously.

“We’ll be right outside,” Luna said once you settled back in bed. “Call or text—”

“No,” you protested. “You can’t—you don’t need to stay here. You’ve already done so much.”

“We were just sitting in your room with you,” Maggie said. “It’s hardly anything. Don’t worry about us.”

“It’s not hardly anything,” you disagreed. “At least get something to eat.”

The two girls looked at each other. Maggie shrugged and then looked back at you, still doubtful. You nodded with more conviction.

“We’ll pick up some food for everyone and come back,” Luna finally decided. “Okay?”

You nodded again. “Okay. Thank you.”

As soon as the girls opened the door to your hotel room, you heard shuffling outside—as if someone had been leaning right up against the door and scrambled away before it opened.

“You may come in,” Luna told Jungkook with excessive dramatics as she and Maggie turned to wave at you again.

You gave them another nod and watched as Jungkook tentatively walked inside. He turned to close the door behind him and lingered, for an awkward moment, at the entrance.

His bandages were fresh and none of the scantily wrapped bruises were visible any longer. Perhaps they would heal in time for the concert.

Before you could express your hopes out loud, however, Jungkook took a shaky breath and approached you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I would have done if—”

“W-why are you sorry?” you cut him off, disturbed by the absolute devastation in his voice.

He was right next to your bed now, barely able to inhale. “It’s—you—you fainted—and—it was because—I shouldn’t—”

It hit you, suddenly, why he was hyperventilating so much. And the shock of this realisation was so great that you could not react immediately, and he proceeded to stutter for another few moments.

“This—it has nothing—this isn’t about you,” you finally said, almost as coherent as he was.

Still, he persisted, “but I—you—I was—I should have—”

“I didn’t faint because of you, Jungkook,” you said more firmly. There were several reasons why he should have felt guilty, of course, but this was definitely not one of them.

He finally stopped speaking, although the rapid process of inhaling and exhaling—which caused his shoulders to hunch and straighten from the intensity of the motions—continued for another minute.

Then he gave you a long, uncertain look. You maintained eye contact and watched as his breathing gradually slowed. You had never seen him panic so much and so suddenly—he had seemed almost perfectly fine when he came in, but it took him all of two seconds to fall apart.

Slowly, he regained control of his breathing and looked you over once more.

“Okay,” he said, shifting his weight to his other leg. “I-I don’t know if that—if it makes me feel better, but—”

“Thank you,” you said.

Lost in his own thoughts, he craned his neck towards you. “Hm?”

“Luna and Maggie told me you’re the one who found me.”

Jungkook looked briefly embarrassed.

“I explicitly asked them not to tell,” he said.

You smiled. “I’m sure this was Force majeure, so don’t blame them. And they’re my best friends anyway.”

“Clearly.” He brought his hands down his face before admitting, “I just—I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”

A part of you thought he was right to assume that. You shouldn’t want to see him.

But another part of you forced you to lower your gaze and twiddle your thumbs nervously as you linked your hands on your stomach.

“No, uh, see,” you began with a nervous chuckle. “That’s, uh—that’s almost the worst part of this whole thing. My plan, really, was to avoid you.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, then politely lowered them. He placed his hand on the back of the armchair and said, profoundly, “very mature.”

“You don’t get to judge,” you warned.

The corner of his lip quirked. “Just making an observation.”

“So, my plan was to avoid you,” you continued. “But we both know how that ended. And then I woke up here, sort of feeling like I was floating in a space station somewhere near Saturn, and you know what my first thought was?”

Jungkook thought he was floating in a space station somewhere near Saturn.

“Wh—um, what?” he asked.

“My first thought was if you were okay.”

You looked at him as you said that, and he thought he saw the rest of his life flash before his eyes—a life that, just a few days ago, he’d deemed meaningless.

Without any proper distractions, it was just him and his thoughts, and they were never good company. They hated him for losing you.

But then you fainted and now that you’ve regained consciousness, your first thought was if he was okay.

He didn’t trust his legs very much anymore.

“Can I sit?” he asked, a little breathless again.

You took a second to reply, and he interpreted it as a sign of hesitation. “You can.”

Suspicious, he asked, “will you try to leave if I sit?”

You gave him a questioning look and nudged your hand, causing the IV bags to wobble. “Does it look like I can move around with this?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You might still try.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Just sit down, Jungkook.”

He sat down.

The two of you were a peculiar sight like this. If this were a role-playing video game, there would have been exclamation marks over your heads—and if you had been approached, the list of conversation starters the player could choose would have been, simply, endless.

There was so much you wanted to say and ask each other, but the strength of your resistance was absurdly impressive.

One thought, however, overwhelmed everything, and it was very simple: how little everything else mattered compared to your health.

Jungkook took a deep breath and looked at you, taking in your tired, but ceaselessly dreamlike features.

Slowly, he found himself calming down. As long as you were here, as long as you were okay, things would work out one way or another.

“I, um—your mum called, by the way,” Jungkook said. “I have your phone. It fell out of your jacket when I—when I found you.”

Right away, you felt a surge of panic. You and your mum had a deal. She knew you were busy, so she would text sometimes, but never call. Unless something had happened.

“My—she called me?” you repeated with so much concern that Jungkook noticed the drip stand shake a little from the force of your distress. “Did you answer?”

He felt his own hands return to their almost natural trembling. “Uh, well, as it happened—I did.”

“Why did she call? What happened?”

“Well, nothing,” he said. “She said she hadn’t heard from you in a while, and she was worried.”

Mother’s intuition, she had called it when she spoke to you. When you returned to your dorm after your hospital stay six years ago, she had called you because “for some reason” she couldn’t sleep for two nights in a row. She didn’t know you were ill, of course, but it touched you, this maternal feeling that transcended all logic.

It could have been a coincidence, you supposed. Lots of things were.

“What did you say?” you asked.

“I said you had a lot of things to take care of,” Jungkook replied. “But you’d call her when you had a free moment.”

You watched him as he spoke and noticed his eyes widen momentarily, clearly taken aback by what he’d just seen in your expression. You realised you hadn’t expected him to hide this from your mum, and your surprise must have shown.

Blinking, you turned away and gripped the edge of your duvet.

“Thank you,” you said.

“I also told her you’re very stressed,” he added quieter.

“Oh—well, that—you could have kept that to yourself,” you said, less enthusiastic about his thoughtfulness. “She’s going to freak out about it.”

“Let her,” he countered. “You’re her child. She’s worried about you. You have to let people worry about you when there’s a reason to.”

You had a different opinion, of course. But instead of arguing, you chose to find out what conclusions your mum had drawn from this brief exchange. She hadn’t heard from Jungkook directly in years, even though she knew you were working together.

“What did she—was she surprised to hear from you?” you asked.

Your question made Jungkook appear as if he was trying very hard to tap dance while sitting down. He bounced his legs, tapped his feet, and occasionally scratched something under his chin, above his nose, or on the back of his neck.

“Uh, well, we’re, um, you know,” he said. You were almost ready to assume that he was hiding something else. “You and me—w-we’re working together. She wasn’t that surprised.”

“Right, but I mean—”

“I told her not to worry too much, and that you’d love to hear from her,” he finished, skilfully diverting from the topic and speaking even louder so you wouldn’t have a chance to interject with another question. “She said she’d text you, and you should call her when you have a minute. Not right now, though. You’re resting now.”

Again, you tried, “I’m just—”

“She put Kai on the phone, too,” he added. “So, I talked to him for a second. He called you an idiot.”

That took a very unusual turn, you thought in surprise. Your mum hadn’t spoken to Jungkook in years, and now she wanted to put your brother on the phone, too—you were simply confused.

“He—why’d he say that?” you asked, presently more unnerved by the name-calling than your mother’s unexpected choices.

“For forgetting to call your mum, he said. And for working too much,” Jungkook replied. “Which is precisely what I warned you about in Amsterdam, so I honestly can’t believe this happened to you again. We asked you to take it easy, so at least listen to us now, and—”

It was hard to breathe in this still room, with the force of everyone’s concern weighing you down.

Slowly, you kicked one leg out from under the duvet. “I did take it easy.”

“Right,” he said, closing his eyes and mumbling, “you never fucking take it easy.”

You heaved yourself up to your feet, holding onto the IV stand for support. “I was—”

Jungkook looked up and jumped to his feet as soon as he realised what you were doing. “Where are you going? Sit down.”

“I’m fine. I’m just—”

He blocked your way, quickly ensuring that you did not have enough space to take another step.

“See, I told you you’d do this,” he groaned, his chest pressed against yours. “Just sit down.”

You tried not to stagger backwards—which was his intention, of course—and still stood your ground. “I just want to open the window, I’m—”

“Sit down.”

Huffing in angry resignation, you sat back down.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back from the bed to give you more space. “Now lie down.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into a horizontal position, glaring at him all the while.

“Should I roll over, too?” you bit. “Give you a paw?”

“Not unless you want to.”

You bared your teeth. “Funny.”

“Just lie down, please,” he reiterated. “And just—just rest, okay? For a little while, at least. I’ll open the window.” He saw you open your mouth and added hurriedly, “I know you can do it yourself. But let me.”

Sighing, you surrendered to the warm confines of the duvet. “Okay. Thanks.”

He crossed the room and struggled with the curtains for a moment. He could tell you were watching him, and he felt irrationally nervous—he thought that if he did something wrong, you would try to get up again. Finally, he grabbed the handle of the window, twisted it and pulled. A moment or two later, a welcome breeze finally filled the stuffy room.

Relieved to be able to breathe something other than your discomfort, you watched Jungkook return to his armchair.

“You didn’t tell me if you’re okay,” you reminded him. “How’s your eye?”

He looked confused as he lifted his hand—as if to verify if the eye in question was still there—then paused and dropped it again.

“It’s working,” he said, sitting back down next to your bed.

“And the pain?”

He shrugged. “Bearable.”

“Good,” you said, slipping your hands under the covers and resting them on your stomach. “I’m glad you took out your eyebrow piercing before the whole thing with Sid, by the way. Otherwise, we might have had even more problems.”

Jungkook didn’t want that to be your shared problem—he was determined to carry out his plan, which he boldly referred to as “Getting My Shit Together”—but at the same time, he was glad that he didn’t cause you any additional distress. Honestly, he couldn’t have cared less about his piercings right now.

“I—yeah.” He rubbed his eyebrow absentmindedly. “I hadn’t planned it like that, but it worked out, I guess.”

“Did you get any rest?” you asked then.

The question felt misplaced, and his stomach sank at the sheer wrongness of it. You were always worried about others. And he always gave you reasons to worry.

Really, while he was happy—alright, ecstatic—that you thought of him, he should have been the one asking you this.

“How, uh—how do you mean?” he returned.

“After the flight,” you said.

He looked down at the beige carpet under his boots and shook his head. He couldn’t have slept even if he wanted to—not until he was sure you weren’t on your feet, insisting you were okay.

“I don’t need rest,” he said.

But as you looked at him, it was clear that rest was exactly what he needed. Beneath the imposing bandages, his eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was pale and waxy. He was still beautiful—Maggie would have made a joke about it—but in a way that made your heart ache if you looked at him too long.

“You should go,” you said. “Get some sleep.”

Jungkook gave you a look as if you had just confessed that you enjoyed beheading people in your spare time: incredulous and slightly offended.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

This was going to turn into a childish game, you knew it. But you tapped your thumbs together and still tried.

“What if I want to be alone?” you asked.

“Then I’ll call Luna and Maggie.”

Your arched eyebrows challenged his solution.

“When I said alone,” you clarified, “I didn’t mean not with you.”

For just a split second, he looked almost relieved to hear this. Then he bit his lip and brought a hand over his knee.

“If my presence is not the problem,” he said, “then I’m staying.”

“The problem,” you argued, “is that you’re going to end up in this bed, connected to an IV, if you don’t sleep.”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he offered. “I’m not leaving you alone. In fact, I’m staying. Unless you explicitly tell me you can’t stand to look at me anymore.”

He gave you an opening to tease, and you enjoyed building up to it as you looked down and ran your tongue over your lips.

“And, uh, you’d leave then?” you asked—taunted, really.

“Begrudgingly,” he replied, as discontented as you were amused.

You nodded. “Alright.”

He raised his eyebrows, slightly dispirited. “You’re going to tell me to go?”

“No,” you said. “Stay.”

So he stayed.

And this moment in the hotel room, as the vitamin drip dribbled quietly into the intravenous tube, did not just feel bizarre. It felt a little like a parallel universe—like you’d lost consciousness in a world where you were very angry and very stressed, and had woken up in a world where only subtle echoes of all the fervent emotions you’d once felt existed.

In this world, all that you were feeling was eclipsed by what really mattered: the people who were in this room with you and had been waiting outside of it.

But you felt another particularly prominent sentiment, which was heightened even more by Jungkook’s relentless focus on you. You did not want to name it, however. To identify it was to give it power over you, and you liked to believe that you had your heartbeat under control right now.

“It’s like—this is just like back then again,” Jungkook said suddenly. “Isn’t it?”

You exhaled, returning to the jagged, uncertain moment.

“Yeah...” you said, stretching the vowels in a frantic attempt to fill the space that would soon turn into an awkward silence. “Thank you for not taking me to a hospital this time. This really isn’t so bad.”

“It is bad,” he disagreed right away. “But I didn’t want you to have another reason to feel stressed. I thought a hotel room would relax you more than a hospital room.”

“It would,” you said. “Thanks.”

He hung his head. “Yeah.”

Not the awkward silence, not the awkward silence, not the—

“Well,” you inhaled, “at least you won’t have to study for any finals this time, right?”

You expected him to smile back at the gentle jab about him failing his exam the last time you were in the hospital. But when Jungkook looked up, he looked crestfallen somehow—almost like he was disappointed that he did not have to study for finals this time.

“Yeah, um, actually—I-I didn’t fail my exam because I didn’t study for it,” he said in a slow, contemplative tone. He wasn’t sure if he could ever admit this to you, but he figured he didn’t have much left to lose. He’d already told you so much. He might as well tell you all the rest. “I failed because your friend texted me about twenty minutes before my final, saying that you left your exam looking very disoriented. She asked if I could check on you.”

Horror descended on your face as you realised what he meant.

“You went to look for me,” you surmised painfully, “and didn’t show up to take your final.”

He nodded and you shook your head with a newfound ferocity.

“Jungkook,” you said, remembering how you reacted when he first told you he had failed—how you immediately blamed his recklessness and his friends. How you brought up all of his mistakes and thought this was another one of them.

“You passed out,” he said. “I don’t regret it.”

“I yelled at you so much!” you continued, lost in your own guilt. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“You helped me study, too,” he defended, feeling almost uncomfortable. He’d never felt your reaction was inappropriate, even under the circumstances. He had failed the exam, after all—like he’d failed several others before.

You shook your head again. “Yeah, but—”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off.

“It’s not fine!” you refuted immediately. “It was my fault you failed.”

“It wasn’t your—”

“I thought it was your friends again,” you said. “I thought they distracted you, and you didn’t study.”

There it was—this vast precipice between what you thought had happened and what had actually happened. Now that years have passed, Jungkook didn’t even know where to start.

The fact was this: you believed that every time he failed you, it was his friends’ fault—and that belief comforted him. It was so appropriate, so fitting.

And sometimes it was true, but even when it wasn’t—when it was just him, not being good enough—your assumption that it was Sid’s fault didn’t paint Jungkook as desperate; merely reckless. Not hopeless, only a little dumb. He preferred it this way.

But now he took a deep breath.

“My friends did distract me from a lot of things,” he said. “But the truth is, sometimes… I tried too hard, and I didn’t want you to know about it. I couldn’t stand the thought of trying to do something for you and then—just completely fucking everything up and letting you down. Sometimes blaming my friends was a convenient excuse.”

You frowned. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Well,” he wiped his palms on his black cargo pants and stretched out his legs, “remember when we were planning to go on holiday together and I fucked up?”

Your frown deepened.

“Hawaii?” you asked. “When you bought the tickets home for the same day we were flying there?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t realised he’d messed up several times. “No. Different holiday. When I missed the train we were supposed to take to the beach? For our summer break?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “I remember. But I saw Sid’s Instagram videos with you, drinking at his garage. I know you were—”

“Those were old videos. And he posted them at a very bad time, which, honestly,” he chuckled sadly, “it’s nothing new for Sid. He seized every opportunity to make me miserable, and I was—I relied on that sometimes. I think he wanted to start an argument between us on the train, that’s why he posted those videos. The truth is, though, I didn’t even see him that day. I missed the train because I wanted to rent out a car and surprise you.”

The quiet confusion on your face prompted him to keep going.

“I didn’t want just any car,” he explained. “I wanted the same Cadillac convertible I’d rented out for our first anniversary.”

You had fond memories of the convertible. Not of the actual drive, which was, honestly, quite painful—there were bugs and unruly strands of your hair everywhere—but of the laughter you’d shared inside.

“It was summer, finally warm enough outside,” Jungkook recalled. “I thought it would be a nice way to relax after studying. I even, uh—I made decorations and everything. Glittery, silver letters that said, ‘just passed our finals’. It’s a play on ‘just married’, you know? It’s a—a joke.”

Eager to understand where this was going, you remained frozen on the bed, and Jungkook felt himself waver slightly. He was glad you weren’t laughing—he dreaded you’d laugh or find any of this as embarrassing as he did—but he slid his hands under his thighs anyway, as if to warm them.

“The thing is, though,” he continued. “I didn’t take my passport with me. Because you don’t need a passport when you’re taking the fucking train, but you can’t rent a car without one, and those fucking assholes at the rental shop—anyway. I went back to my dorm to pick it up, and by the time I got back, the rental shop had closed for lunch. And I missed the train.”

Your heartbeat was steady—fast, absolutely speeding, but steady nonetheless. It hadn’t slowed since he started speaking.

Your expression, however, was almost painfully concentrated. When he looked at you, it seemed as if you were listening to a séance where a spirit was recounting their death.

You cleared your throat and tried to speak. “I thought—”

“You thought I forgot about our trip and went out with Sid,” Jungkook finished for you.

You didn’t have to confirm it, he knew. The hope that this was what you would assume was his safety blanket—this way, he didn’t have to face the fact that he could never do anything right for you, not even when he tried so hard to.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

You weren’t angry at him for this because he’d made it to the beach later that night, after all. He had taken the last train and barged into your cabin just after midnight. You had nearly knocked him out with a bedside lamp, assuming it was an intruder.

But you didn’t understand the point of allowing you to believe—for years—that it was Sid’s fault. Why didn’t he defend himself?

“Because—did you not hear me describe the letters I’d cut out from glittery paper?” Jungkook asked, his voice high-pitched in irritation at himself. “It’s embarrassing. I should have just met you at the train station like I said I would.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” you questioned. “Why put all this effort?”

“Because I love you,” he replied. You tugged on the IV tube again as you squirmed and unconsciously flexed your arm. “And because I saw your friends get picked up by their boyfriends in their cars. I saw those boyfriends bring them massive bouquets of roses. I saw all the grand fucking gestures that I could never do for you, because I didn’t have enough—I wasn’t—it was mortifying. I thought that you deserved the world, and all I could give you was… some fucking wildflowers before our dates.”

The corners of your lips twitched as you tried to speak, “it’s—I loved your wildflowers, though. And I never cared about anything else.”

“I know,” he said. “But I did.”

You looked down at the white duvet. “You and your gestures.”

Jungkook hummed, but did not add anything else. He was thinking—and regretting his silences. You were thinking, too—and wondering if this was the only time he allowed you to assume that his friends were at fault when they weren’t.

The room around you stilled, adapting to the atmosphere of the conversation. Even your drip quieted.

But then someone knocked on the door of the hotel room, and you and Jungkook almost lit up with relief.

“It’s us!” Luna’s voice called out just as Jungkook stood up to check who it was.

Your friends had returned with paper boxes of Thai food—enough to feed at least five people, from what you could see from your bed—and waved at you from the doorway.

A conversation followed—one that you couldn’t quite hear, except for irrelevant snippets, such as “are you sure?” and “well, okay”—and then Jungkook stepped away from the door, allowing the two girls to address you.

“Apparently, we’ll be heading back to the bus for a quick nap,” Luna said. Jungkook gave her a disapproving look that she promptly ignored. “Is that okay with you? Jungkook will stay.”

Your reflexive response was, of course, to try to dismiss their responsibility. “He doesn’t—neither of you have to stay—”

“Someone is staying,” Jungkook stated, his voice strict, final. “And I would like to be the one to do that.”

You weren’t protesting against him specifically, but as you prepared to reply, you realised it might seem that way. Your hesitant silence was a chance for Jungkook to nod at the two girls again. They nodded back, but then glanced back at you.

“Our phones are on,” Maggie said, lifting her device up for you to see. “So, you can still call or text us at any point, and we’ll rush over here right away.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “That certainly does not make it sound like I’m about to torture her.”

You bit back a smile on your bed while Luna said simply, “just a precaution.”

“I get it,” he said. “And I’ll personally call you if I say or do anything that’s over the line.”

Neither Luna, nor Maggie had a response to that, and you looked up to meet three pairs of expectant eyes.

“I—it’s okay,” you said to the girls. “You—yes, get some rest. We’ll be fine here. Thank you.”

“Okay. We’ll be back!” Luna promised, shooting a warning look at Jungkook, while Maggie waved her phone and called out at you, “text us!”

You wanted to give them a small wave, but the thick duvet and the persistent catheter digging into your arm made it difficult to pull your hands out, so all you managed to do was just shuffle around under the covers and nod at them.

The girls left the take-out boxes inside, waved at you again, and walked away.

Jungkook closed the door and slowly returned to his seat, his shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, and steps unsteady. He looked lost and frightened.

He didn’t want you to misunderstand his intentions. He didn’t want to stay here just to have you to himself, to apologise and to beg for your forgiveness. He wanted to stay because he couldn’t breathe when he didn’t know if you were okay.

As his hesitation hung in the air, memories of your previous hospital stay returned to you again, and you closed your eyes to shake them off.

“You should eat something,” you said.

Jungkook refused.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” you prodded.

Again, he mumbled and hummed under his breath, evading the question and sitting very still—as if he was expecting something. As if something was coming.

And you realised that something was coming. But you had to speak to bring that something here.

“So, then—w-was there anything else?” you finally asked.

Jungkook knew you were referring to the moment he’d just revealed, this deliberate misunderstanding. It was all he could think about. This was the something.

“There was,” he said with a sigh. “But I don’t—”

“Tell me about it.”

He had a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow—but not due to his lack of trying—and he suddenly felt like he was standing in front of a jury of his peers.

He didn’t want you to keep thinking that he hadn’t made an effort for you when he had, only it never turned out well. But he was also nervous about you learning how hard—and how impossibly much—he tried. He thought it would only highlight his shortcomings—and there were many of them.

He’d convinced himself that if you didn’t know about them, then he wasn’t letting you down. It was challenging to break out of this conviction now.

“Well—t-that Valentine’s Day,” he stammered. “Our second one—do you remember?”

You remembered right away. Despite your distaste for the commercialisation of the holiday, it still stung that Jungkook had avoided you the whole day. And for several days after that, too—although you’d assumed that to be deliberate. He’d missed Valentine’s Day and didn’t want to see you out of guilt.

“Sure,” you said.

“Well, that wasn’t Sid’s fault, either,” he said. “I know you thought we went on a drinking binge that weekend because Sid happened to conveniently go off the grid right at that time. He had a habit of—”

“But you weren’t with him?” you interjected, impatient.

“No. He was—it was nearly a Weekend at Bernie’s situation. There was some event happening at Jude’s summer house that weekend,” Jungkook said, and you tried to control yourself before you made mocking comments about the idea that people had enough money to own seasonal houses. “And Jude got so high that Sid and some of Jude’s cousins had to pretend he was just not feeling his best whenever his parents asked about him. They mimicked his voice through the door and everything.”

“So, where were you then?”

“I was—well, I—I spent that whole day—ah, no,” he stopped abruptly and brought his palms over his face, lacing his fingers over his mouth as he changed his mind. He couldn’t do this. It was awful. He was such a mess. “You know what? Maybe it’s better if you keep thinking I was at that summer house with them.”

“No,” you opposed in frustration, lunging forward to sit up. You did not listen to him drone on about Sid and Jude just to have him change his mind. “Now you have to tell me.”

Jungkook raised his head when you moved—his concern for you overwhelmed his chagrin.

“Okay, okay, don’t—lie down,” he asked, gesturing at the pillow.

You complied to get him to keep going. He took a breath.

“Just so you know,” he cautioned, “this might finally ruin my bad boy reputation.”

“You never had one.”

He clicked his tongue against his lower teeth. “Okay, ouch.”

You grinned. “Tell me. What really happened?”

He hesitated for another second, bouncing his knee up and down, up and down, and then stilling completely.

“Well, for one thing,” he began finally, “I was going to make dinner. That didn’t go well, because the communal kitchens were—well, you know. But that’s fine, I didn’t worry too much because there’s always take-out.”

You nodded. The communal kitchens in both of your dormitories were typically crowded with people or they smelled so terrible from a failed cooking experiment that it was simply wiser not to set foot in there.

“There was a great pizza place literally two blocks from your dorm,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, exactly.” He nodded in agreement. “But, um, we’d already gone out for a fancy dinner on Valentine’s Day the year before, so I wanted this year to be more… special. I don’t know. Or different, at least. So, I thought I’d cook and make you a slideshow. And—okay, you’ll have to stop smiling if you want me to continue.”

You hadn’t realised you were smiling. You pursed your lips and pulled them to each side to compose yourself.

“Sorry,” you said. “Continue.”

“Right,” he said. “So I made a PowerPoint. Added all of our pictures that I could find in my camera roll, wrote some funny captions. There were going to be at least 200 slides, I’m pretty sure you would have fallen asleep in the middle. I even recorded an acoustic Sleep Token cover to use as background music.”

You told yourself you’d stay quiet, but your disbelief was uncontrollable. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” he said, smiling, but trying not to, for the sake of the story. “It’s gone, though. I erased all traces of that night.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, I, uh—I didn’t want just to play you the slides on my laptop,” he said, scratching nervously at his chest over his dark grey hoodie. “I wanted something more.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

He looked away instead of acknowledging your comment.

“Then I remembered something I saw on Instagram that could have been cool. It was one of those aesthetic accounts. They had a picture of this dark, cosy room with a projector screening a film right on this white wall,” he said. “So, I thought, well, shit! I have a white wall behind my wardrobe. And the science lab downstairs has a projector.”

You didn’t like this as you stiffened on the bed, mumbling a dreading, “dear God.”

“Yeah.” He paused to lick his lips. “But it’s probably not what you think. I got the fucking projector.”

He said that with so much grandeur that you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows—questioning if this was really something to be proud of.

He recapped the story anyway, “I took my roommate’s wrench, and it really didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to open the lab door, unscrew the projector, and bring it back up to my room.”

You shut your eyes and scrunched your nose at the step-by-step description. You wondered if there was a statute of limitations here, and if you would have been considered an accomplice now that you knew about this.

“They have security cameras, though,” you said, glancing at him again. “Don’t they?”

“They do,” Jungkook confirmed. He had a sardonic smile on his face. “Why do you think I was suspended for a month after Valentine’s Day?”

You lost him there. “Wait—they knew you stole the projector?”

“Borrowed,” he corrected. “I returned it two days later. But, yeah, uh—Minjun actually pulled some strings here. His dad went to university with the dean, so he vouched for me. Told him it was all a misunderstanding, and that it would never happen again.”

You looked away, frantically sifting through memories of the month after that particular Valentine’s Day. You remembered not seeing Jungkook for a few days after it, but you saw him fairly regularly later on. He would hang out in your dorm while you had classes, claiming not to have anything better to do.

It took you a full minute to properly recall the explanation he’d given about his suspension.

“Oh,” you said. “Minjun told me that you got suspended because you were caught completely wasted, spray-painting one of the campus buildings.”

Jungkook nodded, his eyes cast low.

“To be fair, I did spray-paint that one,” he admitted. “And I was probably wasted when I did it. But I wasn’t caught.”

You weren’t sure if “spray-painting” was a lesser offence than “stealing a projector from a laboratory” in your eyes, but you didn’t want to question Minjun’s decision now.

“Okay,” you said. “So what happened after you stole the projector?”

“Well, I took the borrowed projector up to my room and set it up,” he replied. “Everything looked great. I was going to give you the best Valentine’s Day dinner this world has ever fucking seen.”

He smacked his palms against his thighs as he spoke, showing off his determination, and you found yourself resisting a smile again. Jungkook had a certain way of telling stories—his changing smiles and small chuckles, his hand gestures and even his tone of voice always made it feel more vivid.

“But, um, I had to move the wardrobe to get a bare wall,” he continued. “And, uh, what I did not foresee was that, earlier that very same day, my roommate’s electric kettle had broken. He went out, purchased a new one. And he put the old one on top of the wardrobe to save space.” Jungkook gave you a moment to think back on this roommate. “You remember the guy, he hoarded everything, all kinds of fucking cables and wires, and—anyway. So, I started to push the wardrobe, and the fucking kettle—it fell and hit me right on the top of my head.”

A surprised gasp left your lips—a stark contrast to the easy, laid-back way he had just spoken.

Jungkook nodded in response to your reaction. “Yeah. My vision sort of darkened and I thought I heard something crack—I, uh, I did think it was my skull, not going to lie.”

He chuckled again—to minimise the impact of his words once more—but you sat up despite his inevitable protests.

“Jungkook!” you scolded. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Well, my skull obviously didn’t really crack.”

“I’m not so sure that it didn’t.”

“Anyway,” he stressed. “There wasn’t any blood or anything, so after a few minutes of sitting on the floor, I figured I was good to go. Then I stood up, and, uh—I don’t think you need a visual of what happened then.”

You closed your eyes.

Really, no. You did not need a visual.

About a year ago, at one of the smaller Rated Riot concerts—at a club that seemed harmless at first glance—Jungkook had climbed over to a wooden ceiling beam and swung his arms over it to brachiate across the narrow joist. The beam turned out to be heavily lacquered, and his sweaty palms slid right off, forcing him to crash onto the table below.

He gave himself a concussion, dislocated his shoulder, broke $200 worth of bottles and glasses, and frightened the living hell out of the middle-aged couple who were sitting at the table that he’d landed on.

“Yeah,” you said in your quiet hotel room. “I can imagine.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed out. He recalled this exact same moment—and he knew that, once again, the cause of his injury was his own overexertion. “So, I spent the whole night in my dorm room, on the floor—because I couldn’t crawl to my bed—hoping that I wouldn’t die.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call me?” you asked—not gently. “Or the fucking ambulance, actually?”

“No,” he replied, unfazed by your disapproving tone. “Not if it meant having to explain what I was doing before all of that happened.”

“You’re crazy,” you said, shaking your head. “You clearly got a concussion, and you didn’t do anything about it.”

“To be fair,” he said, “it’s not that I was embarrassed about it or anything. I was just—horrified that I’d let you down. It was Valentine’s Day. I wanted to give you a slideshow and a romantic fucking dinner. Not—not lie on the floor of my room, half passed out.”

You fought against a pensive sadness. It seemed unfair that this night had not gone the way he’d planned.

“W-well, what did your roommate say when he returned?” you asked instead.

Jungkook poked his cheek with his tongue. “He wasn’t very happy that I broke his old kettle.”

“You broke his—Jesus Christ.” Your hands were on your face as you fell back and buried your head into the pillows. “So, he just left you there on the floor?”

“I assume he thought I was drunk.”

“Fucking—what a—and he was valedictorian, wasn’t he? What a fucking moron,” you groaned. “I knew I should have kicked his ass while I had the chance. I never liked him.”

Jungkook felt a warm rush of comfort to hear how agitated you were getting on his behalf.

“Yeah, he didn’t like me very much, either,” he said. “But that’s um—that’s the story. I missed Valentine’s Day, almost died, and got suspended. I couldn’t possibly tell you what happened.”

“No, how could you?” you deadpanned. “Your reputation was at stake.”

He smiled. “Precisely.”

Even though you joked about this, and he was grateful that you did, both of you knew that this was not entirely about upholding some specific “bad boy” image.

You’d already witnessed this side of him – the side that felt anxious and dreaded the thought of not being good enough. Of not meeting expectations. Of letting others down.

In fact, now that you thought about it, your first proper conversation during this tour had been about this very issue.

“The time I was arrested,” Jungkook said, his shaky voice interrupting your thoughts, “that was—it might have been another one of those times.”

“What?” you asked, perplexed again. “How—I was at the police station with you—the officers—”

“I don’t remember a lot of details,” he interrupted. “So, I’m—I’m not really sure. But, uh, apparently, that night we didn’t just spray-paint a building. Or spit at the officers, allegedly, while we ran from them. The police assumed Minjun and I were the “drunk and disorderly” call that they received an hour before they found us.”

Your memories of that night were hazy, too—mostly because you refused to go over the details in your mind. All you could remember was Jungkook calling you from the precinct and asking—in the most resigned voice you’ve ever heard—if you could come pick him up. The story that you were given when you arrived at the police station only came back to your memory in fragments: property damage. Assault of police officers. Resisting arrest.

“You weren’t?” you asked.

“No,” Jungkook said. “We had some drinks at a bar outside of town, and Sid started harassing some bikers across the street. Someone called the police. Jude said he even punched someone there, I don’t know. Minjun and I were already back in the city at that time. I asked him to come with me to keep watch. I wanted to spray-paint these song lyrics for you—”

Your head jerked as your surprise prevented you from shaking it properly. “Wait—you—what? What lyrics?”

“It’s—well, you know what lyrics,” he replied, timid suddenly. “There was only one song we listened to all the time.”

You remembered.

It’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

You swallowed, breathless, and almost completely weightless as you clutched the duvet tighter in an attempt to ground yourself.

“The building I chose was downtown,” Jungkook continued. “Right across the street from the park where we had our first—well, our first date. I wanted that place to have something—something that we both loved. To commemorate all that we had, I don’t know. I haven’t been a very good boyfriend to you at the time, and I wanted to redeem that.”

The unexpected tightness in your stomach worried you for a second, but the sedative must not have fully worn off yet, because you took a deep breath and felt your body wind down a little. The room continued to blur behind Jungkook, but you suspected that your condition or medication had little to do with that.

“And, uh,” you tried to ask, “the police found you there?”

Jungkook nodded.

“I think Sid guided them to us,” he said. “It never made sense to me why the police would even go there. No one patrolled those streets, what was the point? Not to mention, it was dark, we were dressed in black, and—honestly, it wasn’t our first time with graffiti. But what happened was, I got a text from Sid, saying that someone at the bar had called the cops on him. And not five minutes later, he and Jude both showed up downtown, and we heard sirens.”

“So, what did you do?” you asked—uncertain, suddenly, if you’d actually asked him this before. You had talked to one police officer that night and had accepted everything he told you as the truth.

“Well, Minjun and I ran, of course,” Jungkook said.

“And the other two?”

“I can’t remember the exact sequence of—I was—I was drunk,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. He wanted to share the whole story with you, but he wasn’t sure if he knew it himself. “I remember Sid and Jude shouting at us that they would hold the cops back while we ran—and I didn’t even—we didn’t even think that there was anything weird about that. Minjun and I just ran.”

You felt your memories frantically rearrange themselves after every word that he said. Your head had turned into a disorderly, confused mess.

“The, um—the spitting, then?” you asked.

“That had to be Sid and Jude,” Jungkook speculated. “But I guess I might have done that, too. I, uh—I want you to have the full story, so I won’t deny things that I can’t even remember. I’m thinking about it now, and I don’t know which moments were really Minjun and me, and which were actually Sid and Jude. We were all very drunk, and nobody at the police station believed a word we were saying anyway.”

You nodded, urging him to continue, and he did—grateful and a little scared that you were listening to him so intently.

“Minjun and I got a good head start,” he spoke. “I don’t know what Sid and Jude meant by saying they’d hold the police back, because three officers still chased after us. But they were always at least five metres behind—I could tell from the distant sound of their shoes. I remember feeling so disconnected from my feet as I ran, I could sense I was going to trip. I don’t—honestly, I’m not saying this to defend myself—but I don’t know how I would have managed to look at the cops over my shoulder, spit at them from five metres away, and keep running without breaking my neck or falling over.”

“Hmm—yeah. I don’t know, either,” you said, turning away from him. You understood that it was important for him to clear his conscience, especially if he had been held accountable for something he didn’t even do, but you had other questions. “I’m confused about something else, though. If you and Minjun were being chased while Sid and Jude stayed back, why weren’t they brought into the station?”

All Jungkook did was raise his head and give you a look.

“Right,” you realised. “Of course. Money.”

He looked back down and nodded.

Exhaling, you studied the ceiling tiles for a few seconds before admitting, “I’ve always had a feeling that Sid had set you up.”

“Yeah,” he replied with surprising calmness. “I think so, too.”

You ran your fingers over your hair and pulled a strand from the back of your head to toy with it as you tried to think.

In every conversation that you’ve had about Sid using Jungkook as a scapegoat, Jungkook had either insisted that you were misunderstanding, or he simply fell silent (to avoid arguments, you assumed, and not necessarily to indicate his agreement with you).

This felt very new and particularly unusual. He wasn’t feeding into your dislike for his friends. He was doing something else now, but you were hesitant to draw conclusions about what it might be.

He had claimed he was done with Sid right after their fight, but after enduring his insufferable friends for years, you weren’t ready to believe that you wouldn’t have to see Sid’s nauseating mug again.

“But, anyway,” Jungkook said after a quiet minute. “Minjun and I apologised. Minjun paid bail. We signed something—I don’t even know what that was. And I went home with you. That’s the, um—the whole story as I remember it.”

You simmered in your cluttered mind for a moment longer, attempting to form a thought that you could voice. But all you could manage was a question. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” he asked. “I was still caught. You had to come and pick me up.”

“At least I—it would have—okay. I don’t know,” you finished lamely. This was a ‘what if’ that you didn’t have the strength to consider.

He hadn’t lied to you, though, you realised—and you weren’t sure how that made you feel. He allowed you to make assumptions that his friends were to blame, and he went along with it. That wasn’t worse than outright lying to you, but it wasn’t much better, either—it still put an unnecessary strain on your relationship.

Logically then, knowing the whole truth about what was happening with him might have made a significant difference. He had good intentions—yet he did not use them to defend himself.

You felt a little sorry that he only told you now, when you couldn’t go back and see what would have happened if you’d known about this all along.

But you realised you did not feel angry. You couldn’t find a specific point in his revelations that you could point at and say, “this is the one. This will be the reason why I can’t stand to look at you anymore.”

You couldn’t say that his choice to be silent made sense, but you knew him. And you understood why he made that choice. The way you saw it, this was partially his friends’ fault anyway.

All on his own, Jungkook wouldn’t have felt this uncertain, this insecure to admit to you that he loved you and that he wanted to show that to you in unorthodox ways—a lot of which didn’t work out.

“So, you just…” you spoke up again. “You were okay with me assuming that you were out with friends every night? That you chose them over us repeatedly?”

Jungkook sighed. If there was anything he’d learned over the past few days, it was that communication was not his strong suit. But now he’d reached a point of no return. He had to talk.

“Honestly, I thought it was a better alternative,” he said. “I thought I was a miserable try-hard. And I realised after our conversation in Amsterdam that, well... this is part of the reason why I didn't—why I assumed that you broke up with me because you didn’t love me anymore. And not because I kept fucking up.”

Your breaths were shallow as you listened to him.

“I think that it turned against me, this unnecessary secrecy,” Jungkook continued. “I wanted to be the best for you, and when I couldn’t be, Sid became a great excuse. But in my head—for me, he didn’t seem to have that big of a presence in our relationship. But of course, after I blamed my own mistakes on Sid, too, they built up. And, in the end, I think what happened was that…”

He faltered and you finished his sentence for him, “I started to see that all the reasons why something went wrong in our relationship were Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I made you think that if I was given a choice, I’d choose my friends over you. Which I wouldn’t! But, um—I had a very poor way of showing that. Have, actually. Still do. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” You turned away. “Do you—you know what else I think this is?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“Sid’s influence,” you said. “You were so scared that he would think you’re hopeless or pathetic that you couldn’t even talk about the things that you did—the things that you wanted to do for me. You thought you were a ‘try-hard’ because your friends convinced you that you were.”

Jungkook felt stunned and a little nauseous.

He didn’t know if this was something he’d implied in his endless attempts to apologise for the bet, but you articulated everything he had struggled to convey.

He was trying to prove to Sid that he wasn’t pathetic—and he was doing it long before Sid suggested the bet. He was doing it every time he went out with his friends. He was doing it every time he allowed you to blame these friends after he missed your dates—just so he wouldn’t have to admit how much he tried to make these dates special, and how miserably he’d failed at that.

Eventually, he began to accept that he was truly pitiful for being so stubbornly in love with you. He hated their pity. He wanted to change it. Make it not so.

But the aftermath of the bet made him realise that all he really did, was prove that he was pathetic—he wanted to get you back in any desperate way possible.

He was okay with that now.

He was okay with being so in love with you that he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t focus on anything else. Couldn’t stay where he was, repeating the same mistakes, going round and round, because he needed to grow. Needed to become someone who deserved you.

He was okay with it because being pitiful meant being in love with you, and he would never try to fight against that.

And you knew all these things about him. You knew everything.

He didn’t really understand how the world worked and he didn’t know if destiny played favourites. But he remembered writing a line in one of Rated Riot’s earlier songs—you weren't made for me, that much is true / but I was made for you—and he was once again confronted with the weight of this realisation.

He loved you. He’s always been yours so completely and wholeheartedly that you read him without looking at him.

He liked to think he knew you well—but that was extremely presumptuous of him. You were a universe within a universe. Really, it was you who knew him in ways he didn’t know himself.

“I—you’re right,” he said, running his tongue over his chapped lips. “I shouldn’t have given a fuck about what they thought, but I did. And I don’t—I, um—I don’t want this to seem like I am an angel for telling you about all that. No, I fucked up. Many times. We went binge-drinking, drag-racing, we skipped classes, failed tests, spray-painted buildings—”

“Stole projectors,” you interjected.

“—stole projectors,” he repeated reluctantly. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, while I only pretended to fuck up. No. I took you for granted many times, I know I did. And I’m—I’ll always be sorry about that. But I’m—I’ve kicked him out. Sid. I’m done. Truly done this time. And I don’t even care if Jude stays.”

The way his voice broke off at the last sentence sounded like he cared a little, but you recognised the determination in his eyes when you looked at him. He’d made a decision.

“And Minjun?” you asked.

Jungkook inhaled. “Minjun… said he’d stay.”

“Good,” you said.

“Good—yeah?” he asked, evidently surprised. “You think so?”

Minjun had constantly looked like a kicked puppy when you were in the room. Now that you understood why, you thought you liked him a little more for it.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think he’s the only one of your friends worth keeping.”

“I’m starting to see that, too,” he admitted. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You looked down. With half of the vitamin drip gone now, you felt your body start to return to you—and, automatically, the surreal haze inside this hotel room began to clear. You were no longer floating somewhere on the ceiling and only pretending that you were perfectly fine.

You were coming back to yourself. And the return was rugged and painful.

 “You, um—you keep apologising to me like—like you’re obligated to respond to me,” you said. Jungkook didn’t know if you realised it, but your voice changed when you spoke to him as his manager and not as someone he’d known and loved for over seven years. “I’m your manager, but these things—you can—I shouldn’t tell you how to live your life. That’s not my—”

“I want it to be, though,” he cut you off with a sudden boldness that he hadn’t realised he still had in him. “I-I mean, I don’t want you to worry about me like that ever again, but I—I want you to think about me. Sometimes, you’re the only person who truly does.”

You shook your head—not to rid yourself of the responsibility, but to remind him, yet again, that he had people who wanted what was best for him.

And, honestly, he knew he did. He just wanted you.

“You have your grandma,” you said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, nodding distractedly. “But, um, you know.”

“And you’re loved by thousands,” you continued. “They all want you to stay safe.”

He smiled—appreciative but oddly apologetic.

“I’m grateful for that,” he said. “It’s just that—I want you to be the one who wants that for me. I’ve only ever loved you, I’ve never—never been in a relationship with anyone who wasn’t you. And I don’t want to be, so the next thing that you say better not be about me finding someone else, because—”

“You have been in other relationships, though,” you said despite his warning. You didn't know if this was really true, but you ploughed ahead anyway—just to say something. “I don’t know how long or short, but Sid always bragged about your double dates whenever he called me to pick you up, so—”

“The double dates,” Jungkook said, “meant that Sid was on a date with two girls at the same time. And I was there for decoration.”

You scoffed. “I hardly imagine that to be possible, considering Sid looks like a sewer rat on a good day.”

Jungkook wanted to argue, but he was too amused by this image.

“And, um—what do I look like?” he asked.

You blinked, taken aback by the question, then quickly turned away to gaze out the window instead. “You look… you know what you look like.”

“No,” he said, fully grinning now. “Now that you mention it, I realise I actually have no idea what I look like.”

“There’s a mirror on the wall right behind you.”

“It’s like I’m blind, I don’t know what’s—”

“You’re ridiculous,” you groaned, your face warm. “You look nice. Move on.”

“Oh! That’s high praise coming from you.” He made an effort to bow. “Thank you.”

“Fuck off,” you retorted because you couldn’t smack him on the shoulder. Instead, you motioned with your hand, urging him to keep going. “Sid couldn’t get a date with a personality worse than his looks. Not if you were there.”

“I’m sure the expensive restaurant worked in his favour,” Jungkook remarked.

You threw your head back, realising the significance of money yet again. “Ah.”

“In any case, I don’t care,” he said. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. “I never wanted to be with anyone who wasn’t you anyway. Which—as you’ll be happy to point out—sounds silly because when Sid was in a good mood, he was very dedicated to making sure neither of us left the club alone.”

You shrugged one of your shoulders, trying to come off as casual. “Well, since you brought it up.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighed, not running away from this, because, frankly, there was nowhere to run. “And you’re, uh—you’re my manager. You know what I’ve been doing after hours anyway.”

“Hmm.”

You didn’t have a better response, because there was something that Luna had said to you the other day that would not leave your mind alone.

He had the option to keep the bet a secret from you.

This evening had been filled with these options.

It would have been easy not to mention his miserable attempts at grand gestures or the people who were there after you. But he was bringing up everything—every little detail from your relationship and after it—and you sat expressionless on the bed, not knowing what to make of any of it.

“I meant what I said, though,” Jungkook said, leaning forward again. He felt restless; as if he could jump out of his skin if he tried hard enough. “You’re the only meaningful relationship I’ve had. It wasn’t fair for me to pretend to be interested in a second date with someone else, when I constantly caught myself thinking about if I’d ever see you again. Or when I’d see you again, after we started to work together.”

Your eyes were focused on the sheets of the bed, but he still didn’t dare to look at you.

“I didn’t want to believe that I could still be in love with you after all this time,” he said. “But—well, the evidence is against me.”

“W-why’d you go with Sid then?” you asked—quickly. Before he said something else that you didn’t know how to respond to. “Clubbing and on these dates?”

He clenched his jaw. “Well, you said it. I was trying to prove to him that I wasn’t pathetic. That I wasn’t in love with you anymore.”

“But why did you care so much about what he thought?” you pushed, and there was a hint of hurt in your voice. Jungkook felt his heart leap over several beats as it pounded against his ribs. “Why did his opinion matter to you more than mine?”

He exhaled so deeply that it was almost a miracle his lungs hadn’t collapsed. His insides were burning with regret. With an urge to turn back time. An urge to make things right.

“Because I was—I was a fucking idiot. For years before I met you, I thought Sid had everything I wanted,” he said—which was equally as simple as it was unfair, and, in retrospect, stupid. “The freedom, the audacity to do whatever the fuck he pleased. No consequences, ever.”

You remembered him saying the same thing to you on the bridge in Stockholm and felt yourself shiver as though the wind from that night had followed you all the way here.

“And the way he treated me when I was single was different, too,” Jungkook continued. “I was single, I was in a band, and it finally felt like he approved of me, like we were actually friends. Like we were equals. And I cared about that so fucking much. It felt like I finally had everything that he had, and I was just—blind.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “You didn’t have what he has. I don’t think you ever will.”

Jungkook was surprised to realise that hearing this did not sting.

He agreed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I actually—I had so much more than Sid would ever have, because I had you. And that’s—that’s probably why he dragged me around with him. He was determined to make me truly lose you like he always made me lose everything. And I let him—I helped him make that come true. I can’t—I’m not much better than him. I want to believe I am, but I’m—I made the bet.”

You remembered thinking that Jungkook and Sid could never be equals, because Sid always needed Jungkook to have less. And now that you heard Jungkook come to a similar conclusion on his own, you thought you felt the room shift a little.

“Yeah,” you said, distracted. “T-that—the bet was fucked up.”

“I know. I’m—I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—I want you to know that I meant everything I had said. All of it. And I understand why you don’t want to believe me. I, uh—I know your family history. But I’ve got mine, too. My grandpa is almost eighty. He’s only ever loved one person his whole life. So did my dad. So will I. It’s just—regardless of what’s going to happen, you’re—I’ll always love you.”

You cleared your throat once, then once more—louder.

Jungkook was about ready to get up, alarmed suddenly, but you quieted and looked around. He caught a glimpse of your eyes as you scanned the room and he realised—in a paradoxical sense of relief—that you were frightened.

Not angry. Not refusing to believe him. Not disappointed or frustrated.

Just scared.

“It’s uh—it’s really late,” you said, looking back at the window. “Isn’t it? The sky’s completely dark.”

He swallowed. You didn’t want to talk about this. And you shouldn’t. You needed rest.

“Yeah, uh… do you want me to close the curtains?” he asked, swallowing all that was still left unsaid.

It was impossible anyway, he supposed, to pour seven years of misguided decisions into one conversation. He was just relieved you hadn’t asked him to leave.

“No,” you said. “Keep them open. I want to see the sky.”

He’d hoped you would say that, and he felt an almost forgotten lightness in his chest when you did. Lots of things had changed over the past few days, but a lot of things hadn’t—including your love for the night.

“A lot of stars tonight,” he said meaningfully. He was glad he had accidentally picked a hotel room with a view of boring back alleys: there were no lights to cover up the stars now.

“Yeah,” you agreed, much calmer. “They’re beautiful.”

There was a quote in a book his grandmother had once read to him: “are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?”

He remembered feeling oddly wistful when he heard it. He imagined the night sky behind his closed eyes and he felt as though he was lacking something crucial—something that would come, but not yet.

He remembered watching the way you watched the stars back in Tilburg—hours before it all fell apart.

The night sky had always reminded him of you—really, even before he met you.

“I could open the window wider,” he suggested.

You closed your eyes.

“Could you?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He stood up and approached the window, pulling the frame until he saw the ends of the curtains lift off the floor. “A distinct smell, isn’t it? The night.”

“It is,” you agreed.

It probably shouldn’t have been possible at this point, but as he turned around and traced your features with his gaze, he thought he fell in love with you a little more at this moment.

“We, um, we have this song,” he found himself saying as he returned to the armchair next to your bed. This song had been buzzing in his head nearly the whole night tonight. You could feel his nervousness as he mumbled, “ah, you probably know it already, it’s so obvious. And I told you in Oslo—okay, anyway. We have this song. It’s a B-side on our second single.”

“Cursed,” you said, recalling the title easily enough because this was your mum’s favourite song.

You always thought that the single—“Haunting,” which was their second title track and the very first Rated Riot song that you’d heard—overshadowed “Cursed.” Perhaps unfairly.

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded. “Who, um—who do you think inspired it?”

Swallowing, you willed your thoughts to clear, so you wouldn’t have to think about the lyrics, but could not do it.

You remembered the entire chorus with perfect clarity, as though you were listening to Rated Riot perform the song in concert right now—Taehyung heavy on the bass and Jungkook yelling out the lyrics with his whole body leaning over the edge of the stage towards the audience.

You’re for the stars and for the moon to see /

You weren’t made for me /

You’re for the night and for the day to breathe /

You’re everything they want to be /

You're the enchantment that makes planets turn /

You’re more than the entire world /

You weren’t made for me, that much is true /

But I was made for you.

“I have no idea,” you said finally. You hoped, against all odds, this was a song that Yoongi wrote when he was drunk—those tended to be very emotional. “Was this the, um, absinthe one?”

Jungkook snickered humourlessly and shook his head.

“Don’t do this to me,” he asked, looking down for a moment—just until he could count the four loose threads in the carpet. Then he returned his gaze to you.

“It was you,” he said. “Your love for the night sky. I know it’s your favourite thing in the world.”

He said that and suddenly your chest was filled with them—with these stars that you loved to watch and he loved to sing about.

“W-well, that’s—you’re, um,” you struggled, “you’re not wrong about that, I guess.”

“It’s a song about my favourite thing in the world, too,” he added.

“W-what’s that?”

He had a sad smile on his face. “You.”

Your stomach tightened again and you squeezed your eyes shut—a feeble attempt to get away from this situation and from all the thoughts that your head could no longer contain.

“Not tonight,” you whispered. “I can’t—I don’t want to talk about us or about—about anything else tonight.”

“Okay,” he agreed immediately. “We won’t talk about it.”

“Okay,” you echoed, even though his laid-back response did not relax you.

You sensed longing in his words, and anguish. He would have done anything you asked him to—and this power scared you. You didn’t want it. You just wanted—

Exhaling loudly to drown out your thoughts, you turned to a side and glanced at the bandages on his face.

“Tomorrow, we will have to—we’ll have to figure out what to do with your eye,” you said.

Jungkook had not fully returned to this planet yet. “My eye?”

“Yes,” you said, giving him a longer look—as if to check if you hadn’t dreamt him—and then closing your eyes again. “Your black eye.”

He reached up to touch the bandages, perpetually confused about his injuries. “Oh—what do you mean, what to do with it?”

“Well, it’d probably be weird to cut it out, so we’ll have to cover it up.”

“Hmm.” He smiled at the ease in your voice. If everything else was lost, he hoped that he would at least get to keep your banter. “Okay.”

“I’ll think of something,” you promised as the gentle night wind brushed a strand of hair away from your face and fluttered your tired eyelashes.

“Thank you,” Jungkook said in a hush—his courage had finally abandoned him. “I’m sorry that this is another thing that you have to—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not that bad.”

You tried to turn your head towards him, but lying here with your eyes closed felt very pleasant. You thought you’d felt revitalised before, you thought your body had started to feel more like it belonged to you again, but that had been momentary. You couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to properly look at him.

“Do you mind if I… keep my eyes closed for a minute?” you asked.

“Do you mind if I stay here?” he responded.

“You—”

“Actually, I don’t care,” he decided. “I’m staying.”

You forced yourself to look at him. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“You always say you’re fine,” he reminded you. “Look at where we are now.”

“It was a one-time thing. Look at this.” Lethargically, you raised your arm with the catheter. “I’m being pumped full of vitamins. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “I want to believe that. Really, I do, but you have to stop. You can’t keep going like this. I-I mean—”

You shook your head against the pillow. “Jungkook, this is really nothing.”

“I have a hard time believing that when you’re connected to a—”

“It’s—”

“Look, just—” he took a breath and extended his hands, “���p-please—please don’t let this happen again. Please look after yourself. I can’t lose you.”

He knew he might have to keep working with you without ever calling you his again. He’d have to learn how to deal with that.

But he could never deal with being here without you.

“Okay,” you said, your eyelids heavy. “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

“I’m going to need a promise here,” he said, reaching out his hand.

You chuckled weakly and extended your hand to gently graze his palm with the tips of your fingers. “I promise.”

He leaned in closer to fully grasp your hand in his, and saw the gentle—likely unconscious—smile on your lips as you squeezed his fingers. His chest filled with a warmth so big and powerful that, reasonably, there had to be no space left for his heart there anymore.

And yet something kept beating. He felt his own pulse reverberate against your fingers as he clutched your hand in his.

You’d be alright.

You hadn’t foreseen how calming the gentle dripping of the IV would be. You’d only meant to rest your eyes for a quick moment. You didn’t realise you had dozed off.

Only when your mind sobered up sometime in the early morning hours—you based the time solely on the colour of the sky outside—did you force your eyes open and concluded, with a painful jolt of your exhausted muscles, that you’d fallen asleep.

You looked around and for a moment, the dark, strange room filled your exhausted mind with terror. Then you noticed Jungkook sleeping in the chair next to you, and you felt yourself calm down.

Thank God he was here.

Blinking suddenly, you parted your lips as if preparing to argue with your own thoughts.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had a performance tomorrow. And a bandaged black eye that you still hadn’t figured out how to hide.

“I can tell you’re overthinking from all the way over here,” Jungkook said, his voice drowsy, eyes half-open. He must have heard the rustling of your covers and woken up. “Go to sleep.”

“What time is it?” you asked.

He was too tired to note the urgency in your voice as he mumbled, “sleeping time.”

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you said. Finally, he caught your alarmed tone and his eyes shot open. “What time is it?”

He straightened in his seat and regarded you for a minute while he searched for his phone somewhere on the armchair. You didn’t appear to be in pain, but the emergency in your eyes threw him off.

“It’s three-twenty,” he said after a brief moment of blindness from the bright screen of his phone.

“Shit.” You looked around in the darkness, not sure when you had last seen your phone. You couldn’t remember Jungkook mentioning that he’d picked it up when he found you, and you hadn’t asked for it back. “I have to—”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet.

“No,” you argued back. “I need—”

He leaned over your bed and took hold of your hands right as you tried to throw off your duvet and sit up. You tried to evade him, but Jungkook proved he’d known you long enough to guess every move you were going to make—in complete darkness.

“No,” he said again, struggling with your relentless dedication to flail your limbs around until you stood up. “Lie down, please. I don’t know what you think you must do at three in the morning, but I promise you, it can wait. It’ll be done. I’ll do everything to make sure everything is okay.”

You stopped resisting his hold and allowed him to gently guide you back onto the mattress. He only let go of you when your head hit the pillows.

“You can’t be here. You need rest,” you insisted as he pulled the duvet over you, tucking it under your sides until you were firmly cocooned inside. You couldn’t tell if he did that for your comfort or to make sure you couldn’t escape this bed.

“So do you,” he countered.

“I'm fine—”

“No—for once, just... please stop saying that,” he asked, his eyes bright, but his voice completely spent. “You’re not fine. You’re getting a vitamin drip because you fainted. You need to sleep.”

You kept your eyes on his for another minute, trying to adjust to the thick darkness, so you could make out his silhouette as he towered over your bed. He was watching you and waiting.

“Okay,” you gave in. “I'll sleep.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, finally sitting back down.

You knew that wasn’t right. He needed to get proper rest. He shouldn’t have kept watch over you.

“Okay,” was all you said despite everything. “Thank you.”

He mumbled something unintelligible in response and you didn’t dare to ask him to repeat it. The room gave space to the night as your conversation wound down.

You could hear a faint screech of a lost bird outside the hotel window. Bugs were singing somewhere in the distance, too. And, as you drifted off, you thought you heard Jungkook whisper a weary “I love you.”

chapter title credits: bad omens, “the grey”

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[choccy-milky]

bruh i need to vent about a rude comment i got on my recent chap and also about clora, cuz its something thats been on my mind for a while now. it has spoilers to my most recent chap tho so im putting it below

so in my most recent chap clora gets hit by the killing curse but thanks to seb sacrificing himself for her, it doesn’t work/she survives. and I got a rly rude comment about how that’s super cringe and that clora is a "shoe horning of every possible manifestation of Mary-Sueism I have ever seen." theyre dropping my fic after almost 500k words bc apparently THAT’S where they draw the line and that "just somehow pulling it out the bag and surviving a killing curse from the power of love. In simpler terms, it’s absolutely cringe worthy" and "forgive me if I rolled an eye at the yet again invincible nature of Clora Clemons-the-one-eighth-Veela-extraordinaire"

BUT LIKE LMAO TELL ME U DIDN’T READ/WATCH HARRY POTTER WITHOUT TELLING ME. that’s literally what happens to harry??but its only cringe when it happens to our "mary-sue" clora? like yeah sure love magic might be a bit cringe but IM LITERALLY JUST PULLING FROM THE SOURCE MATERIAL. of all the things to take issue with in my fic and interpretations, theyre taking issue with something that’s canon BAHAHA.

and since im on the topic of clora being mary sue can I just say I hate the misogyny/internalized misogyny that i've seen some people (NOT A LOT, THANKFULLY) treat her with. like i get it, im not pale and blonde and as conventionally pretty as clora is, but even if I was, is that a reason to hate me?? and does being beautiful and well-liked = mary sue? bc as far as I know, mary sue is a chara who is just naturally amazing at everything and doesnt need to try hard and theyre just inexplicably great for no reason (like mc in the base game BAHHAA) if anything the mary sue in MY fic is seb LMAO (but hes a boy so its ok). like clora has worked hard and studied magic all her life due to being a squib and wanting to make up for not being able to DO it. she isnt good at flying, seb is still better at her than duelling, shes really short sighted when it comes to doing/thinking whats best for others and can be a huge idiot.... and like. the only guys that have even shown interest in clora on a real scale have been seb and leander (and then lawley for blackmail purposes, and also bc he hates seb) so its not like literally everyone is falling over themselves for her?? like her interactions with the main cast of boys (ominis, garreth, amit) theyre all indifferent to her LMAO but still, the fact that shes pretty and guys here and there might look at her and go o shes cute! doesnt make her a mary sue SORRy thats just called being attractive idk its just annoying that ppl automatically see a nice kind beautiful female character without any VISIBLE flaws and go SHES TOO PERFECT!! MARY SUE!! WAH IM JEALOUS! and like I get it bc when I was younger I probs would have been annoyed by clora as well due to my own insecurities and internalized misogyny but hey, how about u just realize that’s ur own problem and your own jealousy, and not a real one HAHAH anyway ive since evolved bc I used to be a ‘not like other girls’ type girl back in highschool. trying to be super tomboy-y bc I thought being feminine was cringe and too basic but now ive embraced it and love girly things and dresses and charas like clora who are still strong and showcase their strengths and weaknesses in subtler ways, and I want to smooch her and make out with her. get behind me clora ill protect you🤺🤺🤺

[lqfiles]

THE NEW PART? HELLO? HELLOOOO? Omg my heart… the tension… the grip on her wrists… bringing her closer… THE NAMES? he’s so downbad and he doesn’t even know it yet omg i know he’s gonna tell everyone to fuck off except y/n and i love that for them

like their bickering is so… idk how to explain it but i can picture it so well in my head and it feels like a conversation i would hear (and, again, it’s paced so well) in person

and ngl the fake texts where he was calling her names and she’s telling him to stop… it reminds me of when my best friend told my bf (we were friends then but we bickered a lot) what i liked being called and he wouldn’t stop calling me that name… and now we’re dating 🧍🏻‍♀️ ily i love books that just bring back happy memories 😭

the tension… you write so well and i hope you know how talented you are 🫶🏼🫶🏼 literally. like the pacing, the subtle little details about them hating each other but still wanting to irk the other is so well done, talented 🫵🏼 HOW MANY WORDS IN NCT DREAM? YEAHHHH

everything’s going so good, so well paced and you need to process that in your head

- 🫧

(bella’s napping rn after eating some cucumbers and after running around in circles)

I FEEL LIKE I SUCCEEDED LETS FREAKING GOOOOO, tbh i felt like this this chap could’ve been better ngl, originally it was 2.2k words going into much more plot but i was like “no one is reading all that..” so i had to cut some parts out and try to not pace it too quick 😭 i’m glad the conversation felt real tho, i always imagine the characters saying the dialogue in the scene, that’s how i usually work on my stuff loll. tbh haechan is already starting to be down bad because the fact that he is going out of his way to annoy her with a nickname that’s meant for ENDEARMENT already says something.. 🌝

AAAWWWW THATS SO CUTE 😭😭😭 can’t believe i just took your experience and implemented it into this fic that’s crazyyy.. the way i was planning on making the nicknames win y/n over too like she has a slight weakness for them and with her growing attraction for haechan you already know she will be weak, that’s so cute tho, i’m happy you have such a cute memories of your pre-relationship!!

every time you point those little things out i feel like ive succeeded because that’s exactly what i want people to notice >o< you just made me day bae ily i hope your day goes well and thank you for the feedback <33 say hii to bella for me once she wakes up!!!

[fw00shy]

What Happens After Summer is Up to You

Harry/Draco | T | 1.6k | post-war summer at hogwarts, a little story about letting things go and not making a big fuss over it, fluff honestly but not too sweet | ao3 link

for @drarrymicrofic: what if he wants ken not barbie. ty @vukovich for the beta 💙

(i)

Draco returned to Hogwarts the year after the war for the same reason that got him into this mess in the first place: because he was told to. "Keep your head down and count yourself lucky," his father had said, and Draco packed his bags the same as he did every year, having learned nothing about making his own decisions.

That would come later.

"Some people need a little more help in life than others," Pansy said with a pitying pat of his bedcovers as she watched him pack.

Pansy more than passed her NEWTs with the help of Polyjuice and a morally compromised Ravenclaw. A two-pm Portkey to Zanzibar waited for her in celebration of her well-deserved accomplishments.

Draco picked up an engraved wooden case and opened it to reveal his father's Snitch, the one from the year Lucius had won the House Cup. Draco packed it with him every year as a good luck charm, but looking at it now brought upon a wave of unease.

"Who else is going?" Draco asked Pansy. She was wearing a bruise-purple miniskirt and black lipstick that drained her complexion as gaunt as a Thestral. Draco noted this with petty satisfaction.

Pansy flopped back on Draco's bed. "I dunno. Everyone, I suppose. Daphne, of course. Blaise. Theo. Greg, maybe? But he says he might not have the money, which I think is for the best really — he's just been so sad, probably wants some time alone, to, you know, process — though Blaise said he'd cover for him…" Pansy sat back up. "Draky baby, you aren't sad about missing out, are you?"

Draco snapped down the lid to the Snitch and stashed it in his trunk. "Don't call me that."

"Don't be like that," Pansy cooed. She got off the bed and flounced toward him, her every step light with barely constrained exuberance. "You know it won't be the same without you. I'll owl you a nice prezzy, alright? Look at me."

Pansy's eyes were black and glittering, her mouth hardened in a crocodile smile. She looked like she was ready to move on with her life, which she might as well go and do. Nobody was stopping her, anyway.

(ii)

Hogwarts held preparatory courses over the summer for Muggleborns, and the newly anointed Headmistress singlehandedly taught them all. There were twelve students in total across the years, and the terms of Draco's probation stated that he was to aid in their education.

"Studying over the summer… bet this is Granger's idea of fun," Draco grumbled under his breath over dinner the first week.

"Mine, actually," Potter said around a mouthful of peas. "She helped write the curriculum, but then she scored an internship at the Ministry."

They were sitting at the teacher's table, which meant Draco could talk to Potter without having to meet his eye. As such, they'd spoken a few times, though primarily for passing the butter and pepper and whatnot. (Their fingers brushed on occasion. Though never on purpose, of course.)

"I'm happy for her," Harry said.

"It's a good curriculum." Draco coughed. Dear Circe, complimenting Granger… did he have no filter?

(iii)

Teaching Quidditch to ten-year-olds was Draco's least favourite part of his sentence. You'd think sharing his joy of flying would be his only solace in a soulless summer cleaning up after children barely coordinated enough to wipe their own arses, and you would be horribly, disgustingly wrong. Turns out most Muggle-raised children had a healthy dose of vertigo that often manifested into projectile vomiting from a metre up.

"I just don't get it," Potter said as he Scourgified puke from Draco's hair for the third time that afternoon. Their students were long gone, taken off to the kitchens after one plummeted to the ground in a cannonball of chunder.

"Of course you don't," Draco huffed. Not just anyone could fly like Harry Potter, the youngest Seeker in a century despite never setting foot on a pitch before Hogwarts. "Like any normal dunce can be Harry Potter. You're stupid to think anyone has it as easy as you."

Potter threw a fist at Draco's eye. Draco returned it to Potter's chest, shoving Potter down to the ground. It felt good to hurt, so good that he nearly whined in disappointment when Potter froze and dropped his fist mid-air.

"That was a compliment," Potter said, his face cracked open with bewilderment. "You — God, Malfoy. You mess me up." He got up from the ground, his knees grass-stained and his face bruised with mud. Draco watched the anger bloom red and splotchy over Potter's cheeks and tried not to cower when Potter drew his wand. Was this what Voldemort saw before he died?

Potter muttered something unintelligible, and Draco felt the pain siphoning away from his body. He was light all over, as though Potter had managed to take away all his wounds, even the ones within him, so that there was nothing to Draco but air.

Draco watched Potter disappear back into the castle before standing. He walked through the halls in a daze until he ran into the Headmistress, who told him to clean up before he set a bad example for the incoming First-Years. It wasn't until he was freshly showered and pulling on his robes again that he realised that his Dark Mark was gone.

(iv)

They started tossing around a Quaffle in the late afternoons after Quidditch class. They were already in their leathers, and saying yes was as easy as lifting off the ground. Throwing around a Quaffle was loads harder than chasing after a Snitch, but neither were practised at it, which helped, as they dove after missed catches with all the vigour of a game-ending Snitch. They flew until the daylight ran out and their breaths with it, sweaty and exhausted and so late into dinner that they were sent to the kitchens to scavenge leftovers.

It was a Sunday afternoon in mid-August when Pansy's promised owl brought Draco a box of chocolates; too many for Draco to eat alone, so it was only sensible for him to share as he would have with Greg or Vince in the past. He walked the long corridor to Potter's door and knocked, chocolates in hand.

It was a terrible mistake. Potter wore only boxers, his glasses askew and his hair still sleep-rumpled (despite it being The Afternoon!). Draco stumbled back as though slapped. Potter honestly had no right being so effortlessly attractive on top of everything else he had going for him. It was like seeing Dumbledore in his sleeping hat, or maybe the first time Draco caught Pansy on the toilet and realised that girls pooped: all wrong, completely wrong, he really ought to go, perhaps another time —

Potter dragged him inside with only the gentlest roll of his eyes.

The inside of Potter's room was as cosy as Mother's cashmere jumper, only uglier (the wrong colours). Potter ate an embarrassing number of chocolates while proclaiming, "I dunno where it all goes, honest; can't gain a stone," and Draco was so disgusted by the utter unfairness of life that he fell asleep over Potter's bed and had to sneak back to his own room in the wee hours of the morning.

(v)

It wasn't meant to be an open invitation. But Potter followed Draco all the way back to his room after dinner the next day, and Draco didn't manage to shut the door on him in time.

Potter looked around, his head swivelling around comically, like an owl. And then his eyes narrowed on Lucius's unopened letters piled high on Draco's desk.

"What's in them?"

"Dunno," Draco said. "Directives, if I had to guess. Rather pointless, considering I'm stuck under McGonagall's iron fist until the summer's out." Potter opened one anyway, and Draco watched anger carve lines between his brows with some bemusement. Was this what it was like to have Harry Potter on his side? It was a bit like hanging around a guard crup, or maybe a guard dragon.

Potter burned the letter. He burned them all before returning to his room.

Draco sat on his bed and stared at the scorched top of his desk. He wasn't sure how he felt about it all being gone. Part of him was relieved, sure, but mostly the loss numbed his chest through.

Then Draco remembered his father's Snitch.

Draco summoned the Snitch to him, and it burst forth from the bottom of his trunk amid a cacophony of torn textbooks and scattered winter cloaks. Draco caught the box in his right hand and tucked it under him before gingerly stepping over the mess to his window, where he took out the Snitch and let it go. And then all that was left of Lucius in Draco's room was Draco himself.

The future unfolded before him, cold and barren to the ends of the earth. What was he supposed to do now?

(vi)

In the last week of summer, Potter told Draco to call him Harry, and then he asked Draco what he was going to do with his life.

Draco said, "I dunno. Get a job at the Ministry. Marry Pansy, I suppose. And you with Ginny, yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry said and took Draco's face into his hands and kissed him.

Was this it? Was this what all those miserable years surmounted to? This crystalline moment, the one that Draco waited for his whole life. And now it took him by surprise.

Harry's lips were very chapped, though his mouth held the sweet promise of fresh grass and sunshine. Whatever that meant. Draco kissed him back. And then he said it wasn't fair that Harry was so good at kissing as he was at everything else, honestly — sunshine? Was there anything Harry struggled at? Because he was so bloody perfect that it made Draco want to stomp on his face and throw up all over him.

"You're the only person in the world who thinks I'm perfect," Harry said and kissed him again.

(vi)

What happened after summer is up to you. 💙

Read on AO3

[cheeriecherry]

Hi there! I wanted to request Bakugou, Deku. And Todoroki, how they react to their fem!S/O Being sick. Like they're delirious with a fever near hospitalization( but not quite that level), body aches, wet cough. boys get worried when they don't come into work/school/text back. So they come see, and find her as well previously stated. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and answer this!

Ofc! Stay safe everyone and make sure to wear your masks :O

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

-He’s not a clingy guy, so he doesn’t expect you to answer his texts right away or always tell him where you are or what you’re doing.

-That being said, he knows your routine. If something is off a little bit, he’ll be mildly concerned, but will ultimately chalk it up to you being forgetful or spontaneous.

-But after you don’t show up in class, he starts to get worried. 

-He tries to think of whether or not you had any injuries during training that might have excused you from lessons, but he can’t think of any beyond a couple minor scrapes and bruises.

-He sends you a text in between classes, and when you still don’t reply he makes a trip back to the dorms at lunch to check on you.

-He doesn’t expect to find you like...this. 

-Curled up on your bed under nearly a hundred blankets, shivering. Your lips are dry and chapped, and he can hear your laboured breathing from the doorway.

-Now, he doesn’t wanna get sick, but that’s the last thing on his mind as he walks over to you and sits on the side of your bed.

-You don’t even seem to be aware of him as he presses a hand to your forehead, wincing at how hot you are.

-He doesn’t want to leave you, but he knows you’re probably sick enough to warrant a visit from Recovery Girl. Pus you’re his girlfriend, so it’s better to be safe than sorry.

-But like I said, he doesn’t want to leave you alone, in case you start choking or something, so he sends Kirishima a cryptic text telling him to bring recovery girl to the dorms.

-Ngl the bakusquad probably tags along with her when she comes to visit, but she ultimately commends Bakugou for calling her because are, in fact, very ill.

-She considers calling the hospital to have them bring you in, but she wants to try helping you in the comfort of your own room before resorting to extreme measures.

-You’re stuck with an IV in your arm for a couple days, and receive a kiss from the old woman on the forehead every morning, and soon enough you start perking up a little. Your breathing improves, and you start to sweat off the fever.

-Bakugou barely leaves your side during the whole ordeal. He goes to classes, but every morning, lunch, and evening he’s in your room. Sometimes he just sits and works on homework, sometimes he falls asleep.

-He’s been warned not to be near you while your still contagious, but he says fuck authority and does what he wants. You’re more important anyways.

-Still, it’s a relief once you start to feel better, and eventually open your eyes. You don’t remember most of what happened the past few days, but you do recall hearing your boyfriend’s voice a couple times.

-He might not know how to take care of you but he’s good at finding people who do, and he’ll always try and do what’s best for you.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

-one hella worried boy.

-Usually you guys hang out before class starts, but he figures that you maybe slept in today or something. So he sends you a text telling you good morning and heads off to class.

-When he gets there and find you’re not there, he starts to feel bad for not going in to check on you, or at least wake you up. Like, what if something bad happened to you and he just ignored it?

-He doesn’t want to be pushy or overly anxious, but he’s also a worrier by nature so...

-He can’t concentrate during class, thinking to hard about all the things that could have happened to you. He really really hopes you just missed your alarm, but a little niggle in the back of his head tells him that’s not the case.

-He excuses himself to ‘the bathroom’ during second period, and runs as fast and as stealthily as he can back to the dorms, where he then finds you.

-You’re practically gasping for air, laying on your bed. You’ve thrown your covers off because you’re too hot, but you’re also shivering so hard you’re shaking the mattress. He knows as soon as he lays a hand on your forehead that you’re not okay.

-So he does what anyone would do and calls one of his friends...who are in class. He’s somehow surprised when Mr. Aizawa picks up and starts scolding him about his students being in class, but he quickly babbles out that he’s ‘not actually in the bathroom and that he went to check on you because you weren’t in class and you’re really sick and please sir could you get recovery girl’

-There’s a sigh right before the line goes dead, and ten minutes later the tired man himself shows up with the school nurse.

-Once they actually see the state you’re in, and hear your horrible congested coughs, they both start to get worried.

-Again, recovery girl will want to try and avoid any media hubbub involving the school, so she’ll try to treat your symptoms in your room. It works pretty well considering her quirk, but you’re still on thin ice. Your fever is dangerously high, and even with an oxygen mask on you’re still having trouble breathing.

-Not to mention your mumbling...you’re not really aware of what’s going on, but it sounds like you’re trying to have conversations. Everyone worries that you’re hallucinating from the fever.

-Midoriya tries to convince your teacher to let him stay with you, but both Aizawa and recovery girl tell him there’s not anything he can do. It’s best he go back to class...which he reluctantly does. And only because recovery girl is going to stay with you until the end of the day.

-Once classes are over he makes a beeline for your room. His hands are full of little things the rest of the class had given him to give to you, as get-well presents. He sets them on your desk and sits beside you on the bed.

-Recovery girl’s quirk seems to be working, you’re a little more restful and still, though your lungs still sound horrible. He talks to you a little bit, wondering how you got this sick with no one noticing, but how he knows you’ll scold him if he blames himself for it.

-He falls asleep beside you on your bed that night, and the next morning he wakes up to a gentle trembling hand in his hair. 

-He opens his eyes to find you’ve turn onto your side, and are looking at his with a tired gaze. Your eyes are still a little glazed over, and he can tell you’re not really all there yet, but he still smiles at the improvement, as well as that the first thing you thought to do when you woke up was to touch him.

-He makes sure to keep up with his studies over the next few days, and makes lots of notes for you to go over later when you feel better. All his free time is spent in your room, despite the fact that he might catch what you have. He at least wears a mask at recovery girl’s request.

-It’s a major relief when he sees you sitting up and walking slowly around a few days later, though no matter how much you ask he’s not gonna let you try and do schoolwork until you’re at 100%.

-It’s a miracle this guy doesn’t get sick, though everyone kind of keeps a few feet away from him for a while.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

-Doesn’t think anything of it at first. He notices you’re not texting him back, but your phone might be off or dead, or you might be busy.

-He starts to wonder when you don’t show up in class. If you’d been planning to take a day off, you would have told him. Right? He sends you another text, asking if you’re okay, and promptly gets his phone confiscated.

-He gets it back at the end of the day no problem, but when he sees you still haven’t replied, he knows something is up.

-He ignores everyone on the way to the dorms, ducking in between people to try and get there faster.

-When he finds you in a pathetic wheezing ball under a heap of blankets, he instantly feels a pang of guilt. Maybe if he’d been more diligent, he would have learned that you were sick sooner...

-But it’s hard to beat himself up while he’s still got you to worry about.

-He finds a couple towels and old shirts around your room, and wraps them around some ice blocks he made, then sets them all over your body to help bring your temperature down.

-There’s no one in his phone contacts that he could really call in this situation, so he reluctantly settles for the class president. He’s always wanting to look out for fellow students, after all.

-So Iida shows up, takes on look at you, and sprints away to get recovery girl. Todo didn’t think it was that bad, but he mostly trusts Iida’s judgement, so...

-And then recovery girl comes in and confirms that yes, you are very sick. Very sick indeed.

-And the worry flares up in him again. He watches as she fixes you with IV fluids and antibiotics, and sets an oxygen mask across your face. He can’t help but notice how small and vulnerable you look in this state, and how he wants nothing more than for you to get better.

-He wonders if you should go to the hospital, if it would be better for you there, but recovery girl wants to keep you comfortable. She has most of what she needs at the school, but should your condition not improve in the next day then she’ll definitely arrange for an ambulance.

-Todoroki wonders how he’ll be able to visit you and make sure you’re doing okay if you’re off campus, but ultimately he wants what’s best for you.

-He wears a mask while he’s in your room to try and deter himself from getting sick as well, but he spends most of his time in there. He sometimes does homework, but mostly he’s just laying beside you on your bed thinking (or napping).

-He goes back to his own room to sleep during the night, but the first thing he does when he wakes up is come check on you.

-Your condition steadily improves, but you don’t regain consciousness until the third day, and when you do, the first thing you see if your boyfriend.

-He’s sitting in one of your chairs a little ways away reading, and he doesn’t notice you’re awake at first. When he does see that your eyes are open, he comes to sit on the edge of your bed.

-The first thing he does is give you a lil kiss on the forehead, and then he goes on to explain how you’ve been bedridden for days because of an illness, but how your condition has been getting better over time.

-V grateful that you’re awake now, so much so that he barely even feels the guilt from before. He’s just glad you’re doing okay.

-Gonna wait on you hand and foot for the next week or so, and nothing is too expensive. You want a square watermelon? He’ll get you a square watermelon, whatever you want. He might even try a hand at cooking meals for you, though they’re slightly burnt and overseasoned.

-He tries though, and it’s the thought that counts. He bars most of your classmates from visiting you while you’re recovering, because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but after some finagling he agrees to let two in at a time...but only for a couple minutes.

-He wishes he’d paid more attention in the beginning, but he makes up for it by doting on you afterwards.

[pepperpills]

The Harvest - RE8 Fanfic

The Harvest

A Resident Evil 8 fan fiction by Joana

Karl Heisenberg x Female Reader

Notes: heey guys, thanks everyone who has been reading this series, it was fun writting this story, but as i said a couple of chapters ago, it has come to an end. I am currently writting a new Heis x Reader story, focusing more on wordbuilding and their relationship. I guess The Harvest, as my first try on this, has been a great experience and I hope the next one turns out better. That being said, please enjoy this piece and I will see you all later on a new begginning, thanks!

Warning: NSFW content

Part I - Destiny (1) Part I - Destiny (2) Part II - The Lord Part III - The Hunt Part IV - Soft Torture Part V - Cry Baby

Part VI - The Encounter

It wasn’t a particular sunny day, but the weather was cooler than usual. It was enough for Karl to decide to work outside, once the heat inside the factory was overwhelming his sweaty body. He was shirtless, but still had his hat and spectacles on to protect him from the sun and the light.

Heisenberg was in the middle of something. Ever since you two inaugurated the new wing, he has been working to the bone on a new project. You understood he was trying a new set of armour to make the Soldats tougher. Unfortunately, for you, this was a task you couldn’t help him with. It was still on project, but he was already trying to find the material and that was why he had been searching the factory’s yard all morning, coming and going, absolutely focused.

You were getting bored, though. Once you couldn’t adventure the factory by your own anymore – neither wanted to, having in mind what happened last time –, you chose to sunbath at the yard in the early hours. It was still kind of chilly, because no matter what, the Village was always like that, and you obviously didn’t have any bikinis, once you really didn’t need a set living where you lived. In that manner, you bathed in your panties, wearing no bra.

You gave Karl a major distraction, because of this. First, he was jealous of your boobs exposed like that, but you managed to convince him no one could see you, once the factory was only accessible by the bridge and it was a considerable walk from the allowed parts of the Village. He chilled, but something in his pants was feeling encaged.

Not long after, you got bored. Then an idea crossed your mind causing you to smile. You quickly went to the bedroom to change, grab a few things and then went to the kitchen. Karl had been so long under the sun that he might as well be thirsty. Considering that, you prepared a juice with lots of ice, leaving the building to meet him outside caring a glass of it.

“Hey, Karl.” You called him, his body half inside one of the tanks. “What about a quick break?” You offered, rising the glass once he looked at you.

His countenance showed interest. His mouth was indeed dry, almost causing him chapped lips. Heisenberg walked towards you, the scene glowing in your eyes. The man’s chest was shiny with the sweat. Without his shirt, you had a great view of his body, enjoying the sight of his strong arms. Karl was a Renascence painting for you and the thought of it made you smile, which only invited him nearer.

“Thank you, buttercup.” He said, taking the glass you offered him.

He drank it almost entirely at once, causing some drops to roll down his bearded chin. When he was done, you came closer, resting your hands on his shoulders, not being able to resist a stupid idea that came through your mind. Heisenberg was a bit confused, but accepted your approach, placing his free hand on your hips. Instead of kissing him, you licked his chin, retracing the juice line. He wasn’t expecting it. You finished with a kiss, looking for his tongue, willing to make yours dance with his inside your mouths.

“You’re full of tricks, aren’t you?” Karl laughed when you let his lips go.

“Just some.” You shrugged, smirking back at him. “But I will let you work for now, I know you’re busy.” Now he had a sorrow expression, your kiss had awakened something in him, but you were right, he needed to find at least one metal piece to try on the model.

“It is okay, I will meet you later.” You comforted him, playing with ones of his rebel hair locks.

“I will make it up to you, Y/N.” Karl promised, pressing you harder against his chest, not wanting to let you go.

“No need to, just be there.” You planted a soft kiss on his lips to which he couldn’t help but smile.

“Ok, I will be, kitten.” Heisenberg kissed you once more, eager to taste you, he was intense.

After a couple more kisses, you managed to soften his grip around your hips and he decided that if he could finish the work earlier, it meant more time with you. With that in mind, he returned to the tank. You excused yourself, telling him you were going out to hunt to try the improvements you made on your bow.

You started walking towards the forest behind the factory. As soon as you reached the firsts trees, you noticed a change in the lighting. Clouds were now hiding the sun, bringing in new winds. You puffed, your plans of a cooler hunt probably spoiled because of this change of weather. Neither way, you were already there.

You took your usual path, going down to the stream. Not long after you noticed the absence of Lycans in the surroundings. You use to listen to their roars and sometimes even footsteps, but this time the only sound heard was the birds chanting. An odd atmosphere took over the forest, making you a bit tense.

Maybe they were occupied somewhere else, you thought that they could be on a hunt of their own, chasing a poor villager. This didn’t relax you, though. You kept looking around, searching for Lycans and other animals.

This happened half way to the stream, so fast you weren’t able to process the entire thing. You got distracted with a noise coming from your right, you looked over a fallen trunk, but saw nothing but a mild movement on a bush. It could be the wind, but you wouldn’t take your chances on a silly thought.

The aura was so tense you were about to make up your mind on coming back to the factory, leaving the hunt for another day, scared again of the creatures of the forest. You didn’t have time to decide, though. On your left, a wet thud caused you to jump. Your attention rapidly turned to the source of it.

A body had just fallen from one of the tree’s highest branches. For all you knew, that was a Moroaica, judging by its clothes and grey skin. This wasn’t the work of a Lycan. They would only eat other creatures when they didn’t have a different flesh and, before opting for this alternative, they would feast on the Village’s cattle. This must be something difference.

Only to confirm your suspicions, the culprit land in front of you. It came out of nowhere. Well, from one of the branches above your body. You instinctively screamed, not even noticing it, even though it was pretty loud. This thing wasn’t like anything you have ever seen in your life, but it resembled a lost tale from the cabins.

The story was about a pale creature, one that inhabits the dark, but would go out of its hiding places to hunt when starving. It was described to have sharp fangs for teeth and a blood thirst. On the folk’s tale, the thing wouldn’t have much reason, it would only know two things: the hunger and the instinct of reproduction.

However, this one, standing in front of you, had a human malice written in its red injected eyes, a beauty in its traces. It smirked at your thunderstruck face, feasting on your fear before feasting on your blood. The creature, which resembled a woman, approached your form elegantly, not rushing, having everything under its control.

She extended a hand full of sharp claws to your cheekbone, putting away a hair lock. She dug one claw into your skin, causing the red liquid to flow. Then she licked the blood from her nail, moaning to your sweet taste.

“You are too pretty to spoil.” She made up her mind, giving you a Cheshire cat smile.

The next movement was a blur to your human perception. You believe the thing attacked you, because you remember feeling your back meeting the soil with a thud. She was on top of you, pressing fangs on your neck. You passed out, regaining a faint consciousness some time later when you were being cared on someone’s shoulder when, before passing out again, your sensitive nostrils perceived a scent of oil.

-x-

Karl was worried out of his mind when he found you. He thought he heard your scream, but it was really the Lycan’s roars responding to it that enlightened the situation to him. He had just found the perfect metal piece when it happened, leaving the factory in a rush, panting already, only thinking of bringing his hammer that flew to his hand as he passed through the grid.

He used the Lycan’s flair to find you. No sign of whatever made that to you, it was only your body lying cold on the dead grass. He almost panicked, imagining you were forever lost. The relief the man felt to feel a weak blow of air on his hand when he placed it close to your nose was indescribable.

Heisenberg didn’t think twice before putting you over his shoulder, his hammer being held by his other hand, and take you back to the factory, cursing himself he let your go earlier, thinking he should have joined you or, at least, sent an escort of dogs with you.

You didn’t wake up for a long time. He laid you on his bed, watching as your chest went up and down with your breathing, this being the only thing that calmed his nerves down a little. But not so much later, he had to leave for a while, afraid he would throw everything metallic on the room.

He put on a real tantrum on a room nearby, not knowing the noises came to you on dreams as much as his enraged screams. Karl almost lost it there, turning himself into a beast on the sight of you hurt. Managing to stop only so he could really analyse your situation.

It was bad, but how bad he wasn’t sure. After being somewhat calmer, Karl quickly noticed the marks on your neck. He wasn’t a moron, specially when being “raised” with Alcina, he knew it was a bloodsucker’s doing. However, Lady Dimitrescu would never do such a messy job and it was even less probable that she would adventure herself on his area. No, it had to be a foreign.

Heisenberg would gladly chase this beast, swearing to tear it apart with his own teeth if it pleased him, but he couldn’t just leave you on your own. He sat on a chair beside the bed, holding your hand on his, focusing on the warmth on your skin. He stood like that for ours, after cleaning your wounds, on the verge of tears. At some point, he rested his head on your shoulder, near your soon-to-be new scar.

“C’mon, buttercup, wake up.” Karl whispered in your ear.

His hot breath was gently calling you out of a paralysis state. Your eyes started to open, your lips unglued, but a fever was commanding your body, making you feel restless. Heisenberg noticed your minor movements, his heart beat accelerating at the sight of your awakening.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He cursed, but a smiled formed on his lips. “Fuck, doll, what a scare you gave me!” Karl held your hand tighter.

“Karl…” You started. “I don’t feel so well.” You told him, seeing that perfect smile faint.

“I know.” He agreed. “I guess I know what it is.” An unpleasant expression formed on his brow. “Wait here.”

Karl didn’t wait until you responded, knowing you wouldn’t let him leave the room, but he had to test something and he really believed it would make you feel better. For fucks sake! It was the only way to make you cure. He went down the factory, to a part of it you didn’t yet know, but was going to get used to soon enough. He grabbed a bag of liquid and left, heading to the kitchen.

He poured the liquid in a glass and came back to you. You were now sat, trembling like crazy, wrapped by the blanket, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the cold. Seeing this, he didn’t mind sitting down on the chair again, extending the glass to you.

“Here, drink it.” He told you.

“What is it?” You asked, but the strong scent didn’t leave any doubts, you were just playing dumb.

“I guess you know what it is, Y/N.” Karl raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you hungry?” In response your stomach rumbled, making the man smirk.

“I-I can’t.” You sounded disgusted.

“You have to, kitten. It will make you feel better.” He took your hand on his, passing you the glass and guiding it to your lips.

You opened up just a little, resisting your new instincts, but as soon as the smell got more intense being that close to your nostrils, you gave up and drank it voraciously. The iron flavour making you salivate as the liquid calmed you down, stopping the trembling, washing away your fever, more potent than any medicine. When you emptied the glass, you proceeded to lick every last drop of blood reminiscent.

“That is a wild kitten.” Karl mocked, relieved at your reaction.

“Karl, what happened to me?” You wondered, not sure if he could answer.

Before telling you, he got into bed, taking off the blanket that was hiding your form. His fingers reached your marks, the sore region aching with the contact, causing him to retreat his digits. He sighed.

“You are not human anymore, Y/N.” Heisenberg told you, heavily.

“What?” You voice was a lot lower than your expected. You looked down to your lap.

“You encountered a thing back in the forest, right?” You only nodded. “Well, that thing bit you and… Well, transformed you.” He clarified.

“I feel… Better.” You moved your hands, stretching the fingers. “I mean, it hurts, but somehow I am more disposed.”

“You know…” Karl started, setting himself against the headboard, pulling you to rest in between his legs, your head resting on his chest as he played with your hair. “It isn’t ideal, but at least, now we can be together for a long time.” He kissed the top of your head and glanced down at you, care written all over his grey abysms.

“Forever?” You softly asked.

“Forever, kitten, forever.” Karl answered.

THE END.

[agent-ccarter]

even if it's a lie | Sirius Black

Summary: The Marauders have left Hogwarts, and the impending threat of the Dark Lord looms over them all. (2nd in series )

Warnings: Angst!!!, Swearing maybe, blaspheming, cigarettes.

Pairing:  (I tried to make it a gender neutral reader!!) Y/N x MaraudersEra Girls, Y/N x Sirius

same room | even if its a lie | please, let me get what I want 

*****

I know you don't love me so But please say it once before I go

I know that you can feel me Tell me that you don't love me But say it one more time

*****

Smoking was a habit you'd never entertained much before, mainly using it to remove awkwardness in social situations, but you found yourself relying more on the now, going as far as always carrying a pack on you. You knew it was bad, but quickly the steps outside of the block of apartments had quickly become littered with butts as a result of so many of you taking up the habit. The ground beneath you was cold, but not enough to stop you sitting down whilst you waited.

The click of the door was no surprise as Sirius made sure he was ready early for every meeting, however the sight of only you came as shock.

“Just us?”

“The others were called in to the Ministry early, don't know why. Figured i’d wait.” You flashed the packet of cigarettes towards him, and he slipped one between his lips gratefully. He puffed as if it was an inhaler, before passing a newspaper to you.

“Whats this?” He merely nodded at the paper in response, and you unfolded it to see what he was talking about.

Plastered across the front was a picture of Walhburga Black, looking as distraught as she possibly could without crying, with the headline “Tragedy for the Black Family.” You glanced at Sirius who had continued walking slowly even though you'd stopped. You continued to read: “Walhburga Black has had to deal with tragedy once again this year as the death of her son, Regulus, comes mere months after the death of her husband. The absence of her son, Sirius, means that-”. You stopped reading there, scrunching the pages and dropping it in your bag.

By now, Sirius had finished with his cigarette and he had squished it underneath his boot. The rest of the walk was silent; there was nothing either of you could say to make the other feel better. Only the shared deep breath before you entered the meeting showed each of you that the other was ready.

Lily was the first to greet you, standing from the long table. She tried to disguise her hug as just an overly friendly meeting, but the look she gave you when she pulled bag was obviously to elicit some kind of response.

“Hows my nephew?” You asked, ignoring her and prodding at her bump instead.

“Energetic to say the least!” You giggled, almost asking her what she’d expect from the son of James Potter, but when you looked for him you could see him comforting Sirius in a way you couldn't. He hugged him, hand pressed in the nest of hair and Sirius’ head rested in the crook of his shoulder. A hug of brothers, true brothers, James the only person who knew Sirius like they'd shared a womb.

Lily desperately wanted to ask how the walk had been, but the look of sadness on your face simply made her hug you once more. She whispered in your ear, “How did it happen?” 

“They found him in the water,” you nodded your head for the next part, “ripped to shreds apparently, barely recognisable.

“Jesus,” Lily sighed. She shared one more look of sympathy before moving towards the table. You grabbed a glass of water, raising it gratefully to your chapped lips and drinking it one.

“Lets get started, shall we?” Sirius addressed the room, which was unusually sombre especially as his voice almost croaked. He cleared his throat before continuing, “The last attack in occurred just outside of London, but luckily we were ready. Only one injured, no deaths, and now we just need..” Sirius trailed off in a spiel usually performed by James, a recap of Order activity since the last meeting. He moved his hands everywhere to try and hide the slight shake, ruffling his hair or leaving them in his pockets. James and Remus sent him comforting glances, but when he’d finished he sat down as if he was about to faint. 

“Y/N, I need you to keep an eye out near Grimmauld Place, okay?” James asked, sending another comforting glance, except it was to you this time. “There has been a lot of Deatheater activity around there recently, for, obvious reasons.” He trailed off, and continued to hand out assignments before anyone could dwell on what he'd said. 

The meeting was over quickly, and you were about to leave when you heard a “Y/N, wait!” from Sirius. “Ill walk back with you.” You nodded in response, waving goodbye to everyone else. 

The walk to Grimmauld Place (neither of you had to tell the other where you'd be going as you knew eachother far too well) was another silent one, except for the quick exchange when Sirius ran into an off license to top up his cigarettes and grab a bottle of cheap alchohol. 

Thankfully, the area around the row of houses was sheltered with trees, and the somewhat busy streets largely drowned out your minimal conversations. You set up camp on a bench, sharing the vodka between you. You took a big gulp just after you watched your mother leave the Black residence, escorted by your brother. 

“Fucks sake,” you huffed, earning a concerned look from Sirius, “they're cowards, sneaking around in the dark to hide how shitty they are.” “To fucked up families,” Sirius poured some liquid in the bottle cap, passing you the bottle and hitting them together in a cheers.

“To fucked up families,” you agreed, letting the alcohol burn your throat once more. You wanted to say something more, about how you've both chosen yours instead of relying on blood, and you were sure that Sirius had the same idea as he stared so intently at you that you could the reflection of the street lights flashing perfectly against his eyes. 

He looked perfect. God did he look perfect.

“I’m sorry, you know,” you coughed, liquid courage twisting in your throat, “for how it all ended. I love you.”

He sighed, as if he was simultaneously waiting for those words to leave your lips and hating the fact that they did.

“Please, don't,” he muttered, both of you now more aware of his hand resting on yours. You tried to pull yours away, embarrassed at him shooting down your confession, but he entangled his fingers with your instead. 

“We've got too much to lose. Ive already lost everything, I can't lose all of you too,” he sighed once more, and you were sure you could see a slight gloss more evident in his eyes, “I can't lose you. I couldn't stand it.”

You understood. Neither of you had anywhere else to go, anyone you were blood related to go running to when it all went to shit. No loving parent to hold you while you cry, no sibling to torment. The compromise of friend you could manage; pushing down the feelings was ok if it meant you'd have at least some family left. Someone to run to when you needed it.

But you were sat so close that vodka from both of your breath’s mixed between your lips, and you lent in further to close the gap. Sure, you'd just agreed to stop, but it was clear he was leaning on to.

Unfortunately, the bang of a door echoed around the road, and the pair of you snapped away to see his mother stood outside of the large house, dwarfed by the huge house, and crying. Crying? This was the only time you could ever feel any sympathy for such a spiteful, cruel woman, though Sirius certainly didn't feel any at all. He stood up so quickly that you were sure Walhburga could hear his boots as he quickly walked home.

*****

i'm going darling, I'll step lightly Live on as if you still love me Just say it one more time Even if it's a lie, even if it's a lie

*****

[notyetneedcoffee]

No Secrets, Part 6

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (???)

Warnings: None in this section

You studied Steve’s smiling face on the screen. Even though the faint dimple on his left cheek showed, his eyes held... something... that held back his normal vibrant joy. Perhaps fatigue, you thought, noticing the rare hint of darkened skin and redness. Hair damp and wearing a tight gray tee, Steve looked to be freshly showered. You wanted to see him in person, not over a video feed.

"So,” You smiled. “How’d things go?”

“Fine. No issues.” He sighed, eyes going soft. “I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.” You chewed on your lower lip. “I suppose you heard about my spectacularly bad decision.”

He nodded, growing serious. “Lot of paperwork.”

“I'm sure.”

“Lot of worry, too.” He scolded.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You looked down to the tea in your hands. Sighing, you asked. “Any chance you may come visit me?”

A teasing grin pulled at his full lips. “Feeling lonely, Honey?”  

“Lonely. Stir crazy. Bored.” You rolled your eyes before smiling. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Good things, I hope.”

You wondered how much you could tease him. “Oh, good. Very good. So good some of it’s bad.”

He sighed your name, blushing slightly. “Don’t tease.”

“Who’s teasing?” You giggled.  

Steve grinned, but that ghost of something returned and the smile faded. “You said that because you could tell what I was thinking, that you would be completely honest. Regardless of how long this effect lasts, you and I will be honest with each other. No matter what. Even when it’s hard.”

“Yeah, Steve, I meant it.” You sighed, wishing you could reach through the screen and touch him. “What’s wrong?”

He stared off camera for a long while, out his window, like he was weighing his words. When he spoke, he did not look back at the screen. “If you never realized what I was thinking when I was around you, if this thing never happened, would you have become Buck’s gal if he’d asked?”

And there it is... you thought. They’d talked.

“Hypothetically?” You sighed. Steve still wasn’t looking at the computer. “If Bucky approached me... if he asked me out... if I felt like our friendship could grow into a romantic relationship... and if you were stupid enough not to say anything before any of that happened... then, yeah, probably.”

Steve frowned. “Would you have preferred...”

“Steve. Stop it.” You ordered. “Don’t circle around the hypothetical questions. I DO know how you feel. I’m happy I know, no matter how it came about. So, if you have a real question, please ask. Otherwise, let go of all the ‘could have’ and ‘would have’ and ‘what if’ worries. Please.”

He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped. A frown creased his brow. “Sorry.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “I’m tired, not thinking straight.”

“I wish I was there.” You wanted to crawl onto his lap and hold him. He nodded again. “Are you home for a while?” Steve shook his head, suddenly looking tired. Disappointment flooded over you. “What?”

“I was going to call you when we first got in, but I ended up in, ah, conversation. Then I got pulled into a briefing. Sam, Bucky, and I are wheels up in just another hour.”  

“So, no visit?” You didn’t mean to whine, but did.

“Sorry, no visit, Honey.” Steve didn’t look happy about it either. “I’d much rather be there with you.” A sly smile spread. “Now that I’ve held you, kissed you... it’s all I can think about.”

“It’s a pretty good thought.” You smiled, kind of happy the conversation had gone full circle.  

“That it is.” He laughed, and it lit his eyes.

“When do you come home? I want to see you.”

“Hopefully within a week.” Steve leaned a little forward. “I’ve got to get ready to go. Be safe, and please don’t go wondering into town.”

A harsh buzz pulled you from a dead sleep. Sitting straight up, you grabbed your phone on instinct. Natasha was calling you at 3:16 am. She hadn’t called since you left the compound. You croaked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m up.”

“The boys got hit hard. Took Thor and code green to get them out. Quinjet is forty minutes out.” Her voice was quiet, calm and clipped.  

“Their status?” You swallowed.

“Wilson is going to need surgery. Barnes and Cap both took multiple shots. We got the blood loss under control, so they’ll heal up.”

Closing your eyes, you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I appreciate the situation report.”

“Not calling to give you a sit-rep.” He voice quieted. “You should get your ass to the med lab.”

“Thought you and Tony didn’t want me in your head.”  

“Not planning on being there,” She huffed a little. “And Tony can do whatever the hell he wants. Everyone else on the team was part of the rescue. You should at least have the chance to be there when we bring them in.”

“Thanks, Nat.” You jumped off the bed. “Forty minutes?”

“Thirty-seven.” She cut the connection.  

The early hour meant the drive back to the compound went by uneventfully. The minimal staff at the compound made moving through the halls easier, too.  The doctor and three nurses met you at the med wing entrance.

‘Better not disrupt my med bay.’ The doctor extended a hand. “We were told you’d be here. Take up a place over there. The trauma team is bringing them up now. Stay out of the way until one of us say you can come up.”

The trauma team came through the doors in a rush with Sam on the gurney. A blood-soaked dressing was tied just above his hip and two IVs hung from poles on the gurney.  They went by in a blur and straight into the operating suite.  

Two more medics pushed in a gurney with Steve on it. Dirt and blood covered his body. His suit appeared shredded, bloody wounds showing beneath. His head lolled to the side, eyes barely open. He saw you and his mouth opened as if to speak. They pushed him through a set of double doors before he could.  

‘Oh, Honey, thank God you’re here. You’re here. Love you.’

They pushed Bucky pass you. His unconscious form a shock. Someone had torn his body armor off and cut away the cloth from his right thigh. One of the medics held a large dressing against it. ‘Got get his volume up. He’s lost too much blood. Had to have hit the femoral.’  

‘No. No, drugs!’ Steve’s thoughts came through clear as a shout. ‘Got to get up! Where’s Buck! Where’s Sam!’

You pushed into Steve’s room. One nurse was stitching up a wound under his collar bone, the other stood aside with a syringe. “If he doesn’t want the pain killer, then don’t give it to him.” You snapped. “Unless you’re going to help patch him up, then why don’t you go get a status on the others. That will calm him down faster than anything.”

‘Whatever.’ She left the room.  

You rushed forward and kissed his chapped lips. He sighed. ‘Love.’

“Where are you hurt?" You whispered, resting your forehead against his temple. 

“Through and though of the upper chest, left bicep, a graze on the left shoulder.” The nurse listed off, without rushing. “Broken tib-fib, but they set it on the jet so it’ll mend without intervention.” She sighed. “Cap, you need food and lots of water. Let me set you up with a bag of IV ringers at least. No reason to feel like garbage while you’re heeling up.”

He nodded. She pulled out the kit. “When I’m done, I’ll check on Sam. They were taking him to surgery.”

“Thanks.” He muttered. Squeezing your fingers, he watched her slip the needle in. ‘Ugh. Hate that.’

You smiled to yourself. He could take a 9mm bullet but grumbled at needles. The nurse moved with quick efficient certainty and left. You kissed him again. He hummed. ‘Love you. Love you so much.’

“I love you, too.” You whispered against his lips.

‘Yes, thank God.’ Steve gave you a weary smile that faded as soon as the door opened and the first nurse entered.

“Sergeant Barnes is unconscious, although they’ve stopped all the bleeding and have scanned for any internal issues.”

Steve groaned, trying to sit up. You put your hand on his shoulder. “Steve, stay put.”

“No.” Steve growled out. ‘Not letting him wake up without knowing someone there.’

“You can’t walk on that leg. Not yet.” The nurse bit out.

“Then bring a chair.” You helped him swing his legs over. “Now!”  

The other nurse who seemed to know Steve came in with the chair. Either she heard or just understood his stubbornness. “Wilson will be in surgery for at least another couple hours, but he’ll be fine. Doc just wants to make sure he has a full recovery.”

“Thanks, Kim.” Steve pivoted on one foot and dropped into the chair. ‘Thank god. Now get the hell out of the way.’

You wheeled Steve into the adjacent room. Bucky lay on the bed, stripped down. Still covered in dirt and blood, but great swipes of antiseptic circled the multiple wounds. The jagged wound across his thigh looked ugly and vicious. “What caused that?”

“Flying piece of metal. It was an old mill. I think it was from an industrial saw.” Steve said through clenched teeth. ‘Should have known better. Dammit. We should not have gone in.’

“Don’t, Steve.” You squeezed his hand. “He’ll be okay.”

One of the male nurses came in to check the readings and change Bucky’s IV bag. He and Steve exchanged pleasantries. Something startled Bucky awake. His hand came up striking the nurse across the room. He jumped up, only to have his leg collapse under him. Equipment crashed to the ground as you rushed toward him.

“Bucky!” Steve shouted, standing but not moving.

Buck’s eyes were huge, unfocused. You knelt before him, eye to eye. “Bucky! Buck, you’re safe. Sweetie. You’re safe.”

‘No! Get out! No! Fuck! Doll? Thank god.’ Bucky’s hands grabbed you roughly, pulling you forward, pulling onto his lap despite his wounds. His arms wrapped around you, face burying in your throat. ‘Breathe. Breathe.’

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” You ran your hands through his tangled hair. “You’re home. You’re okay.”

Bucky rocked you, forcing himself to breathe, otherwise calm.

‘Never seen anyone else do that. Never seen anyone else pull him from the edge so fast.’

You looked over your shoulder at Steve, tears in your eyes from the release of terror flowing off Bucky. Fingers rubbed along his scalp as you made quiet shushing noises. Bucky took a deep breath and coughed. He still breathed you in like you were the source of all oxygen. “Doll, dammit. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”  

“No,” You sniffed. “But you may owe Jimmy an apology.”  

“Stevie?”

“Right here.” Steve spoke, voice think. “Sam’s in surgery.”

Bucky’s head came up. The two men stared at each other over your shoulder.  

‘Know you love her, pal. Please, please, don’t make me give this up. She feels safe.’

‘You love her so much. I see it. It’s okay. It’s not the same. I get it.’

You pressed you tear wet cheek against Bucky’s hair. “Let’s get you up, Buck. I’m not doing your wounds any good leaning on them like this. You need fluids, baby, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

He nodded. It was awkward and you strained to help him onto the bed again, but he didn’t argue. The nurse from Steve’s room, Kim, was back. You stayed by his side until she started the IV. She covered him with a blanket. “Lie here until you get two of those bags in you, then I’ll make sure you get moved back to your quarters to recoup. Okay, Bucky?”

“Yeah, I’ll be a good boy.” Buck tried to smile weakly.  

“Same goes for you, Cap.” She turned to where he sat.  

He gave her a smile. “Sound good.” Then Steve’s eyes locked on yours. ‘Want to go home with you.’  

You gave him a small nod even though your hand still ran through Bucky’s hair.  

A/N: Just one part left!

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[sachigram]

Catharsis

((click here to read on ao3!))

The first thing Izaya notices when he wakes up is that the room is too damn bright. He always remembers to close his curtains, as his hours are all over the place, and blackout curtains are essential for any sleep he might salvage.

The second thing he notices is that he's definitely not in his bed, and he can't remember why he wouldn't be.

“Izaya-kun, easy. You hit your head.”

Well, that explains a few things. Izaya turns to look at Shinra, squinting up at him.

“'S too bright...” he murmurs, and Shinra frowns.

“You say that every time, but the curtains are closed. You want me to get you a sleep mask?”

“Every time?” Izaya asks, closing his eyes and ignoring Shinra's stupid question. He tries to remember what he was doing before, but it's all a blur. “What day is it?”

“It's Tuesday. You've been here for two days, and you have a concussion. I've been monitoring you, so you're fine, but your memory might be hazy for a while.”

Izaya hums, used to injuries by this point. It's not the first time he's woken in an unfamiliar bed, and it won't be the last. He licks his lips and notices how dry they are.

“Can I have some water?”

“Yeah, and you're probably starving too, huh? You've barely eaten.” Shinra gives Izaya a firm look as he says this, and Izaya blinks up at him, confused. Shinra's face returns to its normal dopey grin quickly. “I'll be right back.”

Izaya is asleep again before Shinra returns.

The next time Izaya wakes, it's to raised voices.

“You keep saying he's fine, but he's not fine! He can't even focus his eyes for a goddamn minute!” Shizuo. Is that Shizuo? Why would Shizuo be at Izaya's bedside, worried for him?

“He has a head injury. Besides, his body is likely catching up on sleep and fluids. He's not in very good shape,” Shinra says, and Izaya feels there's an IV in his arm. He keeps his face smooth, impassive. It won't do him any good to open his eyes to Shizuo's looming presence.

“Bullshit, the flea does constant cardio. He's gotta be in great shape by now,” Shizuo says, and Izaya hears Shinra sigh.

“Just go home, Shizuo-kun. I told you I'd call you when he's awake and lucid. It won't be good for him to wake up to you here. He'll be scared and might run for it, which will make him worse.”

“I'm not gonna do anything to him! I'm just making sure he's alive!”

“I know that, but he won't. And he's confused enough without you adding to it.”

Shizuo makes a grumbling noise, and then there are footsteps leading down the hall before the distinct sound of a door opening and closing.

“Before you ask,” Shinra says, and Izaya knows it's addressed to him, “Shizuo-kun is worried sick about you, and it's only confirming my suspicions that he's smitten with you.”

“Ha,” Izaya mutters, and when he opens his eyes again, he finds it's not as bright as last time. “Why was he here?”

“He's the one that brought you here. He said he was chasing you and you collapsed off a building.”

“Oh, whatever. He probably slammed my head into a wall and then felt guilty about it.”

“It's possible,” Shinra agrees, “but your blood sugar was extremely low at the time, so it added credibility to his story.” Shinra settles into the chair by the bed, and Izaya glares at the ceiling, knowing what's next. “You're going to kill yourself if you don't start taking care of yourself.”

“I'm busy. I was working and then he started chasing me. It was his fault.”

“You always say it's his fault.”

“Well, it always is!” Izaya sits up and glowers at Shinra. “I keep odd hours, you know that. I don't mean to forget to take care of things, it just happens.”

“That excuse was good the first few times, but I'm really starting to think you do it on purpose.”

“What are you, a concerned mother? Either way, you get my business and my money, so it hardly matters.” Izaya looks down at the IV. “Can I take this out? I need to use the bathroom.”

Shinra gives him a long look before reaching down and taking the IV out himself. Izaya tentatively puts his feet on the ground and stands, feeling wobbly as he does so. Wordlessly, Shinra moves closer and offers his shoulder, and Izaya holds on gratefully and allows Shinra to help him down the hallway.

“I'm going to make something to eat,” Shinra says, his voice muffled through the bathroom door.

Izaya doesn't respond. He sits on the toilet, too weak to keep standing, and when he washes his hands afterwards he has to lean on the sink. His reflection is horrible to look at. He's paler than normal, eyes dark underneath, lips dry and chapped. His cheekbones look too sharp. His hair is going everywhere.

Izaya grumbles and reaches into his pocket for his lip balm, but he isn't surprised to find it missing. Shinra always empties the pockets of his patients for safety reasons.

When Izaya opens the door, he's relieved to see Shinra isn't there waiting on him, but it's short lived, as Celty is quickly approaching him, her body language open and relaxed in his presence, which is odd for her. Shinra must have told her to be nice.

“Need a hand?” Celty asks, lifting the PDA. Izaya considers doing something petty, like swatting her away or slapping her PDA to the floor, but he dismisses the idea quickly. He does need help, and being a brat because he's not feeling well won't be beneficial to him.

“Thanks,” he says instead, leaning against her as she helps him to the table and eases him into a chair. She hovers over him, on edge again, and Izaya peers up at her and waits to see what it is she wants from him.

“You gave everyone a good scare.”

“No one's ever cared before when Shizu-chan injured me. Not that I blame anyone. It happens too often to panic every time.” Izaya puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin against his hand.

“Shizuo didn't do anything. He brought you here. He's been worried for you.” Celty fidgets again, and then her fingers are moving rapidly across the screen. “Listen... I think this would be a good time to try and bury the hatchet with Shizuo. Think of it like an extended olive branch. If not for him, you could have died. Isn't that as good a reason as any to make peace?”

Izaya stares at her.

“Well?” she prompts.

“And have you told him about this grand idea of yours?” Izaya asks.

“Yes. He said you're not likely to change, and I agree. But I also think it's worth a shot.”

“If he thinks so badly of me, he should have left me there.” Izaya doesn't bother reading her response, just buries his head in his arms. “I didn't ask for his help. If he hadn't been chasing me, I wouldn't have had to run for my life, and I wouldn't have needed saving. I don't want to talk about him anymore.”

Izaya hears the sound of her stomping her feet, and then heavy footsteps as she marches towards the kitchen. Shinra makes a startled noise, and then he's speaking in a hushed tone Izaya doesn't bother to listen to. He knows what it's about, anyway.

He drifts off again, and the next time he lifts his head, it's to find a bowl in front of him.

“Just some soup,” Shinra says, sitting across from him. Celty sits next to Shinra, her arms folded over her chest, her neck billowing smoke.

“I'm tired,” Izaya mumbles, rubbing his eyes. He barely looks at the soup, but it smells decent enough.

“You need to eat,” Shinra says. “You're going to be tired a while, even more so if you don't give your body energy.”

Sighing, Izaya brings his spoon to his lips. Some kind of potato soup. It's good, and Izaya wonders which of them made this, but he doesn't bother asking.

“Can I go home tonight?” Izaya asks after a few moments. Shinra gives him a patient look.

“That's up to you. Do you think you can take care of yourself?”

“Well, I'm moving around, not passing out, and I'm holding a conversation with you. I'd say that qualifies,” Izaya muses. He lifts the bowl to his lips and drinks the broth, finding it soothing in his throat.

“Let me rephrase,” Shinra says, and his eyes narrow. “Are you going to bother caring for yourself, or should I expect you back here soon?”

Izaya bristles, sets the bowl back on the table. He smooths his features and forces his voice into a neutral tone.

“Even if I intended to walk into traffic, it's not your place to keep me from doing so.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised. Especially with Celty here! She could knock you out for another few days if she had to.”

“Shinra, we've been over this before. I'm not hurting myself. I'm just busy. Stop being such a nag, alright? It's not as if you care anyway.” Izaya sips some water, watches Shinra over the table. “Besides, if Shizu-chan keeps inviting himself over, I'd rather not be here next time he comes back.”

“Eventually, this feud of yours is going to have to end. You could resolve it peacefully, or wait for one of you to kill the other. I think the first option is the best one,” Shinra says.

Izaya stands, wobbles, and has to sit back down immediately. Shinra is still smiling at him.

“Maybe just stay one more night. We can see how you feel tomorrow.”

“I can call a cab. I could even call someone to help me to the car.”

“How? I have your phone.” Shinra tilts his head to the side. “You need to take this seriously. I think one more night, at least.”

“Fine, but at least give me my phone. If I've been here a few days, I need to contact some people.”

***

He waits until about an hour after Shinra and Celty go to bed. He stands and hangs onto the wall, maneuvering himself as quietly as he can. He finds his keys, knives, wallet, and lip balm in a small bowl on Shinra's counter, and he puts them in his coat pocket alongside his phone, where he has been texting back and forth with Namie and a few clients for the past few hours.

He's already arranged for a ride home, and it takes him a while to exit the building, but he manages to do so without falling down. To his surprise, Shiki's car is the one waiting for him, and he composes himself before opening the back door and getting in beside Shiki.

“Izaya. You look rough. Sure you should be leaving?” Shiki asks.

“Of course. Shinra is a busy man. I'm sure someone else needs that spare bed more than I do,” Izaya says. He meets Shiki's gaze and grins. “I'm feeling much better.”

“Maybe you should take a few more days, just in case,” Shiki says.

“The last thing I need is more downtime. Forgive me, Shiki-san, but I'd really like to get back to work and put this behind me.”

Shiki waits a few moments, eyeing Izaya scrupulously. “Fine then. If you're sure.” He signals the driver, and they're off.

***

When Izaya runs into Shizuo again, it's an accident.

Izaya has buried himself in work once more, as he's accustomed to. He has less time to think about anything else when he's busy.

He's leaning against a wall, head buried in his phone when he feels someone looking at him. His eyes meet Shizuo's, who is wearing his sunglasses, but is clearly watching him. Izaya frowns, weighs his options, and decides to just run for it without saying a word to Shizuo.

“Izaya!” Shizuo shouts after him, but Izaya doesn't stop, just runs and runs until his chest aches and he's gasping for breath. He finally finds a small cafe to duck into, and he makes his way to a table in the back, flopping into it and ordering some tea when the waiter comes by.

He busies himself by sipping the tea and continuing to use his phone. He lifts his head at some point and notices it's raining outside. Surely Shizuo has given up the chase by now? He decides to wait just a little longer to be sure, and to give the rain a chance to let up, but of course it only starts coming down harder. Sighing to himself, he pays his bill and puts his hood on, stepping outside into the downpour.

It's a gloomy day, but warm enough. Izaya is at least thankful he isn't cold and wet, as he can't afford to get sick any time soon. He has so much to do, has taken on so many things at once, and it's still not enough to really quiet his mind or exhaust him enough to where he can sleep at night. He's been ignoring Shinra's advice, and Shinra himself, as the doctor has been harassing Izaya ever since he left in the middle of the night. Sometimes Celty will text him as well, but Izaya hasn't responded to her more personal questions and has kept their correspondence strictly professional.

He walks quickly, weaving through the people around him. He needs to get home and sort through the files he's had Namie organize for him and then he needs to give Shiki a call to discuss progress. Maybe at some point he can get some sleep, but undoubtedly Shiki will have another request, and while Izaya knows it can all wait, he also knows eventually he'll run out of steam and he'd like to finish some things up before then.

He's so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice someone approaching him, but he does jerk away just before Shizuo's hand can close around his wrist. Izaya whirls around, a knife drawn, and he glares up at Shizuo, who is glowering right back at him.

“Why did you run?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya actually laughs in his face.

“Is that a trick question? Do you think I want you to snap me in half?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo's scowl deepens.

“I wasn't going to do anything, and I still won't. Not unless you do something first,” Shizuo says, his eyes on Izaya's knife. He's still wearing the sunglasses, which is ridiculous since it's raining, but Izaya has also seen Shizuo wear them at night, as if they could hide who he is despite the fact he's wearing the same outfit as always.

“I'm busy,” Izaya says. “If you're bothering me for some sort of thank you, you can fuck off. I didn't ask for your help.”

“I wasn't— Hey, fuck you! You didn't deserve being helped at all, flea! I could've left you there to die on your own. That's what you'd have done if our situations were reversed, right?”

“Yes,” Izaya says, smirking as he gazes up into Shizuo's shades, seeing his own reflection in them. “I'd have done more than that. If you fell before me, I'd slit your throat while you were down. I wouldn't hesitate.” Izaya backs away, but keeps facing Shizuo, knows better than to turn from him while Shizuo is focused on him and this close. “You should've let me die.”

Shizuo's teeth are bared, his hands clenched into fists. He takes a few steps forward when Izaya backs away a little more, pursuing Izaya as he always does.

“Yeah? You wouldn't hesitate, huh? Well I'm better than you, and I wasn't gonna attack you while you were down. Celty's been saying some bullshit about using this to try and make things right with you, but I knew you wouldn't change, and I was right. You'll never change.”

“You're right,” Izaya says, and he does turn away then, knowing he's going to have to either attack or run for it once more. He isn't in the shape to be doing either, but he'd rather try to escape than keep facing Shizuo head-on. “Don't flatter yourself, anyway. You didn't save my life. I'd have woken up and called Shinra myself without you.”

“You wouldn't have. There was blood all over. You'd have died if I didn't carry you.”

“I didn't ask for your help!” Izaya snaps, looking back at Shizuo, who is watching him with a strange expression on his face. “If you hadn't been chasing me, I wouldn't have passed out.”

“Why the fuck did you pass out anyway, I-za-ya?” Shizuo asks. Everyone around them is giving them a wide berth, either knowing who they are, or just not wanting to get involved in their shouting match.

“I was tired. I was tired, and I knew you wouldn't stop, so I couldn't stop. I'm not thanking you because it was your fault!”

“Fuck that! You're lucky it was me that was after you and not the same shady ass people as you! And I never asked you to thank me!” Shizuo shouts, and Izaya feels his head pounding in response because this entire exchange is so stupid, and Shizuo's response struck a nerve with him.

“I would've been fine without you. Now let me go.”

Shizuo is watching him carefully, studying his face and his posture. Izaya bristles under it, feeling exposed somehow. Shizuo is an idiot half the time, but sometimes he's so sharp it takes Izaya by surprise, and Izaya isn't in the mood for surprises right now.

“Something's wrong with you,” Shizuo says. “Well. Something more than the usual bat-shit crazy stuff that's wrong with you.”

“I'm busy. Unlike you, I have to do more than punch people for a living.”

“Yeah, you just ruin lives. So what is it? Did you kill someone or something?”

Izaya feels a frigid cold wash over him. His hand feels numb where it grips the knife, and something in Shizuo's expression changes. Unthinkingly, Izaya turns and runs for it, clumsily running into a few people before landing in the path of an oncoming car.

Shizuo's hand snatches him backwards by the hood, and Izaya finds his back held against Shizuo's chest, Shizuo's arms going around him reflexively. The car passes, honking at them, and plenty of eyes are on them now.

“Fuck. You're losing it, flea.”

“Let go of me,” Izaya says, but he doesn't try very hard to pull away. Shizuo's arms drop all the same.

“Shinra said you were exhausted and obviously not caring for yourself. Said it was a constant problem of yours, since he doesn't know how to shut up. All I asked was if you were alive,” Shizuo says, and Izaya is still close to him, though not touching him anymore.

“Shinra is a nosy asshole,” Izaya says.

“He is,” Shizuo agrees.

“So you don't want me to thank you. Why are you following me around then if not to beat my face in or yank gratitude out of me?”

“Well, I kind of saved your life and all,” Shizuo says, and Izaya turns to face him wearily. “So now it kind of feels like my responsibility to make sure you stay alive.”

“I don't need your help. I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Shizuo asks, and doesn't wait for a response. He walks forward, bumping Izaya's shoulder with his as he passes. “Let me walk you home. I'd like to sleep tonight, and I won't if I think you're off in a ditch somewhere.”

“Why do you care?” Izaya mutters, following anyway. He does need to get home, and he can hardly control what Shizuo does.

“I guess because you don't.” Izaya watches Shizuo's back curiously, entranced by him. He never can tell what Shizuo is going to do next. He hates and admires that about Shizuo.

“I'm not trying to off myself, Shizu-chan, regardless of what Shinra has said.”

“Maybe not actively. It's still dangerous, you know? Not caring about yourself one way or the other. It just makes things worse later on.”

“Right. I guess you're an expert on being reckless,” Izaya says.

“It's not like you have the market cornered.”

They make decent time. Not many people are walking around anymore since the rain isn't getting any lighter, and they're both soaked to the bone by the time they're in front of Izaya's building. Izaya looks over at Shizuo, sighs, and edges past him.

“Do you want some tea?” he asks, and he doesn't have to look back to know Shizuo is following him.

Namie is still sorting through things when they walk through the door of Izaya's apartment. She gives them both a wilting look, her eyes lingering on Shizuo, and then she gives Izaya an accusing stare.

“You're late,” she says.

“I was waiting for the rain to stop. Didn't want to get wet,” Izaya says, and Shizuo snorts.

“Yeah, you did a great job staying dry,” Namie says. “If you get sick, I'm not going to take care of you.”

“You will if I complain enough to you. You'll be here anyway,” Izaya points out. “You can go now. Try not to curse anyone on your way home.” She rolls her eyes at him and gathers her things quickly, pulling an umbrella from her purse and giving Izaya a pointed look as she does so.

When she's gone, Shizuo turns to him.

“Who was that?”

“My secretary. She has a way about her, doesn't she? Charming woman.” Izaya goes to the bathroom and gets two towels, tosses one to Shizuo when he emerges. “I'm going to get some dry clothes.”

Shizuo doesn't respond, and Izaya knows it's because the beast is feeling just as weird about all this as he is. The two of them know each other pretty well, but have never actually spoken before without fighting either physically or verbally. Izaya is surprised they managed to get through high school together, but Izaya also rarely went to class.

He tugs on some more comfortable clothes before returning to the living room, where Shizuo is still standing, his head looking around like he's trying to take in all the sights of Izaya's apartment.

“I bet I could find you something to wear,” Izaya says, and Shizuo turns to him. “I have some sweatpants that are too big for me.”

“No, it's fine. I should be going anyway. No point in putting on dry clothes when it's still pouring rain,” Shizuo says.

“You don't want some tea?”

Shizuo pauses, and then he shakes his head.

“No, I need to go. I just wanted to make sure you got home okay.”

Izaya snorts and pads into the kitchen to make tea for himself. He hears the door open and close, and then he leans on the counter wearily, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He doesn't blame Shizuo for not staying— Izaya wouldn't have either, if their situations were reversed. He doesn't know why he offered in the first place.

***

The next time he sees Shizuo is outside Shinra's building.

Izaya is shuffling by, on his way to Shiki for a briefing on his newest assignment. Shiki offered to come to him, but Izaya refused, citing he needed to get out of his apartment for a while. He's been holed up for days, working diligently on different things. He hasn't been to any of his chat-rooms for a while. Some of them have been messaging him privately, asking if he's okay, but Izaya doesn't bother responding.

It's a nice evening. The sun is dipping below the tops of the buildings, illuminating everything in an orange haze as the skies darken with nightfall. Izaya always enjoys seeing the neon lights of the city shine and outline everyone bustling around in their colors. He glances up at Shinra's building and is grateful he has an excuse for not stopping by. Shinra has still been messaging him and leaving voicemails. He's been threatening to come by, but Izaya isn't concerned about it. He's used to Shinra barging in on him by this point.

He pauses when he sees Shizuo step outside. Shizuo is dressed in casual clothes, and Izaya remembers it's the weekend. It's hard to keep the days in order since he's been so caught up with work. Shizuo stretches, reaches in his pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. He pauses when he sees Izaya.

Izaya considers running for it, but then he would just look guilty. He's really just passing by, and he doesn't think he has the energy to run right now. Shizuo is fast, faster than Izaya gives him credit for. Izaya doesn't think he has it in him to be faster.

Shizuo lights his cigarette and walks towards Izaya, his hands going into the pockets of his slacks.

“Flea,” he says in greeting.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya returns.

“What are you doing in Ikebukuro?”

Izaya snorts at the question. Usually, Shizuo would be yelling that at him and throwing something by this point. As it is, Shizuo doesn't look mad or even irritated. He looks like he's genuinely asking.

“I've got somewhere to be and I thought it was a nice night for a walk. How about you? Were you seeing Shinra for an injury?” Shizuo doesn't look like he's hurt or sick, but it's also hard to tell with him. Shizuo walked off gunshot wounds once.

“Huh? Oh, no. I was having dinner with them. A lot of people are up there, actually.” Shizuo stiffens after he says this, like he thinks maybe it was cruel to tell Izaya Shinra is having a party and didn't extend an invitation.

“Leaving the party early, Shizu-chan? Maybe you should go back up to your adoring fans.” Izaya turns to leave, ready to get away from this conversation, but of course Shizuo follows him.

“You could go up. Shinra's been babbling about you nonstop, saying you aren't talking to anyone. He'd be glad to see you.”

“He wouldn't. And anyway, I told you already that I'm busy.”

Izaya gets more and more annoyed as Shizuo walks beside him. Shizuo's apartment is the other direction, and Izaya bristles when he thinks that Shizuo might be walking with him out of pity.

“I don't need a babysitter,” Izaya snaps at last, whirling on Shizuo, who blinks at him.

“I'm not babysitting you.”

“Then what do you want?”

Shizuo takes a drag of the cigarette and looks down at Izaya with a scrutinizing expression, like he either doesn't know what to say or how to say it. Izaya withholds a comment about how that's probably commonplace for an imbecile like Shizuo.

“You don't look good,” Shizuo says at last.

“Fantastic. I look bad so you're following me. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo grunts, narrows his eyes.

“You look sick,” Shizuo amends. “You look like you're about to fall over.”

“Well, I'm not. So get away from me and leave me alone.”

Izaya walks faster, his hands curling into fists. It's unusual for Shizuo to get under his skin like this, and Izaya knows he can chalk it up to a lack of food and sleep. His head is pounding, and he just wants to get this stupid meeting out of the way and go home and sleep an entire day if he can. To his chagrin, Shizuo is still behind him. When a hand closes around Izaya's hood, Izaya turns quickly, knife in hand. Shizuo lets go immediately.

“What's wrong with you?” Shizuo spits, and finally he looks angry.

“Lots of things, just like you always thought. I'm the worst person you've ever met and I'm going off to ruin some lives and kill some people.” Izaya backs away, still holding the knife threateningly.

“Izaya—“ Shizuo starts, stepping forward. Izaya throws the knife at Shizuo's foot, stabbing through his shoe and between his toes. Shizuo scoffs and then swipes at Izaya, who already has another knife in hand. “Would you fuckin' quit it? I'm trying to talk to you!”

“Go back to your stupid fucking party, Shizuo,” Izaya says, and when he turns and runs for it, Shizuo doesn't follow him.

***

Afterwards, Izaya packs some things and goes to one of his other apartments. He doesn't want to be barged in on, and he definitely doesn't want to see Shizuo again any time soon. He stays a little over a week, messaging Namie and Shiki and no one else. He avoids his personal phone like the plague, and after about two days and a message from Shizuo of all people, he turns it off, not bothering to read any of the messages.

By the time he's back in Shinjuku, he's feeling worse somehow. Going away usually refreshes him, but he just feels like he's been running from everything, and feeling like the coward he is never fills him with anything but disgust.

He unpacks his things and starts some coffee before he finally turns on his personal phone. Messages flood through one after the other, but it's not like a lot of people are sending him things. It's almost all Shinra, who is sending one word messages at a time to flood and annoy Izaya with notifications. Mairu sent him a message saying they want to see him, which translates to they need money for something. Shizuo sent only one message.

Can I see you?

Izaya stares at it for a few moments before he tosses his phone on the desk, ignoring all the messages. He takes his coffee to the couch and curls up, turning on the TV and accomplishing absolutely nothing.

***

Another week goes by. Finally, Shinra fulfills his threat and barges into the apartment while Izaya is showering.

“Izaya-kun!” Shinra calls. “Ah, are you showering?”

“If you come up here, I'm stabbing you,” Izaya says. Shinra laughs.

“Trust me, I don't want to see you! I'll be down here when you get out.”

Izaya considers locking himself in his room until Shinra leaves, but eventually he gets out of the shower and dresses himself. He towels through his hair and tromps down the stairs, glaring when he sees Shinra sitting at the table.

“I brought Russia Sushi. Simon says he hasn't seen you in a while.”

Izaya's stomach growls. It has been too long.

“I'm sure he's been reveling in the quiet,” Izaya says.

“It's unsettling, actually. Everyone thinks you're plotting something. Well, some people are just saying you died.”

“The city is full of wishful thinkers.” Izaya grabs two bottles of tea from the fridge and pours them over ice before settling at the table with Shinra. “Thanks for the food.”

“You look terrible.”

“Can we start this conversation later? Mealtimes are supposed to be enjoyable.”

Shinra makes a noise of disapproval, but doesn't push it. They eat in silence for a while, but of course Shinra breaks it.

“Have you spoken to Shizuo-kun?”

“Why would I want to speak to that invalid?” Izaya asks.

“It wouldn't kill you to be civil to him. He's got a good heart, and you freaked him out when you fell off that building.”

“He does not have a heart,” Izaya says instead of, I tried being civil to him once, and he hated me on sight. “Don't grace him with basic human anatomy. He's like a jellyfish.”

“Izaya-kun,” Shinra says exasperatedly, “he's trying to bury the hatchet with you. He's tired of fighting. Isn't that good news?”

Izaya doesn't say anything, but his chest clenches. So that's how it is, huh? Shizuo is done with him, done with their feud. If they pass each other, Shizuo will ignore him, go on like Izaya truly is nothing more than piece of trash in the street.

“Izaya-kun?” Shinra asks, and Izaya realizes he's been quiet too long.

“Yes, that's great news. I can finally go on about my business with no interference. Let him know I'm on board with his peace plan and we never have to see each other ever again.”

“Don't be glib,” Shinra says. “You could try being his friend.”

“I don't do well with friends.”

“Lucky for you, Shizuo-kun is way more stubborn than I am. He won't let you withdraw too much. I see now that I waited too long before coming here. You dug yourself into a pit.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Izaya,” Shinra says, dropping the niceties. “You can't punish yourself forever for what happened to that kid. It wasn't your fault.”

Izaya chews his ootoro, but suddenly it tastes horrible. He pushes the rest of it away from himself and drinks his tea instead.

“Who told you?” he asks.

“Does it matter? I wish I'd heard it from you.”

“Whoever told you neglected to mention it was my fault.”

“You can't control what people do with the information you give them. He paid you, right?” Shinra asks.

“No, he was in debt. I gave him what he wanted for free. He was eager, but he was an idiot. I didn't think he'd do what he did. I underestimated him.”

“Still,” Shinra continues. “I give medical care to all sorts of terrible people. If I save someone's life, and that person goes out to kill someone later, does that make it my fault?”

“It's different. You're a doctor. You're not supposed to discriminate against anyone, no matter what they do,” Izaya says. “I can control who I do and don't give information to.”

“As refreshing as it is to see your conscience for once, I think you're twisting this into more than it is. You send people into danger all the time. What makes this one so different?”

“He actually died, for one,” Izaya says instead of, “I don't know.”

“I've killed people before, too. I was trying to help, but I've made medical mistakes that cost people their lives. You can't shut yourself down every time something doesn't go your way.”

Izaya doesn't respond because Shinra doesn't get it. He doesn't expect anyone will, and there's more he's unwilling to say. When Shinra realizes he isn't going to get anything else out of Izaya, he sighs and begins prattling on about Celty, and Izaya manages to eat the rest of his sushi.

When Shinra leaves, he pulls Izaya into a tight hug, and Izaya leans into him, closing his eyes.

“Come over soon. We'll have dinner. We can invite other people, too,” Shinra says. Izaya laughs, shaking his head.

“What is it with you and dinner parties?”

“It's what friends do. Now that you and Shizuo-kun aren't fighting, I can invite you both. Also, hey, try to stay on Shiki-san's good side, okay? I hear he had someone who works with him killed recently, and you're always causing trouble.”

When Izaya is alone, he goes to his computer and starts working, shutting everything else out. He tries not to think of who was killed on Shiki's orders, has a pretty good idea already who it was.

***

When he sees Shizuo again, it's Shizuo who spots him first.

Izaya forces himself outside on another walk. Shiki has flat-out refused to give Izaya anything else to do, stating Izaya needs a break, and Izaya has decided not to work on anything else until his head's clear.

He makes his way to the Sunshine 60 building, sneaking past security as he usually does to reach the roof. It's his favorite view and it's quiet, no one else around. He goes to the edge and looks down, thinks of how it would feel to jump, how weightless he'd feel before reaching the ground.

He turns when he hears the door to the roof open behind him. It's Shizuo. Of course it is.

“Why are you up there?” Shizuo asks, freezing. Izaya blinks, not getting it, but then he realizes he is standing on the ledge of the building. He must have climbed up.

“Best view,” Izaya says, shrugging. He hops down and sits with his back facing the edge, enjoying the way Shizuo seems unsettled on his behalf. “Did you come up here to push me?”

“What? No! What kind of shitty joke is that?” Shizuo snaps, moving towards Izaya.

“You could. You could push me and tell everyone I jumped. With the way the rumors are circulating, they'd believe you.”

“Did you come up here to jump?” Shizuo asks, and he looks so concerned that Izaya laughs until his sides hurt and there are tears in his eyes.

Shizuo settles next to him, their arms almost touching, and he lights a cigarette. Izaya turns so he can look back over the city, and they're both quiet for so long that Izaya is almost able to forget Shizuo is there.

“Where have you been lately?” Shizuo asks.

“Around. Home, mostly.”

“I texted you,” Shizuo says, and Izaya can't help but laugh again at the absurdity of it all.

“Shizu-chan, what the hell do you want from me? You wanted me out of your city and then I actually complied and you had the gall to miss me? You're a walking contradiction, but I guess I knew that already from your name and personality.”

“Fuck off. Shinra said—“ he stops himself, and Izaya glares over at him.

“What did Shinra say?”

“He said you're depressed.”

“Well, you know he's an idiot. And didn't anyone teach you it's wrong to gossip?”

“Izaya—“

“I'm not depressed,” Izaya says, louder than he means to. He scoffs and moves away from the ledge they're leaning on, keeping his back to Shizuo.

Shizuo doesn't say, “Of course you're not depressed. I've met you, and you don't have a conscience or feelings.” He doesn't say, “What are you, some kind of wuss?” He doesn't storm after Izaya to punch him. Shizuo stays where he is, says nothing. And when Izaya finally looks back at him, he thinks Shizuo looks a little sad.

This entire thing couldn't get more fucking ridiculous.

“You wanna come to my place?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya decides he stands corrected.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“What else have you got to do? You're already in the city. You might as well.”

“That's the definition of going into the lion's den. Or maybe the belly of the beast is more fitting.”

Shizuo glares at him. “How about you don't be an asshole, and I won't hurt you?”

“I don't always try to be an asshole,” Izaya says, but when Shizuo shoulders past him, Izaya finds himself turning and following Shizuo anyway, too curious for his own good.

They stop at a convenience store for cigarettes and alcohol. Izaya shells out the money for a nicer bottle of sake, ignoring Shizuo's protests. If Shizuo snaps his neck tonight, Izaya wants to be drinking the nicer stuff before he dies. Besides, it might culture Shizuo a bit. Their banter remains light as they make their way to Shizuo's building, passing by plenty of incredulous people who clearly recognize them.

Shizuo's apartment is as charming as it is small. It's clean, and somehow it doesn't reek of smoke. Izaya wonders if Shizuo usually smokes out the window.

Izaya settles on the couch while Shizuo goes to get them cups. He decides he'll have one drink to placate the monster, and then he'll leave. It'll be short and simple.

An hour later, they're completely sloshed, laughing about stupid things like they're actually friends. Izaya's never seen Shizuo like this, completely at ease, especially in his presence. Izaya can't remember the last time he felt so relaxed.

“You ever done this before? Drank with...uh. Someone till you really overdid it?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya giggles when he realizes Shizuo stopped himself from saying 'friend' in case it offended Izaya. It helps distract from the painful memory of the last time he drank too much and someone else was there.

“I got Shinra drunk in high school,” Izaya says instead of the most recent time. He wants to keep this light.

“Oh, fuck. I bet he was obnoxious.”

“He was. He locked himself in my bathroom and cried in the tub. After a while I kind of forgot he was there, and then Mairu yelled at me to get him out so she could shower.”

Shizuo laughs, and they fall back into a companionable silence.

“Why'd you invite me over, Shizu-chan?” Izaya asks.

“Why'd you come?” Shizuo counters defensively.

“Relax, I'm only curious. You sent me a message and asked to see me. Did you want something?”

Shizuo huffs, tries to refill his cup, but the bottle is empty. He gets up from the couch and grabs a beer from his fridge.

“I don't want to fight with you anymore,” Shizuo says at last, and Izaya snorts.

“Yeah, Shinra said as much.”

“God, he's a fucking blabbermouth,” Shizuo grumbles, and Izaya laughs so hard he falls over into the vacant space Shizuo left. It's warm.

“I just...” Shizuo trails off, and when Izaya looks up at him, he finds Shizuo hovering awkwardly over the couch. Izaya quickly sits up so Shizuo can reclaim his spot. “You almost died in front of me. It made me think about how stupid the whole thing is. What if I actually kill you one day and have to tell your sisters?”

“They'd be ecstatic,” Izaya says as Shizuo flops back down. “Mairu might send you flowers.”

“Fuck that. They care about you, even if they don't say so. I thought a long time about it, and the truth is, I don't wanna kill anyone. So then I realized I can't keep fighting with you, or else one day, I really might kill you for real.” Shizuo sips at his beer and looks over at Izaya. “I don't want that.”

“I always assumed one day we'd either kill each other, or you'd outgrow me,” Izaya says, and his tone is so bitter that it startles him. He forces a smile when Shizuo keeps looking at him. “I guess that's why I'm not surprised.”

“We can't just fight forever. You could try being less of a dick, and then, I don't know. We could be friends. Or at least not antagonize each other all the time.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, Shizu-chan, but I'm not exactly good at having friends.”

Shizuo laughs. “Yeah, me neither. It'll be great.”

“Whatever. You have all kinds of friends. Lots of people care about you. It's almost sickening,” Izaya huffs. Shizuo doesn't look angry, though. He looks pensive.

“It's all surface stuff. I can't let go for even a minute, or I'll hurt someone. It's just kind of exhausting engaging with people.”

“Well,” Izaya says, very out of his element here, “you'll never find yourself a housewife with that attitude.”

“No shit,” Shizuo says, and they both laugh again. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“No housewife prospects?”

“Ah, afraid not. As surprising as it may be to you, I'm not likable to many people.” Izaya expects Shizuo to laugh, but he doesn't. Shizuo frowns like he doesn't get it.

“Yeah, but you're... You know.” Shizuo waves his hand.

“Huh?” Izaya asks.

“You look— You know. Like you do.”

It takes Izaya a second to realize Shizuo is complementing him. Then a wicked grin splits his face. Shizuo glares in response.

“Are you saying you find me attractive?” Izaya asks.

“Besides your shitty as fuck attitude, yeah, sure,” Shizuo says. “Don't act like you don't know how you look. It's obnoxious.”

“How do you think I look?” Izaya asks as innocently as he can. Shizuo clearly isn't buying it.

“Fuck off,” he spits, taking another gulp of beer. Izaya reaches over, puts his hand over Shizuo's on the can and takes it from him. He takes a sip of the beer, finding it disgusting, but he keeps his expression level and licks his lips before holding the can out for Shizuo to take. Shizuo just keeps staring at him.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya purrs, ready to tease him more, but then Shizuo's mouth is sealing over his. He gasps into it, opening his lips for Shizuo's tongue. It's sloppy and wet, but Izaya can't even think of how gross it is. He's hot under Shizuo's touch, and when Shizuo yanks him into his lap, Izaya accidentally drops the beer in the floor. Neither of them really notice in their haste to get to each other.

Izaya winds up with his pants and underwear shoved clumsily down his thighs, his face buried against Shizuo's neck as Shizuo wraps his hand around them both, pumping them together until Izaya is coming first, panting hard against Shizuo's skin. Shizuo joins him a moment later, shuddering underneath Izaya, his hand stilling when Izaya starts trembling in overstimulation.

Izaya expects Shizuo to throw him out or...something. He's waiting for some sort of freak-out, but instead Shizuo lifts him up and carries him to bed, undresses them both entirely, and presses down against him until they're both coming again, Izaya's moans muffled in Shizuo's mouth because Shizuo won't stop kissing him.

In the morning, Izaya wakes to a pounding headache and feels like he's going to vomit. Shizuo is spooned behind him, strong arms wrapped around Izaya's waist. Izaya carefully untangles himself and watches with interest as Shizuo immediately cuddles into the pillow Izaya was using in his absence. Izaya dresses quickly and cleans the spilled beer before slipping out of the apartment. He makes it halfway home before he ducks behind a building to throw up.

***

He doesn't see or hear from Shizuo for a while.

He wonders if Shizuo is just mortified that it happened, or if he's mad Izaya ran off. Either way, Izaya thinks it was a mistake on both their parts, just two lonely people falling together because they fit in the moment. He decides to put it behind him.

When someone knocks at his door, he grumbles, expecting an unannounced client, or perhaps Shiki, who has been uncharacteristically nice to him lately, but when he opens the door, Shizuo is standing there, his mouth a hard line.

“Shizu—“ Izaya's cut off as Shizuo pulls him into a kiss, lifts him up and kicks the door closed behind them as Izaya melts against him.

“Fucking flea, stop running from me,” Shizuo growls, and he carries Izaya up the stairs to the bed, making good use of the lube Izaya keeps in his bedside table.

They spend the day in bed, alternating between fucking and dozing off. Izaya sleeps with his head against Shizuo's chest, wakes every now and then feeling like he should get up and do something, but he always ends up curling more into Shizuo, who snatches him closer as if daring him to try and get free.

It's dark outside when they finally get out of bed. Izaya takes Shizuo to a great ramen place down the street. They don't talk much, just focus on the delicious food, and when they're done, Izaya expects Shizuo to turn and head back to his own place, but he doesn't.

“You don't have any clothes at my place,” Izaya says, amused.

“What about those sweatpants you said would fit me?” Shizuo counters, looking defiant, and Izaya laughs until Shizuo kisses him to shut him up.

***

Izaya resumes working, and he meets with Shiki to go over a new assignment. It's a simple job, merely gathering information from various people about one target. Shiki scrutinizes him while they speak.

“You look better. Did you go to that onsen I suggested?” Shiki asks.

“No, but I'll definitely get around to it,” Izaya says.

“Well, whatever you did, I'm glad you're more focused.”

“Shiki-san...” Izaya pauses before continuing. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Shiki leans back in his seat, takes a swig of bourbon. Izaya has opted not to drink, and likely never will again at one of these meetings.

“I know you know I'm responsible for what happened with Akane-chan,” Izaya says, and Shiki's gaze sharpens. “You knew the whole time, and you didn't kill me.”

“You serve a purpose,” Shiki says. “When you're not being a shady brat, you're useful to us. And Kine is fond of you. If I had you killed, he'd likely bitch at me about it.”

Izaya grins, thinking of Kine.

“Was that what you wanted to ask? Why I didn't have you killed?”

“Ah, no. I learned recently one of your colleagues was killed. Yasuhiro-san. We both worked with him before.”

“Did you have a point?” Shiki asks, raising his eyebrow.

“Did you have him killed because of what he did to me? Did you know?” Izaya asks. Shiki sighs, drains his glass, and sets it on the table.

“Izaya, your life would get a lot easier if you learned to be loyal to me. You can confide in me, and if not me, Kine.”

Izaya decides it's as good an answer as he's going to get from Shiki. He stands, bows, and turns to leave.

“By the way, stop fucking around with kids,” Shiki says, and Izaya stiffens. “What happened to that teenager wasn't directly your fault, but you've meddled with plenty others in the past. If you keep at it, I really will kill you, Kine be damned.” When Izaya turns back to him, Shiki is grinning.

***

Shizuo seems to have a thing for Izaya's couch. He's always lounging on it when the opportunity presents itself, and Izaya isn't surprised to find him there when he returns home.

“Shinra called,” Shizuo says, lifting his head to look at Izaya as he enters. “He said he's glad we're in the 'throes of hot passion', but that we have to see him soon.”

“Shinra doesn't have the right to boss either us or our passions around.” Izaya goes to the couch and flops on top of Shizuo, who grunts at him and wraps him up.

“You look like you had a bad day,” Shizuo says. Izaya nuzzles at his throat.

“It wasn't bad. I found out someone who wronged me was killed. I'm a little...put off that I didn't get to watch him suffer, but I'll survive.”

Shizuo stiffens underneath him. “Yeah? What did he do to you? Set you up or something?”

Izaya sighs softly, is grateful Shizuo can't see his face.

“Do you remember when you found me in the rain and asked if I killed someone?”

“Yeah,” Shizuo says, rubbing his hands down Izaya's back.

“I did. Well— I didn't kill him directly. It wasn't on purpose. But he died all the same.”

“What happened?” Shizuo asks, and Izaya is immensely relieved Shizuo didn't throw him across the room and actually wants to hear him out.

“He was this kid who wanted to make some assholes pay. Loan sharks, you know. They were going to run his family's business into the ground, so I gave him some information on the owner of the company, some unsavory things he'd like to keep secret, and that gave the kid leverage. Only, he didn't do it the way I said. He went to the guy's house and pulled a gun on him like some hotshot, and then the guy killed him.”

“Shit,” Shizuo says. “Yeah, that doesn't sound like it was your fault. You didn't give him the gun, right?”

“No,” Izaya says.

“Well then, it was his own damn fault. That was probably his plan all along, whether he went to you first or not. Kids like that are always going to find a way.”

“Yeah,” Izaya says, closing his eyes. He breathes in Shizuo's scent, can't believe Shizuo is actually comforting him about this.

“So is that the guy who was killed? The owner or whatever? You wanted to see him suffer?”

“Oh, no. He's alive. I'm going to use my own resources to blackmail him and make him wish he'd never been born. I'm talking about...someone else. A man I've been in meeting rooms with many times, and never thought much of.

“I got pretty drunk at a meeting with the Awakusu. It was in bad form, but I wasn't happy about that kid, you know? I'll be the first to admit I've had a hand in a lot of the goings on in this city, teenagers included, but those kids are different. They're all desperate to find a way to stand out and be something extraordinary, and like you said, they'll find a way whether I help or not. But this kid, he was an idiot. I gave him something foolproof to use, and somehow he fucked it up. He was never going to live anything other than an incredibly boring life, and he's dead now. Apparently my sisters knew him pretty well. At least, they went to his funeral, but they could have done that just to get out of school.”

“Sounds like something they'd do,” Shizuo says. He hugs Izaya to him, and Izaya feels bolstered enough to keep going.

“Anyway, I got drunk and Shiki-san was pretty annoyed at me. He ordered one of his men to drive me home, but the guy didn't drive me home. He took me to his place, and—“

Shizuo is squeezing him tightly now. Izaya gasps for air, and Shizuo releases him, goes back to petting his back.

“Fuck, I'm sorry— That bastard.”

“For a while, I wasn't even sure it happened. And then I thought I deserved it. I learned Shiki-san killed him not long after it happened. I don't know how he found out, but if I had to guess, it'd be that Yasuhiro-san was bragging about it. He was an idiot.”

“I'm sorry. God, that's so fucked up. And then you came home to drink with me, and I just grabbed you like that. You must've been scared,” Shizuo says.

“Of course I wasn't scared. I've been wanting you to grab me for a long time.”

“Still.”

“Why did you grab me, anyway?”

“I told you, I did a lot of thinking when you busted your head open in front of me. And then, I don't know. You were so sad and you were all by yourself, but you were making yourself be alone. I didn't like it.”

“I should know better than to ask you for a legible explanation,” Izaya jabs, and Shizuo grumbles at him and kisses his hair.

***

Izaya wakes up the next morning to an empty bed.

He rolls over onto his back and stretches out, wondering to himself if Shizuo left for the day already. He can't help the wave of anxiety that hits him. He unloaded a lot of things on Shizuo before. He doesn't guess he would be able to blame Shizuo for running off.

He sighs and forces the worry away, gets out of bed and dresses. No matter what, he still has work to do, and he refuses to wallow about any of this any more than he already has.

As he makes his way downstairs, he blinks in surprise when he finds Shizuo in the kitchen, wearing Izaya's favorite frilly apron. It was a gag gift from his sisters, but Izaya truly likes it and the material it's made of, likes to wear it when he actually bothers cooking.

“You need to go grocery shopping,” Shizuo informs him. “You barely have anything here, but I made you an omelet.”

“I thought you left already,” Izaya says.

“It's Saturday,” Shizuo says, and Izaya frowns, reminds himself to keep better track of the days of the week.

He makes his way to Shizuo, tuning out Shizuo's nagging. Shizuo shuts up when Izaya hugs him from behind, holds on tightly in wordless thanks. Izaya doesn't know exactly what he's thanking Shizuo for, but decides it's probably a bit of everything. Shizuo doesn't ask for an elaboration.

“I'll make dinner,” Izaya murmurs between Shizuo's shoulder-blades.

“Then we'll definitely have to go grocery shopping,” Shizuo says. “You should make breakfast tomorrow, too.”

Izaya smiles, hugs him tighter, never once asks when they decided Shizuo was staying so long.

“You've got a deal.”

[kzzzo]

chapter 5 - don't let it bring you down

"but don't let it bring you down and turn your face into a frown"

series masterlist - here

previous | next

a/n: wrote this right after i posted chap 4 and it's already 4 am 😃 im still not sleepy rip. so as i said, ive been writing the whole night so i don't know if this chapter makes sense sksksks

-

Kuroo had a volleyball game coming up in two weeks which made him busy after school. He hadn’t been able to pick up the triplets from daycare and look after them. As for you, he only saw you in the mornings and briefly during classes as they had volleyball practice even during class hours. To say he misses you is an understatement. He even went as far as setting the picture he secretly took of you as his lock screen wallpaper so that you were the first thing he sees when he turns on his phone. He made sure to be careful as to not let a stranger who doesn’t know of your circumstances see it.

Akaashi approached Kuroo who was sitting on the floor with his head tilted back. The curly haired male handed him a bottle of water before sitting down next to the bed haired one.

“Bokuto and I could feel how much you miss (Y/N) from a mile away.” Akaashi bluntly stated.

“Really, now.” Kuroo replied, too tired and (Y/N)-deprived to think of a snarky reply. He chugged down the water Akaashi gave him and stood up to leave. “Well, I’m going first.”

“We’ll be going, too.”

With that, all three of them went back to their respective homes. Upon arriving home, Kuroo went straight into the bathroom to shower in able to go straight to bed. Stepping out of the shower topless while drying his hair off with a towel, he fishes his gym bag for his phone only to be met with anything other than the said device. He felt his heart race. Just when he had something to hide in there, he just had to lose his phone. He poured out the contents of his bag into his bed and he felt the fatigue in his body leave him.

Meanwhile back in the university, a student who had business in the gym saw a phone light up. She picks up the phone and turn it on to try to identify the owner. The lock screen was a photo of a woman carrying what seems like a two-year old baby. She takes a closer look and was finally able to identify that it was you.

Back home you were doing your homework when you hear a series of knocks on your door. Opening it, you were met with Kuroo looking quite jittery and pale. You furrow your brows before asking him what was wrong.

“I, uh. Can you do me a favor? My phone’s missing and I’m pretty sure the location’s on.”

“Oh, sure, sure. Come in. Do you want some water?”

“I’m fine but thanks anyway.”

The two of you work together to locate his phone and he was so relieved to find out that it was just in the university, most likely in the gym. Then he remembered what he had set as his lock screen a few days ago. He quickly thanked you then rushed to pick his phone up, silently praying that no one saw his wallpaper. He didn’t think that you’d be ashamed of your sons, but then you didn’t really seem like you intended to tell people you’re not close to seeing as people usually don’t have anything nice to say. He wanted to respect that decision of yours but because of him losing his phone you might have a hard time. When he got to the university his phone was at the lost and found which only means that someone had seen his lock screen. Fuck.

The next day rolled around and you were in Kuroo’s backseat with the triplets as usual. The two of you drop them off at the daycare and when you went back to his car, he seemed paler than before. He was also tapping the stirring wheel repeatedly, something he does when something is bothering him.

“Tetsu,” the way he flinched at the sound of your voice had you even more worried. “Are you okay?”

He debated whether he should tell you what he’d done. If by chance someone did see it and the news had spread, it’d be his fault and there was a big chance that this would be the last time you’d talk to him. However, he didn’t want to keep it from you and wait before you find out yourself. He sighed, here goes.

“Listen, (Y/N). I just want to say that I’m sorry in advance,” your brows furrowed, heart beating faster. “Why don’t you go grab my phone then turn it on.”

You do as he says, eyes widening at the candid photo of you and Masao. It was surprising, but you didn’t get what was making him so troubled.

“Remember when I left that behind at uni last night?” He glanced at you to check your reaction. Your expression remained confused. “I got it from the lost and found. So, that being said… it’s highly likely that someone saw that lock screen.”

It took you a few more seconds to get what he was saying and then, oh. Oh. You got it. There’s a big chance that at this very second, people would be talking about you and your sons. You didn’t know whether to laugh or what. It was like high school all over again. You were sure of one thing, though. You were scared. Scared of having to walk through the hallways with all eyes on you, hearing their whispers. The disgust and disappointment evident in the way they looked at you.

Your silence made Kuroo even more tense. He couldn’t read your expression from the little glances he’s taking as he drives. You carefully place his phone back where it was before speaking.

“Oh.” You reply shortly. Tears were starting to pool around your eyes and you were sure your voice would break if you speak. You didn’t want Kuroo to see you being weak and worry so you turn your head away from him. He took this as a sign that you were indeed mad at him, his heart broke thinking about how he ruined everything between the two of you.

When you arrived you quickly stepped out of the car and walked ahead. Usually, Kuroo would open the door for you then you’d walk together, but of course, today would be different. Maybe even the following days, weeks, months, years. Who knows? All Kuroo knew was that he fucked up and he’d driven you away from him.

You wiped away your tears before entering the building. Just as you’d suspected, almost everyone was looking at you weird and whispering amongst themselves. You were even able to hear one of the few things they said.

“I heard that the child looked like it was already at least two, that means…”

You clenched your fists and carried on. When you entered the classroom, you were surprised to see people sitting down in their respective seats quietly. Too quietly. You expected the classroom to be the place where there’d be more people talking about you. It still didn’t change the fact, however, that some others have their eyes on you.

“Mornin’, (Y/N)!” Bokuto greeted. You smiled back at him curtly. Akaashi was looking at you with worry but you didn’t notice as you immediately sink into your seat.

Classes dragged on longer than it used to and lunch became unbearable as you decided not to join your three friends. Instead, you lock yourself in a bathroom stall, head tilted back as you try to stop your tears from falling. You thought you’d be safe there but you were proved to be wrong when at least four girls entered, gossiping about ‘that freshie who already has a child.’

‘Please, let this day end already.’ You thought.

When the classes were finally over, you went straight home instead of at work, wanting nothing else but to wrap yourself in your blanket and cry yourself to sleep. You didn’t even realize that you haven’t picked up the triplets from the daycare when you’d fallen asleep.

Kuroo was staring at your number on his phone, debating whether to call you or give you space. When he was about to turn his phone off and shove it into his gym bag, he felt it vibrate. However, instead of your name popping up like he hoped, it was an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Sir Kuroo! I’m the triplets’ teacher. Ms. (Y/N) hasn’t come to pick the boys up. I know it’s only been twenty minutes but Ms. (Y/N) is never late unless she calls to say so. She wouldn’t answer her phone either. I was hoping you could check up on her.”

He felt his heart beating faster. “O-okay. I’ll pick the boys up on the way as well. Thank you for calling me.”

“Okay, I’ll have the boys ready. Have a safe drive, sir.”

The call ended and Kuroo slung his gym bag on his shoulder. He turned to Bokuto and Akaashi who were also taking a break from practice.

“Guys, I’m going ahead. The triplets’ teacher called, apparently they haven’t been picked up yet and (Y/N)’s not answering her phone. Cover for me.” He didn’t even wait for their response when he practically sprinted to his car.

When he picked up the boys, they were staring at him with a curious look on their faces. Kuroo wasn’t able to pay mind to it as he couldn’t stop thinking about you. After the three were safely seated in their car seats, they drove to where you worked but alas, you weren’t there. Your boss explained that you didn’t come in that day and that usually you’d call when you weren’t coming in. This didn’t make Kuroo feel any better at all. The only place he knows to check was your apartment.

Back at your apartment you’d just woken up, panicking when you saw that it’s already dark out. You tried to recall if you even picked up the boys. When you remembered that you didn’t, you sprung up. Muttering a string of ‘oh shit’s, you run out of your room. You were about to open the door when someone from the other side beat you to it. Kuroo was standing in front of you, hands on the triplets’ shared stroller. Without a word, you grab the stroller from him and slammed the door on him. You were 100% sure that there were clear traces of the breakdown you had earlier so in fear of having Kuroo see you in that state, you had no choice but to cold heartedly slam the door on him.

Once again, Kuroo Tetsurou’s heart broke.

[kimnjss]

for part 22 !! this is long im srry ahfduhdfu

“Now laying in his lap felt like a crime. As if you were stood in self-checkout, constantly glancing over your shoulder as you scanned an expensive pair of shoes as one of those 79 cent candy bars.”

said it a couple of times, i’ll say it again. the way you write is SOOOO SOOOO good. we can feel so much and see so much which are prolly like ,,,, the most important things in writing ?? also, poor y/n. POOR POOR Y/N . she cares so so so much for miju like bruh their friendship rlly b toxic like this huh :--(

“But you can’t shake the look on Miju’s face you conjured, watching the two of you with that pouty frown of hers, arms crossed over her chest.”

the fact that this whole girl bestie crush issue is sooooo shallow but bec miju has so much issues (she needs help), y/n finds the need to constantly feel guilty ??????????? i so so so feel bad. not @ me being a miju apologist before yIKES cant believe she made our girl try to drop out of ballet ????? fucking dumbass bitch im gonna slap her so strong

“As if he’d let it go. As if he’d pick up on the slightest abnormality in your mood and just let it slip. Let you drive yourself mad with your racing thoughts and not let him in, not let him take on some of the weight. As if.”

so this is where i started crying !!! i think it’s like the nature of people to just ,,,,, idk ask when they feel something’s wrong but they dont really care enough to actually CHECK up on you ??? if that makes sense ??? i’ve had my fair share of people doing this. they’d ask but then get sidetracked and forget you were someone to worry for. this is probably why this y/n and this jimin might be my favorite. they feel so real, the emotions are so raw. i’m rlly glad our girl has jimin by her side now. he’s exactly what she needs. not just as a lover but ,,,,, as a person. yknow ??? like someone to just ground her whenever she’s so high up her mind. someone to be with her as in WITH her. i love love love that.

“No idea what’s wrong with you, but safely relieved that it’s not him. That he could help you work through whatever it is.”

i hope u know my standards for ppl is so so so high bc of ur au-s i SWEAR to god where r the fellas like this huh ???? hUUUUH ?????

“’I don’t know… I just… keep thinking about Miju.’ Jimin lets out a scoff, rolling his eyes in a really exaggerated way.”

jimin, u, me, same

“You’re really thinking about a girl while I got my hand on your ass? Is there something I should know?”

I LOVE HIM SM PLSSSS *INSERT CRYING EMOJI IM USING LAPTOP SO* I LOVE HIM I LOVE THE HUMOR I LOVE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“His face softens at the sound of your words, becoming serious for you.”

i nominate loy! jimin for best boyfriend PERIOD if he doesnt win, RIGGED

“That’s a terrible idea.” The door slams behind the new voice, your body instantly lunging from Jimin’s lap to the vacant space behind him”

like everyone else, i tot this was miju too HAUFHDIUHFUDHUF

and then we came to the part where jimin was having his crisis bc he wants The Sex but our baby is just not having it. i actually really like the way you portrayed it. whenever he’ll talk about wanting to fuck, he’d always say but he understands and he respects. that’s reality baby. he’s a man of honor but obv he has his ~hormones~ and i cANT STRESS ENOUGH how much i love you for writing that !!!!! they jus feel real ok like . how do u even do this ???? HOW IS YOUR MIND CAPABLE OF WRITING THINGS LIKE THIS YOU TALENTED TALENTED BABY

  // ok now that i just reread it, i jus found out that they talked abt the ballet thing in this chap LMAOOOOO i thought it was when they were in the dance room ajidjfijoifjafiodj //

“Can’t wait to fast forward past all this shit. Feel like I haven’t seen you smile in a while.”

cried to this too. like ,,, cried VERY HARD. i turned my phone off AHAHHAHAHA this is pAINFUL . y/n’s going through so much and i jus feel feel feel so bad (also hits close to home) . i feel like im always gon think of this line now whenever i feel a small inconvenience afiudhuihdui . CANT WAIT TO FAST FORWARD PAST ALL THIS SHIT . WANNA SEE MYSELF SMILE AGAIN

“Surprised that he even cared about the difference, but he did.”

when i read this, yes, i cried HARDER . we all need a loy jimin in our lives huh ?? . he's just ,,,, It. like It . jimin loy best boy !!!! also @ yn. DESERVE !! youve always been the older sis, the good good friend, with jimin, u can rest bby. u can lay low, u can do whatever u want :--( u deserve it

“Did you just call me your girlfriend?”

AFHUDSHFJKAHDFJKSHAJKDHFJKAHFKJDSHFJ THERE WE HAVE IT FOLKS BYE

“No.” There’s an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I’ve only been referring you like that in my head for the past month for fun,”

im having so much fun imagining a jimin in my life FOAHDSIFHIDSHOIFHIO ihy sm for making me realize how dry my love life is CAN I PLS LIVE IN THIS UNIVERSE N TRY TO FIT MYSELF IN BETWEEN THESE TWO AJAJAJAJA (no i wont yn deserves this but whatever mom i wANT HIM)

“I want you to be my girlfriend. So that I can be your boyfriend. And we can be boyfriend and girlfriend to each other, together.”

look at them go :--( cringey babies idk theyre so so so so so so so so nd i cant stress enough SO SO SO SO ADORABLE

“Go ahead. I’ll protect you.”

IM FUCKING SCREAMINGAHDHUFDHUSHIUHAFUIHDSFUI I LOVE HIM OKAY MUM I LOVE HIM CAN I PLS HAVE HIM WHERE DO I FIND (but also, IVE BEEN SAYING IT but like thank thank thank thank fuck they found each other. though y/n has kook, jimin is jus different ,,, i mean obv right but yes im just so so so so glad. y/n doesnt need to always be strong and dependent now. she can just be her and jimin loves that. SIGN ME UP UHUH UHUH

and then we have this whole talk with the moon and y/n quoting him back. i think loy yn and jimin best couple ????? I WILL FRAME THE WHOLE MOON TALK OKAY BYE ,,,,,,,, but fr thats so wholesome and i feel so honored i get to read this FOR FREE. it’s just soooo *insert that aww-ing emoji the one w big eyes* . i love them so much im willing to risk it ALL. theyre so so so so amazing. YOURE AMAZING. i LOVE IT.

[chicgeekgirl89]

A Little Bit Broken: Chap. 10- Let the Sun Shine

Fandom: SEAL Team

Characters: Lisa Davis, Sonny Quinn, Eric Blackburn, Clay Spenser, Ray Perry, Trent Sawyer, Brock Reynolds, Jason Hayes

Summary: Lisa and Eric take an unplanned walk through the desert.

Read Chapters 1-9 Here (All one-shots)

                                      XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Totally flat,” Eric said from where he crouched, inspecting the truck tire. “D’you find the spare?”

“I found it, but you’re not going to be happy,” Lisa called from the back of the vehicle, holding up the donut which was also sporting a big hole. 

“Well that’s not great,” he said. 

Lisa smiled. Eric Blackburn had to be the most level-headed, calm person she’d ever known. If it were any one of the other guys out here with her they’d be swearing up a storm, kicking the dirt, and vowing vengeance on whatever maintenance guy had left them alone in the desert with not just one, but two flat tires.

Instead, Eric just got to his feet and reached for his radio. “I’ll call it in and have them send somebody out.”

It had been a simple errand, a quick supply run through the safe zone and back in time for a briefing in the evening. They’d both needed some time away from the base so when Eric volunteered to make the trip Lisa had jumped at the chance to go with him. “Havoc this is Blackburn, how copy?” Eric asked.

Static. Eric frowned. “Havoc Base this is Lieutenant Commander Eric Blackburn, do you copy?”

Again nothing but static. “Are you serious?” Lisa asked incredulously. A flat tire was one thing, a broken radio on top of it was verging on unbelievable. 

Eric turned the radio off and back on again with the same result. “Try yours?” he asked.

She handed it over and he tried again with the same results. “Either we’re out of range or something’s interfering,” he finally said. He put his hands on his hips and thought for a second. “Well okay then.” He grabbed his pack from the truck and handed Lisa hers. “I guess we’re going on a little walk.”

“I cannot believe this is happening,” Lisa said falling in step beside him.

“Sometimes on the battlefield you have to deal with the unexpected,” Eric said.

She spared a second to narrow her eyes at him. “We’re not on the battlefield. We’re running an errand. A simple, easy errand.”

“And sometimes when you run errands, things don’t go according to plan.” Eric clearly wasn’t going to let the fact that they were walking alone through the desert in the heat of the day get to him. “They’ll send somebody out when we don’t check in on time.” He looked at his watch. “Probably meet ‘em about halfway back.”

Halfway back. So a good, two hour walk through the blazing hot desert, and that was if they walked at a brisk pace. Delightful.

They spent the first hour chatting companionably, as much as their quick pace would allow. Both of them were sweating, the heat and uneven terrain requiring a lot of their attention. “We’re making good time. Should meet up with whoever they send out in about an hour or two, depending on when they leave,” Eric said encouragingly.

“And how long if they don’t send somebody?” She was panting a little bit, trying her best not to stumble and fall on her face in the sand.

“They’ll send somebody,” Eric assured her. “Come on Davis, we’ve been through worse than this.”

“Yeah but usually there’s air conditioning on our end of things,” she said with a smile, pulling at the neck of her uniform. 

Her body felt too warm, her throat dry, her eyes gritty with sand. “Drink,” Eric said, pulling out his own canteen.

She did. It was only half full and the water inside was tepid, but she took a couple sips. “They guys are never going to let us forget this,” she said, working hard to put one foot in front of the other.

“Oh don’t I know it,” Eric said. “Sonny’s going to be all over this. I think I’ll take a vacation until he does something stupid that I can hold over his head.”

Lisa let out a snort of laughter. Sonny would certainly be the most likely to remind them of this incident every chance he got. Clay a close second. Those two thought they were one half of the Marx brothers sometimes.

“I feel like I understand him a little better now,” she said. “He’s right, the desert does kind of suck.”

Eric shrugged. “Depends on your point of view.”

“My point of view is that we’re dragging our butts through a pile of sand at noon because of a series of crazy unfortunate events.”

“Well in that case I can see your point.”

Their conversation came to an end as they continued to trudge onward. It was too hot to talk, or even think. Lisa found her mind drifting and then sort of going empty, all her energy going to putting one foot in front of the next. 

“Don’t forget to drink,” Eric reminded her again and she opened her canteen for another sip only to find it was nearly gone. There were maybe two swallows of lukewarm liquid left inside. “I’m getting low,” she said.

“Me too,” he said a little grimly, checking his watch again.

“We should have met someone by now right?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yep.”

She knew they were both trying not to think about what that meant. Arrivals and departures at the base were carefully monitored. For them to still be on their own meant something had to have gone wrong either at the base or with the search party. “Maybe I estimated wrong,” Eric said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

They lapsed into silence once more. Lisa found she was no longer sweating and her throat felt thick and dry. Walking seemed like a huge chore and she was struggling to focus. She was just so damn hot.

Without even thinking she slowed to a stop. Her legs no longer seemed capable of moving. “Lisa?” Eric realized she wasn’t alongside him anymore and turned back. “You all right?”

Her head was swimming and she leaned over to vomit up watery bile. She wiped a shaky hand across her mouth and felt Eric come alongside her, sliding an arm under her shoulder for support. “Come on Davis. We gotta keep going.”

                                     XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Ain’t like either of ‘em to be late,” Sonny said, looking at the door for the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes.

“Maybe they’re still dealing with the outage,” Ray said, arms crossed across his chest.

A massive power outage had taken down half the base for several hours and left everyone scrambling for back-up generators and supplies. The power had only been restored thirty minutes prior and the room was still stuffy from the air conditioning’s little break. Sonny checked his watch. The whole team was assembled for a briefing on a new target package but Lisa and Eric still hadn’t shown.

“Anybody seen them today?” Clay asked.

“They were going outside the wire last I knew,” Trent said. “That was earlier this morning though.”

“Does anybody know if they came back?” Jason demanded.

There was silence in the room. Jason reached for his radio and within minutes it became clear that trouble was brewing. “Gate crew has no record of them coming back,” Jason said when he rang off. “Is it possible they slipped in while the power was out and no one recorded it?” Ray asked.

But they all knew that if that was the case, their teammates would be in the room with them right now.

Sonny was rising out of his seat, the rest of the group doing the same. Hours. They had been missing for hours and no one had known. “Ray get transpo alerted that we’re coming. We’re out of here in five,” Jason ordered.

It took less than that for them to arrive at the vehicle pool and they were loading into the trucks when there was a shout from the gate. Sonny paused as they opened and two lone figures stumbled inside. His heart lurched and he immediately broke into a run, the rest of the guys right behind him.

Sonny reached them first. “Take her,” Blackburn said hoarsely.

Sonny grabbed Lisa, whose body was almost completely limp, and lowered her to the ground. “Lisa, Lisa, hey wake up,” he urged.

She moaned, her eyelids fluttering up and down.

“Hey sit down,” Jason told Eric.

“It was a flat tire,” Eric said, his voice raspy. “The spare was bad too. And something happened with the radio.”

“Okay, we’ve got you,” Trent said, coming to Sonny’s side. “I need ice packs, wet towels, whatever we’ve got. They both need to be cooled off now.”

Clay and Brock tore away from the group at a dead run. “Sonny,” Lisa muttered, her hands fluttering aimlessly.

He caught one, his fear jolting through him when he touched her heated skin. He hadn’t known people could feel this hot. Trent began to loosen her clothing and ordered Blackburn to do the same, Jason taking over when Eric’s fingers fumbled fruitlessly with his buttons. Within thirty seconds they were both stripped down to their undergarments. 

Clay and Brock returned in an impressively short time, handing over a dozen ice packs that Trent immediately began packing into Lisa’s armpits and groin, adding another to her forehead before jumping to Eric and laying him out to do the same, despite his protests.

Base medical arrived with stretchers and other supplies, forcing the guys to pull back as their teammates were bundled off to the infirmary. “Shit,” Jason muttered, shaking his head and running a hand over his face. “God damn it. I want to know how this happened. Now!”

“I’m on it,” Ray said tersely, stalking away toward the gate.

This had been a huge fuck up and Sonny felt sick thinking about what could have happened to their teammates alone outside the wire. The reality was bad enough, but his imagination was doing so much worse. “Hey,” Clay clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Come on.”

He followed the boys to the infirmary. Lisa had been taken back behind a curtain but Eric sat on a bed near the entrance, two IV’s stuck in his arm, his face sunburnt and exhausted. “How you doing?” Jason asked, all of them a little solemn.

“I’ve been better,” he admitted. “What the hell guys?”

“There was a power outage while you were gone,” Trent said. “Nobody realized you hadn’t checked in.”

Eric let out a humorless laugh. “Well don’t that beat all. Who the hell did we piss off upstairs for all this to happen?”

“Sometimes that’s just the way it goes,” Clay said. 

“Well thank god it doesn’t happen very often,” he said. “Any word on Davis yet?”

Sonny shook his head. “Still waiting.”

Blackburn sighed. “I shoulda made her drink more water. It was just so damn hot and she’s so tiny. Damn it all to hell.”

“Hey,” Ray said. “Davis is a tough lady. She’ll be all right.”

                                       XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Lisa’s head felt fuzzy and her throat hurt so much she was afraid to even try to swallow. She was vaguely aware that she was drifting in and out of full consciousness. She suspected maybe she didn’t really want to completely wake up and face reality at all because if she remembered right, she and Eric were stuck in the desert with no hope in sight. 

“I told you the fucking desert was going to kill one of us sooner or later.”

Except that was Sonny’s voice. So unless she was hallucinating, which wasn’t unlikely given the situation, maybe they weren’t in the desert after all?

She cracked one gritty eye open and recognized the ceiling of the infirmary, relief crashing over her so quickly she felt tears prick her eyes. They’d made it. Or maybe they’d been rescued? She was a little fuzzy on the details.

“She waking up?” That was Clay’s voice.

Perfect. Just what she wanted. To wake up with the whole team staring down at her. “Davis?” Sonny’s voice was closer now and she could hear worry coloring it.

Reluctantly she opened up both eyes to indeed find the entire team staring at her in clear worry. “Howdy boys. What brings you to this neck of the woods?” she rasped, wincing as the words scraped out of her raw throat.

“Just the fact that you and Blackburn decided to take a walk on the wild side,” Jason said. 

Lisa pushed herself upright, ignoring her throbbing head and stiff body. “Is Eric all right?”

“Eric’s just fine,” Blackburn said, as he joined them. He was walking a little stiffly and it was going to take time for that sunburn to fade, but other than that he looked all right. “Rehydrated and officially okay for duty. The question is, how are you?”

“Fine,” she said, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach, the pounding in her head, and the tightness in her sunburnt skin that made it feel like old leather. “Totally good. No need for you all to stick around and watch me sit here.”

After a little more chit chat the guys left to continue their briefing with her assurances that she’d join them shortly. But it turned out that she was maybe a little less fine than she’d thought. When she was visited by the doctor he wasn’t happy at all. Her blood pressure wasn’t where he wanted it and her temperature hadn’t come down enough for his liking so it turned out that instead of rejoining the team, she was going to spend the night in the infirmary. Perfect.

But she had to admit, she did feel pretty terrible. The thought of getting off the bed made her head pound harder and her stomach turn.

It was after 10:00, the lights had been turned down low and she stared up at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The curtain was pulled aside and Sonny slipped in. “Hey,” she said in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to come back. They’d been keeping things extra professional in country, which it had been harder than she’d thought.

“How are you really?” he said, his voice low, eyes serious as he studied her. 

“I’m fine.”

“Lisa.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m hurting. But I’ll be okay.”

“Why are they keeping you in here?”

“My blood pressure and temp. And I’m still dehydrated.”

He nodded, processing the information. “You know you’re already a looker. You didn’t need to go working on your tan.”

She smiled and then winced as her swollen lips split and pulled. “I’ll remember that next time.”

“Oh there ain’t going to be a next time,” Sonny said darkly. “You and Blackburn are only allowed outside with babysitters from now on. The team agreed on that.”

“That seems fair.”

There was the soft noise of a doctor or nurse bustling around nearby. “I should let you get some rest,” Sonny said.

She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for coming back.”

He leaned over and cupped her cheek, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[mirsfa]

dangerously (iv)

Genre: Uhm. Kinda everything, from angst through fluff to smut Word count: 17k (i am so sorry) Pairing: Prince!Jaehyun x Mafia!Reader Warning: Cursing, underage smoking, drinking, use of drugs, even more cursing, smut in upcoming chapters. There’s a lot and I might have left some out oops. Summary: You were polar opposites. He was royalty, you were a criminal. You hated him, he hated you. This mission was the last thing any of you wanted, but you had to make it work. But could you?

a/n: heii people. first of all i apologize that it took me this much time to finish this bunch of shit ahahahah. there is no excuse, only that im graduating and i am slowly but surely dying. figuratively. that was a shitty joke im sorry. anyways, thank you all who were patient enough to wait for this, i have added a ‘read more’ label and hopefully it will work for everyone!! 

“It was a scratch, no need to panic, Z.”

“Yeah but what if I died?”

Doyoung sighed, yet again, at least the thirteenth time during the past hour – the time you had been awake. He had been there the second you opened your chapped mouth and croaked for water. His eyes followed all your movements, cautiously, as if something could really go wrong by drinking water. Your fingers were shaky, yes, but the second he reached towards you to help holding the cup, you hissed at him, and he knew better than to stick to his decision. The room you were in was a lot like a hospital’s – clean, white sheets with even brighter walls and equipment. The first few moments you opened your eyes it blinded you almost, giving you a sting in your head and a wish that you should have stayed passed out.

“Die from a scratch?” he placed his head in his palm as he stared at the neon lines of your heartrate.

“I mean,” you murmured, fidgeting with the string attached under the skin of the back of your hand, “I did pass out from it.”

“I think you over-reacted,” he squinted at you then, “like you do most of the time.”

You would have thrown your hands up in frustration if it wasn’t for the things in your arms, quite literally tying you to the machines.

“It was mental, really,” he said then, voice lower and somewhat softer, “after you passed out and the other gang ran away it was just – crazy. A mess. The special forces arrived and when they saw that there was no one from the opposite team…they went full commando.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you struggled to put the pieces together. You shouldn’t have asked him to tell you what happened afterwards.

“They thought we set the whole thing up.”

He nodded, and his Adams apple bobbed, casting his glance away from your searching eyes and raked his bony fingers through his hair. The charcoal locks fell into his eyes in a soft mess.  

“They wouldn’t let us go, Z,” he said, his voice barely a whisper but still filled with hatred and a sort of calm, hidden fury. “You were…you were bleeding so much, and they kept on stalling and stalling and I- “he took a deep breath as his voice wavered.  You reached out for his hand and took it into your own, squeezing softly. He glanced up then, his eyes distant, hazy with the recent memories.

“Prince Jaemin refused to leave your side. Not even for one second,” he chuckled, and you let out an amused huff, “Yukhei almost blew his ass up but I think he was somewhat thankful.”  

You averted your gaze and let out a smile.

“Prince Mark and Renjun were the ones who talked some sense into those meatheads – honestly their captain was such a jerk,” Doyoung continued, irritation shadowing his tone. You just shrugged and poked the infusion in your wrist, letting the string attached to it wiggle.

“At least I’m alive,” you proclaimed, letting out something that sounded like a bittersweet chuckle. He just shook his head and exhaled gently.

“Taeyong was out of his mind when the special forces kept us there. I’ve never seen him this disoriented before.”

“Except when Jisung walked in on him when he – “

“No! Please don’t remind me.”

You grinned as Doyoung’s face twisted into a mix of terror and disgust. It only disappeared when a low, gentle knock resonated in the clean, white room. Both him and you glanced over at the figure entering slowly and quietly, and since your vision was still somewhat blurry, you squinted, trying to put a name to the face.

“Prince Jaemin,” Doyoung said, and emerging from the chair he was lounging in before, he bowed. For a second, panic took over the young prince’s features as he waved his hands in dismissal.

“No, please, I should be the one bowing.”

Glancing over to your sitting form on the bed, something like a small, careful smile made its way on his sharply shaped lips.

“Miss Z,” he said, with a voice sweet as sugar, with eyes glinting gently, “How are you feeling?”

You adjusted yourself and let the corner of your lips curve upwards.

“Better, Your Highness,” you inclined your head in thanks, but he just grinned, and lowered himself down next to you on the bed.

“I came in yesterday, but you weren’t awake. I wanted to thank you for what you did.”

“Your Highness it was-“

“Call me Jaemin.”

Doyoung smiled and so did you.

“Jaemin, it was my job. That’s what we were hired for.”

Jaemin just shook his head, as if he was trying to dismiss your words, as if they were no more than pure bullshit. Which they were. You knew it and Doyoung did too. You would have done it anyways – protecting younger ones, kids.

“My brothers and I are all thankful for you, but I’m sure you already know that,” the prince glanced at Doyoung then, who let out a grimace.

“Yeah, about that,” he drawled out, “Z, the King and Queen wanted to do some sort of fancy-ass ball in appreciation of us.”

You drew your eyebrows together at the sheer idiocy of the idea.

“We legit just stalled the idiots and beat them. And I got stabbed. Nothing great about it, it happens almost every time?”

“No, you were scratched. And yeah, I know it’s nothing special, but it seems to be something ceremonious for the Royal Family,” Doyoung then glanced at Jaemin perching on the edge of the bed, “No offense, Your Highness.”

Jaemin just waved, the graceful movement of the royal “I-don’t-give-a-fuck”.

“You’re right. We are overdramatic.”

“Great, one more thing in common with Z.”

Reaching out in Doyoung’s direction you grabbed a fistful of his hair and he let out a high-pitched whine. A crooked smile left your lips.

 It took you nine days, twelve hours and thirty-seven minutes to get out of the blindingly plain infirmary room. You were pretty sure you were held hostage for no apparent reason. Royals would do that kind of shit, wouldn’t they? You walked the ivory white hallways alone. The empty beauty of the walls and the handcrafted statues of previous rulers left an empty feeling in your heart. Glamorous it was, but where was the life? Your steps echoed in a painful sting and you thought of thorns made of diamond. Then his eyes flashed into your brain for splitting moment.

Hurrying your steps, you chased the thought away and continued to walk down through the glass-corridor.

What a continuous and tiering war was it, chasing someone’s gaze away from one’s brain. Feeling a familiar sort of burning sting in your brain, you thought of the younger princes, in an attempt to chase the pair of eyes from your thought. Poison, it was the worst kind of poison. During those five days you spent in the white room recovering, you had received regular visits from the young, and occasionally older princes as well as your own family. You weren’t sure if it was a crooked sort of display for gratitude, or they didn’t have anything better to do, but nonetheless, in some hidden part of your heart you were glad to see the youngers. Surprisingly, Doyoung did too.

His eyes lit up every time one of the kids came up, the same way it did when he was talking with Jeno and Jisung. Speaking of the two devils, they have also bonded with the royals in their ages. Often, they left your room together, with half-hearted apologies and excuses, but you didn’t mind. Having so many people at the same time in your room tended to be a little overwhelming at times. Out of the five days, you spent only one sleeping alone.

There was only one person, however, who did not visit you.

“Jaehyun is busy nowadays,” Johnny explained with something like guilt in his voice. You wanted to crack up.

“No-one is obligated to visit me,” you mused, tilting your head. A careful, unsure feeling swept through his face.

“Yet here we are,” murmured Yuta from a chair next to you, his voice dripping with sickeningly sweet honey. You wanted to vomit and laugh at the same time.  

Johnny decided to ignore the cold-livered tone of his brother and turned to you.

“We have a room for training. It’s filled with equipment, gym and a stash of weapons.”

You lifted your eyebrow.

“Well, for that cabinet you need someone to be there with you. Prince or trainer,” he added quickly. You didn’t talk about Jaehyun again.

A couple of hours after that, Jeno and Doyoung came barging into your room. Their arms were flailing around, and incomprehensible strings of words flew out of their mouths. You understood nothing, and the volume of their blabbering did not help either. So, you waited until they calmed down, their voices lowering to a buzz.

“The training room is a fucking heaven – “

“Language, Jeno.”

 The rest is history, and you walked the glorious, ivory covered corridor on your own. The clicking sound of your steps resonated and so did your thoughts – you had to turn left here, right? Smoothing your hair out of your face, you glanced around the corner. Empty, not even a soul, a servant or a guard rushing by you.

Hesitantly, you stepped towards the only door that was not made of finely carved oak, but instead cold, cruel metal. You could feel its iciness seeping through your skin and the hair rose on the nape of your neck. The promise of a new thing, you thought, should be exciting. Why am I so goddamn nervous then?

Twirling the key slipped into your palm by Johnny an hour ago, you stepped closer to the metal door. Your palms were sweating, and your breath was heavy, but you pushed the key into the keyhole, and before you could change your mind, turned it. The door made no sound as it opened. You checked your back again, then stepping through the threshold you pushed the piece of metal shut.

What you saw, amazed you to the point where you just let your jaw hang.

The room was huge – bigger than the whole of the bar back at home – and its walls filled, almost overflowed with all range of weapons. The steel shone with a molten golden colour in the early afternoon – in your eyes it was the soft tell-tale of all that youth, all those lives that had to be paid in battles.

Kicking your shoes off, you stepped onto the sea of tatamis on the floor, the familiarity of the dry but soft material under your feet washing over you. You weren’t even sure where to start – hell, you weren’t even sure if it was some kind of loyalty test, if there were hidden cameras somewhere else, watching your every move. Slowly, you turned around, your eyes running over every possible surface, memorizing the possible escaping routes –

Stop.

Stop stop stop stop.

You had had enough of paranoid thoughts, you were the bad guys, you were not supposed to feel the urge to run away and hide.

You were the ones who made others’ blood run cold, turn the other way.

Forcing a block onto your distracting thoughts, you lifted three throwing knives and five shuriken.

The weapons’ weights were light – you had to remind yourself there was something in your hand, so you wouldn’t forget about the familiarity of the icy feeling. Throwing them onto the ground you searched for a Straw Man, a figure you could aim at.

You found it on the other side of the room, about fifty steps away from where you were standing. Perfect. Lining up your body, you spun the first knife in your hand.

Then you threw.

You threw and threw and threw, up until there was nothing in your hand, and when you retrieved them you continued where you left off. You continued until that specific sore feeling returned to your body, with the familiar veil of exhaustion raping over your senses, and like you have always done; you did not listen. You spilled all the bitterness into your movements, you aimed at head, heart, liver and stomach, you aimed and retrieved and started again.

And when you thought you had enough – not caring how long it has already been, an hour? Two? Three? - you picked down three other weapons.

Swords and long-knives and axes, anything that got near your hands.

You battled, moved with the Straw Man until your head was nothing but an empty balloon, free of any thought, any pain, any memory.

Your throat burned, your muscles screamed, and you smiled. Through pain and tears, you smiled and stroke again and again.

The sun already set when someone spoke behind you.

“Who are you fighting against?”

You spun around, your mind foggy, mind hyper-alert, arms ready to throw the knife in your hand.

Then all the mist cleared when you looked into the familiar pair of eyes. The sweet colours of warm chocolate stared into your own, with nothing but the purest kind of curiosity.

Breathing heavily, you dropped the knife in your hand and plopped onto the light green tatami.

“Many people,” you answered, and inspected his movements from underneath your eyelashes as he walked closer. His cheeks were tainted a slight pink and his hair was ruffled and his clothes couldn’t look more casual - yet he still managed to look composed and put together. His hands were deep in his jeans’ pockets as he lowered himself down onto a chair on the edge of the tatami-sea. A safe distance from you and the weapons scattered in an organized mess, something like a satanic pentagram.  

“Many people?” he repeated, his velvet voice tinted with amusement. Huffing, you lowered your head and stared into your toes.

“There are many people who had wronged me and my family.”

Lifting one of his – most likely plucked – eyebrows, he chuckled.

“Are they still alive?”

Something close to laughter bubbled up in your throat but you fought it back down, keeping your expression icy. You just looked up at him from under your eyelashes and let out a smallest of crooked smiles.

“I barely think so.”

He grinned again and inspected the steel around you.

“I see you have found the training room,” his voice was low. Soft and careful, testing the seas. Relaxing yourself, you lowered onto the tatami, huffing in exhaustion. A little break won’t hurt. He watched you carefully, inspecting your movements and when your eyes met, you saw the faint colour paint his cheeks.

“Yeah,” trying to sound casual, you shrugged and leaned back on your hands. “I was given the key by – “

“I know,” he interrupted and pursing your lips, you fell silent. “I have questions,” he said then, his voice strong but his eyes somewhat vacant – unsure. Squirming on your butt, you reached for the closest weapon, and started cleaning it with the soft material of your shirt. Something to keep you distracted – something to keep you on earth.

“I’m listening.”

Clearing his throat, he leaned back on his chair.

“First off…I know we started on shaky waters, and I think that is mainly because I was an…arse.”

“An arse?”

Uncomfortably, he glanced sideways. Then nodded. Puzzled, you lifted an eyebrow.

“I’ve genuinely, honestly, never heard someone use that word before.”

He squinted his eyes, eyeing your face suspiciously.

“You seriously don’t know what ‘arse’ means?” his voice was dumbfounded, amused. You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, you were certain he was messing with you one way or another and you felt the need to grab that shiny shuriken by your ankle.

“No. Am I missing out on something?”

“It means…you know. Someone’s backside. But lower.”

“An ass, Your Majesty means?”

“…yeah.”

A loud, hoarse laugh erupted from your throat and you didn’t even try containing it. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you felt your lungs burning in need of oxygen. The sound echoed in the spacey, empty room and you were sure you saw him flinch before looking around uncomfortably.

“So, you’re saying you were an asshole,” your voice was strained as you wiped at your cheeks.

“Yes, but can I finish?”

“Go on, Your Majesty.”

Taking a breath, he inspected his sneakers.

“I – shouldn’t have drawn conclusions so easily and fast about you and your…” he hesitated, but you interrupted anyways.

“Family. They are my family.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you, with eyes wide and curious, glowing with something you couldn’t quite grab. You felt yourself tense under his inspecting gaze, heat rushing to your cheeks. What the fuck is going on? You were uncomfortable, uneasy, your fingers were itching with the need to grab something and fidget with it. It wasn’t the kind of gaze Taeyong would give you and Yukhei every time you came back from Gods know where, with clothes half burned, half torn off, with eyes glinting with everything but regret. It was a whole other level than when you perched on a rooftop with the icy graze of the wind through the relatively thick material of your shirt and jacket. You didn’t feel it on your skin, no. You felt it in your bones, your flesh, your soul.

Keep calm, Y/n. Keep calm. It’s your period coming. Your hormones are fucking with you.

You soothed your senses with the sweetness of the lie.

“Yes, family. I wanted to thank you. For saving my little brother.”

You were about to wave him off, the uneasy in your stomach tightening, but he held his hand up.

“No, I mean it. I know it’s your job and I know you’re most likely gonna say it was not that big of a deal, but I want to clarify the fact that you have been wounded while fighting,” he took a deep breath to continue but you interrupted anyways, quickly.

“I was gonna say that I accept white chocolate as a prize.”

You saw his breath getting caught in his throat, his ears flushing a sweet, bright shade of pink.

“Ah…ehm…white chocolate?”

You shrugged, “Yeah. Those are the best shit on the global market these days.”

Nodding, he cleared his throat again and inspecting the ground he asked you, “Why do you hate us so much?”

Your stomach coiled again, not sure whether it was the mention of the white chocolate that drove him to dive into deeper, personal matters, or the question had been on his mind for days. He certainly didn’t beat around the bush for long. You decided on the latter.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean, Majesty.”

“You know exactly what I mean. The rest of the boys, your family, had warmed up to us, pretty much. Except maybe the other assassin, Doyoung. And the short one who always looks like he’s either about to slit someone’s throat or spill the darkest of your secrets – “

“Oh, Ten always knows the latest of the tea. Believe me, you don’t want to be there when he decides to spill it. It’s a catastrophe,” you tilted your head and sighed, a sort of endearing smile playing around on your lips.

“That’s not what I meant. Look, it is obvious that there is something that holds you back. I just…I don’t even know. I just wanted to know why.”

He grew quiet, his voice becoming unsure when you showed no reaction. He was swimming amongst dangerous tides, far deeper and darker than he could imagine. Your head was spinning, shards of pieces of memories cutting into your skull, you didn’t want to remember. No. He wasn’t ready for the truth, and neither were you. Neither were any one the Diamond Snake, and it was going to remain that way. So, brushing aside your honest answer, you replied with another.

“It isn’t entire the best feeling in the world, Your Majesty, when you are the only female working in this place, surrounded by men at all times. I hope you understand why I prefer to remain closed off.”

He didn’t believe you.

It was obvious, when sheer doubt took over his features. You didn’t question it though, didn’t push it.

Huffing out air, he nodded, strands of caramel brown hair falling into his eyes as he did so.

“Of course, I understand. I will try and find a solution, if you would like me too.” He stood up then, and before you could utter a word of objection, he bowed his head. His gaze avoided yours, and suddenly you felt like you have made the worst decision, not telling him the truth. So, you brushed your hand over the steel blade of a knife by your knees and pressed your mouth together.  

“Goodnight, Miss Z,” he murmured, and you snapped your head towards him when you heard the smooth, velvet voice.

You didn’t answer and the next sound you heard was the slam of the metal door. The tears came after that.

 Two weeks, every day, from morning until noon. That’s the amount of time you have spent in the training room, with other members visiting, sparring, getting beaten and then storming out of through the metal door, bruises already blooming on their skin.

You weren’t in the best mood.

You weren’t sure what was going on inside you, neither was your environment. After four days, Jeno came to you in the training room to let you know about the findings of the blood sample taken from under your nails and knives, and when you showed no signs of care when he did so, neither him or the rest of them bother to try and get you back on that one. You were more than thankful for that.

Yukhei, however, did mention that you were having the glorious week of your period – he did get his ass kicked a minute or so later – but it has been almost a month since you have gotten back from the ominous mission with the younger princes.

You saw more of them, and perhaps it warmed your heart. A little.

“Why did you become an assassin?” asked Jaemin one of the many afternoon’s with sweat running down along your brow. Gulping heavily, you squat down in front of a weapon stack, your back to him.

“There was no other offer of profession at the local employment office.”

He snorted behind you and after a couple of seconds you heard the low thumps of his steps on the tatami. He lowered himself next to you.

“Liar,” he smiled and watched you expectantly.

“Obviously. People like me don’t say the truth.”

Shaking his head, he laid down, and fixated his gaze on the wooden ceiling of the room. When he sensed you did nothing other than shifting your attention back onto sharpening a random knife you found, he patted the tatami next to himself.

“Come lie down with me. You have been training for four whole hours now.”

“No thanks.”

“I didn’t wait for an answer. It’s an order,” he flashed his teeth in a grin, and you whipped your head back at him. The young prince and you became closer to each other for sure, during the past month, to the extent where he begged you to treat him as a common boy, instead of “throwing his status in his face every time you talked.” He was younger than you for sure, but it never stopped him from biting back equally snarky comments at you every time you shot him off with your own.

Dropping the knife away from you, you slowly leaned back, just to stare at the ceiling.

“I swear to god, you need to start dating with pretty lil’ princesses so you can do shit like this under the stars,” you croaked.

He shrugged and quirked the edge of his lips.

“I sure would be a ladies’ men, wouldn’t I?”

You let out a low chuckle and nodded, your elbows poking into his ribs. Jaemin was for sure one of a kind, the type to try no matter what hard to make a person smile. Pushing the long sleeves of your training shirt – which you have received plenty of the past few weeks and you’re not entire sure whether you have been happier in your life – and relaxing your facial features, you closed your eyes.

“It wasn’t entirely a choice, Jaemin. Sometimes, I mean, hah, most of the time, people have not a lot of chance to do things. Sometimes they are forced to live with things that were not intentional. Situations, lives they were…pressured into.”

You inhaled, applying force on your eyelids, as if you could block your sight from memories that came out every time you closed your eyes and purred about your past.

Jaemin was already staring at you by the time you glanced sideways in his direction, with even eyebrows furrowed together, gaze hazy with thoughts. He was about to open his mouth, most likely to ask something, however, before he could utter a word, the loud bang of the metal door from behind you crashed all hopes he had to speak.

You didn’t even need to look back to know who just entered the room.

“Holy shit this place is DOPE!”

You would think you have already gotten used to Yukhei’s booming voice. You didn’t. And if you drew consequences from Jaemin’s jump and saucer-wide eyes, he did too, have a long way to go.

Jeno was walking behind Yukhei, with something like the shadow of a smile on his lips. When his gaze met yours, his eyes turned into half-moons as he chuckled to himself.

“What’s up guys?” with a low huff, you hoisted yourself up from the ground. Yukhei looked around the training room with an admiring glint in his eyes.

“Boss asked us to find you. Apparently, he has something to tell you. He’s with princes.”

You lifted an eyebrow as you shot a questioning look at Jaemin.

“Which ones?” you asked.

Yukhei shrugged as he continued to inspect the weapons stacked up all around the walls. “The ones that make you look like you have a spike shoved up in your ass.”

Jaemin let out a low, dramatic gasp and Jeno dropped his head into his palm.

“Ah,” was all you said as you picked up the leather jacket you dropped onto the floor after entering, and grabbing the pair of sneakers in your hands, you strode towards the door.

“Better place it back in then,” you threw back behind your shoulder before the metal door shut closed.

 You didn’t really bother knocking on Taeyong’s door before kicking it open barefooted. You were quite a sucker for entrances and to be honest, and it kind of ran in the family.

“I heard you needed my spiked-up ass!” you hollered into the room before throwing your shoes in the corner and hanging your jacket. Ambling into the suite’s living room, you found Taeyong, Doyoung and Kun with the three oldest princes, Johnny, Yuta and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun’s and your eyes met for a single second, but you diverted your gaze just as fast.

You hated how you memorized the way he looked at that moment, with his soft his hair looking perfect even though you were completely sure he had not brushed it and you really hated that you caught the way his ears were tinted a slight shade of pink.

Suddenly you regretted that the words “spiked-up ass” ever left your mouth.

Taeyong covered his mouth before he let out a tiny cough - you were more than sure of the fact that he had a shit-eating grin on his face – and Doyoung let out an obvious eyeroll.

“Well now that you are here,” began Kun, “we can get down to it.”

“Get to what?” you quipped, and massaging your left wrist, you took a seat on one of the cream coloured sofas by the floor-to-ceiling glass window.

Your gaze raked over the three princes. Johnny sat on a dark rose-coloured plush sofa, with his two brothers perching on the arms of it. You didn’t look them directly in the eyes, no. You didn’t dare, not after you have seen the flash of bare emotion in Prince Jaehyun’s eyes.

Your mind kept repeating the minutes, hours he had spent watching you in the training room during those two weeks. You didn’t talk, didn’t make eye-contact. Just like then when you entered the room, you avoided his gaze, the sheer curiosity shimmering in those orbs.

He didn’t bother you.

Didn’t say a word, didn’t make a noise, and in some distant part of your mind, you were certain he hardly breathed. Some days, you saw the edge of a black notebook poking out of his pocket. You decided not to pay any special attention to it. Or to him, for that.

“Doyoung have told you a couple of weeks ago that there will be a dinner for us, in thanks to dealing with the…problems that came up with the young princes.” You nodded as you listened to Kun’s soft voice. He stood behind Taeyong, looking at you and the three princes with eyes glinting in an odd way.

Frowning, you straightened your back.

“But that’s not it, is it?” your voice was cautious, you felt like there was an elephant in the room, and everyone knew about it except for you. However, when you glanced at Doyoung you saw a puzzled look taking over his features, unlike Taeyong, who silently inspected the tip of his shoes, slightly faded crimson hair falling onto his forehead.

Doyoung’s and your eyes met. Kun cleared his throat before he continued.

“And additionally, we have found a trail to who might be behind the attacks.”

You nodded, remembering Jeno coming into the training room the tell you before you chased him away.

“We were able to trace it back to Mr. Kim.”

A beat of silence.

“There is like one million Mr. Kims you dipshit,” Doyoung drawled and Taeyong and you choked on your laughter. Kun shot a look at the raven-haired assassin who then quickly rearranged his facial expressions and instead glared on the flower - tapestry.

Johnny cleared his throat and leaned forward in his chair.

“Kim Seokjin is a high-ranked official and advisor, working for the Crown,” he said matter-of-factly, keeping his gaze on you and the others. “He has been through more battles than me and my brothers combined, and he used to be believed one of the most loyal objects for my father and mother.”

“Seems like he’s gone rogue,” Taeyong marvelled and Jaehyun nodded.

“We have tried to look into his activities for the past couple of months, but we have found nothing,” Jaehyun continued and glanced at Taeyong, carefully avoiding your gaze. “We need your hacker’s help.”

Taeyong inclined his head and reached for the crumpled cigarette pack lying on the crystal-clear glass coffee-table.

“Z,” he spoke up, his voice gravelled and snapping your head back, you caught the pack he threw at you. Your eyes met for a couple of seconds and that was when you saw it; that glint that appeared almost every time when something was about to come up. Something that you might not take well.

The cigarette pack he threw at you was a warning, then.

“Is there something else?” Doyoung asked, obviously bored out of his mind. He tended to do that a lot when something was not revolving around him.

“Yes, there is,” Johnny admitted before starting off. He didn’t look at you, he kept on staring at the carpet in front of himself. Unlikely of an eldest royal who is used to speak in front of and to people on a regular basis. “He will most likely be present for the dinner organized for the Diamond Snake. Which can mean two things in this case; first of all, he was one of the few officials who had strongly disagreed concerning the…hiring of your gang. If he decides to come to the gathering – “

“Then he wants to eliminate us,” you ventured, cutting him off. Yuta’s head snapped towards you in warning, but ignoring him, you leaned forward with eyes fixated on lighting the cigarette dangling from your mouth.

“That’s right. We know a couple of things already, for example the fact that he finds beautiful woman, a good drink and gold irresistible,” explained Johnny, and Doyoung eyed the prince’s features cautiously. Taeyong’s gaze remained on your face, which you carefully kept stone cold neutral.

Everyone went quiet and you inhaled the smoke, relished in the soft sting, the familiar smell. You felt another pair of eyes on you, molten caramel, the smoothing rays of the afternoon sun. You avoided that too.

Your brain caught up on the prince’s thinking, and it did not take long for you to figure out what they wanted to ask from you, why Taeyong was so goddamn nervous and why he lit one cigarette after another. Doyoung was still in the dark.

“Your Majesties,” Taeyong croaked then, exhaling a large amount of smoke which he kept inside for way too long. “I will talk about you request with Z alone.” he gave the princes a half-hearted incline of his head.

Kun nodded slowly.

“It is best if we talk about it amongst ourselves,” he agreed and Doyoung huffed.

“Talk about what? Can someone just tell me what’s going on?!”

You rose before drawling, “they want to whore me out to Mr. Kim,” with eyes as dead as your voice. You didn’t see the realization and disgust flash in Doyoung’s eyes for you rose from your seat, your gaze dead set on the oldest prince.

Taeyong then sprung up and with a single movement, stood in your way. Without your heels on you he was taller than usual, and he did not seem inclined to let you go. Kun moved from behind the sofa and with a tiny but respectful bow of the head ushered the princes out.

You didn’t see the look in Jaehyun’s eyes before the door slam shut behind his back.

And then you let it all out.

“What the fuck did you think, Tae?! Huh?!” your voice rose dangerously, and with a hand, pushed Taeyong in the chest who staggered a single step back. He lifted his arms in defence, but you paid no attention as you threw the half-burned cigarette into the ashtray.

“Z, listen to me – “

“Fuck about listening to anyone in this goddamned shithole, we were hired to gather information, to figure out who is behind all this shit, kill that bastard and then move the fuck along. I’m not going to play their fucking games, Tae!” you snarled but you felt the suffocating veil of desperation and fear creep up on your senses.

“Z, they don’t want to – “

You choked out a sob and grabbing the front of his black t-shirt you pulled him close.

“We talked about this. I told you I will never do anything like that again, I told you I told you I told you,” your voice hitched, lowered from a vicious hiss down into a weak whisper. Kun slid out of the room and closed the door behind him quietly. Taeyong put a hand on the back of your head, smoothing your hair, your back. He didn’t say anything, he held you and you let the first tear fall. Torn pieces of memories zipped through your mind and you tightened your grip on his shirt, held onto it like a lifeline.

“They will not whore you out, Z. They wanted to, but I told them they shouldn’t expect you to do that.” He murmured as his hand trailed through your locks.

“Would the Royals go that far?” Doyoung piped up as he laid down on the couch, placing his feet on the arm rest.

“Take your shoes off, Doyoung,” Taeyong deadpanned and the assassin threw his shoes off into the corner of the room with a dramatic sigh. You straightened up and wiped your glistening cheeks with the back of your shaking hand.

“Sorry for reacting like that,” you grumbled and Taeyong rustled your head with a sigh.

“I didn’t expect anything else.”

“Are you saying I’m a crybaby?” you murmured and Taeyong let out a low laugh.

“You should see your face every time someone says they want to use the fact that you’re a woman.”

Fuming, you threw yourself into the chair in which Johnny was sitting before. Taeyong pushed Doyoung’s legs away and sat down, posture slightly stiff. Wiping your nose into the sleeves of your shirt you pulled your knees close to your chest.

“So, what did the princes want me to do if not using me?” you asked, placing your chin on your arms.

“They do want to use you in a certain way, but,” he held his finger up before you could utter a word. You closed your mouth. “They wouldn’t want you to do anything you don’t want to. You see, Seokjin has no idea how you look like. We didn’t show ourselves in front of generals or officials, only the princes and the servants who were there. That means – “

“I will pretend someone I’m not,” you caught up and Taeyong nodded. “What is the information we need to gather from him?”

“We need to make sure that Seokjin is in relation with that gang who attacked us or the Black Spade.”

“And how the hell am I gonna do that? I’m not a spy and I have no clue how to act like a fucking lady!” you threw your arms up in the air and Doyoung sighed.

“We been knew.”

Your head snapped towards him and your hand reached for the nearest object you could throw at him, the diamond ashtray, but Taeyong snatched it from your hand before you could hurl it at Doyoung’s head.

“The princes offered to help you.”

“All of them?”

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? Probably. They will be in the Grand Ballroom tomorrow at ten in the evening. You will meet them there.” Taeyong said then and you let out an exasperated sigh. Guess, you were gonna have to learn the waltz.

 It took Winwin 17 whole minutes to convince not to go in your training tunic, but instead something more comfortable and socially (and royally) acceptable.

“Listen, Z, you need to get something like a shirt, or I don’t know, not that black fucking bodysuit… No, no absolutely fucking not, Z, put the stilettos back.”

You groaned as you threw the pair of shoes at Winwin, who caught them and chucked them on your bed.

“I don’t want to go around pretending I’m a cute little lady who does pretty bows, and smiles like a brainless idiot,” you protested, placing your hands on your hips. You were still in underwear and you were ready to throw the hacker out of your room, but he insisted on not making a fool out of you. Pity. Would have been a nice warm-up.

“Z, you’re just gonna learn the basic behaviour when you’re around high-class people, come on…No oh dear god put that knife back, girl you’re going to walk with fucking books on your head, Jesus everloving Christ,” Winwin raked through his blond hair and with a quick movement put it in a manbun.

“Yeah but we always need to be ready. Just a small one?” you held up a pocket-knife, and widening your eyes you put on your best puppy-face.

Winwin sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands.

‘I’m gonna call Jisung – “

“He’s playing Fortnite,” you quipped, and he raised his eyebrows.

“At nine in the morning? He woke up this early?”

“Nah. He just didn’t go to sleep.”

“Taeyong’s gonna gut him,” he pondered, and you shrugged. Giving in, you reached for the only clean white shirt you had along with a soft, flary pair of pants. You were about to reach for the high-heels but Winwin grabbed your arm in an attempt to stop you.

“Come on, I’m so fucking short,” you whined, shaking your arm out of his.

“You’re gonna be tripping and falling, do you really want to make a fool out of yourself like that?” he retorted, and you gave in after a second of thinking. Damn him and his rational thinking. Huffing, you pulled on a pair of sneakers, making as much fuss and noise while doing so as possible. You knew that the calm, forever-collected hacker won’t give a single shit about it, you can also jump out the window to get to the meeting faster – he would just shrug and text about it to the groupchat, to let the others know.

His story is a quirky one, filled with broken hearts, neon-screens and cold slices of pizzas.

It was Doyoung who recruited him. They met in jail, both of them waiting for their friends to bail him out – only Winwin had no one he could really rely on. It was you who went to grab Doyoung, back when you were 18.

Both the receptionist and the guard were corrupted by the already slowly building empire of the Diamond Snake. It took no convincing and a lot of money and Doyoung was out. But he didn’t wasn’t to leave.

“Wait,” he said, and you glared at him from behind your sunglasses, its size reminding him of a fly’s eyes. There was a faint bruise on the corner of your lips, and he knew you were frowning behind the darkened glasses. “There is someone,” with a quick movement he inclined his head in the direction of his cell, “I think we should get him out as well. I talked with him. He will be of use, I promise.”

“You know what Tae thinks about picking people up.” you murmured. Shooting a hesitant look towards the guard who started to get impatient, you licked your lips quick and then whispered, “alright I’ll get him out. But you go into the car now. Yukhei is already there, behind the building.”

Without another look, you shoved him towards the door before fixing your glasses and reaching for another stack of money.

A blackeye and Winwin’s dumbfounded expression richer, both of you blasted out of the jail and hurried towards the getaway car. Doyoung snorted as he examined your blackeye and murmured, “well seems like money wasn’t enough.”

For some unknown reason, the guard is fired the next day.

 “You are still that troublemaker you were when I first met you,” Winwin’s deep voice mutters before sinking down on the bed. “It’s hard to imagine you doing courtesies and waltz around the room like some goddamn princess.”

“What are you talking about?” straightening up from fixing your shoelaces you place your hands on your waist. “I am the fucking Queen, not the flimsy princess.”

He let out a chuckle and ushered you towards the door.

“Hurry up, you’re already late. They might punish you by wearing lacey dresses with corsets.”

You pouted.

“Lace is hot but only in the bedroom.”

You proceeded to avoid the shoes he hurled at your head before ducking out of the room, the remains of your laughter echoing in the empty hallways.

 You weren’t exactly sure what to expect when you stepped in, maybe a teacher with spectacles and way-too-tight corset, maybe a lady-in-waiting or even the Queen herself.

What you didn’t expect was eight princes, four out of them shrieking and hooting…spanking each other? You halted for a second, waiting for your brain to process the view of Prince Yuta throwing Prince Renjun over his shoulder with a victorious holler. Johnny, the only reasonable out of all of them, was unfortunately missing and suddenly you felt like you have made the worst possible decision on agreeing to learn etiquette with them.

You cleared your throat and the room went still as death.

Renjun peeked over in your direction from Yuta’s shoulder, Donghyuck slowly removed his hand from Mark’s butt, Jaemin smoothed down Jungwoo’s hair and Jaehyun let go of Chenle’s collar.

“I’m…sorry for being…” a glance down at your phone, “two minutes and thirty-four seconds late.”

Jaehyun stood straight up and smoothing his caramel hair back, let out a crooked smile, one that showed his dimples off discreetly.

“It’s – it’s alright. Please take a seat,” he said and Jungwoo whipped out a chair out from somewhere behind them and spun it right in front of you.

Feeling the tiny bubble of nervousness grow in your stomach, you lowered yourself on the chair and just to show you’re not as barbaric as is might show occasionally, you crossed your legs. As you let your eyes scan over the princes standing in a half circle in front of you, you gave a silent thanks to Winwin for not letting you out in high heels and an edgy outfit. Most of the princes in front of you were wearing branded hoodies and shirts with jeans or sweatpants and sneakers. Were they even allowed to do that?

Under the inspecting gazes of the royals suddenly you became aware of the fact that you left your hair in a hazy ponytail with a minimal amount of makeup.

“You might wonder why we are your teachers instead of a chaperone of a sort,” Yuta started with a steely gaze and you straightened your back, “you see, I don’t know what kind of plan you’re cooking for the gala in honour of you and your gang, but no one can be aware of that. So, we will be looking after your education in basic royal etiquette,” he announced before giving a mocking bow, and you swore you saw Jungwoo roll his eyes.

“You make it sound so serious,” the younger prince said, “we were going to help her out anyways.”

“What about the guys? Like Yukhei?” Chenle quipped in and you let out a small smile.

“We already told them the basic stuff,” Mark sighed, “plus people don’t pay attention to men. The spotlight is on…” he made a grand sort of hand motion in your direction, “the ladies at all times. Especially the ones who seem like they want to stab someone in the throat,” he turned to you with a deadpanned expression and murmured, “you might want to work on that general expression of yours Miss.”

Yuta snorted and looked over at Mark.

“She has the ultimate resting bitch face in case you haven’t noticed it.”

“Something you guys have in common,” grunted Renjun from beside Yuta and the older turned to him with a shocked expression but before he could retort anything, Jaehyun interrupted.

“How about we start, we don’t have much time. Five days, brothers. Focus.” His sweet baritone washed over you and the hair stood up on the back of your neck.

Jungwoo nodded and cracked his knuckles.

“Lesson one, Miss Z…”

“Please just call me Z,” you interrupted quickly, and he inclined his head.

“Lesson one will be sitting. Crossing legs is not okay if you are sitting in front of people.”

You quickly uncrossed your legs and listened to his instructions and tried not to get distracted with the softness of his voice.

“Imagine your knees are being glued together,” he started, and you brought your knees together, slightly frowning at the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach, “and that some old nasty perverted paparazzi is trying to have a shot of under your skirt.”

“A shot of what?!” you exclaimed, and it was Jaemin’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Tilt them a little, like this,” he bent his knees as if he was sitting and turned them to the right. You imitated, and they nodded in satisfaction.

And then you learned how to hold a teacup and a wineglass, you learned how to get out of a car and how to hide your cleavage when bending down. You greet people you know with a kiss on the cheek or a firm handshake and you hold your handbag in front of you at all times, in your hand.

The princes made an excellent job at teaching you – even though Yuta snapped at you multiple times and Chenle let out that laugh with a frequency higher than Yukhei’s. Winwin wasn’t wrong, you did indeed need to walk with a bunch of encyclopaedias on your head – and when you did, you silently thanked yourself all those gym sessions with Yukhei because if it wasn’t for them you would have most likely broke your neck under the weight of the books.

“You need to imagine that your spine is a cord,” explained Jungwoo as he rolled his sleeves up, “that cord is your spine – “

“And you straighten the fuck out of it,” finished Yuta.

A beat of silence.

“Why the fuck do you need to swear in every single one of your sentences?” Jaehyun’s voice resonated something like an ever-lasting suffer, with his eyebrows shot up until his hairline. From the corner of your eyes you saw Renjun silently bury his face into his hand.

“Who are you to talk, you just said ‘fuck’!” Yuta retorted before squinting his eyes towards his younger brother.

You let the bare thought of smile playing around the corner of your lips.

“I didn’t know princes were allowed to swear,” you chuckled carefully so the encyclopaedia placed on the crown of your head won’t fall. Yuta shrugged and placed his chin on the top of his hand – which would have been a sweet gesture if he wasn’t looking like he wished you were dead at all times.

“The forbidden fruit is the sweetest,” was all he said with a sort of melancholy in his voice. You glanced at your feet and took a deep breath.

“So, straighten the fuck out of the cord, right?” you forced a smile and Yuta hid a grin.

With aching slowness, you lifted yourself up from the chair, cautious of the books atop your head. Spreading your arms, you searched for your balance, bit your lip in concentration.

“You’re doing great,” murmured Jungwoo, his voice sweet yet distant, reminding you of an early summer breeze. You took a step, the books stable. The princes remained silent, watching you carefully, not daring to disturb the concentration on your features. After five steps you dared to open one of your eyes. Your shoes made no noise on the polished marble as you walked agonizingly slowly towards the end of the room – touch the wall, girl. Touch the wall. After another five steps you arrived next to Jaehyun – the prince standing farthest away from you, barely participating in the teaching.

Throughout the firing instructions and shouts to get you to learn the proper etiquette, he stood and observed – occasionally letting out a huff of amusement.

You felt his gaze on you during the two hours you have spent there, and it took every fibre of your being not to let heat rush to your cheeks. He has gotten the worst out of you, reminding you of adolescent years, broken hearts and flushing cheeks from the tiniest of touches. Suddenly the books on your head became heavier and you became even more alert of the gazes that followed and inspected your every movement.

He only came close to you once the princes decided it would be a good idea to be done for that day. His steps were silent, cautious as he sauntered closer to you as you placed the last book off your head.

“There is something I haven’t quite be able to stop wondering about,” he said, his voice as casual as it could get. Arching one of your eyebrows you encouraged him to keep talking. “Doyoung said that it might take you some time to incline to follow the proposal from us about Kim Seokjin – “he corrected himself rapidly when he saw a warning glint in your eyes, “not that you had a lot of chance to do anything else. I’m – sorry about that.”

“Don’t beat around the bush with me, Prince,” you purred, and you saw his Adams apple bob for a second.

“No, I was just wondering what the reason for that quick acceptance was. I would have completely understood if you needed more time like a week or something, but…I’m not sure I can figure this one.”

His voice lowered into a murmur and you cocked your head to the side, for some reason not really taken aback by his questions.

“You see, women don’t have that sheer brutality when it comes to violence. We aren’t inclined to go head first into situations,” you found Jaehyun searching your face while you talked, and you forced yourself not to flinch or retreat a step. You smoothed the edge of your nails on the skin of your wrist. “But we are good at other things, things that are underestimated by males who have not met with one of us. Who have not experienced our ways of handling situations. Instead of testosterone and bruised knuckles we have cunning, we have the strings to the puppets in the games and – “you brought your fingernails away from your wrist and lifted it, moving it towards his chest, stopping only a millimetre away from the fine material of his sweatshirt.

You heard him suck in a breath and for a second you let yourself relish in his reaction. “- and we have the power of seduction,” you continued, lowering your hand, “a power which is just as fun as dangerous to play with. It’s sort of a game, prince, with rules that you need to be stuck to. Like glue. Or else the cost is your life,” you let out a shaky breath and the echo of a sad smile, “seduce or be seduced, Jaehyun.”

The similar rhythm of your phone’s buzz shook you out of your reverie from the direction of Yuta’s hand, signalling the arrival of a text message. (The prince snatched it from your hand before you could place it on the ground somewhere in the corner of the large room, and to your dismay he kept it in his lap throughout the lesson.)

Jaehyun tilted his head to the side as his eyes narrowed at you. His face was void of any visible emotion other than a single dimple that played on the edge of his lips.

“You got a message from… Winnie The Pooh?” his voice changed from exasperated to confused as he glanced at your back turned to him. You pushed down the urge to spin on your heels and grab it from his hands. Containing your instincts, you cleared your throat.

“Yes. His name is Winwin. Our hacker,” your voice was barely above a whisper and slowly took a one-eighty turn. Yuta pouted dramatically and nodded.

“The blond with the manbun?” he asked, and you blinked slowly.

“Yeah.”

You snatched the phone with a quick movement and left the room with quick steps after he let out something similar to a genuine smile.

 “We need to create a fake identity for you,” said Taeil the third day you arrived back into Taeyong’s room which has grown itself out to be a sort of common lounge for the Snakes.

“Yeah?” you huffed as you dumped your high heels on the burgundy carpet and reached down to massage your aching heel. To hell with the waltz. Grabbing a scrunchie that perhaps belonged to Winwin you hastily tied your hair up and sat down across from him.

“What do you have in mind?”

He nodded as he pulled out his usual notebook, the one he used every time when he planned something.

“Yesterday after your training I talked with Prince Johnny and asked about the families that are well known in the castle and in the circles of the high-status people,” he opened the notebook on a page filled with his messy but still somewhat organized handwriting. You leaned closer as he continued, “there is an orphan heiress of a nearby territory, she never gets out of her villa and she doesn’t care at all what’s going on inside. She hasn’t stirred any drama and people acknowledge her enough to be aware of who she is and all that.”

Your eyebrows shot up as you looked at him.

“Orphan?”

“Yes. The family was attacked one night, murdered in cold blood during their dinner. The murderers slit Lord Jung’s throat and stabbed his wife but for some unknown reason they left their daughter alone. Her name is Jisoo.”

“And I’m going to be Jisoo.”

He nodded with a solemn look on his face, “you are going to be Miss Jung Jisoo.”

Lifting your chin, you remembered the lesson about presenting grace and patience, about displaying your full interest concerning a matter. You placed your hands folded lightly into your lap and angled your paralleled knees towards Taeil.

“Tell me more.”

 Jaehyun reached over to Johnny to angle back his crooked tie.

“You think she will do well?” the older prince levelled his voice down, so the maids rushing around them with oversized buckets of flowers won’t hear a thing. Jaehyun saw flashes of that young woman with encyclopaedias on her head and hellfire in her eyes. He let out the faintest smile.

Johnny sighed, “We taught her everything she needs to know,” as he adjusted his navy suit over the black turtleneck shirt. Jaehyun pursed his lips, his eyes glued to an arrangement of flowers in the corner, by a Corinth marble statue.

“I don’t know, she seems pretty stubborn. She was.”

Johnny cut him a glance.

“Wouldn’t you know that, brother,” he drawled, a new kind of amusement glinting in his eyes. Jaehyun fought the urge to cringe and instead pluck a flower from a bucket which passed him, the maid almost invisible behind the gigantic arrangement.

“This ball will be something else,” he murmured to himself, “I have a feeling that all this decoration adds the feeling of…feeding the pig before cutting it down. Don’t you think?”

Johnny was silent for a second.

“Listen…even though we taught her the basic etiquette and even though there will be heavy security…they are a gang. They thrive on illegal stuff and violence and I’m just not entirely sure whether all this was a good idea.”

Jaehyun’s eyebrows furrowed as he listened to his brother.

“You were the one holding us together with your positivity. Don’t start having doubts now or I swear to God – “

Johnny cut in before he could finish, “No, it isn’t like that. What I’m saying is…” his voice dropped down, barely audible over the murmurs and buzzing of the servants, “they are not accustomed to this life. Who knows whether there will be trigger that makes them turn against us?” Shaking his head, he smoothed the hair out of his eyes.

“I think it will be alright,” Jaehyun muttered, “if they were to turn against us, they would have already done it. Hopefully the night will go smoothly.”

  “For the fifth time, take that thing out of my hair it makes me look like a fucking garden,” you pleaded as you reached for the flower crown arranged into a pink disaster on top of your head. It has been one and a half hour since they bathed you – they were in there with you and they scrubbed your everything even though it was supposed to be a relaxing bath. You were everything but relaxed – before they placed you in front of a wide, rose gold vanity.  

“Listen young lady, we were ordered to make your appearance appropriate and fitting for the theme of the dinner.”

The woman, Ms Seol, who was responsible for your look, was a bitch. Her white hair was filled with pearls and other ornaments and she was wearing a disturbing amount of makeup to hide her wrinkles. And that enormous hooked nose. Its sole purpose was to lure you into punching her square in the face. On top of that she kept ordering you around and considering the fact that she had no clue who you actually were and the industrial number of maids coming in and out of the room they took you – you had no chance of getting out of here without looking like a complete idiot. You regretted all your decisions not only about agreeing to play a role but about accepting the proposal of the Royal Family.

Take a deep breath every time you feel like screaming, said Kun in the morning before you were taken to literal Hell, and count to ten.

Don’t lose your temper, Z.

Don’t lose it.

You forced a glittering smile.

“Ma’am,” you mused with a voice filled with glazing honey and venom, “I was invited to this dinner because of my status and looks, and the palace hired you to strengthen the latter – not to destroy its complete existence.”

She blinked twice, and you remembered Prince Renjun’s words: “You need to speak with authority with people whose status’ are lower than yours, even though you’re lying. Believe what you are saying yourself, place yourself into that situation and the others will believe it, too.”

You inhaled deeply, not breaking eye contact with Ms Seol and with renewed authority and pride in your words you said, “I am planning to get highly intoxicated on the alcoholic beverages offered tonight and finding a fairly handsome bachelor who will later blow my back out for I will be too irresistible for him and his lower, manly body parts,” you flashed a thousand-watt smile, “if you know what I mean.”

Her face contorted from surprise to contempt then into complete disgust all the while looking at you, sporting a soft pink bathrobe and a grin.

You flipped your hair above your shoulders and opened your mouth to add to her horror but the monotone and yet still cheerful voice of someone stopped you.

“My my, I knew the lady was trouble but what I just heard completely succeeded my expectations,” the maids in the room parted to give space to the newcomer, an ebony haired beauty with a mischievous glint in her eyes, “what a warm welcome.”

Her hand was resting on a black suitcase and a leather sport bag, her companion – all four female – stood behind her in suits and portable dress carriers packed with gowns hidden in their bags.

The woman pushed her sunglasses up onto her forehead and flashed you a grin.  

“Miss Jung,” she pronounced the word with an enough amount of sarcasm for you to know she was aware of your secret and had an exact idea on who you actually were, “I am you stylist. Your actual stylist.”

She levelled her gaze onto Ms. Seol with enough contempt to discourage the woman in every way – you shivered.

“Your services are no longer needed Ma’am, and neither is the rest of the staff.”

It took them a couple of seconds and a few fuelled glances to be outside the door.

Placing your knee on the bejewelled and soft armchair, you turned around to face your saviour of some sort. Her hair fell down on her back in soft curls and her lips were tainted devil red. She was the only one wearing pants with matching blazer and a white t-shirt. The most mesmerizing thing about her, though, was her darker complexion - Her honey skin shone in the daylight and the golden eyeshadow brightened the glow in her eyes.

“My name is Tan, pleased to meet you, assassin.”

You tilted your head with an equally wide grin.

“The honour is mine, stylist,” standing up, you let her run her eyes over your body and shape and you felt an odd satisfaction when she nodded her head.

“I wasn’t entire sure about your complexion. It’s not like I can find a proper picture of you on the internet,” she clicked her tongue and shrug her blazer off, “would you feel uncomfortable if you were naked in front of us?”

You arched an eyebrow. She smiled.

“For research purposes.”

Your let out a low snicker before undoing your robe and letting it fall to the ground, revealing your naked figure.

“Perfect,” was all she said before turning to her companion and exchanged a few words in a language unfamiliar to you. The female staff unzipped a couple of bags before pushing the wheeled carrier towards Tan.

“I was hired by Johnny,” she said as she looked through the dresses hung up, “he had a feeling that his parents will give you the stylist which will cause the most headache,” she clicked her tongue again with distaste, “she obviously had no taste.”

You picked up the robe before placing it on your shoulders.

“You know His Majesty well?”

She snorted before glancing at you, “He’s my childhood best friend. I was engaged to him, but you see,” she flicked her wrist towards you and two of the females gestured for you to sit back down, “I fell in love with a girl.”

Your eyebrows arched up again as you stared at her from the reflection of the vanity. If she was engaged to the eldest prince, then she must herself be royal as well. Tilting your head to the side you let the two females undo your previous, disastrous hairdo and each of them grabbing a hairbrush and an ironer, started to straighten your hair.

“I know what you are thinking,” Tan said as she unzipped a bag completely but the dress in it remained hidden from you. “I was only 16.”

Her voice remained neutral, levelled out. Your nose crinkled as the burning heat of the iron came a bit too close.

“Something happened,” you murmured, your own voice careful, and your eyes met in the reflection. She knew you weren’t asking, and her lips curled up in a sad smile.

“It didn’t quite work out between me and her eventually,” her voice remained emotionless and you weren’t sure whether that was true or not, but you kept yourself from pushing her. It was not your place to know. And you just met.

“16 is an age when changes happen,” you said instead and looking at yourself in the mirror, you got lost in your own reflection for a second. “Usually they are not for the best.”

She didn’t look at you, instead she pulled out a device and plugging it into the nearest connector she turned it on. Her nails were tainted red and you noticed that her bottom lip was slightly plusher than the top.

“What happened to you?”

Her question took you by surprise and you flinched. The burning iron missed the skin of your ear by only a couple of millimetres. When you looked back up, your gaze met with hers. You teared your eyes away from hers and stared into your own instead.

“I fell in love with the wrong person.”

Your voice was so low you thought the wind carried it away, out through the window into the sky. To be lost and forgotten. But it wasn’t.

“It cost you something, didn’t it?” her voice was soft but not weak and you could only nod. When she shivered, it was like she came out of something like a trauma before she clapped her hands.

“Us girls, we need to stick together and help each other,” her voice was lively now but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “too bad Ms. Seol wasn’t able to comprehend that.”

You chuckled, and she turned to the remaining two of her staff and instructed them in that foreign language she used before. Your skin tingled, you felt like she knew every fibre of yours, even though it has been less than half an hour since she stepped into the suite.

“Is her hair done?” she turned to you shortly after. The females behind you stepped back and nodded. Tan lowered herself onto the vanity table and crossing your legs you stared up at her.

“Here is what I know,” her voice was calm, calculating, and a shiver of exhilaration ran down your spine, “I know that you are the most wanted assassin in the country. I know that you prefer to be called Z. I know that you were hired by the Royal Family to find and eliminate the threat imposed on their lives and I know that this dinner and ball will be a mission of yours.”

You didn’t let any emotion show on your face and she cocked her head to the side before she continued.

“I further know that in this ball your mission is to seduce Kim Seokjin, the universe’s greatest narcissist and jerk and bachelor, however what I don’t know is…” she stared into your eyes and you let her. “What I don’t know if it is your intention to destroy him.”

Your mouth curled into a devilish grin and so did hers.

“Really, it depends. I was told to get the information out of him but – I was not prohibited to have my own fun,” Tan nodded.

“What do you know about him?”

“Enough,” you shrugged, “I know that he loves women and that he is influential enough to be able to pull the strings of terror against the Royal Family.”

Tan smoothed her hair behind her ear, and she moved over to the bag in which, you guessed, was your dress.

“He likes champagne and gold as well,” she purred and pulled the zipper down and jaw dropped as she revealed the dress.

The Dress.

It was the most beautiful piece of clothing you have ever seen, you felt your eyes physically stuck the material. It was everything you were not and everything you wanted to be and you adored it. Its colour was a light shade of gold, the slightly transparent material adorned with rains of diamonds. The top was sleeveless, and the décolletage ran down to the middle of your stomach in a straight, piercing v-line, showing enough skin to make men wild. The bottom part was flowy and when you squinted to see better you noticed that it was cut up on both sides.

“I am going to turn you into everything he would ever wish for,” mused Tan and you huffed in satisfaction, “you will become the Women and the Gold and the Champagne of his life and you will succeed in your mission.”

Words got stuck in your throat as you glanced at her and you noticed that ever consuming fire, the fury raging in her orbs.

Revenge.

She wanted revenge for something.

And that is what you will have, not only in the name of the Royal Family, but in anyone’s who was ever wronged by that man.

So, you smiled with a fire burning with equal heat to hers and said, “Let’s turn this place upside down.”

 Prince Jaehyun had absolutely no clue who half of the people in the Grand Ballroom were. It could be reprimanded, yes, for he is a prince and he is expected to know and greet all the nobles and influential who had come to the dinner and ball.

Unsuspecting.

Of what was about to happen, of who they are in the same room with, of the people they innocently engage into conversations with, thinking that ‘oh that young man with a half-moon eye laugh and perfect manners must be a distant relative of the Royal Family’. How sweet.

As he nursed his tall glass of champagne, Jaehyun kept himself as distanced as possible from the guests, who were hopefully occupied with the sweet manners of Jungwoo and the small talks of Johnny. Behind him, carefully arranged flowers decorated the soft cream coloured, marble columns that towered over the people, holding the cupola shaped ceiling.

To his right, at the very front of the room, lay the grand staircase which led in the guests through the double-winged wooden doors.

Reaching behind himself, Jaehyun plucked a piece of grape and plopped it into his champagne.

“That was gross,” drawled a voice from behind and the prince turned with a slow, graceful movement. Half hidden in the shadows the master spy, Ten, glared back at him. “Oh, Ten always knows the latest of the tea. Believe me, you don’t want to be there when he decides to spill it. It’s a catastrophe”. Your words floated into his mind in a soft sweet whisper and he suddenly remembered the power hidden behind those words. Your words. The spy did not have his eyes covered by a messy fringe like Jaehyun saw most of the times, but instead it was elegantly gelled back, revealing a clean forehead and sharp cut eyes. He didn’t bother buttoning up the top three buttons on his black shirt under the blazer.

Ten tilted his head and a strand of raven hair fell into his eyes.

“I came to report to Your Majesty,” he purred and Jaehyun stepped closer, “Everyone is in place as it was planned.”

“Is it based on what we have talked about last time?” Jaehyun murmured into his champagne glass. Ten inclined his head.

“Winwin is behind the security cameras in the basement. Jeno is mingling along with Kun. Doyoung and Taeyong are up in the gallery,” Ten mused in a voice similar to the shadows behind him before he glanced up at the private, veiled area and the lounge for the highest nobility and the princes. And now the assassins.

„Yukhei is over there,” Ten made a discrete head movement towards a waiter with a silver tray, packed with champagne glasses. As if arsonist knew the prince and the spy were talking about him, he turned around and sent a wink towards them. “Taeil and Jisung are lingering outside and well…”

The corner of Ten’s mouth curls upwards in a smile that promises nothing but chaos, “Z has yet to make her grand entrance.”

Jaehyun sighed into his champagne before he placed it onto Yukhei’s tray, who had gotten there in the meantime.

“What about my brothers?”

Ten leaned back into the silver coloured wall-fresco and Yukhei slowly placed new glasses onto his tray.

“Princes Johnny and Yuta are mingling as you see,” from the corner of his eyes, Jaehyun saw a female with lipstick that was so strong anyone would have seen it from the other end of the castle, bat her eyelashes at Yuta. “Prince Jungwoo is up on the gallery with Doyoung and Taeyong. And I believe Mark and Jaemin are on the balcony. Chenle and Donghyuck are with Winwin, down in the basement,” the spy’s voice then dropped into a whisper as he added, “thank to all the gods above. That young prince of yours, Donghyuck, is the devil incarnate.”

Jaehyun nodded with a small smile and Yukhei dropped a macaron into his mouth.

Grimace veiled over Ten’s face as he ran his eyes over the guests.

“I pay all my respect to you princes for being able to live surrounded with this much pretentiousness,” he drawled and scrunched his nose when he noticed a female tugging the cleavage of her dress lower before slipping in Johnny’s way, “do you know have some sort of limit to the people you let in here?”

“She,” Jaehyun lifted his champagne towards the female, no, girl, attempting to flirt shamelessly with the oldest prince, “is the youngest daughter of one of my father’s financial advisors.”

Ten snorted and Yukhei choked on his second macaron.

“I mean call me a savage but even I know that she ain’t supposed be acting like that,” the spy said before smoothing the loosened hair back onto his head.

Before he left, he turned to the prince with a serious expression, “You know what your role here is, right Your Majesty?”

As soon as Jaehyun nodded, the spy was nowhere to be seen.

“Your Majesty,” Yukhei mumbled before placing the last glass of champagne on the tray, “Is it your first mission?”

For a second Jaehyun was taken aback, and with eyes wide he scanned the taller male’s frame,

“I believe it is. Why?”

Flicking his bowtie, Yukhei shrugged.

“Was just gonna say that if you remember everything we have talked about, nothing can go wrong, y’know?”

With a cheeky grin that stretched across his face, giving his eyes a fiery sort of glow, the arsonist said, “Good luck prince. Try not to get lost in the flow!”

Jaehyun swirled his second glass, the words of the arsonist echoing in his mind.

Flow.

Try not to get lost in the flow.

Suddenly, he remembered crystal clearly what Taeil, the logistic said as a warning to him and his brothers.

“Once things get going – once all hell breaks loose – it will be easy to forget who we are and what we are supposed to do. We panic, and the rush of adrenalin, the Fight or Flight, will be the one dictating our actions. Not our brain.”

Jaehyun swirled his champagne again, his other hand curling in the pockets of his pants.

“Set your mind on your goal – turn it into something that you don’t only want with your brain, but with your instincts, your very core. That way, you won’t be washed away with the flow, as we like to call it.”

A brush of material pulled him back from his reverie, and a familiar, musky sent filled his nostrils and he knew who it was before he even had the chance to turn around. He grinned into the rim of the champagne glass.

“Hello there, Tan,” he mused, and the faint noise of her chuckle reached his ears and reminded himself of old memories, reminded him of tiny feet scurrying along the marble floors, reminded him of shrieks of exhilaration. Reminded him of his childhood.

“Hello, Woojae.”

“It’s been some time,” keeping his voice low, Jaehyun glanced at his friend, took in the familiarity of the shade of her skin, the lines of her eyes, the arch of her eyebrows. He saw little difference from what he remembered from…” ten years, right?”

“Something close to that.”

Her voice still had the edge, that stinging tone which reminded everyone that she was from another land, that her mother tongue was a language completely different to his own.

Tilting her head, she smoothed over her dress, an elegant black piece with just enough ornaments to make it look out of the ordinary. Her lipstick reflected some of the chandeliers’ lights as her mouth pulled into a smile.

“Quite a mess you got yourself into.”

It wasn’t entire a question. He just let out the tiniest of sighs. Her eyes raked him up and down.

“You’re really tense. It’s way too obvious,” placing her own glass of champagne down she placed herself in front of Jaehyun.

Only that, with that smooth movement, her body collided with someone else’s.

“My dear, my apologies it’s my fault – “she started but words got stuck as her chest tightened at the sight of the spy. Jaehyun remembered the young man’s name, heard it being called enough times in the Diamond Snake’s suite, which has grown itself out to be more of a residence, camping site.

“I mean yeah it kind of is. Better be more careful next time,” Jeno purred with a wink before continuing his way into the crowd. Jaehyun caught the warning glint in the spy’s eyes. And kept his mouth shut.

“Who does he think he is,” Tan murmured more to herself than to the prince, “looking that good?”

Jaehyun choked, “sometimes I forget that you are almost three years younger than us.”

Shrugging, the stylist sipped from the glass as she raked her eyes over the guests and judging from her frown, she was quietly evaluating the dresses.

“This party is a disaster, was it the grandma that dressed these people? Speaking of her,” Jaehyun felt her eyes search his face, “I had quite a guest today, did you know?”

Jaehyun gulped, his eyes searching for Johnny. He knew who she was talking about.

Tan continued, “she is a tough little thing. I like it,” taking a sip she thought a little, “you find her intriguing, don’t you, Woojae?”

“Why would you think that?” his voice wasn’t as confident as he hoped it would be.

“Maybe we have not seen each other for a long time,” Tan purred, her rich accent weaving through her voice, “but I will never forget your compassion towards unusual things.”

It felt like his heart had let go of its strings, falling free. The breath got caught in his lungs and suddenly the only thing he wanted to do was sit on the balcony, surrounded by stars and darkness. Focus. He has to focus, he has to follow the plan.

“You can’t have compassion towards things that are unusual. Broken,” he murmured, as if saying it out loud would make him believe his own words. Tan placed lowered her head slightly when a young man bowed in their direction.

“She’s not a thing. She’s human, just like you or me.”

Jaehyun turned to her, his face contorted into confusion. Does Tan even have any idea what she does?

Tan didn’t have to look at him to know what his question was going to be.

“Understand before you judge,” her eyes searched for something or someone in the crowd.

They didn’t have much time before the assassin arrived, he had to have Johnny near him.

“Tan, do you know what is about to happen?”

The stylist nodded.

“Johnny told me everything,” her voice softened, “I also know the role you need to play. You can do it, believe in yourself.”

When the door above the main staircase opened, he knew it was time.

But a little part of him fell apart when he glanced upon who entered.

His heart stopped beating for a short time and he was sure he was not the only one.

When Johnny slipped next to him, unnoticed by the nearby nobles whose eyes were glued on her, on top of the staircase, Jaehyun almost couldn’t hear the words that left the oldest prince’s lips,

“All hail to the queen of Hell.”

Tan smirked, her blood-red lips painting a cruel, beautiful line on her face.

Your steps were confident as you descended the stairs, your movements a whirlwind of gold and crystal and fire. The champagne coloured dress showed off the expanse of your legs through the cuts and the back of the dress flowed behind you as a cape. A queen indeed.

“Kim Seokjin is right there,” Johnny whispered into his ear then, and Jaehyun snapped out of the momentary trance he fell in. His eyes followed the direction of the nod and he spotted the young, influential noble with eyes stuck on the assassin. A hunter, and a prey.

Only, it wasn’t the young man who led the hunt.

“Go, brother,” Johnny murmured, and the younger prince straightened, and placed the expression of a royal, of an heir. A veil that no one could see through. A mask that was forever stuck on his face. People stepped out of his way, and soon there was a narrow corridor between him and the assassin who was almost at their level. Her hair was straightened out and half of her hair was braided into a bun on the back of her head – he had to admit, she took the air from his lungs. Soon enough, there was no other sound in the room than the soft clicks of her golden stilettoes.

They reached the bottom of the Grand Staircase at the same time.

Her hand, adorned with thin, golden bracelets and rings, rested on the ivory railing.

When they locked gazes, he swore he could feel the universe expand.

“Your Majesty,” she said then, with a voice clear like a crystal, and lowering herself almost to the ground, curtsied. Reciprocating the gesture, he bowed before taking her hand.

“My lady,” his voice was quiet but confident, and he felt the slight dug of her manicured nails on the back of his hand.

The polish wasn’t black, but a glowing shade of gold; he wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. Whether he was used to the drastic change or not.

He led her anyways, into the middle of the dancefloor, with bronze leaves and curling figures carved deep into it. The guests backed up then, giving Jaehyun and the mysterious lady place. He looked at her.

Really looked at her, capturing her face into that moment, the slight bewilderment striking him in surprise – it was quite the opposite to what he was used to; the opposite of the always sly, always calm and collected glow in her eyes, that forever remained cold. Void of all emotions, unless she was with the Snakes.

He saw it, once.

“Say,” Johnny said one afternoon, leaning back in his armchair, “are you really as bloodthirsty as it is known in the country?”

It was one of the many occasions when the princes and the Snakes got to sit together and go through plans for the night of the ball.

When Jaehyun saw her and Taeyong exchange an all-knowing glance, he knew they were in for a treat.

“Bloodthirsty?” Z purred, and a Cheshire cat grin appeared on her face, “I have a story with bloodthirst, right, Yukhei?”

The arsonist smashed the ice-cream tub fiercely against the glass of the coffee table and Jaehyun cringed.

“Z, don’t,” Yukhei warned, his deep voice laced with grumbling laughter. The assassin’s eyes sparkled as she threw her legs over the arms of the sofa and leaned her head back, locks of hair tumbling down on the other side.

“I don’t know if this counts but,” she started and Jeno placed his head between his knees, his shoulders shaking violently, “our dearest Yukhei here, tried to…court a woman and the fact that she was going through her…monthly inconveniences didn’t deter him from doing it anyways.”

A beat of silence.

Then the roar of laughter echoing through the room and disbelief dripping from the royal princes’ expressions.

“She said it was fine?” Yuta grimaced and scooted further away from Yukhei who was hitting his knee in both amusement and embarrassment.

Z nodded, “she was into it as well,” and that was it for Jaehyun, who joined the others as soon as the surprise wore off.

When he caught her eyes, he saw galaxies shining in them.

Even though it was not the first time they danced and so held hands, the roughness of her palm never failed to surprise him. Callouses lined the expanse of her hands and arms and still, she carried herself as if she was the finest of diamond, the smoothest of velvets.

Pride, perhaps.

Pride of a criminal.

He spun her in front of himself, the memorised steps making both of their movements fluid and graceful – dancers in top of a lake. She faced him with her chin high up, a light fierce determination glowing in her gold-rimmed eyes. Jaehyun forced his heart into a steady rhythm, and when the music started, they danced.

 It was hard really, ignoring his cologne as he led you around the dancefloor, his eyes unreadable and yet still glowing with the warmest of lights. You were certain that if he wasn’t holding your waist you would have collapsed. This was not what you were used to – it was farm from the familiarity of the shadows and house roof tiles and in a twisted way, it frightened you to the bone. Not only a week, but even ten years’ worth of training wouldn’t have been able to ready you for the amount of attention aimed into your direction. It felt confusing – like being in a war with yourself, by living up to expectations but remaining true to yourself. The two were lightyears away from each other and you dreaded it.

But there was a plan.

And your job was to follow it.

Be the pretty lady that everyone expects you to be, Taeil’s soft-spoken voice sounded in the back of your mind and you swallowed, forcing yourself to meld your expressions into something soft, something endearing as you gazed into Jaehyun’s face.

His palm tightened on your waist in validation.

His fingers gazed the narrow slit on your waist, showing your skin off, although that small amount was nothing compared to the two giant slits that showed almost the entirety of your legs off.

Just enough so no one will have a glimpse on the dagger hidden beneath the fabric. A lady can never be safe enough.

“Seokjin is on the edge of the crowd by the pastries,” he murmured into your ear, his breath blowing the hair on the nape of your neck. Goosebumps erupted along your spine. With an elegant movement he led you so that you could take a look at the governor.

He was there, with ebony hair swept back, showing off his forehead and eyebrows – both of them beautiful and incredibly elegant. A scarlet-gowned female with breast spilling out of her dress tried to get his attention but with no success. As you turned the other direction, you felt his gaze following you, into and around the dancefloor with Jaehyun.

But you spun and twirled with Jaehyun, his santal-wood smell invading your senses, filling them, reminiscing.

And then Johnny came.

And the music stopped along with you and the prince. A wave of murmur tremored through the guests, some of them glaring, some of them whispering, some of them standing, confusion evident on their features.

Curtsying deeply, you didn’t look the eldest in the eyes, but you didn’t need to in order to know the silent fury burning in his orbs.

Yet his voice was as cold as the frost on top of a leaf as he said, “brother, I believe it is mine turn now.”

For a second Jaehyun’s fingertips lingered on your skin, but then he inclined his head. Lifting your head slowly you glanced at the two brothers, glaring at each other, letting tension rise in the Grand Ballroom.

“The music hadn’t stopped when you intruded, so I am going to need you to let me finish the first dance,” was Jaehyun’s reply, and you shivered at his icy tone. From under your lashes you glanced at Seokjin, and the elegant swirl of the champagne caught your eyes. As he stared, he tilted his head. Interested. Fascinated.

He likes the cat and mouth game, Yuta’s voice resonated in your mind, he likes the chase and the sheer idea of conquering something or someone that is desired by many. Makes him feel triumphant.

You didn’t dare questioning his knowledge about the young governor.

As you tore your gaze from him, you found that Johnny was still in the middle of the dancefloor, middle of the attention as he slowly but surely, towered over Jaehyun – who did not back down. The soft-spoken prince was biting back words colder than ice, a side of him that you had not seen before. The guests didn’t need to hear any of the words spoken between the princes to figure out the reason of the sizzling tension between them.

You didn’t despise it as much as you thought you would.

From your hidden earpiece came a static sound and then Winwin’s baritone, “he is on the way, Z, do not turn around,” and straightening your back, you brought your hands together and began to massage your fingers together.

Show vulnerability but have your back straightened at all times.

“Excuse my intrusion, Your Majesties,” the voice that purred not far from you made your muscles tensed, senses sharpened and mind clearer.

Kim Seokjin was tall, almost as tall as Johnny, who towered over most of the guests. Your diamond earrings reflected all colours of the universe as it reflected the chandelier lights; his eyes seemed to gleam in a similar way when you turned around to look at him, up close.

If you have not dealt with models and men with incredible looks you might have fainted right on spot.

You didn’t even attempt to deny the fact that he was beautiful.

Something like triumph glinted in the princes’ eyes as they glanced at Seokjin before giving him a court nod. The low chirps and murmurs of the guests slowly but steadily rose again.

“Mr Kim, how are you enjoying the ball?” queried Jaehyun, with a smile that emphasized his dimples off and melted ice. The governor bowed and his plump limps quirked upwards, into a smile that did not reach his eyes.

“I find it pleasant, My Lord, although,” he added and suddenly you were hyperaware of his gaze as it slid along your body, reminding you of liquid silver and snake scale. Cold and smooth. “My breath is quite taken away.”

It was easy, really.

Way too easy in your opinion but the faint whisper in the back of your head nudged you along, to follow the plan. The cooling touch of the blade on your thigh helped you with keeping your bubbling adrenaline on the low.

You swore you saw something in Jaehyun’s eyes before he stepped away from you, along with Johnny – whose smile was close to the shade of the moonlight when it hits the ivory walls of the castle. Cool. Dark. Ever-knowing.

“Apologies for the little scene, ladies and gentlemen,” the eldest’s voice was now louder, less hushed and hurried, and his smile radiated nothing but victory, “Miss Jung is all yours, Mr Kim.”

And you danced again.

Seokjin’s hold was confident, a sort of distinct force that proved he knew he was better than everyone else here. That was what his eyes told you too. The shine of satisfaction gave everything away, and the more you stared into them, the brighter, more evident it became. Flattery. Maybe that’s what he needed.

“You are a good dancer, sir,” you mused, with a voice reminiscing of unkept promises and the softest of bedsheets. And he liked it. His lips, plump like the petals of a rose and, perhaps, with the touch of them, widened into a smirk as he gave a little bow of his head.

“You are too, Miss Jung, was it?”

As you spun around the dancefloor in a confident manner, more people started to fill the dancefloor, people with champagne bubbles in their blood and laughter in their eyes. You fought the urge to scrunch your nose. You have never wanted a cigarette more in your life.

“I am, sir. You must be Mr Kim Seokjin,” you tilted your head as you smiled at him, as honest as it could get, “I have heard about you.”

You felt his shoulders tense as he straightened himself even more, puffing out his chest like a bird before a mating dance. Men. Ridiculous, and the same.

No, not all, some distant part of your brain laughed at you and you ignored it.

“I believe I have heard your name before as well, Miss Jung. About your past, more like,” his voice was somehow apologetic, “a tragedy, really.”

You shook your head before you let him spin you out of his arms then back again, in sync with other dancers.

“It is in the past. I barely remember any of it. I grew up with the people who were entrusted with my upbringing,” you said, and he nodded in understanding.

For a while you didn’t say anything, just danced, for one round, then two and by the third your chest was heaving, and strands of your hair loosened out of the jewels adorning your head. You let his hands wander lower with each round, let his breath caress your neck, let him whisper in your ears.

And in turn you pressed your chest against his, danced your fingers on his suit-clad bicep, flashed the brightest of smiles that glowed as vividly as the crystals and gold on your fingers, around your neck, in your hair.

And you talked, and talked and whispered and giggled, until both of your ears were bleeding from it.

He spun you and you laughed and widened your eyes, so the chandelier lights reflected in them, making it seem like they were twinkling in joy, instead of calculation. He seemed enamoured and you gave yourself a mental pat on the shoulders.

It was after the fifth dance, while sipping champagne, that you said, “I need a bit of air, should we go out to the balcony?”

Walking in front of him, you put somewhat of a hot-blooded sensation in your steps so your lower back would swing more, and you practically felt the burn of his gaze as he walked behind you.

Goosebumps erupted on your skin when you stepped out on the balcony and the breeze got caught in your hair. There were not many people outside, only a couple and in the farthest corner you noted Jaemin and Mark, with their back to you. If they memorised the plan well then, they will be aware of the fact that you are there too.

Placing your elbows on the edge of the balcony, you gazed out onto the garden, filled with trees and flowery bushes, adorned with clear-white fairy lights. Seokjin leaned next to you, but with his back to the marble parapet. He sized you up and down, yet again, and pretending you haven’t noticed, you kept on sipping your champagne.

“You know,” you mused, staring at a couple behind an apple tree, “I find it so ironic, that the Royal Family arranges a ball like this,” you made a flick with your wrist, referring to the celebration, to the shrill laughs, to the liquid lies spilling out of nobles’ mouths, “for a couple of gangsters only.”

He scoffed and you dared a glance.

His thumb brushed over his tulip lips before turning to watch you, your eyes and lips with a gaze that reminded you of madness and molten gold. He was supposed to be working for the King directly. Sure.

“Not for long,” he purred before leaning closer. You leaned with him, and you were certain that Mark and Jaemin shifted closer as well.

“You know,” Seokjin continued, “I find their presence incredibly disturbing. My office is not far from the Wing they live in…and for some reason I keep on hearing crashes and these terrible curses!” his voice went over into something like a whine and you tried to pull the most sympathetic smile you had.

“Oh, dear God!” you exclaimed before placing your bejewelled hand on your chest, “You hear those people?!”

He nodded vehemently before reaching out to twist a strand of your hair around his pinkie finger. You tilted your head so he wouldn’t see the tiny, transparent earpiece, hidden by the olive-branch shaped golden ear jewel.

“I hear them, almost every day,” he whispered, “I hear everything, see everything and I might just know how to get rid of them.”

You shuddered and your earpiece sizzled.

“You do?” you spoke equally low, and let your breath mingle with his, let him near your lips with a predator’s patience.

“I do,” he then looked straight into your eyes before purring, “and I might just think about keeping you alive.”

You stilled.

Jaemin and Mark stilled.

The whole world seemed to freeze into a moment of silence and calm and the only thing you heard was the beating of your own heart and the sizzling in your ear.

Then, for the first time that night, you heard Winwin’s voice.

“Z get the fuck out of there,” his voice was urgent, and you swore you heard a crashing noise from inside the ballroom.

Shit, shit, shit.

Your mind seemed to have gone blank and your eyes were searching in Seokjin’s to find that one sign that would lead you on, that would give you exit.

But the only thing you found was that ever-knowing glint, that confident smile which you have mistaken for arrogance.

This is not good.

“Z, are you there?” Ten’s voice resonated then, and you dared to look at the two younger princes who stood frozen, with their eyes glued on you. You tore your eyes away from them and calmed the thrumming of your blood. Or at least you tried. A whole night worth of adrenalin started to climb itself back into your brain and you swallowed. Don’t go with the flow. Don’t give in. Be the master. Be the superior.

Seokjin’s finger was now completely twisted in your hair, and you felt him grabbing the nape of your neck.

Another crashing noise.

And then the screams started.

Voices filled your ear, not only through the earpiece, but from the ballroom and you were just sure that chaos has erupted inside.

Mark and Jaemin started towards the double-winged glassdoors of the balcony and you bellowed.

“No! You two stay out here!”

They halted and maybe it was the force of your voice or the sheer terror in it that made them listen to you. You didn’t care.

This was a trap.

This has been a trap all along.

“Let me go,” you said then, your voice carefully veiled with calm and venom, and he smiled, that irritating, confident smile and you swore you have never wanted to punch someone so hard in the nose before.

As he let go you stepped away immediately, following the screams and chaotic noises into the ballroom.

You didn’t look back at Seokjin before throwing the doors open and stepping inside. Most of the people fled, a couple zipped past you with champagne stains on their outfits. Then the doors crashed close, trapping at least fifty people inside, along with yourself.

And the Snakes and Princes who were inside the ballroom.

It all went down in slow motion.

The dancefloor of the gigantic room cleared out, the remaining guests pushing themselves up against the walls. Pure terror was written all over their faces, at the scene that played in the very middle of the room.

Prince Chenle stood there.

With a knife at his throat.

And at the end of the knife, the person who was holding it…

Junhui.

You stopped breathing as you took in his face, took in that familiar, sharp smile.

As your eyes met with Yukhei’s from across the room, you were certain he was horrified, just as much as you.

They were here.

The Black Spade was here.

[bangtanficrecs]

Lost & Found Batch #19

Can’t start up the blog again without posting the newest batch! As always, if you happen to know the fic the ask is looking for, reply to this post or send us an ask with the request number and title/author. If you happen to know any fics from Past Batches, those are more than welcome as well. Thank you!! ~ Admin P

1)  There are werewolves and hunters. Jungkook and his dad are hunters. The rest of BTS are like a pack. The people close to Kook and his dad Is VIXX 95% sure. Hunters have jobs like police and Kook started his job. Meet Jin who works in the morgue also meets v. Accidently finds out jin is a Wolf. Jin dosent come in for work. Meets V again eventually falls for him. Dad locks him in his room. Escapes from window to save the other BTS. His dad shoots him making VIXX distrust his dad. VKook/Ao3

I'm only human (after all) by Lalaithwen

2)  Hi! I want to ask if you know this fic. The members where assassins or something? And they were separated into groups with OCs or other idols. There were three people in a group with a person from rach classification. One of the classifications was named epsilon(?) Like I think the classifications were based on eyesight, accuracy, and intellect. I would really love if you find this!

3) Hello! I have lost a fic I was reading. It is a mafia au with supernatural elements where suga is the boss and rest is working for him and jimin was a succubus working in his brothel and then he was a witness suga was protecting him in his apartment so its mainly yoonmin and taekook was a side pairing. It was a long and chaptered fic and was soo good. had bunc of other kpop characters. Can you please help me find it thank you so much 😊 🙏🏻

浮世 U K I Y O by Sharleena

4) hi loves ♡ I'm hoping you could help me find a fic? it's basically namjoon/everyone but each chapter is a different storyline with a different pairing. in each story namjoon is homeless or really really poor and the member in that chapter helps him and they fall in love. and joon is always rlly bad at his jobs. one chap I remember was with hobi and he owned a dance studio that joon worked at and joon started sleeping in hobis office ^°^ hope you can help find it ~

Phosphenes by CynoDemure

5) Hi, I’ve been trying to find a fix where Taehyung isn’t a part of BTS, but suddenly they respond to his tweet and shit goes down and they offer him a ticket to tour and room with them. Tae is a YouTuber or has a channel and he lives in a really nice apartment and blasts BTS music to the point where someone comes up and yells at him? I think that happens, and BTS watch his videos. It’s on AO3. If you do find it then thank you so much.

Perfection by orphan_account

6) Hi hi! I was trying to find a fic. I think yoongi had gotten a tattoo and it was of a tiger?? And I think kookie was the artist??? That's all I remember sadly :<

watercolor by TheHalesNyx

7) Hi! I'm looking for a fic I lost track of a while ago. It was Namkook, & what I remember is that they didn't get along bc NJ makes JK feel inferior, but ot7 go on a trip & they end up rooming together. They all get drunk, & NJ ends up offering at some point to have sex with JK. It was ongoing, & the last part I remember is JK going off on NJ & walking onto the balcony & NJ follows. Super vague & probably unhelpful but does anyone know?? Any help is appreciated please & thank you!! ♡

8) Hi! Can you help me find a story?? I’m looking for a story where Jungkook moves into an apartment building where the rest of BTS lives after leaving a traditional family, might have been ABO. He meets taehyung and eventually lives with the rest of them, I remember that two of the members adopt two children and jungkook accidentally gives one of them food they’re allergic too. Thank you for the help!

dust by lotuschae (orphan_account)

9) Hi! I'm hoping you guys could help me find a fic? i'm looking for a taekook fic where they meet again at an event and taehyung didn't expect jungkook to present as an alpha. in the fic mates mark each others with scars and jungkook still has the scar that tae gave him when they were young (tae didn't have a scar cos they got scared from the blood). In the fic jimin is an alpha and the very start of the fic was vmin rushing to the event cos they fell asleep.  [cont] seokjin and namjoon are betas in the fic if i remember correctly. Also, i'm not sure if this is the same fic but jk set suga's contact image as yoonji and when he bumped into taehyung and jimin at the market yoongi called him to ask him to hurry and jimin saw the contact photo and was interested lol so he asked jk for yoongi's number thinking he was a girl. When tae and jm go to jk's dance studio he sees yoongi there with jk and thought they were twins lol. [cont] SORRY FOR SENDING SO MANY MESSAGES but i would be really grateful if you guys knew which fic (might be separate fics?) i'm looking for. I've tried searching tags and scrolling through my history but i couldn't find anything :( thank you so much in advance and sorry for spamming your inbox :')

10) Hello! I'm looking for a fic I read last year. It's a Namgi that I think is set in college. I don't remember much but it has a scene where Namjoon is getting beat up in a locker room/gym at high school and Yoongi finds him because he's going to basketball practice. Yoongi runs to get the principal and the bullies get expelled. Namjoon tells Yoongi/he figures out, that Namjoon planned it to get the bullies expelled. It's a how-they-met story. I think Yoongi was class president too. Thank you! :)

11) I looked through you tags and tried to find it on ao3 too but I can’t :( can you help,,,, it’s a junghope where (I think) Jungguk is having a hard time in college and Hoseok is like “hey make a bucket list of things you want to do” and so they do and then find feeling along the way. I very specifically remember two of the items on the list,, 1) riding a Segway 2) being fucked against a wall Thank you!!!❤️❤️

12)  Hi! I've been looking for a 1 (or 2) chapter jikook fic. Jimin recently broke up with an asshole. Jungkook works at some kind of gun range/shooting place. JM is convinced to take a class there, and JK asks him on a date. After the date, JM never calls JK, and it upsets JK because he feels like he was led on. Actually, JM's ex had been bugging him and emotionally abusing JM into thinking he wasn't good enough. In the end, JM explains it, and jikook get together. Thank you for your help!

13)  Hi, I'm looking for a age swap fic where the members wake up with their ages swapped. I remember the first one was Jimin and Jungkook waking up with their ages swapped, and then after that it was Yoongi and Taehyung, and then they would eventually forget that they weren't actually that age, and the other members were the only ones who knew that they weren't actually that age. Also there was Taekook (I think). Can anyone help me find this fic? Thanks

im not gonna call you hyung by aprofessorstale

14)  Hi! Could you please help me find a fic? I read this awhile ago and I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s a Yoonseok fic where Yoongi and Hobi got into a fight because I think Yoongi had a soft spot for Jimin and tried comforting him and Hobi was jealous or so. They decided to take a break from the relationship and all of the members urged them to talk it out but they were stubborn not to. Also Jimin and Yoongi were never dating. I’m sorry if it’s vague and not making any sense.

15)  Hey! Looking for this Jikook fic where they're both sons from rival companies but have been in a sexual relationship since boarding school? Can't remember the name. Thanks!

All Your Glory by eumorious

16)  Hi I'm not sure if you can help me find this since it's a smau and now a fic. Its jikook, hs. I think jm is rich and jk is a hockey player or something. But jm likes tae and asks jk to teach him how to do sexual stuff but also fake dates him and they end up real dating.

17) Hello, I've been searching for this one fic on AO3 where Jimin gets betrayed/stabbed? by Taehyung. Taehyung seemed to be really skittish and was freaking Jimin out. I also know Jungkook ends up marrying a detective? If you guys don't know it's okay!

18)  Hi! I’ve been looking for this one fic- I think it was Yoongi/Hoseok/Jungkook? And Yoongi was a tattoo artist along with another kpop singer (not BTS). I also remember at some point Yoongi gets a birthday cupcake that says “Hyung loves you” and he ends up attempting suicide too? Thanks for any help! 😭

Pati by signifying_nothing Note: The fic is locked and requires an AO3 account to view

19)  For the love of my sanity please please help me find this fic. Its taekook, bottom kook top Tae. Its either a two part chapter fic or two part serious. The first part I belive is a fic where taehyung does freaky ass shit to Jungkook so in the next part, jungkook gets revange on Tae. But more importantly, the second part features Taehyung being hand cuffed to the bed, and Jungkook is teasing him. Taehyung is very dom and frustrated at his sub. (A03) Thank you

Things To Do Before You Die by SevenSoulmates Note: The fic is locked and requires an AO3 account to view

20) I'm not sure if this account is still alive, but I'll give it a try. I'm looking for a bangtan fic where one of them lost his pregnant wife and after her funeral he went to the bar. He got drunk and got into one night stand and that person got pregnant. I don't remember the paring, but Jungkook might be one of them. I'm sorry for my English.

21)  hello! im looking for a series of one shots all in the same universe, its ot7 smut and was on ao3, with i believe 60+ parts? and it had hoseok as straight in the first few parts. ive been looking for ages but cant find it 😭

[eleanor-devil]

Naruto Fanfic - Boruto: Sacrifices - Chap.27, The Breaking Point

IMPORTANT: It would be very very appreciated if you reblogged it and left a comment. We get lots of likes/favs but almost no comments, so please everyone, leave a comment, it encourages us to continue.

We’re only three chapters away from the end!

Written by my friend @mirage-05

Cover by @eleanor-devil

prologue, chap.1, chap.2, chap.3, chap.4, chap.5, chap.6, chap.7, chap.8, chap.9, chap.10, chap.11, chap.12, chap.13, chap.14, chap.15, chap.16, chap.17, chap.18, chap.19, chap.20, chap.21, chap.22, chap.23, chap.24, chap.25, chap.26, chap.27, chap.28

For more Boruto: Sacrifices stuff, click on this link

Chapter 27 - The Breaking Point

Mitsuki felt his heartbeat fastening now more than ever, his instincts (although he didn't understand how) kicked and before he knew it, his hand had removed the IV and he was standing up on the sill. Catch him. He just had to catch him. That was all. Crouching slightly, taking a deep breath and feeling like he was doing this naturally, like he had been doing this since birth... he jumped forward. He tucked his arms close to his body, gaining even more speed to catch up to Boruto, who was getting closer and closer to the ground... He was not gonna let it end... this was all he had in mind... And then he was there, holding on to Boruto, making the blond's scream cut abruptly as he... did another move out of pure instinct... one hand sign, and suddenly, they were caught by what seemed to be the air currents themselves. Gasping, Boruto opened his eyes... and their eyes met.

Yellow with blue met, the sapphire widened and the gold, although surprised, was staring endlessly in that ocean. It was like... this had already happened before... this familiar sensation was back... Soon the two boys met solid ground with a soft thud as the air current stopped, they landed on their knees and Boruto was still grasping what had just happened. "M... Mitsuki...? What-" Before he could even finish the question, he saw Mitsuki grabbing his shirt right over his heart, panting, sweating, his expression was one of pain. "M-Mit..." Boruto's worried look immediately left in its place panic as his friend's expression turned blank, his eyes rolled backwards... and in the next moment he slumped in his arms. The blond tried frantically to hold onto him, his surprise over the whole situation evaporating. "Mitsuki!!" There was a thud right next to them, and Boruto looked over to see his other teammate... she should've finished with the thugs they were chasing. With a worried look cast over at Mitsuki, Sarada asked no more as she helped Boruto to steady their friend, and they began carrying him to the hospital as fast as they dared to. To say Sakura was shocked when she was called to the hospital's entrance was an underestimation... the woman looked shocked, angry and despaired (after all she had come to check on Mitsuki and saw the room empty). "What in the world happened!?" The Uchiha asked when she saw her daughter and Boruto walking in with Mitsuki unconscious in their arms. "He..." Boruto gulped. "He saved me..." And the medic didn't even know what to say for a moment... instead, she sighed. "Lay him down here." she said briskly, indicating a stretcher. She then arranged it so that he was taken to a nearby emergency room. The children refused to leave the room, and this time Sakura didn't have the energy to tell them to get out - she was too worried of how "saving Boruto" affected Mitsuki... and she had told him no rash actions... this kid, honestly... And just like she had suspected... the readings from the machine wasn't good... He had gone over his limits and of course his heart gave in to it. How he had managed to escape a heart attack was beyond the Uchiha medic. Just as she was finishing reading the results of the machine, Sakura heard Mitsuki stirring and starting to wake up. She immediately approached him, forcing him to stay still although she didn't immediately scold him right after he woke up. "M-mm..." Mitsuki rubbed his eyes to look well at Sakura. "Uchiha-san...?" The way he referred to her had taken Sakura aback... ever since he woke up, he had always called her angel... "Yes... it's me Mitsuki..." She put her hand on his arm gently, still being careful, trying not to rush into things. "How do you feel?" The boy flinched slightly but visibly before he could answer. "I... my chest... hurts..." The medic sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do you remember anything?" The boy frowned a bit at the question, like he was making an effort to answer it. But then his eyes widened and he looked back at the pink haired woman urgently. "Is... Is Lord Seventh alright...!? H-he has to be warned there are people after him!" The look in Sakura's eyes softened as she saw the haste in the kid. Seeing him, one wouldn't imagine he was just recently out of coma, the way he worried about apparently everyone else but himself... selflessly so. "He is alright, Mitsuki." she sat on the edge of the bed, looking directly in the boy's eyes. "And he will be glad to hear that you're back among us." A small but genuine smile settled on Mitsuki's face, he was so relieved at the news. Sakura's expression took a more serious note when she next spoke. "Honestly, the one you need to worry about the most is yourself. What you just did caused a problem with your heart, and if I didn't intervene immediately, things could be bad. I don't think I'll have to stress any more how you shouldn't tire yourself any further today. In fact, I'm gonna have to ask you to remain in your bed all day except for bathroom breaks." The boy nodded solemnly - he had conceded that he wouldn't take his life for granted. He wasn't about to go back on his words. "That being said..." and the Uchiha showed her soft smile again. "I believe this reunion was long since awaited." She stepped aside to reveal two of the most important people in his life. For a moment, as he looked into their anxious, expectant faces... Mitsuki didn't know what to say, a huge burst of emotion spreading in his chest. He had no idea, until this very moment, of how much he really missed them... "Boruto... Sarada..." No more words were spoken as the duo both rushed forward. In less than a minute they threw their arms around him, careful but tight. "You have... no idea how good it is to see you again..." Sarada said in a low, fierce tone, shaking a little. Noticing that she was crying, Mitsuki held onto her tighter. "Don't you ever imagine pulling off something like that again..." "I will try," the young bot said with a bit of a smile. Feeling that Boruto pulled back - slightly, that's to say - he turned to face his best friend. "You will try? That's the best you can say?" he was shaking slightly too... but Mitsuki knew that it wasn't just over joy. "Boruto..." "Don't go 'Boruto...' on me! I can't believe you are still going on about how everyone else is doing! I can't believe you just jumped from a window to catch me, disregarding your health! Why can't you just stop for a minute to consider yourself for once?!" "This is not really the time," the Uchiha said in a small voice, but Boruto wasn't listening - and frankly, Mitsuki just let him be. He was prepared for this... deserved this, even. "No, I will never allow you to do such a thing ever again, do you understand me?" Boruto leaned forward, their faces were now up against each other. "Not if my life depends on it. That's a promise." "Boruto..." "What?!" A soft smile spread across the blue haired boy's face. He had missed his friends... so, so much... "Thank you..." The Uzumaki was so taken aback that he just stared at his friend for a moment, not even knowing what to say. And then, without hesitation, he was once again hugging Mitsuki, the slight shaking being the only give away of his emotions. "It's so good to have you back, 'ttebasa..." ... Sakura had not wasted any time to get the amazing news to spread... and they were spreading like wildfire. Naruto was looking through some of the trivial paperwork he had left from the other night, going through the motions of being the Hokage almost automatically by now. He wasn't really expecting any visitors, nor would he have expected them to burst into the office all out of a sudden. When he saw it was Shikamaru, he felt his heart skip a beat - especially after he saw the urgent look on his friend's face. "Naruto..." Shikamaru exclaimed, slightly out of breath. "There is word from the hospital..." Naruto gasped as his eyes widened, and he immediately jumped to his feet. "What is it?" he asked. And then Shikamaru broke into a smile, his features softening. "It would seem that the boy's amnesia is completely cured." Naruto wasn't sure if he heard him right, and just stared blankly at his advisor for a moment. Then, heart racing, he grabbed his phone. ... As she listened on to her husband on the other end of the phone, Hinata felt relief and happiness like she never felt before filling her chest, and she breathed out in relief. "Thank god..." When they ended the call, she felt Himawari tugging at her shirt. "Mama...?" "You better go get ready, baby," Hinata turned to her with a warm smile. "We are gonna go visit your Mitsu-nii... He has apparently missed you a lot." Himawari's blue eyes widened as much as her smile. Did that mean that Mitsu-nii remembered her...? She was so happy that she was already sprinting to her room to get ready. As her daughter ran upstairs, the woman quickly dialed a number. "Hello? Hanabi... is Konohamaru-kun with you..?" ... Hanabi's eyes went wide as she listened to her elder sister, and she softly laughed to herself. "Of course I will tell him nee-san... Thank you..." She ended the call and immediately ran out, where Konohamaru was about to step out for a training session. "Konohamaru!" she called out in joy, and saw surprise filling his blue eyes as he turned to her. She practically ran into him and hugged him, this day couldn't have started more beautifully. "Nee-chan just called!" she breathed joyfully. "His amnesia is cured! You can go visit Mitsuki!" And suddenly the training with Ichiro was completely forgotten as Konohamaru kissed Hanabi out of pure happiness before he sprinted off towards the opposite direction. Towards the hospital... ... He never knew even a hospital building could look like a happy place to him before. As he sprinted through the main doors, everything and everyone seemed livelier, more joyous, and a general aura of calmness lingered over the whole area. Konohamaru practically ran down the corridor to his student's room, and he came to an abrupt halt outside as he took the scene in... His two other students were side by side, their eyes seemed to become red  as they had obviously been crying, but their faces were lit by a smile. And Mitsuki... he was sitting upright... joining in their conversation, even with a small smile of himself... The jounin then felt that he couldn't wait any longer. All three heads turned to the door as it burst open. The three students fell silent as Konohamaru made his way in slowly, as if in a trance. The sensei found himself kneeling down by Mitsuki's bed and putting his hand around the boy's... compared to his it was small, so Konohamaru's covered it all. A smile made its way to the sensei's face as he whispered the first words. "Welcome back, kid." Mitsuki's smile turned brighter, now they were all complete, like how it was supposed to be. He wished he could express to his sensei how grateful he was... for everything... but he didn't know how to. "Konohamaru sensei..." he said instead, hoping that those two little words channeled enough. For the sensei though, it was more than enough. It took every bit of his self-control not to break down in front of the kids as he slowly, gently took Mitsuki in his arms, and hold him tight. He had not realized until now how he had missed the sound of the kid's voice. "You have... no idea..." he whispered fervently. "How glad I am that you finally made it through." Mitsuki felt his eyes burn slightly, he couldn't be happier but he didn't let any of the tears fall, he didn't want to ruin the moment... But he felt so happy that he just knew, and hoped, he had made the right choice in coming back. Instead he wrapped his arms the best he could around his sensei and whispered. "Thank you... sensei..." When he pulled back after a few minutes, though, there was a serious and thoughtful look on the brunette's face. Mitsuki knew what was coming... "Kid..." his sensei began slowly, looking at him in the eyes. "Do you remember what I told you all in our very first serious mission?" There wasn't a single noise in the room. The blue haired boy's gaze wandered to the bedsheets. "You... did say many things, sensei." "You know very well what I mean." Mitsuki remained silent for a while more. His sensei was patient in waiting. "You said that... we should never act alone when we're faced with danger." "Precisely." The look in the jounin's eyes softened a little as he considered his next words. "I didn't think we needed a demonstration on how crucial that warning was..." "That wasn't my intention," the boy murmured softly. "And then what was?" "I never imagined I had to warn you out of all people not to be reckless, Mitsuki..." the Uchiha said, shaking her head. "And all the times I gave Boruto grief for it..." "I didn't do it because of recklessness," Mitsuki said again, this time louder. "I... it felt like I could stop them... no, stall them enough... for..." and his shoulders slumped, his gaze drifting to the bed once again. "...for the reinforcements to arrive. I didn't have the intention to fight to the end." "And that's where you made a mistake. Not knowing your enemy's true strength, you just acted on assumptions." Konohamaru sighed, the look in his eyes turning sad. "Ninjas don't make assumptions, kid. You don't have the luxury for that. You don't chase down possibilities, you will be given clear missions and carry them out. You don't act solo." "I couldn't just sit around and watch them attack the village." Mitsuki protested, looking up. "When you know you can't win against an enemy... you just should." "I'm sorry, sensei." the boy finally muttered. "I should've thought of the consequences." The brunette patted his youngest student's hand, this time with a fond smile, easing the atmosphere a little after his serious talk. "Just concentrate on resting and getting better from now on. We have been incomplete without you..." He didn't see any need to mention to him that he might be forced to leave his ninja life behind depending on the circumstances... no need to stress out the boy right now while he only just regained his memories. ... Izumi wasn't really feeling too good about this decision. Karin had just called this morning and told her that she had something important to discuss with her about the medicine. The redhead had no idea if she had tried out the cure already, but was glad nonetheless that the pregnant woman was true to her words about keeping her updated on the process. It just wouldn't feel right if she had to leave for Kiri without knowing anything. It still didn't ease up the feeling in her chest though. She was still going to... well, uncharted territory, and as much as she wouldn't ever regret her actions, the idea that she might come face to face with the sannin still unnerved her... No, she thought firmly, there was no need to act so ridiculous. She was only going to talk to Karin after all, and even if she did see Orochimaru, there was nothing wrong with just giving him the cold shoulder, just like how he did so many times. She took in a deep breath, looking at the door in front of which she was standing for about five minutes now, and finally knocked. It wasn't answered immediately and Izumi suddenly remembered that the only woman in this household actually had... sensory abilities. Then why... why on earth wasn't she answering the door already...? She got her answer as the door opened. The redhead felt her eyes grow wide. In front of her stood the reason of her uneasiness. Izumi didn't quite understand why she was feeling so nervous by the very idea of coming face to face with the sannin - she had never classified herself as someone who is easily intimidated by the others after all. But something about this man triggered that unknown feeling within her, in ways which also made him more intriguing... Why did she only feel like this around him...? For a moment, neither of them did or say anything, her almost frozen under the full weight of his almost cold stare. He was completely blocking her way in, his hand on the door sill and the door only barely open. Well, she had to start somewhere. "Doesn't look like you're gonna invite me in." she said haughtily, none of her nervousness seeping into her tone. Taking a step forward, she casually slipped under his arm and into the house, knowing that she had just thrown him off guard. Good. "That was the point." she heard him hiss after a minute. She had decided some time ago that the best way to deal with the anxiousness he brought... was to just keep on being herself. It seemed to annoy him to no end, but made her feel better. "Did you even eat anything yet?" she asked casually, as if the general air around the room wasn't unwelcome at all. She turned around to look him up and down, going out of her way to not meet the gaze that was slowly turning into a scowl. "Nope... you didn't." Of course not. She made her way to the small kitchen, aware that he was right behind her, although the sannin's steps hardly made any noise. Keeping herself busy was another way of dealing with her nerves. "Do you have some-" Just when she reached for the refrigerator, the black haired man put his hand on its door to stop her. "This is not a restaurant." "Oh chill. One bite probably won't kill you." "You can drop the act." His tone was that much calmer, but for some reason it unnerved her even more. He leaned a little more forward. "Karin told me all about your little scam." He didn't even bother to hide it - he was angry. It was a different kind of angry than what the woman was generally used to, more of a calm-before-the-storm angry, but the emotion was crystal clear in his eyes. Izumi tried her best not to gulp. She had no problems dealing with violent anger. This kind? She could think of nothing else but to play it cool herself. "And so?" Orochimaru closed his eyes briefly in a moment of bidding patience. This woman... he chose not to associate himself with her but somehow she still managed to involve herself... and get on his nerves. A lot. "One would think you could take a hint." Izumi squinted her eyes. Two could play this game. "Say I'm blind. Say I'm a numbskull." She inched closer to him, too, their faces now barely inches apart. "I still saved your son's life." "Not that I know of. Karin still didn't deliver your cure." That took the redhead aback for a second, she was kind of expecting otherwise. But it didn't last long. "I'd keep a close eye on the news in a few days, then." "If you expect me to offer thanks..." "I don't," she reassured him. "I'm not delusional." Her next words were probably taking it a little too far... but she didn't care less about that right now. She crossed her arms over her chest, now looking at him squarely in the eyes. "But honestly... if you should be thankful to someone, it's your..." she reconsidered her words as she thought of the blue haired young man. "...sons." A dangerous glint shone in his eyes... god, she was pissing him. "And what, do you believe you have a say in this?" "It's not much about me as it is about them." she countered. "Maybe you can't see it clearly, so let me enlighten you. Your boys... love you." What she could only classify as a sneer began to form on the man's lips. "They do. Maybe they show it on different degrees, but it's a fact." "You have no idea what you are talking about." He certainly didn't raise his sons to be that way... although thinking about Mitsuki, he had to grudgingly admit that he could see her point. Her next words were confirmation as such, and the sannin... didn't like that this woman came to know them... good enough. "I know Mitsuki. I know he has great respect for you." Without even putting a lot of effort in it, her mother instincts were taking over. "And Log..." "Oh? Now you're gonna claim that you know him too?" The sarcasm was heavy. The redhead sighed, half from frustration and half from exasperation. "No. I'm not. But if you treat him the same way as you treat a stranger like me... I can see the reason why he is so uncooperative with you." "You are crossing the line." "Well, someone has to open your eyes to it. It's not too late to take matters in your own hands." "I'm not taking advice from someone like you," Orochimaru finally said in a tone that was putting a definite end to the conversation. "I don't consider Log as my son, and he knows how to act accordingly." Izumi was finally rendered speechless, the animosity and the delivering of the words only too shocking. She wouldn't have expected this... even from someone like the sannin. They were so... cold, so emotionless.. One part of her almost wished that he didn't mean it... But the cold, hard truth was staring at her right in the face. "You're welcome to show yourself to the door." Without saying another word, she walked out of the kitchen and to the doorway. She wished for nothing more but to just get out of here herself. But when she put her hand on the doorknob... she couldn't help but turn back for a few last words. "You really are a snake, aren't you? Even your love is poisonous." Without giving him any other chances to reply, she exited the house and onto the street. ... Log's eyes followed the woman only for a minute as she walked out of sight, before his thoughts pretty much went blank. So... that was what his creator really thought of him... It was just like the other day all over again. He didn't even know why he was getting so worked up, so... upset... about Orochimaru's words. Anyone who had heard him talking about the sannin would think Log himself didn't ever see him as a father figure himself. He didn't know why but... hearing the same thoughts, reflecting from Orochimaru... suddenly almost made him question his existence... his purpose... What purpose did he have...? A clone, a mere copy, shadow of someone who only had the motive of pursuing someone else's dreams... Closing his eyes momentarily, the answer to that question finally came to the young man. Opening his eyes, Log started to walk away, in a different direction than he originally intended. ... The boy didn't even realize he was dreaming until the serene one he was having changed... for the worse. To be fair, until about a year earlier, he wasn't much of a dreaming type. If anyone was to question him back then whether he could distinguish a good dream from a bad one, he would say he had no idea. But surely, a dream in which he and his friends were together, laughing and altogether enjoying their time would classify as a good one. But then it changed. Little by little, like dark clouds covering the sky right before a storm... Feeling a sudden chill in the air, Mitsuki glanced up from where he sat and looked at his friends, who were close to him. Boruto smiled when he caught his gaze and started to say something... only no sound came out, even though his lips were moving. Finding this rather strange, the boy glanced over at his other friend, Sarada. To his surprise, the girl's words were also muted... although neither Boruto nor Sarada seemed to notice this oddity... and her image was flickering, like that of a genjutsu or some sort of visual delusion. Mitsuki tried to speak himself, trying to understand, needing to know what was going on... but when he opened his mouth, no sound could be heard, either. Maybe that was something normal in dreams. It was actually his first time dreaming after he woke up... for all he knew, his time in the coma most likely addled his brain. One more look at his friends and he did a double take. Sarada's form... was actually shifting between her and... a buff man with dark colored skin and spiky blond hair. The blue haired boy immediately felt terrified of the man, a need to escape from him almost drowning his other needs... but he couldn't remember why... "Do you realize it now?" With the sudden return of voice, Mitsuki nearly jumped and turned to the source. He thought he might have gasped, but still no sound from him. Across from him... sat his perfect replica. If he didn't know any better, he would say it was one of his father's clones... but this one had red eyes instead of the gold that ran through the family. He was sure he had seen him somewhere before... but wasn't exactly sure where. Then he felt a searing pain on his back and this time a scream left his mouth as he was pushed forward. Stopping his fall with his hands, the boy turned to look at his attacker, and now saw the blond man had completely taken over Sarada's familiar appearance. There was a glowing, blade-shaped lightning bolt in his hand. Mitsuki tried his best to dodge the man's next attack, but for some reason he was sloppy on his feet, none of his previous agility when he rescued Boruto remaining. He heard the... other Mitsuki laugh in response of this. "See? Your so-called friends had abandoned you... just like how they abandoned you back in the attack." As if on cue, the next attack made contact, making the boy cry out in pain. "Who are you?" he gasped out, needing to know more than the obvious. "What do you want from me?" "Oh wow. Still as rude as ever. You don't even remember me." The image of his... double flickered for a second, and then he was right in front of him, in his face. "While I never left you, y'know? Even when you were at your worse, I was always there for you while no one else was!" Giving him a good hard shove, the other Mitsuki pushed him off himself and onto the ground. In the next moment he was on top of him. Before Mitsuki realized, he received a punch in his stomach, winding the air out of him. "But make no mistake, I'll always be here. You may try to forgive and forget," the tone in his replica's voice made the phrase sound almost dirty, "but I'll remind you what it was like to be abandoned to one's own fate time and time again!" Glancing sideways... Mitsuki saw his friends again, Boruto and Sarada... but they seemed oblivious to him, talking and laughing among themselves, their voices still muted... He needed to go to them, too, certain that if he was with them, everything would be alright... He would have no worries... but he just couldn't push his... evil self back... In his peripheral vision, he saw dark Mitsuki's fist flying towards his face... and then it all went black. ... Mitsuki's eyes flew open as he jolted up in his bed, out of breath. Feeling a pang in his heart, he brought his hand over it. He didn't even notice Sakura-san had walked in - not until he heard the hurried footsteps approaching the bed. "Mitsuki? Is everything alright?!" He didn't know what to say, or even what to think... What had that dream... no, nightmare... been? Even though he had woken up now, he couldn't help but feel... terrified... utterly terrified... when he thought back to it... A gentle hand was placed on his shoulder. "Mitsuki...? Does it hurt...?" The accepting and motherly tone in the medic's voice made Mitsuki both warm and... inexplicably sad and he had to look away from those merciful green orbs as he shook his head. It didn't escape Sakura's attention, though, that the boy was slightly shaking. Sighing, she sat on the bed close to Mitsuki, hesitated just for a second, and then took him in her arms, holding him tight. The shaking grew more noticeable as slowly, the boy snuggled into her embrace... ... After that, he kinda lost track of the time. Many visitors came and passed.. and even when the pink haired medic deemed it was enough and prohibited the visits, especially his friends kept rolling in - even through the window or as a nurse at times. Mitsuki had actually understood what Sakura-san meant by he should really get some rest - he was beginning to feel really tired. And yet... through all these people, the one he most wanted to see still hadn't come yet. His father. He sighed inaudibly. "Tomorrow..." he thought. "He will definitely visit tomorrow." He finally turned the TV off, to be honest the shows at that time were extremely boring, and put the remote back on the bedside table before he laid comfortably against the couple of pillows and pulled the covers up his chin. He needed sleep... although he kinda didn't want it either. Suddenly there was a knock on the door which caused the blue haired boy to quickly sit up, was it him?! Had he come?? The door of the bedroom opened... to reveal the Hokage, peeking his head in. "May I?" He noticed how the boy had the covers around his body which caused Naruto to give him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, were you going to sleep?" Mitsuki's eyes widened slightly as he saw who there was - the Hokage himself visiting him out of all the people? This was... unexpected... And still, despite the pep talk a few seconds ago, the child couldn't help but feel a little bit disheartened. "Lord seventh..." he mused, surprised. "Um... no, please, come in." He drew himself up slightly, and tried to not make a face as the movement gave him slight discomfort. The Hokage walked in the room and closed the door behind him. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he grabbed a chair and sat down next to the bed. "I would have come earlier but office work got me tied down." The boy looked at his hands on the sheet, unconsciously fumbling with them a little. "I'm fine I guess... I just try not to do too sudden movements." He smiled a bit as he looked back up at the blond man. Naruto's sweet and welcoming smile turned into a serious expression. "Mitsuki..." he began, looking straight into the child's eyes. "I don't think I'll need to remind you just how reckless your actions had been and I'm sorry that you had to go through all that... what those... bastards told you." His eyes softened as he recalled what Sakura told him, that even after he had just regained his memories, Mitsuki's primary concern hadn't been himself. "But I also want to thank you, for what you did... you protected the village - and me - nearly at the cost of your life. I don't think I will ever be able to repay for what you have done." Maybe it was his weird way of concentrating on many things during a single time space... Mitsuki gasped lightly as he looked at him closer. "Sarada was right, Boruto's eyes are indeed bluer than yours." Then he realized that he had just said that out loud, and felt himself getting embarrassed all of a sudden. Really? In the middle of a serious conversation? "Uh... I mean..." Not knowing what else to say, he left the end of the sentence dangling. Naruto's soft look was now mixed with a surprised one, and he laughed lightly. "Well, yes I had noticed that myself, too." For a moment there was silence. "I'm glad my son has a friend like you, Mitsuki." "He was my first friend ever..." The blue haired boy mused softly. "You... don't need to thank or repay me, lord seventh." He gave a small smile. "If that means my friends and family are safe... I would do it again. I guess I learned that from you." Naruto smiled some more, the soft look intensifying. "You are indeed an amazing person, Mitsuki. Don't ever forget that, no matter what other people may say, what always matters is what this..." he stretched out his arm to touch the boy's chest, right on the heart. "...tells you to do." The boy's smile softened a little more as he understood what he said perfectly, and they were silent for a brief moment. The drowsiness was really beginning to settle in now, but the thought of sleep was still intimidating, especially after this talk. What... did his heart tell him? "Lord seventh... can I ask you something?" he said quietly, his gaze once again wandering down on his hands. "Of course," the answer was almost immediate. "What is it that you need?" The blond was clearly curious and rather interested in what was the boy's request. "How..." His hands tightened a little more on the bedsheets. "How did you deal with... the loneliness...?" He was trying to not let it show how much it still hurt... the feeling that he was unwanted, unnecessary, a burden... How he really dreaded to go back to sleep... To say Naruto was caught by surprise at the boy's question was not enough but... slowly the Hokage understood where this was coming from and couldn't help but feel... sorry for the boy, sorry that he had to go through something like he had. And he couldn't blame him for feeling like that... he had every reason to. His expression was still soft but the look became sadder. "It's unbearable... I know it is... to be blamed for something beyond your control. There were times I really resented the people who despised me, in the deepest corners of my heart." He looked at Mitsuki. "Thankfully I slowly overcame that, thanks to the Third Hokage, my friends, Kakashi and Iruka..." He stopped for a moment. Should he say the rest...? "It felt so weird... when people started to treat me like a hero..." "I... don't really want that... I didn't do what I did to be praised, it was just the... right thing to do, but..." It still didn't make everything alright, believing that he did the right thing. The other Mitsuki wouldn't have it. He had come to the realization in the past hours that he indeed saw his other half before, before waking up, in the limbo... He would call him weak, a loner... "Was... was that ever enough?" he asked at last. "Was that ever enough to repay for what they did to me for years? No... no it wasn't..." He answered with all honesty. "But the part of me that always woke up and faced them ignored it all, ignored what they did, ignored how quickly they changed their opinion when I saved the village, but deep down... I still resented them. And at some point I had to literally face my inner dark self." This whole conversation did make him think as he looked at the boy. "Tell me, Mitsuki... is something bothering you...?" Just like his father, Mitsuki wasn't one that asked or did something just because he wanted, there was always a motive behind. Mitsuki felt his hands shaking a little, and tried to control it. His darker inner self... It made sense. Of why that self was so resentful, always fighting... "I..." he hesitated for a second. "I don't know what to do... I fought him twice now and... I can never win..." he finished in a whisper. Naruto didn't need any more words to understand what Mitsuki was talking about. He sighed before he moved from the chair to the bed. "I know how hard it is... I lost many times too... but I realized that in order to find inner peace... I needed to find closure. Meeting my mother did help me, it cleared my heart in so many ways." "Your mother...?" It all made sense, in a way. His father could indeed be the last piece in that puzzle - it felt like he could do anything, endure anything if he found peace with him... the one person he needed to be proud of him. The one person that really, truly mattered, from the very beginning. Naruto noticed the boy's troubled expression, an expression that he was clearly trying to hide but failed. Or perhaps it was the Hokage's experience in noticing those kinds of looks... Sighing Naruto put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Mitsuki... tell me what's bothering you." The child sighed almost inaudibly. He didn't realize... didn't know he wanted to talk about it. And the hokage readily accepting to listen to him... broke exactly that kind of obstacle. "You know... There is nothing... nothing I want more..." He hesitated. "...than my father's approval... Him being proud of me... but..." his voice faded away. Maybe he was telling too much... But all this time, keeping all those emotions bottled... They were taking their toll on him - like they did when he fought the rogue nins. "He never..." He couldn't complete the sentence. Naruto didn't need the boy to say more, he understood exactly what he wanted to say. "Mitsuki..." He wanted to find the correct words to comfort him, he deserved that much... "Your father cares about you, in his own way of course but he does care. I saw it with my own eyes, although he didn't show it on the outside, I saw the broken look on him when we were told that you fell in a coma." "Then why wouldn't he come visit me?" There, he said that. He realized too late that he couldn't keep the broken tone out of his voice. "That was the second day since I woke up, and even with my amnesia, I have had my family visiting me. I kind of hoped... I really rather..." He gulped. "He was the first person I had hoped to see." So that was the problem here... "I'm sure your father wants to visit you but you have been receiving a lot of visits. And he is currently hiding in your apartment, he might just be waiting for the best moment to come and see you." he said with a smile, hoping those words would reassure him. His dad was hiding in his apartment? Or maybe he shouldn't be surprised about this since obviously his brother and the Taka was in the village too... And of course, not being allowed in Konoha under normal circumstances, it sounded reasonable that his father was biding his time. Mitsuki felt his heart feel a little more relieved, and all of the worries lifted from his expression as he gave a warm smile to the hokage. "Thank you, lord seventh. That... helps a lot. Thank you for your help." Naruto smiled and moved his hand from Mitsuki's shoulder to his hair, ruffling it a bit. "You get some rest." He pulled the covers up to the boy's chin and for a moment he remembered how he used to do that to his own kids when they were sick. "Remember Mitsuki, whenever you need your answers can always be found right here..." He touched the boy's heart. "And no matter what, you are always welcome in our home."