#miss ma'am why is this the end of your abstract

[witchcraftingboop]

Uni: Put together an eportfolio of all your college work!

Me: Yeah no problem, I never delete anything anyways

Fall 2019 Me: The statements put forth are directed at the youth, their "huddled masses yearning to breathe free" (Lazarus, 1883). Let the spark of defiance be fostered in the years going forward and our roots lain bear. Revolution has always been at the heart of American history for a reason.

Me: .... so... I'll file this under.... ethics?

[genuflectx]

4th Dimensional Being/OC - CH1

Full Length: 19,543

Chapter Length:  4,248

Main Themes: Other dimensions, tentacles, confinement, nsfw

Other Warnings: politics, "godly" behaviors, vomit, feeling of loss of autonomy, comparison to a toy

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

I ended writing a novella... this is my longest short, non-fanfic work yet. It's not perfect but was a fun exploration of these characters and themes. Yes, there will be explicit sex in a later chapter :) Later on I will format the novella correctly for a nice little Gumroad/Patron release! Enjoy! (WILL BE NSFW IN LATER CHAPTERS)

The 4DB Chapter 1: Heartburn

“Do you need any stamps?”

The middle-aged woman re-set her teeth subconsciously and rose a brow. “No, I just came to drop off the package.” Her eyes crinkled in a way that passive aggressively said 'get on with it.'

Chris pursed her lips, features big and round with false politeness. “Okay then! If you could just insert your card-”

“Is it one that takes chips?” She interrupted.

“Yes, it's ready for you.”

The mail room was a quiet murmur as the card clacked against the plastic scanner. Eventually it happened to slipped in. “It's not doing anything.”

“You might have it in the wrong way ma'am,” Chris suggested, tense.

The woman squinted, a corner of her mouth raising in distaste. She ripped the card from its slot and turned it around. The machine asked her pin. She got it right on the third try. Finally, the package could be put in its place as the lady left with a stick up her ass.

“Some customers are just the worst,” Chris concluded as she and two of her co-workers were closing shop.

Vincent shrugged. “They just like to take out their anger on strangers to make'em feel better,” he smiled and locked the door.

Mildred chuckled and rolled her eyes, patting Chris on the shoulder. “Make sure none of them hear you talking like that!” She started to walk to her car. “I been here for a decade. You'll get used to them.”

“Well I been here a year, I ought to be too!” Chris groaned, slumping dramatically where she stood.

“Just get some rest, tomorrow's the big event!” Vincent grinned and pranced off to his own car.

Chris found her feet dragging on, her hand fumbling for keys. “Yeah yeah, see you there,” she mumbled, climbing on in with exhaustion.

She was never much of a people-pleaser, but she did her job alright. After a long exasperating work week the weekend was blessedly encroaching upon her, right along side the annual downtown gathering of Gabriel's Children. Chris was not one of those children. However, Vincent had been since the horn had first begun to blow. Chris did have to admit it was an astounding scientific phenomenon, but that's all it was. Just something science had yet to explain. The little festival the locals vended had delicious food, though. Hearing the horn was a fun little bonus.

The festivities started early in the morning and she arrived with Vincent in the afternoon. There was a talk being held at its center, which Vincent felt the need to drag her to hear after gathering snacks. They nibbled on freshly baked pastries and sipped hot coffee as a man high on the stage explained recent discoveries of the hum- another word for the horn. Chris thought maybe they'd come in a little late, as the man was already beginning to finish off his speech. Plus, it was hard to hear with the bustling of the surrounding crowd; all the people laughing and chatting and cooking at their stands, necklaces jingling and children begging parents for magnets of trumpets and angels. She strained her ears to listen.

“So if it wasn't the factory, if we are inland unlike the Children of Europe, we have no buzzing wind farms nor major fault lines, then what is it? What is the 'horn?'” He stalked across the stage, pacing and looking so, so serious. “Twenty years and we have no answers. But we know it's sped up. We know it's moved and honed in to few locations; from our little mid-American town, to Washington D.C., all the way down to the hot, dry climates of Texas.”

Chris sighed and slid further in her chair, looking bored. “We've heard all this before. They haven't learned anything new in years,” she whispered across to her excited co-worker. Vincent shushed her and she resisted a bored moan.

The speaker was unaffected, totally unaware of a particular audience member's dry indifference. “Every year now it comes, and every year we gather again to try and learn something. Anything,” he frowned.

Chris crammed cinnamon role into her gob and huffed quietly. “Good luck.” She washed it down with a big swig of coffee.

Vincent gave her a look that could melt the bones right out of her body. She smirked at him.

“Maybe this year... things will be different,” the speaker trailed off quietly and quit pacing. He became eerily still, looking out over the heads of the crowd and into the mottled stone walls of downtown. Vincent felt that he was pausing for dramatic effect, but Chris rose a brow. He'd stopped speaking, almost wall eyed.

“Shit,” Chris suddenly whispered, bringing fingers to her temples and shutting her eyes.

“You okay?” Vincent worried, glancing from her to the stage with a sense of terrible unease.

She grit her teeth and shut her eyes. Her ears were ringing, one even popped. A few seconds passed. It slowly subsided into a dull pain. “Just a weird headache? Guess it's all the noise,” she dropped her hands, exhaling.

“Guess he got one too?” Vincent gestured uncomfortably.

She followed his hand up to the stage, where the speaker was continuing to pause. By now it had just become awkward; his palm on his forehead and a pained expression encased his wrinkled visage. The crowd had begun to murmur in confusion. Slowly he swallowed, like forcing down vomit, then became relieved enough to continue.

“That's... that's all. Thank you for coming to listen to me speak,” he shuffled away to the shallow stairs and disappeared, making way for the next speaker.

“Weird,” Chris mumbled. “Maybe air pressure then? Well come on, I want to look at some shops before the countdown reaches zero.”

He jumped up enthusiastically, all starry eyed. “Yeah! I want a new key chain!”

As they carefully navigated the crowd back to the local art shops, Chris shook her head and laughed. “Don't you already have like, six trumpets?” She scolded.

He scoffed and waved a hand. “Pch, sure, but they're all different!”

An hour to go. They browsed, they made small talk, they sat stiff on freezing metal benches outside of local junk shops. Vincent not only snatched up a key chain but a copy of a screen print as well. He turned it upside down and squinted, humming. It was some abstract piece. Flat shapes seemed to wiggle around at him in a colorful confusion.

“Why don't you buy anything?” He asked, tuning the print right side up again.

She shrugged, chilled hands in warming pockets. “I'm not a tourist like you.”

“Heeey, I resent that!” He joked, trying to hide a smile.

Suddenly Chris winched, putting a hand at the nape of her neck. There it was again, that creeping feeling of a splitting headache coming back. She sighed and slowed her pace, feeling nauseous.

“Listen, I think I'm gonna head home.”

Her friend expressed disappointment. “What! It's only fifteen minutes now! Really want to miss Gabriel?”

She nodded, rubbing her neck and looking down. “Yeah, I really feel icky. Besides, I'll probably still hear it in my car if I roll the windows down. I think the crowd and air pressure are just overwhelming me.” Chris did hate to leave her friend to himself, but he was a big boy, even if he was two years younger. She just didn't feel up to staying any longer.

He pretended to pout and waved her goodbye. “See ya at work Monday,” he called across the loud, mingling voices of the festival.

Chris waved back and found her way through downtown, back out into the more empty streets. She pressed a red button. The streetlight sounded and the image turned white so she crossed swiftly on numbed feet. She made it up the car park elevator, found her car among the dimly lit concrete slopes, and finally was on her way home. The headache had yet to return during the trip so she counted herself lucky.

The roads were relatively empty due to the majority of traffic having already settled in to wait for Gabriel's horn, though a few roads were annoyingly blocked off for the event. She was deathly glad for the vacant roads that allowed her to slip out of downtown with an ease she'd not get to enjoy any other day.

“Oh right,” Chris rolled down her side window. Fresh cold air flowed in, which soothed her head a little. “Not long now.”

She was just about out of downtown when it happened. But... there was no horn. No rusty screech, no hum that she'd grown to know so well. However, there was an awful, unaccounted for noise that came from the rolling Heavens. A sharp, quick sound; a hard whispered word blasted her brain and set it on fire. It hurt like Hell. Like the loud screech of white noise when one had forgotten to turn the volume down before pressing 'on.' Chris slammed her breaks and cried, her wheels screaming. Was that what Vincent heard, waiting patiently back in the crowd? Or was it just in her head?

Chris pressed the gas gently, teeth grit and eyes barely open. She veered into an empty parking lot and stopped askew over two spaces. She yanked her hair and pressed her forehead against the wheel then suddenly felt extremely sick. She fumbled for the door then stumbled out. Chris felt pressure and collapsed clumsily to her knees against the broken asphalt. After a few moments some of the pressure let up, but then she heard that word again.

“What's wrong with me?” She slurred, feeling dizzy.

A look around found that she was very much alone. There was nothing but empty parked cars. The pain was suddenly gone. She froze and took a deep breath, her eyes re-focusing and hands shaking. She needed to go to the hospital but did not want to pay for the ambulance. Vincent could drive her. Her hand slowly retrieved the phone from her pocket, but as she pressed the button to find Vincent's contact she heard the word one last time. Sharp, quick, just like the first, but it was more clear.

“Wh-what? I'm hallucinating,” She mumbled, knowing full well that that was not the sound of Gabriel's horn.

“Chrysanthemum,” a loud-quiet voice called out in her head.

“Shit!” She dropped her phone and watched it smack against the faded asphalt.

“Chrysanthemum, don't be afraid. You are not hallucinating. The pain you felt was an... accident,” it explained, lowering its voice.

“God?” Chris called, slipping onto her butt and staring with fear into the sky. She was shaking from head to toe now.

It made a weird sound. “No, we are not a god, though we may seem it to you. We are the noise you call 'Gabriel's Horn,' but we are neither Gabriel nor Horn. The 'Horn' you've heard was merely our days affecting your years as we... tuned equipment,” Not-Gabriel explained plainly.

She glanced from cloud to cloud, brows furrowed so hard her forehead hurt. For a moment she thought if she just searched long enough she'd be able to find the face that was talking down on her.

“It will be difficult for you to understand and will take many of your days to acclimate. Do you at least understand this Chrysanthemum?” It sounded condescending at the end.

Chris scowled. “Well you can't be God if you keep using a name I don't go by,” she complained.

“We are of the 4th dimension. We are not a god. Here. I will touch your insides, it may feel strange,” it warned. “See?”

She screamed and grabbed her stomach. It felt like her acid churned, and suddenly she had heart burn. Chris burped and felt woozy. “That's... ohhh I think mm gonna pahhh-” Chris collapsed heavily to her back, unconscious.

There was nothing, nothing, nothing, then there was something. She saw herself amid a void. It was like a thick goo, as if the gas or lack of gas in the air had solidified. There was no cold nor heat, no apparent up nor down. But then, as she turned her head towards her feet, there was an illumination that lit the ground beneath her. A flat plain decorated with complex, ornate geometry rested below. She squatted against her calves, though it felt years before she came to a halt, and with every tiny change in posture she saw a ghost of her former self.

“Hello?” She called, echoing into the void. Her word simultaneously stuck in the goo and penetrated its atoms all at once. This world was a contradiction.

Something small screamed, a high-pitched trill of terror and shock. Chris glanced down at the geometry and squinted. The geometry was moving; it shivered and vibrated like cells in a body. It was all scrambling so fast compared to her.

“Hello?” She asked again, balancing with a hand so she may come closer.

It screamed again. A tiny little organism wriggled backwards, and across the plain something tickled Chris's hand. She lifted it and gawked with disgust and horror. She'd squished something, and it lay in bits in pieces.

“Whoops, I think I broke something,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Don't smite me!” Squeaked the thing by her feet.

Chris frowned. “What are you? You're so small and... flat.”

It rotated and looked around, but it never once looked up into the sky. The creature could not see anything but the outline of her shoes where she'd stepped atop its planet.

“You don't know?” It asked, sounding only slightly less panicked. “Then you're not God? Are you from Somewhere Else?”

She shook her head, confused. “No, I'm not a god. I'm Chris. And you're a cell?”

“A cell?”

“Yeah, a small organism that can group up to become a bigger organism. I'm full of them. You look like all the diagrams we used in school. But you can talk and I can see your insides. Which is the mitochondria?” She scrutinized the inside of the creature's body. It was sorta gross.

The flat creature's brain was working hard as it stared at the funny outline of Chris's shoes. She could even see it working. It nervously moved around her shape, making a full circle to get a whole picture.

“You're gigantic, please don't hurt me Chris. What do you want?”

“I don't- woah!” She began to sink. The illuminated plain was caving to her weight, but only she passed through. The plain itself remained as flat as ever. “I'm gonna fall!”

The creature's panic sky rocketed as it watched the line gyrate and change, growing larger and longer. “Ahhh!” It yelled, backing into a corner. If Chris continued to grow it would have no way of escape and be crushed against the side of a wall. “What's happening? What's wrong?”

She slipped further. Now it was Chris who was in a panic, scared of the endless black void below the flat planet. She sunk through to her elbows, leaving her to sprawl her arms and claw at the ground for purchase. Across the world her fingers scraped through a once wondrous shape, which crumpled and splintered as she accidentally destroyed its existence.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” She freaked out, heart beating like on a roller coaster. Chris fell.

She gasped, her skin clammy and damp. Everything was too bright and she shielded her eyes.

“You're awake, good. Here,” a man said.

Chris sat up and exhaled, her eyes adjusting. She was in a stranger's house and was being handed a glass of cold water, though the ice inside had since melted. The flat planet was a dream. She had not really scraped a building from the face of a world. As she took the water, her hands shaking, she realized something.

“...You look familiar. Where am I?” She fretted, sipping a little.

He sat across from her in a chair. “What's the last thing you remember?” He asked rather than answer.

She crossed her legs atop the couch and dabbed sweat off with her sleeve. It took some brain power to get any semblance of memory going. “I had some sort of weird... episode. Then I passed out in a parking lot. I think I need a hospital,” Chris groaned.

He grinned. “So you did hear it?”

“What?”

“You heard it? The thing that says its from another dimension?” He was star-struck.

Chris stared down into her cup, thinking. Flashes came back to her until finally she remembered everything, right down to the nausea. A chill came over her body so she sat the cold water down. “It wasn't a hallucination.”

“No it wasn't!” He exclaimed, shivering with excitement. “It spoke to me too! It told me where to find you since you fell unconscious! But we aren't the only ones. It spoke to even more.”

She quirked the corner of her lips and let that information sink in. Suddenly something came to her and she tilted her head curiously. “You're that man from the stage.”

“Call me Cole,” he scooted closer and stuck out a hand.

Chris hesitated, unsure. “Chris.” She shook his hand daintily.

He explained everything. The headache, the ringing in his ears, how he'd been packing up his laptop to leave backstage when the countdown hit zero. To everyone else it had been a disappointment, for this year the horn did not hum to the eager ears awaiting it. Instead, it narrowed down its focus and spoke to them. Chris and Cole, but others, too.

“It told me there were six others. That includes you. So outside of us there are five other people it spoke to directly,” he explained.

“But... why? Just seven people?”

He leaned back in his chair and shrugged, nonchalant. “I asked, after the initial shock and having dropped my laptop (may she rest in peace). It just said: you work for your government.”

Chris looked off, expression soured. It was true. The Postal Service was a branch of the government, but she hardly equated government with the mail.

“What do you do?” She asked him nervously.

“Department of Energy.”

Chris got the creeping notion that his house was vaguely radioactive. Or, at the very least, he was. “Great.” She stretched her legs over the couch's edge and stared at her shoes awkwardly. “So now what?”

“We wait to be called upon,” he answered simply. “I'll go start some tea,” and like that Cole was out the room.

So they waited and waited. Chris thumbed through books as she did, glancing at Cole's collection and idly sipping tea. Sometimes she'd get the fear that he was making it all up, that this was all a scheme to kidnap her without freaking her out. Or that maybe he was just some guy screwing with her head. But then her stomach would churn and she'd remember how it felt to be touched. Chris felt queasy. At the same time she couldn't help but feel... honored? It was strange. This was all so new to her.

Finally it came to them. This time there was no pain, no headaches or heartburn. Cole fell to his knees as soon as the creature spoke, but Chris just sank shakily back into couch, empty teacup in hand.

“You will be transported to a location for study,” it said.

Cole nodded his head and agreed instantly, but Chris found herself asking it: “Why? And where?”

“Why: a 'mutual' exchange of information in a controlled environment. Where: the center of your 'country' in a long-term observation facility.”

She balked. “For how long?” But Cole spoke over her.

“That's brilliant! Brilliant! Have you spoke to the president? Surely you have,” he clasped his hands together and smiled.

“...Yes. Unfortunately. Some deep convincing was needed to induce submission,” it replied with obvious irritation.

Chris was uncomfortable and suspicious of the wording, though she was not surprised the president was a nuisance to converse with. The creature assured them there would be at least a day or two before anyone came for collection, so they had some time to prepare. Cole questioned why this creature could not simply pick them up and plop them back down, but it was uncertain that such action would be healthy. So again they played a waiting game.

Chris went back to her house. Cole stayed in his. Sunday dawned upon the world and there was no one yet at their doors. Chris paced uneasily in her little home, her suitcases already packed in the living room. She didn't know what to do with herself. Couldn't even stomach trying to explain anything to Vincent or Mildred. Hell, did she even want to leave? She was sure she had no choice.

Finally, come Monday morning, there was a knock at her door. She jumped from bed and scrambled to answer, a measly robe tossed across her shoulders. A stoic man dressed in all black was there to greet her, his eyes unreadable though they crinkled. She could sense some strange dread in him from his hard posture alone. Only the automatic light of her porch lit their way as this stranger led her to the car.

Cole was there, his white teeth gleaming at her as she boarded. Despite his cheer, Chris felt like she was in a daze the entire time. Her hands settled frozen in her lap and eyes glued to the window. She watched her little town pass her by just as the night drifted to day. The ugly office building next to the apartments, the fenced off government buildings. There went the post office. She sighed.

Where are you? Vincent texted Chris when they were already hours from town.

Her thumbs hovered sleepily over the keys. She didn't know what to say. Eventually she just settled for:

It's been a long weekend. I don't know when I'll be able to come in again. Something's happened

…

…

…

Are you sick?

Don't know what I'm allowed to say. I'll text later. Xoxo

Well that's not totally vague but ok

…

…

Tell me if u need soup fam

Chris smiled at her phone. She really hoped this didn't cause her to lose her job, even if it was something way more pressing than delivering mail. She'd miss her co-workers the most. Even Mildred. With any luck the 'long-term' in 'long-term research facility' wouldn't be any more long-term than a vacation.

The driver drove non-stop, through the night and the day, across interstates and through small cities. It was unnerving. Cole whispered that he was sure the creature was to blame, even though it hadn't spoken the whole trip.

“It's fascinating,” he whispered.

Chris hummed and faked a smile in acknowledgment before staring back out the window. All she could think was what a weird vacation before she found herself nodding off.

“We've arrived,” the driver announced as sudden as summer rain.

Chris jerked, her stinging eyes glued in confusion to the dim window. They were inside of a painfully lit parking garage and there were droves of black-suits and white-coats to greet them. She must have fallen asleep for some time.

“Thank you,” she heard Cole dully as his door was opened for him. Her door was next.

“Have you been in contact?” Asked a man sternly, no trace of emotion in his voice.

She furrowed her brows. “What?”

He didn't miss a beat. “With the 4DB?”

Both she and her jittery acquaintance were being led away through the garage. Someone gently guided her through a door with a palm against her back.

“The... the Four Dee Bee?”

The man re-adjusted the wireless device in his ear, lips crinkling. “The Fourth Dimensional Being.”

Chris began to sweat and tried to explain. “Not since before we were told we'd be sent here, but-”

A woman patted her shoulder nonchalantly and shook her head. “Can't even wait till she's in the room huh?” She teased her co-worker, her heels clicking against the hall tile. “We're just eager, don't be afraid! You and Mr. Artrip will speak with a scientist and be briefed before joining the others. This was all very sudden so don't mind the dust bunnies.”

Chris nodded quietly, glancing ahead to get a glimpse of Cole- Mr. Artrip. This was all so weird and she felt she had some sort of jet lag. She wondered when she'd be allowed to talk with the creature again. It had been a few days now.

“And then after everyone's settled it's about meal time! But first,” she carefully pushed Chris into a dimly lit room, had a quick word with her co-worker, then silently shut the door. “Have a seat.”

She did as she was told. Chris sat before a small wooden table, as if this was meant to make the room more inviting than it really was. It just made her feel interrogated. Or like she'd been called to the principal’s office.

The woman took a seat across from her and peeked into a thin file. After a short pause she looked up, smiled, and said. “Chrysanthemum Sain... tell me everything.”

Read CH2 early on Patreon or wait for it to go public!

[thedistantstorm]

Dawning Delights 10: Dawning Surprise Pt. 1

Summary: Hawthorne invites her newfound family in the Tower to experience a City-Style Dawning with the family that took her in years ago. The holiday is not without it’s charm, or aggravation, and certainly has plenty of surprises in store. A season-inspired, trope-tastic story about a family forged by something greater than blood, finding reasons to enjoy the season - and cherish each other. Main Post

Pairings: Hawthorne/Zavala, Sloane/Amanda, Devrim/Marc

Zavala rolls over as the sun’s light begins to brighten the horizon, bright eyes opening without the pressing of his Ghost for once. And, as if sensing his gaze upon her, Suraya shifts down into the blankets he’s displaced in the movement. No conscious thought dictates how his Light responds to her, but it does: a warm, comfortable tangle that’s not quite Arc, Solar, or Void in particular. She presses herself into his embrace without so much as opening an eye or twitching in an attempt to wake.

Today is the day.

He smiles into her short hair, sliding his hand down her arm to loosely take her hand in his. A sluggish swipe of her fingers, aiming to soothe, convinces him to close his eyes once more. He has time, for once, to enjoy this quiet, peaceful moment. So he does.

Until the even, deep breaths of his partner lull him back to sleep.

-/

More than anything, Amanda wants to be excited for this.

And she is excited for this. For a lot of reasons.

It’s like a family gathering, but a fusion of her strange version of normal and the kind of normal she's dreamed about. She gets to spend the night at Marc’s place tonight, to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of the other with her found family. It's a balm against the yucky feelings that come, the thoughts of people she's lost, the family that has passed on without her.

But, this time of year is just hard. She misses her parents and Cayde, and in a different way she misses Sloane. Sloane knows she struggles. And it's for that reason, as Amanda sits in the Hangar, arms crossed, waiting for this delivery Ikora insisted could not wait, that Sloane is messaging her back with nearly no delay.

Bitterly, Amanda bites back the thought of asking her why she can't just be there, if she's going to be free for most of the day. She knows Sloane takes her duty seriously, Amanda admires that about the Titans in her life.

It just sucks, sometimes.

She scoffs loudly into the empty Hangar. Everyone in Tower Control is squirreled up in one of the offices, and of course, Amanda is the only one on the ground in the Hangar so there's not even anyone to shoot the shit with and distract her.

Just Sloane telling her that whatever Ikora needs her to receive certainly must be important.

She types back a snarky, "She's lucky I'm not drunk off my ass on your Dawning Present, making me come down here at first light."

Sloane's reply is a steady, insistent, "It's nine in the morning. That's a late start."

"I know," She keys back, grousing, "But I either sleep til noon or I wake up at 04:00. You know me."

The next time her tablet beeps she can hear the warm sound of the Deputy Commander's voice in her mind, a simple response. "I know."

Amanda tries to wrap that comforting tone around herself like a blanket, to let it ease her grumpy irritability. It works, for a bit. But the cold is bothering her leg, and without the traffic (thrusters sending jets of warm air through the half-open space) it will never warm up, and she'd really like this to be over sooner rather than later.

Luckily enough, a cargo ship docks and unloads rather quickly, its crew staying with the city swapping out with a new team headed out despite the holiday. At least she wasn't one of them, she thought, watching a broad-shouldered woman with a dark tinted visor head toward the Tower proper. One of the techs unloaded a crate - not too large, still manageable - onto her workbench.

"That the package for Ikora?" She drawls to the tech.

"Yes ma'am."

She gives him a mock salute, never quite getting with the military's formalities, even when she served. "Thank ya kindly. Now get on outta here, I'm sure y'got better places to be."

The tech nods. "Happy Dawning."

Amanda's already hefting the crate into her arms, intent on getting out of this Tower before noon. Ikora is the hurry up and wait type - Warlocks - and Amanda has places to be. "Happy Dawnin'," She calls over her shoulder, and despite the fact that she's rethinking how manageable this crate is (she's sure it's full of books now and she's not particularly thrilled about it), the sentiment is heartfelt. Genuine.

Across the Tower, however, Ikora is livid. She understands that people want to go home to their families, she's… looking forward (and she can all but feel the enthusiastic encouragement radiating from Ophiuchus at such a thought) to her plans, too.

But!

The delivery was supposed to happen at approximately noon. They knew better, everything was on a strict timeline. Zavala and Suraya weren't due at the Kay household until around noon, and she had to keep Amanda occupied until at least one. To give everything a chance to happen naturally. To do it right, no interruptions.

And, Zavala insisted, to give Suraya a moment to process, good or bad - Ikora scoffs at that, she doesn't understand why he has it in his head that she'd even consider refusing him - all the emotions that will certainly overwhelm her.

So when Amanda drops the crate, unimpressed, at her feet at a quarter past ten in the morning, Ikora blinks in surprise before channeling her fury into sedate composure. It’s not Amanda’s fault.

"It's early."

"Yeah," Amanda barks "It's a good thing yer not busy, then," She continues, annoyed, gesturing to the Bazaar. It's empty. Even the Ramen Shop is closed. “I’m gonna go. I was originally supposed to meet Zavala and Hawthorne earlier so it works out.” She waves, not bothering to wait for a response. “See ya tonight,” She calls, turning away.

“Wait!”

-/

Most lazy mornings, for them, are defined by the time of day alone. Suraya would take an extra hour to lay in bed - even against his advice that she should rise and get ready for the day - when he came home at dawn, or he’d force himself awake early when she came back from a civic emergency, as cool and radiant as the streaks of light that would soon become the dawn.

This is far slower than usual. Where normally he’d have her bare and panting beneath him from teasing touches, he hasn’t stopped touching her face. Fingers trail across her jaw, and while it’s not terribly erotic, the effect it has on her is beginning to bleed into exactly that.

First, however, she pulls back - it’s more like pushing her head further into the pillows - to look up at him, her own fingers finding his jaw, meeting his gaze. It’s heavy. Serious but not sad, almost dazed. “Are you okay?” She asks, her features flickering with concern.

Blinking in surprise, he nods. His fingers trail down her neck, across her sternum, the backs of his knuckles pressing ever so slightly into the warm skin above the neckline of her shirt. Over her heart.

“I love you,” She whispers, cutting through whatever thoughts are running through his head. “I’m excited to share this with you.”

His lips quirk up, showing her the slightest hint of his teeth. For a man who smiles mostly with his eyes, she cherishes these moments in which she can see his unveiled expressions in their entirety. But then, his eyes slide shut, and instead of seeing his emotions, she can very nearly feel them. The Light is funny like that, like an extension of self, molding to his will. She gasps against it, the way his hands seem to pulse - electric, expressive - and lend to his feelings. This is not the playful Arc energy he pulls out to reduce her to a sobbing mess when she’s wound up and bratty. This is pure emotion. Deep-seated, unadulterated feelings channeled into a current that translates into the hair on the back of her neck standing on end when he hauls her against him as though she is weightless, thanks to the pads of his fingers sliding down the skin beside her spine.

She pushes up against the hand that’s covering her heart, away from the one he’s wrapped around her back and she’s kissing him back. It’s not the same as two Guardians sharing their Light in some kind of intimate feedback loop, but she hears the broken gasp, the half-buried sound in the back of his throat and it reaffirms what she knows. This is no battle for superiority. Their differences are what balance them, what brings them to even ground. He is attracted to her as she is, for her simple humanity, and the complex feelings she can inspire without showering him in the Traveler's gifts.

They take their time. After all, they have plenty of it, with only abstract plans during their well-deserved reprieve. Suraya misses the pale white blink of a notification on her tablet nearly an hour later when Zavala rises, a question in his gaze as he tilts it towards the shower. She's too busy, abandoning the sheets to follow with a grin.

The message goes unanswered.

-/

In their younger years, or at least his, Devrim thinks, stretching his back, Marc never used to get up before ten in the morning. Even when they were having a dinner party. He'd stay up until dawn preparing the night before if he had to, though he'd eventually got it down to a science (having a child does wonders for developing time management skills).

Now, Devrim reaches for the other side of the bed - such a far cry from a patched up cot in a secluded nook - to find it cool and can't help but smile to himself. The clock reads half eight. It's late for him but still early.

The hardwood floors betray the weight of his husband's footsteps. "Planning to sleep the day away, darling?" Marc asks, arms crossed as he leans in the doorway.

"You'd come wake me eventually, I'm sure," He lilts back.

Marc nods, words clearly failing him. It spurs Devrim into action, pulling back the blankets and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He doesn't bother to slide his feet into the slippers waiting for him, instead opening his arms to pull his husband in. Letting Marc rest his head on his shoulder, breathe deep to smell sleep and yesterday's cologne on the skin of his neck, Devrim exhales contentedly.

"I've missed this, Marc," He says, and it's meant to sound adoring and sweet, not emotionally compromising as if he's at the end of his rope.

But, to his credit, his husband laughs, and the rumble of his chest against Devrim's soothes him. "I know," Marc agrees. "We're going to do this more often from now on."

"Abusing your new powers already?"

"Please, I've always had some pull," He leans back, fingers cradling the scruff on Devrim's jaw. "Now," He presses a kiss to his lover's nose (as there are rules about kisses before brushing teeth), "Wash up. I'll make breakfast and put the kettle on."

-/

The word leaves Ikora's lips like a whip-crack, harsh and serious. It strikes the shipwright like lightning. She recoils, visibly, as though she’s going to be struck.

"What's wrong?"

"I-" Ophiuchus appears beside her, shell orbiting his small body in momentary concern, "I think I should bring them something, and I'm not sure what."

Amanda's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Ikora, you have a bottle of that fancy dessert wine behind you."

"It's for someone else."

"It's not. That's Marc's favorite."

Ophiuchus rolls his optic obnoxiously and Ikora gives him a scathing glare for it, as if encouraging him to do better than that.

"She's nervous about later?" Ophiuchus tries. He can feel Ikora's wrath, but the Warlock doesn't contradict him. It's not like she had any quick lies available that didn't nearly lead into the truth.

"Uh… huh," The younger woman's arms cross. She doesn't buy it, that's obvious. "What the heck is goin' on?"

"Nothing," Ikora lies, too fast and very obviously. "It's just-"

"Just?" Amanda holds out her hands as if expecting an answer to drop from the sky and into them. When it doesn't, she produces her tablet from a pocket near her bionic knee and sends out a message.

"What are you doing?" Ikora asks.

"Askin' Hawthorne what the heck is goin' on around here. Why can't-"

Ikora sends a panicked glance to Ophiuchus who dips in a nod and disappears without a sound.

"You know I can just call her-"

"No!"

Amanda shakes her head. "What's the big deal? You're acting really weird and honestly, it's kinda freakin' me out. I planned everything with them. Marc won't mind if I come by early, I'll-"

"Amanda." Saladin's deep voice is soft but commands attention. "Stop pushing her. I'll take you for brunch, we can go over together, afterward."

Amanda looks between the two of them, Warlock, Titan, then back again. "You're kidding me."

Saladin, unlike Ikora, does not betray a single emotion on his face, his eyes hard - always eased a bit when it comes to her, but she's always been treated like the Tower's collective kid. Amanda knows he isn't kidding.

But she's also not the fourteen year old girl she was when he'd distract her with ice cream or an errant wolf cub smuggled inside the walls to keep her out of trouble. Smiling far too wide, Amanda nods. Ikora catches on just as the Shipwright opens her mouth, and if Amanda were looking at her, she'd see the comical widening of her golden brown eyes.

"Okay. We can go to breakfast," She gives Ikora a challenging look before turning her beach-glass gaze upon the last Iron Lord. "But only if we invite Shaxx, too."

Ikora closes her eyes and counts to ten in three dead languages before she opens them again. Saladin is still staring Amanda down, and to her credit, Holliday hasn't budged.

"Alright," Saladin acquiesces. "We'll invite him."

She staggers backwards, in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes," He confirms gruffly. Though subdued, his aggravation is palpable. "Now go get him before I change my mind."

Scampering off, Amanda leaves the two of them to go get the Crucible Handler for what will likely be the most uncomfortable meal in history.

Saladin is eyeing her with an unreadable expression and Ikora sighs. "My attendance is mandatory, isn't it?"

"You're a sharp ally," Saladin answers.

"It's a yes, then," Ikora retorts.

After a few silent moments, Ophiuchus appears beside her, drifting in a relieved sway. "All taken care of. She was already filtering both their messages, no harm done."

"Good. We're about to go to brunch with Amanda and Saladin-"

"Oh, I cannot wait to find out what little secrets we've been keeping!" Shaxx bellows from the courtyard, disrupting some innocent pigeons roosting on the railings.

"And Shaxx?" Ophiuchus betrays both shock and concern.

His Guardian doesn't blame him. They don't have to look at Saladin to feel him scowling.

-/

Suraya lets herself in, Zavala hot on her heels. He pulls the door shut behind them while she removes her boots and jacket, hanging the latter on a hook. It's warm, the sound of the fireplace in the next room over is quaint and comfortable, and the house is wreathed in warm lights and tasteful Dawning decor.

"Dad," She calls, loud, when Marc doesn't come to the door like she expects, "We're here!"

Turning to Zavala, who doesn't appear flummoxed, she comments at a lower volume, "That's funny, he must be in the kitchen or something."

Zavala hums, non-committal, and Suraya wanders down the hall that runs parallel to the kitchen and into the heart of her family's home.

"Dad? This isn't funny," She says, pausing a beat. Still no answer. "Dad!"

The sound of footsteps at the end of the short hall stops her in her tracks.

"Do calm down, Suraya, I'm right-"

Though she has her back to him, Zavala knows the expression she's making; Can see how her shoulders rise in surprise, elbows angled out. Knows that she's clasped her hands over her chest in surprise at the sound of his voice.

Zavala knows how much she wanted this. She could blame it on the City or on him, for reawakening long-abandoned wants and needs, but he wants her to have this. She deserves to have everything.

Her lips move, words failing her for only a second, and then, far differently from before, hinging on a sob, she cries, "Dad?"

For being a self proclaimed old man, Devrim doesn't falter when she launches herself at him, grunting only at the impact of his fully-grown child tackling him in a hug that sways at the start like a dance.

It evolves into a tighter, closer embrace, and the scant sounds of sobbing.

"Oh, don't cry, darling," Devrim tuts, rearing back to brush away her tears. It does nothing for his own state, to see her so unguarded, in a way she hasn't been with him in years. He clears his throat when he feels it constrict. "You're liable to make an old man join you."

Between shaky breaths she ducks her head, admitting, "I've just wanted this for so long," To the collar of his shirt.

Marc peeks from the kitchen, swiping a hand across his cheek to erase a tear from sight before nodding to their other guest. He slips from sight.

"Alright you two," Marc chirps, sunny and bright, the only man Devrim has ever encountered who can laugh and cry all while speaking in complete sentences. "I'm feeling left out."

Three steps is all it takes for their unit to be completed and whole for the first time in nearly two decades. It sets Suraya off anew to have both her parents embracing her without having to court fear that came with sneaking into a City that cast her out, or the anxiety that always bubbled up because she was selfishly endangering her family.

They stay that way, until a timer beeps in the kitchen and Marc scuttles off after whatever he’s preparing for the evening's events. This time tomorrow, he’ll have the kitchen on lockdown, preparing a huge feast, but tonight is a far more casual affair.

Devrim pulls back from her finally, looking at her expectantly. “How?” She asks, the initial shock finally starting to wear off.

“You know how,” Devrim answers, voice dipping lower, eyes flicking to the doorway down the hall, closer to the door that leads to a spacious living room. “I believe he meant to give us privacy.”

“He’s a good man,” Suraya whispers.

“He is.” He pats her cheek once and nods towards the way she’d came. “Perhaps you should see if he’d like a drink?” Her lips part into a smile, and he chuckles, unable to help it. “Off you go,” He says, nudging her on.

Marc creeps quietly from the kitchen. He’s waving his hands in a frantic combination of nerves and excitement, and Devrim gives him an expectant nod. A quiet shimmer happens above their heads. “The other door is cracked,” Zavala’s Ghost says, regal and elegant in her delivery, but also jittery and hyper, like a hummingbird. “Shall we?”

[arigathanksgozaimuch]

33%

genre: angst, fluff. character/s: college student jaehyun!au | reader. overview: she was the proof to his hypothesis. warning: explicit language, mentions of infidelity, mean girl references i’m sorry.  word count: 8550.

I. Abstract

The professor, a fifty-something woman with her hair streaked with grey neatly up in a bun atop her head, pushed her spectacles further up the bridge of her nose. As she sank further into her cushioned swivel chair, she alternated glances between the nervous, similarly spectacled boy sitting in front of her, and the huge chunk of text in pages in front of her. The proposal arrived at her desk only a week after she had announced the need for a research paper for her course. Garamond. Size 12. Double-spaced. One-inch margin. Justified. Just exactly how she liked it. And then she saw the name in bold at the upper-left corner of the page.

"Jung Jaehyun?"

"Yes, ma'am." He sat further on the edge of his seat. It was as if he was only waiting for her to ask. He had a small smile upon his lips. He had come prepared.

The woman flipped to the second page. "And how exactly would you be able to quantify love?" She had said the word like it was a curse word in a different language. "I teach statistics and probability, not philosophy nor sociology."

"Well," Jaehyun cleared his throat. "I would use a questionnaire specifically designed to gauge whether or not a couple who claims they're in love are really in love. The results of the short test can filter out the couples who are really in love from, say, those who are stuck in the phase of physical attraction, to put it nicely. In terms of validity and accuracy, well, the questionnaire had been designed many years ago by a psychologist, and had been in use for more than a decade, so that wouldn't be a problem."

And, as if to persuade the professor even further, Jaehyun flashed her his best smile, the one that says 'I am not your ordinary college student. I am Jung Jaehyun'.

She, on the other hand, shook her head in doubt. What he wanted might have been possible qualitatively, but not quantitatively. "But people are unpredictable," she said with a sigh. "They might not be in love now, but what about tomorrow?"

"I don't think it's possible to fall in love, truly in love, overnight..." He scratched the back of his head.

"...And many factors can lead to people to fall in or out of love." The woman continued, not listening to a word he said. "The reasons, which could be internal or external, are enumerable, yes, but outside our line of study."

"I don't mean to explain why people fall in or out of love," he defended soon after finding a chance to once she paused. "The entire research is founded on the hypothesis I would like to prove."

The woman raised an eyebrow as she turned to the last page. "Which is?"

"That only one out of three people are successful in love."

"And that is related to our course because...?"

"Given that the hypothesis is proven true, it can be predicted that out of three, randomly chosen adults, only one of them is successful in love. Each of them has a thirty-three percent chance of finding 'the one'. And this would be regardless of gender, race, and appearance." Jaehyun clasped his hands together over the table. "Please, I promise to make it work. And if I don't, I swear I'll switch topics!"

Pushing her glasses up her forehead, the professor sighed. She was torn between wanting to know the outcome of his research, and wanting to stick to her strict guidelines. In the end, she placed the neatly fastened proposal down on her desk and interlaced her fingers together. "I guess you can get started, then."

Jaehyun stood up in lightning speed as he reached out to shake the professor's hands. "I promise you won't regret this."

"So?" [Y/N] asked as soon as the glass doors of the faculty office swung open. She extended both her arms out towards Jaehyun.

"So..." Jaehyun held her by the wrists as he gently pulled her up to stand from where she was seated on one of the lounge chairs. "She said yes."

"You're lying."

"Am not."

"That's just because you made kissy faces at her."

"I did not." He toyed with the straps of his backpack as they waited in front of the elevators. "Okay, maybe I did my nose scrunch thing. But still! She said yes, so I can get started as early as now."

[Y/N] placed her palm flat over her mouth and made fart noises. "What a nerd." And she reached up to swipe her fingertip diagonally across his left eyeglass, which earned her an annoyed groan.

"At least this nerd is sure to graduate next year without delay," the man retorted, slipping his glasses off and wiping them against his shirt. "Anyway, where are we meeting Yuta and Taeyong?"

"The roof deck up in the arts building," she replied, thumb hovering over the home button on her phone to check for messages as she stepped into the elevator once the doors opened. "They're looking for us right now."

"And Doyoung?" He pressed the button for the ground floor.

"I think he's consulting with a professor about whatever." The girl leaned back against the corner and emitted a heavy sigh. It was already a tiring day, and it was only a few minutes after noon. The first semester of their third year in college has got them crawling on their knees, even if they were only just two weeks in.

The pair made their way up the narrow staircase that led to the roof deck. A cold gust of wind blew, causing [Y/N] to zip her hoodie up to her chest. She nudged the busy chocolate-haired boy with her fist and sat down next to him.

"What are you studying?" She asked, unzipping her bag to reach for her bag of Doritos.

 "The fall of Rome," Taeyong replied, barely looking up from his thick wad of readings. Being an ancient history major, he detested studying at the dorms, knowing that the temptation to slack off was the greatest in his bedroom, and instead studied anywhere and anytime he could. "How's the project going?" He asked, one arm reaching for the open bag of chips in her hand.

"I've seen it," Jaehyun interrupted. He had already tossed his backpack on the floor and was leaning against the tall ledge that separated them from the eight-storey fall. "It was so bad it inspired Munch to create The Scream."

[Y/N] snorted. "Please. If you hate my art so much, why do you keep one of them in your room?"

"So if you get famous one day for being the worst painter ever, I can sell your painting to a freak show."

"Why, you little bi—"

"What's up, Taeyong? Not much, just studying." Taeyong looked up from reading the middle of a paragraph to alternate glares between the bickering two. "Now, if you could just please pretend to be sweet darlings and shut up for a few minutes."

"Sorry." The two said at the same time, looking away.

The door to the roof deck burst open, revealing Yuta, who held a brown paper bag against his chest. "Oh hey, guys."

He sat down across Taeyong and produced a small carton from the bag. "I got you Chinese."

"How come we never get free food?" Jaehyun whined, sliding down with his back against the wall.

Taeyong only blinked at the carton in front of him. "I didn't want any."

"You didn't eat breakfast this morning so I thought you might be hungry by now," Yuta explained, opening his own food and starting to dig in. He was the latest addition to their group. Having newly transferred from Japan and being barely able to communicate with anyone, Yuta had a difficult time adjusting. What he was most thankful for, however, was being assigned to the same laboratory group as his current friends in the biology class they took when they were freshmen. That day they were tasked to dissect a pig's heart. As the four of them passed the scalpel around, too scared to even touch the bloody organ, Yuta snatched the instrument and sliced the heart open with utmost ease. He was taking pre-med, anyway.

The four of them sat in an incomplete circle, with the space between Yuta and [Y/N] reserved for Doyoung, who was nowhere to be found. It wasn't a rare occurrence for him to be missing in action, however. With the number of organizations that listed Doyoung as an active member, they weren't surprised. In fact, they get surprised whenever Doyoung was the first to arrive at the roof deck. Nevertheless, his presence was always missed.

As the clock struck half past one, [Y/N] left to go to Art Theory. A few minutes later, Taeyong followed, eyes still glued to his readings as he walked away. Yuta, not in the mood for laboratory work, fluffed his backpack up before resting his head over it and going to sleep. This left Jaehyun to look for anything to ward the boredom off. He started to pore through the next act of Hamlet, his required book for literature, but when that became boring as well, he stowed the book back into his bag. Sighing, he took his laptop instead, and decided to start on his research paper.

II. Background of the Study

Jaehyun never cried. That was how his mother always described him to her friends whenever they would meet after a long time and talk about their respective children, to her colleagues when she used to bring young Jaehyun to work with her, and to their relatives as soon as Jaehyun, her first and last child, was born. And it was true. Jaehyun never cried, even as he was held upside down by the doctor who delivered him, and even as he was slapped a few times on his behind. The only indicator he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his small chest as he breathed. He didn't cry on his first day of kindergarten, nor on his graduation day. He didn't cry during the first time he tried riding his bike without training wheels and fell flat on his face, scratching his elbows and knees.

The day Jaehyun finally did cry was a rainy one. His mother sat alone on the dining table, staring at the space where his father used to be. It was raining when he left, dragging a half-open suitcase behind him, as if he was hurrying to get out of the place he had called home for the past seventeen years. He was running away from them, and running towards the open arms of a much younger lover who loved him back, or so Jaehyun assumed. Jaehyun cried as he took his usual place by the table. His father didn't even bring an umbrella.

Eventually his mother remarried, but Jaehyun didn't cry, despite the fact that all of his mother's friends bawled their eyes out. He was too old for crying, he reasoned out. He felt bad, however, when his step-father became the husband his father never was, yet his mother never seemed to reciprocate.

Out of the three of them — his father, his mother, and his step-father — only one seemed to be successful when it came to love.

III. Review of Related Literature

Taeyong scratched at the harsh stubble on his chin before stretching his limbs out. He especially adored Saturday mornings. He didn't have to wake up early. He could sleep well into the afternoon and still have Sunday to cram all his school work. Just as he wrapped his blanket tighter around himself and rolled over on his stomach, Yuta peeked through the bedroom door.

"Aren't we meeting Jaehyun and [Y/N] in half an hour? Why aren't you ready?" Yuta asked. Taeyong wrinkled his nose. He didn't have to turn around to know it was Yuta standing by his door. The latter smelled strongly of his favorite perfume.

Taeyong only buried himself further into the sheets. "Not in the mood."

"Oh, come on." Yuta plopped down by the edge of the bed, but not before kicking his shoes off by the door, or else he would get murdered. He lifted a hand up to ruffle through his hair until his fingertips felt greasy from the styling wax. "You can't sleep all Saturday. It's not even a club. We're just having a few drinks and whatnot."

"I'll pass." Taeyong felt the mattress dip from the added weight. "I'm not going, so go." He grabbed a handful of the blanket, just enough to free his foot, before nudging Yuta's side with his heel.

"You're no fun."

"Since 1995, haven't you heard?"

Yuta snorted, fishing his phone out of his pocket and calling [Y/N]. As he pressed the speaker against his ear, he climbed further up the bed to lie beside Taeyong. "We changed our mind. Taeyong and I aren't going," he greeted as soon as she was able to answer the call.

"Wow, and here I was prepping Kitty up for a nice night out with my very lovable friends who would not ditch me." [Y/N] rolled her eyes. She slung the shoulder bag up her arm and double-checked her appearance through her reflection on the mirror.

"What do you mean 'we'?" She heard Taeyong ask, voice heavy with sleep. There was shuffling on the other side of the line, and her best guess was that Yuta held his phone high up over his head, far from Taeyong's reach.

"Well, now that you're not going, I'm not going either," Yuta said. [Y/N] waited for the commotion against her ear to stop. She was sure they were bickering in Taeyong's dorm.  "Okay, Taeyong wanted me to clarify," Yuta returned after a while. His voice was clearer now, as he had his phone lodged between his shoulder and ear. "He's not going because he's lazy, and I'm not going because he's not going."

"What-" She groaned, scratching the back of her head in agitation as she stomped out of her bedroom and waited by the living room. "Since when did you guys act like you were conjoined twins?"

There was honking outside her front door. "Whatever. Jaehyun's here. Pray to God Doyoung comes, or else you have to find another hangout spot because we're taking the roof deck." She paused briefly as she struggled to slip her sandals on with one hand. "And if you ever change your mind, we'll be karaoke-ing until around ten," [Y/N] reminded before hanging up.

Jaehyun honked so loudly she thought it was a car alarm. Once she stepped out of the front door, he rolled the passenger side window down. "Get in, nerd. We're going karaoke-ing."

[Y/N] snorted, jogging towards the car. "Yuta and Taeyong said they aren't coming," she said as soon as she slid into the passenger seat. Buckling her seatbelt in place, she rolled the window back up. "And that was such a lousy attempt to be a mean girl, by the way. I don't see why you have to try when you're effortlessly a mean girl."

"I was about to let you hog the aux cord, but since you're being a Regina George..."

"Noooo," she whined, immediately taking ahold of the wire. She plugged it into her phone and scrolled through her playlist before blasting Panic! At The Disco. Music was among the very short list of things the both of them could agree on. And so the karaoke started even before they arrived at the noraebang as they screamed the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

"Why aren't they coming?" Jaehyun asked as a drum solo came on in between the bridge and the chorus.

[Y/N] drummed her fingers against the dashboard. "You know Taeyong. And although it was nice to have Yuta accompany him, it would have been nicer if they both came along." She said with a sigh, prying her bag open to yank her Polaroid out by the hand strap. "I even brought Kitty because we haven't had a nice group shot since the last semester."

Jaehyun threw her a look that was both amused and mocking. "Don't tell me you still call your camera Kitty?"

"I just did, bitch." She thumbed through the settings to adjust the exposure before quickly snapping a photo of him driving and waiting for the film to print. "This was your mom's gift to me on my sixteenth birthday."

"It was my gift."

"—that your mom bought, so technically it's your mom's gift to me."

The boy rolled his eyes. "What an ungrateful brat."

She reached out to squeeze his arm before laughing at the memory. A week before her sixteenth birthday, she had been, not very subtly, dropping hints about wanting a pet kitten. Despite knowing her parents would never allow given her history of asthma attacks, she was still hopeful. It had been her birthday, anyway. And so the day of her birthday, [Y/N] wore her best dress to impress not her guests, but her future pet kitten. In the sea of familiar faces belonging to her classmates and friends, Jaehyun stuck out like a sore thumb. It was then she knew he was the son of one of her mom's close friends. Awkwardly, sixteen-year-old Jaehyun handed her his gift, a pink Polaroid camera. And although she didn't get the kitten she had asked for, she got herself a pet all the same.

Once they arrived at the noraebang, [Y/N] immediately reserved a room as Jaehyun texted Doyoung the details of their whereabouts. They each occupied the entire length of the couch as soon as they get inside, lying down to make themselves comfortable. It was Jaehyun who first reached for the microphone and scrolled through the song selection.

He was in the middle of belting out IU's Good Day when the door burst open and revealed Doyoung. [Y/N] let out a yelp as she dove into Doyoung's embrace. They haven't seen much of each other at the university, and she was glad he had spared time to meet them. Jaehyun let the song fade into the background as the three of them engaged in incessant chatter.

"What organizations did you join this time?" Jaehyun asked, popping open a can of cider and pouring it into a glass. "You haven't been MIA this long. Is it the one doing social work? I heard they do medical missions in as far as Africa."

"I say he's seeing someone." [Y/N] raised an eyebrow.

Doyoung patted his collar down almost nervously. "Oh? How did you know?"

[Y/N] exchanged wide-eyed glances with Jaehyun. "Who is it?! Is it someone from school?"

"Is it my classmate Yeri because if it is, I don't want you being lovey-dovey in front of me," [Y/N] said, cringing at the thought before she sips from her glass.

"Actually," Doyoung started, his cheeks heating up all of a sudden. As if on cue, his two other friends inched closer to the edge of their seats in anticipation. "It's my Economics professor."

Jaehyun clutched at his throat as he choked from his own spit. The girl, on the other hand, remained silent as they waited for Doyoung to continue.

"I'm really serious about doing better on my academics this term, and, well, I schedule consultations with all of my professors to regularly monitor my progress. And then, you know, she's the only one close to our age, so she seemed more like a friend than a professor." Doyoung felt his throat dry up, and reached for a glass of water. The two watched all his movements closely, as if he was telling a story just by drinking. "And then one consultation a week became two, then three... I know it all seems too fast but— " He paused, looking down at his hands. "I really really like her. We understand each other and have many things in common. I know you guys would think it's weird, and I know other people would, too, so we both haven't really talked about it to anyone else. With the school policy and all, I know we have to keep the relationship secret. It's actually not much of a relationship." The boy emitted a nervous chuckle. "We... we haven't talked about it yet, and we're sort of just hooking up here and there—" Doyoung was interrupted as it was [Y/N]'s turn to choke. "— but she's important to me, and I'm glad you guys heard me out like this because no one else but us knows about it."

Jaehyun reached out to pat his friend on the back. "Hey, we're here for you. And it's not weird. It's just surprising, that's all, because you never said anything about liking her, and stuff, so..."

"Do you...do you do it in the classroom?" [Y/N] blurted out, to which Jaehyun threw her a glare. "Oh my god I just had to ask because I want to know if the chair I sit on is clean and immaculate and pure—"

"No, we don't."

She heaved a loud sigh. "Oh thank god."

Doyoung reached up to scratch the back of his head. "Her office, though..."

"You're one of my best friends and I love you to death but please," she said, and placed a hand over his knee. "Please not your sex life."

IV. Statement of the Problem

"We aren't awkward!" [Y/N] defended, looking behind her where Yuta was. "We talk to each other all the time. You guys just don't notice.

"Okay, maybe you're not awkward with Yuta, but Yuta is awkward with you," Doyoung said with a laugh as he held his leather briefcase up over his head.

"We're not awkward," Yuta argued.

The girl nodded. "If there's anyone among us who is awkward with someone else, it should be Taeyong."

"Hey!" The aforementioned boy frowned.

"No offense meant, Tae."

"Oh yeah? If you two aren't so awkward, would you two hangout together tonight? Drinking and eating and stuff." Jaehyun suggested, to which Doyoung clapped his hands as he laughed. They were all heading out of the campus to go their respective ways — Yuta, Taeyong, and Doyoung to the dorms, and Jaehyun and [Y/N] to their own houses that were only a few blocks away.

[Y/N] waited for Yuta, who was a few steps away, before walking by his side. "Okay, we're going."

Doyoung laughed as he waved goodbye, slinging either of his arms over Taeyong and Jaehyun's shoulders. "Send us pictures in the group chat!"

"Ya, don't let her drink too much. She can't go home if she's a little out of it," Jaehyun reminded, before the three of them walked towards the opposite direction.

Yuta shoved his hands inside his pockets. "You never want to lose an argument, do you?"

She laughed. "Of course not. And besides, we're not awkward!" And she led him towards one of the barbecue places near the campus.

—

"You know," Yuta started, setting his shot glass down. It was their third bottle of the night, and for a man who drank like a pirate, he sure had low alcohol tolerance. Even in the darkness, she could see the flush of his cheeks. "I just realized now how we have so many things in common."

Amused, [Y/N] refilled his glass up to the brim. "And what are those?"

"One, we both like Japan."

She nodded, handing the bottle of soju to Yuta so he could fill her glass. "True, but only because I've never been there. And what else?"

"We both like animated movies."

"Technically," [Y/N] crossed her arms as she watched the clear alcohol bubble against the glass. "I only liked the ones from Studio Ghibli that Taeyong recommended. But yeah. You're not wrong."

"And," Yuta raised his glass up over his head. "We're both madly, and irrevocably in love with our best friends."

Although she raised her glass as well, she froze mid-air. "Wait— what?"

But Yuta had grabbed her by the wrist and clinked their glasses even against her will. He downed the shot in one gulp before setting the glass down. "Oh please. I know you like Jaehyun. So there's no use in denying."

[Y/N] frowned. "I do not."

"Yes, you do!" Yuta retorted. "Behind the bickering and the insults, you're head over heels for that nerd and you know it."

Now, it was her turn to down the shot. She felt her cheeks flush — whether it was because they were talking about Jaehyun or because she was drunk, she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure, either, when exactly her stupid feelings started. What made her even more conflicted was the fact that it happened gradually and all at once at the same time. Over the years of knowing Jaehyun, she had moments of hating him — whenever he insults the art pieces she had worked on with her blood, sweat, and tears, or whenever he intentionally dismisses everything she does as stupid. However, she had also been witness to the heart-fluttering gestures Jaehyun does without even knowing — like when he  throws his head back as he laughs, when he calls her in the morning when he had just woken up, or when he sometimes places his hand at the small of her back when crossing the road. All this gradual build-up came falling apart all at once, and then she was convinced she was truly and utterly in love with him.

"You're right," she said finally with a sigh. She traced the rim of the glass with her fingertip absentmindedly. "But you and Taeyong...?"

Yuta only shrugged. "You're better off than I am. At least you have a chance of being with the person you like."

"Please." She nudged the boy's foot with her own. "We never know what Taeyong is thinking. He might like you too, you know."

"And Jaehyun would like you too."

"Nah, I'll pass." She snorted, suddenly feeling her chest constrict. "He hates me to my guts, and only sees me as a sister." [Y/N] rested her chin atop her hand as she watched Yuta with a gentle gaze. "Are you planning on telling Taeyong?"

It was Yuta's turn to snort. "I wouldn't want to ruin our friendship. I know that's how you feel too."

—

With his books in hand, Jaehyun spotted a familiar figure walking ahead of him along the hallway. He ran quickly after the other, until he eventually caught up and placed his hand over the other's shoulder.

"Oh! You surprised me." Doyoung clutched his chest as he abruptly stopped walking.

Jaehyun snorted. "Are you going home?"

"Nah," Doyoung responded, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm on my way to the econ building."

The other man scratched the back of his head as they both continued walking towards the same direction. "You're meeting up? Haven't you ever, like, met outside the campus?"

"What for?"

"You know, to go shopping, have a nice dinner, or watch a movie? Like what other couples do."

Doyoung skidded to a halt once again. "Right. About that..."

"Hmm?"

"She's married."

"What?!" Jaehyun glared at his friend for a good half a minute before taking him by the elbow and dragging him to a corner. "What the fuck are you getting yourself into?"

"Hey hey hey—" Doyoung had his arms up, palms facing outward defensively. "I didn't know before she told me."

"And you continued meeting her even after knowing she was already married?!"

"Yes, well—" Doyoung sighed. "I love her, I don't know what else to do."

"You know this won't end well, right?" The man crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. He had expected Doyoung to be better than this.

"I know, it's just—" He sighed, messing his hair out of irritation. "Don't mind me. I'll face the consequences myself." And he stormed away, hands balled into fists, leaving Jaehyun standing by the corner as confused and conflicted as ever.

He paced around the same corner for a few minutes, just to calm himself down. Surely, he thought, Doyoung wouldn't want their other friends to know his situation, and so he wanted to keep the secret to himself. When he was sure he was calm, he reached into his pocket for his phone and dialled [Y/N]'s number.

"Ugly," he greeted. "Are we still meeting to do that diagram? You know I can't draw for shit."

"Right, that was today." [Y/N] sneezed from the other side of the line.

"Wait, are you sick?"

The girl blew her nose into a tissue and cleared her throat. "...Yes."

Jaehyun snorted. "Boo, you whore," he said before hanging up.

Groaning, [Y/N] tossed her phone aside and burrowed back under the sheets to get comfortable. She had everything she needed within reach — the box of tissues by her side and a glass of water on her bedside table — since she had no intentions of getting up until the next day. Just as she was about to doze off into dreamland, her phone blared her ringtone. [Y/N] reached for her phone blindly and answered.

"Hello?"

"Open up, nerd."

Confused, [Y/N] got up, still with her phone pressed against her ear, and opened her bedroom door. Nothing. She made her way down the stairs and towards the front door, before tiptoeing to peek through the peephole. There, she was greeted by the inside of Jaehyun's nostril.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" She asked as soon as she opened the door. He welcomed himself in, walking past the girl and going straight to the living room. "You can't catch a cold. You have a presentation tomorrow!"

"I know," Jaehyun sighed, plopping down on the couch. He used the back of his palm to feel her forehead, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. "You don't have a fever, so that's good."

"Again," [Y/N] cleared her throat as she stood in the middle of the living room with her hands on her hips. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I can't leave my worst enemy to die because of a cold. Without a villain, how can I shine as a hero?" Jaehyun beamed a smile too wide to be authentic. He made his way towards the kitchen and began opening cupboards. "You know you're my best friend. I can't leave you to die."

[Y/N] watched as Jaehyun left a kettle full of water boiling by the stove, and prepared lemongrass and ginger on the side. "What about your diagram?" she asked, wiping her nose with the front of her shirt as she sat by the dining table. "If you leave it here tonight, maybe I can finish tomorrow and just hand it to you before your class starts."

As if he didn't hear a thing, he poured a generous amount of hot water into one of the mugs and added his prepared ingredients to make tea. He blew on the steaming cup a few times before setting it down in front of her. She brought her face near the concoction and inhaled, immediately feeling much better as her clogged nose cleared up. The girl whispered a soft 'Thank you' before taking a small sip.

She held the mug with both her hands and brought it with her to the living room, with Jaehyun following closely behind. She switched the TV on and placed the mug on the center table before sprawling over the couch. The boy, on the other hand, sat down by the floor and quietly watched TV. He felt satisfied with himself when, after looking behind him, he found her fast asleep with her mug carefully lodged on her lap. Jaehyun took the mug from her hands gently and placed it back on the table. Standing up, he cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms above his head, before squatting down a little and slipping one of his hands under her back, while the other hooked around her knees. He pursed his lips to muffle the groan that almost escaped once he lifted her up, slowly trudging up the stairs to her bedroom. He kicked her door open and made his way inside before setting her down carefully on the mattress.

It had been a while since he had last gone into her bedroom, though he could say nothing much has changed. He approached her study table, and smiled to himself as he saw several Polaroids of himself together with their other friends. Jaehyun returned to observe her sleeping figure and carefully ran his hand through her hair. He felt his heart race as she stirred in her sleep, and he quickly retracted his arm. His fingers and toes were not enough to count how many times he had thought about confessing his feelings. What always stopped him from doing so, even if he always came too close to just blurting it out, was his hypothesis— that only one out of three people could be successful in love. He counted himself as one, and though he was not sure as to who the other two people would be, he still couldn't bring himself to take the risk. The 66 percent chance of failure always scared him more often than the 33 percent chance of success made him hopeful.

When [Y/N] woke up the next morning, she felt a whole lot better than the night before. As she sat up, she didn't remember going back to her bedroom last night. What she had vague memories of, now that she thought about it, was waking up in the middle of the night to see Jaehyun's figure hunched over her study table as he busily worked on the diagram by himself.

V. Methodology

"Are we allowed to cheat?" [Y/N] asked after raising her hand.

The other three boys only giggled, and Jaehyun rolled his eyes. "Please just concentrate on the test," he said sternly, and eyed the copy of the questionnaire in front of him. He knew the idea of taking a test to know whether a person is truly in love seemed like one of those annoying Buzzfeed quizzes. And so before he could use the test on other people, he wanted to test his friends first.

"'Are you willing to change for the better for the one you love? For example, quitting smoking.' Of course I would! Who wouldn't?" Yuta reacted out loud, jabbing his pencil at the piece of paper.

Taeyong blinked innocently at him. "I wouldn't."

"That just means you aren't really in love," Jaehyun explained. He sat with his back against the ledge of the roof deck, while the four sat evenly spaced away from each other in front of him.

Doyoung was the first to finish, and Jaehyun immediately went through the answers, writing the corresponding scores for each item on the left margin. He checked the result on the matrix he has made beforehand, and looked back at Doyoung who was already glued to his phone. "Congratulations, you're in love!" Jaehyun exclaimed.

The other boy only snorted. "Wow, that's new. I didn't know."

[Y/N] was the next to hand her paper over. She nervously waited for the result as she chewed on her pencil. The test wouldn't be able to tell exactly who she was in love with, right?

"Congratulations, you're... in love?" Jaehyun announced, voice dripping with doubt. And, to himself, he mumbled, "There must be something wrong with this test."

"Oh, right, there's nothing wrong with the test. She's really in love." Yuta said absentmindedly as he reviewed his answers to the test.

[Y/N] nudged Yuta's side with her foot as the other boys' attention was shifted to her. "What if I was in love with Monet, huh? Or Van Gogh. Or Warhol. You never know."

Jaehyun shook his head. "Nerd."

Annoyed, the girl counterattacked. "That's only because Yuta is in love too!"

"Whoa— so you're in love with each other?" Taeyong's eyes widened as he alternated glances between the two.

Yuta quickly denied as he handed Jaehyun his paper. "Of course not. Don't listen to her."

"But..." Jaehyun briefly scanned through his test. "Your result says you're in love, too."

The three who finished were too busy teasing each other to notice that Taeyong had also submitted his test. Jaehyun checked the paper twice before delivering the result. "You're not in love."

"That's not a surprise, either," [Y/N] said with a laugh, trapping Taeyong in a headlock before messing with his hair using her knuckles.

"But I'm still curious," Jaehyun said, flipping through [Y/N]'s paper. "You're in love? You? [Y/N]? In love?"

"With who? The devil?" Taeyong retorted before bursting into a fit of laughter.

"Yeah, [Y/N]," Yuta said, giving the girl a knowing glance. "Who are you in love with?"

VI. Presentation And Interpretation Of Findings

"You have to do it soon," Yuta said as he nibbled on a piece of fry.

[Y/N] shook her head, sipping from her cup of soda until the straw hit dry air. "Not until you do it too."

"I told you already I'm not doing it ever," he replied as a matter of fact. "Taeyong isn't gay, I'm absolutely sure. And I'm content with just being his friend, even if it's the closest I'll ever be to him." 

[Y/N] sighed sadly, knowing how hurt he must've felt. But Yuta, perhaps sensing she is starting to feel sorry, decided to shift the attention from him back to her. "But you, you have to confess! It's not hard," he continued, reaching out to grab one of the girl's arm and squeezing it hard until she cried out. "I'm not letting go until you promise you'll do it!"

"Alright, alright, I'll do it!" [Y/N] retracted her arm and whined as she rubbed at the skin marked red with the boy's hand print. "I really don't want to do it, though. I mean, it'll ruin everything! Even if he did like me back, eventually we would break up, and then what? We wouldn't be friends anymore. I'm glad to have you, Taeyong, and Doyoung left, but it wouldn't be the same without Jaehyun in the group." She sighed, eyeing her cheeseburger that had gone cold. She didn't even have the appetite anymore.

"Yeah, but what if you don't break up? What if you last for the longest time ever and get married and have kids? Imagine having the three of us at your wedding. Imagine the pictures we would take when we all meet again and have our own families."

As Yuta spoke with such fervor and enthusiasm, the doors of the fast food chain swung open as Jaehyun entered. He quickly spotted his two friends by the corner, eating and talking amongst themselves. Ever since he made them take the test, he had started to grow wary of their closeness. Doyoung being in love wasn't such an issue. There were days he wouldn't stop talking about his significant other. And although he was also bothered by knowing how Doyoung stood in his relationship — if being the side-lover of a married woman was even considered a relationship — Jaehyun was most bothered by the fact that his other two friends were also in love, and he had no idea if they were in love with each other. Once he approached the table, he only heard Yuta's last words before the pair shushed.

"What if?" Yuta had asked, and he shifted in his seat, moving towards the wall to make space for the newcomer.

"What if what?" Jaehyun pried, but [Y/N] just shook her head.

"Yuta here's just being dumb." She threw Yuta a glare before beaming at Jaehyun. "So, what happened to Doyoung? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, well," Jaehyun grabbed her burger from in front of her and took a large bite. "He sliced his lower lip and needed to go to the hospital for his broken nose, but other than that, he should be okay. He doesn't need to be confined, which is good."

"Who even did that to him? Is it someone from his organization, maybe?" Yuta asked, forehead etched with worry.

Jaehyun shook his head. "It's not someone from school. It's the professor's husband. They were found out." He leaned back on his chair and scrunched his nose as he dabbed a piece of napkin against his mouth. "He deserved it, if you ask me. He should've known better than to mess with someone who's married, out of all people."

[Y/N] sighed. She felt horrible knowing two of her friends failed in love, and felt even more horrible for gaining more self-confidence to confess — assuming Jaehyun's hypothesis was true, and given the fact that Yuta had given up on telling Taeyong his true feelings and Doyoung was surely never going to have a happily ever after with the professor, this gave her a high possibility of being the one out of the three who is successful in love.

"Well, I have to go," Yuta said after a while, standing up and sliding his arms through the straps of his backpack. "Are we pushing through with the roadtrip during Chuseok?"

"Of course, I've already bought film for my camera for pictures," [Y/N] replied with a nod, waving goodbye as Yuta walked away until he was completely out of sight. She then turned to Jaehyun, who was sitting beside her. "So? Have you eaten already?"

Instead of answering, Jaehyun turned to her, his expression stern. "Are you... are you and Yuta dating?" he asked, tone almost mocking. "You're not, right? I mean— Because if you were — dating him, I mean — you would have told me first, right?"

She almost laughed. "What?!"

"You're not dating Yuta, are you?" he repeated, almost frustrated that she was taking all this in good humor. His worries eased significantly, due to the fact that she found all of this amusing, but he still needed an explicit confirmation.

"I'm not dating Yuta," she said. "What even gave you the idea that I was?"

Although he only responded with a shrug, inside he was almost screaming in joy.

"But, I do have something to say," she started, and the atmosphere immediately grew tense. She took a deep breath, letting Yuta's words be the only thing on her mind.

What if? What if? What if?

"I... I like you," she breathed out, quickly shifting her gaze from his face down to her hands. "I didn't look at you that way before, but suddenly I do. And I know this is all so weird coming from me because we've never... we've never really stopped bickering since time immemorial but I guess that's just me being comfortable around you. And it's nice, I feel nice, and good, and happy whenever you're around and it scares me." She paused and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotions. "It scares me to death that you'll stay away after this. I know you don't feel the same way, and that's okay, really. I just... I guess I just wanted to be assured you won't stay away."

She looked up, slowly, to meet his gaze. "You won't, right?"

A few seconds passed, until the seconds turned to minutes. Jaehyun was frozen in his spot. He pursed his lips and looked away, scratching the back of his head. In his silence, she had found the answer.

"I'm sorry. I get it, okay? I'm one of the two in your stupid hypothesis. So please, just—" She took a deep breath, biting her bottom to lip to keep from breaking down in front of him, before standing up and taking her bag with her as she began to walk away. "Just leave me alone."

Jaehyun remained frozen on his seat. He didn't realize she was gone before she actually was. And, for the first time in years, he felt like crying. He pushed his chair back and tried running after her, but it was too late.

VII. Conclusion

They had planned to go on a roadtrip over the three-day holiday, but with Yuta taking advantage of the short break to go see his family in Japan, Taeyong prepping up in advance for the finals, and Doyoung catching up on school work and sleep, [Y/N] was left with Jaehyun, and that wasn't much of a consolation. It had been two weeks since her confession and his silence, which meant rejection more than anything. For two weeks, she had avoided every single one of them, especially Jaehyun. She spent lunch breaks at the library, and immediately went home after her last class for the day.

She had looked forward to the roadtrip ever since they had planned it, but now she didn't even want to see her calendar with today's date encircled in red.

She stayed in her room the whole first day, only going out to eat or to get water, and she was glad her parents didn't ask anything. They might have been curious, after she had talked their ears deaf of the roadtrip they had planned, but perhaps knew better than to say or ask anything.

[Y/N] slept the whole morning away, and so when night time rolled around, she had trouble keeping her eyes closed. The girl lifted her head up a little to check the time. 1:58 am. She had not slept a wink. As she sat up to stretch her legs, her phone buzzed from underneath her pillow, indicating a text.

Open up, it read. And she didn't have to check the sender to know who it was. In her button-down flannel pajamas, she trudged down the stairs and headed towards the front door. Jaehyun honked as quickly as he could, to which she clutched her chest in surprise. The backseat window rolled down slowly, before Taeyong's small head popped out from the vehicle.

"Get in, loser. We're going swimming."

She alternated glances between Jaehyun in the driver seat and Taeyong in the backseat. "But I'm not prepared."

"Me either. But Jaehyun's got stuff ready!"

Without much hesitation, she skipped towards the passenger side and slid in. She avoided looking at Jaehyun, however, and instead reached out towards the backseat where Doyoung sat. He wore a neatly pressed shirt and jeans, whereas the rest of them where in pajamas. As she made grabby hands at him, he dipped forward to be within her reach before she pulled him in for a slight hug, what with the headrest in the way. She must have brushed against his hair, because he groaned and sat back properly again to keep her from messing with his style even further. It was such a Doyoung thing to do that she almost cried.

"Can we go now?" Jaehyun said, clearing his throat. "The beach is still hours away."

"Ugh, fine." She slouched back on her seat and strapped her seatbelt on, crossing her arms.

From the side mirror, [Y/N] noticed Taeyong had gone back to looking over his notes. And although she wished Yuta was there, she was glad to be back in her own group of people.

After a few hours of driving, Jaehyun glanced at the rearview mirror. He was about to ask loudly if anyone needed a bathroom break, but only saw Taeyong and Doyoung sleeping in the backseat. He looked over the passenger seat and eased his foot slowly off the accelerator.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

She had her gaze out the window as she shook her head.

"Alright, then."

Jaehyun avoided swerving to the right where he spotted a gas station, and instead drove a little faster. The silence was unnerving, unlike before when it was comfortable and familiar. He drummed his fingers over the steering wheel as he racked his brain for clues on what to say. As he glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried to blurt out the words he'd been practicing in his head.

"Hey, [Y/N]. Are you a variable?"

Immediately, she snapped her head sideways to look at him. "What?"

"Because I would love to find our correlation coefficient."

She only blinked at him. "I blacked out after you said 'because'."

"I've got another one." He said with a chuckle. "Are you an antiques collector?" When she raised her eyebrow at him instead of responding, he continued. "Because I have some junk that hasn’t been touched in years."

This time, he saw the corner of her lips twitch. But as soon as he was about to call her out on it, she masked her amusement by slapping him on the arm. "You're disgusting."

"You like me, anyway," he retorted, to which she froze. She knew she would have to face him again about her feelings, but she didn't expect it to be this soon.

"Do you..." He pursed his lips and swallowed hard, bracing himself for her response. "Do you still...?"

"So what if I do?" [Y/N] let out a bitter chuckle. "It's not like it would change anything. Let's not talk about this anymore." And she put her feet up on the dashboard, completely shifting to lie on her side, facing the window.

"Stop that—" He sighed, checking his side mirror before swerving to the left and pulling the brakes as the car slowly came to a halt. "I just want to know."

"So you can make fun of me? No, thank you."

"[Y/N]..." Jaehyun called out softly, his tone more gentle. He rested his head against the steering wheel and looked at her. "It's only because I feel the same," he breathed out. "That is, if you still like me."

"Please, don't do this," she whispered, turning to look at him. Her tears were threatening to spill at any time. "It makes me feel even worse knowing you feel sorry enough to do this."

He shook his head intuitively. "I'm not doing this because I feel sorry." He reached out, taking her by the forearm so he could properly look at her even as she kept dodging his gaze.

"You're an idiot. I didn't ask for this," she sobbed as quietly as she could, eventually giving in to his attempts and melting in his arms for an embrace.

"I know, but..." He used one of his hands to caress her hair while the other ran up and down her back comfortingly. "Do you feel that?"

"Huh?" [Y/N] lifted her head slightly, just enough to be able to look at him.

"My shirt," Jaehyun said, urging her to keep her arms around him. "Made of boyfriend material."

Before the girl could react, the two of them heard a snort from the backseat. "Ya," Doyoung exclaimed. "Do you think it's possible for us not to hear? Just get together, will you?"

"Oh my god, you just have to ruin it, don't you?" Jaehyun groaned, his arms losing grip around her torso.

"What happened to 'Let's go to the beach'?" Doyoung slipped his arms from the backseat to reach near Jaehyun's ears as he clapped loudly. "Hurry up, hurry up!"

"Alright, alright," the driver said, rolling his eyes as he stepped on the accelerator once more and brought the car back into the road. [Y/N], on the other hand, only laughed as he watched the two bicker. Sighing to herself, she rolled the window down and rested her forearms over the divider.

Only one out of three people are successful in love, and she was glad to be the lucky one.

[occidendum-story]

The Morning After

The sun crept over the skyline and shone its rusty orange light over the bustling city of Los Angeles. Too bright, thought Robert, as he grabbed the cord and twisted, shutting out the light. He turned around dropped down into his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He flipped open a lighter and held it to the end of the cigarette and took a long drag after putting the lighter back in its permanent place in his pocket. He wore a grey pinstripe suit with a matching top hat.  

His office was luxurious upon first glance; various bottles of alcohol sat on a shelf on one end of the room, the remaining shelves filled with books, a couple of abstract paintings lined the walls, and a small end table sat in the corner with a bust of someone important looking. In reality, it was all cheap, and Robert knew it. It was a facade he needed to put on for his clients, he always hoped they would never look too closely at any of it.

Robert could hear some talking outside his office, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone came bursting in.

“Hold on a minute, ma’am. I’ll be right back.” Robert’s assistant Ari, dressed in a tan linen suit, opened the door a crack and slid through before closing it carefully.

“Bobby,” Ari stopped, his eyes widened as he took Robert in. “You look worse for wear, Bobby.”

“Yeah, it was a long night”

“Oh, yeah, what’d you get up to, if I might ask? I bumped into you on the street last night but you didn’t seem to notice.” Ari’s voice whimpered ever so slightly.

Robert stopped to think. He spun around in his chair and looked at the window, blocked by the blinds he had shut previously.

“I’m not sure, Ari.”

“Well, must have been a long night if you can’t remember it,” Ari paused for a second, relieved. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

“Let her in then, why don’t you.”

Robert puffed his cigarette and put it out on the ashtray on his desk.

Ari left for a split second before returning, this time followed by an elegantly dressed woman with a distraught look on her face.

Robert blinked his eyes a couple of times and shut them hard, trying to get a sense of awareness that he was so sorely missing.

“Please have a seat Mrs… “ Robert had to curtail his annoyance.

“Mr. Wilkes, something terrible has happened,” she said.

“Well, that’s awful, but ma'am, it would most certainly help to know your name.”

Robert’s hand pointed palm up at the chair in front of his desk for an awkward amount of time, and he realized the woman had no intention of sitting down. She paced back and forth.

“Mr. Wilkes,” she said.

“Yes?”

“It’s my husband, Mr. Wilkes.”

“Please, call me Robert,” he said.

“Well, Robert, he’s been murdered.”

“Tell me about it.”  He lit another cigarette in his mouth and puffed out a few clouds of smoke nonchalantly.

“The last time I saw him was last night before he went out for a smoke”.

[kinda-lit-writing]

Evan Peters- Liar

Word Count: 2035

Warning: heart break, cussing, and my weird writing.

A/N: I don't really watch Evan Peters interviews and such , so I'm sorry if this isn't the way he'll act. ——––——–—–—–—– Flashback Calm down Y/N. You'll be okay. You are gonna live your dream! He'll be happy. You'll come back. At least you're at home and no-

I snapped out of thought when Evan tapped my shoulder.

"Are you okay babe?" Evan said to me

I looked at him and gave a light smile.

"Of course I am!" I said

"You looked scared." He said with a frown, "Are you sure?"

"A little bit. I'm just have to tell you something." I said putting my head down.

He grabbed my hands, "You can tell me anything and you know that."

"Okay..." I took a deep breath, "I got the job I wanted."

I looked up to see him smiling.

"That's great ne-" I cut Evan off.

"It's in England." I said looking down.

He tried to speak words, but nothing came out.

"I'm sorry Evan..." I said on the verge of tears.

"Hey..." he said quietly, "Don't cry. We'll see each other soon. I can visit." He said lifting my face up with a finger. He kissed me lightly.

"It'll be alright..."

END OF THE FUCKING FLASHBACK BITCHES

"It'll be alright" was the only thing floating through my mind.

"Liar..." I said as I looked at the photo.

It was him and his co-worker, Emma, kissing.

"THAT FUCKING LIAR!" I screamed as I flung a paint brush across the room.

How could he. How could he do that to me. I thought he was the one! The one who wouldn't hurt me.

I'm wrong.

I grabbed a canvas out of a box and painted my heart out.

All I could do was paint. All I could think of was the hurt and pain running through me.

I was crying as I painted. All the colors I used expressed my emotions. Each brush stroke expressed my pain. How they were shades of blue and maroon with rough and jagged strokes. (A/N: I think that expresses sadness and anger.)

In the end it was an abstract painting of a girl  on her knees crying, ripping her chest open to reveal her broken heart. Her head was tilted back and her long hair was so jagged, but it flowed down.

I smiled weakly as I signed my name. I felt a bit better, but a hole was still in my chest. I felt nothing there. Where is used to feel a pulse. Now I feel nothing there. It hurt.

I checked the time. 3:00 am. (A/N: I don't know how to convert it.)

I just took off my clothes and slept. I was drained emotionally and physically.

-Le Next Day-

I woke up with a knock on my apartment, or flat is what they say here, door.

I got up an-

"I'm leaving today!" I said

FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!!

I ran to a suitcase and grabbed a shirt and sweats. I got in the restroom and did stuff.

Someone was knocking.

"THE DOOR!" I yelled with my toothbrush in my mouth. I ran to it and opened it.

"Ms. Y/L/N your ride is ready to leave." The man said in a very thick British accent, that sounded a bit like Matthew Lewis.

"I will be down in three minutes." I said trying to smile with a toothbrush in my mouth.

"Will you need help?" The man said.

"Yes please, but not my green bag." I said calmly.

"Yes ma'am." He said with a smile.

I went back to the restroom and rinsed my mouth. I packed up my toiletries, and started to think.

Where am I going to stay? I'm not going back home. I need a plan.

Maybe Y/F/N will be able to let me stay at their place.

Or you can confront him!

No little voice. I will not confront that asshole.

Fine! Suit yourself.

I'm going crazy aren't I?

Yes. You are talking to yourself.

Maybe that little voice is right. Maybe I should talk to him. Maybe it wasn't what I thought of. Also that I need to get checked for any mental disorders.

"Ma'am. The car is ready and so are your luggage." The man said.

I snapped my head to him.

"Thank you." I smiled at him politely, "I will be out."

He nodded and left.

Time to stop thinking and relax for an hours now.

-Time Skip brought by Jimmy Dean-

So that was a lie about not thinking. I thought a lot.

About life decisions and a lot about Evan.

Was he worth my tears?

I shook the thought of my head.

WAIT!

Who's picking me up?

I got my carry on from the over head compartment, and exited the plane wearily. I went to baggage claim and got my bags. The others are going to be shipped to my house. Well our house.

I sighed I turned my phone on. Should of down that earlier. Whelp!

It took a couple minutes for it to turn on, but soon all the notifications came in.

Twitter.

Instagram.

Facebook.

One from MySpace.

19 missed phone calls and 20 messages from him.

I texted F/N to pick me up. Even if Evan came I won't go with that asshat.

She said she'll be there in 46 minutes because she lived close by and no traffic.

I went to sit and relaxed.

I went to my texts and said, "We are over. Don't look for me. Don't speak to me. We are over."

My fingers hovered over the send button. I breathed in and hit send. It's over. Time down the drain. (A/N: Even my heart is hurting writing this.)

I stare at my phone noticing all these notifications. Mostly Twitter, so my curious mind decided to check.

So many people were bashing Evans and Emma. Whelp. Serves them right.

Some people say I deserved it and they saw it coming. Those soggy ass waffles.

I decided to respond.

"If I couldn't see it coming then... How would you?" I tweeted. (A/N: Cringe)

I turned off all notifications except my essentials. Messaging and phone calls. I just muted Evan. Simple.

Break down again! It's healthy.

Not this again.

You made me up. This is you. I'm telling you what you tell your friends. You even say it's good advice, so why not take it.

Because I don't want to cry anymore!

I said to the little voice with an annoyed expression.

I got my earbuds out and decided to try and relax.

I put my Spotify songs on shuffle and let relaxation take over me.

I got troubled thoughts And the self-esteem to match

"Great." I mumbled to myself taking a deep breath.

What a catch, what a catch Whoa You'll never catch us So just let me be Said I'll be fine 'Till the hospital or American Embassy Miss Flack said I still want you back Yeah, Miss Flack said I still want you back I got troubled thoughts And the self-esteem to match What a catch, what a catch And all I can think of Is the way I'm the one Who charmed the one Who gave up on you Who gave up on you They say the captain Goes down with the ship So, when the world ends Will God go down with it? Miss Flack said I still want you back Yeah, Miss Flack said I still want you back I got troubled thoughts And the self-esteem to match What a catch, what a catch And all I can think of Is the way I'm the one Who charmed the one Who gave up on you Who gave up on you What a catch What a catch What a catch What a catch I will never end up like him Behind my back, I already am Keep a calendar This way you will always know I got troubled thoughts And the self-esteem to match What a catch, what a catch And all I can think of Is the way I'm the one Who charmed the one Who gave up on you Who gave up on you Where is your boy tonight? I hope he is a gentleman Maybe he won't find out what I know You were the last good thing We're going down, down in an earlier round And sugar, we're goin' down swinging Dance, dance, we're falling apart to halftime Dance, dance, and these are the lives you'd love to lead Dance, this is the way they'd love If they knew how misery loved me This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race One night and one more time Thanks for the memories Even though they weren't so great He tastes like you, only sweeter Growing up, growing up I got troubled thoughts And the self-esteem to match What a catch, what a catch

I remained at the airport till my friend picked me up. I trusted them with my life, and sometimes I shouldn't.

They took me in and they gave me everything I needed. They were great, but what lingered on my mind was.

Evan...

-Time Skip: A week-

I opened the door and saw him. Why is he here!? I was about to close it, but he put his foot in the way.

"Y/N. Hear me out."  I heard her voice say softly.

I nodded slowly unsure of what to say because if I did this would be a shit show.

"The article isn't true." He said to me, "We were going out to lunch together after a shoot with the cast. I was whispering something in her ear because I didn't want others to hear, of course. They photoshopped to make us look like we were kissing. I swear. I would never hurt you. You make me so happy! You make me the happiest man!" He used small hand gestures. I looked in her eyes to see if he was lying, but he wasn't, "I love everything about you. From how your hair smells to how sweet you are! I would never ever hurt you like this. I promised you." He said with his voice cracking in the end.

"You really didn't do any of it?" I said quietly.

He lightly grabbed my face.

I hesitated, but I grabbed one of his hands lightly.

"I would never lie to you for something this huge. Without you I don't feel whole. I don't feel me without knowing I can't protect you. It hurts knowing I hurt you. It even hurts going home because I know you aren't there." He said looking me in the eye.

He really wasn't lying.

You miss him. Go to him.

At this moment I didn't hate this voice. It was right.

"I love you." I said hugging him.

He hugged back almost instantly.

I pulled back and dragged him into the house.

Then I started thinking as I locked the door.

I turned back to him.

"What did you say to her?" I said to him.

He blushed.

Now it was his turn. He hesitated.

"I told her that I-I wa-wanted to m-marry you." He said very nervously.

My eyes widened, but I smiled.

"You want to marry me?" I said sheepishly with a blush evident on my face.

"I still do." He said confidently.

"Is that offer still up?" I said rubbing my arm.

I just got him back and I'm asking him to basically marry me.

He smiled widely and got down on one knee.

"Will you Y/N Y/L/N become my partner-in-crime for life, even in the afterlife?" He said pulling a a black box out with a beautiful ring inside. (A/N: Imagine the ring because I don't know your style at all.)

"Yes!" I said jumping on him.

I smashed my lips on him and he smiled into it. This kiss was a kiss that made up all the lost time.

He was my world. He made me so happy. His personality made me smile, and his looks made me smirk.

He was mine and I love him. ---------- A/N: The next part will involve some naughty things.

[artistclock]

WHEN IT WILL BE ME?

By: Cherry Mae Parohinog

Be the best or be nothing at all. Remember that no one remembers the second best or the rest for that matter. Aim for the top place. Always.

I had it in my head that individuals were constantly looking for attention and a good reputation. We lived for their compliments. Who doesn't like to be complimented? One positive word from you, they can live for a day. One positive sentence forms you, then they can build an altar and worship you. They can even kiss your feet.

"Our school's pride! Let us give Mr. Merritt a standing ovation! The well-known art competition was held in Manila. And, of course, congrats to Ms. Hernandez on her second-place finish. Thank you very much! Mr. Merritt, top one!”

Roaring applause was given by the crowd to us and especially to him. I don’t know if it’s because he’s drop-dead gorgeous or because he won. I bet my life, it’s the former.

When my name was called, I couldn't help but notice the host's low tone. See, second place means nothing. I also stood up and clapped. I didn't clap because I wanted to; I clapped because it was my initial inclination, and it was required by the program. And I should, because I'm one of the winners!

“Congratulations, Ms. Hernandez. Your arts are good and getting better.” The host mumbled to me and smiled with her lips pursed.

Comparative versus superlative adjective, I see.

Her words could no longer be heard due to the great weakness of her voice and the crowd’s loudness. I accept her compliment with a nod of my head. It would have been lovely to hear her praises, but they didn't last long in my ears. Her words sound rehearsed.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” I return the smile she gave to me.

Another medal and trophy to be cover with dust.

James Austin Merritt, the winner, in his custom-tailored tux from the back of the host, sashaying his way to us. His chiseled arms are highlighted by his serge coat. His tousled hair, crimson lips, flushed cheeks, and metal timepiece. His deportment now matched his brusqueness and arrogance so well. He looks expensive and extremely confident.

“I know I mentioned it before, but let me congratulate you again,” he says as he clears his throat. “Congratulations, Ms. Olivia,” He's in top form, with his cheeky smile on his face, and his right palms outstretched in front of me, indicating that I should take it.

This is the type of guy I should avoid.

“You, too, Mr. Merritt. You brought the school’s name again. I’m so honored to join you in that dazzling journey we had in Manila. You’re the best companion.” I clasped his hand in mine and smiled at him.

The words taste so wrong on my tongue. I can even taste the bitterness.

“You two did an outstanding job. And this handsome prodigy, oh, darling, make us prouder,” the host taps his right cheek. She has the look of a proud mother. I almost puked when I saw how sweet it was.

He turns his face toward me, allowing me to get a good look at his aristocratic features. “Not at all, Ma'am. Olivia is here, and she is the best at everything. As with anything! Did you happen to notice what she used in the competition? She used oil paint as well as poster paint! The beauty of her artwork is breathtaking! I'm lost for words to describe how stunning and talented she is. I was startled and mesmerized as I stared at her. I-I'm referring to her painting,” His prominent cheekbones turning a slight shade of red.

I stifle a little chuckle. I'd like to believe him. His comments, despite the oozing tone of sarcasm and stupidity, ring true in my ears. I only hope Mrs. Ronald, the host, agrees with us, although I doubt it. Her sour expression tells me so.

My hands are itching to hit him - no, beat him! Hmm… maybe later, Mr. Merritt.

“What exactly are you saying, Mr. Merritt? You won, which implies you're the best. What would happen to our department if you weren't there? A strong and confident man. Your artistic prowess is out of this world,” she shook her head, wanting to put a stop to the conversation.

Mrs. Roland may believe that a man has all the power, but this is not the case. I wholeheartedly disagree. I believe that women can accomplish just as much as men.

It appears to me that I am not as important as him and that I was only placed there to fill the gap. My achievement and trophy mean nothing to them.

“No, no, Ma’am. She’s also a winner in the competition too. I was so amazed at how good she was that I was ready to go home crying that day,” He shoves his hands in his pockets and glances over me. His left dimples popping out.

“Alright, Austin, if you say so. I'll leave you two alone now. I’ll just talk to someone on the other side.” She gracefully turns her back on us. Her sour expression remained.

“What was the point of that?” You want to court me?” My arms are folded on my chest.

His mouth fell open, and his brown eyes were as large as saucers and almost out of their sockets. He has a peculiar appearance. I nearly roll on the carpet!

“No. Never, Miss, but you can thank me though. And then I'll say, 'Welcome, Olivia.' How does that sound?”

I groan. As I looked at him, I wondered how someone could be so dumb.

“I appreciate your kind words, Mister. Hearing that made my day.” I mock him by pressing my palm to my chest and bowing slightly.

He mumbles an expletive under his breath. “Stop dissing me, please. The competition ended well and unbiasedly. And are we already friends, or am I imagining things? But for me, we’re already friends. We can help each other. We can also create beautiful artwork. What do you think?” He wiggles his eyebrow. As a result, he is quite attractive; otherwise, he would resemble Mr. Bean.

“No, we're not friends, and we never will be. Well, unless you are the firm believer of ‘keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer, then we can be friends,” I shrug my shoulder acting as a cool kid. I just need myself and no more.

His stares are so intense that I almost cringe.

“If that’s what you want, then fine. We’re enemies now.”

Perhaps it is true that when the universe aligns, there is a force that allows two opposing things to become one.

I let him see every inch of my heart.

On the floor was a jumble of canvases, paintbrushes, and paint colors. Images of hazy landscape sceneries, abstract paintings, and random people's portraits are hung, while some are simply lying against the wall. I watched him in the corner as he was serious about what he was doing. It’s like he’s the only one in the room and his painting is the most important thing in the world. His hand seems to be dancing to a rhythm that only he can hear. The veins in his arms protruded when the paintbrush kissed the canvas. His brow wrinkled and his crimson lips parted slightly. It's amazing to look at him in such a way that you wouldn't believe he's puerile and truant.

Let’s make art together. No rivalry between us.

His words break the high sturdy wall I built for anyone to protect myself.

“I'm hungry,” I said, although I'm not. All I want is for him to pay attention to me as well.

“Then, eat. I don't have your mouth,” he says. He didn't even look at me. He's really serious about what he's doing.

“You’re arts is romantically beautiful, Austin. It never fails to amaze me. I want to make you a statue,”

“Really? That's very thoughtful of you, Olivia. Thank you for your backhanded compliments. It's much appreciated. And I think... I'm going to cry. Could you please hand me a tissue?” He retorted.

Oh, God! Give me more patience.

Dropping my head back against my chair and dragging my breath through my nose. I prop my right elbow on the armrest and lean my head against my hand.

“Have you read what was posted in the bulletin? They’ll have competition again. Maybe you'd like to join?” Now he's focused on me and telling me something else. His words were vague in my ears. In a trance, I'm staring at a line of ants scurrying around the wall. What if I lose once more? A second-place finisher again? I don't want to lose. For once, I'd want to be on top. No, I always want to be at the top. No one but myself! The best of the rest!

I'm a sad little girl who craves attention and longs to escape reality. My anxiety began to attack.

I recall my father yelling at me, "I won't look at your trashy trophy, and I'm not proud!" He claimed that painting is not a career and that I cannot earn a living from it. The benefit here is that dad let me choose the course I wanted, which is why I chose fine arts, but how could this freedom feel so lonely?

He spews his venom at me for not being the best. I held my tongue and waited until he was satisfied with the damage. I can't blame him; he's one of the most competitive people I've ever met. He was distraught. It’s like I’m trying to hold hot water in my bare hands. So cruel. He has such a terrible opinion of me. I value the arts in all of their forms.

I believe in the power of words and their ability to affect people. They have the power to make or break you. They can even kill you.

“You’re worthless! You deserved everything bad that happened to you! All the hate! Why won’t you just die?!” I screamed as I stood in front of the mirror, pointing to myself.

And he made me feel unloved and unworthy.

I was immersed in thought when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

He looks at me as if he’s reading my mind and my soul, “Hey, I got you now. You’re doing your absolute best. Stop trying to control everything around you. Stop it. Stop thinking about the outcome of every situation, just enjoy the moment. Don’t be hard on yourself, Olivia.” His tone is gentle.

“If everyone turns their back on you, then look at me. I’m your number one fan, remember? I hope that’s enough.” He mumbled.

In response, I gave him my genuine smile.

People have asked me if I’m okay with placing second or third, and I’ve always said yes. That's the response they're looking for. They don't care about me. They simply want to pique their interest. That's all there is to it. That's why, in the end, you're the only one left in the dark, bruised, and defeated.  You didn't get the kind of attention you were hoping for. Who would want to hear from someone like me? Nobody knows who I am. This is how the world works

Jesus! I sound like a petulant child.

The afternoon zephyr gently ruffled my hair a little. I'm seated in my school uniform on the far side of the school's reading sanctuary section's concrete gazebo, surrounded by trees whose leaves are already falling and scattering on the sidewalk. It's a peaceful spot. The sound of the page of the book I’ am reading hurt the silence of the surroundings.

It tells the story of a wise man who can't seem to find himself. He was enslaved to the standard that society and his family imposed on him. Because of his intelligence, he lacked a friend. His diary was his lone confidante. In this journal, he writes down all of his thoughts and the words that are stuck in his head.

Why do I have an affinity towards him? Perhaps because we are in a similar situation. I recognize myself in him and can relate to him. If he utilized a pen and paper to write down what was going through his mind. In turn, I used a paintbrush and a canvas to express my feelings and resentments in life.

I was so engrossed in my daydream that I didn't notice the mighty Austin lounging coolly against the jamb of the gazebo, hands in his pockets, and chewing his bubble gum, which he even inflated and chewed again. Yes, he is sometimes gross. He chuckles awkwardly at me and takes the chocolate cupcake from his pocket. He uses his teeth to peel it off.

“I wish you a very happy birthday, Olivia. And I'm sorry I won't be singing you a happy birthday song. Now, Olivia, make a wish.”

I lock my gaze on him. I consider myself extremely blessed to have him. I close my eyes and whisper to the wind.

“Break those shackles, and watch me fly.”

My room opens with a loud bang, waking me up. I could see his familiar shape in my hazy eyes.

“Join the contest and show me what you've got.” He spoke it loudly and authoritatively. My father's actions surprised me. Isn't that the truth? I heard it very clear. My nails dug into the palms of my hands so deeply.

Take the risk or lose the chance. I'd go with the former, despite my reservations.

I shield my face from the light with my right hand. He, too, squints from the sun. I'm not sure why we decided to go for a walk in the middle of the day. I'm perspiring, and his neck is flushed. He unlocked the door for me when we arrived at the school's art studio. The door is excessively large and heavy. To open it, he must use all of his strength.

“How come this old door won't let a handsome man like me in? If this door is a woman, I'd say she's just trying to get my attention.” He winks at me as he turns to face me.

This man!

I take a seat next to him and maintain a comfortable distance between us. We're currently practicing. The crickets could be heard all around us.

To be honest, I had lost track of what made me happy. I've run out of ideas, motivation, and energy. I didn't have anything to look forward to. I close my eyes tightly.

“Yes, you’re doing it right. Stroke it slowly. Don’t get frustrated,”

“Everything is mediocre,” I scream, hurling the paintbrush. He took it and returned it to me.

“Slow progress is better than no progress at all, Olivia,”

“Easy for you to say. You’re famous. You’re so good. No, you’re the best! The greatest! Everyone loves you. And me, I’ am no one. A good-for-nothing daughter. Tell me… when it will be me?”

He blinks several times. Because of his heavy breathing, I notice his shoulders bouncing up. He's chewing his lower lip. In his eyes, I can feel his exasperation and sorrow. He reaches for my face and gently caresses my cheek.

“You know what, I think I should call it quits. My dreams are shattered all around me. From the start, everything is wrong. I can't function properly,” I grumble. I'm furious at myself.

I'm losing control of everything. I'm losing interest in things that used to excite me. It’s like I'm no longer a part of anything. My cheeks are flushed with tears.

“If that’s wrong, then I don’t want to be right. And don’t compare your artworks to mine, or everyone, that’s just deadly. Everyone has their uniqueness. You are your person,” he whispers.

Despite his words, I am still empty. I'm desperate to get this emotion out of my system.

“It isn't that simple.”

The opinions of those around us have an impact on how we perceive ourselves. Austin, on the other hand, is arrogant, harsh, and blunt, but he can be a dark knight in sparkling armor. He sees right through people. He lives his life to the fullest.

I stare out the window. The car was moving so fast that the trees we were passing through swiftly vanished from my vision. I'm leaning against to it. I believe we are all dissatisfied individuals. We wish for something that we don't have. We envy people and things in various ways and on various levels. We wish to be that person and live their life. We desire things to satisfy ourselves. People are usually asking for something good, yet they are frequently asking for something bad. We just don't notice it, or if we do, we're too afraid to acknowledge it. People are also cynical.

I'm extremely nervous right now. Inside, my toes wiggled into my shoes. I can even hear my heartbeat in my ears and a strong throb against my skull. I'm feeling nauseous. My heartbeat quickened as fear swelled in my chest. Austin, on the other hand, appears to be a lost child at the playground. His eyes are shining with enthusiasm.

Today is the competition day. I used to think of him as my enemy, my tough opponent. But suddenly things are different.

“I'm drowning in anxiety and fear. Who wants to swim with me?” I asked him. We were in the park at the time. I'm sitting on the concrete bench, watching the kids play.

“Me. I can even bring some colorful floaters. You want that?” he answered me while licking his lollipop.

I lift my eyes and stare at him. He was looking at a large artwork in front of us, arms akimbo. He has a carefree smile on his face.

“This is it! The world has to be ready. We are here now, ready to conquer them,” He has a devilish grin on his face.

"Don't live too much in our head, Olivia. This time you are not alone,” He added, and continued watching the artwork, "I will not allow you."

The overthinking sucks that drove me to do some irrational things, as well as my anxiety, which accompanies me around and feeds my fear, are still here. Now all I have to do is revalue myself to forgive and love myself better. I'm going to improve with time.

And he’s with me now. We are here now. This is our now. This is the reality.

“And Olivia, it’s always been you.”

[hikarimurasaki]

First Audience with the Pale Lady

(Featuring Ellen Paige, LeBlanc and Vladimir)

Ellen stepped into the building she was instructed towards by the mysterious message left at her new house, which she alleged to be from the Matron of the Rose herself. On the outside, it had appeared to be just a normal house, but when she walked in, Ellen came into an empty hallway, dimly lit with barely any furniture. At the end of the hall was a wooden carved door. Before Ellen could rummage her toolbox to check if this was really the right location again, the door moved.

"Ah," the white haired man who came out of the door spoke. Ellen bowed at him out of courtesy. He had very pale skin and seemingly no irises, but on closer inspection, she could see his eyes were white. He appeared to be politely surprised at her appearance.

"My name is Ellen Paige," the scientist introduced herself. "I am going to be working here from now on."

"Vladimir," the man returned. His voice was smooth and pleasant to hear. "I see." His glance was curious but still polite. "You are the newcomer from Piltover, Miss Paige? Please, come in." He stood aside, gesturing towards the door. Ellen walked forward and Vladimir followed after her.

"It's alright, Mr. Vladimir. Weren't you going to leave?" she asked, seeing as the man was about to leave the premises himself. 

Vladimir smiled as he replied.

"It is not polite to leave a lady all to her own in a foreign place," he said. "As your future colleague, I believe it is my responsibility to introduce you to the premise and assist you with any problems you have. Do not worry. I am a man with too much time on his hand." the last sentence was spoken with a slightly mellow tone, which caught Ellen's attention. She wondered if he alluded to being lonely (or bored).

"I appreciate your help, Mr. Vladimir."

"Oh, and just Vladimir, please. I don’t mind." Vladimir said. "Do you have an appointment with LeBlanc?"

"Yes."

"Then it is probably wise to show you where her office is," Vladimir said, more to himself than Ellen. "This way, please."

Ellen shuffled after the white-haired man as he strode forward. The inside of the large door was another hallway, but with doors on both sides of the wall. The place was lit with magic torches, and there were some robed figures going about. They all seemed to have taken notice of her, or Vladimir, but did not approach them. Vladimir paid them no mind; he turned towards a door on the left and opened it for her.

Ellen stepped into a bigger room filled with shelves after shelves. It was, at that moment, empty.

"This is the archive of the Black Rose," Vladimir explained, "or should I say a portion of it. The Matron's office is at the end of this chamber." 

They passed by numerous shelves, stacked with books and scrolls, to reach the final destination - a seemingly plain, normal black door. At her questioning glance, Vladimir flashed a mysterious smile.

"Did you expect a more extravagant door?"

"Well, she is your leader, isn't she? There isn't even a nameplate."

"LeBlanc does not use doors." That was all Vladimir said before knocking on the wood twice.

"Come in." a feminine voice on the other side answered.

Vladimir stood aside.

"Thank you."

Ellen said and opened the door.

LeBlanc's office was a well lit, spacious chamber. There were abstract paintings hung on the red wallpapered walls, and a set of couches and a tea table in front of the Matron's work desk. Said woman was then standing at said desk, her back to Ellen, appraising something from the cupboard behind the work station. Ellen could see some books, a collection of bottles and other strange-looking articles behind the glass doors.

"Miss Paige," LeBlanc acknowledged her arrival before she was about to introduce herself. "Do you drink wine?"

"I'm afraid not, ma'am," Ellen answered. She considered what to say next, but LeBlanc helped her to it.

"I see." the woman returned the bottle she was holding back to the shelf and turned to Ellen. LeBlanc appeared to be a young woman not older than thirty, with a seemingly flawless complexion and short, dark hair. She was smiling welcomingly at Ellen, but there was still something about her that was… that made Ellen wary. She had the feeling LeBlanc was more dangerous than she could ever imagine. "Please have a seat, Miss Paige. You have come a long way from Piltover. Has my call been too soon?"

"Not at all," said Ellen. "I have had proper time to rest. Your welcome has been hospitable."

"I am glad they have made a good impression." LeBlanc moved to sit on the opposite side of the tea table and began working with the tea set. Ellen watched her with polite interest as LeBlanc poured black tea into the teacups and offered one to her. "The one who knocked wasn’t you. Did Vladimir lead you here?" "Yes."

"Always playing the gentleman," LeBlanc mused. "First of all, thank you for accepting our offer, Ellen Paige. Your talent and insight will be a great asset to us. I believe Laina has informed you of your job description. If there is anything I may require your assistance, I will contact you personally. Your payment by the end of each month will be in Noxian currency - you may request them to be exchanged, but please inform us early. No rent is necessary for your house, and you may redecorate it as you wish. Do you have any questions?"

She sure did.

"If I may begin, why have you gone such a long way to get me? Your offer is very generous. If there is something about this job I'm not aware of, I would like to know about it now."

"The reasons were included entirely in the letter. You have studied years to reach your current expertise, and such must be rewarded accordingly. If you see what clan Ferros paid you was sufficient, I cannot provide any less." "But you do not plan to use my intelligence," Ellen retorted. "Clan Ferros uses my researches and inventions for their purpose. You have stated specifically you don’t need to use them."

"We can certainly make use of your knowledge. You are the only person here who knows the workings of techmaturgy. If you see the state of our archives about hextech, you'd laugh at how outdated they are. Besides, you can use magic. It also fits our criteria."

Ellen blinked.

"I can do what?"

"Use magic, Miss Paige. How did you think you were able to command your machines?"

"I… see. It is not a popular ability, is it?"

"Of course not. If it were, Piltover wouldn’t have needed to scavenge crystals from Shurima.”

"And the Black Rose… you are an organization of magic users. Does that mean you can also…" she looked up, but LeBlanc had disappeared from sight.

"Power the machines? I'm afraid that is your unique ability; because you know how they work." LeBlanc's voice came up behind her. "There are numerous uses of magic; it does not exist just to power your machines." 

Ellen looked back to find the Matron leaning on the wall, her arms crossed. "Is the ability to use magic… a random trait? Can it be passed onto offspring?" asked Ellen.

The answer came from the other direction, where LeBlanc used to sit. "It is a gift that only appears in certain people, yes. But apparently it can be passed down." Ellen looked back to find LeBlanc back on the couch. She looked back to the wall again and… still found LeBlanc standing there.

Saying she was astonished was the understatement of understatements.

"How…?" she murmured. "Magic, of course!" the thought came up in her mind, sounding exceedingly sarcastic. "What else could it be?"

"This is my specialty, Miss Paige. Illusion magic," both LeBlanc spoke at the same time. It was a weird experience. "It differs from people to people. And you are also a magic user. A mage. Though your method is… singular."

"Alright," said Ellen. "I get it now. Can you stop doing that?"

The LeBlanc leaning on the wall disappeared.

"I can only explain it so far," said LeBlanc. "The archives are full of texts about magic if you wish to know more. You are welcomed to browse them anytime."

Ellen nodded. She still had time to learn more about everything - magic, the Black Rose, Noxus… but LeBlanc did promise to answer her questions.

"I appreciate it. But would you mind tell me about the hexcrystals? I know… they are alive, but what are they? And do your library have books about them?"

"Ah, yes, I did promise to tell you. Very well, the so-called hexcrystals house the souls of the creatures called Brackern, in Shuriman. They are a magical race that communicates through their special songs - songs that transcend spoken language. You have experienced its effect as well, Miss Paige. It is not the most pleasant of feelings."

"How did they survive? What sustenance did they have? Why did they choose stationary crystals as bodies?" Ellen could not help it. The explanation only raised more questions.

"Those are the questions I cannot answer. I am sorry if that disappoints you. The information about the crystals was translated from scrolls found in the ruins of Shurima, and they are also from a long time ago. Even back then, the Brackern were considered half-legends. It does not help when the ones who discovered them were folks without magic talent."

Ellen turned her eyes towards the teacup, feeling the urge to stir it with a teaspoon. She had expected this. It was obvious that answers to her inquiries would bring up more questions. Ellen took a deep breath. She would have time. Here, free from the obligations of Piltover's social circles, she would be able to find out, in time.

Only one problem remained.

"What is the Black Rose? What is its purpose? And who are you?"

The silence between the two seemed to stretch on forever as LeBlanc stared at her, the mysterious smile still on her lips. Ellen unconsciously pulled back into her couch, unsure what to expect.

"Before Boram Darkwill and the military rose to power, we were the rulers of Noxus." LeBlanc intoned, her flawless smile still intact. "We have governed the stability and growth of Noxus for as long as one can remember, before Darkwill was able to seize power for himself… and look what he had done."

Ellen's eyes narrowed.

"And at the moment you are trying to reclaim control of Noxus? You want the power that was once yours?"

"Naturally. Are you appalled?"

"I never wish to be involved in politics," Ellen whispered, "but I guess that cannot be avoided."

"Do not worry. You are under my protection now, Miss Paige. As long as you fulfill your duty, I can guarantee no harm will come to you."

"That's reassuring," said Ellen with half a smile. Of course she took that with a grain of salt. Politics is unpredictable and constantly changing. One may never grow too comfortable.

LeBlanc obviously understood this as well.

"Of course, you are free to exercise caution. But you should keep in mind that I am not powerless at all. As long as you do not endanger yourself and the Rose, there is nothing for you to worry about."

"And what kind of actions would you consider capable of endangering the organization?" Ellen asked, as a matter of fact.

"Anything other than what we have agreed upon, Miss Ellen Paige."

Ah. So that was how it was going to be.

"I am able to continue my independent research?"

"Yes, as long as it does not interfere with your job."

My research is my job, she was tempted to say. It was not worth antagonizing this woman. Nothing ever would be worth antagonizing her.

"I am able to travel freely between Piltover and Noxus?"

"Yes, all according to my offer. Would I lie?"

Ellen's eyes narrowed.

"I would very much say yes." she said.

LeBlanc grinned at her.

"Impeccable. I know I have not chosen the wrong person." Ellen took it to be a positive comment. "And because I have not chosen wrongly, you would understand which actions not to take, wouldn’t you, Miss Paige?"

Ellen stayed silent for a few seconds, her gaze unflinching. 

"I would." She finally replied, with her head held high and a confident tone. "Most certainly."

She hoped LeBlanc's current smile meant she was pleased.

"One more question, if you would," Ellen said, as the Matron rose and strode towards her cupboard. "Laina works for you, too. What is her job?"

"Laina is a spy," LeBlanc replied. "She delivers me news and intel from Demacia."

"She is Demacian?" asked Ellen.

"She is. Do you two get along?"

"She is not a bad person to talk to," Ellen answered neutrally. "And she is the first person I know here."

LeBlanc opened the cupboard and reached inside. She did not turn as she answered Ellen.

"She spends most of her time in Demacia, but occasionally she returns to report to me. You may see each other then." LeBlanc closed the cupboard, holding a small box in her hand. She gave it to Ellen. "Take this. Every Black Rose member carries one."

Indeed, inside was a ring with the same insignia as the letter she had received. Ellen took it out to inspect it further. The rose was made from a dark crystal and seemed to pulsate with power.

"You are one of us as long as you carry the ring," LeBlanc explained. "It is your bond to us and our bond to you. Just make sure to not wear it out in the open. It is not yet time."

"I see." Ellen put the ring back into the box. "You have my thanks, LeBlanc. I hope I will prove useful to you." she bowed at her before leaving.

"I am Emilia LeBlanc," the Matron spoke up as she turned away to leave. "I also go by "the Pale Lady". For your information."

Not helpful at all, Ellen thought. 

"It's good to know," she said. "Excuse me, Matron."

"Be careful on your way back, Ellen."

Ellen left the room, closing the door behind her, without another word.