#ive seen you in my head every fucking day since i left youre on the floor with your hands around your head?

[lover-of-mine]

THE 11 MINUTES BUDDIE VIDEO OMFG SO PHENOMENAL AND WRECKING WHAT A MASTERPIECE I AM QUITE LITERALLY SCREAMING AND SOBBING AND ROLLING AROUND ON MY COUCH RN BC OF IT

RYAN OH MY GOD THANK YOU 🥺🩷🫶 I was also screaming crying when I watched it back for the first time lol

not to sound full of myself, but i think that's some of my best work and really appreciate you for saying this 🥺🥺🥺

[d3stinyist1red]

out of everyone on yandere town, yan cowboy is definitely my favourite <3

YESSS IKR HES SO CUTESYY

yan cowboy who wants you to ride him badly

yan cowboy who first meets you when you stumble upon his farm, literally the cows were gonna jump ur ass until he popped up

"hey there, sweets! What'cha doin' around here?" He asks, looking at you with a tilted head as he pat the cow's head. "U-uh, sorry i just-" you got interrupted by the cowboy laughing at ya.

"ma, why do you seem so nervous? It's alright!" He said grinning down at you, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and introduces himself.

yan cowboy who is now ur buddy, talking to you every second of his fucking day like damn lil bro chill

yan cowboy who you began seeing everyday, coincidences piling up. No matter where you went, he was there, lingering just at the edge of your vision.

yan cowboy who wants you to ride with him and his horse everyday, holding onto your waist as he leads the horse on where to go, your back to his front, slowly rubbing himself against you.

yan cowboy who is a possessive and jealous freak. Any interaction you have with others, specifically other men, makes his jaw clench and his eyes narrow. He might not say anything at first, but you’ll notice how quiet he has gotten.

yan cowboy who confronts you about the man you were hanging out with earliar

"Hey darlin', what was that man tellin' you? Why were you talkin' to him? Do you think hes better than me? Sweets, im sorry. Darlin' lets talk about this, okay?"

"boy i literally just asked him wheres the nearest wingstop"

"why? are you hungry? Because I have some meat for you could eat-"

yan cowboy who makes you the center of his world, if you dont talk to him hes GONNA AND WILL have a bad day, grumpy and pissed off until you talk to him

yan cowboy who has a garden his mother owns, and always gives you flowers, your favorite ones

yan cowboy who literally every woman wants bc hes fine asf, strong, and BRO HES SWEET TOO LIKE HELLO??? but he only needs you. Whenever hes talking with another woman, he always drifts his eyes away from her to try to find you, not paying attention to whatever the woman was saying

yan cowboy who literallys gets so hard whenever he sees you bend down to get some strawberries you planted, already knowing he was gonna fist himself inside his car

yan cowboy who always gives you handwritten notes

"hello n/n! I might not be able to see you today because of my mother telling me ive been slacking off since ive been leaving early from farming. But darling, you know I can't stay away from you for so long! I need to see you! Anyway baby, I left you some cash, treat yourself, aight babes? - Your lovely cowboy <3"

yan cowboy who sees you growing some plants in the hot sun and immediatly panics, he runs over to you with an umbrella. A UMBRELLA BRO

"darlin'! Its so hot out here for you to be outside! Come inside, love!"

"bro ive only been outside for 3 minutes"

"3 minutes too long! Now cmon and rest! Ill do the work, lovely!"

yan cowboy who helps you when you barely started growing plants and stuff, guiding you with his hands ontop of yours, his chin on your shoulder.

yan cowboy who sees you carrying a heavy bale of hay, and immediately scolds you

You wipe the sweat from your brow as you lift the bale of hay, determined to carry your weight on the farm. Your cowboy always helps you with everything like bro i could be independent too hoe. You’ve seen him do this like a thousand times, and you’re confident you can handle it too bc ur a bad bitch period

But before you can take more than a few steps, a shadow falls over you, and you feel a firm hand on your arm. You glance up, and lowkey you were scared it was gonna be schoolboy69 lowkey but nah their infront of you was your cowboy, eyes narrowed in a mix of worry and frustration. He was practically glaring at you, mad that you picked up something without his help, even if you picked up something as heavy as a bag of cookies he would be mad and see red like alpha dawg sigma 4000

“What do you think you’re doin’, darlin’?” His voice is low, but you still heard the irritation in his voice.

“I’m just helping out,” you say, trying to brush it off as no big deal. “It’s just a bale of hay, I'll can handle it.” You said shrugging, about to walk past him until you felt the heavy hay get off your shoulders in a quick manner.

that lil bitch took the hay and walked away but not before blowing u a kiss and saying "i love u n/n, get ready for tonight bc imma need u to blow my back OUT-"

yan cowboy who always is complimenting you, doesnt even matter if your in ur christmas pjs from 2016 he will say "id lowkey eat you out in that"

yan cowboy who is ur obsessed boy who luvs you more than he should<3

yan cowboy who is ur such cowboy who couldnt be more lucky to have you with him! <333

GUYS IM BACK FROM THE DEAD BITCHESSS

GUYS YALL COULD SEND REQUESTS BUT ITS GONNA TAKE A LITTLE BIT BC IM STILL WORKING ON OTHER DRAFTS LIKE THESE

GUYS WHO HAS YAN WINDERBREAKER MANHWA BOOKS PLS I NEED JAY JO AND OWEN

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 9 - ( c.s )

part eight

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- angst, swearing, i think that’s it

a/n: i’m back my little goblins let’s get it!!!! part ten of this series will be the final part, and then i plan on writing an ‘epilogue’ type chapter to wrap it all up. i’m hoping to have them up as quickly as possible, but ive been absolutely slammed so im sorry if it takes me a minute. i love u always and i’ve missed being on here so i hope you enjoy <3

(if you asked to be tagged in the last part and weren’t tagged it’s bcs it wouldn’t let me!! i’m so sorry i tried my hardest)

to be let down, you have to expect something from someone. it’s a mistake you’ve made far too frequently in your years on earth, especially in college, but this time around the grief is debilitating.

you spend the rest of your weekend locked inside your room, attempting to sleep away the heartbreak. somehow dreaming almost makes it worse; for a second you’re able to forget about being completely humiliated, until you wake up in reality once more.

it doesn’t help that chris has been absolutely blowing up your phone since the moment you left. every call and text goes unanswered. it’s impossible to read them, so most of the time you don’t.

hell, you can’t even open your curtains because you’re too scared that he’ll be looking back at you when you do. so you block out the sunlight, ensuring that your room matches your dreary feelings.

you figure he’ll give up on trying to talk to you eventually. you’re not different. he’s not different. and once chris regains that pride of his, he’ll go right back to fucking some other girl he won’t care about half as much.

thoughts like those make you cry even harder, as much as you hate it. but you know the disinterest will wash over him sooner or later, and you resent that inevitable day.

cassidy and ramona check on you pretty much every other hour. it makes you feel even worse that they’re so concerned, but neither of them have ever seen you like this. at least not since freshman year, when you dated an upperclassman for a couple months just for him to dump you over text.

even that heartache was relatively short-lived. but this pain follows you into the week, trailing behind you like a shadow you can’t get rid of. it sits beside you in class, curls up next to you in bed, weighs your shoulders down whenever you walk.

it feels like you’re struggling to stay afloat, to even act like a real human anymore. chris consumes your brain, and so do the ‘what if’s’ of your situation. it makes the week drag on, even though you try to spend most of it asleep.

to make matters worse, his multiple notifications continue with a routine consistency, almost like clockwork. you figured he’d already be over it, but he clearly doesn’t want to make himself easy to forget.

you have to admit that you’re glad his persistence lasted at least this long, even if it’s for selfish reasons. you’re disgusted that the attention satisfies you, but it’s not an unwelcome change considering all you’ve been feeling lately is queasy.

still, you don’t read them, or pick up when he calls. you can’t hear his voice, because you know it’ll absolutely break you.

and then finally, on friday, you see him in the flesh. you’re walking home from your bus stop after the only lecture you managed to get to that day, and there he is, getting out of his car.

your throat seizes up; there’s no way to avoid this. it’s easy to ice someone out over text, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when he’s your neighbor.

before you can snap your head away he’s turning to look in your direction, eyes equally as wide as yours once the recognition washes over him. he looks like shit, and yet he’s still so goddamn beautiful it makes you physically sick.

for a brief moment, everything stops. you just stare at each other.

chris takes in you in, the way you look noticeably drained. he feels that familiar nauseous pang in his stomach flare up, knowing that he stole the spark from your eyes.

the worst part is that you’ll never look at him with that fire again. there’s nothing he can do to bring it back now, no way to reverse the past.

then—before he can decide what to do in the present—you break the spell, cutting through your other neighbor’s lawn to get to your front porch. everything in him wants to run after you, so much so that he has to physically restrain himself.

you hear him calling after you, and something about him shouting your name stirs the tears awake once more. but you make it through the door before they fall, because you can’t show any more vulnerability than you already have.

getting inside doesn’t mean that you make it up the stairs, though. the physical and emotional exhaustion catches up to you, and you collapse around halfway through your blurry climb to your room.

your elbows dig into your kneecaps, hands holding your head while you sob. it seems impossible to catch your breath, or calm down in the slightest, and your cries only grow louder.

normally you’d be careful about the noise, but there’s no one to hide from right now. nobody is home. it’s just you and your thoughts, which, as always, are full of him.

you may be able to push him out of your life, but you have a feeling he’ll be lingering in the corners of your mind forever.

the post-game locker room mood is completely miserable tonight. after that last minute loss and the thirty minute bitch-session they just endured from their coach, it honestly should be.

chris barely even has his skates off before his teammates are all over him, which he expected but still dreaded.

his head’s not in it, and everybody knows.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, man? it’s like you’re not even awake out there.” one of the team’s leading defensemen, luke, yanks him up by his jersey roughly.

for a second he pauses, setting his jaw and puffing his chest out slightly. the accusation, though it’s not completely untrue, pisses him off.

so much so that chris retaliates by shoving him back to his rightful place a foot away. “get the hell off of me, man.”

luke looks like he’s ready to jump into action again, but connor steps in between before anything else can happen. he’s also very visibly angry, a side that doesn’t come out often.

and just because he stopped a physical fight from breaking out doesn’t mean he’s going to stay silent. “he’s right. you’re playing like shit, and we‘re way too far into the season to be blowing it now, especially with selection show right around the corner.”

chris can feel his blood is boiling at this point, knowing that even his roommate is going to support this kind of disrespect towards his own captain. the rest of the team is watching silently, but he can’t find it anywhere in himself to care.

the words have already bubbled up, and he won’t hold them back anymore.

“oh come on, it’s not like anyone else was stepping up! dylan turned the puck over every other play, ben was offside during that odd man rush, and don’t even get me started on you and the high sticking penalty that just lost us that fucking game.” he shoves his pointer finger against connor’s chest for emphasis, trying to make sure his criticism stings as much as possible.

but his friend is quick to swat his hand away, shaking his head once sharply.

“no, you don’t get to turn it on everyone else. you lost it for us during that sorry excuse of a penalty kill. you let that little UMass shit go right by you, which is why he had a wide open shot to score the game winner. you’ve been making dumb mistakes like that for two weeks now, and we all know why.”

that implication is enough to send chris over the edge, because nobody has the right to mention what happened between you and him. knowing about the situation doesn’t mean they should get to speak on it.

he can feel his fingernails digging into his palms, both hands balled into tight fists at his side. the anger coursing through his body makes him shake ever so slightly, almost like he’s humming.

“keep going and i’ll bust your fucking face in.” chris says, voice eerily calm despite the fact that his body is screaming.

but connor doesn’t back down; he stands tall with an unwavering gaze that’s more serious than ever before. “you gotta grow a pair and start being our captain again. you fucked up, and losing someone you’re actually into because of that sucks. most of us have been there. but trying to throw everyone under the bus is bullshit when you’re the one that needs to get it together.”

nothing about his words are intentionally meant to hurt, and chris knows that, but for some reason they do. probably because he doesn’t want to hear the truth, or start coming to terms with the fact that he actually did lose you.

he really doesn’t ever want to accept it.

but his ego won’t let him say that. instead, chris shifts his gaze to observe the rest of the room, at all of his teammates, before focusing on connor once again.

“if you don’t think that i’m your captain anymore then find a new one.” he spits.

the room somehow gets even more quiet; everyone is stunned by the out-of-character reaction. for the most part, chris really is a good leader. they all voted for him to represent the team when it came time, and the group dynamic has been great since then.

but he doesn’t feel like that guy now. he’s not sure who he is anymore. so he throws the rest of his equipment into his bag and yanks it over his shoulder.

“really, chris?” it’s ben this time, who’s clearly dumbfounded by the theatrics.

he doesn’t respond, and he tries not to hesitate too much as he makes his way out of the locker room. everyone lets him pass, which makes it even harder to leave.

it feels so wrong, but his feet keep pushing him forward regardless.

when chris finally makes it home twenty minutes later, the frustration has only festered. he doesn’t like anything he’s doing, and yet it’s spiraling out of his control. by the time he gets to his room, tears of aggravation have made their way down his face.

he wipes them away harshly as he stares out his window at your room, which is still closed off by your curtains. it’s like his heart seizes up just from being this close to you, knowing that you’re in there yet he can’t reach you.

and maybe that’s the problem. chris loves hockey, but at the end of the day he clearly loves you more. and with things the way that they are, his heart is fully wrapped up in you, not the game.

it’s terrifying, and it’s painful. he never thought that there’d be anyone to test his bachelor lifestyle until you came around, and he can’t just go back to normal because he doesn’t know how.

he’s been permanently changed, and it feels like a huge part of his new life is suddenly missing.

you saw the deepest parts of him, parts that he didn’t even know existed, and he saw the same side of you. you challenged him in ways he’d never experienced, and he loved that he always felt like he was evolving when you were together.

now he just feels stagnant, unsure of himself.

the only thing he’s sure of is that he needs you, whether that makes him inconsiderate or not. he can’t keep sleepwalking through life, but he’s not sure what else there is to do.

simply put, he misses you like hell. so he lays back in bed and closes his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to have you right beside him.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi @snowysosturn @secretfangirly @scarlettbitches @satvisfavetoodles

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Another celebration ficlet. The ask for this one somehow got deleted from the inbox, but I know it was sent by @weirdandabsurd42 - hope you enjoy! 🥰

On being seen

Rated: T

Words: 990

Tags: Post-Vecna; Injury; Hospitals; Hair loss; Referenced parental death; Hurt/comfort; Steve Harrington is a sweetheart; Pre-Steddie

“Brought you these,” Dustin says, stacking some books on the bedside table. Eddie spots The Hobbit at the top of the pile. “They’re mine, but you can keep them until …” 

“Until what?” Eddie asks. His voice is a thin rasp, grating on shredded vocal cords. “Until they unearth my home from that interdimensional sinkhole? Fat fucking chance, huh?” 

Dustin swallows, hiding his face under his cap. Guilt churns in Eddie’s gut like acid. His left hand - the one that’s not hooked to the beeping machines - flies up to fiddle with his hair, only to come up blank. 

Oh, right. They cut it off during the surgery. It’s gone, just like half his face and jaw. 

“You should go,” he says. “s getting dark and your mom will want you home.” 

Dustin looks up, eyes bright. “But-” 

Eddie shakes his head as well as the bandages will let him. “C’mon, I need my beauty sleep. I promise I won’t go anywhere.” 

Dustin hesitates and Eddie’s afraid he’ll start to argue, or worse, plead. But then, the kid sighs, rising from his chair. 

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” 

Eddie raises his hand for a wave, pausing when he catches sight of his bare fingers. 

“Henderson?” 

Dustin turns in the door, face gaunt in the sterile light of the hospital corridor. 

“You haven't heard about…?” 

Eddie wiggles his hand. Dustin’s expression morphs into one of regret.

“Sorry,” he says. “I asked the nurses, but there were so many emergencies. Maybe they got thrown in the trash or something.” 

Eddie nods. Tries to tug at his hair again. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Dustin shuffles uncomfortably. “Listen, I could-” 

“I said it's okay, Henderson. Good night.” 

Dustin sighs. “Night, Eddie.” 

The beeping of the machines follows Eddie into his dreams, where it turns into the shrieks of the swarm.

*

When he startles awake, it's dark outside his window. 

There's a figure in the chair beside his bed, backlit by the heart monitor.

“Fuck, Henderson,” Eddie groans. “I told you to go home.” 

The figure jerks upright with a snort. 

“Shit,” it mumbles. “Sorry, ‘m awake.” 

It’s not Dustin.

Eddie freezes, terror sinking into his every limb like lead. The noise of the machines drowns under the roar of his own blood in his ears. 

“Hey,” says the figure, voice low and soothing, and he realizes a bit belatedly that he made a sound - a raw, terrified thing, like a trapped animal. “Hey, it’s okay. Eddie, it’s me. It’s Steve.” 

A hand reaches for his. It’s warm and strong and so much bigger than his own. He jerks away so violently he almost pulls the iv-cord from his arm. 

“No,” he rasps. “Don’t touch me. Get away from me.” 

Steve flinches, hand falling limply into his own lap. Eddie can’t see his expression in the dark. Doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want Steve to see him, not like this. Hurt and bare and small with nothing left to hide behind.  

Neither of them speaks or moves for a while, the slowly calming heart monitor the only sound in the room. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve says at length. “I just … I’ll go. Just wanted to give these back.” 

He rummages for something in his pocket, then holds out his open palm - carefully, like an offering. Eddie’s breath catches in his ruined throat. 

“Where’d you find these?” 

“Um,” Steve shuffles in his seat. “Saw them lying on the nurse’s desk the other day. Sorry I didn’t return them sooner, things have been sorta crazy out there.” 

Eddie doesn’t say anything, just snatches the rings. He attempts to slip them on, but he can’t use his right hand, and his fingers haven't stopped trembling since he first woke up. Nerve damage, the doctors said. He fumbles and drops the rings, but Steve is there to scoop them up before they can fall to the ground. 

“Here, let me.” 

Eddie watches, frozen in place, heart in his throat, as Steve slips the rings onto the fingers of his left hand. Cross on the index finger, boar in the middle, skull on his ring finger. His breath tickles the skin of Eddie’s wrist. 

“This one's special, right?” 

Eddie blinks out of his stupor. Steve has taken a hold of his right hand, infinitely careful to not disturb the needles and cords, and slipped the last ring back on. The delicate one with the dark, oval stone.

Eddie nods. His voice won't obey him, but this time, it has nothing to do with his injuries. 

“My mom's.” 

Steve hums in understanding, and Eddie knows he doesn’t need to say more. 

“Tell me about her?” 

Not a request. An offer. Eddie squints at Steve’s shadowy face as he settles back in his chair. 

“Why?” 

Steve shrugs. “You’re one of us. I’d like to know more about you.” 

Eddie can’t help it, he needs to laugh. It burns in his throat and sends tears to his eyes. He tries to tug a strand of hair in front of his face to hide them and grasps only at thin air. 

“Not sure what to tell you, big boy. Not a whole lot left of me, is there?” 

“You’re brave and kind and tough,” Steve says, and Eddie’s mouth goes dry. “You’re great with the kids, and an amazing musician, and you were willing to die for a town that hates your guts. I think that’s a whole lot. The outside stuff will come back.” 

Some of it already has, Eddie thinks, fingertips rubbing against the familiar shape of his rings. 

“Her name was Elizabeth,” he says. “She died when I was seven.” 

Steve listens for a long while, not interrupting once. He doesn’t switch on the light. He doesn’t need to, Eddie thinks. He feels more seen than he has in a long while, sitting here in the dark, allowing Steve to get to know him. 

Somehow, it isn’t as scary as he thought it would be.

More celebration ficlets

[delimeats-000]

HANDS OBSESSED READER WITH CHRIS ‼️ like shes always caught looking at his hands, messing with them, etc. and chris finally does something abt it 😼

YESSS, ofc. hope you like it!

Hands

summary: chris makes your dreams, of his hands, a reality

warnings: smut, language

pairing: chris sturniolo x reader

key: chris - y/n

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“fuck chris keep going. chris im gonna-“

“Y/n?”

chris’ voice snaps me out of the trance that only his hands can put me in. fuck, those hands, what i wouldn’t give to have them wrapped around-

“Y/n? Hellooo?”

fuck.

“Yeah?”

“Did you hear me?”

“No.” i say smiling.

“I asked if you’ve seen this movie before.”

“No, looks good tho.”

“It is, imma put it on.”

“Sounds good.”

his eyes focus back on the tv, mine move back to his hands.

his big, veiny, strong, rough-

“Ok, whats up?”

“Huh?”

“You keep spacin out.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah.” he nods his head, “Why?”

i dont know if i should tell him. if i do maybe he’ll finally use them on me.

“My hands?”

fuck i didn’t even realize i was staring again.

“I- well yeah. But not-” his finger lands underneath my chin lifting up my head to face him.

“What were you thinking I do with these hands?”

“I don’t- I dont know.” i didn’t know what to say.

“How bout, I give you some options?” he says slowly with a slight smile.

i nod my head.

his right hand remains on my chin, while his left lands on my waist rubbing back and forth.

“Does that jog your memory?”

“No, I think you should keep trying.”

“What about this.” his right hand moves toward the nape of my neck and pulls me closer.

him and i nearly inches apart. my breath hitches and i try not to look in his hunger glazed eyes, he scoffs at me.

“Aww, poor baby. It’s ok, we’re gonna make your day dreams come true.” his hand moves to my face once more, this time resting on my cheek as he leans in and kisses me softly.

his left hand moving further down my back reaching to my ass then the back of my thighs then he stops.

“How am I doing, baby?”

“Good, great. Consider my memory jogged.”

he kisses down my neck then stops suddenly.

“Oh yeah? I’ll just stop then.”

“No no no, please.”

“Please what baby?”

“Please keep going.”

“Ok.” he shrugs.

his hands lay in the same places, but he slowly moves down, positioning them to lift me up and into his lap.

i breathe in sharply and i can feel my eyes widen with every small movement. as soon as he noticed he begins grinding his hips against me. placing his lips on mine rough, and starving.

he flips me onto my back getting on top, his left hand meets my throat.

“Can I keep going? I’ll make you feel good, promise.” he says leaning in towards me.

“Yes, fuck chris. Keep going.”

he kisses me again, one time before then untying my sweats and pulling them down toward my knees.

his right hand moves down my stomach and up again to massage my boobs before then going back down to reach my panties.

he moves further downward fingertips meeting my wet folds.

i shudder under the touch i’ve only ever dreamed of.

“You ok?”

“Yeah. Uh could you, could you just put them in me already.”

“Manners baby.” his voice lowers while his fingers rub my clit just barely. “Then, maybe ill finger fuck you. That’s what you’re focused on right?”

i let out a moan, more of a whimper really. “Chris, please. Stop teasing.”

he shoves his fingers inside of me abruptly. “Good manners.”

two of his fingers move in and out of me, curling with every send. he then rubs my clit with the pad of my while leaning over and kissing right on my pelvis

“Shit, Im really close, chris. Right there.”

“C’mon baby, cum on my fingers for me.”

“Fuck fuck, CHRIS.”

then i feel it. the knot in my lower stomach coming completely undone all over the hand ive fantasized about since the day i met chris.

he takes his fingers out bringing them to his lips and licking them clean off.

“Oh beautiful, you taste amazing.” he groans over the cream covering his long slender fingers. “So.” he stands up, lifting me to sit up and get comfortable.

“How was that, just like you imagined?”

“Better.”

“Good. Let’s watch my movie now.”

“No no. It’s your turn now.” i say pulling up my pants and getting on my knees.

he sits down on the bed where i was. “Oh, yes please.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

pt. 2??? lmk, love you🫶🏼

edit: pt. 2 out now

[chlorinecake]

PART 1: GHOST FACE YANDERE imagine

Ｂｌｏｏｄ Ｏｎ Ｉｃｅ | 얼음에 피 - a park sunghoon ff

⚡︎ cw: mentions of suicide, violence, bullying, character deaths, swearing, underage drinking, unprotected sex, bad ending lol, ft. ive’s WONYOUNG and le sserafim’s KAZUHA

⚡︎ summary: sunghoon seeks revenge against the girls that bullied his little sister in high school, leading up to her tragic suicide

⚡︎ wc: 8.3k ~ read part 2 here!!

three years ago

For Sunghoon Park, death was hardly a foreign concept. He committed his first murder around the age of eighteen, the victim being a fellow athlete from his ice skating team, Cha Jun-Hwan. The dynamic pair maintained a solid friendship since the day they met, up until Sunghoon’s sixteen-year-old half-sister, Wonyoung, blossomed into a beautiful young lady. She stopped wearing glasses and got her braces removed, but most importantly, she was confident in her own skin. “You’re more beautiful than any princess I’ve ever seen, Wonyo. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise,” Sunghoon would encourage her every day in front of her vanity mirror. “Thank you, Sunghoon-ah! You always know how to cheer me up” she’d smile, patting his head as she left for school.

Eventually, Wonyoung started dating Jun-Hwan behind Sunghoon’s back. Their secret relationship went on for about 3 months before Sunghoon caught them during a half-naked-make-out session in Wonyoung’s bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed as if frozen, wearing black gym shorts and a pink bralette. Jun-Hwan was topless as well, with Wonyoung’s love bites decorating his bare chest. A mix of rage and disgust burned being Sunghoon's eyes. Grabbing a large pillow to cover her exposed figure, Jun-Hwan rambled on, “Sunghoon, I can explain! We meant to tell you sooner, but-“

“Get the fuck out of my house before I kill you,” Sunghoon threatened sharply, before an embarrassed Jun-Hwan ran out the door, leaving the Park siblings to figure things out.

Some time passed, and rumors about Wonyoung ran rampant throughout her high school, most of which being initiated by Jun-Hwan himself. An immeasurable pity birthed within Sunghoon whenever he’d hear the muffled sobs coming from his sister’s bedroom at night as she struggled to get any sleep. He wanted Jun-Hwan to pay for the pain he’d brought upon her.

The plan was simple, really.

Sunghoon made it look like a camping trip gone wrong, killing off four of his teammates including Jun-Hwan in the woods. He made it look like a vicious bear attack, which surprisingly fooled the police, leaving him scot-free.

Sunghoon went on to quit his dreams of becoming an Olympic champion, pursuing the academic route instead.

Though, Wonyoung’s torment was far from over.

A group of mean girls called her names like “piranha pussy” and “semen demon” after Jun-Hwan’s death, claiming that she supernaturally killed him during intimacy. Suffering from constant scrutiny at school and grieving the loss of her first boyfriend, despite all that he'd said about her, Wonyoung was driven to commit the unspeakable, and took her own life. Her body was buried soon after, with posts like “Gone too soon” and “fly high, princess 🕊️🎀” pinned on everyone’s socials, including the mean girls.

After his sister's death, Sunghoon was never the same. His innate will to kill only grew stronger as the years went by. He made a promise to Wonyoung on her funeral, saying that he would someday avenge her no matter how long it'd take him.

➠ three years later, wednesday

“Sunghoon is hosting a party at his place this Friday night. Wanna come?” Your friend Kazuha asked you from her end of the phone. She developed a habit of face timing you whenever she was in the mood for a movie. You were busy scrolling through Netflix catalogs from the comfort of your couch, searching for a descent film.

“Sunghoon Park?” You inquired at the familiar name.

“The sad rich kid whose sister committed suicide after her boyfriend died? Yes, that guy,” she said, struggling to open a jar of pickles.

“Ugh, I could totally use your feminine power muscles right now," she cried, her face contorting as she fought with all her might to release the tight lid.

“That sounds kinda gay, Kaz.”

“Only for you, ____,” she winked playfully before searching her kitchen drawers for a butter knife.

“I mean, are you sure he’s okay with us coming considering how we treated his little sister?” You stopped your scrolling, putting the tv remote down on the coffee table.

“It’s not our fault she couldn’t handle a few jokes.” Kazuha retrieved the lost butter knife from the dishwasher, walking back to the counter,

“Doesn't it make you feel guilty sometimes?”

“C’mon, ____, that was ages ago! And besides, we were kids, we didn't know any better,” she lied, neglecting the fact that you were both well informed of the life-threatening dangers that came with bullying. Kazuha was just having a hard time admitting it.

You were quiet for a moment. How could she be so insensitive?

“Whatever," you mumbled, reaching for the remote again, swiping through the horror movie section. "What’s the hype around this party for, anyways?”

“It’s a costume party, silly!”

Although you were on movie-hunting duty, this conversation was starting to make you sleepy.

“Girl? Are you yawning?”

“Give me a break, Kaz! It's past my bedtime, now pay attention to your pickles,” you joked, rubbing the urge to sleep from your eyes with your free hand.

“It’s the last week of summer break. Don’t let productivity get in the way of your fun before school starts again,” Kazuha protested in both her defense and your favor.

You meditated on her words for a moment before answering.

“Ugh, fine! Only if you promise to join me at the mall for some early morning costume shopping,” you negotiated, pointing a finger at her through your phone.

“Yay!” She cheered, bouncing around her kitchen in a fit of joy, accidentally knocking the glass jar of pickles unto the floor.

“Dammit,” she swore under her breath, running out of frame to likely grab a mop or broom.

Ring. Ring.

You glanced from the tv, taking a quick peek at your phone: Unknown Caller ID.

Hanging up, you proceeded to scroll through Netflix.

Ring. Ring.

The same number was calling you again.

Kazuha was now back in frame, both her broom and mop keeping her hands occupied.

“You can call me back after you check that, if you want.”

“No worries, it’s just some random unknown number that can’t find a hobby.”

“Oooo, spooky,” she said in a teasing voice.

You hung up the incoming call, only for it to call you back once again. Now you were curious.

“Uhm, I’m gonna call you back, Kaz,” you said before hanging up.

“Kk!”

You answered the unknown caller, holding the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You asked.

“I’ve been dying for you to answer.”

“Yeah? And how’re you feeling now?”

“Honestly, I’ve been better. What’re you up to?”

“Looking for a good movie to fall asleep to.”

“Really? What genre?”

“Dunno. Probably something scary.”

“Do you like scary movies?”

Yikes. These prank callers really needed to step up their scare game. You decided to play along.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” It took everything in you not to cackle at how ridiculous you sounded. This mystery man was truly a recycled character.

“Hmm, you never told me your name, by the way.”

“Hmm, and I don’t think I will.”

“Oh, it’s because you have a boyfriend, isn’t it?”

“Nooo. Now tell me, why do you want to know my name? Huh?”

“So I can know who I’m looking at.”

You rolled your eyes at his cliche script.

“Right, so anyways, I’m gonna hang up now and you can just…uh, I don’t know, touch yourself til you’re content again.”

“Don’t hang up on m-“

What a loser, you thought to yourself, calling Kazuha back.

“Hi! What did they want?”

“It was just some nerd trying to prank call me.”

“No way. Did he sound hot?”

“Kaz, do you wanna watch this stupid movie or not?”

“Fine, fine, I’ve got my pickles and everything. Now press play!”

➠ thursday

Another easy day spent between you and Kazuha went by. After raiding the strip mall’s clothing shops (and food courts) in search of the sexiest party costumes available, you two agreed on an “Angel x Devil” duo theme. Kazuha chose the devil costume, handing you the sparkly white halo from the angel set. “It’s giving Victoria’s Secret,” Kazuha said, checking herself out in the changing room mirror before striking an awkward pose. You could tell she was trying to lighten the mood, but you couldn't get over how uncomfortable the revealing outfit made you feel. You and Kaz used to slut shame girls who dressed like this, only to turn around and do the same thing yourself. This whole experience felt hypocritical. “I look like an attention-whore,” you said to the mirror, a pitiful expression waving over your features. Kazuha walked over to you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Cheer up, ____. You’re more beautiful than any attention-whore I’ve ever seen, and don't you ever let someone tell you otherwise,” she smiled, kissing you on the head.

“Yay, how flattering.”

“No, I’m serious. We’re gonna be sophomores next semester. How long is it gonna take before we explore our scandalous side? Unless you plan on dying a virgin.”

Oh, the horror.

You considered her words for a moment, giving yourself one more look in the mirror.

“I guess this corset makes my boobs look pretty nice…”

“That’s the spirit! Now c’mon my child. Follow sugar mommy Zuha to the register,” she cheered in a high pitched voice, collecting the clothing tags and paying for your costumes.

➠ friday

12:23pm

You walked into the craft store and were greeted by the smell of sawdust and lumber. Grabbing a hand basket, you strolled around the aisles in search for a few repair materials. Last week, Kazuha accidentally broke the shelf you had installed in your wall with her heavy stretching equipment. Needless to say, you were left to pick up the pieces. To your misfortune, the wood glue was placed on an abnormally high rack. Raising up on tippy toes, you extended your arm, barely grazing the item with your fingertips. That’s when a tall figure reached over your frame, obtaining the wood glue with ease. “Thought you might want a little help with that,” the deep voice chimed, placing the wood glue in your basket.

You looked up to meet his face, jolting as if you’d seen a ghost. The helpful stranger proved to be none other than Sunghoon Park, the older brother of the girl you bullied to suicide back in high school. The last time you saw Sunghoon was at his sister’s funeral, which was almost three years ago. “Are you okay,” he asked, noticing the way your features fell at the sight of him. You tried to recollect your thoughts, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Y- yeah, I’m okay. Thanks,” you said nodding, trying to reassure the both of you.

He eyed you curiously, finding your bashfulness to be rather endearing.

“Do I,” he began, pointing at himself and back to you, “-have we met before?”

“No, I uh- Well, kind of. I- I knew your sister,” you admitted, trying to ignore your own stuttering.

“Oh, I remember. You’re ____, right? Yeah. Wonyo told me all about you and your friends. Who were they again?”

“Kazuha and Maddison.”

“Hmm, and where are they now,” he asked, following along as you subconsciously picked up a pack of brad nails.

“Well, Kaz is actually coming to your party tonight. Maddie moved away a while ago after her brother passed in the camping accident.”

All he did was smile in response. You found that odd, but didn’t give it much thought as he kept talking.

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about those years recently.”

You nodded, hoping he would continue.

“I tried telling her to ignore the rumors. To keep smiling and focusing on things that made her happy. I guess it just came to a point where she couldn’t pretend anymore.”

Something in you wanted to say sorry, but you came to realize a long time ago that apologies lacked much worth anyway, benefiting the offender more than the offended. You wondered if he even knew how you used to treat her.

You made your way to the check out line, placing your basket on the conveyor belt. The cashier scanned your items, and you handed her your debit card.

“I’ve been thinking about her, too. Wonyoung was such a bright soul, and put her all in everything she did. She used to talk about you all the time, sharing stories of how amazing you were on the ice. She was so proud of you.”

“Yeah,” his voice cracked.

“Would you like your receipt,” the employee asked cheerfully.

“No, that’s okay. Have a good day,” you wished, taking your shopping bag in one hand and Sunghoon’s wrist in the other.

He was docile as you guided him outside of the craft store, pulling him to face you. Breaking the tension, you gave him a hug, leaning into his chest.

He restrained his sniffles rather well before pulling away as if he wasn’t just on the verge of crying.

“So, are you in school,” he asked, started up a new conversation.

“Yeah, I’m a sophomore. We actually go to the same university.”

“Really? I’ve never seen you around before. I’m a junior. What’s your major?”

“English.”

“Ahh, that makes sense. I’m majoring in Psychology, so we won’t have many classes together.”

You couldn’t believe that he was actually this comfortable talking with you. It was a relief knowing that he didn’t hold his sister’s passing against you.

“Well, enough with the sad stuff, I’ve got some last minute errands to run for the party, so I’ll see you tonight, alright? Do you need a ride?”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks for offering.”

Why was he being so nice?

“Yeah, no problem! I’ll pick u up around 8, okay? It was nice meeeting you again!”

“Yeah, you too!”

2:41pm

9:03pm

It was a Friday night and the mood was right, as some would say. You and Kazuha were dressed to impress in your flirty costumes, earning yourself glares from every corner of the room. You arrived a little later then anticipated, but were still thankful for Sunghoon’s kind gesture of driving you two all the way here. However, he’d been missing in action for the past hour, and you were really hoping that you would have the chance to talk with him again. In the meantime, you sat on one of his fancy couches, enjoying the lively rhythms of the music. Colorful flashing lights kissed the tall ceiling, with an array of drinks and snacks displayed at a bar. You knew Sunghoon was rich, but he had really outdone himself.

Walking over to the bar, you grabbed one of the plastic red cups and filled it with whatever flavored liquid enticed you from the large punch bowl, having a seat at one of the metal bar stools. You gave the drink a whiff before taking a sip.

Someone had definitely spiked the juice.

Although you currently had no one around to chat with, you tried to find some enjoyment in the crowded solitude, watching fellow party goers dance their hearts out before joining them yourself.

9:13pm

Kazuha invited herself to take a tour around Sunghoon’s fancy abode, that honestly felt more like a mansion than a home. She wasn’t sure if it was the faint traces of alcohol in her system, but she was certainly in the mood for a good time. Walking through his home’s back door, she spotted him sitting near his pool, staring at the wind-produced waves. She walked towards him, sitting in the idle seat beside him.

“Hi,” he started, barely glancing at her before looking back at the water, reflecting the moon’s beautiful glow.

“Hi. You didn’t dress up for your own party,” she chuckled, swirling the red liquid in her cup.

“I am dressed up. As myself, of course.”

“So, ‘Sunghoon Park’ is a part of your costume then, yeah?”

“Maybe. Would you like to get to know the real me?”

“Maybe,” she said in between a long sip of the fruity drink she held in her hand.

“If you could be anything at all, what would you be?”

Sunghoon rested his elbows on his thighs in a thinking position.

“A ghost.”

“You’d make one goon of a ghost,” she humored herself until she noticed that he wasn’t amused by her antics.

“Ghosts are liberal beings, free from the taxing cares of this blood and bone world.”

‘Who wouldn’t want that,’ Sunghoon thought to himself.

“Uhuh. So, how do you think your dead little sister is enjoying her boring life as a graveyard ghoul?” He froze at her question, gripping his fists around nothing, trying to get a hold of his emotions.

Kazuha was being a bitch on purpose. It was an innate attitude of hers that she had yet to break. Still and all, she couldn’t help but wonder what Wonyoung would be like if she was still here.

‘If they’re better than me, they’re better gone,’ Kazuha often reminded herself, more so as an affirmation, rather than out of belief.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Sunghoon retorted, searching his blazer pocket for his silver flask, taking a thick gulp from its spout. Kazuha watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, marveling at the shadow of facial hair growing on his chin.

Cute.

His jaw clenched at the strong drink, the condensation from the silver canister leaving a print from his warm fingertips.

“Want some,” he asked, giving her a nonchalant look.

“Sure,” she said, opening her mouth for him to pour a stream of the amber liquid down her throat.

“You have a pretty tongue,” he said, using a thumb to toy with her lower lip.

Kazuha felt dizzy under Sunghoon’s dark gaze, his piercing eyes telling of all the bad things he planned to do to her.

He laid a hand on her exposed thigh, gripping at the plush skin. “Look at you, squirming in your seat for me and I’ve barely even touched you,” he whispered against her lips, tasting the rum that flavored her mouth with a kitten lick. Her eyes fluttered at the action. How was he so comfortable doing this in front of all these people?

“Is this why you hated Wonyo for so long? Because she could pull hot guys like me effortlessly? I never understood why it was so hard for you, anyway, considering that you go both ways,” he slithered.

She grabbed his wrist, snatching his grasp from her face.

“What? I thought we were having a little fun,” he grinned like a sly fox, displaying his pearly fangs.

“No, Goon! You were having fun!” She got up from the poolside, adjusting her clothes and wiping her mouth. “I don’t wanna be here anymore, tell ____ I’ll see her tomorrow.”

He set his eyes back on the water, taking another sip from the flask.

She waved her arms above her head frantically, trying to get his attention again. “Aren’t you gonna take me home?”

“Forget it, Kaz. You can walk home for all I care.”

She scoffed to herself. “You’re joking.”

“And you’re a classless bitch who bullies girls who’re better than you,” he spat, tucking his flask away in his jacket pocket before getting up to walk in the opposite direction of her.

“Sunghoon! I can’t walk home by myself in the middle of the night! I’ll get chopped up by some weirdo or something!”

“I’m afraid that’s not my problem,” he said, not turning meeting her face. “And by the way, I want you outta here in the next two minutes or else I’m calling the police!”

Kazuha gave Sunghoon the bird, walking the walk of shame as she left his party alone, dressed as the slutty devil he had made her feel like.

9:40pm

Kazuha took short strides as she walked along the concrete sidewalk, trying to get back home before her legs gave out. On the way, she found a random stick lying on a neighborhood lawn. She decided to keep it with her as a weapon, just in case she needed to defend herself.

Ring. Ring.

She answered her phone without looking.

“Kazzieeee.”

“Hello? Who’s this?”

“Oh, we know each other very well.”

A lightbulb went off in Kazuha’s head.

“You’re the perv that prank called my friend a few nights ago, right?” She said, subconsciously walking faster, feeling paranoid for some reason, though, she tried to mask it with humor.

“Where are you going?” The voice on the other end asked.

“Home,” she answered for reasons she didn’t understand.

“I can wait for you at the door if you like.”

“I think I’d like it a little bit more if you found some friends instead.”

“Then why are you walking away from me, you rude devil?”

She turned around to check her surroundings, waving the stick weapon at the sight of a stop sign, dim street lights, and suburban houses. She cackled at herself.

“Oh man, you really had me there for a second,” she sighed, turning back around.

“So, are you gonna invite me in or do I have to force my way?”

“Ugh, what’re you talking about now?”

“I'm talking about how much fun it’s gonna be to rip your insides out!"

Kazuha’s eyes bucked in fear. She never expected the caller to threaten her.

“C- call me again, a- and I’ll call the police,” Kazuha warned in a trembling voice.

It’s hard to sound brave when you’re scared for your life.

The unknown caller let out a mocking chuckle, thoroughly amused by her responses.

She lifted the phone to her face.

“HANG UP AND YOU’LL DIE-“

The dial tone filled the stale night air.

Kazuha fished through her mini bag, looking for her AirPod case. She opened the Spotify app on her phone, clicking on her “Chyll Vybe” playlist. Swallowing her anxiety, she hoped that some upbeat music would take her mind off her fear. Something in her told her to warn you about Sunghoon, and she listened, sending you a quick text before power walking down the side walk. She lip-synced to the melody, trying to lift her spirits.

9:49pm

iMessage from ”Kazzie 🦢🩰” — I still don’t trust Sun-Goon. Pls don’t go anywhere near/with him 🙏

Reply: Where r u?

read

9:50pm

Kazuha felt like someone was watching her. That’s when she looked to her side and saw a tall clothed figure with a scanty white mask walking beside her. She flinched, “Oh my God, you scared the hell out of me!”

The person stayed silent.

“I don’t remember seeing you at Sunghoon’s costume part-“ Kazuha lurched forward over nothing, the clothed figure tearing through her flesh with a sharp blade, scraping the bone beneath.

Kazuha groaned at the feeling, gripping the offender’s arm at the profound pain.

The figure pushed her wounded body on the ground, taking the knife out of her abdomen before stabbing her again and again, until her ragged breaths couldn’t keep up with the continuous blood flow. Kazuha whimpered and winced, even after the stabbing had stopped, her abused innards glistening under the soft moonlight. She watched as the psychopath removed her AirPods from her ears before walking away, leaving her dying body on the pavement.

He put her headphones in his own ears before comically mimicking the way Kazuha was ‘power-walking’ earlier. Rihanna’s cover of Same Ol’ Mistakes blared from the white pods, chanting the lyric:

“But you've got your demons and she's got her regrets.”

“What a lovely song to die to,” the killer chimed, skipping off into the distance.

10:11pm

Buzz. Buzz.

Your phone vibrated in your white hand purse. Pulling out your phone, the bright screen revealed a text from an unknown number.

What a wonderful surprise.

You jotted in your password before finally checking the message.

You spun in your seat, searching the crowd behind you. The dancing party lights hindered your vision. You got up from your seat, stepping closer to get a better look. Goosebumps dawned on the surface of your skin at the sight of the hooded figure in a distorted caricature mask, gripping a knife in their right hand. It was a horrific look to say the least.

“Screw you.” You typed angrily on your phone to the unknown number, blocking the contact and putting your phone back away. You just realized how long it’s been since you saw Kaz, so you went out to go and find her.

“You shouldn’t have done that, ____,” you heard a dark voice say from behind you. You ignored it, thinking it was just your paranoia playing tricks on you.

10:16pm

“Why did you leave my side, Kaz? Kazuha?!” You called out in search for your friend. You didn’t entirely believe what the unknown caller said, but you still wanted to make sure she was okay. You made your way upstairs, opening door after door to no avail. Your friend was no where to be found. “Kazuha?! Seriously, if you don’t come out right now, I’m eating the rest of your dried mangoes-”

Crash.

You bumped into a formally dressed party goer, only to realize that it was Sunghoon.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay,” you worried, fixing the damp hairs that framed his pretty face.

“Oh- your hairs wet.”

“Yeah, I was just at the pool.”

“Must’ve been near the hot tub, you look flushed.”

He offered his hand to lift you up.

“Sorry, but have you seen Kazuha anywhere? She texted me something, and now I can’t find her.”

“Oh, she actually left about half an hour ago,” he admitted, still fixing his clothes from the fall.

“Why? Was she okay?”

“Yes, ____, she was perfectly fine. She probably just felt a little awkward and decided to go home.”

You hummed in response. Unlike Kazuha, you trusted Sunghoon for whatever that reason was, so you didn’t spend anymore time talking about your MIA bestie.

“What’re you doing?”

“Texting her good night. Even though she probably won’t see it til the morning,” you chuckle to yourself, eliciting a smile from Sunghoon himself. You have yet to learn his reasons for smiling at some of the things you say, but you had a feeling there was nothing to worry about.

“Who’s that,” he asked pointing to your conversation with the unknown number.

“Just some rando trying to scare me,” you replied, deleting the conversation before putting your phone back in your purse.

“Hmm, I thought you liked scary,” he replied.

You and Sunghoon started to trail back downstairs, ignoring the way his knuckles occasionally brushed against the back of your hand.

“Hey, uh, I know we don’t know each other very well, but I was hoping we could go somewhere a little more private?”

You considered his offer, thinking about how Kazuha abandoned ship when she was the one who hauled you to this silly party to begin with. The night was still young, and you trusted Sunghoon. You wanted to leave with him.

“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna hit up the ladies room first though, and I’ll meet you out front.”

“Wait, Sunghoon,” you called out. “You haven’t had anything to drink tonight, right?”

“Have you?,” was all he asked before flashing a cheeky smirk, displaying his dimples.

“I’ll be waiting for you in my car, alright” he said, giving you a brief hug before heading to the door.

11:24pm

You weren’t entirely sure where Sunghoon was taking you, but you didn’t really care either.

You were too lost in the way he maneuvered the steering wheel with one hand, captivated by the prominent veins that traced his delicately long fingers.

After some time, Sunghoon pulled the shiny black vehicle into the driveway of a log cabin, hidden within the depths of the forest. The bright car headlights glazed the surface of a rectangular sign hanging above the front door, revealing the words "Park Lodge" carved into the wooden slab.

Sunghoon put the car in park, ceasing the calming sound of the air conditioner. His eyes were still trained on the view behind the windshield.

“So," you began, breaking the silence. "How many girls have you taken here before,” you teased, giving him a curious look.

“None, actually, other than my little sister.”

Peering out the car window, you took in all the trees and wildlife that made up your surroundings. It finally hit you that you were in the middle of nowhere with a guy you had known for less than 24 hours. Oh, if Kazuha could see you now.

“Do you own this place?”

“Yup. My grandfather had it built from the ground up when he was around my age. Now, it belongs to me,” he smiled, trying to mask his pride.

You both exited the vehicle, Sunghoon locking the doors behind you. The sounds of crickets and restless owls greeted your ears. He had shared so much of his belongings with you so far that it almost made you feel guilty.

“I hope I’m not giving off the impression that I’m using you,” you mumbled shyly under your breath, walking closely beside him.

“____, you’re exactly what I need in my life right now. If anything, I’m the one using you.”

Something about his comment made you feel uneasy, but you tried to brush it off. He unlocked the front door, letting you step in before him. Upon entering, the space was dimly lit, with wooden accents trimming each corner. An antique chandelier was the source of the faint light, drawing your attention to the artistic etchings that covered the ceiling. This place was truly a gem.

“You looked really beautiful tonight, by the way,” Sunghoon admitted, interrupting your gawking.

“Shut up,” you bashfully rejected his compliment, feeling a sudden heat rush to your face.

“What? I’m serious.”

“And I’m way too tipsy to think rationally right now.”

“Yeah? And what is it that you’re thinking, then? Honestly?”

You waited before answering him.

“That if you knew just half of what I’ve done in the past, you probably wouldn’t even be talking to me right now.”

He took your hand in his, turning you to face him.

“So stop talking.”

“What?”

“Follow me,” he said, beelining you to another room.

A bedroom.

He flicked one of the light switches before sitting you beside him on the bed. He held intense eye contact with you before speaking.

“I’m not oblivious, ____. You may be a nice girl, but I can tell you have a naughty side, too.”

The thought of you and Kazuha’s shopping adventure reminisced in the back of your mind. Promiscuity came so naturally for her, but for you, it wasn't as easy.

“Trust me, there isn’t a naughty nerve in my body.”

“Not yet, maybe. It just needs to be stimulated, first.”

The word ‘stimulated’ hung in the air for a moment.

“Sunghoon, what are you getting at here-“

You gasped as he stopped you mid sentence, caging you beneath his large frame on the bed.

“Maybe we could start with some on top of the clothes stuff, yeah?”

“Sunghoon, this is a little fast-“

“I really need this from you tonight, okay? Just, please. Let me explore you.”

The desperate look in his eyes softened your heart, sending a sensation of numbness through your limbs. It was hard to process that all of this was actually happening right now. A little voice in your head urged you to let go of the nerves and simply let him. As lust and desire intoxicated your senses, you accepted the fact that you were more than fine with this. More than ready for wherever this night with Sunghoon would take you.

“Okay,” you answered.

“Yeah," he asked in excited disbelief.

“Yes,” you reassured him, nodding.

“Explore me.”

That was the green light Sunghoon had been waiting for, pressing a soft kiss to your lips that quickly escalated into a heated tongue fight. He gently grazed his teeth against your neck, nibbling at the sensitive spot beneath your ear. He snaked a hand between your legs, only for his touch to be hindered by the corseted bodysuit of your angel costume. “May I,” he whispered against your skin, sending a shiver down you spine as his fingers drew circles atop the fabric. You could only nod in response, too pleasure drunk to come up with any words. Tossing the outfit across the room, Sunghoon dipped his fingers into the growing wetness at your core.

“Much better,” he grinned, sliding his fingers up and down past your folds. You reached out to tug at his button up shirt, aching to feel his bare skin against yours. He caught on to your desires pretty quickly, stripping himself before you. You stared in awe at his toned body, sinful thoughts of him flooding your brain. He looked down at your vulnerable figure, smirking to himself.

“Both our clothes are off. You can stop teasing me now,” you said, causing him to chuckle.

“What’re you suggesting I do to you, then,” he questioned, inching closer before meeting you on the bed again.

You felt yourself squeeze around nothing.

“I want you. All of you.”

That’s all it took and Sunghoon was already diving back into your lips, lewd sounds bouncing off the bedroom’s walls. You busied yourself with unzipping his pants, palming the bulge that hid behind his boxers.

“Fuck,” he swore under his breath, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way, granting you access to stroke his shaft a few times before aligning his tip with your entrance. He pushed himself past your tightness, not giving you any time to adjust to his size before rutting his hips against you, groaning at the intense pleasure you gave him.

➠ saturday

5:04am

Last nights sleep was still fresh on your face, adding a weight to your eyelids that you didn’t care to fight just yet. You were laying flat on your back once you felt a different weight sit atop your hips in a still straddle. Eyes still closed, you knew the pressure came from Sunghoon once the scent of his rosy cologne hit your nostrils. You shut your sleepy eyes tighter as he grazed something sharp across the length of your neck before leaning down to kiss the spot softly, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. He traced the sharp object across the stature of your collarbone and the valley between your chest, tracing another straight line down your stomach to your navel.

Poke.

The sharpness barely pierced you before your eyes shot open at the sting. A shirtless Sunghoon sat on your lap with a large knife in his right hand, the fresh blood from your stomach coating it’s tip. You weren’t naked, but you were only wearing his oversized white poplin shirt from the night before, now stained with a few drops of ruby red. Looking around, you noticed countless stab impressions on the mattress.

Sunghoon must’ve violently stabbed a circle around your head while you slept, loose cotton and feathers covering the messy bedspread.

He looked up from his ministrations and saw that you were awake. You wanted to scream for your life, even though you knew no one would hear you.

“SUNGHOON-,” you tried, but he covered your mouth with his free hand, a sent of iron lingering in your nose.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be screaming? The trees might think I’m abusing you in here!”

You rustled under his palm before biting his hand, eliciting a groan from his throat.

“What the fuck is this, huh,” you asked, trying to get up from under him. He wrestled with your arms, pining your wrists to the bed.

“I commend your bravery, but try some shit like that again and I’ll finish cutting you open.”

His eyes were dark, void of any moral conscience. He brought the knife up to your neck, toying with the ripples that made up your anxious throat. “You deserve this for what you did to her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with you first.” He smirked at whatever perverse thoughts ran through his mind. Your breathing became ragged, as the urge to cry grew in your chest.

“Aww, we’ve got a crier,” Sunghoon teased, pouting back at you.

“K-Kaz, sh-she, she tried to warn me.”

“A- an- and you probably sh- should’ve listened,” he replied, mocking the way you stuttered. “I still would’ve caught your ass later, anyways.”

“You fucking killed her!”

“Oh, please. That bitch had the mouth of a viper, someone was gonna put her in her place eventually.”

“You’re insane!”

“I’m also self aware.”

The tears were becoming too much for your eyes to hold back, as thick streams poured from your eyelids, dampening your supple cheeks.

“You took my virginity because of your dead sister?” You yelled again in utter disgust.

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t fucking enjoy it.”

You spat in his eye.

“You missed my mouth, princess,” he said in a low voice before wiping the spit off of his face, smearing it against your chest.

“You’re into this, huh? Look how hard your nipples have gotten.”

He put his sweaty forehead against yours, planting a tender kiss to your lips that for some reason, you didn’t reject.

“You know, I did enjoy exploring you last night.”

He kissed you again, pushing his hot tongue past your lips, dancing with yours.

“I enjoyed our taste”

He kissed your neck, gripping your throat until your vision went blurry.

“I enjoyed your scent.”

He grabbed a handful of your hair and pulled it like horse reins, causing a choked moan to erupt from you mouth.

“I enjoyed the pretty sounds you made for me.”

He glided his digits between your wet folds, dipping his delicate fingers into your entrance.

“Sunghoon!”

“I enjoyed the way you cried out my name as you clenched around my fingers,” he slithered seductively.

“Fuck, get off of me!”

He was in the middle of admiring your tits when he looked up to meet your rage-ridden eyes, his own face a flushed hue from the heat engulfing your sweaty bodies. He sighed in disappointment.

“You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Ugh,” you squirmed, fighting your hardest to escape his grasp.

“How long do you think your weak little body can take my insatiable urges to torture you before it finally gives out? Huh? Making you suffer will bring all the more fulfillment to my life.”

“God, Sunghoon, I don’t care anymore! Kill me! We’ll burn in hell together, I guess!”

“Jeez, would you quit pretending like you want to die? You’re taking all the fun out of it,” he said, rolling his eyes.

The sounds of your choked sobs filled the room’s miserable air.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” you sniffled beneath him.

“Here,” he offered, throwing the knife across the room, causing you to jump at nothing, “allow me to clear it up for you. When I care about someone, I don’t let anyone fucking touch them. Yet, you and your friends managed to hurt her without even doing so.”

“We didn’t know she would take it that far, Sunghoon,” you pleaded in between sobs.

“I didn’t know that my sister would be taken away from me by a bunch of mindless teenage sluts with big and dirty dick sucking mouths! Life’s unfair!”

“Fuck you,” you retorted, feeling lightheaded from all of your screaming and crying. He snickered to himself, presumably finding amusement in how pathetic you sounded. Combing his hair back with a clawed hand, he peered down, looking into your eyes.

“I’ve had just about enough of your talking, princess,” he said, reaching for a towel to shove in your mouth.

Only muffled screams filled the room from there.

He would never admit that it was his own vanity keeping you alive. He’d call it mercy, when deep down, it was his twisted craving for your touch that stopped him from going all the way during torture sessions. Your life had been reduced to its lowest, never to see the mere light of day again. He kept you in an underground basement, lined with bricks and mortar to ensure that you’d never escape his sadistic dictation. Everyday behind those walls felt like an eternity of ‘toy versus toddler tantrum’s.’ If only you knew that a simple mistake you made in high school would be the very wrecking ball to sabotage your entire life.

❅ Thank you for reading @chlorinecake ‘s “Blood On Ice.” Make sure to check out more fun reads on my enhypen bookshelf!

❅ Special thanks to @ashgonedash for requesting this creative piece and @fanficfactoryfoxxx for curing my writers block!!! 🎂

✎ ᴀ/ɴ: in no way, shape, or form does this fanfic intend to romanticize unhealthy relationships or abusive behaviors. i simply write for entertainment and creative purposes. thus, reader discretion is always advised.

!¡update: BLOOD ON ICE part TWO coming SOON, introducing more direct yandere themes and plot exploration!! stay tuned 🎧

[miley1442111]

burnt- s.adamu

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two different sydney requests:

i got so excited seeing syd in the new trailer for the bear s3 😭 need something with reader x sydney bc i can’t wait until june 27!! anything you can think of possibly based on some stuff hinted in the trailer would be great :) thank you so much!!

requesting sydney x reader! feel like it’s been so long since ive seen any content with her, especially because we were robbed of even a glimpse of her in that new teaser they released the other day 😭

---------------------------

a/n: i hope you both enjoy! thank you for requesting!

summary: your girlfriend doesn't take it too well when she finds out you kept your injury from her.

pairing: sydney adamu x fem! berzatto! reader

warnings: reader gets hurt, burned hand, i think that's it?

---------------------------

Baste, pour, flip, repeat. Baste, pour, flip, repeat. Baste, pour, flip, repeat. God, did Carmen need to yell so loud? 

You looked up for a split second, not even- just a fraction of a half-second, and you felt the burn of the boiling duck fat begin to sear your skin. It bubbled the skin on your left hand, leaving it exposed to the heat of the room and making it so much worse.  

“Fuck!” you shouted, pulling your hand away from the hot stove and turning it off. You held your hand close to your chest with a pain expression as all eyes handed on you. 

“W-what, what happened?” Carmen asked, running over. 

“Fuck you,” you said through gritted teeth. “Why do you fucking shout so loud?” You asked your brother. He rolled his eyes and pulled you to the other side of the kitchen and looked down at your hand. 

“Oh fuck,” Richie mumbled, joining the huddle you and Carm had made. “You’re going to have to go to the emergency room for that one.”

“No fucking shit jagoff,” you seethed. “I’ll grab my shit and drive myself. Get back to service Carm.”

He stared at you for a second. “You sure?”

“I’m fine,” you nodded and he obliged, pressing a quick kiss to your temple like he used to when you were kids. 

---------------------------

The drive to the ER was agony. Every movement of your hand was like a thousand needles being pushed into the skin and the ice pack Carm had given you wasn’t helping.  

You debated calling Syd, but this was her one night off to spend with her dad. You didn’t want to bother her, and you sure as hell didn’t want her to wait with you in the packed ER for the next 3 hours. You decided to just stare at your phone screen and scroll instagram until you were called in. 

Ring, ring, ring. 

Sydney’s contact jumped up on the screen and your senses were immediately heightened. Had Carm told her? How did she know? Maybe she didn’t know… maybe she was just calling to say that she was going to stay with her dad for the night and that she wouldn’t be home, you didn’t know.

“You got burnt?!” she questioned, concern filling her voice. 

“Who told you that?” you asked. 

“Who do you think? Carm! Why wasn’t it you who told me?” 

“You’re supposed to be with your dad tonight, I didn’t want to be a bother,” you shrugged, hearing your name being called. “Anyways, I have to go I’m being called in, love you-”

“We need to talk about this-” 

Beep beep beep. 

You hung up. 

---------------------------

After a painful 30 minute talk with a doctor, she told you that you’d be fine in 4 weeks. She bandaged you up and gave you an antibiotic, in case it became infected. Waiting for you outside was Sydney, with a very mad look on her face. 

“You should’ve called me,” she sighed, taking your not-injured hand. 

“I didn’t want to ruin the one night you had off,” you shrugged, walking out to your car with her beside you. “Plus, it’s not like it’s the first or last time I’ve been burnt, right?”

“Was that supposed to be reassuring?”

“Maybe?” you chuckled. “Look, I’m fine! They bandaged me up and I have antibiotics in case it gets infected, plus I can hold this over Carmy’s head until either of us does something worse.”

“It might get infected?” she questioned and you rolled your eyes. 

“Only if I get lazy with changing the bandage,” you sassed back. 

“Oh, so you’ll get an infection then, great!” She sighed, getting into the driver’s seat. 

“Syd, stop being mean, I’ve been through enough tonight,” you deflated. “Let’s just go home.”

Sydney started the car, driving out of the hospital with your hand in hers.

“I’m sorry, I just worry sometimes…” she muttered. 

“It’s alright,” you nodded, then brought her hand up to your mouth, where you kissed it.

---------------------------

the bear masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

[totorolaughs]

DAZAI X READER – THE ONLY ONE

heavy dead dove, failed su1c1de attempt, NOT BETA READ HEAVY, gender neutral reader, smut, angst and smut, fluff?, OLD FIC, CRINGE OLD FIC + OOC

REQUESTS: OPEN - CLOSED

Dazai could remember every detail of that night, the way the air smelt of metal and blood. Everything went flat in that moment of realization of what was happening around him, you laid half-way in the bathtub, the once clear and clean water was now a crimson red like the color of a torn up pomegranate.

Dazai felt his face go a pale like a white ghost , everything went numb for him at that moment of realization, he snapped out of it and jumped into action. The steamy hot tears blurred his vision as he pulled your naked body out of the body, he held you close to his chest. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket

as he dialed ‘911’, the ambulance would be here soon. your once soft skin was tinted by gushes of cuts, he rushed and grabbed bandages from the bathroom cupboard and bandaged your wrists up. was he going to lose you? his beloved boyfriend, the man he’s loved since the dawn of time. He held your face in his hand and stared into your dull eyes.

The next things you could remember was bright lights as your eyes cracked open and your brows frowned, Your eyes darted around be landing on Dazai. nausea filled your stomach as you looked at his tired face, you could only hear the air from the vent and the sound breathing coming from you and your possible still lover? ‘I’m sorry’ is all you could repeat in your head being to tired to even open your mouth.

you sighed softly as you wiggled your finger on your hand. ‘still alive’ and your wrists in white cleaned bandages with a a IV tube connected into your arm. You shifted around on the hospital, causing the brown haired man to wake up. His eyes slowly opened as he let out a low yawn. Your eyes locked before he stood up so quickly he knocked over the chair.

“(Name)” your name softly left his chapped lips as he reached his hand out to touch your face, as if fearing that if he were to touch you, you would disappear into thin air. “Dazai..” you spoke in whisper, you didn’t notice the hot tears coming down from your eyes like fireworks.

He held your face in his hand, and leaned in placing a kiss onto your long ago soft lips, the kiss was gentle as if he were touching a dying rose a afraid that if one wrong move it would crumble in his gentle hands.

Dazai called the nurse in, things were talked such as health and mental-health. The talk of hospitalizing came up but Dazai declined it, weeks past and soon you were allowed to go back home with your Dazai.

“(Name), look, I’m not mad okay? but..” he sighed before continuing as he looked at you will the saddest look you probably have seen in his eyes, “Why?” those words sent a shiver up your spine. you gulped, “Darling, you don’t have to answer. I wont make you” you shook your head, “I wasn’t feeling the best, I felt like.. I wasn’t worthy of everything you were giving me...” Tear pricked your eyes “I love you, so much. More than you could possibly ever undetermined. I felt like I was worth your time,love,touch”

hot tears ran down your, “oh..my love” you heard your eyes sight blurred, but quickly you felt a warm embrace by your beloved. “You’re so fucking dumb, you know that?” he whispered as he held you close and tight just like the night he found you ruined and bloodied, you bawled your eyes out at that moment.

Three days went by after the accident, you and Dazai laid together on the bed as you cuddled, The TV played some cheesy-trash romance movie. your wrists were still bandages and needed to be changed daily, since you (and Dazai) didn’t want the cuts to get infected since they were so deep, Dazai pulled you into a kiss.

The kiss started off slow with passion before Dazai gently bit into your bottom lip causing you to gasp softly allowing his tongue into your warm mouth, what started as a gentle kiss quickly turned heated. his hands roamed your body as he pulled away leaving gentle bite and hickeys on your neck and collar.

You gasped as his teeth sank into your sensitive skin, “Dazai..!” you whined “quit teasin’..” you pouted. Dazai looked into your eyes placing a gentle kiss on your lips , “Okayokay, don’t give me that look, baby” he slowly pulled down your pj pants, “turn around for me,pretty” he asked in tooth rotting tone “imma be gentle..”

as you turned around he kissed the back of your neck and head. he was truthful to his words, he prepped you with such gentleness’s it made you crazy. “p-pleaseee…” you whined as your hole clenched around nothing after he pulled his slick covered fingers out of you. “Be patient” his husk tone whispered into your ear.

He pulled down his kitty covered pj pants that were just like yours,his cock. sprained out and hit your winking hole causing a whine out of your throat, “poor baby, is so needy” he slowly pushed into your small hole, stretching your hole out as he wrapped an arm around your waist slowly going down to your smaller dick.

He gently jerked your member as he began to thrust into your cute hole, “dazi’mfgh…!” you moaned out as you clenched around him. “shit..calm honey..” he groaned as he rolled his palm around your flushed tip. his thrusts were gentle “fasterf-fasterfaster!” a croaked moan escaped your mouth as you begged for Dazai to speed up.

He gentle yanked your head back and gave you a small spank on your plump bottom, “what did I say,hm?” his gentle poundings still making you see stars and drool dripping from your chin onto the bedsheets, his hips snapped his girthy cock hitting your prostate, “mghuh’fuckkk…dazaiii” you felt your cock squirt cum.

he held your hips, he rolled his organ into your puffy hole, tears began to role down yours face from the overwhelming feelings after your high. “sorry baby..shh almost,shit..” he threw his head back as he jerked your tiny cock, teasing the tip. Your flushed face covered in tear and drool. “made such a mess..” he pouted.

His soft fucks made your head feel fuzzy, “mmghahh..comeingcomeing!!” You came once again into your tummy and Dazais hand, “close..just lil more” he kissed the back of your neck before he slowly speed up, his soft thrust quickly thrusted brutal. “Inside or out?” His body sweaty and hands sticky with his baby’s semen.

“inside..insideinside pleaseee..!!” You begged and whined as you shoved your face into the pillow moaning, the bed shook and creaked from his rough thrust, his seed stuffed up your puffy swore hole, “gughhha dazaiii…mm” you felt full and warm, his semen dripping down your thigh. He quickly let go and fell onto you not wanting to pull out form your warmth.

“Sorry, I’ll be gentle next around” your turned your head to side to look at him “next round?!” he gave you a foxy smile, “cmon you can take it right? who’s my good boy,again?” you whined before letting your head fall onto your pillow. “I am..” he kissed your shoulder “yes,you are” he bummed happily before carefully flipping you onto your back “I love you” he whispered into your ear

you quickly tugged his head back, quickly “I love you too,Osamu” pulling him into a passionate kiss

[synthleeius]

Tickletober day 1 - anticipation

hi omg. i absolutely hate this but i wanna try and to tickletober this year since ive never done it before and it feels weird if i dont do the 1st one so ☹️☹️ and just know its 2am and im tired but i wanted to get this done so if its shit literally jusy dont read it

pairing; lee!reader x ler!venti

Venti huffed, letting his hands rest on his hips. He had been looking for his hat everywhere, but to no avail. And he swore he left it riigghhtt on his lamp before he went to bed last night! How strage..

“Windblume!” He called out from his doorway, before beginning to make his way to your room in the teapot you two shared. “Have you seen my–”

He couldn't help but smile when he saw the same hat he turned his room upside down for, sitting lopsided on your head. He moved to stand in front of your sitting figure, then spoke; “My hat, love?”

“Huh?– oh! Yeah, I borrowed it.” You replied, looking up at your beloved with a casual expression. You didn't think he would really mind when you did take it.. but in your defence, he was asleep! And you were going to return it.. eventually.

“..Oh come on, here.” You rolled your eyes lovingly when you saw the stern look on his face, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down on you. “Better?” You asked after had taken the hat off of your own head and placed it onto his, just the way he liked it.

“Almost,” He said with an innocent looking smirk, (well.. innocent enough.) taking the book you were previously reading and placing it to the side. “Just one more thing you can do. Yknow, to make it up to me!”

“And that is..?” You asked, your attention fully on the bard in front of you now. “Stay still, is all. Surely you can manage that, my beloved~” He said in a dragged out tone, moving to push you down onto your bed, a singular hand of his holding both of yours above your head.

“..Venti? What are yo– no.”

“And that's what I would've said if you had asked to try my hat on!” He huffed, lowering his free hand to the side of your torso.

You jerked your body away, a soft squeak leaving your lips. “hah– I didn't think yohou’d mind! I swear!” In all honesty, you knew if you had asked he would've said yes anyways.. What a dramatic little bard you had.

“Oh, now you're laughing at me are you?” The bard in question spoke in a ‘stern’ tone, “Now I really have to get you~” His signature giggle filled the air, looking up at your flushed face to make sure your eyes weren't on him, but his fingers instead.

He let his fingertips rise near your ribs, resulting in another jerk away and a gasp on your side. “Come on, this is ridiculous. I didnt even do ahanyth– can you stop doing that already?!”

You huffed the words out when his nails wiggled towards your stomach, slowly dropping down until they were inches away from the skin. Only then would he pull back, returning to his previous position above. “What? Does it tickle, windblume~?” He questioned with a genuine tone, but that shit-eating smirk on his face told you he knew what he was doing.

“No, I'm just laughing because I feel like it. Yes, it fucking- ohokay ohokay! I'm sorry! God, somebody's sensitive..” You began to return the sarcasm, before he simply tilted his head and moved his hand to rest on your inner bicep. “Uhuh, that's what I thought, my love. Now.. where was I?”

You slightly regret the words you spoke that made him switch to a different spot, because this was arguably worse. He was repeating the same spidering motion, directly above your underarms. Your senses set off, causing you to lean back into the bed and attempt to tug your arms down to cover the sensitive area.

“Bad spot?” He asked, “By how much your giggling, I think it iiiss~”

You simply whined in response, rolling your eyes away from his hand and turning your head to the side to try and get rid of the tingling sensation. Though, it didn't help much. His hand being blocked from your view did not block out the slight graze every few seconds, maybe even made the feeling worse. “You're the worst.”

“Yknow what else is the worst?” He said in a sigh, tilting his head away from you in a fake thinking look. As he did, his hand suddenly squeezed onto your sides, causing electricity to shoot into your nerves. “Waking up and looking for your hat, only to find out a special somebody took it after spending 10 minutes trying to find it!”

“Ohohonly 10 mihinutes? Yohour just inpatient!” You giggled out, his movements causing your body to reflectivity twist away from him. “Yeah, and I'm not the one pinned down right now. Maybe you should learn to watch your tone, my love~”

“Maybe yohou shou- fuhuhuck, ohokay! Ihi give, juhust stohop!” You couldn't help but give up when he began to scribble his fingers along your stomach, causing him to laugh at your quick efforts to escape the feeling.

“Mm.. fine, fine~ Just one last thing though..” He let his grip off of your wrists, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as he did. “If you’ll allow me, of course.”

You slowly quickly moved your arms to the sides before he got anymore ideas, letting out soft breathy giggles and turning to look at him again. "Hah.. your already here, aren't you? ..Fine, make it quick."

He didnt respond in words, but rather by hiking your shirt up to your upper waist and sliding his hands down to your hips. While pressing his thumbs gently into the skin as small circle, he leant down to press a soft kiss to the middle of your stomach.

“Ah.. yohour so sappy, Venti.” You responded with a soft gasp and giggle, not being able to help the small shuffles your body involuntarily did after. “I know I am.. But you looovee it~”

He spoke his words into the skin of your torso, only making it all the more worse for you. He let out a soft giggle, before looking up at you. “Okay, okay.. Actual last thing. You ready, windblume~?”

You couldn't suppress the giddly smile that formed on your lips, nodding before letting your head fall back onto the blanket. “Yeheah..”

You listened to him take in a deep breath, before pushing his lips into your stomach and blowing a raspberry directly in the middle.

"AHahah- aharcons, yohour hohorrible!" You whined out, shoving his hands off of your hips and turning onto your side.

"Mm, the archons have heard your complaints love.." He said in a played on uninterested tone, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Now, I trust you'll be getting ready? After all, were going out to Mondstadt.."

"..Ugh, yeah.." You groaned, moving to return the kiss on his cheek. "I will.."

[mythicalmyles]

— req,

hi myth! it's been a while since i last sent a request in.

may i have some naive!camboy reader x obsessive perv who finds out where he lives <3

small belly bulge & a lil bit of corruption + marking kink!! pretty pleaaseeeee ❤

you can change the character to whoever you want HOWEVER i did actually have Cody in mind when i wrote this.

– [💤 anon ]

(Name) let out a low moan as he sunk back onto his dildo, back arching and pushing his chest closer to the camera. Once (Name) had started he found it hard to stop, the comments strangers made on him was what drove him.

'Beg like a good boy.'

"Please, ah-I wanna cum." He moaned out as he rode the toy harder, drool dripping down his lips. (Name) came with a squeal, body locking as his orgasm washed through him. He sat for a moment catching his breath as comments flooding in, most were the usual. Except one.

'You'd look pretty tied up in my cabin.'

(Name) flushed at the comment, the idea of someone kidnapping him and keeping him all to themselves turned him on. "Come get me then, daddy." (Name) bit his lip, sending the viewers a cheeky smile before ending the stream.

______

After a few days of borderline the creepiest comments he's ever heard he had decided to take a while off of streaming. He'd made enough cash to be comfortable for a while. He couldn't deny the twinge in his stomach every time the commenter appeared, the things they said were downright filth.

(Name) was currently sat at his kitchen table, moon light flooding his back as he tapped his nails. His mind was far away as he gazed at the moon out of the window, not noticing the figure approaching behind him.

He barley had a moment to react before he was shoved over the table, a hand rooted in his hair as the other pinned him to the table. “What the fu-“ (Name choked out before he felt someone roughly grind against his ass. “You should’ve checked your windows.” A voice chuckled sending shivers down his spine.

“N-no please.” (Name) begged, fearing for his life. The mysterious figure hushed him, hand coming from his hair to his ass. (Name) whimpered as his ass was squeazed roughly, his assaulter shaking the fat in awe. “It’s like you were made to be bred, fuck you’ve got an ass better then any bitch ive seen.” The voice growled in his ear causing him to whimper and shake his head. “I-im a boy! Yo-you can’t bre-breed me.” He cried out, causing Cody to chuckle. “Want a bet?” Cody smirked as he quickly tore down (Names) boxers, revealing his ass to him.

(Name) gripped Cody’s wrists trying to pry them away as the larger played with his ass. (Name) sobbed and tried to get away, resulting in a show for Cody to feast on. Cody bit his lip before leaning down, quickly pushing his tongue as deep as if would go. (Name) squealed as Cody ate him out, tongue lapping all over him as he slurped on (Names) hole. “G-god please!” (Name) cried out as his back arched, allowing Cody to explore deeper. Cody kept playing with (Name) until he had him sobbing and rolling his hips back, desperate for more.

“Knew you’d like that, it was so cute how embarrassed you’d get whenever i spoke about eating your ass.” Cody smirked, lips attaching to the back of (Names) neck. “A-ah, no, stop.” (Name) choked out as Toby ground his cock against (Names) hole. “Why are you arching into it then? Want to be stuffed that bad, huh?” (Name) ignored the way his cock twitched and his belly contracted, his head tried to shake itself clear. This was wrong. This was a stranger.

But the thought’s left his head as he felt something drip onto his hole and slide down his cheeks. Whimpers flew from him as he jumped. “No wha-what are you doing?” He rambled out as a soft moan left him, some of the liquid dripping down his balls. “You want me to go in dry?” Cody questioned, smirking when (Name) panicked and shouted ‘No!’ “Then you need this. But.” He drawled off. “This is all the prep you get baby, i want you to remember who you belong to.” Cody growled out before forcing his cock past (Names) tight rim, resulting in the latter crying out as he had a cock slide deep into him.

A choked out groan left (Name) as Cody bottomed out, stilling for a moment to roll his hips. “Please.” (Name) begged as Cody ground against his prostate, his own hips rolling back. “Aw, you gonna finally be a good boy?” Cody teased, sliding his cock fully out only to slam back in deep. “N-no, just. G-god don-dont stop!” He cried out as Cody slammed deep into him, cock hitting his prostate with every thrust.

(Name) couldn’t help but submit as he was overwhelmed with pleasure, his mind vibrating. He hadn’t taken a real cock before, it sent his mind whizzing as pleasure buzzed through his head. He couldn’t help but moan as Cody slammed into him, burying his cock deep. “Such a good puppy for me, such a pretty puppy.” Cody rambled out at his thrusts became erratic.

Cosy let out a growl, speeding up his thrusts as his nails dug deep into (Names) hips. Loud moans poured from (Name), his stomach swirling as he came all over his kitchen island. “Mine. Mine.” Cody muttered as he bit down on (Names) shoulder, cum flooding into his ass. Cody slowed his thrusts as he milked himself dry, keeping a tight grip on (Name).

[swearyshera]

You have no idea how hands-shaking, looking-down-off-a-cliff scared I was to scroll down when Catra began to say sorry and got cut off. I had to take almost a full minute to brace myself cuz I was so afraid Glimmer would do the thing so many other protags have done where they just accept the apology for the sake of expediency or compassion or their own regrets or to focus on moving forward. Or to excuse away the apologizers actions as not their own because of manipulation or emotion. I've been waiting since Day One for this hoping it wouldn't be like those, especially considered canon didnt even attempt it and that left my love for this series feeling like it was missing a piece.

I could never expected it go this hard. Glimmer's grief and guilt and cold rage feels so tangible, and the sheer strength it feels like it took to both acknowledge and honestly deliver those feelings to Catra with no sugarcoating while not full-on attacking her with them and driving a wedge into the only refuge either of them have from Prime breaks my heart. Acknowledging Catra feels sorry but telling her flat out no apology or atonement could heal this, so if she feels sorry thats her own damn problem. A perfect interstice of emotional fortitude and frailty. I could never have dreamt of a moment this great.

Glimmer was always my fave in canon but this catapulted her into the fucking celestial firmament. The catharsis I'm feeling right now makes me feel like I could jump the goddamned moon. This moment alone is my favorite exploration of grief and forgiveness ive seen in a fandom like this since ATLA's The Southern Raiders. I cant wait to see your spin on the rest of this arc if its even a fraction this good. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for this and for this project. Thank you.

This was such a hard scene to write. I'd had some ideas written down for this scene for quite a while, and we almost got a scene where they discussed what they would say to Adora instead, but I thought it would perhaps be more impactful to tackle the subject of Angella head on.

I'm not completely oblivious to the fact that many people wished Glimmer and Catra had approached the topic of what happened to Angella in canon. And again, I'd never say that this blog is a 'fix-it' for the stuff people didn't like, but sometimes there's stuff that I wish had been in the show - this was one of those things.

But knowing I wanted to put in a scene and actually writing it are two different things. I was so nervous when this one went out, because I worried that people would react negatively to it (but you didn't, thanks everyone!). You're right that having Glimmer go "Oh, sure, don't worry about it" would have felt hollow and really undercut the whole 'Angella is dead' thing. But equally, if Glimmer had said "Sorry isn't enough, I hate you and will never forgive you", it would have been hard to reconcile that level of sheer hatred with them working together later on.

I chose Glimmer's words quite carefully here. I wanted to show that her opting to take her mother's actions as one of heroic sacrifice rather than a desperate last-ditch attempt to save Etheria from Catra's mistake was for her own benefit, not Catra's. Glimmer makes that choice to discard Catra's part in it every day because that's the only way she can manage her grief (especially when face-to-face with Catra), not because she wants Catra to feel better. And that rejection of the apology was not so much a "Your apology means nothing" as it was "Don't try and complicate the way I'm dealing with this." Sorry means she has to reconcile that Catra feels guilt. Sorry upsets her grieving process. She doesn't want it.

I'm so excited for everyone to see the rest of this arc, particularly how things develop through Corridors. We'll soon be seeing Horde Prime step up his manipulation of Catra's depression, and more about how that is affecting her and driving her to desperation. But we also get those bittersweet flashbacks, the reminders that Adora has always been on her side - even when they've been on opposing sides of a war. And finally, the climax of the episode where Catra saves Glimmer, and (at least here) leaves Adora with some chilling words. I always feel like I become a better writer with every episode, and I am so proud of some of the stuff you're about to see.

[idy-ll-ique]

dreams, memories

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: fluff, angst, smut (soulmate AU)

warnings: smut, talks about bucky's past as the winter soldier

requested: nope

word count: ~2.6k

summary: bucky and y/n are soulmates. this is how they meet.

author's note: hiya peeps! sorry for the big break, enjoy! editing this real quick: i JUST saw doctor strange, like i came back from the theatre 20 mins ago, and ive had this fic written since 2 days. the dreams and memories thing... i had no idea 😂😂 what a wonderful coincidence!

masterlist

---

"No!" Y/N screamed, waking up in cold sweat. She breathed heavily, looking down at her left arm, touching every part of it to make sure she was okay. Then she ran her palms over her face. "This is fucking ridiculous," she muttered and got up from her bed. "Not again…" Her bed was covered in sweat. Turning on the air conditioner in her room to dry up her bed and also make it a little cool, Y/N left her room to make herself some late-night coffee.

The dreams she had every night were horrible. It was always from the point of view of a particular man; everyday, he was strapped to a chair and people, usually in white lab coats that made her think they were doctors, did disgusting and inhumane things to him. The screams of the man echoed in her head, mixed with her own screams. She was yet to know who the man was; the only thing she knew about him was the fact that he was her soulmate.

Example, person A and person B were soulmates. The way it worked was that person A's memories would serve as dreams for person B and vice versa. So who was this man, who had such painful and abhorrent memories? She wondered if that person had dreams of her memories as well. Maybe he'd seen the time she had, once a long time ago, embarrassed herself on stage at a school function. Or the time she had thrown a party for her friends after getting first rank in an exam.

She had memories good and bad, as all people do, but her soulmate… it seemed as though he had been through more bad things than good. Sometimes, she saw memories of a science exhibition— specifically a flying car— but the exhibition seemed to have happened in a time so far back that it felt weird. Maybe it was a themed exhibition? Then other times, her dreams consisted of war; specifically, World War 2. She saw guns and explosives mostly used in that particular battle, and after confirming a few things from the internet…

Was her soulmate an old man?

If he had fought in the second World War, he must've been born in the early 1900s, and that would make him… above hundred?! Y/N choked on her coffee at the realisation and coughed, wiping her face. "My soulmate's a hundred year old man?! What the fuck!" She hurriedly finished her coffee, kept the mug away and went back to her room, falling into a peaceful slumber. 

---

"Morning, Barnes."

Bucky nodded his head in greeting, making a beeline for the coffee machine. He'd woken up only 15 minutes ago. "How did you sleep, what kinda dream did you have?" Bucky looked at Steve, who was seated next to Sam. "A college lecture. The professor told a funny story and she laughed. Her laugh's kinda cute." Steve grinned. "That's fucking amazing! Only if there was some way we could find out who this lady of yours is…" Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes, bringing the cup to his lips.

"She's not mine yet, Steve, calm down."

"What do you think about the dreams she must be having?" Sam quietly asked and Bucky's head shot up. Of course, that thought hadn't occurred to him at all! How horrifying were her dreams?! Was she getting proper sleep?! What if her dreams— his memories— kept her awake all night and scared the living crap out of her? "Fucking shit," he cursed, "Fuck, fuck, fuck— if only we can find each other—" Steve got up to calm his best friend but Bucky kept his coffee-filled mug down, turning to the door. "I need a walk."

He left the communal area and walked out of the Avengers Compound, running his fingers over his head. He'd never, ever even thought about what she must've been going through because of him; how thoughtless of him!

He still remembered the first night he'd had a dream. Back in the 40's, he never dreamt, because of course, unbeknownst to him, Y/N wasn't born yet. Years passed. HYDRA captured him and while in captivity, he had his first dream. It was an odd dream; the point of view was such that he realised his soulmate at the time… was a baby. Bucky tried not to think about it much. At least he was having dreams, and about such sweet things, too, a complete contrast to the situation he was in.

The dreams kept him going. He saw glimpses of humanity in those dreams of his, and the thought that the world outside was mostly a beautiful place, it helped immensely. Once more, years passed by like a breeze. His soulmate grew older; a teenager, a college student and soon, a working adult. By the time she became a working adult, Bucky had successfully joined the Avengers, no longer a part of HYDRA. 

As he walked around aimlessly, his mind drifted in the opposite direction. While he had those lovely, humane dreams, what must his soulmate have gone through? From her birth, all that she must've seen were scenes of torture, him killing people in his mindless state, him forced to be in a confined room with no human contact other than the doctors and HYDRA workers… to have to see all that since a young age seemed a nightmare. 

He couldn't believe he had put his poor soulmate through all that. Then, another thought occurred:

What if she rejected him for all he made her go through?

Over the years, Bucky lost a lot. He gained a few things along the way too, no doubt, but he lost more than he gained. His early days were spent looking after his sister and Steve, then as a young adult, he was forced into war, and after that… well, HYDRA. Now he had a stable enough life; sure, he risked his life every now and then but hey, things were going pretty good as of late. All he wanted was to meet his soulmate, the woman destined to be with him, but things seemed difficult.

First off, he didn't have a clue as to what her identity was. Sure he saw hints in his dreams, he noted them all down as well, but he could not pinpoint the woman. One time he found out she worked in retail, but which store? Which branch? No idea. Shaking his head, Bucky looked around. He saw a Starbucks nearby; remembering the fact that he hadn't had his morning cup of coffee yet, he decided to get some.

Bucky entered the place, observing it as he walked up to the barista. After placing his order, he went to find an empty seat and finally sat at the table behind a lady who was talking on the phone. He kept quiet, unknowingly listening in on her conversation. “Yeah, I know, I just remembered this one time in class, remember how the professor told us that story about his kid?”

Bucky paused at that. “I know, the poor dude had to pay for messing with our professor! That story is seriously so funny, oh my God—” He abruptly stood up, his eyes wide. His dream that day, the professor in his dream, the story, her laugh— holy shit. It was her! Bucky turned and walked to her table, making her look up. Her eyebrows shot up in recognition. “Hey Jeannette, I’ll call you back,” she whispered and ended the call. “Mr Barnes, what can I do for you?”

“You, uh—” he stammered, “The story you were telling your friend right now— may I ask you something personal, miss?” the lady gestured to the empty seat in front of her and Bucky sat, running his fingers through his hair. “This one time in high school, you came first in a class test, a Geography test if I remember correctly— did you or did you not throw a party for your friends?” 

The lady gasped. “I did! How do you know that?”

“And in elementary school, you were the host for a school function and completely butchered your lines.” Bucky watched as the lady covered her mouth. “H-How… unless…” He nodded. “Dreams. I had dreams, and I’m guessing you had those too.” So the horrid, unpleasant, godawful vile dreams… were his memories. She should’ve at least guessed. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, “I’m so sorry you had to suffer so much, I—”

“What are you apologising for?! It’s not your fault I went through all that, all the more, I should be sorry for giving you those terrifying dreams! Man, I feel awful…” To his surprise, the lady reached out and touched his arm. “It isn’t your fault you went through all that, either. At least the dreams will stop now, now that I’ve met you.” Bucky hoped that was the case. He clicked his tongue.

“Ah! Uh, what’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

He gave her a small smile just as his name was called by the barista. “Join me,” she whispered to him and he agreed, getting up to get his coffee. For the first 2 minutes, there was complete silence between the two as each finished their own drink. “So the exhibition wasn’t themed after all, it actually took place back in the day,” she jabbered and Bucky met her eyes. “You saw the Stark Expo in your dream? With Howard’s flying car?” Y/N gasped. “Howard? So it was actually Howard Stark’s Stark Expo? That’s cool!” Bucky heaved a sigh of relief. “At least you had good dreams, too…”

“Plenty of ‘em! In a lot of those I saw this blond, skinny kid— that was Captain America, right? I’ve heard that you two are childhood besties.” Bucky chuckled. “We are, as you referred to us, childhood besties. Steve had asthma growing up, wasn’t even allowed to join the military but he never gave up, even illegally trying to get in. Swear to God, I’ve kept him outta trouble so many times—” Y/N laughed at his words.

“Why does that actually sound like something Captain America would do? Hey Mr Barnes, I also kinda wanna know: you had a sister, didn’t you?” He smiled at the fond memory. “Rebecca, my younger sister. Well, she kinda passed away a few years ago of old age, but—” Y/N smiled a bit too. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He waved in dismissal. “She lived a good life. Got married to a good guy, had kids, many grandkids…”

“Do you know any of them?”

“Not yet, no.”

Soon, they finished their coffee. “I gotta go to work now, how about we meet later?” Y/N packed up her things, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Of course, Ms Y/L/N.” They exchanged numbers and she waved at him as she walked out the front door. Bucky watched her go from the window; he’d finally met her. He wasn’t expecting her to be someone so kind, who didn’t blame him for all the dreams she had been having. On top of that, she was beautiful, too.

A kind soul, and kind looks. He couldn’t wait to meet her again.

---

“Stop moving.” Bucky froze when he heard his girlfriend next to him. “Baby, I thought you were asleep,” he murmured, turning to face her only to see her already looking at him. She reached out, running her fingers over his head. “What’s keeping you up? It’s— 1:30 am, love,” Y/N yawned. Bucky wrapped an arm around her, tugging her closer. He’d wanted to do that in the first place, but seeing as she was asleep, he didn’t want to disturb her.

“Had a bad dream, woke up. I’m sorry.” She chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. “When was the last time? I think 4 months ago, right? New record. Like a thunderstorm, if the time between your bad dreams is getting longer, that means they’re going away.” Bucky smiled at that as well. “Nice comparison, doll. I think they are, all because I found you.”

She scoffed at that. “I can’t take all the credit, Bucky, you’ve been diligently and regularly going to therapy, that is helping a lot.” He clicked his tongue and gave her a smooch on the lips. “That’s helped, for sure, but you’ve helped more. I look at you… and know it’s going to be alright. I hold you every night, and I know you’re safe— I’m safe— and I don’t think bad thoughts.”

She smiled lazily and burrowed closer to him. “8 months of this sap, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bucky stuttered indignantly as Y/N closed her eyes. “You little shit— I thought I was being cute!” Y/N burst out laughing. “It was cute, but it was also sappy. Now goodnight, Bonky, I gotta sleep.” He muttered under his breath, “Stop calling me that.”

Then cheekily, his hand trailed down her waist, all the way to her— “Bucky! Now?” Y/N squeaked as his finger flicked her clit. “I’m not sleepy yet, plus look, you’re so wet…” Y/N moaned a little as his metal fingers ran up and down her folds, their coolness being a contrast to her warm cunt. He pushed two digits in, hissing in pleasure. “So warm, feel so good…” he uttered as Y/N twitched next to him, desperately trying to hold herself back. A few minutes passed.

“I know you wanna cum, my love, with the way your fucking cunt is clenching around my fingers so I suggest you do so immediately, I don’t wanna repeat myself,” Bucky spoke cockily. Y/N obeyed and let go, coming all over his fingers as he slowly made her ride her high. “Bucky,” Y/N whimpered when he brought his digits to his mouth for a taste. “Take off your shorts,” he rasped and she did, while Bucky also tugged his off.

Then he climbed on top of her, the blankets still over them, and slid home in one fluid motion. Both of them moaned at the sensation; it had been 8 months but Y/N felt like she was never going to get adjusted to his size. “Fuck, Y/N, my pretty baby,” Bucky groaned, leaning in to press his lips to her forehead. Somehow he simply stayed there; his hips rolled over hers lazily, both of them being tired in the middle of the night.

Even Y/N didn’t say anything; she felt like she was in heaven, and after one more orgasm, she’d definitely fall asleep in an instant. And that was exactly what happened; Bucky’s lips left her forehead and he buried his face in her shoulder, biting down to muffle his sounds of pleasure. “I’m so close, darling.” She hummed along. They let go at the same time; Bucky pulled out of her, stroking himself a couple times before spilling his release over her thigh.

Y/N’s legs shook as she came for a second time. Bucky then threw the blankets off of them, and got up to bring a towel to clean both him and Y/N up. But by the time he returned with the towel, Y/N had already fallen asleep, even snoring a bit. He laughed a little at that. Bucky sat next to her and gently cleaned her up, pulling down her t-shirt that had ridden up.

It was his tank top to begin with, that she’d stolen because it was “way more comfortable than any she owned” but he loved it when she stole his clothes, so he only pretended to be annoyed. Putting on his shorts again, Bucky lay next to her and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her bare shoulder. “Sweet dreams, doll.”

---

a/n: thanks for reading! leave a like if you enjoyed! also side note— sebastian stan looked amazing at the met gala lmao

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks. 

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers. 

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel. 

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying. 

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging. 

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob. 

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door. 

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him. 

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap. 

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer. 

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls. 

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out. 

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.” 

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen. 

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t. 

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease. 

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional. 

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago. 

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals. 

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters. 

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first. 

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

.

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications. 

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be. 

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit. 

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.” 

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only. 

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.” 

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is. 

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again. 

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete. 

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble. 

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can. 

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest. 

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs. 

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut. 

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky. 

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you. 

.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him. 

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.” 

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.” 

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist. 

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off. 

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance. 

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know. 

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.” 

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off. 

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway. 

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow. 

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron. 

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more. 

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room. 

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest. 

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out. 

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him. 

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.” 

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare. 

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you. 

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to. 

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after. 

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.” 

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?” 

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.” 

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it? 

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be. 

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…” 

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. “What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt? 

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?  

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again? 

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone. 

He glances at the clock. 

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away. 

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around. 

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.” 

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin. 

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you. 

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer. 

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth. 

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”  

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself. 

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.” 

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters. 

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying. 

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.” 

.

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them. 

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing. 

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another. 

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach. 

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break. 

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

.

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more. 

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out. 

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid. 

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat. 

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him. 

Click. Hiss. 

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed. 

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again. 

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory. 

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient. 

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours. 

He knows you’re exhausted. 

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator. 

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand. 

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds. 

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

[latetaektalk]

after i left you | jjk

“when you decided to meet up with taehyung for dinner to reconnect, you didn’t expect to see jungkook, your ex, on a date with his current girlfriend and not to mention, end up fake dating taehyung.”

genre: exes! AU, fake dating! AU, enemies to lovers-ish! AU, unrequited feelings-ish! AU, angst, fluff

pairing: jungkook x female reader 

word count: 38.985 

warnings: cursing, reader feels very guilty in this one, alcohol consumption (nothing major/bad though)

playlist: happier - ed sheeran, just asking - aquilo, my tears ricochet - taylor swift, one last time please - dodie

a/n: uh, super nervous to post this because ive never written so much before, but i had a ton of fun and i hope you guys enjoy it! if you guys have any problems reading, liking or reblogging it, please let me know! im not sure if tumblr can handle such a word count, so id appreciate it if you guys would tell me if something doesnt work and ill figure it out! anyway, hope you guys enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this!

The restaurant Taehyung picked was big but cozy. It was one huge room that stretched out further than your eyes could see. It was soaked in golden light, soaked in warmth and comfort. Everything was made out of wood, dark rich wood, and it smelled like home-cooked food. The smell wafted through the entire place. 

“‘Let’s all have dinner,’ they said, huh?” Taehyung said and looked around, no Yerim or Yoongi in sight. You laughed and shrugged.

“Yeah, sucks that they had to cancel last minute, but next time, we’ll be all together,” you said and skimmed the hard edges of the menu in your hands.

“Yeah, I know, but I thought we’d find the time once you returned,” Taehyung sighed and put down his menu with a frown.

“Definitely sucks,” you agreed and put down your menu as well. “But I’m happy that at least you and I could find the time.”

Taehyung and you smiled at each other and you could still barely believe it, could still barely believe that you were not only back in your hometown, but sitting in front of Taehyung and having dinner with him. It was all very surreal to you, and even though barely half an hour had passed since you had first seen Taehyung again in four years, things felt like they had never changed. There was no awkwardness, no long silences or weird tension between you. Both of you had simply picked up from where you left off. 

“Tell me, Y/N, how was America?” Taehyung asked and plopped his elbow onto the table before letting his chin fall into his open palm and tilting his head to the side. You mirrored him and let out a hum, the golden light pouring down both of your faces and bringing out the corners of your features.

Taehyung’s hair had grown out a lot since you had last seen him. In fact, it was permed now. And even though both of you had finished puberty by the time you had left, he seemed to have gotten a little taller. He had somehow grown into his face and turned into one gorgeous man with fluffy and luscious locks.

“Well, exhausting. I was always studying and pulling all-nighters, and it was so hard at times. The homesickness certainly didn’t make it any easier,” Taehyung smiled, “but it was- it was so worth it.”

“That’s great,” he said and you knew he meant it, knew he was genuinely happy for you. You beamed at him. “You really enjoyed it, didn’t you? America, I mean.”

“Yeah, it was- it was great, truly,” you said with a nod and remembered all of the memories you had made over the past four years. “It was really what I needed. Really the time of my life.”

Taehyung’s smile widened into a grin and you let your words sink in, sink in for him and for you as well. It was in the silence that you felt the guilt come back, hit you square in the face and leave you breathless.

You leaned back and grabbed the edge of the table. You lowered your head and Taehyung perked up, feeling the shift the moment it had happened.

“I’m sorry.”

Taehyung raised his brows at you and let his hand fall onto the table as he leaned forward, trying to see what you were apologising for.

“I- I feel bad,” you started up again and tucked a strand behind your ear. “It sounds like I didn’t enjoy being here and-”

“No, Y/N, don’t,” Taehyung reached over the table and grabbed your hand, taking it into his, “There’s no need to apologise. You worked your butt off to win that scholarship and fulfilled your dream. That’s great.”

“Yeah, but I abandoned you guys,” you mumbled and shrugged. You pulled away your hand, but Taehyung was quick to tighten his grasp, quick to put his other hand over yours and squeeze your hand. 

“Stop saying that, Y/N,” Taehyung shook his head at you, eyes drilling holes into your head as you continued to stare down at your lap, “You didn’t ‘abandon’ us. That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Taehyung pulled on your hand and waited for you to raise your head, and when you did and met his gaze, he offered you an even bigger grin than before.

“You don’t have to feel bad for going to America to go study,” he said and tilted his head to the side, bangs tickling his eyes. “We were and still are genuinely happy for you.”

“He wasn't.”

Taehyung’s hands tightened around yours at your words, and he pressed his lips into a thin line, giving you a look that had you shifting in your seat and shrugging in defense.

He hadn’t been happy for you at all when you had told him you had won a scholarship to go study in America. You had expected hugs and cheers, but received cold stares and bitter words instead. When the summer had neared its end and you had to leave, he hadn’t been there. Taehyung, Yerim and Yoongi had all hugged and kissed you goodbye, had wished you the best, but he, the person you had wanted to be with you right now the most, had been by your side.

You were eighteen, barely an adult, when you had boarded the plane to America without him kissing your forehead and wishing you the best, and you never forgot that, forgot just how unhappy and miserable you had made him.

“He wasn’t,” you repeated like it excused your words in any way. Taehyung opened his mouth to launch into a speech, a speech you already knew by heart without having heard it a single time. 

“Y/N-”

“This place,” you started and pulled your hand away, gesturing around you. “It’s nice.”

Taehyung blinked at you, obviously contemplating whether or not to allow you to change the subject like that, and you were more than glad when he leaned back into his chair and nodded.

“Yeah, it opened recently,” he said with a smile and you smiled right back at him. Both of you shared a look for a moment and after many years of friendship, there was no need for words, no need for you to thank him for letting you off the hook like that.

“It’s so nice,” you repeated and you barely heard Taehyung’s laugh as you let your gaze wander, taking it all in.

Seemingly every table was filled, and everybody was in their own world. You could hear laughter and shrieks in between the conversations, and a smile stretched across your face. Your eyes softened at the sight of loving couples and you ignored the pulling in your chest, ignored the yearning for what they had sitting deep within you.

“I really like it here,” you said and Taehyung stuck out his chest a little. A smirk was painted on his lips and pride was glimmering in his eyes. You chuckled a little and let yourself sink into the chair before your gaze travelled through the room once more.

The restaurant seemed to be frequented by a lot of couples, and you understood why. This place reminded you of the restaurants Jungkook would take you to from time and time again to show you how much he appreciated you, one of those restaurants he had taken you to when he had confessed to you and told you he loved you for the first time.

“This is totally a place for him.”

You said it without meaning to, said it without thinking, and when your eyes locked with Taehyung’s, you both shared a knowing gaze. Panic wanted to flush through your chest—because was Taehyung going to circle back to your previous words?—but then, he smiled at you and nodded.

“Yeah, totally is. It’s his favourite restaurant actually,” Taehyung said and you weren’t surprised. “He dragged all of us out here on opening day.”

“Opening day?”

“Yeah, can you imagine this place on opening day? This place had been hyped up months before its opening. So, it was fucking insane when we got here. He almost got into two fistfights that day,” Taehyung laughed and sighed at the memory.

“The hostess couldn't find his reservation and he insisted that he had made one like months ago. Yeri literally had to talk him down. And when we finally got to our table, he almost fought Yoongs because he said he didn’t like it here,” Taehyung told you and shook his head with a grin plastered on his lips. “Can you believe?”

“Honestly?” You raised your brows and you didn’t answer your question because Taehyung and you exploded into more laughter. “Shit, he hasn’t changed at all, has he?” 

“He is dumber now,” Taehyung smiled and scrunched up his nose. “Definitely still an idiot.”

You nodded and this time when you both fell silent, there was no guilt building up inside of you, no coming back to the surface. 

“How is he?” you asked and Taehyung puckered his forehead. He tapped the table with his one hand while he ran his other one through his fluffy locks.

“He’s,” Taehyung hesitated and your heart stopped in your chest, but then you saw the smile pulling on the corners of his lips, “good.” Taehyung paused a moment before nodding. “He’s good. Recently finished up his studies and started his first job. He’s enjoying it.”

You smiled.

“That’s great. I’m happy for him.”

You meant it, meant it because he had deserved so much more, deserved better. When you had last seen him, he and you had been wrecks, crying and sobbing and angry messes, and it was great to hear that he wasn’t anymore, great to hear that he was doing better now. 

“Is he, you know, uh seeing-” you trailed off as the rest of the question got stuck between your teeth like chewing gum, but Taehyung knew what you wanted to ask. He gave you a look, a look you weren’t sure how to interpret. There seemed to be pity and almost sorry in his eyes.

“Yeah, he is.”

You expected that answer, expected it because someone as amazing and great and funny as he was more than desirable but it still hurt to hear. You couldn’t stop your chest from tightening and your heart from sinking a little deeper inside you, shrinking in itself. You wanted to tell yourself to stop, wanted to tell your heart to not be like that because you had no right to feel like that, had no right when you had been the one leaving him. 

He had every right to move on, had every right to forget about you and be happy with someone else. But your heart simply couldn’t help itself from clenching in your chest like you were the one that had been left behind and not him.

“Wait, where are you?”

Taehyung and you snapped your head around when the girl next to you suddenly spoke up, thinking both that she was talking to you. Neither of you had taken notice of her before or looked at her when the hostess had led you two to your table. Until now, she had been typing away on her phone, waiting in silence, but right now, she had her phone pressed against her ear, definitely talking a little too loudly.

“What do you mean you can’t find parking? There’s a huge parking lot right next to the restaurant.”

Taehyung and you locked eyes when it clicked with both of you that she was not talking to you two. You shared knowing looks, remembering the same thing.

“He never found parking either,” Taehyung mumbled and both of you leaned closer to one another, not wanting for the girl to hear that you had eavesdropped on her conversation. Smiles played on your lips and you snickered. 

You recalled the many times you had sat in his car and cursed at him for running another red light because you were late, again, because of him, recalled the many times you would sit in a restaurant on your own or in the mall, waiting for him with your phone pressed to your ear as he assured you over and over again that he had planned in time for traffic, but that it was just worse than ever before.

“And he always had his excuses,” you snorted and shook your head. “‘There was a fire, so I had to turn around and take this huge detour.’ I think there was a fire somewhere every other week.”

Taehyung laughed and grinned at you. “Oh, but I think ‘Someone dropped a bunch of mirrors on the road and when I tried to turn around, I couldn’t because there were a bunch of cars, so I had to wait until they cleaned up the road.’ is still my favourite.”

“Ugh, he’s such a drama queen, I swear,” you groaned and leaned back into your chair. 

“I have no idea how you dated him for most of high school. Like he’s so exhausting sometimes,” Taehyung mumbled and shook his head.

“Oh, you spent just as much time as I did with him,” you said with a roll of your eyes and Taehyung wiggled his finger at you.

“I didn’t date him though. There’s a difference,” he argued and you dismissed his words with a quick shake of your head before crossing your arms in front of your chest at a certain memory.

“Does he still insist on having his cucumbers diced and not sliced because sliced cucumbers don’t taste as good?” 

“Please, don’t remind me. Every time I think about that I want to stop being friends-”

“Wait, where are- oh, I can see you already,” the girl next to you said into her phone and Taehyung and you froze at her interruption. Both of you looked at each other and before either of you could get back to your conversation, you were interrupted once more.

“I’m so sorry, but I swear the traffic was just out of this world today.”

Your eyes grew wide at his voice and your heart plummeted into your stomach when you heard his voice. You recognised it immediately, would have recognised it even if you had been deaf. You could never not recognise it, could never forget his voice. Your heart thumped in your chest, thumped painfully, as you turned your head and your eyes landed on him and his eyes landed on you.

His lips parted the slightest bit as he looked at you, frozen, and he gripped the back of the chair as his brows furrowed together at your sight.

“Y/N?”

Your name slipped off his tongue and confusion etched onto his face. Hearing him say your name sent your heart into a frenzy, had the panic bulldoze you away and your brain short circuit. The world went silent, the conversations all around you faded away and left you in silence with him. Time seemed to stand still as he and you looked at each other, desperately trying to process what was happening right now.

“Jungkook.”

His name felt dry and heavy on your tongue, felt like cement, felt like something you had been wanting to say forever now, but had avoided saying because you knew you had lost the right to say it and therefore had never said it again, until now. Until now when he was standing wide-eyed in front of you.

“Wait, what’s happening right now?” 

The question barely registered with you as you continued to stare at Jungkook, continued to stare at the boy that had once meant the world to you, continued to stare at the boy that you once had the right to calling him your boyfriend, continued to stare at the boy that still had your heart in such a tight grip that he managed to send it into a frenzy and have panic pumping through your veins merely with his sight.

Jungkook had changed. Now, he was taller and stood out in this crowded restaurant, towered over every other guest. Jungkook demanded attention from everyone, from you, and you were willing to give it to him because how could you not?

His hair had grown out, was longer now than you had ever seen it before and you wanted to comment on his tattoos when you saw them, juxtaposing his golden and warm skin. From the day you had met Jungkook, he had been talking about all of the tattoos he had wanted to get once he was old enough, and you almost couldn’t believe that he had actually finally gotten some. You wondered if he had to go behind the back of his parents or if they gave him their approval since he was an adult now.

“Uhm, babe?”

It was the word ‘babe’ that had you snapping out of it, that had the world start turning again and the time unfreezing, conversations returning to their original volume. It was the word ‘babe’ that had your eyes tearing away from Jungkook and to the girl sitting next to you instead. Her brows were raised and her gaze was drilling into Jungkook’s as he slowly pulled himself together too.

For the first time, you actually looked at the girl, actually gave her some of your attention. Until now, she had just been the girl sitting at the table next to you, been the girl typing away on her phone, been the girl having a conversation a little too loudly, but now, she was the girl who had waited for Jungkook, was the girl who had called Jungkook ‘babe’.

Now, she was the girl who was seemingly Jungkook’s girlfriend.

Jungkook sank down in his chair, but the confusion never left his face. His eyes stayed on you before his gaze wandered to his left, meeting Taehyung’s. When he locked eyes with him, Jungkook’s whole face dropped once more, eyes growing bigger and wider than they were before.

“Taehyung?” Jungkook almost yelled and drew the attention of some people around you, but none of you could muster up the energy to give them an apologetic smile. 

“Hi, Kook,” Taehyung managed to cough out and filled the awkwardness and silence with it. Jungkook crashed against the back of his chair with a thud as he gazed into nothing, brain desperately trying to process this.

Taehyung and you exchanged glances, both of you not knowing what to do or to say. This wasn’t what either of you had prepared for. Both of you had only signed up to have a nice dinner and catch up while tiptoeing around the topic of Jungkook and you. You knew you were going to see him again because he was still friends with Taehyung, Yerim and Yoongi and so were you, but you just hadn’t thought that you were going to see him today.

“Okay, uhm, babe, could you please explain to me what’s going on right now?” 

For the first time since he had arrived, Jungkook looked at the girl who was most definitely his girlfriend. His eyes were still wide when they met hers and there was a strained smile on her lips as she drilled her gaze into him, demanding some sort of answer from him, but he couldn’t deliver. He opened his mouth, but his throat felt scratchy and dry and so, he could only stare into nothing again.

“I- I need some water,” Jungkook managed to blurt out, reaching across the table to grab her glass of water and gulping it down like he hadn’t drunk something in years. He devoured it in seconds and stared at it with big eyes, mentally cursing at it for not holding more water for him to gulp down. 

Jungkook put down the glass, but he didn’t let go of it and instead held it, tightening his grip around it until his knuckles turned white.

“Okay, uh,” Jungkook started and massaged his temple as he screwed his eyes shut, fighting off the headache that made him think his skull was going to split open. 

“Uh, so,” Jungkook sighed and puckered his forehead before peeling his eyes open and gesturing towards Taehyung. “This is, uh, Taehyung. I- I’ve told you about him, babe, right?”

“Yeah, oh,” the girl next to you perked up and turned her gaze to Taehyung, offering him a genuine albeit tense smile. You couldn’t blame her, this was still very awkward.

“Yes, Taehyung. Hi! I’ve heard so much about you. I’ve been dying to meet you.” Taehyung forced a smile on his lips and it looked genuine, but having known him for so long, you could spot the difference right away. 

“I’m Heejin.”

Heejin.

A pretty name for an even prettier girl. It suited her, suited her to have such a beautiful sounding name. Of course, she did and you almost scoffed, scoffed because your name paled in comparison to hers. Hers had a pleasant ring to it, but yours just sounded off and wrong now. 

“Heejin, yeah, I’ve heard of you too.” Taehyung nodded and extended his hand. She took it and they both shook hands for a moment before she turned to you, her smile still tense, but the genuineness shimmered through.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I know-” Heejin trailed off and looked over to Jungkook for help, but he had his eyes locked with yours. And with that simple look, you knew.

He hadn’t told Heejin about you.

And judging from the way he was slightly shaking his head, he wasn’t planning on doing so just now. Taehyung and you understood immediately, but it had another dose of panic rushing through both of you.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered and extended your hand to Heejin like Taehyung had because this was the polite thing to do, the right thing to do, and for once in your life, you had to do the right thing regarding Jungkook.

“Hi, Y/N. Heejin,” she smiled, taking your hand into her perfectly soft one, and you made sure to smile at her too as you shook her hand. You smiled at her as much as one could smile at your ex’s current girlfriend. “It’s nice to meet you.”

No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t nice to meet Heejin, wasn’t nice at all. You wanted to shout it into her face, tell her you already hated her for simply existing and taking your place in Jungkook’s life and heart, but you swallowed all of the bitter and petty words, swallowed your anger aimed at her that was truly only anger at yourself, and nodded.

“Yeah, really nice to meet you, Heejin,” you said and let go of her hand, eyes turning to Taehyung instinctively. He offered you a smile, a smile that had your heart calming down a little, but then your eyes wandered to Jungkook and it sped up again. He sat up straighter and cleared his throat.

“Heejin, here- she’s, uh-” Jungkook stammered and the rest of his sentence refused to come out, leaving him with his mouth open and staring back at you.

“I’m his girlfriend,” Heejin finished with a smile and Jungkook and you locked eyes. It almost looked like he wanted to correct her with the way he sat up, with the way his back straightened out, but he didn’t. He didn’t correct Heejin because there was nothing to correct. And you knew that.

“Yeah, exactly, right,” Jungkook confirmed with a quiet voice and a nod. You tore your gaze away and looked around, looked around the room and stared at anything as long as it meant that you didn’t have to look at him, see him sitting across the girl who was his girlfriend.

You couldn’t bear the sight, couldn’t bear it to see Jungkook here with his girlfriend. You weren’t prepared for this, but you didn’t think that anything could have prepared you for this, for this bitter reality anyway.

“And, so, how do you all-” Heejin didn’t finish her sentence and gestured between all three of you instead. You shared a glance with Taehyung, asking him to say something because you couldn’t right now, couldn’t bring yourself to explain how you all knew each other.

“Uh, well, we all went to high school together. We were all friends back then,” Taehyung said and shifted in his chair to cover up the pitchiness of his voice. Heejin nodded at his words and looked between you all three once more before gesturing at all three of you again.

“Oh, okay, but why was Kook so shocked-”

“Well, it’s been a while since Kook and Y/N have seen each other, right?” Taehyung smiled and you could see the trembling corners of his lips. You nodded in confirmation because Jungkook was still somewhat stuck processing all of this.

“How come?”

“Well, I, uh,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “I moved away for college.”

You did. It wasn’t a lie, but it was also not the whole truth either because you moved to America and not to some neighbouring city that was half an hour away. Jungkook raised his brows at you and pursed his lips together, but you refused to look back at him, focusing instead on keeping the smile on your face for Heejin.

“Yeah, it was surprising for Kook to see Y/N, huh?” Taehyung asked and put his hand on his shoulder, and Jungkook looked at him before humming in confirmation and forcing a smile onto his lips.

“Surprising, for sure. Shocking, too.”

You folded your arms in front of your stomach and bit on your lip, trying to ignore the thudding of your heart ringing in your ears.

“Oh, so, this is like you guys reconnecting again?” Heejin asked and you begged her to stop asking any more questions, to stop trying to understand this because, fuck, this was only going to end badly. The truth was ugly and terrible and you didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to look it into the eye, couldn’t face it and look at it, at least not yet.

As much as you wanted to open your mouth and swiftly change the topic, the words were stuck to your tongue like gum stuck to the sole of a shoe. It was helpless.

“Wait, but why wasn’t Kook invited-”

“Well, actually, this isn’t us reconnecting again,” Taehyung interrupted and you turned your head to him. He placed his hand on the table and beckoned for yours, and too confused to use your own brain, you just put your hands into Taehyung’s. Bad decision as it turns out.

“This is actually a date.”

You almost pulled away your hand, but Taehyung was quick to hold onto it and tighten his grasp. Your heart was now beating out of your chest and you were sure everybody could hear it, were sure it was louder than the whole room.

“Y/N and I are dating.”

This time, you didn’t try to pull away your hand. This time, you actually did the opposite and tightened it. In fact, you tightened it so much that your knuckles turned white and Taehyung had to hold his breath to stop the groan from slipping.

“Right, yeah, boy and girlfriend. Super duper in love,” you croaked out with a tight smile before lowering your gaze. What else could you say? 

Jungkook drilled his eyes into your face. You could feel the holes he was staring into you right now, but you refused to look at him, refused to spare him a glance and possibly see his reaction to the revelation that Taehyung and you were supposedly dating. 

Even if it was a lie, an obvious lie, a lie that only needed to be told because Jungkook hadn’t told Heejin about you yet, it still knocked the breath out of Jungkook and had him bending over, still had his face etching into something else, into something unreadable.

“Wait, oh my God,” Heejin squeaked and her hand found her mouth as it split apart into a grin, covering it as her eyes flickered between Taehyung and you. “This is a date? Then-” 

Heejin turned to Jungkook with the most excited smile on her lips before whipping her head back to Taehyung and you.

“This is totally a double date then!”

The shock didn’t wear off for another five seconds, but when it did, you offered Heejin the most convincing smile you could muster up. Taehyung put his hand on yours when you tightened it around his other one a little too much, but you didn’t let go.

There was no way out, no revealing this was all a lie anymore and he was to blame. He was the one that had started it and dragged you along.

“I guess,” you said through a tight smile.

The scruffing and scraping of Jungkook’s chair against the hardwood floor when he got up rang loud, painfully loud in your ears and you cringed. He held up the glass of water and only looked at Heejin, but somehow you knew his words were meant to shoot through your heart.

“I’m gonna get you some water, babe.”

There was just something about the summer evening air that always managed to relax you, managed to calm you down and ground you again. 

The warm breeze blew through your hair and filled your lungs with much-needed oxygen, oxygen you had been craving for since you had first seen Jungkook again. He had taken your breath away, stolen it and left you dealing with the agony and pain with finding it again as you desperately tried not to suffocate.

The last hour had flown by you, had passed you in a blur. As much as you tried to, you couldn’t recall what you had talked about, couldn’t even recall what you had ordered and what your dish had tasted like. Everything was so hazy. The only thing you knew for sure was that it had taken Jungkook far too long to fill up a glass of water and that when he had finally returned, there was a glass of water in his one hand and a glass of whiskey in his other one.

At one point, you had gotten up with an excuse of needing to make a call and before anyone could protest, you had fled out of the restaurant. You did contemplate taking a cab and going home, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to unlock your phone—not to mention, leave without a word.

Going inside was just as difficult though, so you stayed outside, and simply let the view dawn on you. Because a restaurant like this, of course, had to be located on a small hill that overlooked the city, had to have the most gorgeous view.

Your hometown wasn’t magical, wasn’t pretty at all, but with the sun slowly dipping below the horizon, the warm sunshine turned the cracked streets into golden rivers and the lines and lines of cars waiting at the red lights into boats. The street lamps decorating the cracked streets resembled fireflies, buzzing and bright.

For a moment, you forgot, forgot about the world around you, forgot about the tension poisoning the air inside the restaurant and making every breath more and more unbearable and deadly, forgot about the web of lies you were slowly sinking into, forgot about the aching of your heart every time you looked at Jungkook.

For a moment, you forgot that Jungkook and you weren’t dating anymore.

“You’re dating Tae now?”

You jerked around at the question, eyes finding him instinctively. Your breath hitched in your throat and you opened your mouth to answer, but no sound would escape you.

Jungkook stood there, a few metres away from you, with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted to the side, and, God, was he just gorgeous, so breathtakingly gorgeous, beautiful, pretty.

Even though his tone was light and almost playful, his face was hard. Jungkook looked at you for another moment before his gaze wandered to the view in front of him. His eyes were cold, cold enough to turn the golden rivers into ice, cold enough to freeze the boats, cold enough to kill the fireflies.

“You know I’m not. He just panicked. Tae’s always been a shit liar,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the situation and cut down on some of the tension, unfreeze the world, but you fell short and failed miserably. Jungkook let a smile pull on the corners of his lips, but it was gone within a second.

You were frozen when he started closing the distance between you two. When he finally stopped next to you, there was a noticeable gap between you, a gap big enough to have your heart wrenching and twisting in your chest. 

Fuck, this was what Jungkook and you had become, huh? Two people that couldn’t even stand close enough to each other without that awkward and horrible gap between you.

There used to be a time when there was no gap, no space, used to be a time when you were always in each other’s arms, used to be a time when the air wasn’t cold and the world frozen. But there also used to be a time where you two could only smile and grin at the other, used to be a time where there were no hardened faces and cold gazes.

There used to be a time that was just Jungkook and you together.

“Yeah, that’s a fucking mess,” Jungkook laughed humorlessly and you didn’t join him, didn’t try to. “How are we gonna fix that?”

“I don’t think we need to,” you said with a frown and turned to him for a moment, but he didn’t reciprocate your gaze. You got the message and turned to face the city again, looking out like you hadn’t been doing that for the past minutes.

“I doubt we’re gonna see each other again, right? I mean-” you trailed off and shrugged, rocking on the balls of your feet as you struggled to finish your sentence.

“I mean, I would like to if that was okay and fine with you, if you’re ready for that, but I understand if you’re not.”

Jungkook turned to you, blinking at you for a second before ultimately turning away and looking out again.

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” he chuckled dryly and you thought you could even hear a scoff. “Are you going back? Leaving to continue your adventure? Is this just a pit stop before you’re off to continue your adventure?”

The words stung, cut into you and your heart clenched at them. A cold breeze blew through you, gutted you, and you were left shivering and with goosebumps covering your entire body. Your throat knotted into a mess, and you wanted to look at Jungkook, see his expression, but you trained your gaze on your frozen hometown, trained your gaze on it like it didn’t shatter your heart to see it like that.

Jungkook had every right, every right to be bitter and cold, but it didn’t mean it hurt you any less for him to treat you like that, treat you like you hadn’t been each other’s worlds at one point of your life.

“No.” You shook your head, desperately trying to rid your voice of its trembling. “I- I’m staying.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything, didn’t respond, didn’t even react in the slightest way. You thought maybe he hadn’t heard you, but when you dared to peek at him, you saw the way the lines of his face had deepened. He had heard you, loud and clear.

You both drowned in the silence, sank into it, deeper and deeper with each second, and you crossed your arms in front of your chest, tightening with each passing moment.

“Did you stay in touch with the others? Yoongs? Yeri?” 

You shifted on your feet and tucked a strand behind your ear. “No- I mean, we tried, but after like a year or two, we slowly lost contact with each other. We did check on each other every couple months and texted every now and then, but we- we did definitely drift apart.”

“I guess then they were meant to come too, right? Tonight?” 

“Yeah, they were, but they had to drop out last minute. We, uh, always said we were gonna have dinner once I returned,” you mumbled and Jungkook hummed at that, nodding a little. Both of you stayed silent for a while, and even though you wanted to say something, cut into the silence because it allowed you to think and right now, you didn’t want to think, you couldn’t come up with anything to say.

“How long have you been back?”

Your gaze wandered to your feet and you kicked the dirt a little, digging into it with the tip of your shoe.

“Uh, I got back a little over a week ago,” you whispered into the air and tightened your arms around your chest. Jungkook nodded, but he didn’t look at you.

“Why are you back?” Jungkook asked and when you struggled to answer his question, he scoffed. Your silence was telling, said more than you ever could. 

“You came back for a job, didn’t you?”

You didn’t reply, didn’t tell him you hadn’t come back just for a job, but because you had missed home, had missed your family, had missed Taehyung, Yerim, Yoongi and more importantly, had terribly missed him. You had missed everything and everyone here so much you couldn’t even put it into words, but you said none of that, didn’t correct Jungkook.

The wind blew through your hair and the once warm breeze that had filled your lungs with the oxygen you so desperately needed filled your lungs now with sharp and piercing icicles this time. You hugged yourself more, tighter. You tried to warm yourself up, but no amount of hugging yourself was enough to melt the ice in your lungs.

“What are you, uh, doing out here?” you asked and turned a little to Jungkook, eyeing him with a raised brow, but he didn’t reciprocate your gaze this time either.

“Heejin’s cold,” Jungkook answered after a beat of silence, brows knitting together as he kept his focus in front of him. “I’ve got a jacket in my car.”

You hummed and a small smile made its way onto your lips. You totally got it. You were cold too, freezing, in fact, but there was no jacket for you, no Jungkook running out for you to get it and warm you up.

“You still got a whole closet in the back of your car, don’t you?” you asked with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood, but when you turned to Jungkook, your smile fell off.

Instead of flushing red in embarrassment or laughing because of how well you still knew him after all these years, Jungkook stared into your eyes, harsh lines etched onto his face. It wasn’t the kind of stare that had your heart thumping and your throat constricting and kaleidoscopes of butterflies in your stomach flying. No, it was a piercing kind of stare, the kind that had your breath hitching in your throat in the worst way possible and your heart sinking into your stomach.

“Don’t.”

The message was loud and clear, delivered with one simple word, but it was enough, enough for it to click in your mind. You didn’t try to catch your heart as it sank deeper and deeper inside you, as it sank down to the ground and came closer and closer to shattering into tiny little pieces that would take you ages to glue together again.

You opened your mouth to say something, but your tongue was a mess in it and the words sat deep in your stomach. It took you two more tries, two more times of you opening and closing your mouth for you to finally unknot your tongue and drag the words to the surface.

“You haven’t forgiven me, have you?”

You worded it like a question, but you knew the answer. It was written all across Jungkook’s face, surrounding him the moment you and he had locked eyes, spilling from his mouth every time he opened it.

Jungkook’s lips tightened into a hard line and his jaw locked up as he eyed you before ripping his gaze away to stare off into the sky and scoff quietly into the air. His hands balled up into fists at his side and his Adam’s apple bopped up and down as he desperately tried to keep his composure. 

You had seen all of this before, had watched him try and fail not to punch the air and let his anger out. Jungkook had done the exact same thing, had made the same face after you had told him you were going to America.

You expected him to blow up in your face, to explode, to burst at all of his seams and rip apart and scream, yell, curse at you because that was what he had done, what he had done the last time, but to your surprise, Jungkook didn’t, didn’t do any of the things you had expected him to.

“Fours years,” Jungkook scoffed, holding up four fingers like you didn’t know just how much four was. “We dated for almost four fucking years.”

You bit on your tongue, heart tumbling and rumbling in your chest like it was about to burst out and fall to her knees and beg for Jungkook’s forgiveness.

“And you left,” Jungkook continued, anger dripping from his words, but his voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Just like that.” 

He snapped his finger and you cringed at the sound. It rang in your ears, pierced through your eardrums.

“Remember our promise?” Jungkook asked you and you could hear his voice wavering and shaking. “Remember our promise of forever?”

You wanted to tell him that you did, that, of course, you fucking remembered your promise of forever. It had haunted you, kept you awake every night, eaten you up and chewed you out every morning and kicked you to the floor every time it slipped your mind the tiniest bit.

“You know how people say that you always learn something from a relationship?” Jungkook asked you and you wanted to beg him not to, not to continue. You couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle this much longer and you weren’t sure just how long you could keep it together.

“The only thing you taught me was that people are selfish.”

You were sure that you were drawing blood from your tongue now, were sure that your heart was on her knees now and begging, begging for Jungkook to just please forgive her. You thought that was it, thought he was going to scoff at you and walk away, but Jungkook wasn’t quite done.

“I really do hope that you’re right and we won’t see each other again after this.”

If you thought that Jungkook’s eyes were cold before, they were icy and freezing now. They were icy and freezing enough to bring in the new ice age, icy and freezing enough to stop time. Your lungs were shredded by the icicles, ripped apart by them like they were paper, and your heart shattered on the frozen ground, turning into dust before ultimately being dragged away by the wind and into Jungkook’s hands. And he crushed it, crushed the tiny pieces of your heart into powder.

There was no repairing anymore, no glueing the pieces together because there was nothing to repair or glue together or fix in any way or form.

Jungkook didn’t say another word, didn’t spare you a single glance when he turned on his heel and walked away, walked away with your pulverised heart on the ground and your world cold and frozen. The golden rivers didn’t burst through the ice, the boats didn’t unfreeze and start sailing again, the fireflies didn’t come back to life.

It stayed, lingered.

Your world took its time to come back, and you watched it, watched it slowly resemble what it once had been before Jungkook. When you looked at it, however, it wasn’t quite the same. The golden rivers weren’t rivers, but only weak streams, and the boats had shrunk into simple rafts. The fireflies were only humming now, barely illuminating their surroundings.

And this time, when you looked down, you didn’t forget, didn’t forget about the world around you, didn’t forget about the aching of your heart every time you looked at Jungkook.

This time, you didn’t forget that Jungkook and you weren’t dating anymore.

This time, you almost suffocated.

By the time you had reached your table, you slumped into your chair, falling into it with wobbly knees, defeated and panting. Taehyung and Heejin were too wrapped up in a conversation to really take notice and Jungkook, well, Jungkook did the thing he had grown to excel this evening, staring into nothing.

There was a jacket around Heejin’s shoulders, hugging her form and it took you one single glance to know. One glance was enough to prompt you to reach for your glass of wine and down it. The wine burned your tongue and your throat on its way down, and it was what you needed.

Because the jacket wasn’t just any jacket. It was the jacket you had bought for Jungkook with the money you had gotten for your 17th birthday, was the jacket he had called his favourite, was the jacket you had worn as much as he had, was the jacket both of you had used as a blanket when you had held a film marathon the day before school started again, was the jacket you had worn when you had told him you were going and he had demanded back from you.

And now, Heejin was wearing that jacket.

“You okay, sweetie?” 

You looked up and stared straight into Taehyung’s face. His brows were raised and you could feel Heejin’s eyes on you too. And you almost frowned at him and questioned the ‘sweetie’, but then it hit you again. You were dating Taehyung.

“Yeah, uh, I just had a shitty phone call,” you dismissed quickly with a wave of your hand, realising that you definitely shouldn’t have one-shotted your wine like that. “It’s fine. I’m just a little tired from talking.”

Heejin nodded at your words and seemed happy with the answer, but Taehyung’s eyes stayed on you for a few more seconds. He could read between the lines, could piece together what had happened outside.

“What were you talking about?” you asked, gaze finding Heejin because looking at her was easier than looking at Taehyung. 

“Oh,” Heejin placed her hands on your armrest and a frown settled on her face, “we were talking about films. Did you know that Taehyung has never watched ‘Titanic’ before?”

Your eyes wandered to Taehyung who had put on a smile and was shaking his head at Heejin’s words, but you could see that he wanted to question you, ask you what had happened outside.

“You haven’t?” you asked, trying to change the subject from you to him.

“The only film I haven’t watched yet.”

“Can you believe?” Heejin said it like it was a big deal and to her, it seemed to be. Her mouth was slightly agape and her eyes were blown out as she looked at you, obviously expecting for you to react the same way, thinking you were going to be as appalled as she was by the fact that Taehyung had yet to watch ‘Titanic’.

Maybe if you were in a better mood or maybe if Jungkook wasn’t sitting literally an arm’s reach from you or maybe if Heejin wasn’t his current girlfriend right now, you would play along, act appalled and criticise Taehyung for never having watched ‘Titanic’, call him a film illiterate even though you haven’t watched it yourself yet.

“I mean, I’ve also never-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Y/N,” Heejin cut in and while everything was in good fun, you couldn’t help but feel miffed and weirded out by her words. You two didn’t know each other and acting like you did was, well, weird to say the least.

But Heejin didn’t pick up on your tightening smile and slight raise of your brows, too busy acting appalled to notice any of that.

“Okay, that’s it. It’s decided.” Heejin clapped into her hands and looked at Jungkook to grab his attention. “I’m hosting a film night at my place next week. I can’t walk this Earth knowing that you two have never seen the masterpiece that is ‘Titanic’. It’s a must, a cult classic.”

Your eyes locked with Taehyung’s first and he had the same panicked look on his face before he turned to Jungkook, but you avoided his general direction, not wanting to look at him.

“Wait, no, babe, you can’t just host a film night,” Jungkook jumped to argue with Heejin and you swallowed.

“I really do hope you’re right and we won’t see each other again after this.”

“Why not?” Heejin asked with a tilt of her head and blinked at Jungkook as he stammered for a reason.

“Because- you just can’t. That’s not how this works.” A deep line formed between Jungkook’s brows and Heejin as she frowned at his unconvincing argument.

“What do you mean it’s not how this works? If you wanna host a film night, you ask people if they are down for it and host it. I just did that.”

Taehyung and you looked at each other, both deciding to stay silent. Not only was this the most that Jungkook had contributed to this ‘double date’ so far (without counting your conversation you had had with him outside, of course), but it didn’t seem like either of your places to chime in.

“No, babe, you announced you were going to have a film night and essentially demanded them to be there,” Jungkook said and Taehyung and you shared another glance. Heejin furrowed her brows and a pout formed on her lips. She wasn’t taking this nearly as serious as Jungkook was, but it seemed to dawn on her that he was.

“I don’t see where the problem is, babe. I thought you guys were all friends. Isn’t a film night a great way to reconnect then?”

Jungkook opened his mouth to argue against her, but he couldn’t come up with something to say. He wanted to tell Heejin that reconnecting with you was at the bottom of his list of things he wanted to do right now, wanted to tell her that you weren’t just an old friend of his, but his first love, the girl who had meant the world to him for years, the girl who had taken his heart and kept it before deciding it and he simply weren’t enough and shattering his heart, breaking it into dust and leaving him having to pick up the pieces again. 

You were the girl who had haunted him every hour of the day ever since you had left.

“Isn’t it great that we found a couple that’s cool and our age? We can do so much stuff together. Also, Taehyung did say you were all friends once, right? And Taehyung here is still your friend. I really don’t see the problem here. Am I missing something?”

And again, Jungkook was left processing Heejin’s words, prompting Taehyung to jump in.

“Yeah, no, we were friends and, yeah, Kook and I still are friends.” A nervous smile played on his lips as Taehyung shot you a glance, a glance you could barely meet. There was a moment where Heejin was just waiting for any of you to say something, a moment where neither Jungkook nor you met his gaze. It was at that moment that Taehyung made the decision.

“Next week you said?”

By the time you finally step out of the restaurant, the sun had made its way back home and fallen asleep, leaving the golden stream and rafts and fireflies to the moon. 

“Y/N!” You turned around at the call of your name and watched Heejin jogging towards you, hands reaching for your wrists. “Next week, right? Promise me. Next week.”

She smiled right into your face, smiled one of those genuine and big and beautiful smiles, one of those smiles that could charm anybody, and that included you.

“Yeah, next week,” you said and nodded. Heejin’s hands squeezed your wrists and her lips split apart into a grin. With a quick turn of her heel, she was facing Jungkook, who had come to a stop behind her with Taehyung to his left.

“Oh, it’s gonna be great,” she cheered and took hold of Jungkook’s hands now, squeezing as she jumped around him. The displeased look, which had etched onto his face when Heejin had declared this to be a double date and deepened when Taehyung agreed to the film night, slipped away. 

Jungkook couldn’t resist her, couldn’t resist Heejin and for the first time in four years, you saw a smile spread across his lips.

Fuck.

“This was great,” Taehyung cut in before Jungkook could lean in for a quick kiss because he always did, always leaned in for a quick kiss whenever his heart pounded a little too much in his chest, and it definitely did, definitely did pound a little too much just now.

Jungkook and Heejin looked at Taehyung and once again, you froze up when he took your hand into his. The fact that you two were dating slipped your mind again and again throughout the night.

“Yeah, definitely was,” Heejin agreed and interlaced her fingers with Jungkook’s, but unlike with Taehyung and you, it was normal for them to hold hands, second nature. “Right?”

She nudged Jungkook with her elbow and he looked at Heejin, looked at her like he wanted to disagree. Maybe it was because it was rude to disagree and say that one hated the night or maybe it was because Jungkook’s heart melted in his chest seeing Heejin looking at him like that, but a second smile found its way onto Jungkook’s lips.

“Sure was.”

Jungkook said it looking at Heejin, gazing into her sparkling eyes, and you wanted to look away, but you couldn’t, couldn’t because they were like a car accident, but the most beautiful and at the same time, ugliest and most painful car accident this world had ever seen. 

Heejin and Jungkook were in love, in love with each other.

“Right, definitely,” Taehyung cut in, breaking up Heejin and Jungkook as he drew everybody’s attention to him. You squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“We’ll text, yeah?” Taehyung continued and Heejin nodded at his words, beaming as she let go of Jungkook’s hand. You wanted to grab her by her shoulders and tell her not to, not to ever let Jungkook go, but then you realised that she wasn’t actually letting go of him, wasn’t letting go of him the way you had let go of him.

Heejin stretched out her arms and wrapped Taehyung into a hug, a hug he reciprocated without letting go of your hand, which led to you kind of hugging Heejin too. 

“Goodbye, Tae. It was so nice to have met you,” she said into his ear before turning to you and wrapping you into her arms. “So, so nice to have met you, too, Y/N.”

You also didn’t let go of Taehyung’s hand and neither did he when Jungkook leaned in for the hug. 

“Yeah, nice to have met you, too,” you breathed out, quiet, but it was enough for Heejin to pat you on your back and let go.

“We’ll text,” Heejin said as she stepped back to make space for Jungkook to hug you. He and you locked eyes, both knowing exactly what Heejin was expecting of you two. 

There was this terrible moment of hesitance, and you were ready to throw up a hand and give Jungkook a simple wave, but he leaned forward and stretched out one arm. You leaned forward too with your feet planted metres away from him, which led to a rather awkward half-hug thing, but it was definitely more than both of you could offer, more than anyone could really ask for.

Jungkook patted your back two times, and you frowned because who patted someone’s back twice and only twice? The ‘hug’ didn’t last longer than a second before both of you jumped away from each other.

“That was so awkward,” Heejin chortled and threw her head back, loud and beautiful laughter resounding in the air. Jungkook’s cheeks did what they should have done when you had commented on how he had a whole closet in the back of his car: flush.

“Whatever. We’re old friends, remember?” Jungkook argued and it was definitely the sight of Heejin laughing that had him do what he, again, should have done when you had commented on how he had a whole closet in the back of his car: laugh.

“Anyway, we’ll see each other,” Jungkook mumbled into your general direction before taking Heejin’s hand into his and leading her away from you two, throwing up his hand for a wave. Heejin beamed at Taehyung and you and you mustered up the best and most convincing smile for the last time this night.

“Bye. We’ll be in touch.”

“Bye.”

You didn’t say ‘bye’, too focused on the way Jungkook fixed the jacket that was slipping off Heejin’s shoulders, and when it almost landed in the dirt, your heart dropped. You wanted to catch it, take it and hold it close to your heart because that was your jacket. Jungkook caught it though just in time and you let out a breath.

“Really squeezing my hand here, huh?” Taehyung pressed through his smile and you looked down at your hands, realising only now that your knuckles had turned white. Immediately, you let go.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, face flushing hot. Taehyung simply dismissed it with a smile, but you could see him lightly knead his hand, stretching it to get the blood circulating again.

“It’s fine.” Taehyung tilted his head at you. “I guess you don’t have a car yet, right?” You were about to respond, but he didn’t give you enough time. “I can give you a ride.”

“Yeah, that would be great.” You nodded and Taehyung and you made your way to the parking lot. He held the car door open for you and when you were both strapped into your seats, you turned to him. “You didn’t have anything to drink, right?”

“Nope, been sipping on my water the whole night,” he chuckled as he put the keys into the ignition, slowly pulling out of the parking lot. You nodded and sank a little into the seat. The tension that had been sitting in your shoulders and in every single one of your joints slowly escaped you and you let out a sigh.

You typed your address into Taehyung’s phone, Google Maps doing the rest, and for a few minutes, both of you simply drove in silence, enjoyed it. The night had been hard on both of you, and you two were definitely ready to jump into your beds and go to sleep. The silence was exactly what you needed right now, at least you thought that was what you both needed.

“What happened outside?”

You should have expected him to ask because, of course, he would, but it still had you turning your head to him and eyes growing wide. Taehyung met your gaze and you put your hands together in your lap, thumbs rubbing against one another.

“Well,” your feet pressed into the ground, “he, uh, asked me if I was gonna stay here and if we all kept in touch. And,” your voice quivered only the tiniest bit, but Taehyung noticed, “how long I’ve been back and everything.”

You shrugged. “The basic things, you know. Nothing special.”

Taehyung hummed and his brows furrowed together with his lips pulled into a thin line. He was clearly not believing you completely, not buying what you were selling him. You pressed harder against the ground, begging for it to give in and let you sink into a hole.

“Anything else?”

Lying was stupid, lying to Taehyung was even stupider, but you seemed to like to be stupid today.

“Nope.” You said the last syllable with a pop and it had Taehyung’s frown deepening and his gaze digging into you when you two stopped at a red light. 

“Y/N.” A sigh followed and you lowered your gaze before shaking your head as your teeth sank into your tongue.

“Fine,” you breathed out and slammed back, head hitting your seat definitely too hard. “We- well, he-”

Taehyung turned to you, but you stared out the window, realising that you were almost at home now. His eyes dug into your face and you sighed, thinking of a way to word all of this.

“We- technically, we didn’t talk much at all. At least I didn’t,” you started again and took your time to get it all together. “But- he did say that he,” a heavy sigh slipped past your lips and you gnawed on your tongue before deciding to just say it, “learned from our relationship that people are selfish and that he hoped he would never have to see me again after this.”

Taehyung was stunned, stunned silent and you wished he would say something, react in some way. The tension came rising back, stretching every one of your joints to the point it hurt.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Taehyung muttered underneath his breath and when you turned to him, there was anger etched onto every line of his face. It was burning in his eyes and it had you quickly jump to Jungkook’s defense.

“No- it’s fine. I get-”

“No, Y/N, it’s not fucking fine,” Taehyung interrupted and to your dismay, you had reached your front door. He parked rather smoothly and when you came to a stop, Taehyung turned to you.

“Don’t say it’s fine because we both know it’s not,” Taehyung said and you didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s rude, unnecessarily rude. I get it. He’s pissed and you hurt him and whatever, but it’s been four fucking years. And he’s literally the one that broke up with you-”

“Well, I was leaving for America-”

“But you wanted to try, right? You didn’t want to break up, right?” Taehyung asked and you didn’t say anything. “See! You wanted to try, but he refused. Don’t even get me started on the fact that he didn’t say goodbye to you at all. You go to America and he doesn’t even bother to show up at the airport after dating you for almost four years, not to mention text you or call you on the day to wish you well? I haven’t forgotten that bullshit yet.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and lowered your gaze.

Taehyung sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I still love him. He’s my friend after all, and it’s not like I don’t get it why he’s mad. I do, in a way, and not because I ‘hate’,” Taehyung made air quotes around the word hate, “you for going or anything, but because it was surprising. But still saying shit like that is not okay.”

“It’s fine,” you tried again, but your words seem to have the fire in Taehyung growing because he shook his head vigorously.

“Stop saying that! It’s not.” Taehyung paused, taking a moment to breathe. “It’s definitely not. He’s so-” Taehyung threw up his hands and pressed his lips into a hard line, words failing him as his anger consumed him more and more. 

“We all thought he was over it.”

“He isn’t,” you mumbled and Taehyung ‘duh’s your answer, realising himself that Jungkook was far, very far from getting over you leaving, not to mention forgive you in any shape or form.

Both of you sat in silence for a while and your fingers itched for the door handle. You hated this, hated this because Taehyung didn’t get that you were fine, didn’t get that you were fine with the way Jungkook treated you because you had fucked up and now, these were the consequences.

“You don’t have to do this.”

You kept staring out of the window, kept staring like you couldn’t feel Taehyung’s eyes dig into your profile and demand for you to look at him, kept staring like you couldn’t hear him.

“There’s no one forcing you to go next week. You could just simply-”

“I know,” you said and sighed. You leaned forward and covered your eyes, pressing on them slightly as you thought of everything that had happened today, thought of every little interaction you had shared with Jungkook.

“I know,” you muttered before looking up and turning your gaze to Taehyung, cheek falling into your open palm. “I know.”

Taehyung and you looked at each other for a few seconds.

“You’re still gonna go, huh?”

You sat up straight and unbuckled your seatbelt, arms stretching out to pull Taehyung into a hug. He reciprocated it and you tightened your arms around him a little more than you usually would, chin resting on his shoulder.

“You’re still great, Tae.”

Taehyung chuckled and patted your back, sinking deeper into the hug. You were the one to pull away, but you rested your hands on his shoulder and looked him dead in the eye.

“No, really,” you smiled and squeezed his shoulders. “You’re really great, Taehyung.”

Slightly embarrassed by your words, Taehyung looked down at his hands.

“You’re stupid, Y/N.”

You laughed.

When you came out of the shower that night and checked your phone, a frown etched onto your face.

[You’ve been added to the “DD” group chat]

[Unknown Number - 11:24 PM] : hi! it’s heejin here and I just wanted to ask if next saturday works for everyone!!

[Unknown Number sent in location]

[Unknown Number - 11:24 PM] : my address!

[tae - 11:27 PM] : uh DD?

[Unknown Number - 11:27 PM] : double date. couldnt think of anything else realy

[tae - 11:27 PM] : okay lol but yeah should work

[Unknown Number - 11:32 PM] : yeah, think I can make it too

[Unknown Number - 11:32 PM] : okay, great! only gotta wait for y/n’s answer now

[tae - 11:32 PM] : wouldnt expect an answer any time soon lmao shes too stupid to text

[You - 11:48 PM] : you take a shower once and immediately people talk shit about you :)) 

[You - 11:48 PM] : but should work for me too

[tae - 11:48 PM] : love you too sweetie! and goodnight!!

[You - 11:48 PM] : :))))

When you went to save Heejin’s number, you got distracted by her profile picture. She was smiling right into the camera, smiling the same smile she had smiled at you. It was almost scary how genuine her smile looked even through a simple picture. No one smiled like Heejin. 

Her number was saved rather quickly, but when you went and clicked on Jungkook’s number, you were, once again, distracted by his profile picture. You should have expected it for Jungkook to have Heejin and him together as his profile picture, but it still shocked and surprised you, had your lips pressing into a hard line.

Jungkook had his arm around Heejin and she was looking at him, mid-laugh There was a proud smirk on his lips, that proud smirk he got whenever he managed to make someone laugh. Both looked at each other and the sun brought out both of their eyes, brought out the love in them. You could practically see it glimmering in their pupils.

Your heart tumbled in your chest, tumbled in the most painful way possible, but you ignored it, ignored it because what else were you going to do? Complain? You had no right to.

And as you let your phone slip into your pocket, a certain thought planted itself into your mind, robbing you of the peace and quiet you thought you would get once you were at home. The roots dug deeper and deeper into you until it was ingrained in you, swimming through your blood and consuming you whole, chewing you up over and over again simply to spit you out.

You would have been Heejin if you hadn’t left.

“What is she like?”

There was a beat of silence for a moment and you hugged your knees you had pulled close to your body self a little tighter at the question.

Your phone was laying on your desk, speakers on.

“Well,” Taehyung sighed, “she’s- she’s nice, I guess.”

Taehyung said it like a question, clearly choosing his words carefully as he tried not to offend you in any way, and you almost smiled at that. 

“Yeah, she’s nice,” you agreed.

“That’s great,” Yerim started, uncertainty swinging in her words. “Right? That’s great that she’s nice, right?”

No one answered and after a while, you pressed your lips into a thin line and nodded.

“Yeah, it’s great,” you said and you could hear Yerim exhale in relief. You chewed on your lip, and tried not to think about how it was not great and that you hated that Heejin was nice because it made hating her so much more difficult.

“I’m happy for him.”

This time when you said it, you weren’t sure if you really meant it, weren’t sure if you could say it from the bottom of your heart. Jungkook still, of course, deserved so much more, deserved better, but the thought that he was doing so much better with Heejin left a bad and bitter taste on your tongue. You didn’t want to think or feel like that, but your heart was selfish, just like he had said.

“That’s nice,” Yoongi mumbled and his voice was muffled, but the familiar snarky tone came through perfectly. “Nice of you to lie like that.”

You bit down on your lip and buried your face into your knees.

“Dude,” Taehyung said and used ‘dude’ like he always did whenever he was getting mad and refused to use one’s name. 

“What? We all know it’s a lie,” Yoongi said, matter of factly. “It’s not bad. It’s commendable that Y/N’s trying, but let’s not act dumb and oblivious to it.”

“Yoongi,” Yerim sighed from the other side of the line, groaning. “You can’t just say something like that.”

“We were all thinking it.”

You pressed your face further into your knees, squeezing your eyes shut as you hugged your legs closer to your chest.

“Dude,” Taehyung warned again, voice dropping significantly, and you could picture Yoongi rolling his eyes at him before sitting up to defend himself.

“All I’m trying to say is that it’s stupid to lie and pretend that it doesn’t suck that Kook is with Heejil or whatever her name-”

“Heejin,” Yerim threw in and there was a beat of silence before Yoongi continued again.

“Okay, fine, Heejin, but it doesn’t really matter,” Yoongi paused and the silence that settled was deafening and you begged him to continue. “What matters is the fact that Y/N shouldn’t need to pretend to be happy for him. They both hurt each other and acting like Y/N only hurt him is so fucking stupid. Kook’s really gotta learn how to be civil and not act like a complete ass-”

“Tae!” You cut in and looked at your phone like he could see you. “You told them? I thought we agreed on leaving that out.”

“Please, you seriously didn’t think I wouldn’t tell the others, did you?” Taehyung scoffed and you huffed, brows furrowing together as you fixed your phone with a glare like it was to blame for this.

“And I’m happy that he did tell us, Y/N,” Yoongi said and you groaned, burying your face once more into your knees now. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. I get it that Kook’s mad because it was all very sudden and quick and you were his first love or whatever, but it’s not a reason to be an ass to you.”

You didn’t respond, and for a while, the silence lingered on. It was almost unbearable, but you couldn’t think of anything to say, knowing already you were going to be shut down anyway.

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi said and sounded exactly like Taehyung. You looked up and put your chin on top of your knee before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Yeri?”

There was a shuffle and a moment later it was followed by a sigh. “No, I do agree with the others. Kook can be mad and everything—we all get it in a way—but it’s not an excuse to be an ass to you and say hurtful shit like that. You’re not selfish for following your dreams. Also, didn’t he technically break up with you? So, actually, I don’t get why he’s still mad at you.”

You stayed silent.

“Again, you-”

“I know, Yoongs,” you groaned. “I know that I don’t have to do this,” a heavy sigh slipped past your lips, “but it’s just this one time anyway and unlike what you guys might think, I’m not hurt by what he said.”

Neither Taehyung nor Yerim nor Yoongi said something for a while and just as the silence was about to become too unbearable and just as you were about to tell them you had to do something and therefore, hang up, Taehyung spoke up.

“You’re stupid, Y/N.”

You peeled your eyes open and lowered your gaze, a tight smile splitting apart on your lips.

“I know.”

You couldn’t recall how this had happened, how a simple film night turned into a dinner party, but somehow you were all standing in the middle of Heejin’s kitchen, preparing dinner. Taehyung and Jungkook were manning the stove, cooking the meat and Heejin and you were cutting up vegetables for a salad.

“Careful!”

You froze at Heejin’s voice and looked up, eyes locking with hers. Jungkook and Taehyung stopped messing around and turned their focus to you two, brows raising at the sudden exclamation. When you looked back down where Heejin’s fingers had curled around your wrist, you realised that you were about to cut off your fingers. Immediately, you let go of the knife and forced a laugh to spill from your lips.

“Shit. Good catch.”

“You okay? Almost cut off your fingers there,” Heejin said with a small smile and you quickly nodded, ignoring the gazes that were digging into your back. 

“Yeah, uh, just spaced out a little,” you mumbled and Heejin laughed, returning to cutting up the rest of her carrots. 

You grabbed your glass of wine and when you took a sip from it, your eyes locked with Taehyung’s. There was a deep line etched between his brows and in an attempt to smooth it over, you smiled at him. It took him a second, but he smiled back at you and seeing his smile had your smile turn into a genuine one.

Your gaze wandered and locked with Jungkook’s. You looked at him without meaning to. Your gaze just automatically travelled to him. His face was stiff and hard. Harsh lines were carved into it and you thought he was going to say something, scoff at you, but then he turned around without a word.

Taehyung and you looked at each other once more and his jaw locked up, but you shook your head. When he sighed, you thanked him with a smile and turned away, putting your wine glass down to focus on your vegetables again.

“Oh.”

Heejin stopped and looked up, raising her brows at your sudden exclamation.

“What?” she asked with a tilt of her head and you pointed at the cucumber on her cutting board.

“I, uh, like them diced more,” you said and Heejin blinked at you, expecting you to be joking. “Yeah, I- I just think cucumbers taste better diced.”

You shrugged and Heejin’s light laugh filled the air before she nodded and started dicing the cucumber.

“Okay, sure thing. Diced cucumbers it is.”

You smiled at her. “Thanks.” 

Heejin waved it off. You stopped yourself from shaking your head at yourself because a week ago, Taehyung and you were rolling your eyes at Jungkook for preferring his cucumbers diced, but here you were, making sure his cucumbers were going to be cut the way he liked them.

“So, tell me,” Heejin started when you picked up the knife. She tucked her hair away and looked at you. “What was Kook like in high school?”

You stopped chopping your tomatoes and bit on your lip. You struggled to think of something to say and Heejin’s staring certainly didn’t make it any easier.

“He, uh, well, the same, I think,” you started and your words had Heejin chuckling. “I mean, I don’t think he really changed that much since.” You kept cutting up your tomatoes, eyes focused on the task in front of you. “At least, I doubt it. He didn’t change much during high school, so, I don’t think he did now.”

“Well, what was he like during high school?” Heejin asked again, not getting the answer she had been fishing for.

“Funny and kind,” you said without missing a beat and surprised yourself. You paused before shrugging and transferring your tomato wedges inside the big salad bowl. “He’s—not to gas him up—but he’s always been funny and kind, I guess. Like, he’s just always had a good heart.” You took the last tomato, starting to cut it up into wedges too. “He’s always just cared about others around him and tried to make others happy. It’s- it’s really nice and sweet.”

“That’s-”

“Like, one time he stayed after school with,” you quickly swallowed the ‘me’, “uh, one of our friends for hours because they had lost their keys. And they didn’t even ask him to stay. He just did it himself and helped them out because they were, like, freaking out and on the brink of tears. And they weren’t even friends at that point. They were just classmates, but he- that didn’t matter to him. He helped them nevertheless.”

You laughed at the memory a little, remembering clearly how panicked you had been when you had realised that you had lost your keys.

“But he also definitely has his dramatic tendencies, and he’s also very picky with his food. I’m sure you know by now- oh, and he’s constantly late. At this point, it’s just chronic. Don’t get me started on his shitty excuses.”

You put away the last tomato wedges and your grip around the knife loosened. With your eyes on your hands, you sighed and without noticing, a smile stretched across your lips.

“But nevertheless, he’s a really amazing and great person.”

Heejin had long stopped dicing the cucumber and simply stared at you. When you looked up to her, you realised that maybe you had said too much. Your heart dropped into your stomach at the realisation and you were about to dismiss your words when a smile grew on Heejin’s lips.

“That’s great to hear,” she said and you couldn’t figure out if she meant it or not. “Sounds like you two were close.”

“Well, no- He was known for being kind and funny at our school. Ask anybody, they’d say the same thing about him,” you laughed and you hoped you could hide the wavering of your voice. “And if anyone was close to him, then it was Taehyung.”

“What was I?”

Taehyung stood next to you and you were about to respond when he took one of the tomato wedges and plopped them into his mouth. He stopped chewing when he saw the diced cucumbers and he looked at you, but you avoided his gaze.

“Don’t eat all of them. It’s for the salad. Also, are you done with your thing?” you said when he mindlessly reached for a second tomato wedge. You slapped his hand away, eliciting a gasp and whine from him.

“You’re mean, Y/N,” a pout formed on Taehyung’s lips, but you simply rolled your eyes at him, “and, yeah, Kook is finishing everything up.” He rubbed his hand. “Also, what was I?”

You sighed and put down the knife, reaching for the kitchen towel hanging from Taehyung’s shoulder to wipe your hands on it. “Close to him during high school.”

Taehyung raised his brows for a second before his gaze wandered behind you and it clicked in his mind. “Talking about the past, huh?”

“Yeah, Kook rarely ever talks about it,” Heejin said and you took the little piece of uncut cucumber from her cutting board, wanting to busy yourself with something.

“What are you guys talking about?” Jungkook turned off the stove and walked up to you, stopping behind Heejin.

“High school,” Taehyung said and Jungkook’s eyes shot to you. His gaze dug into you, but you acted like you couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel him looking at you and instead kept your focus on dicing the cucumber in front of you.

“Yeah, you never wanna talk about it, babe,” Heejin repeated again and Jungkook frowned at her words.

“It wasn’t a good time.”

For just a second, you stopped focusing on the cucumber and instead focused on the icicles slowly forming in your lungs and the piercing breeze blowing through your chest, but you pulled it together and ignored the cold spreading through you.

“Wait, seriously?” Heejin asked and looked at Jungkook with raised brows. 

“Yeah, I guess-” Jungkook shrugged and you could feel Taehyung’s eyes on you as you poured the diced cucumbers into the salad bowl. “It wasn’t-”

Jungkook looked over to you for a second, but you didn’t meet his gaze. You just kept staring at the cutting board and over your head, Taehyung shot Jungkook a look that almost resembled a glare. 

“I just don’t like thinking back to that time.” Jungkook shrugged once more and you let go of the knife. It hit the cutting board with a faint thud that had your face contorting and Taehyung tensing up next to you. His fingers pulled on your wrist and wrapped around it, thumb brushing over your skin to soothe you, but it did nothing to thaw the icicles hanging from your lungs, sharp and ready to steal your breath.

“I mean it’s not like it was awful or anything. I did have my friends and a g- uh, stuff like that, and at the time, I thought it was great,” Jungkook continued on, and your heart froze up more and more with each of his words.

His eyes wandered to you, digging into you as he continued,

“But great things always have to come to an end.”

Taehyung was glued to your side for the rest of the time, and you thanked him with a smile when you felt like you could muster up one. He shot one right back at you and by the time dinner was actually served, you had almost completely forgotten about Jungkook’s words and the way they had frozen up your heart.

You almost forgot.

Because for some reason, you were the one sitting across from Jungkook. When Taehyung and you had noticed, you couldn’t switch anymore. And so, Jungkook and you made sure to keep your heads low and your legs tucked underneath your chairs.

“How come?”

You looked up and blinked at Heejin as she quickly swallowed the rice to continue talking.

“How come both of you haven’t watched ‘Titanic’?” she asked and pointed between Taehyung and you. 

“I don’t think there’s necessarily a reason, right?” you said and looked at Taehyung for confirmation. He hummed in agreement and shrugged, stuffing his face with some of the salad.

“Do you guys just not like romcoms?”

“Uh, wouldn’t say we don’t like them,” Taehyung mumbled, “but we don’t really watch them either.”

“Yeah, most are just a little too unrealistic for me,” you added and took a sip from your wine. 

“I get that. Unrealistic romcoms are definitely the worst,” Heejin laughed. “Kook and I really enjoy romcoms though.”

You almost told Heejin that you knew that, that you knew very much that Jungkook was a sucker for romcoms. He had been the romantic of you two, taking you out on the most extra dates, making sure that you always felt special, trying his hardest to make your relationship into a romcom.

“Netflix has put out some really great and realistic ones though recently,” Heejin continued. ”Like, ‘Set It Up’ is really great and funny and ‘To All The Boys I’ve Ever Loved Before’ while a little more cheesy, is still very great.”

“You really like romcoms, don’t you?” you asked and Heejin beamed at your question, clearly excited about the prospect of talking about romcoms in depth.

“Yeah, I absolutely love them,” she sighed and leaned forward a little, her smile widening. You smiled back at her because it was truly hard not to smile at Heejin.

“What’s your favourite one?” you asked and Heejin’s smile grew into a grin, eyes glossing over as the excitement etched onto her face. 

“Hard question, but I’d say ‘About Time’ and ‘Someone Great’ are some of my favourites,” Heejin said and you perked up.

“Didn’t we watch ‘About Time’?” You looked over to Jungkook without meaning to and when he met your gaze, his eyes were big and flushed with panic. Quickly, you added, “We watched it together, right? All of us?”

Your head whipped around to Taehyung and he was mid-bite, caught off guard. 

“Yeah, no, we, uh, did,” Taehyung coughed out, slightly choking on his rice.

“Wasn’t it great?” Heejin said with a big grin and you nodded, taking a big sip from your wine.

“W-what was the other one again? ‘Someone Great’? What is that one about? I don’t think I’ve heard of it,” you said, changing the topic. Jungkook quickly went back to focusing on his food, but Taehyung was still looking at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, it’s about Jenny—she’s the main character—who is a journalist, and she lands her dream job, but to fulfill it, she has to move across the country,” Heejin started to explain and you thought you were hearing wrong. You almost choked on your own spit and you weren’t the only one noticing the similarities because Jungkook slowly raised his head and looked at you.

“Her boyfriend, Nate, of, I think, nine or ten years ends up breaking up with her because of it and then she and her friends, like, try to forget about everything and cheer her up. It’s a really good film. They also all have their own respective relationship problems and we also get to see Jenny’s and her boyfriend’s relationship through flashbacks,” Heejin finished up telling and Taehyung’s hand found yours. You let go of your fork to interlace your fingers with his because right now, you needed someone to hold onto.

“It’s not your conventional romcom,” Heejin said with a smile. “It’s why I love it so much. It totally brings up the question of love or work and what’s the right choice.”

You hummed and looked away, deciding not to look at Jungkook because you didn’t want to see the way his features contort and harden. You had seen it once already, had seen his face split apart in pain once before. You had seen it when you had told him you were leaving, and ever since, you hadn’t gotten it out of your head. It had haunted you all of these years. 

You knew if you looked at Jungkook right now, the guilt and bad memories would bubble up and chew you out again. A lump would lodge itself into your throat and your heart would tighten into an impossible knot and everything in your body would ache and scream and tears would prick your eyes and your lungs would freeze to ice. 

At the sight of it, you would be left on the floor, gutted and breathless and in pain and frozen.

“What do you think, Y/N?”

You were more than caught off guard by the question and you scrunched up your brows, tilting your head to the side as you met Heejin’s gaze.

“Like, the fact that her boyfriend broke up with her and she essentially had to choose between love and work. What do you think about that?” Heejin blinked at you and her expression was hard to read. Her lips were pressed into a thin line and her brows were slightly raised.

You stammered for something to say, incredibly aware that all eyes were on you. Jungkook seemed to be staring holes into you, almost like he was challenging you to say the wrong thing. Taehyung squeezed your hand even tighter now and you couldn’t thank him enough because it offered you enough strength to croak out, 

“I don’t know.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Well, I think it was fair of her boyfriend to break up with her because leaving like that was just shitty,” Jungkook piped up and Taehyung scoffed quietly underneath his breath, whispering an ‘of course’ to himself.

“I wouldn’t say breaking up with her was fair at all,” Taehyung argued and you squeezed Taehyung’s hands, wishing he wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t start all of this, but you couldn’t get through him. He couldn’t feel your hand tightening around his, could only feel the anger coursing through his veins.

“How is breaking up with her not fair if they were going to break up anyway? It was inevitable. She essentially left him for a job. Might as well just do it instead of dragging it out,” Jungkook said and put down his fork and knife, leaning back to cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Dude, no, it wasn’t,” Taehyung spat out and tried his hardest to keep his voice level. “They could have tried, tried to work it out somehow. Maybe they would have broken up later, but not trying at all and then being mad at the other person is not fair at all and fucking ridiculous.”

Heejin looked between Jungkook and Taehyung as they threw words at each other’s heads like doing so would make the other understand. You sank deeper into the chair and never more did you wish for a hole to appear underneath you and swallow you. In fact, you wouldn’t mind if the hole swallowed you and never spat you out again.

The conversation had taken a different turn than Heejin had intended it to go and you hoped and prayed she wouldn’t piece it together, wouldn’t figure out what exactly was being said right now, wouldn't manage to read between the lines.

“Can you really blame her boyfriend, though?” Jungkook was slipping now. The anger was consuming him slowly and wholly, taking over him. “I- he must have been so caught off guard by the news that she was moving away. It’s not okay or fair to keep that shit from him all the time and then expect him to be fine with it or supportive after telling him-”

“Yeah, I get it. It sucks that she kept it from y- him, but ever thought that there was a reason, huh?” Taehyung was breaking as well and the mask of friendliness and neutrality was sliding off, sliding off so fast he couldn’t catch it. Not that he bothered to. ”Ever thought that she kept it a secret from him because she was scared and didn’t want to hurt him? Like, fine, dude, be mad at the moment, but hating her forever and not even bidding her goodbye-”

“You don’t seem to get just how hurt I- he was, Taehyung. It’s not that easy-”

“How is it not that easy to be a decent human being? If he loved her, if he really loved her, he would have realised that it was her dream and wished her well-”

“Well, if she really loved him, she wouldn’t have left him like that! But she did because she’s selfish.” 

At this point, Jungkook and Taehyung were essentially screaming at each other, words bitter and far too loud.

“Dude, how is it selfish to chase your dreams? Also, what the fuck are you trying to say? Is she meant to always choose him over everything-”

“No, that’s literally not what I’m saying. She should have talked to him-”

“And she did, but he didn’t listen. What was she gonna do? Harass him into listening?”

“No, because at that point, when he refused to listen, she had already messed it all up! She had already broken him. Fuck, they were literally dating for years and years and one day, she just tells him she’s gonna leave? Like, what the actual fuck? What about their promise of forever? What about that? Was he not enough for her now?”

Jungkook was glaring at Taehyung with his eyes blown out wide and his chest heaving, lungs aching for air.

“She can go fuck herself for that!”

Your knuckles turned white around Taehyung’s hand and your teeth sank into your tongue. It was your poor attempt to numb the pain rippling through you now with even more pain.

Jungkook’s words were dripping with venom and anger. They sliced into you and pushed out any warmth inside you, leaving you freezing and cold. They poisoned you, sent the icicles crashing down from where they had been hanging, and they pierced through your lungs and filled them up with blood. You could feel yourself choke, suffocate slowly and painfully as his words replayed over and over again in your mind like a broken record.

You wanted to press your eyes shut and run away. You didn’t want to hear any of it anymore, didn’t want to have to listen to Taehyung and Jungkook screaming at each other, yelling like it was a battle of who could be the loudest.

Your eyes locked with Jungkook’s and while his stare was cold and hard, colder and harder than you had ever seen it, there seemed to be something else glimmering in his eyes too. And that something made him look like he knew he had gone too far, look like he knew exactly what his words were doing to you, but right now, he didn’t care, didn’t care just how much he was hurting you because in his mind, you had hurt him first, had hurt him worse.

So, hurting you was okay, justified even.

Taehyung fixed Jungkook with a glare, but he simply held his own, eyes digging into Taehyung’s as much as his eyes were digging into Jungkook’s. Taehyung’s nostrils were flared and his jaw was locked to the point it had to hurt. Both slipped into a staring contest either were more than determined to win.

At the end though, it was Jungkook who tore his gaze away, but the anger and frustration were etched onto every line and edge of his face. 

Taehyung scoffed before throwing his fork down on the plate and jumping up. His chair hit the floor and you were about to pick it up when he yanked on your hand. You stumbled after him more than anything else and as Taehyung led you around the table and out of the kitchen, your gaze met Heejin’s.

Her brows were drawn together and for once, there was no hint of a smile on her lips. You wanted to apologise to her, tell her it was all fine—even though you weren’t even sure if it was—but then you saw her hand on his knee underneath the table and suddenly, there was an unbelievably uncomfortable knot sitting in your throat, stopping you.

“I hope you don’t choke on your fucking diced cucumbers, dude.”

[yoongs - 08:23 PM] : @y/n @tehyung how is the dinner going?

[yeri - 08:34 PM] : ohh, yeah, how is it? are you guys still stuck watching jack draw rose like one of his ~french girls~??

[yeri - 08:34 PM] : also yoongs do you have taes name saved wrong in your phone??? wtf

[yoongs - 08:57 PM] : have you guys gotten to that stupid door scene yet?

[yeri - 09:14 PM] : are you ignoring me? 

[yoongs - 09:43 PM] : @y/n @tehyung didnt you guys say youd try to go home asap

[yoongs - 09:43 PM] : how long is dinner and a film? or are you guys ignoring us?

[yeri - 09:45 PM] : tae, are you ignoring us like yoongs is ignoring me right now?? like y/n i get bc she sucks at texting, but you? tae? not responding? :o

[You - 04:57 AM] : hey, yoongs! please dont say anything to yeri or tae, but could you give me his address? kinda urgent.

[yoongs - 09:14 AM] : are you okay? why are you texting me at 4?

[You - 09:14 AM] : im fine. ill tell you all about it later. just give me his address please

[yoongs - 09:15 AM] : uff fine

[yoongs sent in location]

[yoongs - 09:15 AM] : its 201

In high school, you hadn’t been nearly as close to Taehyung as you were now. It wasn’t because you hadn’t been friends with each other, but rather because he had been so close to Jungkook already. Even after your friend group had formed, the two always had a different kind of bond, a deeper one. And even after Jungkook and you had started dating, their bond had been just as strong as yours had been with Jungkook. 

It had never bothered you because Taehyung and Jungkook had known each other forever, had known each other since they were in diapers. In fact, Yerim, Yoongi and you had always poked fun at that, always joked that those two were the true couple of your friend group. 

It was why you should have expected this to happen when you knocked on Taehyung’s front door.

“Jungkook?”

Your lips parted slightly as you stared at him with big eyes. He was equally as shocked as you were, clearly not checking who it had been before opening the door.

“How’d you get in?” he asked with a furrow of his brows and you stammered before pointing behind you.

“Uh, someone let me in when they were walking out,” you explained and Jungkook scoffed slightly, head shaking from left to right as he cursed his neighbour.

Jungkook was donning a simple white T-Shirt and grey swats. You had seen him in this outfit more times than you could count when you had dated, but it still had your heart quickening because, fuck, he did look good dressed like that.

And as you stared at him, all of the memories of yesterday came rushing back to you and immediately, you lowered your gaze to your feet.

“He isn’t here. Didn’t come home yesterday,” Jungkook mumbled, knowing exactly why you were here and that you definitely were not here for him. Judging from your reaction upon seeing him, you hadn’t expected to see him. Another scoff almost escaped him, but somehow, he managed to swallow it. 

When you looked back up to him, Jungkook was already walking away, but the door stood wide open. Interpreting him leaving the door open as inviting you inside, you stepped in and closed the door behind you.

You tightened your grip around your tote bag as you walked inside, steps light. You were ready to run right out if Jungkook was to ask you why the fuck you invited yourself inside, but he didn’t. He just walked into the living room and sat down on his U shaped couch before pulling out his phone and mindlessly scrolling through it.

Unsure what to do—not only because you had never been here before, but also because you hadn’t expected to see Jungkook—you stopped behind him, not daring to take a single step inside the living room.

It was small and most of the room was taken up by the U shaped couch, but somehow it still looked home-y and cozy. Something about it, about the way the furniture was arranged and the room was decorated screamed comfort and you knew Jungkook was to thank for it. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, just sit. Looks like I’m not letting you.”

You snapped around to see Jungkook rolling his eyes at you. He gestured around him, offering you the rest of the couch, but you hesitated to do just what he had told you to. His eyes continued to burn into you and after a second and some internal debating, you wandered around the couch and sat down, choosing the seat that was furthest from Jungkook’s.

The gap between you two was huge, enough to fit Taehyung, Yerim and Yoongi between it, and you were more than thankful for it because the tension was palpable, thick, so thick a knife couldn’t even cut through it, so thick it could stop a bullet.

You put down your tote bag next to you, but you held it close to you, protecting the food inside. After a few seconds of silence, you pulled out your phone, unlocking it to open Taehyung’s and your chat.

[You - 09:32 AM] : where, uh, are you right now?

[You - 09:32 AM] : please come home asap. im sitting in the living room with him and its awkward as fuck. hurry

[You - 09:32 AM] : also why the fuck didnt you tell me you lived w him??

You were about to make a new group chat, add Yoongi and Yerim to it and panic text them when Taehyung came online and started typing.

[tae - 09:32 AM] : wtf??

[tae - 09:33 AM] : why the fuck ar u at my place?? you know where i lve?

[tae - 09:33 AM] : im there asap

[You - 09:33 AM] : i made you food as a way to say sorry

[tae - 09:33 AM] : go into my room its in the back. on the left second dor

[tae - 09:33 AM] : why sorry????

[You - 09:34 AM] : okay good. hurry

[You - 09:34 AM] : uh well your fight with him???? you forgot abt it?

[tae - 09:34 AM] : no ofc not

[tae - 09:34 AM] : but

[You - 09:34 AM] : omfg what does it matter. just come home

[tae - 09:35 AM] : fine

You sighed and hoped that Taehyung was going to come back in the next ten minutes or so because you couldn’t stand being in a room with Jungkook any longer. You just couldn’t forget that he was right here, that he was just sitting a few metres away from you, in the same room as you.

“But she did because she’s selfish.”

“When he refused to listen, she had already messed it all up!”

“She had already broken him.”

“He wasn’t enough for her now?”

“What about their promise of forever?”

“She can go fuck herself for that!”

You pressed your lips together and let your head fall, eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block it all out, tried not to think, but it was hard, hard when the person you had hurt the most in the world was sitting right there. You wanted to fall to your knees and beg for Jungkook’s forgiveness, but you doubted you had a right to even do that, not to mention talk to him.

The guilt had been eating you up since yesterday evening and continued on as you laid in bed, desperately trying to get some sleep. In the end, you watched the sun creep up the sky, painting your hometown in a tragic orange. 

“Here.”

You peeled your eyes open at the sound before slowly raising your head to see Jungkook standing right in front of you, hands buried in his sweats. He nodded towards the coffee table and when you looked at it, a cup of coffee was sitting on top of it.

“Looks like you haven’t slept in years,” Jungkook scoffed, almost like his words were meant to hurt you, but for once, for the first time since you had seen him again, they had warmth spreading through you. 

“Oh, thanks.”

You reached for the cup of coffee, and it was bordering on cold, but when you took a sip from it, you could feel the sun start to shine in your chest and thaw the remnants of the icicles that had stayed behind from yesterday, shine away the mess that yesterday had left behind.

“Thanks,” you mumbled again, but Jungkook had already turned on his heel and sat down again. You didn’t care, didn’t care because that had just been the first somewhat civil interaction Jungkook and you had shared and you couldn’t help but treasure it.

If you were completely honest, the coffee tasted okay at best and kind of bad at worst, and maybe it was because you were incredibly tired so any caffeine was welcomed or maybe it was because Jungkook had given you the cup of coffee, but somehow that was the best cup of coffee you had ever had. It dissolved on your tongue in the best way possible. 

“Uh,” you turned to Jungkook and he looked up from his phone, brows shooting up as his lips pulled into a thin line. You wanted to say something, but your voice had to have dissolved with the coffee because you couldn’t get it to come out.

You simply pointed at your empty cup of coffee and after a few more seconds of incredibly awkward staring, you managed to croak out, “Where can I put, uh-”

“Just leave it on the coffee table,” Jungkook said before immediately turning back to his phone. You nodded nevertheless and did as you were told.

You pulled out your phone too, and, so, you two sat there for a while in silence as you waited for Taehyung to come home. Almost twenty minutes had passed at this point and because you were too focused on your phone, you didn’t notice Jungkook turn off his phone and put it back in his pocket, didn’t notice him press his lips into a thin line before sighing and looking up to you.

“You remember how I like my cucumbers cut?”

Your eyes shot to him and you could feel the heat crawl up your neck at the question, recalling clearly how he had reacted when you had insinuated how well you still knew him, how that had led to him fixing you with the most piercing stare and ended with him telling you that you taught him that people were selfish and that he hoped you were right and that he didn’t have to see you again after this.

“Uh,” you started before carefully continuing, “yeah. I- I do.”

And it was then that you watched Jungkook crack a smile.

He smiled like he hadn’t essentially told you to go fuck yourself yesterday, smiled like you hadn’t broken his heart, smiled like everything was fine between you two. For the first few seconds, you thought your brain was playing a joke on you, thought you were seeing wrong and that the coffee was hitting you just really hard, but then-

“I thought it was dumb that I prefered diced cucumbers.” Jungkook scrunched up his nose and tilted his head at you, and a smile stretched across your lips, heart tumbling in your chest.

“It is,” you said, “but I’ve been kind of dumb these days.”

You shrugged and Jungkook’s smile widened the tiniest bit, and you had to bite on your lip to stop your smile from growing into a grin, from growing a little too big.

“I swear they taste better diced-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned and rolled your eyes at Jungkook in faux annoyance. “You still seriously think that-”

“I don’t think, I-”

“Yeah, I know you don’t think,” you said and slipped back into teasing Jungkook like nothing had ever happened between you two, like you had never left, like he hadn’t hated and resented you for it, like you hadn’t hurt each other, like yesterday hadn’t happened.

Jungkook gasped at your words, and you giggled when you saw the smile pulling on the corners of his lips that he was so desperately trying to hide, relieved to know that you hadn’t crossed a line.

“Damn, I didn’t miss this, Y/N,” Jungkook said with a light laugh and you noticed instantly that Jungkook had said your name. Your heart tumbled in your chest, involuntarily, and as much as you had tried to hide it by biting it away, a grin split apart on your lips.

For once, there was no tension in the air, no cold lingering around you two, no icicles forming in your lungs. For once, your joints weren’t tightening to the point it hurt and ached, no stiffness stretching you straight. For once, you felt somewhat comfortable around Jungkook, somewhat at ease.

“What did you miss then?” 

“You.”

The answer slipped past Jungkook’s lips, rolled off his tongue without a second thought and you knew it, knew he hadn’t meant to say that, knew he hadn’t intentionally said it when you saw the blood rush to his face and paint his cheeks a bright and blaring red.

Your lips parted slightly and you blinked at Jungkook. Both of you both fell silent again and snapped your heads around, avoiding each other’s gazes as much as possible. And slowly, you could feel the tension fill up the room again, seep into every crack of the room, but this time it was different. 

This time the silence was loud, louder than Taehyung and Jungkook had been yesterday when they were screaming at each other. And with each second it lingered in the stifling air, you felt like it was urging you to say something, urging you to break it and tell Jungkook all of the things you had been wanting to say.

And so, you did, did break it, but you didn’t say the things you had been wanting to say. You said the thing you knew was okay to say.

“Heejin is nice.”

You whispered it into the room, whispered it so quietly like you didn’t want to break the silence that had been begging to be broken. Your eyes stayed on the ground, stayed focused on anything that wasn’t Jungkook, and he did the same, didn’t look up either.

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed out and propped his arms on his knees, body leaning forward. “I guess she is.”

You nodded, barely registering his answer because you weren’t actually listening for it, not that you could have if you had wanted to because your heart was thumping in your ears, each beat as loud as a bomb going off right next to you. 

“H-how long have you two been dating?” you asked and you were honestly not sure why you were asking because simply thinking about Heejin and Jungkook together hurt you. Somehow you had been spared of their relationship details so far and you were more than thankful for that.

“Well, uh, a couple months,” Jungkook said with a cough. “Almost six now, I think.”

“And she hasn’t met the others yet?” you asked and peeked over to Jungkook. He only lowered his head even more and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Yeah, no, she hasn’t,” Jungkook mumbled.

“How come?” you continued in an attempt to lighten the whole situation, but somehow the air seemed to grow thicker with every word you exchanged. 

Jungkook took his time to answer, eyes scanning the floor like the words would appear on it if he stared long enough, like someone would whisper into his ear why Heejin hadn’t met his friends yet, like he would remember what his reasoning was.

“I- I don’t know,” Jungkook ended up sighing before curling up into himself, head lowering even more as if he was aiming to plant it to the floor.

“How’d you meet?” you asked.

“How does anybody meet anybody these days? Dating apps.”.

“What-”

“Did you date?”

The question was simple, each word easy to understand, but you had difficulties figuring out what he was asking you.

“When you were there, I mean. Did you date?”

You stammered for an answer, words running away from you like you were children playing Tag on a sunny day with your friends, and you were losing, miserably. The air was knocked out of your lungs and it took you seemingly an eternity to finally get it together and cough out some words, words that put together resembled an answer.

“I- yeah, I, uh, did.” You grimaced at yourself, head lowering to avoid Jungkook’s gaze the same way he had avoided yours before.

“So, you had, like, a serious-”

“No,” you cut in a little too fast. “I mean I dated, but nothing was really serious. I never had anything like a proper- you know.”

The corners of Jungkook’s lip curled up the tiniest bit at your answer.

“How come?”

You sighed and gripped your tote bag next to you, wondering now where the fuck Taehyung was because hadn’t he said he would hurry? 

“It just never felt quite right, I guess.” You shrugged and shifted from left to right, fingers tightening around your tote bag. “They were all funny and kind, but- I guess you could say that something was missing. Like, I don’t know, the spark or whatever.” Another shrug. “But also not like I had time to date. Was busy with my studies anyway.”

Jungkook hummed and for a moment, you both fell silent again. You were about to pull out your phone and mumble something about checking where Taehyung was to change the subject to something lighter, easier, when he cut in.

“Anyone significant though?” Your eyes shot to him and you raised your brows at him. His face was neutral, but there was definite curiosity swimming in his pupils. “Like, memorable? Anyone that stuck around a little longer? Or, you know, you liked-”

“No,” you said with a vigorous shake of your head. “No one that was in any way memorable or significant. Most just- they just kind of blur together.”

Jungkook looked at you for another second, words sinking in with him before he nodded and hummed. Both of you lowered your gazes again and fell into the all too familiar silence, tension creeping up on you.

But before you could be forced to break the silence once again and word vomit all over yourself, there was a rumbling and a frantic turning of keys. A second later, the front door flew open. Hectic and clumsy steps followed and soon enough, your eyes landed on a frazzled and panting Taehyung.

He stopped in the middle of the room, right in front of Jungkook and you. His chest heaved and judging from the sweat running down his temple, he had run a good amount.

Jungkook looked away when Taehyung stumbled into the living room, and instantly, you could feel a change in the air. The tension sat on your chest, suffocating you as it seeped into every corner of the room.

“My room,” Taehyung panted before pointing at you and into the hallway, not sparing Jungkook a single glance as he turned on his heel. You didn’t follow his words and only tightened your grip around your tote bag.

“I, uh,” you cleared your throat and Taehyung stopped, turning around to look at you with raised brows, confused, “I’d rather stay, uh, here.”

“What?” Taehyung asked and irritation started to mix with his confusion. “Why?”

His eyes dug into yours like he was trying to tell you just how little he wanted to stay here, and you sighed, tucking a strand behind your ear. Your tongue swiped across your bottom lip and you could feel your heart quicken in your chest, quicken impossibly.

“I-” you lowered your head before finally mustering up the courage to say it. “I know I said I came here to say sorry for yesterday, but I’m also here to say that I’d like to stop—I guess you could call it fake dating, right?—well, anyway, I’m here to tell you I’d like to stop fake dating you,” you thought to yourself, unsure how to call what Taehyung and you had been doing, “or whatever.”

“Why?”

“Because,” you started, voice quiet and calm, and you couldn’t look at Taehyung or Jungkook as you explained yourself because, fuck, all of this was so ridiculous and dumb, “I don’t like it. I don’t like lying. It’s stupid.”

You shrugged and when you looked up to Taehyung, he had his brows raised at you and his hands on his hips, obviously not believing you at all.

“You’re literally ly-”

“Also,” you cut in, not wanting to give Taehyung a chance to disagree with you and because you had to get everything out right now before the courage left you and you were staring at the floor once again. “Also, it’s just not fair to Heejin. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to you. She’s a good person and if she finds out that we’ve been lying to her, she- I don’t know, might break up with, uh, you know.”

Your eyes flickered to Jungkook. He was already looking at you, and maybe it was because your heart was beating in your ears, tumbling way too loud in your chest or maybe because you couldn’t properly look at him for more than a second, but you couldn’t read his expression. There was something in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite figure out what exactly.

“And we don’t want that, right?” 

Your voice wavered as you said the words and you hoped it would go unnoticed, hoped that neither Taehyung nor Jungkook listened closely enough to hear the waver. You folded your arms over your stomach, focusing back on Taehyung. He eyed you, continued to do so and you had to try your hardest not to shift and look away. 

“Fine,” Taehyung sighed, gaze tearing away to let it wander before his eyes returned to you like he had come to accept your decision just now. “What do you suggest?”

“I- uh,” you flashed Taehyung a nervous smile and wrung your hands together, “I don’t know. I- I figured we’d come up with something,” a short pause, “together.”

When you looked over to Jungkook again, he was staring at the floor before meeting your gaze, obviously not thinking he was going to be included in this. You wanted to muster up something that resembled a smile, but looking at him was something you couldn’t do, so, your eyes flickered to Taehyung. No smile for Jungkook.

“Together,” you repeated and Taehyung sighed, head lowering for a few seconds as he squeezed his eyes shut. When he looked up again, there was a deep line etched onto his features.

“Fine,” Taehyung breathed out before wandering into the room again and sitting down right opposite of Jungkook. 

All three of you occupied one side of the U shaped couch, Jungkook the left, Taehyung the right and you the middle.

“Okay, uh,” you started when the silence continued on too long, leaning forward to grab Taehyung's attention. “I- I’d say we have to break up amicably, right?”

You looked over to Taehyung for some kind of reaction, but his eyes were fixed on Jungkook and his eyes were fixed on Taehyung as well. Your head started to throb and you knew it was a matter of time until it split apart. Unable to take it any longer, you clapped your hands together and cut through some of the lingering tension.

“I thought we were gonna talk,” you said, voice quiet because you were too scared to speak up too loudly. You looked at Taehyung only because looking at Taehyung was easy and looking at Jungkook was not. “Let’s talk then, please.”

Taehyung and Jungkook locked eyes once more, the corners of their lips turned down, but both came to a mutual conclusion.

“Okay,” Jungkook sighed and shifted in his seat. 

“Yeah, fine,” Taehyung mumbled quietly, arms unfolding to rest on his knees. 

There was a moment of silence as he thought.

“You said break up amicably, right?” Taehyung pointed at you and you nodded. “Yeah, sounds like a good idea.”

“What does it matter if you two break up amicably or not?” Jungkook questioned with a furrow of his brow and Taehyung sighed.

“It matters because if Y/N and I don’t break up amicably, we can’t hang out in the future. So, if Heejin were to see us, it’d be weird,” Taehyung explained and the irritation was dripping from his words.

“You guys wanna hang out in the future?” Jungkook asked and Taehyung contorted his face at him.

“Yeah, of course, dude. Why the fuck wouldn’t we? We’re friends,” he said and shook his head at Jungkook, scoffing slightly.

“Don’t-”

“Okay, great. Break up amicably. How though?” you cut in before things could escalate any further, turning to Taehyung for some answers, but he simply shrugged.

“How about,” Jungkook started and ran a hand through his hair, “How about you two start acting annoyed with each other the next time we meet up? Like, start dropping hints and then, I’ll make some comment about how you two have problems and then, when we see each other again, you two are broken up.”

“Yeah, I doubt that Heejin would like to meet up again after yesterday,” Taehyung said and you hummed in agreement.

“Are you sure this is about Heejin not wanting to meet up or just you?” Jungkook bit back and you sighed inwardly, regretting not taking Yoongi or Yerim with you as support.

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about?” Taehyung sneered with a scoff and a breathy chuckle, and you were certain your skull was going to break into pieces.

“What am I talking about? How about the fact that you didn’t come home yesterday?” Jungkook asked and pointed at Taehyung, the knit deepening between his brows.

“What does that-”

“Tae, please,” you interrupted and closed your eyes, hating every second of this. “Just don’t, please.”

You peeled your eyelids open and locked eyes with him, shaking your head from left to right as you were on the verge of giving this up and going home. Taehyung’s gaze softened when he saw how tired you were, irritation washing out of him in an instant.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he mumbled, hand reaching for yours and you took it, squeezing it to thank him silently. You two shared a look and both of you were too occupied to notice Jungkook lowering his head and scoffing silently to himself, teeth sinking far too deep into his lip, so much so it should hurt.

“Okay, so, how-” you started, letting go of Taehyung’s hand to concentrate on the conversation again. “How did you imagine us meeting up again? Because I also don’t think that Heejin would want to meet up after yesterday.”

You glanced into Jungkook’s direction, but he kept his head low, acting like he was thinking when in reality, he was trying not to burst. 

“Maybe we could convince Yeri or Yoongs to host a game night or whatever,” Taehyung offered as a solution and you thought about his words for a moment before nodding, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

“Yeah, that sounds like something,” you said and turned to Jungkook slightly, glancing into his general direction to gauge his reaction.

“But,” Jungkook started, head raising a little as he looked at Taehyung with his brows slightly knitted together, “that’d mean Heejin would meet-”

Jungkook didn’t finish the sentence, deciding to swallow the rest of it instead and Taehyung and you exchanged a glance, giving him a few seconds to make up his mind again as to what he wanted to say.

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” Jungkook sighed at the end, nodding, and Taehyung and you locked eyes once more.

“Great. I can talk to them about it,” you said with somewhat of a smile on your lips and Taehyung hummed in agreement and Jungkook just rubbed the back of his neck.

Stifling silence fell over all three of you, but then you remembered why you had come here in the first place. You dug through your tote bag and pulled out one tupperware box before pulling out another one. You placed them both on the coffee table and pushed them into their direction.

Taehyung and Jungkook looked up when they heard the sliding of the tupperware boxes and almost simultaneously, they furrowed their brows together and glanced at you. You didn’t meet either’s gazes, deciding to fiddle with the strap of your tote bag instead. 

“Breakfast,” you said with a shrug and it took Taehyung grabbing his box and removing the top for Jungkook to finally stop staring at you and grab his box.

“You made me food too?” Jungkook asked and stared at the box in front of him before glancing back up to you. You lowered your head even more, cheeks growing hot underneath his eyes.

“Well, no, not really,” you started, clearing your throat. “I mean I didn’t know you lived with Tae, but since he always used to eat so much I figured one box wasn’t enough and so, I made two, but I’m pretty sure two boxes were too much anyway. So, this works out perfectly actually. But it’s just a bunch of stuff I found in my fridge and threw together. Really nothing special.”

You shrugged more and Taehyung mumbled something underneath his breath, but you couldn’t catch it. Without a fork or a chopstick or any cutlery, he dug in, biting off a piece of the fried egg.

“Fuck, it’s good,” Taehyung said with a slight scoff like it was infuriating to him that your cooking (Could it be considered cooking though because you just made some bacon and fried egg and cut up some vegetables?) didn’t completely suck.

“Thanks,” Taehyung mumbled in between bites, enjoying the food so much that he couldn’t even raise his head to look at you.

You nodded and glanced at Jungkook, who had snapped out of whatever he had previously been and finally removed the top of the box, marvelling at the food in front of him. And just like Taehyung, he dug in, fingers first. You watched Jungkook try the bacon and shake his head as he chewed, a smile overtaking his lips more and more as he continued eating.

Jungkook looked up, eyes locking with yours and with the softest smile, he nodded at you.

“Thank you.”

And you nodded right back at him with your heart tumbling far too loudly in your chest.

“You’re welcome.”

All three of you fell silent and for a while, Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s constant chewing was the only thing that rang in your ears at all.

“Uh, Tae, could you give me-” Jungkook pointed at the box of tissues in front of Taehyung, out of his reach. He looked up at Jungkook’s voice, blinking for a few seconds because this had been the first time Jungkook had talked to him in a civil manner. Taehyung nodded and shoved the little piece of carrot into his mouth.

“Yeah, no, sure thing,” he mumbled before taking a tissue and leaning over the table to give it to Jungkook. He took it, wiping his fingers and mouth before locking eyes with Taehyung once more.

“Thanks,” Jungkook mumbled quietly and Taehyung smiled to himself a little before waving it off.

“Sure thing,” Taehyung mumbled equally quiet and you had to stop the grin from growing on your lips. 

For a few more seconds, you sat there as Taehyung and Jungkook practically devoured the food you had made (neither bothered to go to the kitchen and get some cutlery though) before you crossed your arms in front of your chest and turned to Taehyung.

“Why were you so late?” you asked and he looked up, a piece of fried egg hanging from the corner of his mouth. “And where were you that it took you half an hour to get back?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes at you and swiped across his mouth with the back of his hand, swallowing heavily. “I crashed at Yoongi’s, and I swear the traffic was just out of the world this morning. I hit more red lights-”

“What? Was there a fire? Or did someone drop a bunch of mirrors on the road?”

Jungkook choked next to you and you watched him cough and pat his chest, trying desperately not to suffocate. Taehyung and you exchanged glances, and even though it had been incredibly awkward and tense just mere minutes ago, things were slowly changing.

When he finally managed to swallow his food, Jungkook locked eyes with you and you tried to hide it, but a smile grew onto your lips, eliciting his cheeks to grow hot and red.

“You guys never believed me,” Jungkook mumbled, a dramatic pout forming on his lips, and when you looked at Taehyung again, both of you burst out into laughter.

“Can you blame us though? Fires? Broken mirrors?” Taehyung laughed, forgetting everything that had happened between Jungkook and him.

“Why would I lie? There’s literally no reason for me to-”

“Because you forgot time and are now running late and trying to shift blame because you don’t want to get shit on for being late, again,” you offered as an explanation, falling into the same old teasing you all used to do when you were all still in high school and your biggest worries were if your mother or Jungkook was going to drive you home today and if Jungkook was going to stay at your place or if you were going to stay at his.

“I would never do that,” Jungkook argued and you rolled your eyes, exchanging a knowing glance with Taehyung. “Hey! No, don’t look at each other like that. I can see you guys.”

“Never thought or said you were blind,” Taehyung grinned and plopped a small tomato into his mouth. You hummed in agreement, grin growing bigger and brighter when you saw Jungkook scoff and shake his head at Taehyung and you.

“It’s always been you two against me,” Jungkook complained and Taehyung and you rolled your eyes simultaneously, scoffing.

“Please, if anything it was always you two,” Taehyung pointed at Jungkook and you with a piece of carrot before pointing at himself, “against me.”

“That is not true-”

“It was,” you said and locked eyes with Jungkook, nodding. “We’ve gotta admit it. We bullied Tae more than Tae and I bullied you.”

“So, you did bully me then,” Jungkook said and you rolled your eyes in faux annoyance.

“You’re focusing on the wrong thing,” Taehyung started and pointed at you, waving the piece of carrot around like it wasn’t food. “Y/N never got bullied. Only we did.”

“Oh my God, we never did bully you,” Jungkook said with a dramatic turn of his head and you scoffed, shaking your head because, oh, you did get bullied.

“Yoongs bullied me,” you corrected with a raise of your finger. “And if anyone didn’t get bullied, it was Yeri.”

“No, Yoongs bullied Yeri,” Taehyung said with his brows furrowed together and dismissed your words with a wave of his hand, after having finally eaten the piece of carrot. “You know who actually didn’t get bullied?”

“Yoongs,” Jungkook replied and all of you locked eyes, the realisation dawning on you. There was a beat of silence before you all started talking again, simultaneously.

“That bitch really bullied all of us relentlessly, but never got some of it back.”

“How did we not notice earlier?”

“Looks like we’ve got some bullying to do, huh?”

Another beat of silence followed before you locked eyes once more and all started laughing, pearls of laughter spilling from your lips, loud and beautiful.

And all of the tension and stiffness was gone, gone as you laughed your hearts out. Everything that had happened between you three was forgotten for a moment, the grudges were at the back of your minds, locked away for now, and you took it, took whatever the universe gave you that resembled normalcy. Deep down, you knew things were going to be awkward and tense once you all saw each other again, but for now, it was different, was like it used to be. 

Everything was great.

“I thought you guys would never come,” Yerim laughed, trying so hard to hide the nervosity, but you could hear it. She threw her arms around Jungkook’s neck, pulling him into a hug as he mumbled some excuse into her ear.

“Yeah, sorry.”

You watched Yerim and Heejin meet for the first time and you caught pieces of their conversation, listening to the usual spiel that consisted of ‘Oh, I’ve heard so much about you.’ and ‘It’s so nice to finally meet you’ before plopping a chip into your mouth, deeming whatever Yerim and Heejin were talking about as not interesting.

You had decided to busy yourself with the snacks in the kitchen when the bell had announced Jungkook’s and Heejin’s arrival, coming to the conclusion beforehand that if you looked busy, you didn’t have to get the door and do the obligatory greetings and hugs. With the way the door to the kitchen stood open, you could only see parts of the living room, but you had a perfect view of the front door. You, however, were somewhat hidden by one of Yerim’s plant. Essentially, you stood in the perfect spot to observe without being observed yourself.

“I thought you hated these chips.”

Your head whipped around at his voice and you realised only now he was already standing next to you, fingers grabbing the chip you had been about to eat. A gasp slipped past your lips as you watched him throw the chip into his mouth and lean against the table, shifting his whole weight onto the table.

“Yoongs!” you said, exasperated, but he didn’t care at all, grabbing a handful as he watched Yerim, Heejin and Jungkook exchange pleasantries at the front door.

“Didn’t you say the last time we hung out that these were too stale and bland in your opinion?” he asked, eyes never leaving the people at the front door, and you shrugged, plopping another stale and bland chip into your mouth.

“Opinions change.”

“That was last week.”

“Fine, so maybe they are too stale and bland in my opinion, but Yeri doesn’t have anything else,” you grumbled and threw another chip into your mouth, barely allowing yourself time to swallow and realise (again) just how horrible these chips were and why exactly you hated them.

“Shouldn’t you be saying hello right now?” you asked with a furrow of your brows and Yoongi scoffed.

“Why would I? I don’t live here. Yeri does,” Yoongi said with a scrunch of his nose. “Also, these are fucking horrible.” He looked at the chip in his hand with narrowed eyes. “God, they are stale and bland. I think these are those healthy chips or whatever.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you said, not really caring about the chips anymore, “but you haven’t met Heejin yet.” You nodded into her direction. “You should say hello.”

“Shouldn’t we all say hello to her regardless of if we’ve met her before or not?” Yoongi asked, plopping another chip into his mouth seconds after complaining about them. “So, shouldn’t you too?”

“I- Yeah, technically, I guess. But it’s different for you,” you argued.

Yoongi scoffed and shook his head, pausing a little as he focused on Yerim, Heejin and Jungkook again before snapping out of it. 

“I tell you what,” Yoongi started before shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, chewing to the end before continuing, “you go over there and say hello and then, I’ll do the same thing.”

You stared at Yoongi, but he didn’t meet your gaze, enjoying the view of Yerim, Heejin and Jungkook in the distance instead, and you huffed before mumbling underneath your breath for him to forget it. Both of you ate chips in silence for a few more seconds before he nudged your elbow with his hand, accidentally dropping a chip when he moved a little too quickly, but he didn’t mind or care at all.

“Tae’s going in,” Yoongi informed you and at his words, you looked up to see that, yes, Taehyung was, in fact, walking up to Yerim, Heejin and Jungkook, a strained smile on his lips.

“Yeah, probably because we aren’t,” you mumbled and Yoongi hummed in agreement. “Always there to save the day.”

“Look at Yeri’s panicked smile,” Yoongi said and pointed at her, and as much as you tried not to, you laughed a little, eliciting one from him.

“We’re bad people, Yoongs,” you snorted and he shook his head at you as he watched the horror unfold in front of him. 

“They haven’t made up yet, have they?” Yoongi asked and judging from the way Taehyung and Jungkook were hugging each other (or, well, actually not hugging each other because they were doing that awkward thing Jungkook and you had done the last time you had ‘hugged’ each other, and that was definitely not a hug.), it was obvious what the answer was.

“Obviously not,” you said and reached for your glass of water to wash down the salt. “Things are better though. Last time, they were ready to jump each other’s throats.”

Yoongi snorted and it was then that you remembered and looked over to him.

“Remember how I asked you for Tae’s address? Why didn’t you tell me he was crashing at your place then?”

A smirk formed on Yoongi’s lips and you wanted nothing more than to throw your glass of water into his face. The fact that he was still not looking at you only added to your irritation and frustration with him. 

“You told me not to tell Tae and Yeri, so I didn’t.”

“Yoongi!” you growled and jabbed him in his ribs, eliciting a breath from him. “You should have told me! Do you know how weird it was when he opened the door? You’re impossible sometimes.”

You scrunched up your brows and gritted your teeth, but Yoongi just cackled next to you, obviously enjoying your misery very much.

“You know what?” you asked and put down your glass of water with a little more force than necessary. “I take it back. We aren’t bad people. You are. You’re straight up a dick.”

“Oh, I never agreed with you,” Yoongi said and you frowned at his words, not getting what he was saying. “I know that I’m a bad person, but, trust me, you’re definitely not.”

Your frown deepened and you were about to ask him what he was talking about when Yoongi finally looked at you and stopped eating the chips, letting the few pieces in his hand fall back in the bowl. He dusted off his hand and straightened up to look at you properly.

“Look around yourself, Y/N,” he said and threw his hands into the air. “We’re at a fake game night party or whatever this thing is that you forced Yeri to throw, so you could act ‘annoyed’ with Taehyung because you’re fake dating him and you’re only fake dating him because that dumbass ex of yours, who is also somehow our dear friend, Jeon fucking Jungkook, forgot to tell his current girlfriend that you dated during high school.”

You tore your gaze away and bit on your tongue, trying desperately not to squirm underneath Yoongi’s gaze.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Yoongi continued and you lowered your head, squeezing your eyes shut. “This is literally the dumbest thing ever. You’re making sure Jungkook, who, again, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, is your ex, keeps his current girlfriend because he, again, was a dumbass and forgot to tell her about you. And on top of that, he’s been acting like a complete fucking asshole to you.

“Obviously. you’re not a bad person. You’re a fucking saint for putting up with and doing all of this.”

“It’s not like that-”

“Don’t try to convince me otherwise, Y/N,” Yoongi cut in and shoved his face with chips again before regretting it immediately and scrunching up his face in disgust. You peeled your eyes open just in time to watch him drink all of your water, but this time you didn’t complain. You simply sighed and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“I hurt him-”

“And?” Yoongi argued with a groan. “Stop blaming yourself for everything. We hate it if you do that. If Yeri wasn’t so freaking weak and had stuck to our agreement, this wouldn’t be happening right now.”

You shook your head and pressed your lips together. Yoongi didn’t understand, didn’t understand just what you had done and how much you had actually hurt Jungkook. In fact, none of your friends understood, understood why it wasn’t as easy as they seemed to think it was.

They hadn’t been there when you had told Jungkook you were going, hadn’t been there to witness him crumble apart in front of, hadn’t been there as his anger took over him and consumed him whole, hadn’t been there when Jungkook’s begs for this to be a joke turned into deafening screams and ultimately into bitter words.

“Out!” 

You flinched, flinched because Jungkook had never raised his voice withyou, had never looked at you like that. There was no warmth, no light, no love swimming in his eyes. All you could find was anger and pain, and you wished you could say you weren’t the reason for all of that.

His face contorted and hardened into something unreadable, something you had never seen before, and you wanted to soothe over every line, wanted to kiss them over and over again until they were gone. Even with the anger etched onto his face, Jungkook was painfully beautiful, heartbreakingly so.

“Please. Just let me explain, babe-”

“No!” Jungkook cut in and pointed at you, finger jabbing the air like it had wronged him and not you. Your heart rang in your ears and you were almost certain he could hear it too, hear it thumping in your chest. 

“Kook, please-”

“Do not call me ‘Kook’. I’m not fucking ‘Kook’ or ‘babe’ or even fucking ‘Jungkook’ to you. You’ve got no right to call me by my name anymore!”

A new wave of tears streamed down your face at his words. They pierced through you like bullets, hitting you in rapid succession and at the end, you were laying on the floor, on the brink of death.

“You’ve decided to- decided to leave me, no, us for your stupid adventure. You’ve fucking decided to break our promise! Remember our stupid fucking promise of forever?” Jungkook pressed through gritted teeth and took a step towards you, hands waving wildly around him. “You don’t get to say my name, don’t get to act like everything’s fucking fine and I’m your ‘Kook’ or ‘babe’ or whatever the fuck you call me after breaking it!”

You hiccuped and let your head hang as the realisation dawned on you that he was gone. He had slipped out of your reach and walked, no, ran away. He had put oceans and continents between you two, and there was no more asking him to come back anymore.

You knew then, he and you were done.

More curses slipped past Jungkook’s lips, but you couldn’t hear them, couldn’t hear the accusations he threw at you. For that, your heart was breaking and sobbing far too loudly in your chest.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, how long you stood there and cried your eyes out as he paced up and down his room, but by the time, you managed to lift your head, he was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands folded together with his gaze stuck to the floor.

And you weren’t sure how much time passed, how long you stared at him until he opened his mouth again.

“I really really love you,” Jungkook mumbled through gritted teeth and you knew he wished he didn’t love you anymore.

You wanted to grab him, cup his face and whisper into his ear over and over again just how sorry you were, whisper into his ear until words stopped making sense and the stars rained from the darkened sky.

“I really do,” Jungkook scoffed, but tears spilled from his eyes, involuntarily and far too many. Too proud to cry in front of you now, Jungkook covered his face with his hand and sank his teeth into his bottom lip, but even then, he couldn’t silence the sobs and sniffs. They banged on the walls of his throat and bursted through his lips.

And you hated it, hated seeing him like this, hated seeing his entire body shake and tremble, hated seeing his face contort in pain, hated seeing the tears collect at his chin and drip to the floor, hated seeing his lips quiver uncontrollably, hated seeing him desperately try to keep it together.

You hated seeing Jungkook cry.

But he was, and all because of you.

You were to blame, to blame for the state Jungkook was in right now. You had inflicted that pain on him, had broken and shattered his heart, had made him cry.

“Please, just let me explain-”

“There’s nothing to explain, Y/N,” he said, a sob erupting from his lips again, and you shook your head, trying so desperately to say something, but your tongue was tied into a messy knot. You wanted to tell him that there was so much you wanted to say, so much that needed to be explained, but you couldn’t bring yourself to, couldn’t bring yourself to form the words necessary.

Slowly, Jungkook looked up to you, hand falling into his lap, and when your eyes met his, your heart raptured in your chest. His features were twisted in pain and agony as the tears scared his beautiful face.

“You’re leaving.” Jungkook whispered it into the silence like you didn’t know. 

“You’re leaving me.”

You closed your eyes at his words, shaking your head like you were about to disagree, but you couldn’t, couldn’t even bring yourself to make a single sound. 

The anger in Jungkook’s voice had dissipated into the air and been replaced by disappointment and hurt. And if you had to say which one was worse, Jungkook screaming at you or Jungkook simply looking at you with tears streaming down his face, you would choose the latter every fucking day.

Because without the anger and the screams to numb you, to silence your thoughts and mind, it was obvious, glaringly obvious. 

You had broken Jungkook.

“I hope you’re happy,” Jungkook continued, voice cracking in the worst way possible, and a deaf man could have heard that he was lying, could have heard the bitterness swinging in his words.

“I hope you’re happy knowing you’ve hurt me.”

“You don’t get it, Yoongs,” you mumbled quietly to yourself before looking at your hands. “None of you do.”

You had always preferred game night over film night. You just always thought that it was so much more fun to play games than to sit in darkness and watch some film half of you didn’t watch anyway or had already watched. Your competitiveness and need to win certainly played into your preference of game night over film night. But right now, you would choose film night over game night any day, would never have another game night ever again if that meant you could switch to having a film night now instead.

You really had no idea what Yerim had been thinking when she had decided to draw lots to determine the teams. 

“So, we need a total of seven points to beat them, right? Both rounds?” Heejin asked you and you nodded, your heart racing more and more as you waited for the game to begin.

2 rounds of Taboo. 90 seconds to get through as many words as possible.

“You sure you don’t wanna be the one explaining? I’m sure you’re better at this than I am,” you said and Heejin shook her head at you.

“Trust me, I’m definitely worse than you,” she smiled. “If we wanna win, it’s best if Kook and you do the explaining.”

“Are you ready, Y/N?” Yerim asked you, her finger hovering above the start button, and you turned around to her before nodding. It was a complete lie, you weren’t ready, but you didn’t think you were ever going to be. 

You always got nervous right before you started playing a game, but this time, it was different, different because it mattered so much more if you won or not. Never had you wanted to win more, and the thought of possibly losing had your stomach churning. You couldn’t disappoint, disappoint him because you knew that he was just as competitive as you, if not more so.

“Go!”

You picked up the first card and scanned it.

Tattoos

Ink

Permanent

Skin

“Okay, uh,” you turned around and looked at Heejin and Jungkook, “they are like paintings or sketches.”

“Black and white paintings?” Heejin guessed and you shook your head, biting your lip as you thought of something else to say.

“Uh,” you tucked a strand behind your ear before looking at him, “ you always said you wanted them and they can be in any colour.”

“You always said you wanted them and they can be in any colour‘? What is she talking about?” Taehyung laughed at your poor attempt at describing the word ‘Tattoos’ and you started to panic even more.

“Stop guessing. You’re not on her team,” Yoongi said with a slap to his arm and Taehyung simply dismissed him with a wave of his hand, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Once you get them, they’re forever.”

“Jesus, Y/N, did you get worse at this?” Taehyung laughed and you could hear Yerim’s laugh mix with his. You couldn’t blame them though because you were really struggling to come up with a way to explain ‘Tattoos’.

“Why is Y/N describing and not Kook? Wasn’t he always better at this than her?” Yerim asked and you regretted not putting up more of a fight when Heejin had told Jungkook and you to do the explaining. 

You had always been better at guessing and Jungkook had always been the one better at explaining. You had your roles, but with Heejin on your team now and refusing to do the explaining, you had to step up.

“You got into this huge fight with your parents once because they didn’t like them- oh, you’ve got some now on your freaking hand!”

“Tattoos!” Jungkook exclaimed and you let out a squeal. A smile flashed across your lips before you nodded at him and picked up the next card, the previous card landing on the floor.

Valentine

 February 14

Red

Love 

“45 Seconds,” Yerim said and you turned to Heejin and Jungkook with wide eyes, quickly starting to explain.

“Okay, uh,” you said and tucked a strand behind your ear, brain trying to come up with a way to word this correctly. “It’s a holiday at the start of the year.”

“New Years?” Heejin said and you shook your head at her.

“Later.”

“What holiday is at the start of the year but not New Years?” Taehyung asked and once again, Yoongi slapped his arm, telling him not to guess.

“Easter?” Heejin said and you shook your head.

“30 Seconds,” Yerim interjected and you wanted to curse at her because this was really stressing you out.

“Fuck, uh,” you turned to Jungkook. “We always made fun of it because we thought it was just so commercialised.” You gestured wildly around yourself. “It’s for couples-”

“Oh, Valentine! February 14th-”

You cheered once more before picking up the next card, letting the other one fall to the floor once more.

Harry Potter

Film

Scar

Magic

“Uh, this is easy” you mumbled. “It’s a fictional character.”

“Sherlock Holmes? Iron Man?”

“No, let me finish first,” you shot back with urgency in your voice. “ He’s really famous-”

“Iron Man!”

“No, God, just let me finish!” you groaned and Jungkook sat back down a little more, lips pressing together to let you talk. Heejin smiled next to him and placed her hand on his knee, trying to calm him, but Jungkook had his eyes fixed on you, desperately trying to get that win.

“15 Seconds,” Yerim smiled, definitely enjoying the distress in your eyes far too much.

“Okay, uh, we can get this one,” you said, stumbling over your own words. 

“You can do, like, quizzes.”  You looked at Jungkook once more. “We did them too!” You gestured between him and you. “You got really pressed because you got Hufflepuff, but you wanted-”

“Oh, Harry Potter,” Jungkook said and snapped his fingers.

“Time’s up!” Yerim said and you dropped the card in your hand.

“Three points, right?” Heejin counted on her fingers and turned to Jungkook and you. 

You let out a long sigh, feeling the stress wash out of you a little because now, you got to do the part you were actually good at, guessing.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nodded as he got up and stretched, preparing himself for the next 90 seconds. “So, four points.”

You walked past Jungkook, slumping into the seat he had just sat in. Your heart was still beating way too fast and the adrenaline was pumping through your veins like a bullet train.

“We can do this, right?” Jungkook asked and turned back around, standing in the middle of the room. When you realised he was looking at you, talking to you, you could feel the heat creep up your neck. “You know, like we used to?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you muttered, far too embarrassed to respond properly. He blinked at you before nodding and walking up to Yerim, who was shuffling the cards.

“‘Like we used to’?” Heejin asked and turned to you with a furrow of her brows. You cursed Jungkook and slowly nodded.

“Yeah, uh, he and I were kinda always a team when we played Taboo,” you said before cleaning your throat and avoiding Heejin’s gaze as much as you could.

“Dream team,” Taehyung interjected and you rolled your eyes at him, leaning towards Heejin a little too slap his shoulder.

“‘Dream team’?” Heejin asked, but before you could answer, Yerim, thankfully, interrupted.

“Next round!” she announced and turned to Jungkook, nodding at him when he did. “Go.”

Immediately, Jungkook picked up a card and you turned around again, putting all of your focus on him and winning.

“So, this is something I want but it’s not a thing or object. It’s, like, alive.”

“Dog?” you started and he quickly shook his head. 

“Cat?” Heejin tried and before Jungkook could shake his head, you interrupted.

“No, he wants a dog, not a cat,” you mumbled, brows furrowing together as you thought about Jungkook’s words, trying to figure out what he was talking about until you got it. “Oh, a family!”

“Yes!” Jungkook grinned and gestured for you to think further. “Right, but that’s not it. When you have a family, you have-” 

“Kids?” You quirked a brow at him and Jungkook nodded.

“Okay, right, another word for kids is-?”

“Children!”

“Yes!” Jungkook cheered and grinned at you before throwing the card away and grabbing a new one. He read it and nodded to himself.

“It’s once a year, but not a holiday.”

“Not a holiday?” Yoongi mumbled quietly to himself even though he had told Taehyung not to guess.

“Say more,” you told him and Jungkook sighed, wrecking his brain before pointing at you.

“It’s your favourite day of the year and- You get a bunch of presents and, oh! We threw you a surprise-”

“Surprise party?”

“Yeah, but why did we-”

“My birthday! Is it birthday?”

Jungkook beamed at you and you mirrored him, beaming right back. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but now, it was out of excitement. You could practically taste the win on the tip of your tongue. 

“Okay, uh, this is hard,” Jungkook sighed after picking up the next card. He frowned before looking up. “It’s something you can eat.”

“Food.”

“Yeah, but that’s only the second word,” he said and gestured for you to think further again. “Like, ice cream-”

“Ice cream food? Food ice cream? Ice food cream?” you blurted all out, screaming one word after another, and Jungkook frowned at you.

“‘Ice food cream’? Maybe you’re not that good at guessing,” Jungkook laughed with a shake of your head, and you rolled your eyes at him, mumbling underneath your breath that it had been a long time, but your words fell on deaf ears. “No, it���s not ice food cream. It’s something you shouldn’t eat much of.”

“Sugar?” you guessed, but Jungkook shook his head at you.

“45 seconds,” Yerim said and Jungkook and you looked at each other, eyes wide. The need to win sparkled in both of your eyes and quickly, panic rushed through you, replacing the excitement.

“Say more-”

“There isn’t more. You’ve just gotta think- food is the second word!”

“But what about ice cream? Why did you-”

“Ice cream is-”

“Cold?”

Jungkook groaned, “No, I don’t mean cold.”

His brows furrowed together as he wrecked his brain before he thought of something and pointed at you again. “Okay, uh, we used to go to this one place all the time! Remember our midnight dinners? And the category of food that they sell is what we’re looking for.”

“Oh! McDonalds!” You snapped your fingers. “Junk Food!”

When Jungkook nodded at you, you squealed, watching him turn around and pick up the next card.

“If they get this next point, they won, right?” Yoongi asked Taehyung, but you answered.

“Yeah, we beat you then, losers,” you grinned and Jungkook laughed at your words before he turned to the card in his hand, scanning it.

“They’re really good at this, aren’t they?” Heejin asked Taehyung and leaned into him to make sure neither Jungkook nor you could hear her. Not that you two would have anyway, far too focused on the game at hand to pay her any attention, completely forgetting that she was on your team too.

“Yeah, both are incredibly competitive, so they work well together. Like, they practically always know what the other is thinking,” Taehyung mumbled as he watched you shuffle in your seat, not noticing the way Heejin looked at him at all.

You raised your brows when you saw Jungkook freeze up upon reading the card. His jaw didn’t go slack nor did his eyes go wide, but you could see, could see right away that something was wrong.

“Uh? What’s wrong?” you started, but even then Jungkook didn’t look up, eyes fixed on the card in front of him. Slowly, the others seemed to notice too, heads turning to see a frozen Jungkook. 

“20 Seconds.”

You exchanged a glance with Taehyung, but he shrugged at you, and so, you looked at Yerim for some help as she stood right next to Jungkook. She squinted as she tried to read the card herself.

“Oh, shit,” she blurted out and pressed her hand on her mouth when she realised that she had spoken without meaning to. She looked at Jungkook, mouth opening as she struggled to decide to say something or not, but then he snapped out of it.

Jungkook glanced at Yerim’s phone in her hand and looked up to you, eyes locking with yours like before, but this time, it was different. You immediately felt that there was a shift and you had a feeling that it was bad.

“It’s, like, a place you could say.” Jungkook’s voice quivered the tiniest bit, but you noticed immediately. You raised your brows and leaned even more forward, as if you could coax the word out of Jungkook that way.

“Really big,” he continued and looked at you like you should know what he was talking about now. When you furrowed your brows at you, he sighed, “You were there for the past four years.”

“Oh.”

Your entire face dropped as the realisation dawned on you and you sat back. You felt Taehyung eyeing you with worry etched onto his face, about to say something, but Yoongi put his hand on his shoulder and shook his head. Only Heejin was more lost than ever, but you paid no one any attention, far too shocked to say anything. 

All of the memories, all of the memories connected to America and all of the pain it had caused not only you but Jungkook when you had left to go there, hit you so hard you feared whiplash. 

“5.”

You tried to say something, tried to give the answer because you knew it and you really didn’t want to lose, but somehow you just couldn’t. Your voice was gone, had disappeared. The word didn't hurt you, but you knew it hurt him, and that was one thing you didn’t want to do ever again.

“4.”

Jungkook and you kept eye contact as Yerim counted the seconds and you watched his brows furrow together and his lips press together in a thin line. He was debating internally, trying to figure out what he wanted, if the win was worth it, worth the memories and pain.

“3.”

Your eyes were fixed on him and when you saw Jungkook sigh a little and nod at you, you knew right away what he was telling you.

“2.”

You nodded at him too.

“America-”

“1.”

And even though Jungkook had told you to say it, the guilt still bubbled up and formed icicles in your lungs, piercing tiny holes in them, and you could feel the blood slowly filter in, suffocating you.

Jungkook and you kept staring at each other, and you should look away because there was no reason for both of you to be still looking at each other, but you couldn’t. 

“Does it still count?” Heejin asked, breaking the silence, and looked at Yerim.

Yerim’s eyes were trained on Jungkook and you, and only when you two tore your gazes away and looked at her, did she speak up. 

“Yeah, it counts.”

Jungkook and you whipped your heads around, looking at each other with big eyes. For a second, both of you didn’t know how to react, but then, the corners of his mouth curled up into a smile. Your lips split apart into a big grin and squeals and cheers escaped you two. You jumped up and Jungkook ran towards you, hands held up for high-fives. You reciprocated it and both of you beamed at each other.

“We won!” 

Jungkook laughed at your words and nodded, eyes softening as he watched the joy spread on your face.

“Yeah, we did.”

His words were soft, incredibly soft. A whispered secret almost. 

“Yeah, we did,” Jungkook repeated with a nod and a smile. “We did.”

You looked at Jungkook and even though you should look away again, you couldn’t. You two were locked into each other’s eyes, locked into each other’s eyes like it was just Jungkook and you in this room, in this world, in this universe, like you were falling in love with one another all over again.

And for a moment, it truly felt like that, felt like it was just him and you in this room, in this world, in this universe.

But then, his gaze flickered to Heejin.

Your eyes grew wide at the same time and your smiles almost slipped off your faces before you both turned to Heejin and let out another round of cheers and squeals.

“We won, Heejin!” Jungkook said and you held up your hand for a high-five. She blinked at both of you and you thought she was going to ask you two what the fuck that just was, confront you on forgetting her for the second half of the game, but then a smile split apart on her face.

“Yeah, isn’t that great?” she smiled and gave you a high-five.

After another round of Taboo and a few rounds of Charades and Pictionary (which you all won), you were exhausted, definitely spread thin. The adrenaline got to you, but so did actively avoiding your friends’ stares and trying not to get too swept up in the games and forgetting about Heejin again. So, when no one paid attention to you, busy with cleaning up and preparing for the next game, Werewolf, you snuck away.

“Best part of Yeri’s tiny flat, isn’t it?”

You didn’t turn around at Yoongi’s voice.

“Truly is.”

Yerim had a tiny flat, but she had a balcony. It was tucked behind the kitchen and, you had almost not seen it when you had walked in and looked for some peace and quiet. Yerim’s fridge blocked the glass door a little because, after all, the flat was tiny and so was the kitchen. 

The railing of the small balcony was lined with flowers, flowers that Yerim had texted you far too much about, flowers that had gone from blooming to dying to almost blooming to what they are now, almost dying.

Yerim had sent you pictures of the view when she had first moved in, but standing on here yourself was different. Truth be told, the view wasn’t the best, wasn’t breathtaking, nothing compared to the view you had gotten to enjoy at the restaurant, but it was enough to ground you, calm you down and give you the sense of peace and quiet you had looked for.

“You okay?”

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Yoongi, offering him a smile as you nodded.

“Yeah,” you said.

“That’s nice,” he hummed before leaning against the railing with his arms, careful not to hurt the flowers. “You sure, though?”

Yoongi peered up at you and you thought about his words for a moment. You had truly thought that this would be worse, that it would be awkward and weird as hell, but you had to say it wasn’t. When Jungkook turned out to be your partner (You had Yerim to thank for that. How was drawing lots to determine the teams a good idea?), you had truly thought that things were only going to go down from there. To your surprise, they didn’t.

There had been some tension between Jungkook and you, but the moment you picked up the first card and desperately tried to explain ‘Tattoos’ to him, both of you completely forgot about it, and instead worked together to win.

So, with a smile, you mirrored Yoongi’s stance, resting your elbows on the railing like him and leaning forward before letting your cheek fall into your open palm and turning to him.

“Yes, I’m sure, Yoongs,” you said. “Thanks for asking.”

Yoongi blinked at you before chuckling quietly to himself and turning his head away, eyes watching the sun dip below the horizon.

“How are you though? You okay?” you asked and watched as Yoongi let out a long and heavy sigh, eyes staying on the horizon.

“I hate this. So, wouldn’t say I’m okay.”

“You do? Sure you’re not hating this because you’re losing constantly?” you teased.

“Yes, Y/N, I do and, yes, I’m sure it’s not because I’m constantly losing. I’m not Kook or you. I don’t need to win. I don’t care that much,” Yoongi said with a roll of his eyes and another sigh. “You realise how dumb all of this is, right?”

You looked at Yoongi, raising your brows at him.

“We’re only doing this so you can act annoyed with Tae and then you two can break up or whatever, right?” he asked you and you nodded. “And that’s what’s dumb about this.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes narrowing as you tried to figure out what exactly he thought was dumb about your plan.

Yoongi sighed once more. “You realise you don’t owe Heejil, or whatever her name is, an explanation, right? Fucking just text her that you’re broken up. Or, you know, better yet, don’t tell her because, again, you don’t owe her anything. She isn’t a friend of ours. She’s just the girl your ex and our dumbass friend is dating.” 

The annoyance was dripping from his voice as you continued staring at him. “Or, like, make up some story and the next time she sees you, just tell her that. You think she’s really gonna question that? She doesn’t know when you or Tae are lying.”

You blinked at Yoongi because how had none of you thought of that before? He was right. You didn’t owe Heejin any sort of explanation, but here you were, meeting up to put on a whole show (that you didn’t even put on) to give her some sort of explanation.

Yoongi seemed to be able to hear his words click in your mind because he scoffed at you. “You guys are fucking dumbasses.”

Now, you scoffed too, scoffed at yourself because, once again, Yoongi was right. You were dumbasses and you couldn’t believe neither Taehyung nor Jungkook nor you thought of this.

“Shit.”

Yoongi chuckled and shook his head at you, the corners of his lips turned downwards.

“Yeah, shit.”

You pressed your lips together as you let Yoongi’s words fully sink in with you, dawn on you and float away.

“Hey, guys.”

Yoongi and you turned around at Yerim’s voice, straightening up in an instant. You watched her slide the glass door open, a bowl of chips pressed to her chest as she stepped out.

“What are you two doing out here?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“Oh, we-”

“Hiding,” Yoongi stated like it wouldn’t get you two in trouble and you whipped your head around to him, hand hitting his arm as you fixed him with a glare.

“Yoongs,” you growled, but he just laughed a little and rolled his eyes at you.

“Hiding?” Yerim questioned with a raise of her brows and tapped her foot like a mother about to scold her children.

“Yeah, hiding,” Yoongi continued and gripped the railing behind him, leaning against it. “We didn’t want to subject ourselves to that bullshit out there any longer. It’s really weird out there.”

“Yoongs, don’t say that. Yeri put effort into today. It’s not that weird-”

“Nope, Yoongs is right,” Yerim sighed and uncrossed her arms, tension washing out of her in an instant. She took a handful of chips and shoved them into her mouth, and as she chewed, a pout formed on her lips. “It’s weird as fuck outside. I don’t know what we’re doing really. Like, we’re playing games and everything and I guess it’s fun or whatever, but something’s just kinda off.”

Yerim shook her head and Yoongi grabbed a couple of chips as he chuckled at her words.

“Told you,” he said and you shoved him away when he grinned into your face, not appreciating the smugness. 

“I mean,” Yerim started again before eating another handful of the chips, “you’re right. Heejin’s nice, but I honestly think she makes things weird-”

“You think it’s Heejin?” Yoongi laughed with a shake of his head before pointing at you. “It’s Y/N and Kook. They’re the ones making it weird.”

“Excuse you? How am I making it weird?” you asked with big eyes, swatting Yoongi’s hand away,

“Please,” Yoongi scoffed with a raise of his brow. “How are you not making it weird? Kook and you are totally in your own world. It’s like you two are dating again, and we’re all, like, six wheeling.”

You scoffed and stared at Yoongi with your jaw open. Your hands balled up into fists at your side and you shook your head at him.

“Bullshit,” you said. “It’s not like that at all.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Yoongi said, enjoying the way you got all worked up. And before you could stop him, he had placed his hand against your forehead. “Woah, your face’s literally heating up.”

You shoved his hand away, lips pressing together into a line as you shook your head at him and waved him off.

“Bullshit,” you pressed through gritted teeth. “It’s just the sun. It’s summer. It’s hot.”

“Yeah, sure,” Yoongi scoffed at your reasoning, and you were about to curse at him when you realised that you getting worked up was exactly what he wanted.

You turned to Yerim for backup, but she simply stared into her bowl of chips and shoved her face with it, actively avoiding your gaze. A scoff slipped past your lips and you mumbled curses aimed at Yoongi underneath your breath, deliberately ignoring the fact that it was definitely not hot enough today for your face to warm up like that.

Yoongi was ridiculous, definitely ridiculous. Jungkook and you just get carried away when you play games. You were competitive, nothing more. 

Your heart definitely only beat so hard and fast in your chest because the adrenaline was pumping through your veins, and you were only so incredibly happy about winning a stupid game of Taboo because it had been a long time since you had played against your friends, making the wins even sweeter.

It was nothing, nothing like Yoongi had said.

Jungkook and you were acting nothing like you two used to when you dated.

“Uh.”

All three of you looked up at the interruption, and your breath hitched in your throat when you saw him. He stood there, gripping the handle of the glass door as he awkwardly shifted from one foot to another. A tiny smile pulled on the corners of his lips while he looked between Yerim and Yoongi, but not you.

“Hey, Kook,” Yerim said and did this terribly awkward dance with Jungkook as she tried to step away and make some space for him, but there was none left, and you couldn’t help but laugh a little. The fact that you were upset just seconds ago was completely forgotten.

“Sorry,” you mumbled between laughs when Yerim turned around to glare at you, and you had to bite your lip to hide the grin that tugged on the corners of your lips. 

Yoongi eyed you with narrowed eyes before he shook his head and sighed. He kicked himself off the railing, and his hand landed on Yerim’s shoulder, stopping her from continuing this terrible dance with Jungkook and drawing her attention to him.

“Yeri, didn’t you want to show me this one thing that you got recently?” 

“What?” Yerim furrowed her brows at him and it took Yoongi raising his brow at her for her to get it. An uneasy and tense smile stretched across her lips before she nodded her head, far too vigorously. 

“Ah, yes, right. That, uh, thing. I- I remember. Let’s check it out, yeah?” Yerim laughed, and you frowned at her words, not believing her even for a second.

Your gaze drilled into Yoongi to ask him what the hell he was thinking he was doing, but he was avoiding your gaze expertly. And when you looked over to Yerim, she had essentially buried her face into the bowl of chips, and you wanted to throw it over your shoulder and demand her to look at you. 

Without really meaning to, your gaze travelled to Jungkook. When you looked at him, his eyes were already on you. His expression was unreadable and you didn’t know what he was thinking, but you knew that it was a bad idea for Yerim and Yoongi to leave you alone with him, knew that you didn’t want them to walk away. Because what were Jungkook and you? Back to being friends? Was it okay to laugh and tease each other now? Or was Jungkook still mad at you?

But before you could say something, Yerim and Yoongi had walked away, had left you standing alone on the balcony with Jungkook right in front of you.

He didn’t step out, didn’t join you on the balcony, and instead chose to stand at the glass door with his hand still gripping the handle. It was like he was ready to slam the door shut and walk away if things started to get a little too much for him, if this conversation didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to.

And you gnawed on your lip as he stared at you, stared at you like he had done before when you two had won your first round of Taboo. Just before the silence got too unbearable to handle and the tension too thick for you to breathe in, Jungkook opened his mouth.

“I missed you.”

Your heart stopped in your chest, stopped in your chest like maybe if it stopped, time would stop and you would get to enjoy the moment a little longer. You had no idea how long you simply blinked at Jungkook, but by the time you finally managed to get your thoughts together and properly look at him, he was shifting from one foot to another with his knuckles white around the grip of the glass door and his eyes dancing around, looking at everything except you.

“What?”

When Jungkook spoke up again, there was the slightest quiver in his voice. The slightest quiver that told you just how nervous and uncertain he was, how much he feared you laughing into his face.

“I meant it when I said it. I missed you.”

It didn’t sound like a joke, didn’t sound like he was messing with you at all, but it still took your brain seemingly forever to comprehend his words, to realise that he was completely and utterly serious.

“You did?” you asked in a whisper and Jungkook’s gaze found the floor, a breathy chuckle escaping him before he nodded.

“Yeah, I did.”

You blinked at him before your lips curled up into the softest smile.

“I did too.”

Jungkook raised his head and looked at you, and you watched the corners of his lips curl up into the most beautiful and dazzling smile. This time when he smiled at you, it was nothing like the smile he had given you when you had sat in his living room or when you had both realised you had won. No, this smile was different. It was the smile you had dreamt of every night, was the smile you had remembered every morning, was the smile you had longed to see on his lips again ever since you had first seen it.

It was the smile Jungkook showed you when he had whispered the three words for the first time, 

“I love you.”

And so, your heart surged in your chest, rose above and beyond, reached the sky and the stars, touched the sun and moon, and when she fell back down, she didn’t land in your hands. No, she landed in his hands.

“I missed having you around, you know,” Jungkook started, voice still quivering as he spoke. “I missed being able to call you up or text you and talk about everything and anything until we both just fell asleep. I missed showing up at your doorstep and going out for our midnight dinners with you. I missed laughing at other couples for stressing over Valentine before going out ourselves and being one of those stupid cheesy couples we made fun of.

“I missed having my best friend around.”

Jungkook stepped out on the balcony and closed the glass door behind him, hands at his side. There was a heavy sigh, and instantly, you knew. Slowly, his gaze met yours and he stared into your eyes with that look, that look that broke you.

“Why did you have to leave me?”

You sank your teeth into your lip and wrung your hands together, chest rising and falling far too quickly as you ran out of breath simply thinking of the answer. There was so much weighing on you, so many things you wanted to say, but couldn’t say, couldn’t because you couldn’t handle it, not even years later.

“You know why,” you breathed out, eyes searching the floor for words, for words that would escape you.

“Please, tell me again,” Jungkook asked and you wanted to ask him why he wanted to know, why he so desperately wanted to bring it all up again when he and you had done such a good job tiptoeing around it before.

“I-” You shook your head at yourself and you thought that maybe Jungkook would interrupt you and tell you he had changed his mind and didn’t want to hear it again if you paused, but his silence demanded for an answer. 

So, you gave him one, one that was worded badly and didn’t even begin to explain why you left, but it was an answer, the most you could do right now.

“I- it was my dream,” you managed to croak out and you expected a scoff, but Jungkook simply looked at you, waiting for you to continue. “It was my dream to study in America. So, I did it. I- I fulfilled my dream.”

The quietest sigh escaped Jungkook and even though you could barely hear it, you felt your heart tumble in his hands at the sound of, felt her start to slip through his fingers.

“Have I ever told you what my dream was?”

You looked up at his question  and shook your head, unable to make a single sound, not to mention say something.

Jungkook smiled to himself before he wandered over to you, feet stopping right where Yoongi had stood, next to you. And once again, you noticed the gap, the gap between him and you, the gap that seemed to never really close.

“I’ve had it since the start of high school, but unlike you, I didn’t fulfill it,” Jungkook started, eyes gazing into the sky. “I still want it and I do think I’m gonna fulfill it one day, but I don’t think I’m gonna do it the way I thought I would.”

Jungkook shook his head and you were really not sure how to process his words, or what he was trying to tell you. 

“It’s stupid and childish, I guess, but I really thought I would fulfill it, fulfill it the way I had dreamt of.” Jungkook laughed to himself before he fell quiet again.

Slowly, he turned to you, eyes glazing over as he looked at you, looked at you with his incredibly beautiful eyes. You could see the warmth, the light, the love in them, but there seemed to be something else swimming in his pupils, and you hated it when you realised what it was. 

Sadness.

You bit on your tongue as you watched the wind blow through Jungkook’s fluffy hair and mess it all up, and even then, Jungkook was still breathtakingly gorgeous. And with the sun going down behind you, the most beautiful and heartbreaking halo was cast upon him, surrounding him, hugging him.

“You were my dream, Y/N.”

Your heart didn’t fall to the ground and shatter into pieces because she tumbled too much in Jungkook’s hands. She fell to the ground and shattered into pieces because Jungkook didn’t hold on tight enough, because he couldn’t hold on tight enough.

“You and me, forever. Together. A house, a kid or two, maybe a dog. Really, anything you wanted. That was my dream,” Jungkook whispered, words slipping off his tongue quietly and slowly, like it was a secret, a secret meant to be only shared between him and you.

The corners of Jungkook’s lips curled up into the saddest smile you had ever seen when he continued, “I thought we were going to be together and grow old. I truly thought one day I would get the pleasure and honour of watching you walk down the aisle.”

Jungkook raised his hand and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to cup your face, seemed like he was going to stroke your cheek, but then, he hesitated. It was like he remembered, remembered then that you were not like that anymore, were not dating anymore.

And so, Jungkook shook his head at himself and curled his hand into a tight fist, knuckles turning a painful white before he let his hand drop and swing by his side. It was like if he didn’t curl his hand into a tight enough fist, he would lose and cup your face, stroke your cheek anyway.

“I really thought you were my dream.”

There was no malice in Jungkook’s voice as he spoke. He wasn’t trying to make you feel bad or trying to hurt you. He was simply trying to be truthful, but the truth was ugly and terrible and neither of you liked it very much. But at least, the truth didn’t hurt Jungkook, it only hurt you, only stabbed you in the chest and asked you where your goddamn heart was, only cursed at you for leaving Jungkook, the one boy who had loved you more than anything else in this world.

“Do you regret it?”

You hated that question, hated it so much because, fuck, you didn’t know. You didn’t know if you regretted it, if you regretted leaving Jungkook. You regretted that he and you broke up, regretted the way you two broke up, but did that mean you automatically regretted going to America? Did that mean that going to America was the wrong choice? 

And even though you asked yourself these questions, you didn’t want the answers, didn’t want to know them because, fuck, you were afraid of them, afraid to realise that you regretted both and you had fucked up your chance of true and lasting love with Jungkook and spent all of this time, all these years in a foreign country without your friends and family for nothing.

You lowered your head and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your skull together as it threatened to split open.

In the silence, Jungkook’s steps were loud, ringing in your ears, deafening. And you contorted your face and bit on your lip when you heard Jungkook slide the glass door open, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips before he spoke up, mustering up the best smile he could,

“We’re still gonna bully Yoongs for bullying us, right?”

You chuckled because how could you not? Of course, Jungkook could still make you laugh. It was a sad chuckle, but it was a chuckle no one else could have ever elicited from you.

You lifted your head  and peered at Jungkook over your shoulder, peered at him even though it hurt you to. He was just too beautiful to not look at.

“Yeah, we’ll still bully Yoongs for bullying us.”

You almost didn’t see the way the corners of Jungkook’s lips curled up into something that resembled a smile, almost didn’t see it with the tears swimming in your eyes, blurring your vision.

“Amazing.”

Jungkook nodded at you, fingers tapping the glass door before he turned around and walked away. And even though you shouldn’t, you watched him, watched him slip away more and more, watched him walk away from you.

You turned back around and only realised then that the sun had almost completely dipped below the horizon. The sky was painted an incredibly mellow and sorrowful orange, and even with your heart shattered on the floor and guilt leaving gaping holes in your chest, you had to smile.

And with that smile on your lips, the tears rolled down your cheeks, sparkling in the sunlight as you let them flow, flow because you didn’t see a reason to wipe them away. Sometimes it was good to just cry, let yourself feel.

“Tell me you’re not crying.”

His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, but you heard them. You pressed your lips together at his words because, of course, he would also come out to talk to you. You really should have expected it, should have expected it because he was simply that great.

“Well, guess you gotta give me a second then,” you said and rubbed on your cheeks, quickly wiping away the tears you knew were going to have his blood boiling and anger unfurling in his stomach.

“Y/N,” Taehyung sighed as he stepped out on the balcony, glass door clicking shut behind you as his hand gripped your elbow and turned you around. 

“What did he say?” You shook your head, smiling at him as much as possible, but your smile did nothing to soothe the deep line between Taehyung’s brow, did nothing to loosen the grip he had around your elbow.

“Tell me. I don’t care if he’s my friend, he’s-”

“No, stop,” you interrupted with a shake of your head and placed your hands on his shoulder, lips splitting into a grin because truly, Taehyung was the greatest, the greatest friend you could have ever wished or asked for. “It’s nothing. He didn’t say anything.”

You knew with the way Taehyung was eyeing you that he didn’t believe you, didn’t believe you for a single second, but you also knew that you could spend hours trying to convince him otherwise and he still wouldn’t believe you.

“You sure you don’t need me to beat him up a little?”

You laughed. “You think you can beat him up?”

Taehyung scoffed at your words and tried his hardest to look offended, but even he had to smile a little. 

“I’d try for you,” he said and you laughed again, shaking your head from left to right. The thought of a beaten up Taehyung popping right into your head.

“Let’s be honest here, he would just beat you up. No offence.”

Now, Taehyung laughed as well, laughed because he knew you were right. And for a moment, both of you only smiled at each other. For a moment, things seemed great and like he wouldn’t bring it up again that you had just been crying.

But just like a wise man once had said, great things always have to come to an end. 

“You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

Taehyung’s smile disappeared and your hands slid off his shoulder. You sighed, knowing exactly what he was talking about even though he didn’t specify. 

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before humming and peeling your eyes open, head cocking to the side.

“Well, I also shouldn’t stay up so late and get more sleep, but here I am.” Your attempt of humour wasn’t well received at all. Taehyung didn’t even fake a smile at you, and you quickly let yours slip away, realising the weight of the situation and just how serious he was.

“Y/N, I mean it. You shouldn’t feel guilty,” Taehyung said, stressing every word of his last sentence like he wanted to drill it into your head, like he wanted for you to remember it, like he wanted to tattoo it into your skin so you would never forget. 

“It’s not that easy,” you said in a quiet whisper and Taehyung pursed his lips, hands burying into his pockets as he suppressed the sigh from slipping.

“But it’s not like you try either, right? Not like you try to free yourself from all of that guilt,” Taehyung argued and you almost groaned because, once again, he showed you that he had no idea.

“Taehyung, it’s really not that easy. I can’t just wake up and say ‘Well, it’s his fault that he got hurt-’”

“That’s not what I’m asking from you. Yes, you can’t wake up and say that, but you can wake up and say ‘It sucks that Jungkook got hurt by me leaving and was unable to properly forgive me for not telling him earlier, but aside from that I didn’t do anything wrong because I simply chased my dream.’. I’m not asking you to wake up and be all ‘Jungkook can suck a dick.’. That’d be ridiculous, but I’m asking you to stop blaming yourself.”

You tore your gaze away and crossed your arms in front of your chest as you suddenly realised how mesmerising Yerim’s flowers were.

“It’s trying, trying to feel less guilty. That’s what I’m asking from you. And I realise it’s a process, but for the love of God, can you start it?” Taehyung said and tried to get you to look at him again, but you whipped your head around. 

“None of you understand,” you whispered and Taehyung scoffed, hands running through his hair as he tried not to snap.

“But we do!” Taehyung groaned and you turned around to look at him, ready to shut him up and tell him how exactly he was wrong, but he continued, “You seriously think that Yoongs or Yeri or I weren’t hurt by the news of you leaving? You seriously think that we weren’t mad too? You seriously think it was easy for us to go to the airport and wish you well? No!”

Taehyung gestured wildly around himself, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, as he tried not to shake you and yell into your face to wake the fuck up.

“It wasn’t. It sucked because while, yes, none of us dated you, we still loved you,” Taehyung said, leaning forward to stress his words. “We were hanging out every day for four years, spending every minute together, and then suddenly, at the start of our last summer, you tell us you’re going to America?”

You swallowed heavily and bit on your tongue.

“It wasn’t easy and it fucking sucked, but we still wanted the best for you, still wanted you to go because we knew just how much you wanted to and how much you had worked for it. You deserved it, truly,” Taehyung said, voice growing soft as he calmed down a little. 

“It was why we did go to the airport with you and wished you well,” Taehyung spat out and for a moment, he stopped, paused and put his hands on his hips, eyes piercing through yours as you struggled to hold his gaze.

“Do you realise that you haven’t said his name?”

You blinked at Taehyung, unable to say anything as a lump lodged itself into your throat, growing bigger and bigger with every word that left him.

“I don’t think you’ve said ‘Jungkook’ or ‘Kook’ even once except for that time when we first saw Kook in the restaurant,” Taehyung said and you really thought he wouldn’t realise. “You feel so guilty you can’t even say his name. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

You uncrossed your arms and let them slip to your side, eyes darting across the floor as you tried to find your words, but you couldn’t.

“And what hurts and frustrates me the most aside from the fact that you will not recognise that your guilt is, in fact, ridiculous, is that Kook treats you like shit. And he’s so rude to you even though you go out of your way to fucking dice his cucumbers, even though you and I are fake dating for him, even though you organised this entire thing to break up with me so Heejin will never find out that all of this is a lie and you’re in actuality Kook’s ex.”

Taehyung was heaving at the end, chest rising and falling as the world spilled from his lips like an overflowing bucket. He levelled you with a gaze and a few seconds passed by before he spoke up again. But this time he wasn’t on the edge of yelling, this time his voice wasn’t dripping of urgency and frustration, this time he was calm.

“Look, I’m not saying that you did nothing wrong and that Kook has no right to be mad at you at all.” You pressed your lips together. “You did just leave, did just apply for that scholarship without telling us beforehand. That sucked, and you shouldn’t have done that. You should have at least told him.”

Taehyung ran a hand through his hair as he gazed off into the sky, eyes squinting when he looked right into the disappearing sun.

“But it doesn’t mean that it’s okay for him to act the way he does. You’ve both fucked up, but it’s been years.”

You leaned against the railing and let out a long sigh, eyes wandering to Taehyung. He offered you a smile and while you felt the corners of your lips quiver and your lungs ache, you smiled back at him. 

“You two obviously have a lot to work through,” Taehyung said and you threw your head back into your neck, gaze finding the sky.

“Where do I start?”

And without missing a beat, Taehyung answered,

“Start by forgiving yourself.”

When Taehyung came home that night after dropping you off, he found Jungkook in the kitchen, McDonalds bag sitting on the dining table.

“Got anything for me?” Taehyung asked as he made his way over to Jungkook, sitting down opposite of him and crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Jungkook didn’t respond or look at Taehyung, simply putting down his burger on the wrapper that functioned as a makeshift plate before rummaging through the brown bag and tossing a cheeseburger at Taehyung.

“You took Heejin home?” Taehyung asked as he peeled the wrapper away, wondering how Jungkook had made it home before him when he had been at McDonalds before. 

“Uh, she insisted on going home herself. Called her an uber,” Jungkook mumbled between bites and Taehyung stopped unwrapping his burger for a moment to eye him before nodding and continuing. 

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Taehyung said, trying to make Jungkook feel better, but he shrugged and didn’t really react. 

Interpreting Jungkook’s silence as him not wanting to talk, Taehyung didn’t say anything more and focused on the food in front of him, biting into his burger that was disgustingly cold now, but after the night he had, any food was welcomed, even if it tasted of artificial flavouring and left his throat dry.

And for the next few minutes, Jungkook and he sit in silence, eating. At one point, Jungkook reached for his second burger, tossing Taehyung another one even though he hadn’t finished his nor asked for one. Two bites into his new burger, Jungkook paused and stared at some point in front of him, just not at Taehyung.

“She broke up with me.”

Taehyung looked up, but Jungkook kept his eyes trained in front of him.

“Heejin broke up with me.”

A second passed before Taehyung put down his burger and straightened up. He wasn’t surprised because Yoongi had been right when he had told you that Jungkook and you had been in another world. A blind man could have seen that there was something between Jungkook and you.

“You okay?” Taehyung offered and forgot that he was, deep down, still mad at Jungkook, forgot that Jungkook still made him want to rip out his own hair. 

Jungkook scoffed before dropping his burger. It landed halfway on the wrapper and halfway not, but he didn’t care enough to adjust it. He leaned back and covered his face with his hands, fingers digging into his eyes.

Taehyung was about to make his way over to Jungkook, about to pull him into his arms because he was clearly not doing well, but before he could even move a single centimetre, Jungkook’s hands fell away and he looked up to him.

“Yeah, I am.”

It sounded like Jungkook couldn’t believe himself, like he was angry and frustrated with himself for being able to say that he was okay and mean it, like he wanted to be the opposite, crying and bawling instead.

“I’m okay,” Jungkook said, head shaking from left to right as he furrowed his brows and scoffed at himself. “How am I okay? How am I okay when Heejin, my fucking girlfriend, just broke up with me?”

Taehyung blinked at Jungkook, knowing exactly that he needed to rant right now, needed to get all of the words out.

“She told me to get her an uber and after I did, she turned to me and said that she thought we should break up,” Jungkook recounted, eyes unblinking. “Just like that. We broke up just like that.”

He rubbed his eyes and groaned before snapping out of it and looking back at Taehyung.

“I- I didn’t even fight her on it when she told me to call her an uber. I just did. I did as she told me to, but- but as her boyfriend, I shouldn’t have, right? I should have insisted on driving her home, but I didn’t. I- I knew I should have. I was screaming at myself to, but I just couldn’t. And when she told me we should break up-” Jungkook paused and gestured around like that would finish his sentence. “I, again, didn’t fight her on it.”

A bitter scoff escaped him and Taehyung watched Jungkook shake his head at himself, obviously confused by himself. “Instead of insisting to talk about it or whatever, I just went to fucking McDonalds.” Jungkook punched the bag and it tipped over, slow and sad. “I went to McDonalds! Can you fucking believe? Instead of driving home my girlfriend or fighting for my relationship, I just said okay and went to get food at the shittest place ever.”

Jungkook gestured around himself wildly, hands flailing around like he was drowning and trying to gasp for air. His voice grew in volume and the desperation and frustration seemed to thicken more and more, lacing his every word as he rambled on.

“And it all just doesn’t make sense because it’s not like I don’t care. I do. I do care about Heejin, but it’s just- it’s just-” Jungkook shook his head and pressed his lips into a thin line as he scanned the room for the rest of his sentence. “I just don’t know anymore. I don’t even know why she broke up with me.”

When Jungkook looked at Taehyung, it hurt him to see the frustration swimming in his eyes, hurt him to see how helpless he was. And so, Taehyung sighed and sat up even straighter, gaze levelling Jungkook’s.

“Do you love Heejin?”

“She’s my girlfriend.”

“Was,” Taehyung corrected with a raise of a finger. “But that doesn’t answer my question, Jungkook-” 

Jungkook furrowed his brows at him and shook his head at him.

“What? It does answer your question,” Jungkook said, staring at Taehyung like he had just said the most ridiculous thing ever. “She is- was, whatever, my girlfriend, so, of course, I love her.”

Taehyung scrunched up his nose at Jungkook’s answer and slid his burger to the side to lean forward and be a little closer to Jungkook, needing to look right into his eyes as he said the next word.

“Do you, though?”

Taehyung didn’t give Jungkook a chance to answer.

“Do you seriously love Heejin or do you assume you do because she was your girlfriend?”

Taehyung eyed Jungkook as the words sank into the air and dawned on him, as they replayed over and over again in his head, as they started to push through everything inside him and reached his heart.

“Jungkook, don’t you think there was a reason why Heejin and you had been dating for almost six months and we hadn’t met her yet? Don’t you think there was a reason why you never told her about Y/N?”

He looked at Taehyung, his gaze hazy and clouded with questions. Jungkook had no idea, had no idea why Heejin had broken up with him. She had simply smiled at him and wished him well before getting into the uber, no reason. But he also hadn’t tried to stop her from getting inside and demanded an answer. He had just accepted it with a nod and gotten into his car.

But now, with Taehyung looking at him, gaze digging deep into his, he started to think, started to replay the events of this evening, started to dissect every interaction today. 

He thought about how you all had played Taboo, thought about how you had smiled at him when he had gotten the first word, thought about how you had essentially beamed at him when you two had gotten closer and closer to the win, thought about how you had squealed and jumped up when you had realised you had won, thought about how beautiful you had looked standing on the balcony with the wind blowing through your hair and the sun highlighting your beauty, thought about how he wanted to hold you close to him when he saw you standing there, thought about how you had smiled at him when you had told him you had missed him too, thought about how you were the only thing he could think of.

“I love Y/N.”

The corners of Taehyung’s lips curled up and he nodded.

“I still love, Y/N.”

And once again, Taehyung nodded.

Jungkook slumped into his chair, hands in his lap as he stared at some chip in the dining table, mind far, far away. Never had he been this confused before, never had he ever struggled this much to process anything before.

But at the same time, it made sense, made sense that he was still in love with you. How could he not be? How could he not be when you were the only one that had ever made him so happy that the corners of his lips had started hurting from all of the grinning and his stomach aching from all of the laughing and his lungs screaming for oxygen? How could he not be when you were the smartest, kindest, funniest. most talented, brilliant, inspiring and prettiest person he had ever met?

It made so much sense that Jungkook was still deeply in love with you after all this time, it hurt his brain.

And so, he stayed silent, stayed silent even as Taehyung reached over and bit into his burger after finishing his own.

“What do I do?”

Jungkook surprised himself when he spoke, not intending to, but once the words were out, he wanted the answer. Taehyung put Jungkook’s burger down on his own pile of cheeseburger wrappers and brushed his hands off.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to tell her. I want to try again. I want to hold her in my arms and kiss her until the sun rises-”

“Okay, calm down, Kook,” Taehyung laughed and leaned back into his chair. “I get it. You wanna rush over to her and profess your love to her in this grand romantic gesture, but take a moment and think about it, about everything.”

Jungkook lowered his gaze and looked up after two seconds, chest pressed against the edge of the table and legs itching to carry him to you.

“You think she’s still up-”

“No,” Taehyung cut in and pointed at Jungkook, burger abandoned to the side once more as he leaned forward. The smile that had pulled on his lips before disappeared.

“Kook, I need you to think about how you’ve treated Y/N these past weeks.” Jungkook straightened up and his legs tucked themselves under the chair when the memories came crashing down on him. “Really think about it.”

And so, this time, Jungkook did think about it, did take a moment and let all of your interaction run through his mind. And the longer he did, the longer he thought about what he had said to you and how he had treated you, the more he wanted to punch himself, the more he wanted to turn back time, the more he wanted to fall to his knees and beg you to forgive him, beg you to just please not hate him.

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, fingers clawing on the roots as he cursed himself.

“Bad, isn’t it?” Taehyung said and cocked his head to the side. 

“What do I do?”

“Well, I’d apologise first if I were you and I’d take all responsibility for what, well, you’ve done. And I’d tell her that if she doesn’t feel the way I do, that it’s fine and I will do anything in my power to not make it awkward for her and the fact that she’s friends with my friends.”

Jungkook hummed, hummed because he really couldn’t do anything else. He just couldn’t believe how blinded he had been, how blinded he had been by all of that ugly and unresolved anger and pain.

Taehyung let Jungkook think for a while, think before he leaned forward again and said what he had been trying so desperately to tell him, what he had been trying to get through his thick skull all this time.

“But before that, Kook, I need you to realise that when she made your promise of forever, you were teens. Remember how dumb and stupid we were back then? And I know you felt like Y/N was being selfish and leaving you behind to go study in America, but in reality, she was following her dreams. And you thought that those dreams didn’t include you, but they did. You were the one that broke up with her. She did not break up with you. You did.”

Taehyung paused for a second, arms crossing in front of his chest. 

“You decided to not be in her dreams.”

You banged on the door, banged on it like you were about to kick it in, banged on it like your life depended on it, and when it finally opened, you almost banged on his chest, fist stopping mid-air.

“Who the fuck- Y/N? What are you doing here? It’s five in the morning- wait, why are you all wet? Did you run through the rain?”

You shoved your phone into his face and he squinted, your screen blinding him. The overhead light above you did barely anything to illuminate the hallway you were standing in, leaving both of you essentially in darkness. 

It took him a few seconds, a lot of blinking and wrapping his fingers around your wrist to hold your phone away to finally see what you were showing him.

[heejin - 11:21 PM] : hi! I wasnt sure if I should tell you this or not and I honestly contemplated not to

[heejin - 11:21 PM] : but at the end, I think you should know

[heejin - 11:21 PM] : I’m not too sure what exactly is going on between kook and you, but for what it’s worth, kook and I broke up

[heejin - 11:22 PM] : I hope you two figure out whatever is between you two because I do think you two would be cute. you definitely got my blessing!

[heejin - 11:22 PM] : dream team ;)

Your knuckles turned white around your phone before you let your arm drop to your side. Your heart was pounding in your chest, pounding so much that you were certain that she was trying to leap out of it and fall into his hands again.

Jungkook blinked at you, mouth agape as he struggled to find his voice, struggled to take you all in because did you really stand in front of him, soaked to the bones, hair all tangled up and wet from the rain, chest heaving like you had run all of the way here or was he simply dreaming? Did he finally fall asleep?

“Did I wake you up?” you panted and shifted from one foot to another, expecting him to slam the door in your face.

“N-no, I, uh, I wasn’t sleeping,” Jungkook said and you looked at him before nodding and letting your gaze travel to the side. Your brows pinched together and Jungkook was about to invite you in because, again, you were soaked to the bones, but then, you took a deep breath and opened your mouth.

Here goes nothing.

“Look, Jungkook, I debated with myself for the past four or so hours whether or not I should come here. And then, it started to rain, and, well, I know that you love your romcoms. And even though I also know you probably wanna be the one to execute the grand romantic gesture because you are you and you love so fucking deeply and wholly, I decided that I’m gonna do this because, well, you deserve it.

“When I left for America, I- I truly thought I was going to move on from you at one point, thought you were going to turn into an old love, a memory. I thought that one day I’d tell my grandkids about you, Jungkook, and how you were my first love and how happy you had made me and how bitter our ending had been, but,” you shook your head, “but the truth is, you still have such a hold on my heart. You’re still vibrant and alive in my mind, imprinted in there.

“And I know I’ve hurt you by leaving, but I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you, Jungkook,” tears filled your eyes, “I left because having you, having you by my side, as my boyfriend, Jungkook, made me believe that anything was possible, made me want to reach for the stars, fulfill my dreams because before America, you were my dream. You were the one thing I had wanted for so long, and then, I had you. Then, you were mine, and I was on cloud nine.

“I’ve felt so guilty all this time and beaten myself up for leaving because you were obviously still so angry and hurt by that, and unlike what you might believe, I never wanted that, never wanted to hurt you in any way. I need you to understand that I didn’t leave because you weren’t enough. You were and are enough, Jungkook. I left because you made the impossible seem possible, and so, I thought you’d be my side forever, even if oceans and continents and whatever were between us.

“And I realise that was selfish, selfish of me to just expect you to be fine with it. I should have talked to you, told you about the scholarship and my plans and not broken our promise like that. But I didn’t, and I made you think that everybody is selfish and that you weren’t enough. But that’s not true.” You shook your head and swallowed heavily, trying not to choke on your own tears. “Jungkook, you taught me that people are wonderful and amazing and you made me feel like I was more than enough, beyond enough. And you deserve to feel the same way, so, I’m deeply sorry for failing to do just that and for leaving without a proper explanation and talking to you beforehand.

“I know you probably don’t wanna hear this because you probably hate me now, but even if you decide to slam the door in my face and curse me out for the rest of my life after this and forget about all that I’ve said, I want you to know one thing. 

“I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop, not even if you hate me.”

Jungkook looked at you, gazed into your eyes, and truly, you thought time stopped. You waited, waited for him to say or do something and it felt like eternities were flying past you as you stood there, blinking at him. And even with tears in your eyes, blurring your vision, you could see him clearly, could see Jungkook standing right in front of you.

“Y/N, oh, my love,” Jungkook started, voice shaky before he took a step closer to you. His hand reached up and he cupped your face. Your cheek was cold, cold from the rain, but the moment he touched you, you felt warmth push through you, through your chest, felt the remnants of icicles melt away in your lungs.

“Please, don’t apologise. I should be apologising to you, should be the one banging on your door and begging for your forgiveness. I don’t hate you. I could never truly hate you.” Jungkook swallowed, voice cracking as the words continued spilling from him without a pause. “I- I’m the one that fucked up so badly, I don’t even know how you can still love me. I hurt you so much, said so much dumb shit and made you feel so fucking guilty when you shouldn’t have felt guilty.” He shook his head at himself and held onto you a little tighter like he was scared you were going to slip away if he didn’t. “I’m so sorry, my love, for being so incredibly blinded by anger and pain for so long. I’m so sorry for hurting you and making you feel like you needed to apologise to me.

“Tae is right. I should have taken you to the airport and wished you well. I should have been there with the others and said goodbye. I shouldn't have screamed at you and stayed at home-”

“Kook, babe, no,” you choked out and grabbed his wrist, holding onto it as you shook your head at him. “Don’t apologise. I- I should have talked to you before. You had every right to be mad at me. I understand why you didn’t go. I understand why you couldn’t do it. It’s fine-”

“But I don’t want it to be fine,” Jungkook interrupted and your fingers tightened around his wrists. “I don’t want it to be fine because I know I hurt you by not being there. And I never want it to be fine or okay or whatever if I hurt you.”

Jungkook and you looked at one another, vision blurry and just as the first tear began spilling from the corner of your eye, you took a step towards Jungkook, closing the gap that had lingered between you two and pressed your lips to his.

You kissed Jungkook, kissed him standing on the doorstep of his front door, kissed him standing there, soaked to the bones, kissed him like it was just you and him in this universe. Your body leaned into his and your hands were desperate for him, desperate to just touch him. You grabbed onto whatever skin and piece of Jungkook you could get, and he did the same, but your kiss was soft and calm, the opposite of your hands. You held onto you like you were drowning, like you were Rose and Jack.

You moved your lips against his and your smile grew the longer you kissed Jungkook. And you wondered if he could also feel the sun shine in his chest, if he could also taste the honey and sugar and love trapped between your teeth, if his skin was also prickling everywhere you touched him, if fireworks were also exploding in his stomach like they were in yours, if this was enough of a grand romantic gesture for him.

You wondered if Jungkook could feel just how much you loved him.

The sun rose behind you two, and when you two pulled away to breathe, you smiled at each other. 

Jungkook didn’t let go of you and neither did you. He cupped your face once more and pulled you close to him. Your breath mixed with his, heavy and varied, but it was all good, all good because smiles were on your lips, all good because you had each other again.

“My love,” Jungkook breathed, and gazed into your eyes the way he had when you had won that round of Taboo and smiled at you the way he had when he and you had stood on the balcony. “I love you.”

“Kook, babe,” you started, pecking his nose before beaming at him, beaming at him like you had used to, beaming at him because he was your sun and your dream. “I love you more.”

Jungkook leaned in for a quick kiss, leaned in the same way he used to whenever his heart pounded a little too much in his chest. And you pressed right back against him, lips finding his, and you knew,

Jungkook was warmth.

Jungkook was home.

Jungkook was love.

“Fucking finally.”

Jungkook and you pulled apart and jerked around to the source of the sound, and when you saw them standing there, behind you, your heart stopped mid-beat. Your jaw went slack as you blinked at them, unable to process what was happening right now.

“Worth it, right?” 

Jungkook and you whipped your heads around one more time, and it was then that you saw Taehyung standing behind you, hands shoved into his pockets and body leaned against the door to the living room.

“Eh, was kinda obvious that this was gonna happen at one point,” Yoongi mumbled with a shrug, clearly unbothered, but Yerim was the complete opposite, hands pressed to her mouth as she tried to stop the squeal from spilling free.

“Oh my God!” she shrieked, voice so high it hurt and Jungkook and you cringed. “I- I’ve been literally dreaming of this!”

“So, worth it, right? Coming here?” Taehyung asked again and squeezed himself between Jungkook and you to step out into the hallway, prompting you to move to the side a little.

“Yes, absolutely!” Yerim grinned and nodded vigorously, and for a moment, you thought her head was going to come off.

“What’s happening right now?” you asked and your hands found Jungkook’s, your fingers lacing with his for some kind of support.

“Oh, yeah, I heard you banging on the door, so, I called up Yoongs and Yeri and told them to get their asses here because our best friends don’t get back together without everybody here to witness it,” Taehyung explained with a shrug.

“Wait, how did you two make it here in time?” Jungkook asked, thumb brushing over your hand as he stepped closer to you to look at Yoongi and Yerim.

“Yeah, unlike what you might think, Kook, traffic isn’t always so bad and there aren’t always fires around,” Yoongi smirked and Jungkook gasped behind you. 

Taehyung, Yerim and you looked at each other, jaws going slack before you started grinning and all three of you had to bite your lips to stop the laughter from spilling free. Jungkook tugged on your hand and you tried your hardest not to laugh, but when you looked at him, you just couldn’t stop it.

Pearls of laughter spilled out and you took Taehyung and Yerim with you. Taehyung placed his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and gave him a comforting squeeze, and Yerim hid behind Yoongi, trying her hardest to avoid Jungkook’s gaze.

And even though he was offended and tried to keep looking like he was truly offended, he couldn’t help but laugh with you all, couldn’t help himself when he saw you grinning at him like that.

“Can we go now?” Yoongi smiled when you all had calmed down, the bags under his eyes darkening with every second he wasn’t in his bed. “It’s five in the morning and usually, I’m in bed during this time.”

Taehyung smiled at him. “Only if you say, it was worth it.”

Yoongi groaned and threw his head into his neck, not enjoying that answer at all. Yerim giggled and nudged him with her elbow, but instead of just saying it was worth it, Yoongi decided to argue with Taehyung.

“It was so obvious that they were gonna get together again. I honestly wouldn’t have minded if you hadn’t called me.”

“Min Yoongi, are you seriously telling me that you wouldn’t have minded missing out on our best friends getting back together?”

“Honestly? Yeah.”

“He’s lying. Yoongs loves Kook and Y/N together.”

“What’re you talking about, Yeri? I don’t-”

“Do I have to remind you that you texted me last week that you couldn’t believe that they weren’t back together yet?”

“Oh, Yoongs, that’s so cute.”

“Why would you believe her, Tae? It’s bullshit!”

Too busy watching Taehyung, Yerim and Yoongi argue with each other, you didn’t notice Jungkook turning away. So, when you suddenly felt cotton brush against your arms, you were more than surprised.

“What?” you blurted out before looking down at yourself and seeing one of Jungkook’s jackets around your body. 

“Thought you might be cold. You know, with all of that running through the rain and everything,” Jungkook hummed with a shrug and you stared at him for a little before you smiled at him again. You leaned up and pressed a quick kiss against his lips, a kiss that had the corners of his lips curling into the most beautiful smile.

You hugged Jungkook’s jacket closer to your body, trying to keep that warmth in your chest locked down. The smell of his detergent and sweat mixed with your senses and you felt all dizzy, but it was the good kind of dizzy, the kind of dizzy you loved, the kind of dizzy only Jungkook could ever make you feel.

And when he wrapped his arms around you, you quickly wrapped your arms around him too. Your lips brushed against his neck and you left a kiss there, trying to make sure that he would never ever forget that he was more than enough, never ever forget that you loved him like nobody else in this world.

And with his arms around your body, you, once again, felt like the impossible was possible, like the stars were yours to grab, like nothing could ever come between you, but unlike before, you knew that this time, it was all true.

“I love you,” you hummed into Jungkook’s ear and he smiled into your hair before tightening his arms around you.

“And I love you.”

Jungkook and you gazed into each other’s eyes, sunlight sparkling in your pupils before you both slowly leaned into each other, more and more. Your eyes flickered down to his lips and you knew that any second now, he would kiss you. And the thought alone had your heart racing and your breath hitching and your hands shaking but in the best ways possible. And right as your lips were about to connect,

“Fine!” Yoongi grunted and silenced Taehyung and Yerim, cutting them mid-sentence and Jungkook and you mid-kiss. “It was worth it. I missed Kook and Y/N and I’m more than overjoyed to see them together again! My heart is literally melting in my chest and I can’t wait to go home because I wanna shriek and scream into my pillow!”

Jungkook and you turned your heads around to see a panting Yoongi. His eyes were big and nostrils flared as he glared at Taehyung and Yerim.

“Happy now?” he asked through gritted teeth and he looked between Taehyung and Yerim, who were exchanging glances with each other. There was a beat of silence and a second later, the two burst out into laughter. Jungkook and you had to grin too, but you still shook your heads at your friends, the situation far too ridiculous.

“Hey, Yoongs,” Jungkook called over your head before looking at you. When you nodded at him, he turned back to Yoongi, who was, at this point, fuming and mumbling to himself, cheeks red. “You can go home now.”

“Thank you!” Yoongi grumbled and threw his hands into the air, but before he could turn around and drive home with his cheeks and the tips of his ears bright red, Jungkook interjected,

“But you are a dumb, little bitch.”

Yoongi’s jack went slack as he furrowed his brows at Jungkook, more than caught off guard by the sudden insult. It was clear he was struggling to process it, but so were Taehyung, Yerim and you, all three of you going silent at Jungkook’s words.

It took you a moment to understand why Jungkook had said what he had said, and when you did, you burst out into laughter.

You gasped for air as you threw your head back, laughter rippling through your chest, and Jungkook joined you, bending over as he laughed his heart out as well. And soon enough, Taehyung joined you two, finally making the connection himself. Yerim started laughing as well, but only because Taehyung, Jungkook and you were laughing.

Yoongi was left blinking at you three as he struggled to decide whether he was offended or amused, and judging from the smile tugging on the corners of his lips, it was the latter.

“Not like that,” you said with a shake of your head and Jungkook shrugged at you.

“What? Isn’t that we were talking about when we said to bully Yoongs?” he asked with that proud smirk on his lips, that proud smirk he always got whenever he managed to make people laugh. Taehyung and you shook your heads at him, both definitely not thinking of calling Yoongi ‘a dumb, little bitch’ when you had agreed to bully him a little. 

It took a while, but soon your laughter died down, but the grins stayed on your lips.

“Definitely not like that,” Taehyung agreed with you, fingers wiping away the tears, and you three locked eyes with each other, grinning, no, beaming. 

Yoongi sighed after he had enough of whatever this was, and turned on his heel, but once again, before he could go, Jungkook interjected,

“Hey, I think you should all just crash here. It’s, well, early and probably better for you two to not get behind the wheel right now.”

Yoongi opened his mouth to protest, but then, he stopped himself and paused, gaze levelling Jungkook’s.

“I get your bed?”

“Sure thing, I’ll kick you out of it,” Jungkook grinned and even though that had not been the response he had wanted, Yoongi shuffled inside, Yerim right behind him.

“I’m happy you guys are back together,” she told you two as she walked past you and you grinned at Jungkook, a grin he returned right away.

Taehyung let out a sigh, lips still pulled into a smile before he, too, shuffled inside, gaze meeting yours when he did. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, seriously. Thanks,” Jungkook hummed and Taehyung laughed before waving you two off, dismissing your words with a flick of his hand.

“No need to thank me,” Taehyung grinned. “I’m just happy that you two are back together.”

Both of you wanted to disagree, but Taehyung silenced you with a smile. And right as he was about to turn into the living room to figure out where Yerim and Yoongi were going to sleep, he looked over his shoulder and met Jungkook’s and your gaze.

“You can name your firstborn after me if you’re truly thankful.” A pause. “Taehyung Jeon. Doesn’t sound too bad, right?”

“You think we would name our firstborn after you?”

“You think I would take Kook’s last name?” 

Jungkook gasped next to you and took a step back, hand gripping your elbow to draw your attention to him. His brows were slightly furrowed together and his mouth agape.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’s wrong with Jeon?” he asked and you stared at him.

“Gonna leave you two alone now,” Taehyung laughed, not wanting to see where that conversation was going, and joined Yerim and Yoongi in the living room.

“Nothing. Don’t you worry about it,” you said with a smile and stroked Jungkook’ cheek, and instantly, he melted into your touch, frown washing away. “It’s fine. It’s a nice last name.”

You pinched Jungkook’s cheeks, making him pull away and just as he was about to complain and tell you not to pinch his cheek, you continued,

“You know, fine and nice for now.”

Jungkook’s eyes grew big at your words and before he could ask you what exactly you meant with that, (because you knew he was going to. It was Jungkook after all.), you closed the door behind you two. You patted his chest and took his hand to lead him to the others, but he stopped you, pulling you back to him, smirk on his lips.

“You wanna fulfill Tae’s wish?” Jungkook asked with a quirk of his brow and you looked at him, lips pressing into a line. When you didn’t respond, the smirk fell away, prompting you to smile at him again. 

“Let’s join the others, yeah?” you said with a wink, enjoying teasing him a little too much. You didn’t wait for an answer and turned on your heel, but once again, Jungkook stopped you.

“How about we fulfill my dream, then?” 

Jungkook looked at you with the same smirk on his face again, and before you could stop yourself, you laughed at him, shaking your head from left to right. You leaned up to him and planted a kiss on his cheek before patting his chest and walking backwards, pointing at him as you did.

“Just get me a towel.” 

→  links don’t work, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts/feedback! i’d love to hear it!

[songmingisthighs]

[21.57] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ nothing's as concerning as wooyoung's 180° change, it's all or nothing for him. And you ? You just became his everything.

⇁ tw : violence, mafia life

⇁ part. 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

Five days went by and you still haven't regained consciousness and Wooyoung had not left your side for even one second.

Neglecting not only his duties but also his own well-being. He wouldn't leave you for a single second, afraid that if he does, someone might come in and finished you off. So he had San be on standby in the guest room, taking his place for when he needs to shower or go for a bathroom break. Said man even attempted to spoon-feed Wooyoung when he found out that his friend had denied the food his house staff brought to him, to which Wooyoung finally gave in and feed himself after San tied him up in his chair and threaten to feed him mother bird style.

When Yeosang came back in the day after you were first found, Wooyoung almost stab one of the nurses when he tried to take you to get checked.

"Seriously? I brought my machines and staff here and literally, within the first 2 minutes here, there are no signs of gratitude and you almost injured one of my staffs? Are you freaking high again?" Yeosang nagged after pulling the petrified nurse to the side.

Honestly, Wooyoung felt bad for scaring the man, but he had to hold onto you no matter what. You have to be within his peripheral vision because the last time he (stupidly) let (drove; shove) you out of his sight (turned all cctvs off which then directly caused you to get kidnapped), he almost didn't get the chance to regret what he did (and said) to you.

But Wooyoung wasn't gonna let other people know that he has remorse. Heck no.

He's the Jung family head mafia and there isn't anyone allowed to know how he's actually like.

Except you.

Right after you wake up.

So instead of letting Yeosang's staffs take you away, Wooyoung swooped you in his deceptively strong arms and put you on the gurney.

Once he's sure that you're secured, he looked at Yeosang and his staffs with narrowed eyes, "no offense, man, but I don't trust any of them," Wooyoung then look to his men who's stationed by his door, "get their details and do thorough background checks on them," he said before pushing the gurney down, forcing Yeosang to personally help him.

He made sure that his men were stationed at every entrance, ran background checks on every staff that entered his place, heck even put out a curfew for everyone including his visiting friends.

"Dude, you gotta get out of here, you look like a zombie," San said as he entered the room, walking towards Wooyoung who had moved his desk closer to the bed where you lied motionless. He slightly cringed when he saw the needles that poked through the skin of your hand.

Without looking up from his work, Wooyoung sighed and shook his head, "she could wake up any second, I wanna be here when she does" he muttered, eyes flitting to your form on the bed for a second.

San approached his friend, leaning both hands on the table, "Wooyoung, you missed 3 important meetings, 2 briefings, and you haven't delegated workloads other than security details for your own place, the organization will be in shambles soon," he said sternly.

Hearing facts behind his words irked Wooyoung, he knew about the current vulnerability in his organization because he's only been taking care of you since you came back to him. He didn't want to be reminded of his previous neglect.

He was about to tell San off when suddenly a voice chimed in.

"You should go do your job, Wooyoung," you called, coughing a little from scratchy throat.

It took him some time to fully realize that you had woken up after five days. He immediately run to your side and help you sit up, ordering San to get you a glass of water.

Once your throat had been soothed by the water, Wooyoung held your hand in his, kissing the back side of it multiple times to express how glad he is, "thank God you woke up, I-I don't know what I'd do if you don't," he choked, feeling tears start to brim on his eyes.

You initially didn't pull away from his touch nor his affection, maybe it's the fact that you had just woken up, maybe you think you're hallucinating, because the Jung Wooyoung you knew would never talk to you or treat you like this.

Though it hurts, you pulled your hand away from his grip, cringing a bit, "F-funny you say that, last time we spoke you said you wanted me dead," you muttered bitterly at him.

Sensing that this is a personal conversation, San slipped away before hearing anything else.

Wooyoung stared at you with sad eyes, "No, baby, I would never," he reached forward, trying to take your hand in his once again. But you scooted further into the bed, your eyes started watering, "liar," you choked out, "you said you've been planning my assassination since the beginning and you wanted to go through with it,"

"I-I did, didn't I? I can't deny I've said that to you, but please, losing you was the hardest thing that ever happened to me-"

"Well what about me!?" You exclaimed, cutting him off, surprising him at the tone you used.

By now tears had streamed down your face, your hands were clutching the blanket on your lap tightly as you began sobbing, "f-for a year, I've been nothing but understanding to you and your actions, I've done nothing but try to stay out of your way, all I asked in return was to be treated like a human being, but you couldn't even do that now, could you ? I even had to get kidnapped by whoever's after you for you to finally give half a fuck about me," you were choking the words out, your raw emotion evident with the way you speak.

Wooyoung never once seen this side of you, the side that is so raw and vulnerable. Sure, he'd occassionally hear your soft sobs through the en suite bathroom or came across your quivering figure in the gardens. But never once did you bore yourself to him like this.

Despite knowing that you might push him away, Wooyoung climbed into bed as quick as he can and enveloped you tightly in his arms.

At first you tried pushing him off with all your strength, not wanting to be comforted by him. But he held on, he knew his way around people's movement so using his knowledge against you was an easy feat.

It took you a while, you still struggled for a bit but you eventually gave in, letting his arms wrap around you and tucking your head under his chin. By now you had somehow situated between his legs, him carefully minding the IV on your right hand as he pulled you in deeper (as if it's possible).

"I know that I don't deserve it, heck, I deserve nothing from you after putting you in hell like that, but I sincerely apopogize and I will do anything and everything I can in order to gain your trust and maybe..." he pulled back slightly and tilt your chin up so he can meet your gaze, "...we can go forth and build a relationship?"

Stranger things had happened in your life but this, by far, is the strangest. Never in a million years would you ever thought that you'd be able to see the great Jung Wooyoung blush like a high school girl. It's honestly cute.

But not as cute as when he bit his lips to prevent his mouth from tearing due to the large grin that bloomed on his face once you gave him a nod, agreeing to him after leaving him nervous for a solid 5 minutes.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: i

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @keiqos​ (thank you!! 💞)

word count: ~9.4k

Keigo surrenders to losing himself in the blank-walled, temporary home he inhabits. He finds familiarity in the routine of aches, pains and pills. 

You’re his only solace. 

warnings: bodily trauma, medical trauma, PTSD, dissociation, suicidal ideation, alcohol as a coping mechanism and graphic description of sustained injury

a/n: oh wow so here it is, big sad fic :’^) part one!! it’s canon divergent from manga chapter 296 onwards.

this one has been a long time coming. please mind the warnings!! this fic deals a lot with trauma and mental illness in tandem. the warnings are going to change with the coming parts, so please be mindful. i don’t wanna get too sappy, but this piece has been my Baby for the past few months, and i’m excited to finally share. that being said, enjoy loves 💞

Everyone is fucked up after the War.

There is no kindness in an aftermath like this one, not so soon, and certainly not with dried blood of old comrades and mud still caking under its metaphorical fingernails. The world was in shambles, and every hero is along with it.

There is something horrifying about being at the center of it all, Hawks, no, Keigo thinks solemnly, all too often. 

He’s used to the attention he’s getting, touches and poking and prodding by near strangers. Except, he was used to exclamations of how great and powerful and remarkable he was. Now, all the attention he receives is followed by little sighs and sad, broken eyes.

He’s sure he looks equally as sad; Keigo had been nothing but an empty shell since the War had ended and he’d been carted off to his hospital room. Numb despite all of his burns. 

It’s the shock, he tells himself, he’ll snap out of it any day.

Any day.

...

And it is any day.

He wakes up to screaming from the next room over, agonized wails that pierce the air as his morning nurse enters. She’s over-worked and haggard while checking his vitals with a forced smile. They don’t make conversation with him much anymore, and Keigo doesn’t have the energy to try and force it. There isn’t enough in him to pretend that he’s okay enough to banter with folks. 

If he still had his wings, he would’ve wrapped himself up tight in the plumage and let himself rot away in some corner. He’d let the dissociated numbness fade, however long it took, and then succumb to whatever psychological wounds revealed themselves. 

Waste away, all alone.

But he doesn't have that luxury. He is in an overcrowded hospital with swarms of civilians and heroes, all stuffed in one place because the world doesn’t have the time to differentiate between the wounded, nor the space or resources to give different resources. Though, Keigo is a special case, hence why he’s had healers coming to him for the past three weeks since the War trying to coax his body into genesizing a new pair of wings. 

The Commission’s hospital has all the bells-and-whistles that a medical professional could need, but Keigo, and so many others, are facing problems that don’t have good and easy roads to healing. 

That’s assuming healing was even possible.

Keigo is convinced, has been convinced, that there is no way to come back from the War, nor the absence on his back, nor the shouts and cries of pain that echo around the hospital like a new genre of music that Keigo so desperately wants to scrub from his brain.

Things change, it’s inevitable. Everyone falls eventually, and he was just used to flying.

It’s a harder descent. 

...

Keigo doesn’t meet you on any day, he meets you on a lonely night.

The evenings and early mornings were the most peaceful at the hospital. Most folks, three weeks after the end of it all, had serious enough injuries that they had to be somewhat sedated to sleep, either for physical or mental pain keeping them from sleep.

It’s morose, Keigo thinks, quietly and privately, but he craves those hours. All he hears then is the hum of air vents and beeps of his own medical machinery. None of the audible agony of the folks he was sworn to protect.

He’s slept most of the day, not lucid enough to do much else, and the nurses haven’t been giving him sedatives unless he asked (though he always did.) Without forced quiet, he’s antsy, fingers twitching and flaring the new (and growing) pains rooted in his (empty, isn’t that horrifying—) back.

He rouses himself, adjusting his scratching hospital garb (thin sweats and a cheap crew neck with the back almost entirely cut away). With his IV pole at his side, he resolves to take a few laps and quiet himself, hopefully.

(Keigo would need sedatives, he always did, but it was nice to play pretend that he didn’t. It made things easier for a precious hour or two.)

His laps are usually quick, despite how much his body aches when he walks. So much new, burnt tissue that needed to learn how to move, how to live again, kept him throbbing and gritting his teeth.

Masochism be damned, he keeps at it during his sleepless nights. Physical therapy wasn’t an option when the world was caving in with him at the epicenter.

There’s a common room at the end of the foyer of identical (filled) hospital rooms, just a collection of stuffy, uncomfortable couches that face an aged TV and a wide bay of windows. It’s rarely used, just a formality for when the space of the hospital had regularly hurt victims and heroes. When it wasn’t bearing so much weight. 

Sometimes, he would stop to idly regard the mostly barren world around the hospital. Far from the cities, a little hideaway for heroes and their loved ones to heal in privacy. Other than sheer distance, there is a thick, organic shield around the complex.  It’s a towering forest, man-planted with identical types of trees in perfect rows. 

It’s grim in its predictability. 

(When did he get so fucking pensive?)

(Oh yeah, too much time locked in his goddamn skull.)

He hadn’t been planning to have any inner musings that night.

But, that night, he notes that he is not alone. 

On one of the hard couches, you sit, with your own IV-pole companion and injuries, an arm carried in a monochromatic sling and set in a hard cast.

You turn to him, blinking wide eyes at him.

There’s a single lamp on, and the light dances in your eyes with its own unexpected rhythm.

Something compels Keigo to smile, cocky, like he used to, and greet you with a little wave, and a finger to his lips.

Your expressions melts, a hand going over your mouth to stifle a giggle.

It’s like you’re pulling him after that, he finds himself resting across from you.

You must look like a pair, he realizes. You’re greasy, he’s greasy. He’s got a fine layer of built-up stubble that shouldn’t be called anything other than impressive peach fuzz (not that Keigo’s seen it, he’s felt it. The idea of looking in a mirror makes him sick to his stomach. Though you don’t have any pseudo-beard, you’ve got your own unkempt look and feel that makes you two kindred without sharing a word.

It feels comfortable, warm.

“Hi,” you speak first, voice soft and gentle. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah, who can?” Keigo replies, shaking his head. “But what about you? Midnight oil doesn’t burn without a cause, you know.” 

Your expression is also painful in the way it’s so open, yet worn (most everyone had locked up by now, the ones in the hospital and Keigo imagined the ones outside of it too.) 

“I like the sky— the stars are pretty.” You sigh, wistful. “I watch for shooting stars.”

The thought, the significance of that obvious wanting, makes something pang deep in his chest. Childlike hope in a place like this, foolish as well as frail.

“Trying to get a wish?” Keigo clicked his tongue. “Smart.”

“No, no— wishing doesn’t... suit me, right now.” You snorted, shaking your head, the light in your eyes dancing, “I just think they’re pretty.”

Keigo blinks, unable to stop the way his eyes widen.

Your posture reads nothing but earnestness and vulnerability, so freely given (so undeserved) without a hint of pullback.

“What do you want to be called?”

“... Excuse me?” Keigo is not used to his thoughts being interrupted in the blanket of dark that he feels most comfortable in. Your words shock him enough with their meaning, let alone the way you’re so brazen. 

“I, uh,” You stumble on your words. “I know who you are, but I also saw that whole broadcast, which I’m going to easily assume you don’t want to talk about. But, I don’t know how much you want to be called ‘Hawks’ at this point either.”

His mouth is dry.

“So, I ask instead,” You lean forward, your IV line pulling the slightest bit and you wince. His discomfort must be very fucking apparent, because you backtrack in moments. “... Or, neither. I can call you something else, too.”

“... A nickname, for someone you don’t even know?” Keigo, Hawks, whoever he is now struggles with words. There’s too many, and they’re all too fast, and he doesn’t have his wings to catch up to them or outrun them— 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrug with a lazy smile. “I’ll call you... pretty eyes. How about that?”

Keigo does have pretty eyes. They’re gold, light and glittering amber in the lowlight. Before he, ya’ know, lost them, and when things were good, but awful, but normal, he darkened the organic marks around his canthi with liquid eyeliner. He liked makeup, prettied himself up and accentuated all the good he had. Preening.

None of that is left, just what organically was on his skin, and he hasn’t seen it in its raw state in years, and like fuck if he was going to look in a mirror just to figure out if his natural eyeliner was half as good as that by his own hand. 

“Sure, that works,” He relaxes, mirroring your expression like the practiced... pro he is. “What do I call you, starshine?”

You roll your eyes, but nothing about you fades as you tell him your name, something that calms and fills him, “But, you can call me starshine if you want. Sounds nice.”

It’s sweet.

So, Keigo greets you.

“Nice to meet you, starshine.”

...

That’s the first time you kept each other’s company. Most of it is quiet, you truly do just want to watch the stars. Keigo did with you, tracing the shadows of clouds and moonlight with his eyes.

(Occasionally, his gaze shifts to you, regarding your figure with the same care for only a moment before returning to the sky you both miss.)

Eventually, the quiet heat of it puts him half to sleep, and he bids you goodnight.

You wave goodbye, rising as he away.

The light isn’t in your eyes anymore, and your warmth feels a little too far away.

...

The next days are long.

He slips into that shell-state again, where he’s a husk that stares emptily at the ceiling as the Commission tries to piece him together to a fraction of what he once was. 

They fail, each time, because no healer they’ve brought can regenerate quirk-formed appendages, but he commends their efforts all the same. It’s out of desperation, sure, but he’s heard whispers of the new generation. In recalling his own sidekicks, he isn’t as scared for the future. 

(Everyone else’s future. He’s so terrified of his own that he turns extra numb if he thinks about it.) 

Selfishly, he just wants his wings for himself. They’d keep him plenty company. If he ever did get them back, he’d fly somewhere, faraway and alone to live out his days under his feathers and feel as empty as he wanted. 

They fuss over him all day, not knowing those desires. They are private, and he only puts on his old, self-confident bravado so they don’t lock him up somewhere to have his brain picked and to fill the new holes with pill-shaped gauze. 

As established, Keigo was content to rot.

(He can’t fully parse all of his feelings and they consume him.)

The healers for the week all failed, doing nothing but making his back bow and burn. It’s painful. Obviously, trying to stitch a body back together, or rather making a body make when it was so tired of creating—

(Feather after feather after feather, for how long?)

He’s glad his sessions are in a different room, a spare, horrifyingly metallic exam room across the hospital. It reeks like iron and isopropyl alcohol, but Keigo doesn’t mind. The filmy paper that rolls from the exam table gets soaked with his sweat as opposed to his familiar bed dressings. 

Not to mention, it’s nice, not having to hear his neighbor’s screams and pleadings to God, any god, for reprieve. Calming. 

(He feels less guilty. Less like it was his own hand that scarred up their bodies. If he can’t hear them, he only thinks of his own agony under ‘helping’ hands.)

His body is exhausted at the end of each day, and even his restlessness fades with the necessities of his body.

He doesn’t see you, and practically forgets about you.

It’s a week or so later when he takes one of his strolls, and finds you tucked away into your nook, dimly lit and with a blanket over your lap.

Keigo feels it as he nears you, that comfort that your expression bleeds into his very soul. Even as he watches your healthy hand nervously toy with the thin knit in your lap, it doesn’t dim you.

The lamplight dances in your eyes as you nod to him, “Fancy seeing you here, pretty eyes.” 

“You’d never know it, but I live just down the hallway— me,” He touches his chest proudly, surprised by his own jest. 

You gave a fake gasp, mirroring him easily, “Never knew I had such a well-known soul in my neighborhood. Forgive my transgression.”

Bending at the waist, as much as you can with your right leg extended, straight, you choke on laughter.

Keigo follows you in it, giggling, genuinely giggling, high and light and girlish like he’d never heard from himself before.

He snapped his mouth shut, thickly swallowing and shaking his head.

“No need to be shy,” You assured him with an affectionate turn of the head. “You have a lovely laugh.”

“Now you’re just flirting with me, cute.”

Your head tilted farther, confused, “I’m simply being kind to you.”

Why didn’t he have the snark to reply to that? Probably because he was half-dead and on painkillers for nearly a month. He’d beat himself up about it later, maybe.

There wasn’t an ounce of malice in your tone, just earnestness that tugged at his own insecurities.

You backpedaled. “How was your day?”

Keigo takes a few moments to respond, shaking his head without mind to the way his too-long hair flops in his face. 

The banter isn’t forced, but it’s not welcomed yet.

As comfortable as you feel to him, Keigo isn’t comfortable.

“Same old, same old,” Living hell. “Boring, mostly. Painful, but dull. It’s crazy how much hell smells like cheap disinfectant, huh?” 

You agree, quietly, “I’m pretty sure there’s many hells in this place.”

Keigo doesn’t know how to respond, so he doesn’t. 

You both regard the stars again with growing reverence. Specks of light dance back in your eyes as you both settle into the hard cushions like they were made of goose down and Sherpa. 

...

Your conversations are... disjointed, to say the least. 

There’s an inability for words and phrases to flow between you. There’s starts and stops, stalls like an engine that putters on tarry oil without ever truly firing. There are good feelings, still, safety in silence before words as you stargaze together through the comfort of a window.

It should feel disarming, to be so far from the sky yet have no way to reach it. And it is, but Keigo can swallow the reality these days. It’s easier when there’s someone on the mend close by, sharing in the discomfort of a rawed mind and the comfort of a yellow-toned fluorescent bulb.

It’s unspoken kinship. Keigo never had time for it in the past, but now it was all he had. There had to be some cruel irony in it (as if there wasn’t enough in his life), but he couldn’t make himself mind. 

Everything he’d once excelled at, everything he had was gone. He was barren and stripped (don’t think about it—), exposed to the elements in all the worst ways. At least the hospital was clean and safe, relatively. 

It feels safest with you near.

Sure, your conversations were clearly that of two horribly broken people, but that wasn’t new or surprising. It simply was.

“Do you know constellations?” You ask one night, a colder one, where you’ve got two blankets over your lap. 

Keigo thought for a moment, “A handful, but I never took to stargazing, you know?”

You don’t relate, just chew your lip, the light of the dim lamp dancing across your irises.

“Can I show you some?” 

“...Constellations?”

“What else?” You crack a smile. “Come on, pretty eyes.”

Whatever you’d like, he’d do. 

He can’t refuse, he’s already getting weak for you. 

Shifting, Keigo joins you on your typical couch for the first time. Your IV poles, thrumming and humming their own rhymes harmonize, quietly and mostly imperceptible. 

You regard him even more warmly, so close, a little smile playing on your lips.

“What’s your sign?”

Keigo deadpans, “What?”

“Like... astrology. What’s your sign?”

You wiggle your eyebrows, knowing the double-meaning of your words. 

Flirting again.

Since when had he been so bad at it?

“Capricorn,” He huffs back. He keeps his back off the stone-like cushions of the couch— his scarring had been itchy the whole day prior— so itchy— 

You tap the plastic-y fabric gap between the two of you, grabbing his attention, “Hey, pretty eyes. Stick with me, let me show you where that one is.”

So, you do.

Your light-filled eyes trace the sky’s nighttime freckles, searching until you find what you’re looking for.

“There,” Your finger raises, tracing the patterns in the air. “That’s Capricorn, can you see?”

Not really, the stars are just a meaningless smatter. If there’s some sort of pattern he’s supposed to find, he comes up with none. 

“Not in the slightest,” Keigo rolls his eyes. “Show me again?”

You don’t reply, but rather scoot a bit closer, mirror his hunch and pose with precision and tiny adjustments. 

He doesn’t dare to breathe as you carefully grab his arm, extending it. You lay your cheek over his bicep, watching from the closest view to his own that you could. 

“Do you see now?” 

The only starlight he sees is right in front of him, soft cheek pressed against atrophying muscles. Sharing your heat so graciously as you would so easily come to, you chatter about the stories that are written in the stars, by all cultures, for so long.

Keigo hears, but he’s far more focused on how he wishes you were even closer.

...

After that night, you always share the same couch. 

You face forward, right leg always extended and stiff-looking. Keigo doesn’t mind, hardly notices. He faces you, fragile back bandaged and kept away from the unforgiving grit of the uncomfortable couch. It looks a bit uncomfortable, the posing of it all, but with the words flowing easier, neither of you mind.

You keep showing him stars, the constellations you can remember and see in the night sky. 

Keigo makes fun and crafts his own, connecting new dots and winding stories about them.

“See those three there?” He guides your hand, close enough to share your breath. “That’s the comb of the chicken. Star comb, if you will.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and pulling your hand from his grip, “There’s no cock in the stars, pretty eyes. Chickens can’t fly anyways.”

You both freeze.

Keigo’s mouth goes dry—

Chicken can’t fly.

As much as you’re both learning to be human again, there isn’t talk of your injuries. Maybe, there’s mutual curiosity (you’ve been here two months. just for a broken arm, why?), but like fuck Keigo wants to broach the subject.

“S-sorry,” you stumble over your words, physically retreating. “Shouldn’t have said that.”

It is a fact, chickens can’t fly, but Keigo isn’t a chicken. He’s a debauched, defamed hero whose home is the same set of a milky white, hospital ward walls. Once, a real hero, before the war, before selling his morals just for a chance at rest, before blue flame— burning— 

“Pretty eyes,” Your voice trembles, shaking and lonesome. “Come back here, now. Come on.”

You’re holding his cheeks, unkempt nails pressing (blessedly) a bit too hard into his cheeks. The heat of you is so close, almost scalding him, but he wants more of it, more of the heat that doesn’t burn—

“You’re okay, pretty eyes, s-see?” You hold yourself together, jerking your head to the wide window and glittering stars. “We’re just stargazing.” 

Keigo’s has tears leaking down his face, but neither of you acknowledge them. You release him, quietly spinning another tale about a hero hung in the cosmos. He thanks you for it silently by tugging you into his side. 

(It was the first night you really touched him.)

(The light in your eyes was so close, he wanted it all for himself.)

...

They’re running out of healers to try.

From the weakest to the strongest quirk, no one could revive his dead wings. There was no root to push from the scar tissue, nor resolve left in Keigo to try and make new pins and feathers sprout.

His back isn’t fertile. It’s just as poisoned as the rest of him.

...

He wonders where you disappear to during the day. He takes his strolls then, too. Waves to nurses these days, not charming, just friendly, trying to make a little brightness. 

There’s one day where he asks one of the nurses he knows best for a pair of scissors.

She looks at him, worried, “Don’t tell me we need to put you on psych watch.”

“What? No,” Keigo shakes his head, shaggy hair quivering around the frame of his face. “I just need a bit of a haircut.” 

“... We can ask the Commission to bring someone in—”

“I can do it myself.”

She doesn’t argue with the firmness of his voice, rather, she hands him a pair of safety scissors with bright purple handles. They’re for a child, but Keigo’s fine with that. They’d do. 

When he was younger, and in a pinch (and so poor he tried to eat grass and lick scraps from metallic packaging of discarded junk food wrappers) he’d cut his hair with his own feathers.

Safety scissors would be even easier.

It did mean that he had to confront his own visage, which he had gotten too good at avoiding.

The bathroom in his room is small, it would’ve been claustrophobic if he was still carrying a twenty-five-foot wingspan. 

But, he isn’t. It was just him and the scars on his back that he definitely wasn’t ready to see. 

He’s caught glimpses of himself over the past weeks, but nothing substantial. No view that would’ve given himself time to scrutinize over his imperfection. 

The dull hospital mirror reveals too much about him. It feels too vulnerable, makes his chest tighten, as he stares himself in his ‘pretty eyes’.

Purple stamps below his eyes, probably not from sleeplessness itself, just the sheer exhaustion of living. The one under his left is an odd maroon color, mixing with the scar that is burned into that half of his face.

The skin was once soft, plump cheeks always tended too and well taken care of by expensive skincare products. Now, it’s charred and gaunt. Healing, but still obviously scarred heavy and deep.  The weak beard he’s been growing (accidently) is patchy around the thickened tissue. 

It bothers him— 

It doesn’t look like him in the mirror. 

It helps to take care of himself for the first time in a long while. 

He shaves with the cheap foam and single blade razor they’d given him in the toiletries pack the first days he was there, while he was still numbed out and half-dead. The metal glides over his skin, stripping away the numbness just a little. The stubble and cream slide down the drain and away.

His hair is different. The waves had for so long been pushed back and held that way with the winds of his flights. The longer, feathery patches now hang around his face, dangling down and mingling with the too-long sections that curl over his ears and down his neck.

Wetting his hair, he cuts away what he can. 

It’s blunt, messy, and not elegant. 

All the same, the trim feels good. 

Though, his mood goes sour when the screaming starts for the day.

The far wall of the bathroom was shared by him and his shrieking neighbor, and he took great care to never shower when they were singing their awful chorus. It grates on his ears; he should’ve been a bit empathetic to their suffering, but he didn’t care that much. It was so regular, that the screaming that might’ve once sent each one of his feathers (don’t think about, don’t fucking think about it) sharp as the razor in his hand, didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Just a poke at his temple, a jab and a drop of water that irks him more than anything else.

It is a... somewhat pleasant distraction. He can focus more on his fellow patient than his own haggard appearance, the scar, the lack of red at his back— 

It’s all okay, ‘okay’, until the patient starts babbling.

“M-make it stop!” 

Keigo stills.

A scream tears through the drywall. Even without his wings, it makes him thrum, far-too sensitive.

“Help!” The voice yelps. “HELP!” 

There’s a thud and thump from the other room.

“Please, please!”

Keigo’s heart stutters in his chest, and the razor falls from his hand, clattering into the sink.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

It’s you.

It’s your screaming and shrieking that’s burrowed in his ears. It’s your voice that’s trembling in desperation that has him running out of his room, nearly pulling out his IVs as the pole teeters and follows behind him. 

Why are you screaming?

Why have you always been screaming?

A nurse is trying to stop him, urging him to settle but he can’t. There's an urgency in his chest he hasn’t felt since back before and he has to heed it. He needs to.

He pulls his forearm from the nurse’s grasp, hissing in his own pain, muscles pulling and aching with disuse but he doesn’t care.

The nurses drag him back from your door, and they almost have him, almost have him on the ground.

And then he smells burning—

Cloth.

Flesh.

And something in him snaps.

He clocks the nearest nurse with a tight fist, ignoring his atrophied muscles and kicking with everything he could muster.

They release him, probably out of shock. (He’d been such a model patient, so complacent and quiet until then.) 

Then, he stumbles into your room, and sees you, and wants to die.

...

There’s plenty of times in his life where Keigo felt like an animal. When the Commission first got their hands on him, they took to studying and picking his quirk about to figure out the most efficient way to rebuild it to their needs and uses. Now then, he felt very much like an experiment, only half-human. He was too young to really ‘get’ it, but the feeling persisted.

Sometimes, he felt similarly when he played celebrity. The talk shows, the modeling and media felt hoops he had to jump through just to get a decent night’s sleep. It was an additional job aside from heroics, one he excelled at and entertained him. But that didn’t mean each flash of a camera didn’t suck him dry of a bit of his dignity. 

He was sure you had to be feeling similarly.

You’re writhing and arching in your bed, curls of smoke rising from your papery hospital gown. Every machine in your room is screaming with you, bloody and loud and angry—

And scared. Keigo recognized well, and it drove pins into his heart to realize it was you.

It’s even worse when he realizes some part of you is burning. 

At your bedside, he freezes.

Nylon straps wrap around your wrist, around your cast, and keep you held tight to the bed. You’re tied down, held to the plastic bed frame as you wretch and scream.

You don’t even notice him.

The smoke rises from your burning hospital gown. He rips it away, tears the burning section away with his shaking hand. It’s crass, and Keigo sees a bit too much.  The gauze wrapping your leg below is burning as well, in little veins of char that burns black and smoldering. 

Keigo tears it all away, he tears and tears—

And then he sees the wound.

He was trained, once, to see this type of horror and not bat an eye. That training was gone, and all that remained was his starshine with a writhing, molten wound.

Keigo is numb as the nurses drag him back to his room, trying to decide if he prefers the apathy and numbness to injury that his old heroism gave him, or the blinding pain of empathy when someone you... care about is hurt.

He can’t decide which he’d rather suffer with. 

...

You appear in the common room a few nights later.

Keigo still takes his walks in the late evening, even if you aren’t there. If anything, he needs them more. He’s restless, always listening for the screams or howls from the next room over. His annoyance towards them was gone, and all that remained was a concern that knotted in the pit of his stomach. 

There’s a sigh of relief on his lips when he finds you, nestled into a pile of blankets with your IV pole, watching the stars with sad eyes.

He joins you on your couch, cracking a decent joke that you don’t respond to.

Then, there’s silence.

It’s as loud as the stars are bright. The expanse of sound is filled by the hum of the cold air and distant beeping.

“I’m sorry,” Your voice shakes. “You shouldn’t have seen me like that. It’s not... Easy to look at. Or, I imagine it’s not.”

Keigo wants to rip the apology from your tongue and burn it.

“No, please, it’s alright,” He’s begging too much. “I get it.”

As much as he can, anyways.

You’re quiet again, biting your lip so hard it must be close to breaking skin.

“Can we... talk about things?” You ask, softer. “I can’t keep pretending.”

“...’Pretending’?” Keigo knows, but he selfishly wants to hear you say it.

“Well, you didn’t think I’ve been here for two months for my bum arm, right?” You laugh weakly. “And I’m well-aware that you don’t have wings.”

We just don’t talk about it. 

“It’s nicer to look at the stars and pretend everything’s fine,” Keigo lays the statement down and regrets it.

Your fist tightens, jaw clenching.

And there’s more silence.

It’s deafening to Keigo, he wants to speak, scream, but you’re quiet next to him. He can fill voids with his voice so, so easily, yet he turns in on himself.

“I know, it’s all hard,” Tears drip down from your words, though your cheeks remain dry. “I know, but there was a War two months ago, and we’re still holed up in a place like this, and we never talk about why.”

You turn to him, light dancing slowly in your eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no sound comes out.

“... I didn’t want to ask.” Keigo speaks, gaze shifting down to your leg. He questioned why a broken arm would keep you here, but you can’t just ask that. “It’s bad form to ask a stranger about their injuries unnecessarily when they’re traumatized.”

“But we’re not strangers, not anymore.”

Keigo can’t disagree. 

...

You had been in a conbini when Gigantomakia tore through your little suburb. It was a few miles away, but the ground shook as if the goliath was just outside the automatic doors.

Your demon was near, though.

It was a man from the PLF who tore into you so badly. Just some random, emboldened civilian who ascribed to Destro’s ideology hard enough to think about taking out his frustrations on ‘weaker-quirked’ individuals.

That meant the young couple getting slushies in the corner, the old man behind the cash register, and you.

(You’d told your roommate you’d be home quick to help her study—)

(Your roommate is dead, under several tons of rubble.)

“The old man died before the heroes even started trying to rescue anyone. The couple was begging each other to hold on, but only one of them lasted. He died within a few weeks of being taken here.”

There was just you.

You’d hardly been touched by the man, the fucking villain, who’d set his mark on you. But it was more than enough to leave a writhing scar.

Keigo asks to see it, and quietly, you oblige him.

You’re in a gown, you always have been. The hem of it is pulled up by your visibility shaking fingers, and slowly reveals the scar in the lowlight of the ever-present lamp. He’d seen it once, but that didn’t change how startling it was. 

It’s molten.

The skin is gnarled, twisting and scarred worse than anything Keigo’s ever seen. It was like the gore of a torn flesh was frozen over your right side, from your calf, to your thighs to your pretty hips—

“It goes higher, but that’s not exactly couth to show you,” you joke, but neither of you laugh. 

“... It’s not moving anymore?”

“Oh, yeah. It calms down, when it’s dark. Nighttime and all. It stops being so ornery.” 

Keigo has a laundry list of questions, but with the expression on your face that just bleeds exhaustion into the air, and the fresh burns from the restraints on your wrists, he keeps quiet. 

Maybe, three months ago, he’d jabber on about the injury, try to gode some information out on the villain, profile him, track him and beat the tar out of him for touching you—

But this is the present, and Keigo is a wingless soul. All he has is a prescription for painkillers on a rigid schedule, and the awareness that you both appreciate each other.

Keigo scoots to your uninjured side, lifting his arm up and around your shoulder. It hurts, it fucking hurts, but he doesn’t mind.

You tense for a moment, turning to him with wide eyes, scared like he’s never seen.

Then, you melt into him.

...

Keigo’s busy with healers the week, though none speak his language, literally. They’re international, foreign aid that’s been flown in to try to pick up the disaster of a society that’s been left in the wake of the War and the dissolution of Tartarus.

None of them make progress. 

As much as it burns (haha) him to his core, he’s accepting the reality, slowly but surely. 

...

Endeavor visits him.

It’s the morning after a particularly sweet night with you. You still sit together in the starlight, though you’ve run out of constellations to show him. It’s less quiet than it used to be, just little banter that flows between the two of you. It feels more genuine than his old bluntness, welcome after so much odd tension when you first started enjoying the heat of each other’s presence and the far-off stars.

You’d taken to spending time together during the day as well... As much as you could. Strapping you to your bed was for your own safety. Your broken arm had snapped the first few days at the hospital because of the severity of your spasms and flares. The nurses keep you wrapped up, but Keigo drags a chair close to your bed and talks to you as much as he can.

It helps you relax.

Though the days fill with tension as you try to negate the inevitability of your molten scar coming to life, nights remain calm.

And so, so sweet.

You’ve taken to tucking into his side, telling him little treasured facts about the cosmos. It’s easier to guide his eyes like that, as your cheek rests over his collarbone. 

It lingers with him, the feeling of your casual touch, so tentatively offered and so graciously received.

He traces his own constellations over your gown, mindful of the flesh beneath that heats beneath his palm when he gets too close.

After one of those wonderful, early nights, Enji Todoroki enters his room with all of the gusto one would expect. Which is not very much, but the sheer presence of him is enough to make Keigo quake.

 Just like the little boy from Kyushu, Keigo regards him with stars in his eyes. 

The hero, not a speck of flame on him (thank god) pulls up a chair near his bed. Keigo sits cross-legged and cocks his head to the side.

“What brings you to my neck of the woods, number one?” Keigo smiles.

“Number fifteen.”

“... What?”

“Since my injuries, I’m mostly on bedrest,” Enji replied, folding his hands on his chin. “I’m number fifteen now, and that number will more than likely just drop. I’m not much of a hero with only one lung. I’m planning to officially retire at the end of the month.”

Keigo’s chest goes tight and it feels like he’s joking. He tosses on a tight smile. 

“This is hardly time for a pillar—“

“I’m no pillar. I never was,” Enji sighs, running a hand over his scarred cheek. “The kids can handle this.”

Keigo breaks so easily these days.

“That’s not fair—” He had been tossed into this all too early and god it fucked him up— 

“Hawks,” Enji sighed. “There’s hardly anyone left to fight. They’re either dead, missing part of themselves, or gone.”

“So, you’re giving up?”

“If I didn’t, I’d die.”

Coward.

No, just honest and smart. 

“Since when are you this selfish?” Keigo’s own words surprise him, but he doesn’t back down. “And this wordy, number one? You’ve changed.”

He spits the last phrase like an insult. He hates himself for it and would hate himself even more for it later. 

Enji’s face remains solid and unwavering. The twitch in his brow is the only indication that Keigo’s words were even heard. 

“Since we lost, Keigo. Things have changed.”

Keigo knew, of course, but it didn’t stop the anger from rolling his belly.

“Oh, like I don’t fucking know,” If Keigo still had his wings, they would’ve been extended and fluffed, angry as the pinched skin of his forehead. 

This was his hero, he couldn’t be giving up too— 

“Rest, Hawks,” Enji stand up, “You deserve it.”

Seems Endeavor really died. Enji’s face is worn, his expression neutral and jaw slack. He looks hollowed out and empty, not an ounce or morsel of fight left in him, even for a flightless bird in need of some encouragement. 

There’s more to be said, but Keigo’s too angry to listen and Enji doesn’t have the energy to try. 

Whatever news the old hero had come to bring was left undelivered. 

...

You settle together the next few nights, both so damn tired, even though you’ve done nothing other than lay around a hospital for so-many weeks. 

The air always vibrates between the two of you, that comfortable warmth shared between mingling breath and senses. Light dances in your eyes, twisting and bouncing like something otherworldly.

(Maybe it is.)

Your fingers lace together, held in Keigo’s lap. You trace the others hand in relaxing little lines and shapes, trying to soothe each other’s wounds, always.

“One of the doctors said the scar might start shrinking,” You break the tender silence, nosing into his jaw in the same way an affectionate cat would. “They’re not entirely sure, but it’s been stable for a few days.”

Keigo’s feathery (don’t think about it) eyebrows shot up, “That’s amazing, and there’s only a few spasms this week, too.”

(He kept good tabs on you, he had to.)

You hummed in agreement, a sad smile playing on your lips as it so often did.

With a quick blink, the light bouncing in your eyes faded, and the world felt a bit colder.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I get out of here,” You pressed closer to him. “There’s shelters, and some cities are taking refugees, but I don’t—”

Your jaw clicks shut, brow furrowed and mood soured.

(Keigo, mind you, is still focusing on the lack of light in your eyes and the chill of the air in the room.) 

Something stirs, deep in his gut, but he doesn’t say anything. How Keigo used to have such a mouth, he didn’t know. These days, all he can is act, like somehow the loss of his wings came with the loss of his tongue.

Tugging you by the waist, mindful of the tender scar, he pulls you close, internally resolving.

...

She, the main Suit, visits him.

(It’s his last visitor at the hospital.)

There are no trumpeters, guards, or the like. It’s just the haggard president, matching Keigo with his dark circles and creased with new wrinkles and far-more grey sections in her slicked back hair.

The air stands still as she pulls up a chair, burying her head in her hands.

She, the Main Suit, has never been one to inquire as to how he is. Many of the others at the Commission were sweet, kind to him in youth, but she was all business. 

Some things never change.

She breaks the silence of the room, “... do you want to be done, Hawks?”

The cords in his chest tighten, gaze going sharper.

He doesn’t answer.

They meet each other’s gazes; twenty years of fucked-up emotion being shared between the pair of them.

“We’ve done everything. Every healer, every quirk, every treatment, conventional or otherwise,” she’s too soft. “There’s nothing left to try.”

He knew that, he had to know that, right?

His throat feels sticky as he swallows down bile, the scars on his back burning anew. It’s somatic, it has to be, but his flesh crawls and writhes just like yours. His starshine. He hates the way his mind is racing, just as fast as it always has, but his body lacks the ability to keep up.

He grounds himself in the thought of you, his starshine. Your body. Your heat. 

His narrow pupils refocus on the light tremble in her shoulders. 

“I’m being honest, so I’ll ask again,” She meets his gaze, grey eyes as soulless and full as ever. “Do you want to be done?”

“Well, obviously I can't fight—” 

“I mean it. All of it, Hawks. Maybe a few media appearances, but all this... shit. You’ve done enough.”

You’ve done enough. 

The words bounce around in his skull.

“Do you want to be done?”

Done with being a hero.

That’s all he’d ever been, right? That is him, he is Hawks, for fuck’s sake, no one other than Dabi (may he rot and die and immolate in hell) even called him his actual name in years.

Keigo is Hawks.

His mouth is dry, and he tries to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He’s not sure why he’s beginning to cry, and definitely not sure why tension is draining from his shoulders as he sighs out an answer.

“I’ll be done.”

You’ve done enough.

...

Hospital beds are a hot commodity, and now that Keigo had thrown in the towel (along with everyone else) to stop trying with his wings, he was to be discharged within a few days.

(“Just a few more days to adjust your body to your new medications—”)

He’d stopped listening after that.

...

Your last night together is so bittersweet, you taste it on each other’s tongues.

You have an episode early in the day. Your screaming wakes the floor, the burning smell of flesh cementing that it was you.

Keigo’s only half-lucid when he shoves into your room, holding your hands while nurses desperately try to administer pain medication.

It’s too much for you, the crawling edges of the scar once again consuming you in the molten, glowing amber veins of heat that tore through you so terribly.

You sleep the day away. Keigo stays with you for much of it, stroking the bones in the back of your hands. 

...

He fucks you for the first time, that night. 

His own IVs have been removed, he’s to be discharged first thing in the morning—

And he wants one more night of stargazing, please, please—

(Why’s he clutching at you so dearly?) 

But you’re not in the common room. 

Rather, you’re under a few thin blankets, eyes tired and lightless. Your arm is out of its cast, laying over the bed clothes. It scares him shitless at first as he tentatively enters. It’s you though, and the moment you see him, it’s like a flame, a good one, heats the room full and wide. A few specks of light dance in between your irises as your skin crinkles in a gentle smile.

You both know he’s leaving tomorrow.

The knowledge settles in the room like a weight that neither of you can move. So, Keigo takes to it and does what he can.

As opposed to his normal perch next to his bed, he sits beside you, removing the restraints on your wrists and helping you to sit up.

Keigo fishes around in his pocket, pulling out a folded square of paper and placing it at your bedside. It’s his phone number, an odd detail. Relationships usually shared far-earlier.

But there is nothing linear or normal about the two of you, or the situation you both sit and stewed in.

You both are making peace with it at your own pace.

The bed creaks as you move to sit beside him, legs dangling from the bed. There’s gooseflesh beneath your gown, the boring pattern obscured by the darkness of the room, but the molten lines of the scar ever-visible.

“I’m glad you’re getting out of here.”

But I wish that you weren’t leaving.

His hand finds your waist, careful like he always is, but so giving in the same breath. 

“I am too. It’ll be nice to be.”

But I’m going to miss you.

It’s inherent, and has been forever. Since the moment you both stargazed in the common room and watched the worlds high above twist and shine without regard to your own hells, you’ve been ensnared in the other and neither of you have a want or need to let go.

Even with the inevitably of progress.

Keigo drowns in these thoughts, and has been since Endeavor visited and he was reminded of the harsh reality just outside of their tree-ringed prison. The reality he has to return to—

He presses his lips to yours, more desperate and needy than he had before.

Keigo had taken his share of you before, little pecks and the rub of the bridge of his nose over your jaw and cheeks. He had been a bit greedier with his hands, uncaring of the eyes of the night nurses when he’d touched you in the common room.

But he’s insatiable that last night.

The sheets of the plastic bed are too scratchy, they’re too harsh for you, and it burns Keigo to his core as he lowers you down. He cradles what he can, as your fingers latch onto his clothes (real clothes) and tug him as close as you can get.

The machines in your room cry, but they’re forgotten. 

You nip at his bottom lip, dragging yours across his clean-shaven jaw before laying into his neck with kiss after kiss. His muscles shake, holding him over you, both of you atrophied but uncaring.

You suck a deep, throbbing bruise on the fragile skin of his neck. It’s something dark that won’t fade for a week. The thought stirs something in his chest, a white-hot feeling that wants to crack his ribs and consume him. He doesn’t give in, he can’t—

“Stay with me, pretty eyes,” you whisper, so sweet and gentle as you push floppy strands of hair from his face. “Stay here, just for a little while longer.”

The reminder jolts him back, back to you, and the way your body (so tired, but unwavering) jumps and rolls under his touch. He’s a glutton for attention, always has been, but your particular brand and sounds keep pulse hot and hard. 

Shaky fingers pull his shirt over his head, sweaty palms push the gown over your hips. By the starlight, you’re both seeing too much of each other, but this is a goodbye, there’s no time to dwell on the discomfort.

Keigo tries to be careful as he adjusts your legs, tries to be mindful of the raw skin and flesh that makes you whine and half-writhe. You clutch at him, still trying to pull him closer despite the proximity and heat, like you need him as opposed to just wanting him. 

There’s no fanfare in it, just more rushed kisses and the swirling of fingertips over covered clit. You catch each other’s gasps in the mingling of breaths you share. It’s choking, suffocating, yet entirely not enough. You beg, quietly, for more. Your fingers latch onto his wrist and urge him to help pull your panties off and away.

More, more, more. 

By the time he slides into you, you're still tense, but so is he, and in a pile of tension and fear and wishful-thinking, you both come undone, and undone, and undone— 

...

Keigo leaves the next morning. 

The press is there, flash bulbs blinding him after so long with just fluorescents and starlight. He manages an easy wave or two, no autographs or gleaming smiles, just business and numbness that he needed to hold onto, so he didn’t fucking break.

He slips into the Commission’s car and leaves behind the hospital, you, and its wall of man-laid greenery and prays to forget it all quickly. He has enough to mourn. 

...

Keigo wants to off himself when he arrives back at his penthouse. 

How can he not?

His ‘home’ (if he couldn’t even call it that) is a dusty, time capsule of everything before. Before he got fucked up with the League, before the PLF, before the war, before Jin—

Every untouched bit of his life from when it was a few, precious fractions better stands unturned. A discarded jacket, wing slits visible and frayed. Scattered dead feathers that make his skin crawl. Memorabilia too, old merchandise that he never cared much about, but he definitely didn’t need to be seeing it now that ‘Hawks’ had burned up and died. 

All disgusting reminders. 

Something burning fills the base of his skull when his gaze fixates on one of the old plumes. He reaches out to touch the spine of it, instinctually expecting a little jolt of feeling from it, like he always had. 

But there’s nothing. It’s dead, decaying, and so is he. 

The reality of it breaks him, quick, hard and hot. He burns alive a second time. 

He clears the liquor cabinet while blaring music from his over-priced stereo system loud enough to make his ears ache and throb. The music isn’t drowning anything out, but it’s better to pretend.

He finds a bottle of old pills and downs them with a few swigs of expensive whiskey and lets go.

...

When he comes to, he’s staring into a smashed mirror, with his own nails crusted in blood from thin welts in the skin of the scar on his face.

Much to his chagrin, he hasn’t forgotten anything. The memories of blue flames, red feathers, and the smell of your skin mixed with isopropyl alcohol feel brighter than ever. He grounds on them as he sobers up, latching onto the pain of his scar tissue and the solace you gave. 

And won’t ever give him again.

Something in him wilts as he defeatedly goes to his phone, arranging any number of things to get him the fuck out.

...

The penthouse is sold, his more important belongings gathered in bland boxes. 

And he leaves. There’s no sentiment holding him there, not anymore.  

Fukuoka is gone and some distant memory as he drives (yes, he forgot that he had that skill) him and his things to his new home.

His penthouse had been immaculate. Crisp interior design, new shapes and colors that were on trend. He was hardly home to appreciate the modern beauty of it, but he’d received enough compliments from random hookups to know that it landed aesthetically.

But honestly?

Who the fuck cared?

His penthouse had been sold to the highest bidder and far behind as he arrives at his new, high home in the sleekness of his far-too fancy, disused car.

...

...

He gets a call from an unknown number, another one, on some snowy day, deep in winter. 

Keigo debates answering it. He almost lets it slip to voicemail. The only calls worth answering are the handful from the Commission that he has to heed, or the odd one from Rumi, Fuyumi, and on occasion, Endeavor.

Not random numbers, he has no patience for it. 

Yet, he answers it lazily.

“Washed up hero, how can I help you?”

“P-Pretty eyes?”

His heart stutters in his chest, he swears— 

“Starshine?” He sounds breathless, the air leached from his chest as he white-knuckles his thighs.

He’d given up on you contacting him, yet there you were, or at least your voice, mechanical and high bouncing around preciously in the walls of the cabin

There’s a moment of silence, nearly, just your light breathing that receiver picks up.

Your voice trembles when you break it, “Y-yeah, it’s me, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call—”

You don’t need to be sorry; he would wait for you forever, and then some. 

“I d-don’t actually have a phone? Mine got trashed, uh, back then. I’m on the hospital’s line.”

Keigo hadn’t really considered that, he’s slipped the paper with his number on your bedside without a thought. 

How much had you lost?

“No worries, chickadee,” Keigo is sure his smile is audible. “Why call now? Miss me too much?”

He had no idea.

You laugh, though it soured as you spoke, “I get discharged tomorrow.”

Keigo’s heart seizes again and he’s sure he’s going to go into cardiac arrest.

“The guy who gave me the scar and all? He fucked up a few other people, word eventually got here. Once the scar stops... glowing, it rests. If you make it until then, you’re good.”

And alive.

“The whole injury is stable, has been for a week now,” Surprisingly, there’s no relief in your voice. “They need my bed, so they’re releasing me.”

No, no, no.

Where will you go?

Keigo doesn’t say it, but the question hangs in the air and is quickly answered.

“They got me a spot in one of the shelters close by... It’s only a couple hours by train!” You try to sound happy, but it’s so hollow and unnatural; it makes Keigo physically sit up.

No, no, no.

That won’t do.

“... What won’t do?” 

Keigo hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud.

Something is buried in his chest, something warm and molten, like the old veins of your scar, just kinder and better. It’s full of urges, so seldom used, selectively as needed throughout his career as a hero.

The need to keep something precious safe. 

The thing hasn’t thrashed in months.

Yet now? It’s practically screaming.

“Pretty eyes?” You sound scared through the phone. “A-Are you alright? I can call back—”

“No, don’t, do not.” Keigo lets the flame fill his chest, welcoming it. “You’re not going to that shelter.”

He has something to protect.

“I don’t have another choice—”

Someone.

“You do.” Keigo keeps his voice even, the muscles in his back writhing. If he still had his wings, they’d be puffed out and large. Impassioned with feeling he finally let breath between his ribs. “I’ll come get you, tomorrow.”

“... P-Pardon?”

He doesn’t hesitate, and for a moment, he starts to feel like his old self. 

“Come home with me, starshine.”

++++++

thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!! 💗

look out for parts 2 and 3!!!💞

ko-fi