#months ago now i put together a list of my favourite 'ironic' last words on my old blog; this is basically that minus irony

[queercontrarian]

my first azris fanfic ehehe

feels like it was just hours ago i told @iftheshoef1tz about this idea (because it was literally hours ago and i just wanted to contribute something to romance week. i know it's not technically meetcute day, but it's whatever day so i can do what i want). anyways, have the unedited first chapter of my modern azris agegap au snippet bundle - that's a lot of words. i'll shut up now. enjoy.

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Azriel is already in pain when he wakes up, which is usually a bad omen. His knee feels tender, and he hasn’t even gotten out of bed yet. It doesn’t bode well for the day he has planned, and he wonders if he should just call Cassian and cancel their hike for today. 

With a sigh he forces himself to throw the warm blanket to the side and at least get his feet on the ground. One small step towards starting this day. A coffee would be nice, he thinks, but Nesta has been on his ass to limit his consumption, which is ironic because his sister-in-law drinks much more coffee than he ever has, but if he has one now he won’t allow himself to have one at Cassian’s house later, and he definitely needs that one to make it through the afternoon and the evening without prematurely passing out on his couch. 

With nothing else to do, Azriel stands and slowly makes his way to the kitchen, and yes, the knee is definitely going to cause problems. Once again he curses himself for deciding to walk home in the dark after getting shitfaced at Cassian’s and Nesta’s party, for not seeing that dumb root sticking from the ground and for getting his foot stuck under it. Most of all for having gotten to an age where the pain in his joints doesn’t disappear after a maximum of two days. He knows that he’s not twenty-five anymore, but it’s been more than a month since the party, and he can still feel it. Maybe someone should just shoot him, like a lame horse. 

Standing in the kitchen he stares at the coffee pot on the stove, a fancy little espresso maker Rhys got him for his fifty-third birthday, along with a trip to Italy. He realises he hasn’t left these woods since that trip, except for his weekly trip to get groceries at the town’s supermarket, and visiting Rhys and Cassian at their homes located around that same forest he lives in. He’s been moving around, contained to that twenty-five mile radius, for two years. 

On second thought, maybe he will have a coffee. While he reaches for the espresso box - another expensive gift from his friends - and both his knee and his shoulder pop this time, he remembers that he went to Greece for Feyre and Rhys’ wedding. That was last year, so he can still count that towards his “recently been active” list. Hanging out with family, travelling overseas. Suck on that, Cassian, he thinks. I’m going places, I’m not rotting away all alone in my cabin. I don’t need to “get out more”. I don’t need to “meet new people”. I’m perfectly fine where I am. 

Granted, he is alone right now - he takes his eyes off the stove to look towards the window where Mr. Goggles used to sit. The cat had already been old - and named, as Az always feels the need to stress - when Feyre had given him into Azriel’s care because there was no space for him in Rhysand’s house. It wasn’t that they didn’t have the room - Rhysand’s mansion has more rooms than the two of them can possibly know what to do with - Rhys is just very allergic to cats. So Az had taken the grumpy old furball in and they had lived together for nearly three years. Now Mr. Goggles sleeps in the earth below his favourite window sill, under a small bush of white pansies that Elain says remind her of the fur pattern on his face. Azriel wonders what flowers she’ll put on his grave when he dies. Will they bury him next to the window behind his favourite armchair too? He wants to be cremated, but he’d be fine with a cardboard urn like Mr. Goggles’ casket.

The whistling and clattering of the espresso maker pulls him out of his thoughts. It’s not all that bad. Sure, maybe retiring so early was a mistake - he doesn’t need the money, he just misses having something to do - but when Cassian and Rhys left he hadn’t felt like being the only one to stay behind. Maybe he underestimated just how empty his cabin would feel once he spent more than just the nights and weekends there, with his brothers spending the majority of their time with their wives, ten miles through the forest in the homes they’d built for themselves. He’s not lonely, he doesn’t need or want anyone else in his house, or his life for that matter. The area feels crowded enough with just Old Man Schmidt down the street. Maybe he’ll get another cat. Nesta has mentioned occasionally seeing one roaming about where her office is.

While he sips his coffee he’s still debating whether to call the hike off - his body tells him yes but his brain says if he mentions it to Cassian he’ll come to his house to inspect the old injury himself, and he hasn’t even told him he fell in the first place, and he will undoubtedly notice the pathetic state of Azriel’s house. Everything is reasonably tidy, but it’s painfully obvious no other human being has stepped through the door in months, maybe even a year. The last time he had people over was for Mr. Goggles’ funeral, for Christ’s sake. Azriel shifts his weight onto the damaged knee and immediately regrets it. He bites back a pained groan, letting his head fall back against the cabinet.

Cass would tell him to see a physician. Az hates going to the doctor, and not only for the usual reasons - he hadn’t gotten the memo that it was a bad idea to sleep with, have a messy entanglement and then ditch the only medical professional for nearly 200 miles. He’s not gotten a check-up in almost four years. Neither of his brothers knows that though, and he would rather die than tell them, both about the problem and the reason behind it. Fifty-five feels like the worst age to come out to your life-long best friends. 

Summer is already fading, but the sun is still warm on Azriel’s skin. He tilts his face up to the sky as he walks, before he quickly remembers he doesn’t want to sustain another injury and he concentrates on the dirt road under his feet again. He grits his teeth through the strain on his leg and keeps walking. 

The quickest path to Cassian’s house leads him from the treeline where his cabin is straight through the clearing past Old Man Schmidt’s property and through the woods. He’s walked this path a thousand times, but something is off today. Old Man Schmidt never has guests over, but this morning there’s a new car in his driveway. When Azriel crosses the street he realises it’s not just the new car, there’s a moving van as well, and parts of the garden are ripped open from construction, old furniture and materials, tools and workers all over the lawn. Az has always been curious, and he’s a little perturbed that he hasn’t noticed what has apparently been going on for a few days already. Has he really been that disconnected from his surroundings? He wanders off the path and up to the fence, leaning against the gate. He tells himself it looks at least a little cool but really he’s just trying to take the weight off his knee. He doesn’t recognise the licence plate on the car, and he tries to look around for Schmidt but he’s nowhere to be found. The last time they spoke he hadn’t mentioned anything about wanting to sell his house. Then again, the last time they spoke was six months ago. Maybe things have changed. 

“Can I help you?” Azriel turns his head so fast it almost gives him whiplash, his carefully combed hair immediately falling into his face, obstructing his view. He was so immersed in his snooping that he hadn't noticed the man stepping up to the fence. 

“Um, yeah. I’m looking for Schmidt? Boris Schmidt, he lives here,” he manages to say, buying himself a minimal amount of valuable time as he sizes the other man up. He seems to be in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and muscular with silky short hair that is so red Azriel wonders if it’s dyed. None of Feyre’s attempts to colour her hair have turned out this perfect though, so he thinks it just might be real, or done by a very, very pricey stylist. Everything about the stranger screams expensive, from his hair to his crisp white shirt and leather boots. He even smells like it, and Azriel is suddenly very aware that out of all the things he has on, only the shirt and the underwear have been washed in the last three days, and he can’t even remember the last time he put on cologne. 

“Mr. Schmidt doesn’t live here anymore. Hasn’t for over a month,” the stranger explains, and his voice is deep and smooth, feels like it wraps itself around Azriel, sliding through his ears and into his brain, muddling his thoughts.

“Oh,” is all he can get out. There’s a short pause where the stranger only stares at Az with his amber eyes, waiting for him to say something more.

Then he asks “Are you the neighbour?”

“Yes.” He clears his throat. “Yes I am. Are you moving in?” The stranger smiles, and good Lord above he is beautiful. Azriel swallows hard around the feeling suddenly bubbling up in his chest, through his throat and spilling into his mouth. He is too old to be reacting like this over a pretty boy.

“I am. Eris Vanserra,” the stranger introduces himself, reaching his hand over the gate. Azriel shakes it.

“Azriel,” he answers, then quickly adds, “Azriel Kantor.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Azriel nearly wishes Eris would stop talking because it is incredibly hard for him to concentrate on coming up with answers when his hand is burning where the man’s skin has touched his, and this is getting ridiculous. Just because he hasn’t gotten laid in one and a half years?

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he says, and means it for once. “I, uh, I live right down there. Can’t miss it.” He vaguely gestures behind himself with the burned hand, trying to shake that feeling off. 

“Not like there’s many other houses around,” Eris replies smoothly, a faint smirk still on his lips, and Azriel has to pinch his arm to stop himself from staring. 

“Yes. Only me. But my friends live south from here right through the forest. I’m actually going to visit them-” He trails off, and unfortunately the other man picks it up right where he left it.

“Azriel,” he says, embarrassingly breathless from forcing out that one word. Way too late he realises that maybe it was intentional, maybe Eris would prefer not calling him by his first name, and not having Azriel call him by his in turn. He’s being awfully presumptuous. But Vanserra only hesitates for a moment before giving him another smile.

“Well, I don’t want to keep you." Eris is already stepping away from the fence. "I guess I’ll see you around, Mr. Kantor.”

“Azriel,” he repeats, slowly, savouring every letter. “Lovely to make your acquaintance.” He lets a few seconds pass by silently where neither of them move. Then he turns and leaves him standing at the gate, glued to the spot like an idiot.

“You too,” Az calls dumbly after him, too late and too slow. Eris doesn’t look back, only lifts his hand with the smallest hint of a wave, and Azriel quickly looks away and returns to the dirt path, hands buried in the pockets of his pants. 

Miles and hours later he can still hear the echo of his name from Eris’ lips in his mind when he raises his hand to ring Cassian’s doorbell. 

Maybe he’ll walk back later instead of having Cassian drop him off at home after the hike. His knee doesn’t seem that bad anymore.

[araekniarchive]

memento mori

Last words of Pope Alexander VI (b. 1451, d. 1503) born Rodrigo Borgia / John Doman as Rodrigo Borgia in Borgia (2011–2014)

Last words of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France (b. 1755, d. 1793), said after accidentally stepping on the foot of her executioner / Ute Lemper as Marie Antoinette in L’Autrichenne (1989)

Last words of Humphrey Bogart, American film star (b. 1899, d. 1957)

Last words of James Brown, American singer (b. 1933, d. 2006)

Alleged last words of Gaius Julius Caesar, Consul of Rome (b. 100 BC, d. 44 BC), believed to have been spoken to Marcus Junius Brutus, one of his assassins / Ciarán Hinds as Julius Caesar in Rome (2005–2007)

Last words of Anton Chekhov, Russian playwright (b. 1860, d. 1904)

Last words of Thomas Edison, American inventor and businessman (b. 1847, d. 1931)

Last word of T. S. Eliot, American poet (b. 1888, d. 1965); his wife’s name was Valerie.

Last words of Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary (b. 1863, d. 1914); he and his wife, Sophie, were assassinated in Sarajevo in 1914 by Gavrilo Princip, triggering the First World War. He repeated the phrase ‘it is nothing’ six times, before falling silent.

The alleged last words of Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara, Argentine revolutionary and politician (b. 1928, d. 1967)

Last words of Wallace Hartley, English violinist and bandleader (b. 1878, d. 1912); along with his band, Hartley famously chose to play music as the Titanic sunk in an effort to keep the passengers calm / Jonathan Evans-Jones as Wallace Hartley in Titanic (1997)

Last words of Joan of Arc, French military leader and Catholic Saint (b. 1412, d. 1431) / Jean Seberg as Joan of Arc in Saint Joan (1956)

Last words of Jack Kerouac, American writer (b. 1922, d. 1969)

Last words of Martin Luther King Jr., American minister and civil rights activist (b. 1929, d. 1968)

Last words of Philip Larkin, English poet (b. 1922, d. 1985)

Believed to be the last words of Heath Ledger, Australian actor (b. 1979, d. 2008), said during a phonecall to his sister Katie who told him it was a bad idea to mix sleeping pills with other prescriptions; Ledger died that same night after doing so.

Last words of Louis XIV, King of France (b. 1638, d. 1715) / Alan Rickman as Louis XIV in A Little Chaos (2014)

Last words of Brittany Murphy, American actress (b. 1977, d. 2009)

Last words of Vladimir Nabokov, Russian writer and lepidopterist (b. 1899, d. 1977)

Last words of Lawrence Oates, English officer and explorer (b. 1880, d. 1912); a member of the Terra Nova Antarctic Expedition, an injured Oates realised he was lowering the chances of his fellows survival, and chose to sacrifice himself so they did not have to continue caring for him. It was his 32nd birthday when he walked into a blizzard, and he was never seen again.

Last words of Anna Pavolva, Russian prima ballerina (b. 1881, d. 1931)

Last words of Pablo Picasso, Spanish artist (b. 1881, d. 1973)

Last words of Jannetje Johanna ‘Hannie’ Schaft, Dutch resistance fighter (b. 1920, d. 1945); after being shot non-fatally at close-range by one of her executioners, she taunted him with the above words.

Last words of Lucy Stone, American orator, suffragist and abolitionist (b. 1818, d. 1893)

Last words of Leo Tolstoy, Russian writer and noble (b. 1828, d. 1910)

Last words of J. M. W. Turner, English painter (b. 1775, d. 1851) / Timothy Spall as J. M. W. Turner in Mr Turner (2014)

Last words of Vincent van Gogh, Dutch painter (b. 1853, d. 1890); van Gogh died in the arms of his brother, Theo, as he wished to / Daniel Baker as Vincent van Gogh for Douglas Copeland’s I Am Vincent

Last words of Voltaire, French philosopher and writer (b. 1694, d. 1778) born François-Marie Arouet; the above was Voltaire’s response to a priest asking him to renounce Satan on his deathbed / Dustin Demri-Burns as Voltaire in The Great (2020–)

Last words of John Wayne, American actor (b. 1907, d. 1979) born Marion Robert Morrison

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

The Sight of You (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: Spencer’s disturbing dreams about his childhood bring him back to Las Vegas to face two of his childhood’s greatest enemies: his estranged father and his ex best friend.

AN: it’s a friends to enemies to lovers fic! Set in the episode “Memoriam” 4x07

Content Warnings: usual Criminal Minds stuff, mentions of child death, childhood trauma, descriptions of a dead body. Let me know if I missed anything!

Despite seeing Spencer around Pre-k, Y/N did not trot over to talk to him with their brightly coloured rucksack swinging vigorously and violently behind them. They walked faster instead once their parents had dropped them off. Spencer did his best to catch up to Y/N but lost them around the corner in the sea of students seeking their next class. He was meant to be one of them. Adjusting his glasses as they slipped down his nose, Spencer noted that he needed a new prescription before entering his own class and preparing to focus on a subject he was already well-versed in.

It was lunch time when Spencer finally found Y/N. They were sitting at the furthest end of the table in the canteen. But Y/N cowered away from him, his shoulders drawn up defensively.

“Are you OK, Y/N?” Spencer asked before getting to what was more significant to him: “Do you know when you will be free to play again?”

The next sentence out of Y/N’s mouth stung like a nettle. They stood up, their face contorted in their fit, and they pushed Spencer hard on the shoulders.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!” They cried.

They went silent when Spencer was laughed at by those who heard what was said. Just grabbed their lunch and moved away, leaving Spencer spellbound in the middle of the canteen, heartbroken and with a new opening for a potential chess partner. Maybe that man they saw last week at the park would be kind enough to join him again.

But there was no replacement for Y/N, who now never said a word when they caught a glimpse of Spencer being bullied – only dithering about on the spot before fleeing the scene moments before a teacher would show up.

Spencer was hurt; that hurt warped into hatred when he was next out with his mother and father. They were at the shopping mall and had just bought Spencer his new glasses. Going down the escalator, he saw Y/N. They were smiling and skipping between their parents, a new pair of shoes shiny on their feet.

The second they spotted the Reids, Y/N ducked behind their parents. Spencer could still see their face: brow furrowed, eyes squinting, hands shaking now that nothing was holding them. Their parents didn’t seem to notice. They kept talking and walking even as Y/N stopped in time with the Reids stepping off the escalator.

Sudden footsteps running away was what dragged the public’s attention to a suddenly absent child.

“Y/N!” The parents called out as they chased after the four-year-old. They were quick past the Reids, not stopping to say ‘hello’.

Spencer kept his eyes trained after Y/N’s fleeing form, right until his mother’s face came into view. Diana looked saddened; she too was staring after the L/Ns. Turned to his father. William was composed but his eyes were turned down and watering.

For making his parents react like that to their mere presence, Spencer despised Y/N.

---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 The burning hatred from adolescence staled once Spencer reached adulthood. The protective nature that spawned from it for his mother remained.

Which is why, when Diana Reid casually mentioned Y/N when asked about Riley Jenkins, Spencer froze up.

“You remember Y/N?” He said stiffly.

Diana didn’t notice her son’s change in tone, “Of course, you two were opposites but you got on so well. So sad what happened to them.”

The first guess was that she was referring Y/N’s repeated attempts at running away before Reid cut contact with neighbourhood gossip at age fourteen. He didn’t bother with a second attempt to understand what his mother meant.

“I don’t care about Y/N. I want to know if you remember Riley.”

“And I told you: Riley was a boy you made up.”

“No, Mom, he was a real boy who lived in our neighbourhood, and somebody killed him. And, I don't know, I think-- I think that dad might have had something to do with it.”

“He was real?”

“Yes. And...”

“He was on that little league team, too.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

The whole case was surreal - “case” being a very loose term.

When they got into his office, Spencer thought that perhaps things might simmer down a little. Unfortunately, as soon as his father spoke about their history of similarity in appearance, Spencer’s usual comfort of statistics and facts on the elderly and pets failed to conceal his abandonment issues.

William Reid was clearly affected by Spencer’s accusations, calling the idea of fitting the profile thus being Riley’s killer “absurd”. Furthermore, he was confrontational when asked for access to his files and demanded a warrant. Coupled with Lou Jenkins’ absolute certainty that William was not involved in Riley’s murder and Penelope asking him “you sure about this?” concerning invading the aforementioned files, Spencer was very close to snapping.

“I really wish people would stop asking me that.”

Then there was the envelope posted beneath his motel room door. Suspicious timing aside, there was a brand-new suspect basically handed over on a silver platter. One Gary Michaels whom Spencer couldn’t remember him but he couldn’t be sure that he didn’t know him. Uncertainty being the feeling he hated the most.

This man could fit the profile; his previous of exposing himself to a minor was a precursor to molestation. But that wasn’t what Spencer wanted to hear from the shady file slipped to direct his attention away from William.

Garcia reported back about his father’s drives, “No kiddie porn, no membership to illicit websites, no dubious emails, no chat room history.”

“What about his finances?”

Hotch joined the conversation, “We went back ten years. No questionable transactions that we can find.”

Spencer sighed while Emily decided to crack a joke: “Well, he did buy a ticket to see Celine Dion six months ago, but I think we can overlook that.”

“He’s smart. Is it possible he kept things under the table?” Spencer persisted.

“Well, of course,” Hotch answered, “But from what we can tell, Reid, he doesn’t fit the profile.”

“We can tell you other things about him, if you want to know.”

A peace offering on behalf of Emily. Clearly she had improved after her night out and subsequent hangover. Spencer gave the go-ahead and Emily listed her profile:

“He's a workaholic, he actually logs more hours than we do. He makes decent money, but he doesn't spend a lot of it. He has a modest house. He drives a hybrid. He doesn't travel much. He stays away from the casinos. Um, and according to his veterinary bills, he has a very sick cat.”

“He appears to spend most of his free time alone,” Hotch added, “He goes to the movies a lot, and he reads. And from his collection of first editions, it seems his favourite author is-”

Spencer interrupted his boss, “Isaac Asimov, I remember that one.” He pressed his lips together. They were right; William Reid did not fit the profile.

Garcia piped up once more, “He does have one other major interest. On his home computer, he's archived, like, a ka-jillion things on one common subject.”

“What?”

“You, kiddo. He's got, like, everything that's been published online. Every article you've been quoted in, pieces you've written for behavioural science journals, He even has a copy of your dissertation.”

“He's keeping tabs on you,” Rossi said, That's saying something.”

But Spencer smoothly dismissed this attempt to make excuses for his father, “Yeah, he googled me. That makes up for everything. I'm going to get some air.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

After getting said air, Spencer went to the local bar and began playing an computerised poker game. His paying attention was only to distract himself, clear his head with something he knew he could control. And thankfully, a chance interaction with a lady at the bar spawned the inspiration for a sporadic hypnosis session.

Doctor Jan Mohikian allowed them a session. Reminded of the limitations that a four-year old’s memory could provide, not including the bias he already had as a son and a profiler, Spencer lay on the couch. His feet hung over the end so that his head could be comfortable in a pillow. There was no time for self-consciousness with Rossi in the room observing. He closed his eyes and felt his hand be placed upon Doctor Mohikian’s body.

She spoke low and calmingly, “I want you to hold my wrist in your left hand. And if you should feel any fear, I want you to squeeze, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Go back to the night you were just telling me about. You're at home, in your room. You can't sleep because your parents are arguing.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His eyes were closed still, but the couch shifted into a bed. His bed. A floor below, the faint shouting between his mother and father was heard. There was someone else there too. A child wailing, and it wasn’t him.

Suddenly his father was at his side, touching his arm, saying, “I know you’re awake. Daddy loves you; you know that?”

Spencer didn’t want to be there, and then it was the following morning.

Putting his glasses, the room fell into focus. His mother was there, she didn’t see him because she was too busy looking out the window. Her body language told him that this was not a meltdown, but what she saw was distressing. She’d been crying. As she walked away into the house, she hid her face as if she knew Spencer was watching and she wanted to hide her reaction from him.

Spencer ran to the window the second Diana had left the room.

His father was in the back garden and burning clothes. A bloody shirt, a tiny cardigan, landed on top of the pile already set alight.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and wake.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 And Spencer was shocked out of the scene, back to the doctor’s couch and gripping her wrist with an iron grip. Rossi was by his side, bringing him back to peace with his voice.

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Derek was clearly disturbed that Spencer was very set on his father being a paedophilic murderer as much as he had been that Spencer was taking something that was said after his mother’s fit seriously. He continued however to assist with Rossi in Spencer’s investigation.

As if everything else hadn’t been hard enough, the captain took some time to agree to holding William Reid in custody. Finally, he settled for twenty-four hours. William was as resistant to the questions as he had been upon the initial reunion. All he could say was that he didn’t hurt Riley. Spencer wore him down, getting him to drop the Gary Michaels bomb plus the threat that he “didn’t want to go down that road”.

Garcia’s search of Gary Michaels’ DNA on the databases brought to light that their suspect was dead. Buried across state lines, beat over the head with a pipe or bat, and the body was discovered in 2001.

“Maybe it wasn’t Riley’s blood on the clothes he was burning.” Derek was about to hang up when Garcia began to speak again, a new discovery ready for her team.

“Also, Todd found something in your father’s finances. There was a standing order for a therapist, specifically a child therapist from 1985 to 1995. I thought it was for Spencer, but William left when you were twelve, and these sessions continue irregularly after he left you!”

“Who was the patient?”

“One Y/N L/N. Local to North Vegas, born 1980 to Shelly and Finley L/N.”

Both Rossi and Derek looked away from the phone to Spencer and he knew. He knew he’d have to face another villain from the past – like a knight in one of Y/N’s stories.

“Still alive?”

“Yep, already pulling up an address. There’s a lot of short leases attached to this name. Lucky for you, they keep going back to live with their parents.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure that he could handle two bitter reunions in one day.

“We’ll send off the fingerprint while we visit Y/N. They could have been a potential victim of Michaels before he died. They might know something.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was a normal home in a normal neighbourhood. Spencer had never visited Y/N’s house. Their play-dates were always at the park.

“Hello, Mr L/N,” held up their badges, “I’m Agent Derek Morgan, this is Agent David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid. May we come in and ask you some questions?”

“Sure. My wife is uh out at work at the moment,” Finley opened the door wider and stepped aside for the trio to enter, “I’m the house husband as it were.”

Looking about the kitchen, Spencer spied several photos of an adult Y/N but very few of them as a toddler and even less as a teenager.

“You have a child, Mr L/N?” Rossi asked.

“All grown up now, Y/N,” Finley smiled with a nod. Then he squinted at Spencer, “You’re not related to William Reid by chance, are you?”

Masking his bitterness, Spencer said shortly, “He’s my father.”

Finley seemed in awe at the prospect, so Derek redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand, “What was Y/N like as a child?”

Nodding still, like a bobble head, Finley looked weary at the notion, “Troubled. They were very young when they withdrew into themselves. Used to run away from home a lot. I don’t know what happened, but Y/N never told us.” He then jumped to protect his child’s reputation at present, “They’re doing better now, went to therapy and they’re doing very well for themselves.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Rossi replied.

Finley continued his defence of Y/N, “They’re a published author, they write fantasy things for kids and young adults. We’re very proud of them.”

“Did Y/N know Riley Jenkins when they were a child?”

“Riley Jenkins, that’s Lou’s kid who died, right?” Finley sought confirmation and, when he had it, he spoke, “Not personally. I think they might have played at the park once or twice. Before he died, Y/N would play with anyone. But you… you know that.” And Finley gestured to Spencer, much to his disgust.

“Is Y/N in the area?” Spencer asked briskly.

“Well, they’re due for a visit in a few hours. They went on holiday.”

“They still live with you?”

“A month ago, they got a new flat in the city. But they’ve got their own room here, for whenever they need it.”

“May we see it?”

The wallpaper was barely visible beneath exam revision notes, posters of Fresh sheets on the bed and the clear space on the floor were the only tidy things about the place. It was a haven of organised clutter.

A chess set caught Spencer’s eye. It sat upon the windowsill, recently dusted. The pieces were not that of a classic set; each was painted prettily but with enough error to indicate it was a personal touch.

“You and Y/N were close then?” Derek was holding up a photo album. Upon inspection, the photograph the page was open on was of Spencer and Y/N dressed up for Halloween as Doctor Frankenstein and the Monster respectively – accurate to the book of course.

“Yeah, ‘were’,” Spencer turned back to the chess set. He didn’t bother to ask when his friends had figured out he knew Y/N.

Rossi decided to further test the waters, “You think that Y/N could have killed Riley?”

“Of course not. A four-year-old couldn’t kidnap, tie up, rape, and kill a boy their own age. No violent history that indicates they would ever do something like this. Do I think that Y/N knows something about what happened and my father is trying to keep them quiet? Yes.”

Rossi moved beside Spencer, picking up the knight. Except it wasn’t a knight. It was a wizard of some kind in purple robes.

“We’ll stay up here for a bit then go down once Y/N’s inside and settled,” He gestured with the knight to the window. Spencer blanched as he spied a cab at the end of the driveway. The trunk was open and someone was retrieving a suitcase from within.

Y/N appeared around the corner, waving off the cab and turning to the house. Mr L/N appeared on the drive and they met in the middle for a hug. Over Mr L/N’s shoulder, Spencer could see that Y/N had grown into their chubby childhood features. They looked genuinely happy.

He would have to go through with it, but he didn’t have to like it. And he couldn’t go hide in the bathroom like with his father.

The trio plodded down the stairs when the sound of the front door closing was replaced with a joyous gathering in the kitchen. It all changed when Y/N went to take off their jacket and caught sight of the three FBI agents standing in the doorway. Taking out his badge, Rossi led the way.

“Hello, Y/N, I’m Agent David Rossi, this is Agent Derek Morgan, and Doctor Spencer Reid. We’re looking into the death of Riley Jenkins, and we were hoping to ask you some questions.”

To the naked eye, very little changed about Y/N’s appearance. To the three profilers, there was a visceral reaction: Y/N’s right hand started trembling, the hard swallow, the dropping of their gaze from Spencer to the floor.

“OK,” They said, a great deal quieter than they had been with their father.

Rossi sat next to Y/N at the dinner table. Derek was beside Rossi; Spencer stayed standing. Mr L/N stayed in the kitchen, at Y/N’s request.

“Can you tell us what you remember about Riley?” Rossi began.

“Not very much, I don’t really remember much about school.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Spencer blurted, “Well, I do.”

Derek glanced back at him with a look that just screamed “shut the hell up”. It seemed to cut down Y/N’s resolve, their jaw quivering.

“Sorry, can you give me a moment?” They stood up quick, the chair legs scraping loudly against the floor as they walked just as fast to the kitchen. Through the open door, Rossi, Derek, and Spencer watched Y/N grab a glass from the open dishwasher. The water from the tap hit the bottom of the glass harsh, crashing out like a wave of the ocean hitting a cliff. Y/N didn’t seem to care. Their hand dripped water onto the surface as they chugged back some of the drink before returning to the table with a topped-up glass.

“Are you alright?” Rossi inquired, leaning closer to Y/N.

They answered wearily, “Fine, just feeling woozy.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer too. My mom reads your stuff before bed.”

“Bit of an odd nightcap,” Rossi said with a little chuckle.

Y/N shared that smile for the briefest of moments, replying “You’re telling me.”

From their pocket, they pulled out some painkillers, popping them back with a slug of water then speaking again. “I remember Riley was smaller than me. Still figuring out coordination, but he liked to play chase. I know he was killed; I didn’t find out how until I looked into it last year.”

“Why did you look into it?” Rossi gently probed.

Y/N rubbed two fingers back and forth across their head as they spoke, “I was back here, I felt sick so I went for a walk in the park, and I just remembered him tripping over while trying to tag me. No one ever told me what happened, just that he had to go away. I wanted to know what happened to him.”

“Are you sick often?” Derek asked suddenly, his voice soft to match Rossi. Spencer grimaced at the treatment Y/N was receiving but said nothing.

“Headaches and stomach aches mostly.”

“You get them whenever you come home?”

“I do. Figured I was allergic to something but never figured out what.”

That would have to be a very quick response, like a dog allergy. And coincidental, seeing as the symptoms didn’t start until they saw Spencer.

“Y/N?” called their father, “Can you come here a moment please?”

“May I?”

“Of course,” said Derek and Y/N was out of the room. Derek pivoted in his chair to include Spencer in his theory, “I think they know something, but they don’t know they know it. I think they repressed this memory like you did, Spencer. We should take him to the therapist, see if we can jog his memory.”

“You can’t be serious,” Spencer covered his face with his hands, dragging them down with irritation.

Derek was persistent though, “Spencer, like it or not, Y/N’s linked to this investigation. Put aside your differences for a moment, please.”

Spencer all but squawked, “Put aside my differences?”

“You have brought a lot of bias to this case. Let us at least pursue this lead.”

“Sorry,” Y/N interrupted Spencer’s retort, sitting back at the table, “He needed someone to get unhook the loft door. Mom usually does it.”

“That’s alright.” Rossi waved a hand dismissively. Once Y/N accepted that, he moved in with Derek’s suggestion, “You know, some people have strong physical reactions to memories, trauma. Maybe you’re not getting sick. You’re rejecting something.”

“Rejecting?” repeated Y/N. There was no doubt in their voice, more cautious curiosity.

Derek nodded, “A memory, repressing it, and your body has linked the physical responses to your home. We think it has something to do with this case, and we’d like to see if we can retrieve any memories you might have. Would you be alright to come with us?”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though they didn’t sound too certain, “Yeah sure.”

The resigned, too tired look on their face, and Spencer felt a tug in his chest. A longing to see Y/N smile like they had when they first entered the house. He’d rather hate someone who was happy than someone who suffered the same as him.

Leaving the house, Spencer took a deep breath of fresh air.

“Spencer?”

He ignored Y/N’s voice for a moment, but he couldn’t disregard Y/N standing in front of him and speaking again, “Spencer, can we talk please?”

“I’m busy,” He said, already walking off as he pretended to call someone, “Hey Garcia.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “Hold onto my hand, use it as an anchor, and squeeze when you feel fear.” Doctor Mohikian accepted Y/N’s hand on her wrist and their silence nod as they lay back on the same couch Spencer had been just hours before.

“I want you to think back to your childhood, back to when you were five. You’re at the park, your parents are on a bench watching nearby to keep you safe. What do you see?”

“Spencer Reid.”

Derek and Rossi glanced at Spencer, who did not react. They kept quiet so that Y/N could immerse themselves in the hypnosis.

“What’s he doing?” Doctor Mohikian continued.

“Teaching me chess.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Sat on opposite sides of the table, Spencer and Y/N’s eyes were glued to the chess pieces that were neatly organised between them. Spencer was thinking strategy. He could not say the same for his companion Y/N. They reached a hand out and hovered over the pieces before finally selecting their last knight.

Their tongue clicked as Y/N trotted the piece on the spot.

“What’s this one again?”

“The knight,” Spencer recited, “It moves two spaces up, down, left or right, and another step perpendicular to the first direction.”

“Brave creatures riding into battle,” Y/N narrated before continuing their clip-clopping to its new position, “Pawns in the game of war.”

Spencer didn’t understand how they were coming up with this whilst playing. Well, actually, he did. Because Y/N was clearly not playing to win. They were playing for the best possible story.

“Where do you think this story will end?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying,” said Y/N, pushing back the sleeves of their white cardigan, “Come on, you can tell me, with your magic powers.”

“It’s not magic. It’s logic.”

“That’s magic to me,”

Narrowing his eyes, Spencer decided that he should give his friend the information they sought: “I see checkmate in fifteen moves.”

“See? Magic! The gift of sight!” crowed Y/N, clapping their hands together. The cardigan sleeves fell back in place as they did so. Spencer felt his cheeks heat up; he dropped his head so he could smile in privacy while Y/N began to decide their next move.

“How’s your mommy today?”

Shrugging, Spencer said, “Better than normal. But that means a bad day is around the corner.”

Y/N nodded solemnly. “Do you want another ice cream? I got more birthday money.”

“No thank you.” Spencer moved the piece but was immediately intercepted by Y/N, “You’re getting better.”

“Fank you.”

“You’ll have to wait longer to beat me though.” And he snatched Y/N’s knight away, just as planned and much to Y/N’s dismay.

A new voice from their left spoke, “Hey you’re pretty good.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Y/N’s grip tightened on Doctor Mohikian’s wrist, “Someone’s with us.”

“Who do you see?” Doctor Mohikian asked patiently.

“A man. He’s asking us if he can watch us play, listen to the story.”

“Do you want him to stay?”

“No,” Y/N flinched, “But Spencer keeps talking to him. The man won’t go away.”

“It’s OK, it’s OK, you’re safe, Y/N.”

Y/N flinched again, this time letting out a whimper, “He’s on the floor.”

“Spencer is?”

“No, the man.”

“What’s he doing on the floor?”

“He’s,” Y/N began panting, their face tensing and body jerking, “I can’t get to him. There’s glass in the way and the ground is shaking.”

“Y/N.”

“I can’t look, I’ll be sick! Whenever I see them, sick.”

“OK, you’re going to wake up in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1!”

Their eyes snapped open with the click of the fingers and Y/N leapt out of Doctor Mohikian’s couch. Their head aimed over the bin by the door and they retched. Nothing came up but their stomach continued to squeeze up

Spencer fidgeted in his seat, trying his best not to look at Y/N. The choice words of the session, three in particular, wrapped around his head.

“Floor”.

Y/N had seen Gary Michaels inside, somewhere that wasn’t the park.

“Glass”.

A window, Y/N was watching what Gary Michaels was doing.

“Sick”.

“Go away! I can’t look at you! You make me feel sick, you and your family!”

“Them”.

It wasn’t just Michaels in the room alone. They had been a witness to his murder.

Derek’s movement to help Y/N took Spencer out of his analysis. Sweaty, Y/N was led back to the couch, the bin between their legs, head lolling forward. Spencer tried to move beside them for questioning, but Y/N winced and began heaving again. He felt that ache in his chest again. He was causing this and nothing he could do would change that. Not until they both knew what happened to Riley and Y/N got help through it.

“What did you see, Y/N?” Derek asked as he replaced Spencer’s spot beside them.

With watering eyes, Y/N looked at Spencer, “The man we played with, he was on the floor. His head – thank you.” They accepted the water from Doctor Mohikian, gulping some back, “It was smashed in.”

The three agents left the room, Doctor Mohikian following after Y/N left to get some air.

“It’s logical to assume that Y/N tied that sickness, that repulsion because of what they thought they saw your mother be involved with, to you and your family,” Doctor Mohikian evaluated.

Interrupting again, Spencer stammered his way through his analysis, “That’s why they avoided me. They associated me with being ill. It’s probably also why they ran away so much; they had to get away from this horrible feeling they had associated with their home.”

Doctor Mohikian shook her head, “We won’t be able to use this in court, I told you when we started.”

Derek’s phone started to ring. As he answered, Spencer somehow managed to slip away for long enough to find Y/N. They were leaning against the ramp’s railing in front of the practice, their body lifting and slumping with each deep breath they took. Against his better judgement, he moved toward them.

“Y/N? Can I have your number?”

The breathing slowed again.

“I need it to call you with an update on the situation as soon as we get one.”

Without looking up, Y/N pulled out their phone and handed it over to Spencer. He punched his number in a new contact, using this time to gather the courage to maybe say something else. The hurt and pain went beyond him now. Y/N was suffering and had been much longer than he had.

“Thank you, Y/N,” Spencer said quietly, hoping that his didn’t add to the illness, “I hope you feel better soon.”

Their head still down, Y/N croaked, “You too, Spencer.”

“Spencer, get over here! We got a match on a print on Michaels’ body!”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“What makes you think Gary Michaels killed your boy?”

“He admitted it,” Lou Jenkins said, as monotonous as he had been for the last fifteen minutes of the interrogation.

Derek’s quickfire was on Jenkins instantly, “You beat a guy with a baseball bat, he's going to admit to a lot of things. How do you know he was the right guy?”

“I know. He approached another kid in the neighbourhood.”

“And how do you know that?

“I was told by a concerned party.”

“Who? Another parent?”

Jenkins leant back in his chair, “That's all I'm going to say on the subject.”

“Who was it?” Spencer suddenly spoke up.

Caught off guard at his interjection, Jenkins awkwardly parroted himself, “I told you that's all I'm going to say on the sub—"

Reid slammed his hands on the table, getting right up in Lou’s face, “Who was it?”

The door opened, Detective Hyde appeared, “Agent Reid?”

“Do not interfere with this interrogation, detective,” shouted Spencer, “This is not your case anymore!”

Once again, he was cut off. This time, by the arrival of his own mother, Diana, and her admission of guilt: “Spencer, it was me”.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  Of all the things this case had brought him, Spencer least expected to be sitting in a room with his mother and father together for the first time in years. To have Diana explain to him how she was involved in a child’s murder was also up there with the unthinkable.

But he stayed quiet and listened to her confession.

The reveal that she had seen Gary Michaels playing chess with him and Y/N, that she and got a feeling that something was wrong before anything had even happened, opened the story. Lou Jenkins’ involvement was next on the menu. Two days after the chess game, he drove Diana to Michaels’ house, disclosed his history of child abuse, and demanded she leave while he went into the house.

Upon reaching the point where she entered the house, Diana struggled with her words. William reached over and took her hand.

She described seeing Lou with the bat, standing over the body, slipping in the pool of blood, finding Y/N standing in the window and their face, their little face as innocent as the white cardigan that covered their shoulders and absorbed the blood from Diana’s hands as she shook their shoulders.

“And the rest... It's all dark after that.”

William continued for her. Diana came home and brought Y/N with her. Eventually he came to understand what had happened and decided that nobody could ever know.

“You were burning her bloody clothes,” Spencer concluded.

His father nodded, “But the knowing, you can't burn that away. It changes everything.”

“You paid for Y/N to go to therapy.”

William didn’t seem surprised that Spencer knew this, going straight into explaining: “They went into a dissociative fugue state after seeing what Lou had done. When Diana brought them home, they were just stiff. I asked them for their home number, to call their parents, but they started screaming and throwing up. We had to take them to the police station.” He mopped his brow with a handkerchief, “They needed help, but their parents couldn’t afford it. And they didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t drag another person into this, Spencer.”

“Is this why you left?”

“I tried to keep us together, Spencer. I swear to you, but the weight of that knowledge, it was too much.”

“You could have come back. Could have started over.”

“I didn't know how to take care of you anymore. When I lost that confidence, there was no going back. What's done is done.”

“At least now you know the truth,” Diana made an effort to smile at her son

Choking on his words and the overwhelming remorse he felt, Spencer refused to look at his parents any longer, “I was wrong about everything. I'm sorry.”

And William said something that Spencer had been waiting for, for a long time, “I am, too, Spencer.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

  All of this was repeated when Spencer walked with Y/N through their old park the following day. Filling the final gaps in the memory would hopefully bring some respite to them both. Or at least maybe something to start the recovery process, easing Y/N’s sickness and Spencer’s pain.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour during this case,” Spencer sniffed, “When you said we made you sick, back when we were four, I thought you had seen my mom during one of her episodes and thought she was a freak, like everyone else.”

That stopped Y/N in their tracks, their hands coming up to cover their mouth, their eyes misty, “Oh Spencer, I’m sorry too, I’m so, so sorry I caused you so much pain.”

Spencer’s hands rushed up as if to create belated damage control, “It’s ok! I hurt you too. I made you sick.”

“That wasn’t your fault though.”

“It wasn’t yours either. We were kids.”

Almost pedantic, stropping, like a child again, Y/N moaned, “It’s all been such a waste. We could have been friends all this time!”

“We can be friends now,” Spencer pushed his hands down into his pockets to stop them flailing about anymore. His sentence was phrased more like a question.

One that Y/N gladly answered, “I would like really that.”

Sitting in the reply for a moment, Spencer followed up on his concerns, “How are you feeling? I mean, are you feeling sick again?”

“A bit, but I can handle it.”

Spencer could not see any changes in their behaviour from the day before. So obviously they were lying about that. But he didn’t protest. The lie meant Y/N wanted to stay with him, which was good - Spencer wanted that too.

They kept walking, only in silence for half a minute before Spencer broke it again, “I read your books last night.”

“Yeah?”

“‘The Siege of the Lost Faiths’ in Rogue’s Mask, that was our first game of chess.”

“It had by far the best narrative,” Y/N dragged their shoe a little on the grass before coming to a stop, “Do you still play?”

“All the time.”

They nodded over to where the old chess tables still stood, “Fancy a game before you go?”

Spencer grinned, “Just promise that this is the only setting where we’ll be on conflicting sides from now on.”

“Promise.”

Brushing the debris from the table, they both took their places opposite each other. From Y/N’s bag was revealed a box, spilling their painted chess pieces across the board. Remembering how they had stood in Y/N’s room, Spencer helped to set up the match. They took their seats opposite one another. Y/N was the green side, Spencer the purple.

Spencer moved first. After a second’s deliberation, Y/n moved their pawn.

“Isn’t there a story with this one?” Spencer said, an implicated teasing in his tone despite his shyness.

With an equally bashful eye roll, Y/N started their new story, “First begins the battle with the royals on both sides sending intrepid messengers to meet and pass along their deeds.”

Spencer took Y/N’s pawn. As he lifted their piece away, he spoke quietly, “One not as intrepid as the other.”

A gasp dropped from Y/N’s smile. He had never joined in the narrative telling before, always too taken up in the match to invest in whatever story they spun. 

“He’s not a coward,” They said, still smiling, much to Spencer’s delight, “Prisoner’s dilemma, he just couldn’t trust the other with his life.”

“Did they know each other before this battle?”

“Yes,” Y/N moved a knight across, stealing Spencer’s pawn, “They were brothers who once shared a crib and now they share a grave.”

Throughout the game, Y/N continued the story with Spencer asking questions just to hear them talk more. The maturity of the stories had grown just as Y/N’s voice had. They knuckled their eyes a few times, but they didn’t complain about the headache.

“I know what endings you like,” Spencer moved his rook, “Checkmate in five.”

Y/N didn’t seem to mind that little dig, “This’ll have to be a short story instead then.”

Spencer’s next sentence got away from him, trailing off the closer he got to the end of it, “You could write an anthology series, if we see each other again and play more games.”

Where Spencer’s voice disappeared, Y/N’s returned with invigoration, “That’s not a half bad idea, Spencer.”

The checkmate never came. Y/N diverted the ending into a draw.

“A peace treaty has been forged by the survivors, because too many lives have been lost to justify this violence anymore. If only they realised sooner that no blood had to be shed for peace to rule the lands.” And they smiled at Spencer, clearly chuffed as they leaned back in their chair, “Bit of an upgrade from the horse noises, I’ll say.”

Spencer rotated the purple knight – the illusionist – between his thumb and forefinger, “I liked the horse noises.”

“You should have said during the match! I’d recreate them, for you.”

One by one, the pieces were placed back into their box until the last piece remained in Spencer’s palm: the knight or Soren the Illusionist, distractions and deceptions but he loved the tricks that delighted most of all. Just like Spencer with his magic tricks but a little to the left. The character was always one of Y/N’s favourites. Some solace away from the pain of thinking of who he was based on.

Y/N pushed Spencer’s hand away, closes his fist around it, “Keep him. He was made with you in mind anyway.”

The information sank in and Spencer’s nose wrinkled with the little smile on his face as he cupped the little Illusionist, “I’m Soren?”

Nodding, Y/N confirmed, “You’re Soren.”

“But what about your set though?”

“I can always make and paint another knight,” and Y/N tilted the piece upside down in Spencer’s hand, revealing the signature on the underside, “You and him are the originals, it’s only fair you stay together.”

In a moment of pure instinct and nostalgia, Spencer clicked his tongue as he twisted Soren in time with the noise. Y/N let out a burst of laughter that dragged the air out of Spencer’s chest.

“Hey, do you wanna get dinner tonight?” He said, running out of breath very quickly as a result.

It had a similar effect on Y/N, “I thought you – don’t you have to get back to Virginia?”

“I have time for dinner. For you.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 The bookstore was packed but the breath of the patrons was held as one. All eyes were watching the mini stage where a crouching figure lifted their head up slowly. A jump as the tension broke with the figure leaping up to their feet with a bang.

Y/N pushed up the brim of their cap. Snatching a deep green hoodie from the purple trunk – silver constellations painted on the sides – they swung it over their back before picking up the page where they had left off.

“Nasima looked up at Mason and said, ‘Well that was just unnecessary.’”

A burst of laughter shot through the pre-teens in the front row, spreading to the adolescents sitting further back who had grown up with the author’s other works, finally reaching the adults at the back where Spencer was fiddling with his cane. He adjusted the sleeve of his costume absentmindedly. He was just like everyone else in the room: captivated by how Y/N was so immersed in their reading.

They had just mimed kicking down a door, plus sound effects from their mouth. Swapping back and forth between the two conflicting characters arguing with one another, changing between the hoodie and the cap with every other line of dialogue and taking both off for the role of the narrator, it was certainly a workout.

An exaggerated breath was drawn into Y/N’s lungs, flopping over in a melodramatic state, which caused another laugh in the audience.

Spencer’s nose scrunched up as he grinned. He knew this was part of the scene; he’d seen Y/N rehearse this story in their sitting room. It was so much better to share this with an audience, for their reactions to fuel Y/N’s energy.

Y/N finished the short story A Battle of Bent Truths with a flourish, leaving the rest of the anthology for their audience to read in their own time. The kids were up on their feet first. Some of them were jumping up and down as they applauded with the rest of the shop. Y/N gave a big grin as they bowed, sweeping their cap off for extra drama.

There was a book signing and a photographer that followed, and Spencer waited patiently at the end of the queue, thankful that the store allowed him to bring a chair along with him. He was happy to entertain his godson and friends with a few tricks to pass the time.

“Another one please!” Henry jumped up and down when Spencer revealed his card.

A minor commotion arose by the photographer’s backdrop. There was a teenager was crying; she was clutching her copy of Untold Tales of Human Nature. Y/N was holding their shoulders, rubbing gently and speaking softly. Only half paying attention to his next trick, Spencer kept an eye on Y/N as they hugged the teenager, looking near tears themselves.

“Spencer?” J.J tapped him on the shoulder and Spencer realised that Henry was looking a little mad to have lost his godfather’s attention so easily.

“Sorry, Henry, can you pick another card please?”

When they reached the front of the queue, JJ went up first and took Henry and his pals up to see Y/N. They instantly recognised JJ and welcomed her with a tight hug. Henry was delighted to see his favourite babysitter and show them off to his school friends, boasting that they had read to him before today.

“They read me bits for bedtime, Mommy!”

“I know!” JJ tickled his cheek, “I read them to you too.”

“Who do you like better?”

“Mommy,”

Y/N gasped, dropping to their knees which made Spencer wince, “Henry, you wound me!”

Rossi approach next, knowing that once Spencer got to Y/N, they would not be left alone.

“You really know how to captivate an audience,” He kissed them on both cheeks, “Though don’t take offence if I don’t use the same tricks at my readings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it! Thank you for coming.”

Y/N then caught Spencer’s eye and began meandering over to him with a smile they were desperately trying to stifle. Spencer rose from his chair, meeting Y/N in the middle.

“Hi, Spencer.”

With his free arm, Spencer flaunted his cloak, “Who is Spencer? I’m Soren the Illusionist!”

Giggles from his godson, his godson’s gang, his co-workers and friends, they almost caused Y/N to lose their composure. They held on just long enough to continue the banter.

“Oh, forgive me, you look so much like my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm, he must be very handsome,”

And Y/N burst into peals of laughter, waving their hands about, “OK, stop, stop, stop, I can’t.”

“Hey!” Spencer pretended to take offence, pouting as Y/N brought him into a hug.

“Don’t worry,” They kissed his cheek between giggles, “You are so very handsome.”

“To think you were once sick at the sight of me.”

[atsukashii]

❝chance encounter❞ // k. takami

SYNOPSIS: ➛ bickering with Japans number 2 hero about ice cream flavours in a supermarket wasn’t how you expected to spend your Friday night

» CHARACTER PAIRING: keigo takami/hawks x reader

» WORD COUNT: 2.9K

» GENRE: normal?

» WARNINGS: swearing & fluff and just crack really

« masterlist || ao3 »

You had been craving mint chocolate ice cream literally all day. But then again, craving anything with exceedingly high levels of sugar and crap-loads of chocolate wasn’t anything new recently. In times like these, owning your own bakery was both the best decision you’ve ever made, and a huge mistake. Considering you had been up since three am baking away in the kitchen of your cafe and had snacked on basically one of every sweet thing that came out of the oven and anything you had in the display cabinet, if you kept this up you’d have to get a gym membership. But right now, you wanted mint chocolate ice cream. You look down at your stomach and for a moment, the thought of eating healthily crosses your mind. The thought is, however, instantly pushed out by the idea of you, on your couch, in your pj’s, with a pint of mint chocolate ice-cream, watching TV and de-stressing about the absolutely crappy day you had. That sounds way better. 

Walking straight down the candy aisle of the supermarket, you don't even bother glancing at your basket as you toss in chocolates, chips, soft drinks, and any unhealthy food you can physically get your hands on. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an old lady coming towards you with a trolley, who looks up from her list, and eyes your basket with disdain. 

Cut me some slack, you want to snap at her, I’m heartbroken and pissed off! 

You ignore the dirty look she gives you, and snatch a bottle of Coke off the shelf. You were very much aware that you currently looked like you had been digging through garbage all day. Your clothes - even though you wore an apron - no doubt have flour on them, your hair looks like a rat made its home on your head, and your eyes dry and itchy from crying. You knew you looked like a mess, you have just surpassed the threshold of actually caring about your appearance. Like your ex didn’t care about showing up at your shop with his new thing after dumping me only two weeks ago… 

The second your friend and co-owner of the cafe saw him in the store, they kicked him out, wielding the broom like a weapon. You had wished that they smacked him in the face with it, but fearing assault charges - they didn’t. He didn’t leave however, until after he had flaunted his new relationship in your face. You had thankfully moved on past the whole, ‘why’ stage of the breakup, and came to the conclusion it was purely because he was a trash human being.  However, to say that it didn’t hurt seeing him holding another girl’s hand and acting like he used to do with you, with someone else - well that would be a lie. It had been two weeks after all, and considering you had been together for two years - it felt as if those 24 months had meant nothing to him. 

So now, you wanted to drown your pain in chocolates, and mint chocolate ice cream and no one was going to stand in your way.

You walk over to the freezer section of the store with confidence in your step, suddenly excited to get home and start bingeing the romance section on Netflix. That enthusiasm quickly dies as you reach for the handle of the freezer, your eyes locking onto the empty row where your favorite ice cream flavor always sat. You’re joking… You blinked at the glass as if trying to force the food into being before you. 

There. Is. None. Left.

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now,” you groan. Of all days for there to be a shortage, it had to be today. You look down at your basket of Oreos, pocky’s, soft drink, chips, and everything else you had craved the second you saw it on the shelves. I’d trade it all for ice cream though… Resting your head on the cold glass of the freezer, you let out a groan of frustration. This was just the topping to an already crappy day. It was ironic when people say not to cry over spilled milk - and here you were wanting to cry over ice cream.

“Tough day?” A voice startles you away from the fridge. Following the sound, your head snaps to your left where your eyes immediately meet a golden pair that have your lungs spluttering and frantically, trying to figure out how the heck to breathe. Okay, he’s attractive. Like really attractive. His golden eyes are practically glowing at you with amusement, his hair looking like liquid gold - and super soft. You kinda want to touch it. In washed-out black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a denim jacket stopping the cold from the open freezers, he looks too attractive to be real. But then your eyes lock onto the red wings, peeking from behind his shoulders and you know who he is in an instant. The question though, was why the heck the number two pro hero Hawks was even currently talking to you right now. Realizing you hadn’t answered him yet, and instead, were just checking him out instead for god knows how long, you clear your throat and reply.

“Tough week.” You correct, pulling yourself together before looking down at your basket again, hoping it doesn’t look as pathetic as the rest of you. “And to top it off, there’s none of my favourite ice cream left.” Letting out a groan, you shift on your feet. You don’t know why you just said that maybe you didn’t want the attractive blonde hero to go just yet. 

With an over-dramatic wince, Hawks leans his shoulder against the glass, as chilled out as the food inside the freezer. “Ouch, I know that feeling. That’s true betrayal,” he says, his eyes playful. It brings a small smile to your lips, and he takes that as an opportunity to stick out his hand to you. “Keigo Takami,” Hawks introduces himself as if you didn’t know who he was. Maybe he doesn’t think you would know… With a friendly smile and butterflies flying frantically inside your stomach, you shake his hand.

“Y/n Y/l/n. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, trying not to think about how big his hand is compared to your own. God, was there flour on your hands right now? You prayed you had managed to wash it all off fully and that you didn’t suddenly look as run-down as you thought you did. Quickly -but not too fast to make him think you didn’t want to touch him- you drop the handshake and wipe your hands as inconspicuously as you can, on your jeans. 

“Beautiful name,” he glances at the empty ice-cream shelf. “But a girl with questionable choices in ice cream flavours.” You gape at Keigo in utter shock. Oh, he did not just say that.

“You did not just say that.” You repeat out loud. 

“I’m afraid so.” He answers, one hand in his pocket the other holding his basket, and a care-free smile covering his lips. “Who likes mint choc anyways?” For a moment you sputter for a response at this blatant ridicule against the best ice-cream flavour to ever exist. You will happily fight anyone on that, including the number two pro hero in Japan.

“Intelligent people, that’s who.” You argue back. “I bet you’re the kind of person whose favourite is vanilla.” His golden eyebrows shoot up at your words. 

“What’s wrong with good old fashioned vanilla Y/n?” Your name slips off his tongue like pure honey and it would normally send shivers down your spine. No, you will not look past this obvious disrespect against your ice cream preferences, not even for hot guys. No, you will not.

“It’s the most boring flavour to ever exist.”

“And mint choc isn’t?” He asks like it's a loaded question. Shaking your head at both his uneducated taste buds and this whole conversation, it begins to dawn on you that you’re smiling. When was the last time you smiled a lot recently? You question yourself, trying to wind back through your hazy memories of the past two weeks - and coming up with nothing.

“Mint chocolate is the best. You should tell your taste buds that what the ice-cream they think they enjoy is crappy ice-cream.” and Hawks is grinning at you, it’s a smile that is contagious, and has your own growing bigger with every passing word. 

“I’ll be sure to let them know.” God this whole conversation was one of the weirdest you had ever had in your life. And the fact that you had it with a pro hero, and Hawks for that matter...that just made it thirty times more strange. Looking back to the freezer, you decide you still want ice cream and settle for strawberry and cream, which earns a look from hawks as you put it in your basket. 

“Shut up,” you defend, fake glaring at the blonde. Holding his hands up feigning innocence, Keigo shrugs at you.

“I didn’t say anything sweet-cheeks.” Your cheeks in question flush hotly at the term, and you quickly fiddle with the handle of your basket, giving you something to do so you don’t stand there looking like a complete idiot at his blatant flirting. 

“But if you’re going to question my taste buds, then yours must be just as bad. Because last time I checked, Wagon Wheels were still way better than Oreo's.” His eyes meet yours, delight swirling inside his liquid golden irises and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out your lips, shaking your head slightly.

“Okay, you’re definitely crazy.”

“Only a little bit,” Keigo smirks before his smile falls at the contents of your basket. You square your shoulders, knowing that there’s a chance that he might give you shit for its contents like that old lady from before. But the words that do come from his mouth surprise you.

“Was that the last KitKat?” Immediately, you look at the red packaging of the chocolate block inside your basket, and then back to the pro hero who is now gazing at it like it's made of diamonds. Hawks look’s like you imagine you had when you’d grabbed it off the shelf, seeing that it was the last one and deciding that it had to be some sort of sign that things were looking up for you. That was, of course, before you had seen the travesty of the empty mint chocolate shelf of the supermarket freezer. 

“I’ll trade you.” Keigo suddenly says, making you eye the man. “I’ll trade you the KitKat for this,” he finishes, reaching into his basket and… pulls out a fucking tub of choc mint ice cream. Are you kidding me??

“You’re joking.” Staring at him, at the sheepish smile across his face, you shake your head.

“Afraid not.” He tilts his head at you. “That is unless you don’t want it…” going to lower the tub back into his basket, a noise comes out of your throat that has him smirking again. Embarrassment flooding your features, you shift slightly and glare at the hero.

“I thought you didn’t like that flavour?” You point out, wanting to know what the hell was going on. 

“Oh no I do - it's one of my favourites. I just needed a reason to keep on talking to you,” Keigo admits unashamedly as you feel your cheeks warm again. If I was ever questioning if he was hitting on me…

“Oh,” is all you can manage to get out before your brain begins to catch up with the world again. “Well, in that case, I’ll trade.” Agreeing, you pass him the chocolate block and he gives you the tub of ice cream, your hand brushes him and you try not to act like a crazy person about how attracted to him you are.

“Thank you,” you try to say but it comes out as a slight whisper. His mouth morphs into a cocky smile, which just makes you flush even more.

“No, thank you y/n” he says, shaking the Kit-kat for emphasis in his hand. “They’re the best chocolate to ever exist.”

“Finally we agree on something,” You laugh, finally turning you back on the freezer and begin to walk backward, away from the hero. When he notices you moving from him, with every step away from that you make, he takes one forward, following you through the store.

“No, we agreed on the ice-cream too,” he beams.

“That’s right because really, you were just being an ass and hiding that fact from me.” You sass back, spinning around so you can see where you’re going.

“In order to keep talking to you, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.” He says, hurrying forward until you are walking side by side down a different aisle, moving slowly towards the checkout. Your footsteps are both slow and leisurely as if neither of you wants to reach the check out just yet. “But it worked, didn’t it? So I’d say it was worth your glare.” You turn that ‘glare’ back on him and raise an eyebrow at his antics. 

“You could have said something else you know.”

“Such as?” He asks, genuinely curious. You weren’t an intimidating person, so you weren’t sure as to why a guy such as Hawks would be wary of approaching you. Especially when the reality is that those roles are definitely reversed. Was your resting bitch face that bad?

“You could have said, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute. Can I have your number?” Rolling his eyes at your words, disbelievingly. 

“You’re telling me that line would work on someone like you?” Unsure if that was a compliment or not, you stop in the middle of the aisle causing him to stop next to you. You look into his eyes, trying to judge where his mind is but he’s hard to read. The only thing you knew, was that his smile seemed genuine and very amused by you. That was good enough for you.

“Try me.” You test, confidence coming up from who knows where. With raised eyebrows and calling your bluff, Hawks smirks at you. 

“Hey y/n, I know we just met but I think you’re really cute. Can I have your number?” He teases.

“Sure.” Keigo blinks at you for a moment, then two - as if he can’t believe the words that came out of your mouth. First, it comes out slowly, then all at once, the corners of his mouth pull up into a dazzling smile, and a deep laugh rumbles from his chest. It’s the smile though, and the happiness that seeps from him that has your head feeling dizzy. A small smile cracks across your face as you begin to rattle off your number. Keigo scrambles for his phone and quickly types it in, not missing a beat for a second. One he slips it back into his back pocket, you move your basket to your other arm and walk away from the hero. Only looking over your shoulder when you’re a few feet away. 

“It was nice to meet you Hawks.” Keigo runs a hand through his blonde hair, a delighted chuckle slipping past his lips that has you grinning. He had so underestimated you.  

“You’re going to keep me on my toes aren’t you?”

“Oh, you bet bird boy.” You say, turning away from him and walking to the checkout. Today might not be that bad after all, you think as the older lady scans your items and bags them. It’s only then that you realize again that the whole time you had been talking to Keigo, your crappy day had been forgotten and you had actually laughed. The entire thing, he did because he noticed you frazzled and looking down. Your respect for the hero grew, and it took everything in you to not turn around to where you knew he was now standing a few people behind you in the line. Instead, you left the store, the smile not moving from your face. You don’t even make it a few feet from the glass automatic doors of the supermarket before your phone pings, vibrating in your jacket pocket.  Reaching inside you look at the new text, immediately knowing who it’s from. 

From Unknown: Want to go get dinner with me sometime this week? - the KitKat fiend. 

You giggle at the way he ends it, and quickly tap out a response. 

As long as it’s not seafood I’m there. You reply, before you turn around, looking through the glass windows and finding his golden hair quickly. In the midst of a conversation with the store clerk, he suddenly reaches for his pocket and grabs his phone with furrowed brows. Suddenly, a beautiful, bright smile that even has the shop lady hesitating with her scanning just to witness it, stretches across his face. Keigo quickly fiddles with his phone before putting it away and turning his attention to the blushing woman behind the counter. Looks like he has that effect on everyone.  Your phone vibrates in your hand.

To bird-boy: It's a date. 

Who would have thought a small chance encounter with the number two hero where you bicker over ice cream would change your life in such a monumental way.

©️ 2021 all rights reserved to atsukashii, do not change, edit, translate, or repost any works on any platform.

[littlemissagrafina]

Comfortember Day 20. Movie Night

Wrong Leavers and Pizza Boxes

@comfortember

I had the opportunity to use a really fun roleplay that I did with my best friend for this one! Thank you my darling @iambambistark for letting me use our work! I love you 3000🥺💛🌻

Read On AO3

Peter practically bounced into the common room of the compound, looking for his mentor. The older man had  promised that today would finally be their movie night and Peter was going to make him stick to it whether Tony wanted to or not.

Peter couldn’t help the smirk at his thoughts as he finally found Mr Stark, his body practically vibrating in excitement.

“Mr Stark! Are you ready for movie night?!”

Tony watched in amusement as Peter basically vibrated in place from his excitement. I wish I knew where he got the energy from because Thor knows I need some of it, Tony thought.

"Hey kid!" He smiled at Peter as he got up from his place on the couch to give him a hello hug. "I'm definitely ready. Are we doing Disney tonight again?" He asked with a soft smile.

Peter beamed when Tonh didn’t say that he couldn’t do movie night, yet again. He has way too many meetings, I veto meetings. Peter thought to himself.

“Of course! Would it really be movie night if we didn’t watch Disney! I want something funny though, too many Disney movies are sad.” There’s nothing better than laughing with Mr. Stark at a Disney movie.

Tony felt a laugh bubbling up in his chest. This kid always seemed to be able to make him smile and laugh. "Of course! How could I make the mistake of insinuating a movie night without Disney. It would be criminal!" Tony smirked at the teen.

The billionaire was glad that he had the chance to joke with him like this. He'd been swamped with meetings and conferences that couldn't be put off as much as he wanted to. It had led to a few lab days being cut short and cancelled movie nights, which Tony made sure to complain about to Pepper and Rhodey.

"Do you want to order take out or just grab some snacks from the kitchen?"

“Hmm, well, if we only do one movie then snacks are good, but if we do multiple movies then I think take out would be good. How many movies will we doooo?” Peter drew out the last word. He hoped Tony would say that they could watch multiple movies, but he was just thankful Tony was available to spend time with him at all.

"What are May's shifts like this weekend?" Tony asked Peter, a plan already being thought out in his head. "Because if she is busy at the hospital and fine with you staying the weekend again then we can binge a few movies and get take out." Tony tried to keep the eagerness at spending more time with Peter from his expression. He knew it probably didn't matter at this point but he still had a slight reputation to uphold.

Can't let the world know that Iron Man goes soft because of a spider kid who is literally a puppy in human form. Oh who am I kidding. It's too late I might as well roll with it at this point.

Peter somehow smiled even bigger upon seeing her smile, “Mays gonna be out, she’s been picking up a lot of extra shifts lately.” He said, his smile drooping a bit. No I can’t make this sad I can’t ruin our night being sad , Peter changed subjects, “I can text her real quick to double check I can spend the night! I’m sure I can though,” The smile came back to his face. He pulled out his phone, and asked May if he could stay the night, surprisingly she responded pretty quickly.

She must be on break. She already expected my question though, and allowed me to stay, but warned me not to make Mr. Stark lose even more sleep than normal. Looking back up at his mentor, Peter was pretty much bouncing again in excitement. “She said I could stay! If you still want me, I mean, like if you still want me to spend the night. Anyway, what are we gonna get for take out?”

Tony huffed out a laugh at the rapid action and conversation shifts that Peter was prone to. The man could tell that Peter had been a little sad about May being more busy with work but trying to hide it. Tony pulled the teen into another hug and rested his chin on his head.

"I'm sorry she's been working more shifts, kid." He muttered knowing he would hear it clearly because of his enhanced hearing.

Tony shifted away gently and smiled at Peter before dropping the subject. "Since we had Thai last week, what about pizza or Chinese?" He asked as he turned back towards the couch, making a slight detour to grab the big blanket they liked to use for movie nights before dropping down to sit on the couch. "You can choose whatever." He continued as he shifted into the corner slightly so Peter could squeeze in snuggly next to him the way they both knew he liked to.

Though part of Peter was disappointed when Tony pulled away from the hug, the comfort still meant the world to him. It still amazes Peter sometimes how Tony can always tell his emotions even when he tried to hide them.

The teen followed the older man to the couch like a puppy, “Pizza sounds good. Is that okay with you?” He asked, sitting down, snuggling into Tony. At this point Peter knew Tony didn't actually mind his craving for physical affection.

Peter moved the blanket so it covered them both nice and cozily. God what did I do to deserve such an amazing dad- I mean mentor. An amazing mentor. He could feel the blush start to rise to his cheeks before he could stop it. Dammit, he didn’t even say it out loud! Peter hid the blush by snuggling into Mr Stark more.

"Pizza is perfect, kid." Tony grinned at him when he snuggled into his side and shifted a hand to run it through his curls. How he always has such soft hair I'll never know.  

"What movie do you wanna watch? You said a happier one right? What about Brave, Moana, Tangled, Emperor's New Groove?" Tony was slightly surprised that he could actually list the movies. It seemed that he would always remember something as long as it related to Peter Parker

“Mm” Peter hummed in comfort as Tony held him close, running his fingers through his hair. How a guy who always works with his hands can be so gentle and comfortable beats me but I will always relish in it .

Peter smiled when he heard how many movies Tony knew. A few months ago the man wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between Moana and Brave and now he actually knew different movies. It made Peter feel warm inside. “Why don’t we start with Emperors New Groove, it’s the funniest I think. Then after that you pick.”

I wish it could be like this all the time, if May and I could move here and be with Mr Stark and Miss Potts and all the avengers, I would be the happiest person in the world. But no use wishing for things that’ll never happen, I need to just relish in this moment. This happiness.  

“What kinda pizza do you want?” Peter asked, trying to move away from his thoughts.

"Good choice." Tony smiled. Emperor's New Groove was one of his favourites.

He gently combed his fingers through when they snagged on a knot in Peter's hair as he contemplated on what pizza he wanted. "I think I want plain cheese pizza. Maybe get a pepperoni for later on so Pep can grab something when she gets home. What do you want?" Tony asked the teen back.

Unknowingly, he echoed Peter's own thoughts from moments before. Je wished that it could be like this all the time, just them together and doing what they enjoy. That Peter and May lived with him and Pepper.

He could picture evenings like this, waiting for Pepper and May to get back from work and them joining in on their movie nights would be amazing. Rhodey, Happy and the rest of the team joining from time to time too.

Peter winced when Tony tried to get a particularly stubborn knot out of his curls, but Tony gently rubbed over the sensitive part, making it all better.

“Pepperoni for Pepper,” The teen giggled, "Pep for Pep.”

Tony laughed at the name pun. "Yeah, it's her favourite pizza type. I find it hilarious."

It would be so nice if Pepper could join us too, she’s like my second mom, well second to Aunt May who pretty much is my mom.

“Cheese sounds good to me. But we might not be able to share with my metabolism.” Peter felt bad to hinder the man, not wanting to waste his money. "But it’s okay! I’m happy to share if you wanna.”

I can’t be a bother to him, I should be grateful enough he’s letting me spend the night.

Tony frowned  slightly at Peter's comment about sharing the pizza. Luckily Peter didn't see it because of the position of his head. "Don't worry about it at all, Roo." Tony reassured him. "I asked FRIDAY to always add to your orders so that you have enough to fill you and have leftovers."

Before Peter could speak, Tony carried on. "And you don't have to worry about it being an inconvenience either since I did the same for Steve and Bucky because they have similar enhanced metabolisms to you."

Tony had a sudden idea. A stroke of genius on his part if he did say so himself. "We should make our own pizza sometime again. Maybe don't tell Pepper though. She still has me banned from the kitchen." Tony smirked. "Buuuut she didn't ban me from the communal one!"

He always manages to make me smile when he calls me Roo, always reminds me of Winnie the Pooh with his friends Kanga and Roo. How does he always know what I’m thinking? He knew I felt like an inconvenience even without me saying it, and they call Wanda the mind reader.  

“That would be SO fun to make our own pizza! But I can’t promise I can keep us from being banned from the communal kitchen,” Peter laughed. How could one even be banned from one's own kitchen? The thought made him giggle harder.

Tony laughed as well when he saw the amused curiosity on Peter's face. "I may or may not have accidentally blown up the toaster while I was making Pepper an omelette. And no I don't know how because I wasn't even making toast!" He explained knowing that the kid was curious about it.

"But, in my defence, I hadn't slept for a few days so the file not found error was bouncing around in my brain a lot. It was a disaster at the time but now it's just plain funny."

Yeah yeah, Tony thought to himself, I was a walking disaster but it has gotten a lot better since I've been trying to be a good role model and influence for the spider baby. Take that, toaster.

Peter couldn't stifle his laughter at the ridiculous story, he wanted to ask how Tony could manage to do that but knew that he was prone to even more ridiculous disasters himself.

“It’s definitely funny,” He laughed. “For tonight we should probably stick to ordering out though,” He kept giggling. How does he always manage to make me so happy?  

"That would definitely be for the best, kid." Tony smirked "No messed up appliances or kitchens tonight." This kid was amazing. How he always amuses me and makes me smile is something I'll never know. I just know I like it. Pep and Rhodey can laugh all they want but I'm so here for this super dad/mentor thing I have going.

“When are we gonna order?” Said kid asked.

"We can order now if you want? If you get hungry later we can just heat up some of the extras."

He knows me too well, it still surprises me sometimes that he’s so accepting of my stupidly ridiculous metabolism. I never told him I don’t eat enough at home, the amount of food I need is just too much money to ask May to buy, yet somehow he just knows to make sure I always have more than enough food. He really is better than I could ever ask for...

“Sounds good! Wanna start the movie now or once the pizza gets here?” Realising just how many questions he seemed to be asking, Peter cringed inwardly. I hope he doesn’t get annoyed by my endless questions.

"I'm about ready to eat anyway so I'm sure you are more than ready for some cheesy goodness considering that metabolism of yours." Tony answered him. "Now, what pizza do you want?"

“I’ll eat anything, get whatever,” Peter smiled. Even though he ate before he came over, his stomach was already getting that hollow feeling.

I just need to eat something, I don’t care what. Is this annoying? Me needing so much? I ask so much of him, I text way too much, always want to come over, and practically invited myself over for a sleepover. What if he gets sick of me? Should I ask?

Tony was about to ask if the plain cheese with a few other flavours for the others would be okay when he practically felt Peter's mood shift.

“Mr Stark,” Peter began but changed his mind. It would be stupid to ask, if he wasn’t thinking about me being a nuisance before then I’ll just put the thought in his head and neither of us need that .

"Yeah kid?"

“Nevermind.” Peter mumbled, shifting to bury his head in the man's shoulder. Why am I so stupid?

Tony nudged him, trying to encourage Peter to talk but the life just shrugged his it away and burrowed into the man's shoulder and side.

"You okay?" Tony asked in concern, bringing a hand back up to his head and smoothed some stray curls away. Tony lifted his chin so I could look at him properly. "You can ask and say whatever you want, kiddo."

If I let myself, I could just break open. I could just spill out every bit of emotion I’ve been suppressing my whole life. But I can’t, I shouldn’t, it’s crazy to think he’s sick of me, right? He wouldn’t have invited me to spend the night if he was sick of me, and he wouldn’t be holding me like this if he couldn’t stand me. Peter thought.

Peter pulled away from Tony's hand on his chin. Pressing his face back into his shoulder, he mumbled, “S nothing.” It was a feeble attempt and even Peter knew that it wouldn't suffice. “Just dumb thoughts.” He finished.

I get a lot of dumb thoughts for someone Mr Stark says is so smart.

Tony seeing that Peter was at war with himself for saying anything. Sadly, he knew what it felt to second guess yourself like that all too well. He hated that Peter had to feel it too.

Tony let Peter press his face back against him, knowing it was so much easier than the vulnerability that eye contact brought.

"It might be nothing or something you think dumb, but wouldn't it be nice to say it anyway? What's going on up here, Bambino?" He murmured gently to his kid, tracing a finger over his temple.

Despite feeling that his mind was being all dumb, the silly and sweet nickname still gave Peter the slightest smile. Though I know he has a point and I trust he knows what he’s talking about, it’s not so easy just to be honest and open. Maybe if I just say part of it then it would satisfy him, but not maybe me too vulnerable .

“Do you ever get sick of me?” Peter whispered. Since he was still cuddling close to him, Peter wasn’t sure if Tony could even hear him, but he didn’t dare repeat the stupid question. Why do I always have to ruin the mood? I picked a funny movie so we could be happy and I ruined it before we even had a chance to start.

When Peter asked him if he ever got sick of him, Tony felt like his whole body froze. Like he was a tv in the middle of a show that had been unplugged suddenly. "Oh, Tesoro. No! I don't get sick of you." Tony decided to let himself be fully open with his kid. It was hard but he made it easier, brought out a trust in Tony that he didn't know he had. "I couldn't get sick of you if I tried. I always miss you when you aren't around and talking my ear off about Star Wars and Ned, or a puppy you saw on patrol, or the latest food that May attempted only to burn."

He pressed a kiss on the top of his head. "Everything is too quiet when you aren't around. The silence used to be normal but now it bores me and makes me lonely sometimes. I always look forward to the time we spend together and the messages we send to each other. I don't get sick of you, I get the opposite. Unsick? I dunno what the word would be but that's what I'm trying to say here." Tony finished. He wrapped both of arms around Peter and pulled him close. They both always needed these easy hugs from each other

While Tony spoke, Peter found himself blinking back the tears from his eyes. God, he hoped everything he was saying was true.

Peter wrapped his arms around his neck, holding as close as he could to his dad. He didn’t try to correct himself to mentor instead of dad. “‘M unsick of you too.” Peter said into his chest as he hugged him.

Tony couldn't stop the sudden burst of laughter when Peter said he was unsick of hom too. The laugh may have slightly stuck his throat from the rush of affection but that was neither here nor there.

"I love you, bud. So so much. You're my spidey kid." Tony mumbled, resting his cheek on his head, never letting him slip from his place in his arms. Peter hugs are the best

Peter thought his cheeks would catch on fire from how red they were when he said it. “I love you too Da- Mr Stark.” Hopefully he missed that little slip up, I don’t need any more vulnerability today. Peter thought.

Trying to distract him, Peter joked, “And I’m not a kid, I’m a spider man! ” He insisted with a nervous smile.

Tony smiled also at his slip up but didn't comment on it. He could see that Peter was at his limit, especially after he used a joke to deflect. "Nah, you're a spider baby. Ask anyone, May, Pepper, Rhodey. Heck, even FRIDAY."

Just don't ask Karen, Tony thought to himself. That AI was endearingly loyal to Peter.

"Since FRI ordered for us, the pizzas should be here soon. Do you want to start the movie now or wait for it to arrive?"

Peter stayed cuddled up with him, soaking in the comfort. “If ‘m a spider baby then you’re an old iron man.” Even though he knew it was a lame come back, Peter was suddenly too tired to care. Opening up had exhausted him and he couldn't be bothered to think anymore. “Can we start the movie now?” He asked, wanting to focus on something more light hearted, “That okay?”

Tony gasped in faux shock. "How could you betray me like this!?" He dramatically put a hand over his forehead. "I am not old! I am the very picture and essence of youth! I am appalled that you would ever suggest otherwise!" He exaggerated as he poked Peter in the side.

"But, moving on from your treachery, we can start the movie. Do you want a pillow or anything or are you comfortable where you are?" Tony arched a brow at him in amusement at how cuddled Peter was into his side.

Peter smiled at Tony's antics. The fact that he wants to get Peter to laugh makes him smile even bigger. I could never deserve someone so wonderful and kind and caring and loving as him as my mentor.  

“Mm” Peter thought, but just the idea of moving from his comfort made his chest tighten uncomfortably, “No you’re comfyyyy” He drew out the word, stating right where he was. Though he did shift a bit so he could see the tv better.

"Well I'm so glad I make such a good pillow then." Tony chuckled and fixed the blanket that had fallen slightly when Peter shifted. "I can add personal pillow to my various monikers now. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and personal pillow. Oh, and irondad as Rhodey so affectionately dubbed me." He smiled softly down at Peter and rested his cheek on his fluffy curls.

Peter giggled at that, “if you're my iron dad, then am I your spider-son?”

“Cuz then I know what to put on the Father’s Day card this year,” Peter hoped Tony could feel his smirk even if he couldn’t see it as he faced the tv.

"It works. We can coin it. It'll drive Rhodey insane that he can't use it to annoy us." Tony smirked back.

"FRI, play Emperor's New Groove please?" The only response was the lights being dimmed and the beginning of the movie playing on the tv screen.

Once the movie started Peter asked, “oh! Who’s your favorite character?”

"Kronk. He's a lovable oaf and kinda reminds me of Thor. And you, piccolo ragno?" 

“I love kronk too,” The teen said in approval. Not stopping the smile at Tony's nickname for him. The world would end if he ever ran out of nicknames for me.  

Only a few minutes into the film, Friday announced that the pizza was here. When Peter I felt Tony shift to get up to get it, he started whining not caring how childish he sounded. “Noo stayyyyy.” He grabbed onto his shirt so that his ‘pillow’ wouldn’t leave.

"Nooo, sustenance." Tony whined back as he chuckled. How Peter simultaneously brings out my dad side as well as my childish side I'll never know.

Tony didn't bother letting Peter go as he got up from the couch. He just hefted him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes and walked to the elevator to grab the pizza.

It still surprised Peter at times that Tony could carry him around like he was just a little kid. I mean I can’t weigh that little right? Maybe it has something to do with my powers.

Inside the elevator there was a compartment that had been added so that the various take out delivery people placed the food in so that they didn't have to deal with the stammering and gawking. It got old after the first six times that it resulted in cold food.

Tony dropped Peter gently to the ground and gave him some of the pizza boxes to carry. Eight pizzas were a little difficult to carry alone.

Peter easily took the pizzas, relishing in the delicious smell as they brought the boxes back over to the couch and placed them on the coffee table in front of it. No use bringing it to the kitchen when they both know they'll just be eating on the couch anyway.

The teen put them down, checking the labels for Tony's pizza before handing him the box. He sat down next to him, once again putting the large blanket over their laps. “Is there a specific one for me or any?” Peter asked, not remembering if he had asked for a specific  order or not.

"Nah there isn't really. Although I did get you at least one or two that are plain cheese because I know you like that. Otherwise I just had FRIDAY order the kinds we both like so grab whatever." Tony answered as opened his box and passed Peter a napkin when he grabbed one for himself.

“Okie dokie,” Peter grabbed a box at random, opening it up to discover pineapple pizza, “yum,”He smiled and leaned back into the couch, not sure whether it would be weird to cuddle so close to Tony again after being so openly clingy.

Tony pouted dramatically when he saw the pineapple. "I forgot that you and Rhodey have the ability to eat fruit on pizza. It's not right. I can feel  disturbance in the force." He bumped Peter with his shoulder and shifted so that they were sitting close, knees bumping as well as their elbows occasionally when they took a bite from their pizzas.

Peter smiled when he shifted closer. Somehow he just knows I want to be close even without me having to say it. It still astounds me sometimes how close we’ve gotten. He really is like a dad to me... my iron dad. That thought made him smile more as he went onto the next piece of pizza.

After a few moments of silence Tony saw Peter smirk at him, taking a dramatically large bite of the (in his opinion) delicious pizza. “It’s criminal that you don’t like pineapple pizza, it’s clearly the best.”

"What's criminal is that you think pineapple pizza is the best. I shall never accept it. It's a felony." Tony gestured at him with the slice in his hand. He wiped the grease from his fingers with a napkin before nudging the kid. "I'm gonna grab something to drink, do you want anything? There's coke, juice, milk, lemonade, and probably a few other things."

“Mm," Peter thought over the options, "Can I have juice por favor? Do you have orange juice?” He asked, watching Tony throw the part of the blanket that was on him onto Peter's, suffocating him in warmth. I could follow him, so we can keep talking. No no that’s weird, I should stay here.

"Yup sure do. One coke for me and orange for you coming up." Tony darted into the kitchen hoping his hurry to get back to the couch wasn't too obvious. He grabbed their drinks, and darted back, plopping down heavily next to Peter, careful not to spill anything, and passed him his juice.

Tony wriggled around to get comfortable before grabbing the last slice of his pizza. He finished it and wiped his hands again before relaxing back into the couch, coke in hand.

Peter mumbled a thank you with a smile when he was handed the glass. He had to refrain from chugging down the whole glass of orange juice. It wasn't like he would get sick from drinking too quickly but he didn't want to make Tony have to get up again.

He easily went through one entire pizza but stopped himself from grabbing a second pizza, he didn't want to be rude and eat too much of the food.

Tony finished his coke and put the glass on the coffee table. AsIhe did, he noticed Peter's half full glass and empty pizza box. "Have more pizza if you want, kid. I know that one isn't nearly enough for your metabolism." The man grinned reassuringly. "And you can have as much juice as you want as well." He leant forward and grabbed another random pizza and passed Peter the box in hope that he would take the invitation and eat and drink his full.

Peter, after only a moment of hesitation, happily took the pizza box and practically inhaled the first slice. God this pizza is so good.  

Between pieces of pizza he laughed at the movie. “This movie is so underrated,” Peter said offhandedly as he finished the second box of pizza. Before grabbing a third, he looked over at his mentor for approval before being greedy.

"Agreed. The 'wrong lever' part is brilliant and I hate it but the cat Yzma turns into is adorable." Tony said in agreement. He turned his head when he felt Peter's eyes on him.

The kid was holding another pizza and his head was tilted in question. He looked like a puppy. "Go ahead, bud. Eat as much as you want." Tony reassured him again as he got up to grab the juice box from the fridge for when Peter's glass finished.

Peter nodded in thanks when Tony let him continue eating even though he himself was far done with his own dinner. Once Tony settled back in, Peter commented, “They really should make a roller coaster for the wrong lever part, would be so great,” He chuckled at his own statement and Tony laughed too.

"They should make it look like it's going up, only to suddenly have Yzma's voice saying 'Pull the lever, Kronk. Wrong lever!' as the ride suddenly drops out of nowhere." The man snickered at the idea and turned back to watching the movie as Peter continued eating. He would occasionally poke Peter at a funny part or they would laugh at something but they mostly sat in content silence.

Peter giggled when Tony continued onto his dumb idea, “Aw that’s the kinda thing you’d see on tumblr,” He snickered and picked up the last slice in his box. By the time he actually felt full he had eaten almost all the pizza that Tony had bought. But thankfully he didn’t seem to mind.  

As the movie continued Peter began leaning more and more onto Tony until they were cuddling like before again. Like a dad and his son.

Days like these were Peter's favorite, when they can just be together and have deeper conversations and but also talk lightheartedly about funny movies.

Tony felt him get heavier on his side as the movie went along. He was probably getting sleepy from the food which Tony was happy that Peter had eaten and seemed to enjoy the pizzas. He liked that he could do small things like that for him.

Feeling the kid shift slightly again, Tony shifted as well to lay with his head on the arm of the couch and let Peter snuggle back into his side. He absent-mindedly started running his fingers through his curls again as they watched the movie.

Full from the food and relaxing more from the hand in his hair had Peter finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Every time he blinked his eyes stayed closed longer and longer until they just didn’t open again. Peter didn't let himself fall asleep right away, though. Maybe if I just rest my eyes for a few minutes then I can focus back on the movie after.  

Before long he couldn’t focus on the movie anymore, only thinking of the gentle fingers combing through his hair, and how peaceful and comfortable he was. The call of sleep was strong however. He felt like he could sleep forever like this if he let himself.

When Tony noticed that Peter was falling asleep, he started humming slightly, knowing the vibrations soothed him because of his senses. He was more than happy that he would fall asleep, the kid needed the rest.

With the soft glow from the tv and Peter's rhythmic breaths slowing to a gentle snore, Tony soon found himself falling asleep too. Just before he let himself drift off, he tightened his arms around Peter and pressed a kiss to his head.

He let himself all asleep, content to lay there with his Piccolo Ragno.

[gleekto]

Summary: College AU/Famous!Blaine and Fanboy!Kurt - Kurt POV

Kurt really doesn’t have time to figure out the dating world between being a freshman at prestigious theatre school, LAADA,  and his active but secret blogging life in the Sing!Fandom. So what if Sing! ended last year? There are still fics to read and actors to follow. Especially the uber talented heartthrob lead, Blaine Anderson. He can act. He can sing. He can even dance. He’s gay. He’s out. And he’s only 24. Kurt is willing to twiddle his thumbs and click refresh until Blaine Anderson’s next project.

He just didn’t expect the next project to be on his roommate Rachel’s new TV show.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Even Better than the Real Thing (10/13)

Kurt drops the phone as his heart starts to race and panic takes over. He feels like he’s going to throw up. No. He doesn’t have time to throw up. He immediately signs on to tumblr and deletes his blog. Gone. But it’s too late anyways. He calls Mercedes on autopilot. 

“It’s over, Mercedes,” Kurt shakes as he says it. “He knows.”

“What? Who knows what?” But he can practically see the information dawn on her as she says it. “He knows you were a fan? Shit.”

“Yes, specifically, he knows that I was LimaBlaineFan - and I say was because I just deleted.”

“Oh my god, Kurt. How did this happen? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay. And I don’t know. Or I can guess. He surprise visited me and I forgot to close my laptop screen and I must have left him in my room while I was dealing with Rachel and her oat milk,” Kurt puts the pieces together. “Fucking oat milk.”

“So he ended it on the spot?”

“No. God. He didn’t even say anything. He must have  seen something but not much, gone home and read the blog, and then texted me 24 hours later with a terse goodbye.”

“So what did he say?” Kurt sends her the text. “It’s not great,” She agrees. “But that’s not exactly closure.”

“I don’t think I get closure after what I did. Just memories of our night together and of what an idiot I am.” Kurt goes over the whole story with Mercedes - how he obviously wanted to be chill when he met Blaine, didn’t want to seem like a desperate fanboy but just a friend of Rachel’s - which he is! That wasn’t a lie. And he always made sure to give Blaine an out, not to talk too much, but Blaine kept wanting to talk and flirt and - well, as soon as he really started to believe that they were more than friendly acquaintances with a mutual friend, he stopped blogging. But it was too late by that point to say ‘Oh by the way, I was such a big fan of Sing! that I have a blog about it and your name may feature.’ But he knows it’s all an excuse. Blaine told him the first time they met that a fan is not a friend. And he didn’t heed the warning. Or tell the truth.

Mercedes listens to the story she already knows, and affirms and agrees, but unfortunately, can’t really fix a situation that can’t be fixed. Kurt spends the night staring at his ceiling and the next day moping around the house, tired and cranky. He binges Gossip Girl and eats popcorn and texts Mercedes sad face emojis.

Even Rachel notices that something’s wrong when she comes in that evening.  “You’re still in pajamas?” She looks at him quizzically. “And you look like hell.”

“Thanks?”

“And I only point that out because it’s very unlike you.”

“I guess that is actually a compliment.”

“What’s wrong?” Before he thinks of what he’s going to say, Rachel interrupts again. “Wait. Blaine was a wreck today - bags under his eyes, forgot all his lines. Just said he had a rough night. Okay, Kurt. What is going on with you two?”

“Nothing now.”

“Now?”

“It’s not working out, okay?” Rachel starts to say something again but thinks better of it.

“Okay,” She seems to clue in to the fact that he does not want to talk about it. “I’ll go out later to get you a piece of cheesecake from Henry’s.” His favourite cheesecake place. 

“Thank you,” He says sincerely. “Best therapy.”

...

After his cheesecake, which did take his mind off the mess of his life for at least 15 minutes, he moves back to his bedroom for night two of ceiling gazing, when his phone buzzes.

Blaine: So you didn’t respond.

He stares at the message, willing the right response to come to him.

Kurt: I honestly just don’t know what to say. Other than I’m sorry. I guess that’s what I should have said.

Blaine: So you are LimaBlaineFan, right?

Kurt: Guilty. Very guilty.

Blaine: Shit.

Kurt: I know we’re done - it’s my fault. You don’t need to say anything.

Kurt can’t actually bear the idea of Blaine lecturing him on honesty amidst crushing his heart.

Blaine: It is your fault. But we should talk.

Kurt: We should?

Blaine: Meet me at the Coffee Bean tomorrow at 3, okay?

Kurt: Let me check my calendar.

Blaine: Cheeky.

Kurt knows he made him smile despite himself.

Kurt: I’ll be there.

...

Kurt gets to the Coffee Bean half an hour early so he can be sure to be there first. He buys Blaine his favourite medium drip and adds a vanilla almond biscotti. 

“These for me?” Blaine says as he sits down across from Kurt.

“The least I could do.” Blaine rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he accepts the coffee and cookie. “I’m really sorry. I should have told you.”

“Yeah, you should’ve,” Blaine says and pauses, sipping his coffee. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Kurt starts.

Blaine shrugs. “Go for it.”

“Why did you ask me to meet you for coffee? I mean, after finding out the guy you just -” Kurt gets red despite himself.

“Got naked with,” Blaine fills in.

“Yes - was actually a fan following your career-”

“And my body parts,” Blaine adds and Kurt gets much redder.

“I mean, I think that gives you license to fully ghost me without another word.”

“True,” Blaine nods his head. “But for one, you are my co-star’s roommate-”

“At least that’s true,” Kurt sighs at himself.

“Also, I’m not an asshole.”

“But I probably gave you reason to think that I am one.”

“No - which is the real reason I wanted to talk. The timeline.” Kurt looks at him confused. “Your blog on tumblr. It seems like once we met, you only blogged a few times. And by the time I was interested in you, you stopped posting.”

Kurt nods, giving himself an internal high five for at least one decent choice. “I did. Right after we-”

“Made out all night?” Blaine has got to stop putting these images back into his head in the midst of a break up conversation.

“No. It was before that. After you  - you know we talked in my room-”

Blaine remembers, smiling.  “When I got you to tell me you had never been kissed so I could tell you that you should be.”

“You’re so calculating,” Kurt shakes his head.

Blaine raises his hands in defense. “My intentions were pure, I promise. Besides, I could say the same about you.”

“I wasn’t calculating! I wasn’t even trying to be your friend, let alone your, you know. I am definitely not sophisticated enough to try to deceive you to get you into bed, god. I was just trying to seem reasonably normal and cool around my roommate’s new co-star who by complete coincidence was my celebrity crush of the last four years. It was way too uncool to reveal my alter ego to you.”

Blaine smiles, probably despite himself. “Can I tell you some of my favourites?”

“Oh god.”

It seems Blaine spent the better part of his evening delving deeply into the fandom mind of LimaBlaineFan, because he had screencapped some of Kurt’s oldest, and cringiest posts.

-Why isn’t he shirtless in that scene? The other guys are shirtless. Roy is hot. And no, I don’t think he’s embarrassed. 

“Well, you are right about that. I’m not camera shy.” 

-Thank God Blaine Anderson has a better fashion sense than Roy. Roy and his loose jeans and sweatpants - how would I even catch a glimpse? But did you see Blaine on that red carpet? Maroon suit, pants so tight. His ass is perfection.

-Blaine’s interview for Pride was perfection. He says we might even catch him out on the dance floors, dancing with some hotties. Maybe then he’ll be shirtless.

And of course, Blaine appreciated Kurt’s hard work on one of his most recent posts - The privileges and pitfalls of playing straight for an out gay actor: Quotes from Blaine Anderson’s interviews.

Kurt lets Blaine read each one, sitting silent in embarrassment and biting his lip through it all. It’s the least he deserves. Just as Blaine finishes his list and Kurt is about to go into profuse apology once again,  they’re interrupted.

A young woman who looks about seventeen scurries quickly up to their table. “Hi. I’m sorry. I know you’re busy. I’m just such a huge fan of Sing! And now That’s So Rachel-” - If that was a fan test, she passed. She knows both shows. That’s a minimum. “Can I get a pic with you?”

“Of course. Thank you so much for watching.” Blaine takes her phone like a pro and angles it so he and the girl are both in it, Kurt trying to avoid being the photobomb in the background. Blaine turns back to him as the girl leaves. 

“I guess that would’ve been me a few months ago.”

“For you, I might have even given a hug. Or the coveted kiss on the cheek. I always try to connect with the gay guy fans.”

“You succeeded?” Kurt tries and Blaine laughs. At least the energy between them is better. Much better. Like he won’t have to hide in a corner if he’s ever at an event with Blaine again or anything like that.

“I guess I did.”

“The first time I met you, you told me that a fan is not a friend.”

“I did.”

“Would you have asked me out if you had known from the beginning?”

“Probably not. Against the rules.”

“That’s what I thought.” There’s an awkward pause - Kurt’s not sure there’s anything else to say and apparently Blaine agrees because he switches the topic to the latest script and his excitement about working with Patti Lupone - who apparently, even gets to slap him. By the time they leave the café, Kurt feels relieved. He’s survived his first break up. Not that they were really together. He doesn’t have the energy to grieve the loss of kissing, and touching, and ironically still not having seen Blaine shirtless (pantless, yes). He’s sure it will hit him like a ton of bricks after he finally gets a real night of sleep, and then he will have Rachel prepare the cheesecake. Again. 

He crawls into bed early that night, grateful the shock and awful adrenaline of the last two days has finally left his body. His phone buzzes as he closes his light and he plans to text Mercedes back to tell her he’ll update her tomorrow. But it’s not Mercedes.

Blaine: Some rules are made to be broken.

[imyourbuddie]

Ok prompt time... can I please order a lusty kiss at a party, preferably with onlookers? Mmm thanks xx

(This got way longer than I anticipated. Such is my life, but these two idiots are so soft and I just cannot. Prompt List )

The one-eighteen Christmas party’s in full swing when Chim pulls out the bottle of spiced rum and waves it around like a little boy holding his favourite new toy on Christmas morning. 

“Who’s ready for eggnog!” he yells, then runs into the kitchen with Maddie in tow. 

“You know, you still have to work tomorrow morning,” Bobby shouts across the room and smiles. He’s the only sober person in the whole room, and Eddie wonders how hard it must be for him to watch while everyone else got shit faced in his living room. 

Athena sits down in Bobby’s lap and kisses his cheek. “We’ll brew some strong coffee in the morning and you can pass out Advil by the door.” Bobby throws his head back and laughs, the sound contagious. 

Eddie’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He turns on the screen to a text message from Carla. Behind her, Christopher—in his favourite Christmas jammies—waves from under his blankets. 

Good night, daddy. 

Eddie grins and takes a selfie with his tongue sticking out, then types out a reply. 

Night mijo. Be good for Carla. 

Eddie waits a little, but no response comes. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and sinks back into the couch, his eyes scanning the homey living room of Bobby and Athena’s house. He loves being here, loves the welcoming atmosphere and the decorations made with love. One day, he wants to give Christopher a home just like this. 

In the background, soft jazz music fills every corner of the room. Eddie glances to his left and finds Buck and Hen’s heads bent over a cell phone. They’re giggling at something, then Buck throws his head back and laughs. 

That laughter fills Eddie with more warmth than any amount of alcohol could. He’s only been with the one-eighteen for a few months, but his bond with the team and especially with Buck is undeniably genuine and iron clad. It’s hard to imagine his life before meeting these wonderful people, even harder to imagine a life before Buck. His Buck. 

Chim and Maddie scurry back from the kitchen carrying a tray of steaming, mismatched mugs. “Eggnog for everyone, and a virgin one for Cap.” He hands Bobby an extra large Santa mug, then turns around and makes his round around the room. 

Eddie picks a mug with snowflakes printed on the outside and takes a sip of the hot eggnog. And nearly coughs up a lung. “Christ, Chim,” he splutters, “how much rum is in this?”

“The perfect amount,” Chim replies with a cheeky grin and hands Buck a gigantic mug. 

Buck takes it and sniffs the contents, then proceeds to chug the whole thing. Either he has no heat sensors in his mouth, or he’s too drunk to care, but Buck comes up for air only when his mug is empty, and his dopey grin grows wider. He turns back to whatever he’s watching with Hen, and Eddie watches as a deep blush crawl up his neck to sit prettily on the apple of his cheeks. 

Dios. How does a man as thick and masuline as Buck look so goddamn pretty? 

Eddie takes another sip of his drink, this time the rum hardly burning as it glides down his throat. How many drinks has Eddie had tonight? He can’t remember, and right now, he’s so contently buzzed he doesn’t care. What he wants to know is what on earth is Buck and Hen watching that’s got Buck blushing so hard? 

Buck turns and catches Eddie’s eyes, and his face grows impossibly redder. Hen nudges Buck. Buck shakes his head, then nods as if he’s finally relenting to whatever Hen’s suggesting. They both get up, and Buck walks toward Eddie as hen heads for the iPod plugged into the speaker system. Eddie follows Buck’s every move until Buck’s standing over him, his hooded eyes—alight with blue fire—looking down at Eddie.

The familiar teasing notes of a song Eddie knows well replaces the jazz, and his skin burns at the melody. Eddie frowns as Buck takes his hands and drags him off the couch. 

“Buck?” Eddie cocks a brow and shivers as the sweet voice of Alx Veliz drifts from the speakers. 

Buck grins a lopsided grin and pulls Eddie into the middle of the living room. His face is so close Eddie can smell the rum and eggnog mixed with the beer he’s been drinking all night. One large hand roams down Eddie’s side, and Eddie can’t help his body reacting to the touch and the music. 

Without another word, Buck pulls Eddie impossibly close, and begins a series of delicate steps that never left Eddie’s muscle memory. It’s the dance he performed years ago at a Kizomba festival that abuela took him to. How on earth did Buck find out, and how does he know all the steps? 

Eddie’s pulled from his thoughts when Buck’s leg hooks between his, and Eddie’s airbourne for the span of a skipped heartbeat. Buck grins and leans close, his lips brushing Eddie’s temple, then he pulls away as the music jumps to the chorus. 

Oh uh ohYo me acerqué a ella a little closerOh uh ohY bailamos a little slowerOh uh ohI’ve never felt this way beforeOh uh ohY me enamoré dancing kizomba

Buck picks up speed, his hips gyrating against Eddie, and his hands are everywhere, leading Eddie as they both float to the music. Eddie’s feet move as if they have a mind of their own, happy to follow Buck’s every step. This is insane. The last time Eddie danced like this was before he joined the army. He didn’t even know he could dance like this again, and yet here he is, in Buck’s arm, allowing the man full control as they glide to the beat. 

Dancing KizombaY me enamoré dancing kizombaDancing KizombaY me enamoré dancing kizomba

The rest of the room fades, and as the music builds to a crescendo, Eddie’s breathless as Buck lifts him effortlessly through the air and plants him delicately on his feet. Buck twists, and Eddie follows as his body becomes one with Buck, his limbs an extension of Buck’s to be commanded and used as Buck sees fit. They move so well together despite this being their first time partnering, and Eddie’s chest aches with how much he misses this. Why did he stop dancing? Why did he think he had to give up this part of himself to be what he is today?

The song fades, and Eddie’s trapped in Buck’s intense gaze. There’s so much blue, and Eddie can’t help but lose himself in the uncharted galaxy behind those wide eyes. Their chests rise and fall in sync as they catch their breaths, and Eddie forgets where he is or how he got there. All that matters is the solid chest beneath his fingers and those plump, pink lips begging to be kissed. 

So Eddie does.

Buck moans, the sound low and filthy and it shoots straight to Eddie’s achingly hard cock. Buck’s lips part, and his tongue flicks out against Eddie’s lips before pressing past the seam. The taste of sweet eggnog and spiced rum and hoppy beer mingle with the heady flavour that’s all Buck. It’s intoxicating and Eddie can’t get enough of it no matter how many times he tastes Buck’s mouth. 

Eddie combs through Buck’s hair and tugs at the ends. Buck hisses, but the pain fuels his assault on Eddie’s mouth. He presses a leg between Eddie’s thighs and wraps his arms around Eddie’s torso until Eddie’s dangling off Buck’s thigh on his tippy toes. 

Fuck. 

Eddie’s lungs scream for air, but he ignores them. He grows lightheaded, but that only intensifies the taste of Buck as he licks into Eddie’s mouth. Eddie can spend an eternity here, his mouth locked on Buck’s, his cock throbbing as Buck’s thigh grind into him. Buck’s arms clasped so tightly around him not even a dust mote can get between them. 

Somewhere behind him, a series of whistles in varying degrees of intensity and clapping drag Eddie back to Earth. He pulls back, panting, and swallows at the dazed, kiss-drunk look on Buck’s face. His lips are even pinker than normal, and the way they glisten in the soft light makes Eddie want to taste them again. And again. And again. 

“Okay, Chim,” Maddie says behind them, “just how much rum did you put in that eggnog?” 

Chim chuckles. “The perfect amount, like I said.” 

“All right, you two,” Athena says, “break it up, or at least wait until I set up the guest room with fresh sheets.” 

Eddie takes a shake step back, and he’s sure the blush on his face matches that on Buck’s. “Where did you—how did you know about this song and this dance?”

Buck grips the back of his neck and grins sheepishly. “I, um, Googled you. And that popped up on YouTube. I loved it so much I learned it…”  

“You what?” Eddie blinks. “Why?”

“Because, it’s what I do, I Google everything.”

“Did you Google me?” Chim asks. 

Buck gives him a sideways glance. “No? Maybe?” 

The whole room erupts in laughter, and Eddie shakes his head and drags Buck down onto the couch with him. They snuggle up, and Chim comes by with a second round of eggnog. Eddie doesn’t even hesitate before accepting a second mug. The night’s young, and he doesn’t have to be at work until late afternoon. 

He waits until everyone’s got a drink in hand, then raises his mug. “A toast, to family.”

“Aye. To family.” 

And Eddie’s chest swells as he gulps down his eggnog. 

Prompt List

Song they danced to 

[owlsbride]

This Too Shall Pass

Chapter III: The Reaper.

London was no longer London. At least not the London he had come to love. Now it was a mix of modern buildings as tall as the sky itself. The old carriages over the years had been replaced by modern cars much faster and more compact at the same time. Now there were buses and even high-speed subway trains. Modernity was a new world and infinite possibilities. There was no misinterpretation, he had adapted well throughout all these years. He had learned to use every technological advance that came his way: cell phones, computers, the glorious internet, television. He even enjoyed from time to time going to the movies. He had learned that the latter was not significantly different from how people's cinematics records worked and that in a way filled him with pride. Even if he was a deserter, he had to accept that his people were far more intelligent and advanced than humans. He was used to modern life; it could be said that he even enjoyed it. He had come to learn some of the little pleasures that this era could bring him. He could sit for hours in some trendy little cafe, (where in order to pay a cup of tea, a regular person would have to consider selling a kidney on the black market) just to watch humans live their lives as fast as possible, coming and going without even pausing for a second to look to the side or behind, without even having the slightest consideration for what they did to the other or to the world in which they lived. These people lived oblivious of the finiteness and fragility of their bodies. They walked around proud of their cars, their clothes, their lovers and their promising careers, never stopping to look at or ask the needs of the others, never acknowledging that in the end death was inevitable and that at the last breath she equalled them all. Royalty, politicians, businessmen or beggars, they would all follow the same path and some of his former colleagues would be willing and able to judge them and take them without the possibility of the slightest protest. Oh these humans, they would never know what they got till is lost forever. He had lost everything once, even his sanity, and he was sure he would not do it again. Not now that he saw things as they were. His obsession with death had long been replaced by his obsession with life. That was what had driven him away from what had made him a legend so long ago, and what drives him crazy every time a little more. It was the burning desire to know what life was afterlife itself. How to prolong it, recover lost moments, and why not, create new ones. How to find once again what was lost and how to restore it as an exquisite work of art. Ironically, to reach his goal, he needed death: he was tied to it, and just today, in these times, the business of death was dying. Hilarious. Something as simple as passing, now it was complicated. In the good old days, when he had decided to turn his back on everything he knew, he had become London's best-known mortician. With his small business in Camden Town, he had had access to the most extraordinary elites of English society, and yet also made important contacts with simple commoners. As an undertaker, he had connections, the most varied and they all turned to him. Of course, he was not moved by money, he had never cared, he simply demanded in return a good joke that would make him laugh. After all, even death was not to be taken too seriously. He ran his business diligently getting to know more people than he ever imagined, one more curious and entertaining than the other. As an informant for the queen's watchdogs, he had managed to get into the elite, and thus each subject of study reached him without significant problems. He was happy, Oh what wouldn't he give for listening to the Earl's little voice once more asking for information? That butler was an incredible specimen, and he would have loved to dissect him. Oh lord, if only the little boy wouldn't be so stubborn about his stupid vengeance. Today the Parlour was not enough. Undertaker knew that if he wanted to continue his investigations even nearly 200 years later and with many incredible technological improvements, he had to be able to access another source of income. Modern times meant diversifying. Today, everyone's favourite mortician was no longer called to make arrangements for the afterlife. No. Now there were hundreds of other undertakers who did the same as him. Therefore, a place in the hospital morgue had been secured for some time. Who better than him, after years and years of seeing corpses to perform an autopsy and making himself time to take a look at his hidden agenda secretly? So yes, Undertaker was happy. Even if he missed the old times sometimes, he still ran his Parlour in the afternoons and was a forensic doc in the mornings. Just like a superhero with a secret identity, thinking about it, too many identities. Undertaker was sitting on the counter at his place, his long booted legs swinging lazily. The newspaper rested next to him, he had just finished reading the news, and they were hopeless, people in London were dying in droves, more like hundreds a day and that sort of hurt. Of course, he had witnessed other pandemics and knew very well what the consequences were. Not only did people die from the disease itself, but the devastation left, and the collateral damages were incalculable. It was as if the Horseman of the Apocalypse from the bible really put his feet on the slaughtered Earth. Undertaker knew that by now his fellow shinigamis would be desperate from overwork and felt sorry for them. How much would the lists of people to die have increased in recent months? He also felt sorry for the doctors who work non-stop to save lives. Two sides of the same coin: medical services and shinigamis, both barely surpassed by an infamous virus invisible to everyone's eyes, even his own. He regretted his work in the hospital too, it had been interrupted in these months, and he no longer had access to people's bodies for security measures. Obviously, the virus did not affect him in the least, but he had to keep up appearances. He sighed bored as his black nails drummed on the surface of the counter, he had no pending work, and he only had to wait. Sighed and wait. No more laugh, no more research, no more hilarious strange glances from his fellow doctors, nothing. Just desolation in every corner. His day couldn't get any worse, he burnt his bone-shaped cookies and was running out of tea. He would have to go to the store soon. He hated the store, he much preferred Lau's herbs, even the funny ones, those who made people laugh and relax when used in the right amount, and if not, still, he was not one to judge. So picking up the keys, he was ready to go out when something or somebody took him by surprise. "Heh heh, but if it's none other than the red shinigami ~ Tell me, sweety, Dear William gave you some free time?" "Undertaker, always a pleasure ..." Grell began nervously. Being in front of the legend of the shinigamis made him nervous "I have a favour to ask you." "A favour? Hmm ... How long has it been since the last one?" The silver-haired man chuckled, removing his bangs from his eyes. "You know what to do ~ give it to me first. Come on, you know what I want." "Undertaker ..." Grell pleaded "Now is not the time, besides you know I don't know how to do it." "My my, your face is priceless; you are still a nervous wreck." The Undertaker smiled almost fondly at the younger reaper. "What do you want?" "I need you ..." Undertaker raised an interested eyebrow, putting the keys back where he had found them, the tea could wait. Not every day a Shinigami would show up at the doors of a deserter asking for help. "I mean... WE need you." "You mean the London Despatch?..." Disbelief in his words, Grell nodded "Now, that's the joke of the century Grell, come on, I don't have time, I'm running out of tea". Grell Sutcliff rolled his eyes. He hadn't changed in years, Undertaker was just the same and he kind of like it. If it weren't for his relationship with William, Oh, the things he could do to the revel grim reaper in front of him. "Really, Undertaker? Is that what you do now? Take tea like an old lady?" the red-head spoke loudly, pointing at Undertaker's hidden scythe. "Well ... I'm quite old after all" Undertaker smiled and Grell pouted. "Ok, Ok. Why don't you take a seat on one of my special coffins and explain yourself?" Grell blew out the breath he didn't know he was holding and accepted the invitation. It was his idea after all, and he couldn't bring a no for an answer to his beloved William.

The chilly winter covered the city with a heavy mist. The sky threatened to snow at any moment. It didn't take long to convince him. Once young Grell Sutcliff had finished telling him his crazy plan and talked about how much the Despatch needed the help, he was ready to go. Plus, the red riper dared to say that the snob William T. Spears would have more than a headache knowing that he, the renegade shinigami, would accomplish the task better and faster, and nothing made him happier than bother poor Will. He was ready to wear the shinigami outfit one more time. He had to admit that he had missed it and that there was nothing like fieldwork. He was prepared to prove that no one could ever match him. Within just a few hours, he had been able to carry out the work of four shinigamis together and was just getting started. He caressed his lifelong companion with devotion, he had never gotten rid of his lover, and today they were walking together once more. His scythe was fantastic, and he loved her. Standing on the terrace of the hospital, he checked the list one more time. There were only two names left before the end of the shift when something caught his attention. She wasn't on the list moments ago. Her name had appeared suddenly, and she should not be there: Gwenhwyfar O'Doherty. He knew her, he had seen her from time to time in the corridors of the hospital. The young Irish doctor, lovely green eyes, cute freckles, she was so full of life. Working diligently every day to save others and yet here she was about to take the somersault that would make her, at best, one of his own kind. She wasn't ready to go, the world needed her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, dear~ You are very much need it right now~." and his soft chuckle got lost in the winter night.

[theastrophilearchitect]

February 2021 wrap-up.

Every book, audiobook, tv show and movie I consumed in February.

The phrase ‘wrap-up’ is so boring. I want to talk about books, TV shows and movies, so I can’t even call it a ‘reading wrap-up’, however pleasingly alliterative that sounds despite the fact that ‘wrap’ actually begins with a W. One of my favourite YouTubers, polandbananasBOOKS (that capitalisation is loud) calls her wrap-ups ‘Stories I Ate This Month’ which I love, but using exactly that seems wrong. I genuinely debated calling this ‘My Media Diet’, but the word ‘diet’ has so many negative connotations to me, so I dropped that. Besides ‘wrap-up’ all in lowercase followed by a full stop is aesthetically pleasing.

The Hunger Games and Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins (audiobook) I’ve read this series countless times. I read the series first time through six years ago, and, after finishing it, I just kept rereading it during silent reading time at school, so God only knows how many times I’ve read it at this point. This is actually the second time I’ve listened to this audiobook, and I still, of course, love it. When I first read it, this book stuck with me. It was the first teen book I ever read and, most unfortunately, put me into a dystopian phase. However, we got over that. I’m good now. I promise.

You know what this is about, but here it is anyway: in a dystopian future (of literally just North America, it never mentions what’s happening anywhere else), a country called Panem (literally the whole of North America) is divided into the luxurious, utopian Capitol, and thirteen districts, all of which gather or produce something for the Capitol. Some of the districts live in poverty, while others are afforded some luxuries but nowhere near those of the Capitol. It never really explains how this system came to be, but then there was a rebellion against the Capitol in which District Thirteen was destroyed, and every year two teenagers from each district are chosen to compete in the Hunger Games, where twenty-four tributes are put in an arena together to fight to the death, and the last person standing emerges victorious. It feels so strange to talk about the basic premise of this book without going into the rest of the trilogy, but I’ll leave it here.

I hate how the media washes this book out and plays it off as just another love triangle, which it barely even is. It has such an important message about society, and the fact that the media does that just proves how accurate it is. I can’t believe when I first read it I was actually Team Gale, but in truth I think that was just because I liked Liam Hemsworth better than Josh Hutcherson, which I still do, but not the point. Anyway, the narrator is excellent.

I’m not giving these booksa rating, both because it’s a reread and I like to base ratings off my initial opinion, and because the first time I read this book I was literally a small child, and part of my love is the nostalgia.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by VE Schwab

This was the first book I read with my eyes this month, and I ended up getting the ebook because it was just so much cheaper than getting a physical copy - I may have invested if I loved the UK cover as much as the US, I’m ashamed to say (above is UK). It was not what I was expecting.

This book was much more contemplation-heavy than I was expecting and actually very light on plot. In 1714, Adeline LaRue runs away from her wedding and prays to Gods, wishing to be free, and is answered by the darkness, who makes her a deal: he grants her immortality, and she promises him her soul when she doesn’t want it anymore. He, wanting her soul, twistedly grants her freedom by cursing her to be forgotten by everyone she ever meets. Three hundred years later, she meets someone who remembers her.

It’s really about life, freedom and time - there’s no direct message or moral, at least not that I picked up on, but it really makes you think. I do enjoy that in a book, but not as much as one where i just love the story. I generally prefer books where I’m rooting for the characters, and it’s full of ships - the kind of stories you would write fanfiction about, but this is the kind of book that I think will stick with me. I take issue with how cliché the ending was, though.

Anyway, I’m not actually sure how I want to rate this. As a British teenager, I’m not actually that familiar with lettered ratings, and I don’t really want to use stars, but I think I’m going to suck it up. Maybe I’ll think of something else eventually.

Rating: 4.5 stars - books that get five stars from me are generally based on the enjoyment factor, but this book deserved more than four.

Arrow Season 1

I’ve been semi-interested in the Arrowverse/DC TV universe for a while, and finally took the opportunity to delve in. This show is so insanely CW - everyone has that look, it has that tone and it takes itself way too seriously. By the 23rd time you’re hearing it, the recap becomes painful to listen to.

This was the first show in DC’s saga - the show picks up as Oliver Queen returns home from being stranded on an island for five years after a cruise ship sank. When the ship went down, his billionaire father sacrificed himself to save Oliver, and left him with a list of ‘the people poisoning [his] city’. Upon returning home, Oliver becomes the vigilante who will eventually become known as ‘Arrow’ or ‘Green Arrow’ (currently unclear; I’m not a comic book person) but is currently dubbed just ‘the Hood’ or ‘the vigilante’, with the goal of taking down the people on the list. It’s very intense.

It took me about ten episodes to actually get invested - which is nearly seven hours watch time - but, ultimately, I’m glad that I did. Aside from the excessive CW-ness of this show, I love the characters and I want to see what happens.

Still, why is everyone so obsesses with Laurel? What’s so great about Laurel? I don’t get it. Felicity is 10000% the best character - she’s relatable, cute, and I high-key ship her with Oliver.

This little rant of mine was unintelligible.

Rating: 4 stars

Guardians of the Galaxy

I’m not explaining what this movie is about. Honestly. This was just a rewatch: I’m currently rewatching every MCU movie in chronological order (as in, starting with Captain America: The First Avenger instead of Iron Man). For every TV season I finish, I watch a a movie, and I alternate between movie series, one of which is, at the moment, MCU films. It’s hard for me to briefly explain my weird watching patterns.

I love this movie so much. It was the first really upbeat MCU movie, and I love the characters.

I don’t really have much to say about this, but if you haven’t watched MCU movies, please watch them. Even if you don’t want to, this movie is absolutely worth watching and you don’t need to watch any other MCU movies for context.

I Am Not Okay With This Season 1

I’m reeling from this show. I literally can’t tell whether or not this is getting a second season; it seems like it was meant to, but then got cancelled, and now I can’t tell.

This show follows a high school student named Sydney. She’s your typical outcast, and isn’t interested in getting ‘in’ - she’s best friends with a girl named Dina; they both came to their school around the same time and ended up friends, though Dina is your typical pretty girl. Then Syd discovers she has powers that operate based on her emotions, and I really don’t want to say anything else. But it does star Sophia Lillis and Wyatt Oleff, who you likely know as two of the kids in IT (the clown movie, not like computing).

Honestly, episodes 1-6 were very chill, more focused on teenage life than her powers, then episode 7 brought it. Up until the end of episode 7, I enjoyed the show and would be happy to watch a second season, but I wasn’t particularly invested or excited by it. Then episode 7. I would love a second season of this show. I have to at least know where the writers were going with it.

This show came out last year, and I only just got to it, but I can’t believe I haven’t heard anybody talking about it. It’s intense, it’s entertaining, and the first season will only take up about two and a half hours of your time (it’s seven 19-28 minute episodes).

Rating: 4 stars

Blue Lily, Lily Blue and The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater

I listened to The Raven Cycle audiobooks in 2019, and I’m not sure why because I didn’t even enjoy them that much. I did, however, decide I wanted to read Call Down the Hawk, the first book in the spin-off series, and that meant I had to reread The Raven Cycle since I had paid so little attention to the audiobooks, which I started in January and I love this series. Not what I expected from a reread of a series I paid virtually no attention to, but here we are.

This is book 3 in The Raven Cycle series, book 1 being The Raven Boys, which is a paranormal book in which the protagonist Blue, is the only non-psychic in a family of psychics, and has been told her whole life that if she kisses her true love, she will kill him. Then, on St Somebody’s Eve (Mark’s? I want to say Mark’s but I’m not sure), when she goes with her aunt to see the spirits of the people who will die in the next year, she sees one of the spirits, a boy from Aglionby Academy, the local private school, meaning he is either her true love, or she is the one who kills him, which in her case, could very much be both. Then that boy schedules a reading with her psychic family to help him find an old Welsh king, and there is so much more than that to this glorious series, but I’ll stop here.

I think my main thing in books and general media is the characters. They have to follow some kind of sensible plot, but if I’m not invested in the characters, I can’t get invested in the story. I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever been so in love with a cast of characters, not even in Six of Crows - this story is so character-driven, and I can’t get enough. This was an excellent continuation, and so much happened, but it did feel like its purpose was just to set up the final book, so I didn’t enjoy this one quite as much as the previous two.

Rating: 4 stars

As for The Raven King - this was the last book I read this month, finishing it on the morning of the 27th because I knew I would have very little reading time from mid-afternoon until twenty-four hours later.

In complete honesty, I found the climax of this book to be a little rushed - we spend the whole series aware that Gansey’s looking for Glendower, but it never seems to be more prevalent than just their general investigations as to what the hell is happening. As a result, when it came to that in this book, it felt a little out of the blue (no pun intended).

Regardless, this series so well balances strong characters and strong plot where so many others fail, and I love it.

Rating: 5 stars

Fate: The Winx Saga Season 1

This show is a live-action rated-15 Netflix adaptation of one of my favourite childhood shows, Winx Club. And, honestly, you can tell.

I tried to watch this objectively, instead of complaining about how they cut some of my favourite characters and changed so many (Tecna, Riven, Beatrix, Stella, Brandon etc.). While I was upset about some of the cuts, I can agree that they were best for the story. Where in the original, every fairy had their own unique powers, this adaptation splits it into five elements: fire (Bloom), water (Aisha - on another note, screw Aisha, honestly), air (Beatrix), earth (Terra) and mind (Musa), though Stella still has light powers? Which is never explained?

Anyway, this follows teenage Bloom as she discovers she’s a fairy and goes through her first year at a fairy school called Alfea.

I’m not going to go too deep into this because I have so much to say about this show that i think I’m going to make a whole separate review rather than bore you with it now. 

Quality-wise, this show was mediocre, but enjoyment and nostalgia raise its rating for me because I’m biased.

Rating: 4 stars

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

This is both Bardugo’s first adult novel and her first novel not set in the Grishaverse. I read the Grisha trilogy for the first time years ago and didn’t like it that much, but followed that right up with the Six of Crows duology which I loved. I read King of Scars in 2019 when it came out, and started listening to the King of Scars audiobook just before I started reading this in preparation for Rule of Wolves at the end of March.

I loved this. I don’t think I have anything to criticise quality-wise - the characters had depth, there were plot twists and strong subplots, the world was incredibly well built, and the only thing that got me to put this book down was taking a week to start working on my own writing project (post coming soon). Because I took that week completely off reading, this book took me about two weeks total from start to finish, but it was so worth it.

This novel follows Alex Stern, a twenty-year-old whose friends have all been murdered. She was found beside one of them who died of a overdose, with the same drug in her system. But Alex can see ghosts, and, soon after her friends’ deaths, is consequently offered a scholarship to Yale University, on the condition that she works for the ninth House of the Veil to monitor the activities of Yale’s secret societies.

In complete candour, I found this book somewhat convoluted, though most of that was probably mainly my own poor reading comprehension. Regardless, I loved the plot, and am very highly anticipating the eventual release of its as-of-yet unnamed sequel.

Rating: 4.5 stars

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

So I actually finished this audiobook briefly after finishing Blue Lily, Lily Blue, but I’m tacking it on here because I forgot to add it to the list and already explained my Grishaverse experience in my Ninth House comments.

So, yes, I love this duology, and it really opened a new compartment in my writing brain, even though I haven’t really taken advantage of that writing brain until now (again, post coming soon).

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo

I am realising I’ve read eight books this month, and nearly half of them were by Leigh Bardugo. Which makes sense, considering how much I enjoy her books.

This book is slower-paced than most of hers, but it does follow two (one of which splits again) completely separate storylines, and is still excellent and entertaining.

I listened to this for a recap before Rule of Wolves is released on March 30th.

[neroesecuzioni]

stay the night

Summary: If you stayed tonight, then you would stay tomorrow, and the day after that, and who knows how many week or months it would become? No. He never looked back and you would do the same.

(ao3 link)

You pressed your back against the warm window glazed by sunlight and rolled the white gold ring adorning your middle finger, unable to look at the sapphire that resembled his eyes.

Prosciutto was on a long-term mission, two weeks if he had estimated correctly, and you were alone in your apartment once again after a day in the office and the farewell party your coworkers threw in your name. You had put in the paperwork for a transfer two weeks ago to another branch and today you had received the confirmation for a position as an art director in Nice, France.

The movers had already packed your things into a truck on it's way to a storage unit in Nice.

All that was left in the apartment was you and his things and what a bitter taste it left in your mouth.

You had never thought you'd leave him but after he came home late one night, buzzed and in a slightly wrinkled suit, smelling of perfume that you didn't recognise, the possibility grew. The tiny snowball had rolled down the hill into something much larger as the past few months passed by.

Maybe you should've kept your eyes averted but you couldn't and what had turned up after your friend investigated might've not surprised you but it had hurt.

It had hurt a lot more than you ever thought it would.

Your entire world torn asunder.

You had kept a serious relationship with Prosciutto for two long years, moving in together after one year together. You had become his confidant, his best friend, and accepted him thoroughly despite being a hitman. That fact about him hadn't surprised or bothered you a bit. You had told him you loved him, perhaps a bit too prematurely for your tastes, but when he had said it with his eyes shining, hand pressed against the small of your back, you had believed him. The words left your mouth incidentally but you had meant them.

A stupid, irrational action in hindsight.

The thought spurred you on to take off your ring and set it on the white marble kitchen island.

Well, you weren't married luckily and a break up like this was cleaner than a divorce. Somehow, the dark thought comforted you more than anything else had. A careful man like him with changing tastes wouldn't have settled down so early on anyway and it was a dead-end anyhow.

You glanced at the sun high in the summer sky, sunset closing in once night would arrive.

This was the first mission in two months where he'd be gone for a week or longer. The first long term mission since you found out about his...indiscretions and your only chance to disappear before he could try to stop you. This was your only chance.

The thoughts didn't weaken the hurt you held deep in your heart and had yet to let go of. His late night kisses and passions had never managed to give you any comfort.

You tore off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and set down a stack of papers beside the note you had written.

On your way out, you turned off the lights and set down the key on the sleek entryway table you had built together before locking the door and shutting it behind you.

You didn't look back once.

///

He ran his fingers through his loose hair as he pulled off his shoes.

The two week long mission barely lasted longer than three days and he had turned down any invitations to go out drinking. All he wanted to do was go home, eat a warm meal, take a shower, and rest in your gentle embrace for hours before falling asleep. He tossed his shoes into the drawers by the entryway table and walked into the living room.

Prosciutto frowned as he looked around.

The apartment was clean, the white marble glistening as usual, but the little touches you had added to make the place cosier and softer were gone. Candles, blankets, decorations, and photos vanished. It was as if he was looking in the lifeless showroom the apartment once had been before you added your warmth into your shared home. Perhaps you were going to make changes again despite having done it four months ago.

He called out your name softly and strolled to the master bedroom when there was no answer.

Were you asleep? It was rather late but you were a light sleeper and he had stumbled in, slightly off-balance due to a knee injury. You would've normally woken up to greet him despite the time.

The bed was clean and almost iron-pressed with sharp lines. Untouched. You were not curled up on your side, deeply asleep and angelic as you always were.

A deep dread settled in his stomach as he began to walk around the apartment, searching for any sign of life.

The walk-in closet you shared was emptied of your things. Your vanity was missing. Every single product you meticulously kept in hand were gone. Your robe. Your favourite electronics. Your sketchbooks. Journals. Pictures. Everything of yours was missing.

There were no signs of you living in the apartment.

What the fuck? Where had you gone? Why the fuck did you leave while he was on a mission? He tore through the entire apartment until he reached the kitchen. The only things out of place in painstakingly organised house were the things left on the kitchen island. There was a torn piece of paper, the promise ring he had given you, and a tiny stack of other papers.

Goodbye.

That was all that was written on the torn piece of paper underneath the white-gold ring with a sapphire nestled among little diamonds and by a stack of other papers.

He flipped over the stack of papers and paled. The first was a photo of him at a bar kissing a scantily-clad girl, his face barely obscured and a drink in hand. The next one was him leading the girl away. He hadn't remembered exactly who the girl was or what happened besides another night spent in a hotel room before he dragged himself home after cleaning himself up, an excuse of researching for an assignment quick on his tongue.

Prosciutto knew better than to think you wouldn't have suspected something but he...he had thought you loved him and perhaps it would've made you less likely to suspect him of anything but that was a foolish sentiment, wasn't it?

Now, all he had was an empty apartment and nothing left of you.

Well, nothing but photos of him kissing a girl he barely remembered, a single scrap of paper with only the word 'goodbye', and the ring he had given you were the only vestiges left in the apartment. You hadn't even left your scent behind, covered by the floral air freshener you kept around to cover up the scent of his smoking.

He crumpled the photo in his hand and shakily took out his phone, dialling your number. He picked up the ring he had given you, the memory fresh in his mind. Your gentle smile at his promise, the softness of your breath and the way you had pressed your face into his chest after sharing a bed together.

There had to be a way to fix this.

///

The cooling air of the hotel room brushed against your bare legs as you stirred your condensed milk into your tea, pen in your other hand as you smoothly wrote over the paper.

You were finalising the final details on your new apartment's lease in Nice, France when your phone rang and you held it, glancing at Prosciutto's name flashing on the screen but it was one in the morning. Long past the time you were supposed to be asleep and he would understand if you didn't manage to answer your phone in time. He had a mission to complete. You set your phone on silent and continued to sign the paperwork on your temporary desk.

You fantasised about your new life waiting for you in France; the idea of furnishing a new place only for you sounded fantastic and going to cafes everyday. Maybe you could pursue a new hobby.

Your phone kept vibrating and flashing and you frowned. He normally hung up by now out of consideration.

You sighed and picked up. "Hello? How's your mission going?"

"Where are you?" he asked, voice harsh and rough through the phone.

You set your pen down and swallowed. "...you're home."

"I am," he said, laughing humorlessly. "And I come home to find it empty of everything of yours. Including you."

"Well then, if you know why then I don't know why you've decided to call."

"Come back." You gritted your teeth at his softer tone flowing through the phone, your eyes burning. "Come back, amore. We can fix this."

You breathed in softly. "And if I don't want to?"

He didn't respond.

"This isn't something I can forgive and if I stayed I would've resented you forever for it," you pressed on. "You can have all the girls you want in the world if I leave, Prosciutto. This is the best option for us and it'll be better for you and you can have the life you want."

"The best option? You can't decide that alone, amore. Come back to our home and we can talk and decide together."

"I didn't decide alone," you said flatly and ignored the end. He didn't get to say that to you after what he did. "You did before me and I made my choice after that."

He made that noise that he always did when his frustration began to build into unmanageable levels and you panicked.

"Bye, Prosciutto. There's no point in talking about this any longer—"

"Don't," he said, almost pleading.

"—I hope you live a happy life."

You hung up and threw your phone onto the bed, grasping your pen with more vigour than before as you continued to sign away on your lease papers. It continued to vibrate on the bed and you added another thing onto your list; a new phone and a new phone number. Your flight was in three days. Your transfer had already gone through. He was probably going to be sent on a mission again within those days and once he returned from it, you would be gone.

You would be long, long gone.

Freer than any bird in the sky.

[lostinthewiind]

hi! can i ask an angst with luz please? we don’t see him very often on those types of one-shot, it can be interesting!

You’re right, anon, there are very few angsty fics with everyone’s favourite radioman. I would like everyone to remember that this was requested, so whatever I’m about to write is not my fault and therefore I am not responsible for any emotions that may or may not be elicited. 

Warnings: mentions and discusses abortion...also, it’s just fuckin’ sad, okay?

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The Difference Between Us

Sitting on the edge of the bed, your eyes glued to the door of the barracks, you bounced your leg up and down and chewed on your bottom lip nervously. Any minute now he would walk through that door and you were going to rip his goddamn heart out; you knew it.

One way or another, this conversation wasn’t going to end well and you hated that. You had tried every waking moment for the past few days to figure out a way to make it right — a way to stop anyone involved from getting hurt — but it was seemingly impossible, and to make things worse, you couldn’t get over the nagging feeling that you had made the wrong decision.

But then again, any decision seemed like the wrong one. From any angle you looked at the situation from, it was undoubtedly a lose-lose scenario. 

Dropping your head, you closed your eyes, drew in a deep breath, and moved your hand over your stomach. If it had happened any other way you were sure you would be feeling much different; happy, even. But, of course, it wasn’t happening any other way, it was happening this way. 

The worst way possible. 

Hearing the door open, you jumped to your feet and willed yourself to hide away any and every sliver of emotion from your face. The way he smiled when he saw you in front of him, the way his face lit up when he realized he was alone with you — all of that characteristic joy was about to shatter into a million pieces and you were going to be the cause of it. 

“Hey,” George’s eyes scanned the room as he walked toward you, making sure that the barracks were indeed empty except for the two of you. “How are you?” he cautiously placed his hands on your waist and planted a single, loving kiss to your trembling lips. Thankfully, though, he was too caught up in the moment to notice just how nervous you were.

“I’m good,” you felt your anxiety melt away for a little while as he looked down at you, his sparkling brown eyes taking in every inch of your face. “How are you?”

George smiled before kissing you again. Kissing you was without a doubt one of his favourite things to do in the world. The way your soft lips felt on his, the way you somehow always smelled nice no matter how long it had been since you had last showered, and the way you hummed contently when he did so drove him absolutely wild. “I’m much better now.” he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I know I just saw you this morning but I’m not ashamed to say I missed you.”

You giggled slightly, the minuscule rumbling in your chest when you did so an almost foreign feeling. You couldn’t remember the last time you had genuinely laughed, but like always, leave it to George Luz to cheer you up even in the darkest of moments. “I missed you too.” 

“Good.” he flashed one of those quick smiles that he used to send your way from across a crowded bar before the two of you had gotten together. “So, what’s up? What did you want to talk to me about?”

You swallowed hard as the intensity of the circumstances came flooding back. Oh, how you wished it was just another time the two of you were meeting up to sneak off together and make love somewhere quiet and secluded. Ironically though, it was one of those very meetings that had gotten you into the trouble you were currently in in the first place. 

“Right, that...” you let your eyes wander as you began to try and remember the speech you had prepared earlier, but of course, it was completely gone. “I think we should sit down.” you gestured to the bed behind you.

George eyed the bed for a moment before looking back at you, a playful look on his handsome face. “Am I in trouble?” he asked.

“No.” you shook your head and sat down first before patting the spot next to you. “No, you’re not in trouble but...”

Catching on to the seriousness of the situation, George wiped the smirk from his mouth and lowered himself down next to you. “But?” he took one of your hands in his and gave a light squeeze. “Y/N, is something wrong?”

You didn’t know how to answer that question because yes, of course, something was wrong, but you wanted nothing more for it not to be a problem at all. If only there was nothing wrong. 

“Ummm, well...” you wracked your brain for the right words to say. The way he was looking at you, non-the-wiser as to what was about to happen, broke your heart. He was always so happy, always so willing to do something stupid to make someone else laugh — especially if that someone was you. You hadn’t even done it yet and you already hated yourself for what you put him through.

Forcing the smallest smile ever, you looked down at your hand in his and sighed. “I have to go away for a few days.” you started. 

George furrowed his eyebrows at you as his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side like an adorably confused puppy. “Go away?” he inquired. “Where? Why?”

“Well...” you paused for a moment, your bottom lip once again finding itself between your teeth. “Okay, do you remember that night we spent together about a month or so ago? Behind that old barn in the hay?”

A wicked grin spread across George’s face as soon as you clarified. “How could I possibly forget?” he leaned in closer and pressed a kiss to the skin just in front of your ear. “God, the sounds you made for me when I took you that second time. I’d love to hear those sounds again.” he began to get carried away as he trailed his lips down your neck before beginning to suck and bite at the flesh on your shoulder.

Your head fell back for a split second and a barely audible moan escaped before you caught yourself and gently pushed George back, your palm planted firmly in the middle of his chest. “Yes, that night.” you cleared your throat and gave a curt nod. “Well, something happened that night.”

George snorted. “Yeah, I had some of the best sex of my life.”

“George, please, I’m trying to be serious here,” you begged for him to stop messing around. Whether he knew it or not, it was making it so much harder for you to get the words out every time he made a joke or even cracked a smile. “As amazing as that night was, something happened and I...God, why is this so hard to say?”

With a frustrated huff, you buried your head in your hands and rested your elbows on your knees. “I can’t fucking do this...” you said, your voice mumbled by your hands.

Seeing you there beside him, hunched over like that finally got the message through to George. Whatever was going on, it was actually important. Scooting closer, the company radioman wrapped his arm around you and bent over as well. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he carefully pried your hands away from your face. “Talk to me, baby. I’m here.”

Sitting up straight again, you wiped away the few tears that had gathered and took a moment to compose yourself that best you could. “I’m...” your hand went to your stomach again. “I’m...”

George’s eyes dropped down and watched as you rubbed soothing circles over the fabric of your undershirt. For a second or two, he was beyond confused, but then he put the pieces together and his eyes widened and his head snapped up. “You don’t mean...” his hand moved to rest over the top of yours. “You’re...?”

With glossy eyes, you nodded. “Yeah.” you squeaked out. “...pregnant...”

You had no idea how he was going to react, but when George Luz smiled wide and hugged you tight, your heart burst right then and there. Oh, how you had hoped he wasn’t going to be happy — what a horrible thing to hope. 

“A baby?” his wonder was akin to a child, for lack of a better comparison. “We’re going to have a baby? Gosh, well, I had been planning for us to get through the war first and then move in together and then, ideally, get married first, but you know what, to hell with plans! I’m going to be a father!”

George had been so busy rambling on about how excited he was that he didn’t even notice when you began to sob into his shoulder, your whole body shaking as you cried out with the worst emotional pain you had ever felt in your entire life. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and squeezed your heart until it exploded before ripping the fragments out shard by shard. 

When George’s mouth finally stopped moving a mile a minute and all that remained were the desperate gasps for air in between your muffled screams, he was back to being utterly confused. “Y/N?” his tone was laced with worry and panic. “Y/N?” he held you by the shoulders. “What’s wrong? Why are you upset? We’re going to be parents. This is everything we’ve always talked about. We’re going to have a baby!”

“No!” the sound tore through your already raw throat. “No, we aren’t.”

“N-no?” George repeated, his eyes narrowing in bewilderment. “What do you mean ‘no’?” 

Opening your mouth wide so you could suck in as much air as possible, you gripped onto George’s arms for stability — more mental stability than physical. “We aren’t going to have a baby.” your voice wobbled. “I can’t...I can’t be in the army and be pregnant. I can’t have a career and have a baby.”

“The army? A career?” George questioned, trying his very hardest to wrap his mind around where you were going with this. “Sweetheart, I don’t understand what you’re saying here.”

Closing your eyes, you felt as a single tear slid down your cheek. “I’m going away for a few days.” your breathing was shaky as you reminded him of the first thing you had told him. “And when I get back I won’t be-”

“No!” George pressed a finger to your lips to keep you from continuing your sentence. “No, don’t say it.” he shook his head, his eyes beginning to water just like yours as he suddenly and all at once caught on to what was going on. “You-you can’t. How could you...”

“I don’t want to.” you grabbed fistfuls of his sleeves. “I really don’t want to but-”

“Then don’t.” he planted his hands on your face and pulled you in for a desperate kiss. “Then don’t do it. Don’t kill our-”

You kissed him again to prevent him from saying another word. “Please don’t finish that sentence.” you pleaded. “Please, if you love me, you won’t say that to me. This decision was the hardest one I have ever had to make in my entire fucking life and although it probably doesn’t seem like it, this hurts me just as much as it hurts you.”

“Then why are you doing it?” he pressed his hands to your stomach again, an action that only pained you more. “Then why? Y/N, why? That’s my baby in there...that’s our baby in there. Why?”

“Because I’ve worked so hard to be where I am today,” you confessed, feeling every bit as guilty about it as you did when you first made the decision. “I can’t throw it all away like this. As soon as they find out I’m pregnant they will send me home. I can’t go home. I need this, George. Please try to understand.”

“I can’t.” he stood to his feet and ran a shaky hand through his fluffy brown hair. “I can’t understand, Y/N. We could have a family and you’re worried about throwing away a fucking war for it? It’s war, Y/N. There will always be war. There might not always be a chance like this. Please, think it through.”

You stared up at the on-edge man before you, your fingers pulling at one another to try and relieve some of the stress and anxiety. “I have thought it through.”

There was no response to that. Instead, George began to pace back and forth, his face twisted up in such a way that you had never seen before — a way that you never wanted to see again. You waited a minute or so to see if he would say something, but when he didn’t, you decided to try to get through to him. 

“George,” you whispered.

“What?” he snapped, his tone aggressive and not one he had ever used with you before. 

You blinked a few times and waited until the rising and falling of his chest returned to a rhythmic, steady pace again. “George, please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not-” he growled before realizing the anger in his voice and forcing himself to calm down a little. “I’m not mad, I’m just...” he paused before rushing toward you, dropping down onto his knees in front of you, and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “Please don’t do this.” you listened as his voice broke and he nuzzled your shirt. “Please don’t...baby, please...I love you so much and I know we can make this work. Please.” he began to cry, his shoulders jolting as he fell apart before you. 

Rubbing soothing circles into his back with one hand, you used the other to lift his chin so he was looking at you again. George’s eyes were red and his cheeks were wet from his tears and you swore that you never wanted to make that man cry again for as long as you lived. However, that still didn’t change your decision. Unfortunately, nothing would.

“I love you so much.” he sniffled as his hands grabbed for yours. “I knew from the moment I met you that I loved you and all I’ve ever wanted since then was to escape this hell hole, marry you, and start a family...and I was under the impression that was what you wanted to.”

“It is.” you watched as his face lifted slightly before you crushed his hope all over again. “It is...just not right now. Not like this.”

“Y/N, I’m literally on my knees begging you right now.” he was as persistent as the day was long. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cupping his face with your palms, you stroked his cheeks with your thumbs. “I do,” you told him. “I know it doesn’t make any sense to you right now, and maybe it never will, but I do. I’ve had to fight every single day to be where I am today, I’ve had to prove so many people wrong...I can’t give up now and prove them right.”

“I think that’s the difference between you and me.” George pulled his face out of your hands, wiped his tears, and stood up. “You seem to think that having a family with me is ‘giving up’ while I think that having a family with you is everything I have ever wanted in life. All I wanted was to find a beautiful, kind, smart, funny woman who I loved and who loved me and spend the rest of my life with her. I thought I had done that...but I guess I was wrong.”

“George,” you reached out for him, but before you could take his hand, he backed away. “George, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes it is,” he argued. “That’s been very evident since the moment you decided that fighting some Nazi bastards was more important than the human life — our human life — that is growing inside of you. It’s been evident since you made this decision without even talking to me first.”

“But I am, I am talking to you!” you stood up as well. “I’m talking to you right now.”

George shook his head and scoffed. “No, you’re not. You’re not talking to me about what could happen, you’re telling what is going to happen.”

“George this doesn’t mean that we can’t ever have a family.” you tried to convince him. “I just can’t do it right now.”

“No.” he held up his hand to silence you. “No, I can’t do this back and forth anymore, so I’m going to ask you one last time; are you actually going to kill our baby so you can stay and fight in a war that isn’t even yours?”

You felt your breathing hitch. “I told you not to say that.” 

“Answer the damn question.” he didn’t even show any emotions anymore; he was like a blank canvas. “Yes or no?”

You took a single, uncertain step forward. “George.”

“The fact that you won’t even answer me tells me all I need to know.” he began to back away toward the door. “Just, do me a favour, when you get back from your little trip, don’t try to talk to me. I’m done. Goodbye, Y/N.”

“No!” you cried out, but all that was there as you reached out with a single, clawing hand was the barrack door swinging shut. With bated breath, you listened as his footsteps got quieter and quieter, and then when they were finally gone you collapsed to your knees and began to cry harder than you had ever cried before. 

Hands on your stomach, you whispered sorries to your unborn child and to George. Even you didn’t understand why you were doing what you were doing anymore. 

Your chest ached, your heart hurt, and your lungs stung. You had known the conversation wasn’t going to end well, but never in a million years had you expected it to turn out like this. 

Having what you wanted had resulted in you losing everything you needed. 

You were so sorry, but there was no one around to hear your apologies. No one around to hear you cry out, no one around to care. 

“I’m sorry...” you peered down at your stomach and found yourself rethinking every choice you had made that lead up to where you were right then. “I’m so sorry.”

[stainandscribble]

Beyond Words (I)

A Not So Beautiful Goodbye

Pairing: Jongdae (EXO Chen)  x Reader

Genre: Jongdae Poet AU, angst, quartet? 

Summary: A poet reminiscences about his old lover and their relationship in his new anthology, reminding himself of the importance of sincerity, and that love words are just as important spoken aloud as they are printed on paper. 

PART 1  PART 2  PART 3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: since Jongdae’s Barista AU has been doing so well, I decided to switch the roles, so that Jongdae is now the poet. Also, April and a Flower is art in its purest form. So excited for Dear My Dear

Word Count: 4169

Jongdae walked out of his publisher’s office, his brand new book clutched by his side. His knuckles turning white with the force of his grip on the hardback copy - the very first printed one.

His fingers felt the rough green material cover, focusing on its imperfections. The book felt heavier than it was; rougher. He could feel the effort with which he bled ink into paper, and he could hear the clicking of the computer keys like a ghost of an echo in his ears. This was the heaviest book he had written. Not because physical weight, nor the number of pages that had ended up in the final print. No, it was a different type of weight. The weight of a heavy heart; crushing his chest, beating despite the damage. It was the weight of emotional baggage he had spilled- the printing ink might as well have been made out of his tears

I spilled all my love for you

As ink on paper

How could I forget

To fill you up first.

Yes, this anthology was born of pain, and regret; and somewhat bitterly, he thought it was best one he had ever written. It was heavy, and so damn hard to write he had spent many a sleepless night staring at the lined paper of his notepad, locked away in his office. Alone. 

It had been a long time since Jongdae had been this hollow, a cavern carved out of his chest, the inflamed tissue now a home for despair rather than a heart. 

He had only himself to blame. Jongdae did not shy away from admitting his wrongs. The least he could do was admit them and leave behind any self-pity festering in his broken heart like an infection. 

Instead he did what he knew how to do best; he spilled all his sorrows and apologies as ink onto paper. 

Ironically, that ability, this dysfunctional coping mechanism, was the very reason he was in the predicament in the first place.

Your love for me was like an inkwell; never drying

And I, 

I was like a pen,

Which drew from you forever.

I did not notice,

How you dried up in silence,

Blinded by the illusion of your infinity.

Sometimes the best things in your life; the best people, leave. Sometimes you leave them. It is all a vicious cycle of life. A part of life he had recently became intimate with. Nothing lasts forever. All is finite. All good things must come to an end. 

Still Jongdae’s biggest regret of all, was the fact you didn’t have to be finite. 

If only he had paid more attention to you, instead of drowning in ink and pretty words, he could have continued on. With you by his side.

He had left the building of his publishing company, glancing up at the sky. The heavens were heavy this morning, overcast with clouds so dark and looming day had taken on the look of night. There was no rain yet, but Jongdae was sure that at some point the clouds would be unable to hold their weight, and the rain would come in a violent storm. Like any other summer.

The inkwell is empty and when the pen immerses

It comes back dry,

Leaving the words I wanted to write,

To remain a whim.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the sky still ominous, but Jongdae knew that the calmness, and the stillness were bad omens. The calm before the storm. The only question that bugged him was when the sky would open, pouring its tears onto the ground from the sky in a hail of bullets. 

He wondered how loud the heavens would roar as it happened. Would it feel as if the windows were shaking? Would he be able to feel it in his bones, despite tucking himself away in his apartment? 

Would it shake him the same way you leaving him did?

He doubted that- nature didn’t have the same kind of power. A storm was not a woman; although it was eerily similar in its magnitude.

He flicked through the anthology, finally taking the time to appreciate the work and effort put into its creation. The cream coloured pages stared at him with hundreds of ink eyes.  Their looks were accusing, and among the black letters, he saw you. Your eyes, clear and sparkling in the way they looked at you, your smile bright. He reminisced the adoration with which he looked at you those the last few years, eyes wide and sparkling at everything you did. The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a cat-like smile at the happy memories.

Finally, after the present settled over him again, pulling him out of the happy daydream, his smile fell, and the light feeling in his chest, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the memory of your soft lips against his left him too. It left him cold and aching despite being hidden away safely within his home, His heart nestled safely in in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs.

Light brown eyes moved to look out the window, the world outside brightened by flashes of lightning. On the table before him, the vase of red tulips was wilting, the petals falling gracelessly against the windowsill, no longer their vibrant red, but rather a burgundy colour fading into brown.

Like flowers on the windowsill,

I forgot that unlike the ones growing wild in meadows,

The rain shall not come water you,

And that dew shall not condense on you like the pearls, 

Which I never gave you.

You sat in your old room, surveying its blank walls. When you moved out, your parents took down all the posters, and drawings you stuck on the pastel green paint. It was the decision you made at thirteen, and the decision you cursed all your Uni years. A decision you had accepted over time. Now you found the colour soothing and familiar, and in a world where you were always moving, you were glad for the little comfort it brought you. It was still your room. 

Now, with the turn of events, you moved back, and you were ready to reclaim your space; the tubes and frames at your feet were the beginning. 

One photo was staring at you, of you, a little younger, smiling along with the man beside you. You were in a meadow filled with wild flowers you had frequented with you mother when you were little. You remembered the raspberry bushes you used to pick fruit from, and you remember making flower crowns from the chamomile growing there. 

You had taken that man there. Showed him all your favourite things; the meadow, the raspberry bushes, the sketchbook filled with gouache paintings. He showed you the ink splattered notebooks and the small coffee shop at the end of the street. 

But the sunny days were over. The storm raged outside, thunder clashing in the darkness. And the raspberry bushes were gone too, and concrete blocks had taken their place. 

And the man no longer showed you the world with ink stained fingers either.

But he had not showed you anything for a long time now, even before you left your shared apartment. So you left him. It had felt like he had left you a long time before you did. 

Your mother’s voice broke you from your musings, and you left your room surprised to see her standing in the corridor with a brown package. She handed it to you wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. The look she gave you was piercing, and there was a certain amount of concern floating behind her soft eyes. You tightened the grip on the flimsy paper that wrapped around the object, and you could already feel that it was book.

For a moment you didn’t understand why it came; you certainly didn’t order one, but the look in your mothers eyes was enough to tell you who it was from.

“So he did finish.” You murmured, hands tearing at the paper in desperation, giving way to the soft green of the cover.

 Flowers in April

The golden lettering was delicate and beautiful, and you wondered why he mailed it to you. You were no longer together. You walked out months ago. You were moving on.

Opening the book, your attention was caught by the handwritten note on the front page, the black pen standing in stark contrast against the off-white paper.

 “To my muse.

I thought it would only be fair to give this to you, after all you had suffered because of it. You should at least know why you were suffering.

I’m sorry for all my shortcomings.

-      Jongdae”

 Your eyes followed the trail of the pen, his handwriting familiar from the little notes he used to leave for you, and the shopping lists that were stuck to your fridge.

The ache of your heart was familiar too, familiar from all the nights he ignored you, and every time you sat at the dinner table alone with only the tv to keep you company. The heart in your chest ached for your loneliness, but it also ached for the home that was long gone, the home you did not wish to return to and the man who occupied it now. This time, he was the one eating dinner at the empty table, sleeping in bed alone and you had no pity for him left.

But you are not a flower, 

You were a woman.

You are a woman.

And I, 

was not a pen,

But a man.

Jongdae listened to the thunder raging outside, shaking his windows, turning his day into night with anger. 

That was one of the ways You and the storm were different. You did not shout, you were not like the storm, shaking the windows in their frames and destroying things in the wake of your rage. You had left quietly, given back the keys to your shared home, and before he could protest, make an excuse for his absence, you had left without a word, leaving no trace behind but the cracks in his heart. 

7 months ago

You came back from work, ready to order takeaway and watch films with your boyfriend. The weariness in your bones weighed you down as you made your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to climb under a blanket in the living room, wrapped in Jongdae’s arms. 

The door opened, and you caught the sight of him at the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, calling someone. 

“Jongdae, do you want pizza?” You asked, looking up at the leaflet you had stuck on the fridge. You turned to face him, weariness leaving your bones at the hope of spending the evening in peace. The lightness does not last long, and he crushes it in his hands, unknowingly, without a thought.

“I’m busy.” The words leave you heavy. You know them too well now it seems. Jongdae had been like this for a while, more preoccupied with phone calls and writing than sparing you a moment. Just like you, he seems tired, but for a different reason. One you do not know, and one is not willing to share. 

“What about watching a film later?” You try again, hoping. Being foolish. Deep down you know the answer already, feel the rejection before it comes. Your heart has been breaking recently. The cracks started growing deeper, and you don’t know how to mend them.

“I don’t know.” He tells you, his soft voice cold and indifferent, eyes not looking at you when he speaks, and with another crack, you realise he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived.

PRESENT 

You had walked out of your office, your hands now empty as you left your portfolio and necessary documents with the client. You had finalised the designs this week and everything was ready for editing. 

You were given the task of illustrating a reprint of a popular book series recently, and you had been very proud of your work. So far it was one of the biggest projects you have done. It seemed you were riding the lucky wave. Your boss had given you a slight raise as you moved to a better position at the company. This project had been a success, and the company was contracted for another project, and the clients had requested you. 

It was time to celebrate. 

You had invited your friends out for a few drinks later that night. 

The bar had a chic vibe to it. Everything was made of sleek wood and toned down colours, coupled with the dim lighting and pretty chandeliers, it was a perfect place for you to unwind and gloat your success. You didn’t get to do it every day. 

You were sipping on you third cocktail, your three friends laughing at some work gossip. It had been a pleasant night so far. That is, until you caught the eyes of Jongdae’s publisher. The woman had averted her eyes when she saw you looking, but you could still make out the displeased look on her face, and the sour curl of her red lips. 

The black dress she was wearing was fancy. Fancier than what you wore, but it did not bother you. not until your eyes found the one person you hoped not to see that night. 

It was not that you hated him. It was not that you loathed him. It was that you resented him. For how he had treated you; spent the last months of your relationship ignoring you. As if you didn’t live right there with him. As if you didn’t share his bed. As if you were not irrevocably in love with him. 

Your heart broke all over again, seeing him here, with the beautiful woman opposite him, when he had said he was too busy to come here with you. 

His eyes caught yours. Their soft brown drawing you in with their warmth. He was still familiar, he still looked too much like home to you. And in your slightly intoxicated state, you saw the regret and remorse bubbling behind the kaleidoscope of browns in his irises. Or maybe you just wished to see it. 

You didn’t want to find out. 

“He’s here.” You turned to your friends, and the moment they realised who you were talking about, they had made their way to the bar.

“Can we get a tequila?” Your friend asked, bringing over a whole bottle of the alcohol, along with four shot glasses.

“What’s that for?” You asked, surveying the glass wearily.

“For the fun of it.” She told you, the cheeky smile that formed on her lips matched the flame in her eyes.

“You are beautiful. Never forget that.” She told you as you took your first shot.

Only when I had lost you, I realised 

That you, like an inkwell

Needed to be filled.

And like a flower,

Needed to be watered;

With words of love,

Looks of awe,

With warmth.

6 months ago

“I’m eating with the editors.” Jongdae told you as he fixed his tie in the hallway mirror, barely sparing you a glance into the kitchen. You had spent the last hour making his favourite, hoping against hope he would stay for dinner. Turned out you were trying in vain.

“I thought we could eat together.” You told him, your voice small, barely above a whisper as the hope fuelled elation left your body.

“Not today.” Jongdae said, his voice softer, sounding resigned as his shoulders hunched a little. He had been feeling tired lately, bored. For now, he wanted to leave. Get out of the familiar four walls, breathe in some fresh air.

Dinner with the editors was a good reason to leave. Besides, he was in the process of writing his third anthology, and it was an important meeting he had to attend. Jongdae needed everything to go smoothly.

His hands fell to his sides when he stopped fixing his tie, and you barely heard the quiet goodbye that left his lips. Or maybe you just imagined he said it. Lately, you couldn’t figure out which it was.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let any spill. Outside, Jongdae had put his head in his hands breathing deeply, before getting in the car and driving away.

You felt him climb into bed late in the night, but he never moved closer. He used to brush your hair back and kiss your forehead before falling asleep, but now he stayed far away, and you had been colder in your bed with him than you would feel with a stranger. 

And your heart broke.

PRESENT

Jongdae found your form in between the tables, eyes glued to the side of your face, feeling more like a spectre than a man. His heart roared in his chest, beating against his ribs the way an animal beat at the bars of their cage. The way it had not done in months. For a moment, the moment that lasted a split second when your eyes met, he felt more alive than the last few months. 

His anthology had been a success, and he had come in to celebrate that. Still, the biggest celebration, better than wine and better than gin, was the sight of you. 

His publisher had seen it, the way his eyes fell on you, again and again. Jongdae, for the life of him, could not understand the way her lips curled when she caught your eyes. He was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way to pay attention to her. 

Everything about you called to him, reminding him of his love for you. Reviving the passion you had shared, setting his whole body aflame. The sight of you flowed over him like water, cold and refreshing. He was awake. For the first time in forever he felt lucid. 

“Well done Jongdae. Your anthology had just become a bestseller.” His publisher told him, reaching over the table to hold his hand. He brought it back instantly as if it burned. 

Over the course of the last months he had figured out what he done wrong. He had admitted his shortcomings. And he had promised himself to be better, for you. He was not going to ruin it tonight. 

Sitting among your friends, you were glowing. Dressed in your best dress, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled from your chest. It was a warming sight, like watching flowers unravelling in the spring. And his heart wretched when he realised, he wasn’t the reason for your joy any longer.

Now, you, like a wildflower,

Are experiencing spring again,

After a harsh winter.

You are spreading your petals,

And green leaves.

And I, like a fool,

Stare at the empty windowsill,

Not seeing you.

I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.

He watched you stand up and make your way to the exit, and without a moment of hesitation, he was out of his chair too, making a bee line to you, heart pounding at the idea of you. 

He caught you by the elbow as you turned away from the bar.

“Jongdae.” You warned him, voice low as you stared right into his eyes. Jongdae’s eyes were soft when he looked at you, and you could make out their glassy sheen of tears in the darkness.

“I know what I did wrong.” He told you, sincerity lacing his voice, thick with remorse and deeper than usual. You could feel the desperation rolling off of him like waves.

He was wearing a nice suit today. A deep grey with a bluish tinge, and a white button up underneath. His fringe was parted, exposing his forehead and the straight brows that furrowed as he looked into your eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was; forgiveness or hate, he didn’t find it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“That is how I find out?” You spat. He knew you were talking about the anthology. 

“You didn’t call.” You accuse him, poking a finger against his chest, and he lets you.

“I wrote it.” He tells you, silently begging for you to understand. But you won’t. Not this time. You had told him already; tell me what happened, tell me why you didn’t talk to me. 

Instead, he wrote an anthology, spilling all of it on paper. Just like he always did. Just like you suspected he always would. And you had grown tired of that. He spilled all his emotions onto paper, dressed hem up in pretty words and rhymes. Devoted his time into doing so. By doing that he left you alone, and as he spilled all the love he had for you somewhere else, you were left to give him your love. Over the last months of yoir relationship, all the little acts of love had ceased to exist. There was no notes left on the fridge, there was no flowers on the vase on the table.

“You did.” You tell him, disappointment rolling off your tongue, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The whole world now knew you broke his heart. The whole world knew you left him without a word. But did the world know how he had left you, months before you left him? How you had sat at dinner alone and slept alone. Did they know that? Did Jongdae tell them that? Did he write about his faults? 

You didn’t know, and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

“Y/N.” He starts, but there is nothing that comes out of his mouth, and you shake your head. Desperately wanting him to understand. Because despite everything, you still love him, but you cannot live like this, like a stranger that shares his bed at night.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.” You tell him when he stays silent, not knowing what to say. You find it amusing. A poet lost for words.

“I didn’t pay attention.” He confesses, looking defeated.

“I locked myself away and tried to run from you.” He tells you, walking closer, his wide eyes looking straight into your own.

“I was too proud to say something was wrong. Too proud to admit that I was doing something wrong.” He admitted, hands balled into fists. For a moment he averts his gaze, looking everywhere but you, before bringing it back to you, eyes red with unshed tears, shoulders shaking with frustration.

“I wasn’t sincere. I should have told you then, that I love you, instead of keeping it to myself. I thought you knew, but no one can read minds.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you know he is apologising for his actions. All but the writing. You could see the ink stains on his fingers even now. You had accepted him writing, locking himself up for a week and coming out a dying man. You have accepted that. But you have not accepted the way he treated you then, and you were not going to accept ever again.

“I’m not ready to accept your apology.” You tell him, voice even, and you seem calm as he looks at you with the hopeful spark fading from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just,” You begin, searching for the right words, “Why didn’t you tell me then?” You finally ask, referring to the poems in the anthology. Love poems- all directed at you, written from the very beginning of your relationship.

“I didn’t know how.” He admits, wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair.

“You should have done this earlier.” You tell him, hugging him back, feeling like you have come back home for the first time in months.

“I know.” He whispers, caressing your hair, bringing you closer by the shoulders, until he envelops you.

“I know.” He mumbles again, and you listen to his heart beating out of his chest.

You move away, letting him go, before giving him one last look.

“I’m glad you know. Goodbye Jongdae.” You tell him, your voice soft, without any hint of malice. You seem content. You feel content. This was you leaving on your own terms. You loved him. of course you loved him. Sometimes though, you think, love is not enough. It does not keep you warm at night, or less lonely. Sometimes love is not given equally as it should. So you leave, walk away without turning back, knowing now where it was that he had spilled all his love- into words. You thought, that maybe, just maybe- Jongdae loved his words more than he loved you.

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he was left in the dark night outside the bar, alone.

I’ve lost my privilege to love you

I can only apologize to you,

For being winter,

When I should have been endless spring;

How you were, 

My infinite happiness.

- The Beautiful goodbye I could not give you.

[spacebunsandeverything]

Missing Someone Like You

You’d never thought you’d gather the attention of Park Jimin again, or that he seemed to have forgotten that night, the night that would always stay with you.

College/ ex-friends to lovers AU Angst/ Fluff

Park Jimin. Who didn’t know him? He was sweet, courageous and a huge dork. Apparently, he had the ability to make girls hearts burst with a single wink. You knew that more than anyone, although he probably forgot.

The two of you had grown up together, him with the beautiful smile and love of dance, and you with eyes like stars and love of photography and art. A pretty pair you were, even if it seemed to shock everyone who knew you. They used to call him ‘Bubbles’. Everyone loved him, and he loved them all back. With a heart so full of love, who wouldn’t fall for him? After spending at least ten years with him cuddling you, something was bound to bloom, and it ripped you apart.

18. The age of new beginnings and mistakes. Maybe confessing whilst out with your best friend and the girl who basically wanted to own him wasn’t the best idea, but who said you could read minds. It was late, and the stars were out, after what felt like years of cloudy, rainy nights. Which is ironic, considering it was raining that night. Perhaps telling him you loved him was not the best idea. Telling him you thought you had fallen in love with him years ago was even worse.The way he turned you down wasn’t as bad as some others. He told you that you were like his sister, and he wouldn’t want to damage your friendship. So he did the opposite, and ignored you straight afterwards.

The next evening, your parents told you that they were getting a divorce and your first instinct was to run to him. But he wasn’t there, he was on a date with that girl. In the end, you told his parents everything, down to his words when he rejected you. They weren’t happy. Not at all. After all, they were certain that he liked you back. In the end, it felt like you couldn’t keep anything from them, nor did you want to. They felt like your family.

It felt strange to be ignored by Jimin, and to walk alone through school. You didn’t have many friends until a kid called Jungkook started to follow you around and chat to you about cameras. He was a good laugh, and could carry you around on his shoulders if you wanted. Somewhere along the way, you made him promise you to go to the same university that you were. He became your brother, and knew everything about you. Losing Jimin wasn’t so bad with him by your side.

It was strange to drive up to university by yourself, but it wasn’t so bad. You made fast friends with a dude called Taehyung in your photography class, and later worked with him on almost every project in that class. You also shared a similar love of bad romance films. Eventually, it felt like he’d been there forever, and that Jimin was an imaginary friend. Tae always lead you in mostly the right direction, and you were there to pull him back when he didn’t. Fridays went from working on projects to pizza and movie nights.

Jungkook fit in perfectly with the two of you, becoming a willing model and always being there to lug around your stuff when you had one of those days. It became perfectly domestic in a way that made everything feel right. There were days that you just went out because you felt like it and days that staying inside drinking proper hot chocolate was right.One day Jungkook brought Yoongi to you, who was bitter and sweet like dark chocolate, and with him came Namjoon, a giant with the kindest heart on earth. The words always came out of Yoongi’s mouth right the first time, and Namjoon could make you think by asking something as simple as ‘“Are crabs sentient?”’ They became your home, and your escape.

You ran into Jimin once, and it was filled with tension. Not sexual tension either, one of words left unsaid and battles that would never happen. It was short and curt, like ex-lovers, not the friends you once were. No harsh words were said, but it felt like there should have been. You’d heard that he had broken up with her, once she got bored with him. She actually started chasing Yoongi, which was funny to all of you as he was whipped for someone called Yuna. It almost looked like Jimin blamed you for it, and to be fair, you never trusted her. He left without saying goodbye before you could tell him that your parents had divorced. He almost fled you, like he was afraid you were going to confess again. Which was even more hilarious, considering you got over him to an extent. He was an ache in you chest, only you couldn’t take painkillers for it like that time you sprained your ankle. In all honesty, you never thought you’d speak to him again.

It was months later that you saw him again, and it was when you were walking through the streets of Busan with Jungkook and Taehyung, on the way to the house you’d grown up in. You had to do a project on your home, and you two were taking it literally, with photos of where, and in Tae’s case, who you’d grown up with. Then, there would be photos of you and your friends apartments with everyone there, even some of the weird people the Namjoon knew there. Somewhere along the way, you’d realized that it was the people who made somewhere a home, not what is actually there. That may have been why it never felt right when Jimin wasn’t there when you were younger.

He was walking behind you, and decided that it was a perfect time to call out to Jungkook, just as you were about to talk to him. It lead to rather tense looks from Tae, who knew about everything that had happened, and would probably have punched Jimin, were you not holding him back. Maybe he remembered when you said, “I wish I’d fallen in love with someone like you,” or maybe he just hated Jimin. He did have a bit of a thing for Jungkook after all. For someone who said they never wanted to talk to you again, he seemed awfully interested in you, or more why you were back in Busan. He was the one who never came home to see his parents. Too busy partying, or enjoying all the attention that being a dancer came with. And then, he spoke. “Y/N? I haven’t spoken to you in ages! We need to hang out again. Maybe whilst you’re here?” Some distant part of you wanted to say yes. But it wasn’t worth the ache in your chest. He wasn’t worth crying over, not anymore. It was worth the nostalgia, and you said yes, just for the memories. After you hung out, you found yourself in bed with him. That was an interesting development. As was the fact that his room hadn’t changed one bit. There was even that old polaroid of the two of you on the wall. You remembered that day, it was before you messed everything up. Before you realized you were in love with him. Maybe you should never have confessed, never told him how you felt. It broke the two of you apart. But you did meet everyone you care about afterwards. You wouldn’t change a thing.

He wasn’t there when you got up, neither was their a note. He’d just left. Maybe you should never have gone and ended up in bed with him. It was clear that he only wanted a quick lay from you, and not to actually to smooth things out with you. And maybe the look on Tae’s face when you escaped back to your house and told him, was the worst thing. You didn’t do any of the work that day, and actually spent it all in his arms. He was truly your friend, and knew what you needed, when you needed it.

You avidly avoided Jimin for the most of your time in Busan again. Unfortunately, he caught you on your last day there. “Y/N! Wait!” His voice filled your ears, and it felt familiar. “What do you want Jimin?” Maybe your spoke with anger or hurt, but he seemed put off. “We need to talk. Somewhere private.” Oh now he wanted to talk. “Fine. Take me there.” He had changed.

You two had walked to the diner, or the place that was your favourite hangout. You could remember many evenings spent over chocolate milkshakes there. It had so much history. The decor hadn’t even changed much! “Y/N. Look, I’m really sorry about leaving you. My parents wanted to go out and didn’t take no for an answer. They basically pulled me out of the house!” Of course it was his parents fault. Of course it was. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” It would have felt cold to him, but that was how you truly felt now. “What happened to you? Why do you treat me so coldly now?” Well you could make a nice list for him if he wanted it so badly. “Well, having your heart broken is quite a good reason. So is seeing your parents divorce.” Your voice was filled with spite. “What? They divorced? Why didn’t you tell me?” Oh here we go. “I tried! You ignored me whenever I tried to speak to you, you ran off! You always ignored me!” Jimin looked immensely shocked. “I-what? But I didn’t?” “Bullshit! You literally stopped working with me on any group project! I didn’t have any friends in our year! I had no one to work with!” He was tearing up. “But- I didn’t- If I did-” He’d actually started crying now! You should be the one crying! You were the one who’d lost everything that you believed in! So you obviously ended up leaving, because that’s the best thing you can do when someone you loved is crying.

Once again, you ended up confiding in Tae, curled up on your bed. You were behaving like a kitten, which was probably adorable until you ended up snotty crying all over his jeans. Jungkook ended up coming over as well, bringing chocolate, popcorn and bad romance films to help you get over your pain. It probably didn’t do much more then cause you to gain a few pounds. You could hear someone banging on the door, but none of you felt like moving.

You left for Daegu two days later, and spending time with Tae’s family was probably some of the most fun you’d had in a while. You saw where he got his kindness from. Any and all of the photos were beautiful, and you ended up finding Yoongi one day too. His parents were lovely, if a bit stiff, but his mum did make delicious kimchi.

Once you went back to Seoul, life felt normal again. Everyone was back together, and no one questioned your mysterious hook-up. Friday nights were spent over pizza, and occasionally alcohol. However, you were the one avoiding Jimin now. It still felt like you been played by him, and that was what hurt the most. Resentment and revenge were not good things to keep inside, but there was no chance in hell that you were doing anything about it.  Yoongi started to disappear sometimes, and through the gossip tree (read Jackson), you discovered that he was helping a dancer with music and composition. You did end up finding out in the end, and bright, bubbly Hoseok joined your group. Jungkook knew him too, and apparently Jimin did too.

As an unspoken rule, your friends never went to parties, but Hoseok did drag you all too a few. You, Namjoon and Yoongi spent all your time awkwardly standing near the drinks hoping to never have come. However, one good thing happened at a party, Tae ended up drunkenly confessing to Jungkook, and their relationship soared from there. It was sweet, abet gross to see them together.

It was at one of these parties that you ran into Jimin again. He looked good. That was the worst part, after going back to Busan, your attraction to him resurfaced. Maybe hooking up with him then wasn’t a good idea. Everything you’d felt had resurfaced. Life was not treating you well. Obviously, hiding next to the drinks wasn’t the best idea, ad he made his way over to you. “Y/N,” He slurred. Oh great “I love you…” “You’re drunk Jimin, go home.” “But I love you, I always have. You were so pretty and perfect and she was a distraction and then you confessed and I fucked up and said no and ignored you and broke your heart and then fucked you and broke your heart again and then you ignored me and now you’re here in front of you and I could just eat you out no up.” He managed to get all that out before hiccuping which is surprising. “Jimin you need to leave. This isn’t the time to rectify mistakes. Go home.” Thank you Namjoon. “Fine but I will find you and love you.” He wandered off, ideally to never been seen again.

After that, you barely went outside unless you had to. It was probably a far too extreme method of ignoring him but it worked. You rarely ever saw him. Life got better again, and somehow you made a new friend. Jae. He was fun and a change. Never asked questions, and always provided food. It was easier to avoid Jimin with him. He wasn’t interested in popularity, or doing much more than playing with his band and graduating. Jimin disappeared again, and none of you could care less. There were rumors of course, of him fucking, and then stopping fucking anyone. They said he was a monk, girls said that they were the best he’d ever had, and had ruined him for anyone else. Some said he’d fallen in love. As if he could do that.

Seasons passed by and things changed quickly. Life was peaceful once again, and everyone had settled again. There were sometimes moments where you felt a weight on your heart, as if you made a mistake. It was easy to dismiss this feeling, and there was probably nothing to it. After all, what did you have to regret?

Why? Why was Jimin at your door? What stupid thing has he done now? And of course, you did the normal sane person thing. You let him in. And oh boy, he was crying. Since you’d met and ended up becoming closer to Yoongi, you’d lost some of your empathy. That was not good. It was hard to understand what he said, but it sounded like apologies. Why was he saying sorry? He hadn’t done anything recently. “Y/N I’m sorry I was so mean-” He sniffed. “Quiet Jimin, you don’t know what you’re saying.” “Yes I do! I hurt you again!” “So what? Do you really still think it’s like the first time?” “What?” “Jimin, you really think I’m the same person I was when I was 18?” “Yes…” “Oh my fucking god how dumb can you be? People do change over 3 years!” “But-” “You left me with no friends Jimin! I couldn’t talk to anyone without them asking if I was actually in love with you! Kook was the only one who didn’t care! And then, I had to start uni alone! I didn’t have anyone to eat with again! Do you know how many times I wanted to go home? Wanted to give up and spend all my time with Kook?” “But you had Tae?” “You really think I’d actually tell him I couldn’t cope? That’s one hell of a way to lose a friend!” Oh great, now you’re crying too. “You had me…” “Since when?! You’d actually come and help?!” “No…” “Exactly!” “I’m sorry… “ “I fucking hate you Park Jimin.” “I know.”

Oh wait fuck. Now you’re kissing. Why the fuck are you kissing? In all honesty, it wasn’t the worst kiss you ever had, no, that was Jackson when he was drunk out of his mind. Did he mean to - probably not but he could never hold his liquor, even if he tried. And you’re pretty sure he’s never tried anything in his life.

“Jimin? Why?” “I’ve wanted to do that for years.” “You didn’t answer my question.” “You looked so good and I just wanted to and I’m sorry please don’t hate me.” “So you wanted to kiss me just now?” “Well I’ve wanted to kiss you a lot but I only realised now or a while ago I can’t remember.” “Are you drunk?” “I have to be to talk to you.” “You fuckface.” Now that definitely came from Yoongi. “Please forgive me.” “If I didn’t forgive you why would I be talking to you?” “Oh… Do you want to go on a date with me?” “As long as you’re sober.”

And everything ended happily ever after. Apart from that one time he fell down the stairs.

[meowgetsproductive]

Getting back on your feet. Resetting. Day 1

Technically it’s day 15 of my 365 challenge/new year resolutions. However, like most of you, I ran out of steam and flopped my resolutions.

Today marks a reset to day 1. I don’t see flopping as an excuse to give up the challenge. Maybe I can’t do it for the full 365 days in a row. But maybe I can do it for two days in a row, or ten, or a month. In any case, I hope to have figured it out by December.

The 365 challenge is:

Projects 1) Edit or write 1000 words a day (currently: M39 Novel) 2) Go to gym every 2nd day (current: pass fitness test) 3) Do one course exercise a day (current: Artist’s Way) 4) Progress 1 chore a day (current: renew passport)

Habits 5) write morning diary daily (emotions) 6) stretch daily (body) 7) Meditate daily (spirit)

I’m restarting this blog to share the journey with you. Why not restart your resolutions now? Or set some if you haven’t yet, for an exciting year of growth.

So, where I’m at right now, is I’ve just awoken from burnout.

I couldn’t string two words together, much less write heartfelt 1000 words of my novel. Yesterday, I had a trip to meet my boyfriend’s parents. Sitting in front of two well-meaning strangers, being asked simple questions like "what do you do?” had me in stumps.

The parents meant my profession but I was thinking about something much more mundane.

What was I doing day to day?

Burnout is a horrible thing. It robs you of inspiration, creativity, and creates an unfillable void in your chest. Nothing feels good enough, good enough to try. Nothing is exciting. I’ve been reading day after day, all day, trying to fill that emptiness in my soul.

That trip to see “the parents” made me look at myself as an outsider. I didn’t like what I saw.

What the hell was I doing with my life? It’s only been two weeks of the resolutions and I all but forgotten them! I have lost myself, letting entropy and the lack of energy dictate my life.

So today, the start of Day 1, I am restarting this blog and getting myself into gear. Gently.

I urge anyone starting out to treat yourself gently, like a new student. To get back on your feet you need encouragement, not harsh blows of criticism.

Today’s all about getting back to our feet. Gently.

I’m typing this blog as I go, because I need gentle encouragement. Baby steps.

First thing I’m gonna do is have breakfast. Luckily I have eggs in the fridge. I did say today marks the start of Day 1. Forget the resolutions for now. Even doing breakfast feels hard.

For breakfast, I made 2 eggs with leftover tofu and spinach from who knows how long ago, and packaged miso soup. I have miso soup every day, so it’s a typical breakfast for me. You shouldn’t try to make anything fancy. A jam on toast is fine. the point is to eat something that gives you energy to start the day. It’s hard to function when you’re low AND have no physical energy either. So we start with breakfast. I also made a banana smoothie in a blender to snack on as I go.

Next, I’m gonna tidy up my room. I live in a share house and my bedroom doubles up as my study and entertainment and library. I have piles of washing on my bed, plates on my table, pillows on the floor, random plastic bags of stuff that I barely remember dumping by the bed to be dealt with later. I have so much stuff that I can barely breathe. I need orderliness to think, and right now, my surroundings make me feel anxious and suffocated.

I’m not gonna clean up the whole place, that is too much effort. But I took the dishes and cups to the kitchen. I have put scattered books into stacks so they’re out of the way. I put all used tissues in the bin.The biggest eyesore are clothes. Seeing clothes on the floor makes me feel out of control. I have two baskets where I sort used clothes instead of just throwing them on the floor. I put exercise clothes in one basket under the bed, while lounge clothes went in the other. It didn’t take long. The one thing that did take time was folding the laundry. It took time but it was worth it for the sense of freedom of my room clothes-free. Just remember, we want to create a sense of peace and serenity, so that you can get on with your day. Maybe you don’t mind your clothes on the floor, maybe for you it’s cleaning up that really ugly stain that bugs you. Or that shutter making an infernal rattling noise that you couldn’t been bothered to fix. Get your peace of mind. Fix it.

I put on some nice music while I tidied. When I was done, I lighted a scented candle to cheer up the place with a nice scent. Maybe play a victory tune to celebrate if that’s your thing.

The tidying took up more energy than I was prepared, and I feel wiped out. I haven’t even started on my daily seven yet. I just feel like collapsing with a book and not getting up again.

Luckily for me, there is one item on my daily seven that invigorates me when I remember to do it. It’s number five, the diary.

Now my diary isn’t like a normal record of the day diary that most people use. My diary are the morning pages from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. All I do is write out my worries. That’s when it works best. Sometimes I don’t know what’s bugging me and writing it long hand helps me figure it out. Sometimes I can’t think of a worry, then I write whatever is on my mind, stream-of-consciousness style. The point isn’t to list all your worries, but to let out of your chest whatever is gripping you. Sometimes it’s the excitement of a new idea, and I have written little scene sketches in the diary too. Dreams. To-dos. Battle plans before meeting The Parents. There is no wrong way to do the diary as long as you write whatever comes to mind, not stopping. “I don’t know what to write now...” is something I see too.

I did this diary for 2 pages of my large notebook, which is roughly 22 minutes. And that takes of item number five on my daily seven.

5) write morning diary daily (emotions)

I give myself a sticker for each of the seven that I complete. It cheers me up and brings a little bit of joy into my day.

In my morning pages diary, I realised that each of the items isn’t hard. The illusion of it is. It seems hard, but once you start doing, it’s actually not that hard to do the task in the moment. Stretching isn’t hard. Thinking about doing stretching, about how much time and energy it takes and that I’d have to get up and start moving and that I’ll never be flexible so what’s the use, is what keeps me stuck dead. The key is not succumbing to the illusion of difficulty, and just starting. Once I start, the task will take care of itself. 10 minutes meditation is nothing. But thinking about sitting there trying not to think and how my back always aches, is the enemy.

My advice is, start the thing. Don’t think about starting the thing. Start doing the thing. If it’s gym, get dressed and out the door. Start doing it. No debating allowed!

I’ll meditate next. Another thing that often remains undone, because it’s boring.

I find meditating boring.

Sitting without thoughts, experiencing time without beginning or end is very hard for me. I’m very good at imagining stuff, such as cleansing the chakras or directing energy in my mind. Sitting quietly with a silent mind, 10 minutes seem to go on on FOREVER.

All right, fine. Start. Not deliberate. I’m going.

I sat on a cushion and set alarm for ten minutes.

Ohh, it started off well enough. Then I got really restless. I started counting my breaths to 10, which really helped. Then after some time, my thoughts went wild. I was deciding which movie to watch tonight as my reward for doing so well, Dr Strange or Iron Man. Those are my favourite movies. Also I was thinking that I was gonna finish early today, and how early was early? At which point I realised I’ve had a pop song playing in my mind’s background for some time. Ugh.

Ten minutes felt long, but I lasted the whole time and now I feel so happy and proud of myself! I have done the meditation for today, item seven. Another sticker. Yay!

The benefits of meditation are numerous, but the benefits don’t kick in until several months in, same as gym. It took my brother 3 months of gym before he began to look great. I’ve just started gym and meditation myself on New Years Day, so it’ll take some time for my mind to center and my body to look great. Today’s a great day to start!

7) Meditate daily (spirit)

Well, I feel like I’m on a roll with my daily habits, so I’m feeling inspired to do the 10 min stretching. I’ve already done morning diary and meditation, stretching feels like a piece of cake! (See how small steps inspire more small steps? I’m all fired up!)

I put up some music, set the timer, and bam! Done. Three stickers today. The amount of bones I cracked was embarrassing.

Why do I resist stretching so much? Again, it takes time, even if it’s just 10 minutes. It’s boring, even if I put on music. Plus it hurts when I’m sore or I try the splits. Then why do it? Because doing something like a ten minute stretch helps keep flexibility and freedom of movement for life. Like all good things, the tangible benefits don’t kick in until later in life. (I’m beginning to see a pattern here).

6) stretch daily (body) Done!

That’s the Habits triad done. Yay for emotions/body/spirit!

Where’s the mind, you may ask? Well, the rest of the daily tasks are mind-heavy. Writing, gym, course exercise and chores tend to draw heavily on intellect. They make my brain flex.

Writing draws heavily on all areas.

Going to gym is as much a mental battle as physical exertion is.

By now, I’ve done the easy items on the list, the ones that take 10 minutes max. Doing it this way was semi-deliberate. I need easy wins right now to feel empowered. Attempting something like number one: writing, would be too overwhelming for me. Thanks to starting with the small items, I feel accomplished, I feel confident about getting more items done, I feel cheerful and I have what I feel like lots of energy (stretching could be at play for the energy boost).

Next, I feel like tackling the easiest item on the Projects list. Which is number four, the chore of passport renewal.

All I have to do for passport renewal is to load the official form onto USB and print it, get two passport photos, and go to post office to pay a fee and lodge the form and the photos.

The due date is tomorrow. I’ve been putting it off for a month.

The reason is, I am hesitant about taking that photo. I currently have long-ish hair at my boyfriend’s request, but I normally keep it short. I don’t want long hair in my passport photo. I have been procrastinating getting a haircut (and hurting my boyfriend’s feelings), yet I wasn’t comfortable taking a long-haired photo. That would be ten years staring at a photo that screams “not me”.

Some of you might be thinking “Gal, it’s your hair, you don’t have to do what your boyfriend says!”. I agree. This time, however, it’s not a bother to keep my hair long. I don’t care that it’s long right now (and I like that my boyfriend appreciates it), I just don’t want my hair long in my passport photo.

Alas, I’ve decided as I’m typing this this that I’ve left the decision for too long, and I’m worried about the paperwork expiring tomorrow if I don’t do something now. So, I’m gonna find that passport form and put it on USB, then fix myself for going out (long hair and all), and see if I can take the photo at the post office directly rather than getting someone to do it for me and then rushing to a printing shop last minute (for all of you who can print at home, I am jealous and I salute you!).

Finding an empty USB and loading the doc there took less than thirty seconds.

The getting ready didn’t take too long because I had met The Parents yesterday and so I was all clean. I wore the same clothes cuz I just needed to do the photo, not please people.

Doing well so far.

At the post office, the lady told me they don’t do printing. While they could do the photo, they can’t print my form to finalise the process.

I envy you, printer-owners.

I contacted a relative to see if I can use their printer, and also if they can do my photo. It would same me money if my relative could print the photo for free. They said okay.

Turns out the passport photo couldn’t be printed via inkjet printer. I only printed the form at the relative’s.

Then I drove back to post office, did the photo, and submitted the whole thing.

I’m so tired now. This recovery thing is hard.

Or maybe that’s cuz it’s early dinnertime and I haven’t had lunch yet.

4) Progress 1 chore a day (current: renew passport)

I’m gonna make some food next. It’s not dinner, not lunch, but something in-between.

I made a sandwich for that meal. Again, I wasn’t going for fancy, since I’m so low on energy.

While having lunch and talking to my brother, I have randomly uncovered an answer for a touch writing problem I’ve been having about some critique I’ve gotten. I was so inspired by this insight that I worked on the solution for about two hours, which resulted in about 2,500 words. That covers number one on the resolutions list, quite by accident.

I love when success begets more success.

1) Edit or write 1000 words a day (currently: M39 Novel)

Now it is late, and I’ve been sitting down for most of the day. Plus the gym rush has ended. A great time to head out to gym.

I didn’t stay long in the gym, only 40 minutes, 20 of which was walking on treadmill. Baby steps, remember?

2) Go to gym every 2nd day (current: pass fitness test)

By the time I got back and took a shower, it was 10pm. I still have one item not done.

This leaves only one item not yet attempted, and that is item two, the course exercise (for the Artist’s way). It takes only 5 min. I remember that all exercises for week 11 in the book are lengthy. I don’t think I can easily do any of them. So, I’m gonna do the trick I do for really difficult tasks, or tasks I’m really scared of.

I set a timer for 10 minutes.

In that time, I’m gonna read the exercises and see if I can do any today. If not, I’m going to pick one and write up a list of materials I’ll need, or do a search if the exercise asks me to contact people etc. Basically, I’m gonna spend the 10 minutes trying to progress something somewhere.

10 min. Go!

I could do one exercise. It was massive. I had to list 10 wishes in 7 areas of health, possessions, relationships etc... I only got through the heath, possessions and leisure in 10 minutes, and I thought I was coming up with wishes pretty fast. Those course exercises aren’t quick!

However it does accomplish my daily resolution of progressing a course exercise by a minimum of 10 minutes. Yay!

3) Do one course exercise a day (current: Artist’s Way)

This means I did all 7 resolutions! Hooray!

I gave myself a special sticker to celebrate!

But it did take me a full day, from breakfast to 10:30pm to do all seven, and I didn’t have any obligations today. If you have work or are looking after kids, then maybe try for one resolution a day. I definitely don’t want to be spending an entire day tomorrow doing just the resolutions. I’d like to do other things too. But today I wanted to start it easy and so I didn’t plan any other things so that I had plenty of time to do the resolutions.

I hope that once I’m more at the rolling stage, I can achieve all the resolutions in a single 3-4h evening. If you have a lot of resolutions and you’re struggling, do the math to figure out what is realistic. My resolutions take a total of 3 hours 20 minutes as a minimum (items 3 to 7 are ten 10minutes each, to a total of 50 min. Gym takes about an hour. Writing is variable, but 1 hour for 1,000 words sounds reasonable. Plus add a minimum of 5 minutes between each activity. Seven activities require six breaks, a total of 30 min). So, a theoretical 3 hour 20 minutes worth of tasks took me 12+ hours to do today. Again, be gentle with yourself.

What are your resolutions for today? I wish you success, good luck and good cheer!

Meowgetsproductive

[sweetestt-devottionn]

Hug Me

AN: This was inspired by a fic that i read before hope u enjoy it! sorry for any grammar mistakes english isn’t my first language, i’m open to criticism tho:)

==========

It seems like yesterday I was happy with nothing. Today, I make a wish to the moon. I told her if I can see you once again, I'll do one last dance with you to this song.

To remember you forever,

Just one last dance...

==========

Have you ever heard the word 'breathless'?

It has different meaning of its own if you put it in different use. One could describe the meaning of extreme surprise where you just froze in your spot, mouth hung agape as you look at the most precious thing in you possession in awe.

It truly was a wonderful description to appreciate such blessings.

Yet, in another meaning, one that you make sense of literally, has such a different effect, with a stark contrast between light and darkness, akin of a nightmare in the middle of a day dream.

==========

Breathless

[breth-lis]

1. without breath or breathing with difficulty; gasping; panting:

2. dead; lifeless.

==========

Everything happened so fast. One moment she was just standing there in her comfy clothes, casually washing the dishes then the next moment. She saw her lying on the floor as the plate she was holding dropped and shattered against the hard wood floor. It might be just at the spur of the moment, where she exists and everything fell apart. She was rooted to the spot, head staying on the same spot her love used to stand just moments ago. Slowly, but surely everything came rushing back, like a river current overcoming any hindrance. Her hands were shaking when she finally got control of her body.

"LISA!" She screamed then, heart gripped with the panic brewing inside her at seeing her lover so frail, surrounded with the broken glass scattered around her body. She was shaken with pity that at such a tragic misery her love was still attention's sweet centre. Painted was the tragically beautiful story of their journey, started with her world brushed with dark muddy colours.

“oh mygod ohmygod,”

Jisoo swore she never ran so fast in her life.

In the blink of an eye, she was holding her lover's head on her lap as her fingers fumbled with her phone, the trembling digits struggling to call 9-1-1.

"I need your help please... She fainted....I-" That was the last thing Lisa heard as the black spots on her vision finally swallowed her whole. When the last sigh left her lips, her body became slack.

And that,

was the night everything changed.

==========

The trip to the hospital was not one on her favourite list of trips but, at seeing her lover sudden decline of health, she wondered just how long it would take for the ambulance to reach the hospital. She sighed over and over again as she held Lisa’s hand close and kissed each of her knuckles.

She choked back a sob as her eyes welled with tears and the state Lisa was in. Oxygen mask covered her face, and somehow in the span of minutes she had only just noticed how pale and gaunt her love actually is, a drastic difference to her usually fair and healthy body. She cursed herself, hating the fact that she had failed to see the symptoms that might have had explained the ongoing situation.

“I’m sorry baby, I should have looked after you better and stayed home more, fuck I’m- I’m fucking sorry I shouldn’t have I-,” Her speech was cut off due to the sob threatening to burst out.

“pl-please just wake u-up please…”

It may seem unusual for those close to her but,

She prayed that night.

To whatever gods there are out there, she just hoped they’d listened.

When the sound of cars honking filled her hearing and the pounding of her heart reverberated throughout her body, she closed her lids tightly. Lips mouthing an inaudible prayer as tears welled in her eyes. She held her lover's hand a little tighter, yet somehow, she still refused to cry.

‘Me and my pride’ she muses.

She refrained herself to believe anything but her lover being okay again.

She had to be okay..

She just had to...

==========

The short trip to the hospital turned out to be a long one. The seconds and the minutes turned into hours as she waited outside the ER. She paced back and forth for she knew that there was something wrong, though she refused to believe it. Realising she might have to tell Chaeyoung, she steeled herself against the obvious thunderstorm and pressed call.

It doesn’t take long for the said best friend/ sister to pick up, and for some reason she felt guilty, like it was somehow her fault when the first hello filtered through the phone.

“Jisoo unnie? Are you there?”

“Umm… Chaeng, I-I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what just happened I-“

“Unnie? Please calm down, what happened? Is Lisa okay?”

“She-“

“She’s just been admitted to the hospital, Chaeyoung-ah…”

“WHAT?! JENNIE WE NEED TO GO NOW!”

“Chaeng- I..” She tried to say when the phone beeps, indicating the end of the call.

They came 15 minutes after she hang up their call, appearance so dishevelled some might think they’re some kind of a hobo.

“Is she okay?” Jennie asked as Chaeyoung was currently feeling too wrecked to even function.

“I- I don’t know , Jen.. One minute she was standing and the next she was suddenly on the floor unconscious.” She explained as her hands swung wildly in her manic.

Jennie said nothing but pulled Jisoo into a tight hug in which she immediately melt into, followed by Chaeyoung as the three of them relied on each other for the comfort they badly needed at the moment.

Their million questions were finally answered another hour later. In midst of her mini panic, the doctor handling Lisa's case came out of the room and approached her jittery self.

"I'm sorry...”

That was all Jisoo needed to hear to know that, she was not okay, her lover never was. She knew, Lisa knew that she didn't have much time left and yet, she still smiled and act that bubbly personality of hers. Always unyielding, always without flaw, not even once.

A gasp was heard, yet she couldn’t care less.

Jisoo pondered, just when did Lisa became such a good liar?

"I hate you so much..." She sobbed as her back slid against the white hospital wall. Its horror and constant dullness that painted her peripheral stayed unflinching. Leaving her, to fend for herself after the heart wrenching news that might just destroyed every good thing she had left in her life.

‘such a tragic life of a dreamer’’Such a pity’

I wonder Lisa,

I do wonder...

==========

Jisoo spent a restless night back at home. She laid on her side of the bed and took in the unusual coldness of her own personal sanctuary. Her stare resided on the empty right side of her bed. The golden sparks in her eyes had faded hours ago, only the remnants of it stayed. It had turned tedious brown in its departure.

She breathed deep, trying to remember her scent. Truth to be told, it had been hard for her to leave her love alone on the hospital bed, but she was not one to defy doctor's order. Though she really gave the nurses a run for their money when they need to forcefully dragged her away from her lover's limp body.

She decided then, she should have fought against their grasps harder, for Lisa was worth every struggle.

Every. Single. One.

==========

Days passed in a blur after the news. It was broadcasted on their social media accounts that they will be taking a long hiatus with the reasons unknown. It sure did cause an uproar in their fandom with their seemingly abrupt disappearance but in the end they couldn’t do anything but to accept their idols’ decision.

Realising the ticking time that was eating away her love’s life, Jisoo brought her everywhere her heart wished for. Her heart clenched every time she saw Lisa's face light up when she brought her to places she had never been before, knowing any moment now could be her last.

She smiled bitterly at that. Her time was limited and she was fucking desperate for any kind of miracle. She prayed every night, for something, anything, to happen.

Because she would give it all just for her to be okay again. That way, they would be able to do the future they had planned out together. In their future, they would be living in a 2 storey mansion with Dalgomie, Leo, Luca and 4 kids running around the house. They would grow old together, wasting their time watching the sunset every evening with a warm cup of tea.

Fate always said otherwise, because the one time she actually found someone who loved her for her. They took her away from Jisoo.

Even sometimes, love was not enough...

==========

It was another cold evening on the midst of December. The couple was snuggling on the couch just enjoying each other's warmth. Jennie and Chaeyoung were out, buying food for their dinner. No words were spoken, though the comfortable silence of the empty dorm was broken when Lisa called out to Jisoo.

"Jisoo?" Lisa asked quietly, head laying slack against Jisoo's chest.

"Hmm?" She responded, hand moving to stroke Lisa's hair gently.

"Can we sing right now?"

Her hand stilled from her movement as she looked down at her. Usually, Jisoo would have laughed at the random request but the look on Lisa's face, left her stunned. Absentmindedly, Jisoo started to sing one of her favourite song, Long Live.

It really was ironic.

"I said remember this moment

In the back of my mind...” She started, voice wavering a bit.

She was shaken out of her reverie when Lisa suddenly sat up and started pulling at her hands, urging her to stand with her.

“The time we stood with our shaking hands

The crowds in stands went wild

We were the kings and the queens

And they read off our names

The night you danced like you knew our lives

Would never be the same ..."

At this point, they were both dancing around in their apartment, not caring about what would happen in the future. Live in the now they said.

“You held your head like a hero...”

Lisa sang, voice sounding off key but none of them care anyways. She crossed her arms and posed as superman pretending to be showing her ‘spectacular biceps’ that had become bony and last muscular over the past few months. She nodded her head at Jisoo cueing at her to sing the next lines.

"On a history book page

It was the end of a decade

But the start of an age..."

Jisoo stayed quiet and instead, she only looked at her funnily. Lisa had no choice but to continue singing with a grumpy voice.

"Come on CHICHU!! I SAID ONE, TWO, THREE... SING WITH ME!!" She held out her hand between them as if to share the microphone for the both of them.

"Long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders

One day we will be remembered...”

This time Jisoo did join the fun, screaming with her lover as they belted out the lyrics. They might just sound like dying whale and the neighbours would surely filled out a noise complaint but seriously, they could careless right now. No headlines, no media, no worries. Just Jisoo and Lisa singing off key in their penthouse apartment.

"I said remember this feeling

I passed the pictures around

Of all the years that we stood there on the sidelines

Wishing for right now..."

Lisa continued as she looked at Jisoo and pulled on a funny face, successfully bringing a long overdue smile on her girlfriend's face.

"We are the kings and the queens

You traded your baseball cap for a crown..."

Jisoo gestured to Lisa's head as if to put on an imaginary crown on her. Lisa smiled at the gesture and did an over exaggerated curtsy before standing up straight to urged Jisoo to keep singing as she swayed from left to right, doing some weird dancing of her own.

"When they gave us our trophies

And we held them up for our town

And the cynics were outraged

Screaming, "This is absurd"

'Cause for a moment a band of thieves in ripped up jeans got to rule the world..."

Jisoo belted the lyrics as she knelt on the floor like a rock star. Lisa was having the time of her life as she rolled down on the floor laughing her ass off.

"Love live the wall we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

I was screaming, "Long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders..." Jisoo sang loudly.

I'm not afraid," Lisa continued with a big grin on her face.

"Long live all the mountains we move

I had the time of my life

Fighting dragons with you

I was screaming, "Long live the look on your face"

And bring on all the pretenders

One day we will be remembered

Hold on to spinning around

Confetti falls to the ground

May these memories break our fall..."

Jisoo actually sang beautifully this time, giving it her all as she pour her heart for their impromptu Lichu-karaoke session. As she opened her mouth to sing the next stanza, Lisa had already beaten her to it.

"Will you take a moment,

promise me this...

That you'll stand by me forever

But if God forbid fate should step in,

And force us into a goodbye..."

Lisa sang the lines softly to Jisoo as she put her hand over her heart as tears welled in her eyes.

"If you have children someday

When they point to the pictures,

Please tell them my name..."

Her voice cracked as she sang it, knowing the reality of it all. Jisoo rushed to comfort her but one hand motion from Lisa and another plea of "I'm okay," left her with no choice but to continue the song.

"Tell them how the crowds went wild

Tell them how I hope they shine

Long live the walls we crashed through

I had the time of my life, with you...”

Jisoo presented Lisa with a teary smile as she pointed her fingers at her. She furiously wiped her tears away, and when she belted the next line, she was determined to end this in a good note.

All smiles no frowns.

"Long, long live the walls we crashed through

All the kingdom lights shined just for me and you

And I was screaming, "long live all the magic we made"

And bring on all the pretenders

I'm not afraid..." She sang as she put on a brave face and a salute at Lisa, getting a smile out in return. Jisoo gave her a signal and they sang the last lines together.

"Singing long live all the mountains we moved

I had the time of my life

Fighting dragons with you

And long, long live the look on your face

And bring on all the pretenders

One day, we will be remembered..."

They finished the song quickly and enveloped each other in a tight embrace, tears still streaming down their faces.

"Long live us...” Jisoo whispered against her head.

"Long live you...” She added with a smile, before pressing a light kiss on Lisa’s forehead.

You will be remembered...

==========

Lisa did last longer than expected as she somehow managed to get past through her birthday and Jisoo's. Though another incident might have barraged their way at her.

On the morning after Jisoo's birthday, Lisa had stupidly fell off her bed. But that, was not the problem. It was the excruciating pain that followed after that. She swore she had never screamed so loud in her life.

Hearing her screams, Jisoo bolted upstairs towards their shared bedroom. Fingers fumbling with her phone ready to call 9-1-1.

This was giving her a sense of déjà vu. Added with the fact that in dire times like this, Jennie and Chaeng always seemed to be away at an important meeting with their management, leaving Jisoo alone to deal with a crying Lisa.

Seeing her Lisa laying helplessly on the floor, screaming her head off, Jisoo panic level accelerate to 100 real quick. She knelt down beside the whimpering girl and wafted her hand through her hair, while whispering sweet nothings to soothe her pain.

"You're gonna be okay, baby.."

You will,

You have to...

==========

"She fell the wrong way, Chaeyoung. I've said this to you a million times. Why won't you believe me?" Jisoo hissed at Chaeyoung as they walked down the hospital halls to Lisa's room. She was being prepped for immediate surgery because apparently her stupid fall could possibly cause paralysis. Stupid bed and stupid floor, she had said.

"Wow unnie , Okay I believe you, but seriously you need to chill. You're basically on fire right now.." Chaeyoung tread carefully, afraid to get Jisoo madder than she already was.

"You're dealing with this better than I ever was Chaeng. How are you okay with her dying?" She ranted, frustrated.

"I'm not, and I never will be okay with her dying, so don't even try to say that. But, do you know what makes me strong unnie? It was her wish. She personally told me that she wanted her last days to be full of smiles, not tears; not frowns. So I tried, I really tried my best every day to keep the smile on my face, to keep the happy thoughts on my head as if she wasn't dying. I had to respect her wish. I had to, unnie..." Chaeyoung confessed as she blinked rapidly to avoid the tears from falling, knowing Lisa would caught up with her act once she saw a faint tear marks on her face.

"I'm sorry Chaeyoung-ah, I-I didn't know,"

"It's okay unnie, please just trust me on this. You need to respect her wish too okay?"

"All smiles?"

"All smiles."

==========

It had not been great.

Lisa was paralysed from the waist down. But she had not reacted poorly. She had taken a moment of silence after the news, both her lover and best friends looking at her expectantly, gauging her reaction. What happened next was not expected by the both of them.

With a defeated sigh, Lisa had looked back up towards the doctor and asked a simple question.

"Can I go back home now?"

The meaning behind her words were clear, she didn't want to talk about it and it was to be expected. Yet, that split moment when she looked at Jisoo at the word 'home', really messed with Chaeyoung's emotion. She had lived, knowing that her best friend and sister had found her home. A place for her to belong, yet, it was wretched from her grasp just after she found it.

Home…

Lost.

==========

Today was the day the two brotp? finally get to hang out. Though, Jennie realised she should have done this sooner. She had immediately became fast friends with Lisa after their first meeting with each other during their trainee days. She had said, the only reason they got along so well was because their ‘stupid aegyo tendencies and annoyingly cute gummy smiles ’ cheers to Jennie for that. She knew her gummy smiles are valuable winning weapon. So to speak, with their fast growing friendship and what not, this news had truly affected Jennie deeply.

They were strolling around the central park, not a lot of people were in sight which was a plus to the both of them.

"Jennie, if you didn't stop thinking, smoke might came out of your head any time now," Lisa suddenly said, causing her to pause in her movement.

"Shut it Manoban, or do I have to hit you to do so?" Jennie clapped back at her best friend who now appeared offended. She put a dramatic hand over her chest and said.

"Really? You'll hit a cripple? WHERE ARE YOUR MORALS?"

"Where yours are?" Jennie sassed.

"Shit, let me call Satan. He has them. Along with my list of fucks I do not give."

"Oh please, SOMEONE PLEASE GET THIS GIRL SHE'S ANNOYING ME," Jennie was all but shout.

"Watch it Nini or I'll tell Chaengie about your behaviour."

"You are such a tattle-teller, you b*tch. You disgust me," Jennie said in her best Kim-Kardashian-accent as she flipped her hair to get her point across.

"My energy should not be wasted talking to you, move along please I need to get my ice cream," Lisa commanded from her wheelchair bossily.

"You're lucky you're cute or else I would've left you somewhere," Jennie complained as she grudgingly started to push the wheelchair to the ice cream shop.

==========

Miracles do happen, sadly it didn't always last.

==========

Lisa knew her time was coming, knowing she had outlived the doctor's predictions; this was bound to happen anytime soon. It was a little after the New Year. She was being woken up, with severe chest pains. She screamed which immediately woke Jisoo up.

"Lisa baby, what's wrong?" She asked soothingly, trying to keep the panic from her voice.

Jisoo didn't get an answer from Lisa except for her occasional whimpers which caused her to curl further into herself, hoping to make the pain stop.

She knew her time was coming,

But she sure as heck was not ready for it.

==========

Lisa was hooked to a ventilator that night, her lungs had failed her and she didn't expect any less. Seeing her lover so fragile against the hospital bed, Jisoo made a beeline to the chair beside the bed and held her sleeping hand tightly.

She leaned her head closer to the bed and rests it at the edge of the pillow. It might have been an uncomfortable position but she wanted to, she need, to remember her.

I don't want to forget...

Right before she continued her restless slumber, Jisoo hummed sotto voce. She sang a song very dear to her as a prayer, and God, she did hope Lisa would listen close in her slumber.

“Please stay by my side,

Please stay with me..

Please don't let go of me, the one who's holding your hand...

I love you,

I love you...

In the long silence, a sound comes, screaming

From my foolish and weak heart..."

==========

The goodbye was the hardest.

==========

Lisa was looking at Jisoo as best as she could through her half lidded eyes. She could she the hudled figures of her best friends standing on the other side of her hospital bed. God, she was so tired, and she had long accepted her fate. She stared at Jisoo with any adoration she could muster and smiled weakly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She suddenly said, breaking Jisoo out of her trance.

"I want to remember you."

"Don't do this to yourself baby, please"

"I- I can't Lice, please I can't forget you. I don't want you to go. I LOVE YOU! Why is that not enough?" She sobbed as she desperately cling to her hospital gown to discard any possible distance between the two of them.

"It doesn't matter if I'm not physically beside you, unnie. Please don't cry, love, I'll look after you from the sky. You won't forget me because I'm here with you. I stayed in your heart. I'll visit you in your dreams, there you can relinquish all your joys and sorrows to me. You'll remember me, just like the way my heart will call out to you in the after life..."

"I love you, Lice. I'd give it all just for one more day with you..."

"Don't dwell- on your sadness please, all smiles, okay?" Lisa had to stop in between words to catch her breath as her lungs started failing on her.

“Unnie, if it is time for me to go, can you take care of Jisoo unnie for me?”

Lisa never said it to anyone  in particular neither Jennie or Chaeyoung, but the message was clear. They responded with a tight squeeze on her arm and a teary smile.

Their last moments together were spent with Jisoo brushing the remnants of Lisa hazel brown hair, as they enjoyed the silence that sang lullabies for those in passing. It wasn’t long when the silence was broken by none other than Lisa.

"Can I get one last kiss before I go to sleep, Chu?"

“Anything for you love,” Jisoo smiled a bittersweet smile through her red eyes and puffy cheeks before leaning in as they lips met in passion.

So desperately, trying to make it a kiss, one could remember forever.

"Sing for me please, Chichu…" Lisa whispered her last wish. She moved her body a little bit as she sagged against the hospital bed, eyes fluttering close.

"Hallelujah,

You were an angel in the shape of my love

When I fell down you'll be there holding me up

Spread your wings as you go...

And when God takes you back,

He'll say, "Hallelujah, you're home."

Jisoo wait until her breathing became no more, before she stopped. With one last cold kiss to the lips, Jisoo muttered her prayer against her skin.

"In peace may you leave the shore;

In love may you find the next.

Safe passage on your travel," Jisoo finished and wipe her tears away. She leaned her face closer to Lisa's and mumbled against her lips.

"May we meet again, Lisa..."

==========

It was nothing special, another day, another time, another dawn. They recalled that time when a young Lisa Manoban swore that when she died she would do it in such honour, with lots of people crying for her.

They had laughed it off then, saying that she wasn’t even close to a hero or a president. It was a stupid dream to begin with.

Lalisa Manoban didn’t die in such great honour, she didn’t die with the sound of trumpet and manmade tears marring people’s face as they pretend to show empathy to the fallen grace.

She died, on a normal Wednesday afternoon, with 3 of the brightest stars in her life, and I guessed for her,

It was more than enough.

==========

"One last kiss to a cold lips, to seal the prayer."

==========

[rohobi]

Pulse 03 | (m)

Kim Taehyung | Medical AU |  Smut | Angst | Trauma | Patient death | Medical Jargon | Medical Inaccuracies | Mature Content | Multi-fandom Medical Team |

COUNT: 8k Words  CHAPTER SUMMARY: ❝There are wounds that never show on the human body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.❞ LISTEN ▶ 

↳ INDEX → CHAPTER 4

↣ SEOUL HEARTS HOSPITAL | Dr. Kim Taehyung

Changing into a new pair of blue scrubs in the bathroom, Taehyung asks himself at which point did everything in his life go wrong. He was so tired. So fucking tired and so fucking unhappy and so fucking miserable. He’s been hiding it behind a smile, burying it deep within him.

A pain like no other. 

He scrubs his face with a cleanser he thinks belongs to Dr. Yoongi, hoping that it might make him feel grounded in something other than misery. But no matter how hard he scrubs, the feeling’s still there. 

Like scum.

Patting his face dry with a white face cloth, he takes a deep breath. It might as well tattoo itself across his face, nothing could take it away. Sadness made its home in his bones a long time ago and now he was living with the consequences of it.

The memories of a happy life he once had, grew into shards of glass over time, cutting him up in the inside. Why can’t he go back to that time? Why can’t he be that person he was? Why does he feel so damn guilty all the time when he was just trying to be a good son for a mother who’s on her way out? 

The wounds he sustained, ripped open at every reminder of you, are his worst enemy to date. He wonders if his mother’s aware that everytime he smiles, the ingenuity of pretending to be happy tastes like rotten fruit on his tongue.

He could never be happy again, as neurotic as that sounds, he doesn’t think he deserves to be. 

He hates himself.

Staring at his face in the mirror, he takes another deep breath as he stands up straight. He adjusts the lapels of his pristine white coat while brushing his teeth with his other hand. At least he enjoyed his job, the patients were usually older adults who reminded him of his grandmother, it was nice being around people who liked him. Lots of broken bones.

It was ironic, a doctor who could mend broken body parts for other people, lived uncomfortably with a broken heart.

One he broke himself.

One he could never mend on his own. Taehyung wondered if he would get any category one acute surgeries tonight. He loved the cases from ED. Traumatic neck of femur fractures -the greater trochanter fracture in particular were fun, he enjoyed being the specialist whenever he ran down. He loved the spinal injuries and the tibial fractures, knees and shoulders.

Bones. He loved them. It was the best distraction from life that he knew. Taehyung had always been really interested in Emergency Medicine but he could never do it, knowing it was your speciality and knowing you’d never want to see him again. 

He tried to respect that, he tried to respect the distance you wanted but sometimes, he just wants to know if you're okay. If you're happy. If you're loved. If you ever kept his child. If someone took up the space in your life that he used to. He's too afraid to act on those curiosities, to cowardly to come forth, too ashamed in himself for letting people control him, too ashamed for never standing up for himself, too afraid of the consequences his family offered if he did not follow their orders. He was a coward. Rinsing his mouth out, he frowns at himself in the mirror. This was the real him, the real Taehyung, the real person who never put up a pretence, someone who was unhappy and in pain every single day. But who else wasn't in pain. He adjusts the red, blue and green pens in his front coat pocket and wraps the bright red stethoscope from his pocket, around his neck. He turns the light off before closing the door behind him. Checking his pager, he clips it on to the waistband of his pants before pushing through the doors with his shoulder. Dr. Yoongi, Taehyung’s bestfriend, waits in the hallway for him with a coffee and an apricot danish for Taehyung. “Morning loser,” Yoongi says, handing him a bag and a coffee, “Got you a coffee that resembles your taste in woman.” "Morning? It's like 8pm," Taehyung smiles, sipping the bitter tasting beverage. “Yuck, Yoongi, my taste in women is not bitter.” Yoongi smiles. “You know, she called me last night, told me you hadn’t come home in a month, that true?” Sighing, he rolls his eyes. “I sent over the divorce papers, I’m only going back there if it’s to pick up those signed documents.” “Sounds about right,” Snorting, Yoongi wraps his arm around his shoulders. “You’ll finally be free from her? How do your parents feel about letting you loose?” “I haven’t told them yet,” Taehyung looks away from Yoongi, gesturing to start walking to work. “I’m pretty sure they’ll disown me. Anyway, enough of that, ready for a good night?” “Sure, we’ll talk about it later," Yoongi sips his own coffee. "I’m more than ready for a good shift actually. I've slept for 12 hours. Had to lecture the new guppies about social hierarchy yesterday, I swear they get loopy when they have rotations at Forest Lake. What are they putting in the water that makes them dumb?” “I don't know, whatever you’re drinking,” Biting into his pastry, Taehyung smiles wickedly at the blonde boy as he marches down the clean white hallway towards the Orthopaedic medical doctors office.

* * *

They stand in the office, preparing to do rounds on the ward. Taehyung’s looking at the list of patients he needs to visit experiencing post-operative delirium and constipation. He has students working with him tonight and Taehyung was fully prepared to dump his workload on them for “experience”.

Yoongi is signing discharge letters for patients leaving in the morning, writing prescriptions for pain relief and documenting orders for the morning nurses. The ward was quiet this evening, leaving a settled and peaceful evening for the nurses on shift but Taehyung wasn’t about to use the ‘q’ word in front of them.

“Shall we see our patients now?” Taehyung smiles, grouping up his 6 tired orienting medical students. “Why are you looking at me like that guys? Doctors rounds are fun and educational.”

“At this time?” One of his students snort laughs. “Not on this ward, it’s just old people-

-shut up Taemin,” a short girl says, she crosses her hands over here chest, rolling her eyes at the boy as she does. “You’re being disrespectful. Dr. Taehyung, please lets visit our patients. Quicker we can do this, quicker we can go home,” Younggi smiles up at him, “And I’d personally really love to see their progress.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yoongi curses under his breath. "Fucking brown noser."

The student ignores Yoongi as she stares back down at her black leather loathers.

“Every patient is your grandmother, try to think like that,” Hitting the top of Taemin’s head with his clipboard, Taehyung instructs a third student to push the trolley of patient files with them as all 6 students follow him down the ward hallway. Taehyung discards his coffee in the rubbish bin on the way. “Okay, because I know you all want to go home and sleep, let’s work in a team. Sound good?”

They all smile. Walking over to the trolley, he gives each of them a patient file. “What do you want us to do with these?”

“There’s six of you, pair up,” he says, watching them look at each other in confusion. “One of you will be assessing and the other will be scribing. You have two patients each, remember to switch.”

Taehyung folds his arms over his chest, they all look at him scared. “Oh come on, when my best friend in med school was in third year, below all of you, she was diagnosing aneurysms and scrubbing in on operations and you guys can barely talk to a patient without crawling in on yourselves. Get a grip, all of you.”

“But ...without you?” Taemin asks. “Can we do that?”

“I’ve worked with all six of you this month. Closely and together as a group. You’ve all grown so much and I believe that you all will make exceptional doctors. Believe in yourselves?” he says, watching them all smile, “So, look at the patient files for five minutes before going in, be polite and think before you speak. If you can't answer their questions, use your confidence and come and get me. I hope that doesn't actually happen though because you all should know the answers. Go on now.”

They all smile at him, clearly happy with the assignment.

“God, Taehyung,” Yoongi groans from behind him. “You still do that? You treat them like babies. That's why they get dumb.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes as he watches the students head off to their retrospective patients. He’d given them all stable patients who had questions regarding the postoperative process. Nothing they can’t answer but it was always a confidence booster for his students and he loved seeing them go home happy.

“Yoongi, this is why I am the educator on this ward and you’re an asshole,” Taehyung picks out the last couple of folders before walking into the 4 patient room, handing one to Yoongi.

Yoongi sanitises his hands, pulling out his favourite black pen before following him in into the cubical.

Yoongi watches Taehyung sweeten up to the old lady covered in a mountain of blankets as he reads over her notes. “It’s lovely to see you again Dr. Taehyung, how are you?” she smiles, gazing up at Taehyung like he was the sun and she was the moon. Yoongi watches his little hands rub up and down on her purple, green and pink crochet blanket on top of her. “I’m better now that I have seen you,” he winks and she laughs softly. “I’m here to talk to you about your bowels. The nurses tell me you haven’t moved your bowels since the operation three days ago.” “Ooh my dear, a lady never does number 2 and tells,” She widens her eyes at him. “But yes, I have not. Those wicked nurses have been trying to get me out of bed, I’m just too old for this, doctor. It hurts too much.” Taehyung sits on her bed, cupping her hands. “They’re doing that for you. Exercise is good for recovery, especially since you’ve had a hip replacement. Quicker you’re up, quicker you can go home and be with your kittens.” “Oh is it?” she opens her mouth in a little ‘o’ that makes Taehyung giggle. "My kittens, oh I miss them terribly so." “Do you usually take medication for your bowels?” he asks and she shakes her head. “How about we try some?” She frowns. “I’m not taking any more of your pills doctor. I'm quite content with my remedies but the nurses won't let me take my herbal remedies and rubbing crystals. What can I do?” “Some of your remedies can have a dangerous effect on the medication we give you here, that’s why you can’t take them,” Unwrapping his stethoscope from around his neck, he smiles softly. “What about kiwifruit?" "What about kiwifruit?" “Kiwicrush. It’s a little shot of kiwifruit that helps you move your bowels, it's like a natural remedy, I assure you that it tastes very good,” he informs her, she nods hesitantly. “I’m going to listen to your stomach now, my stethoscope is a bit cold so don't be surprised okay?" "Okay," She nods again. "I'll try the fruit doctor." "Good, Yoongi please make a note of that," Placing the diaphragm of his stethoscope on her abdomen, he listens for any present bowel sounds. Yoongi draws a little picture of abdomen in her files as he examines her, watching Taehyung’s face for an answer. Taehyung frowns, shaking his head for Yoongi. Yoongi then draws a cross through it. Yoongi writes the prescription in her drug chart for kiwicrush and signs her notes before closing them and slipping out of the cubical to tend to the last patient in the room for him. “Everything okay?” she asks, a worried expression drawn across her face. “You frowned, am I dying?” “Oh don’t be silly,” Clasping her hands again, he smiles tenderly. “It’s just that I am a bit worried about your bowels at the moment, and getting you up seems to be the best option right now. I’m going to ask the nurses to give you some pain relief before getting you up tomorrow morning, just so it’s a little easier for you and then, I’m going to ask you to give it your best shot. Mobilising will be very good for your stomach Maurine.” “You sound like the nurse,” She laughs, smacking the top of his warm hand. “I’ll try for you. So, please, call me mama. I’m too damn old to be called anything else.” Standing up, he lifts the blankets up to her shoulders, making sure her toes are covered the way he knows she likes. He turns off the overhead light, leaving a small night light on for her. “Alright mama, you have a pleasant sleep, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.” She hums her response as she turns her attention to the window beside her. She stares at the moon with a gaze he can only describe as suddenly haunting as the soft hues of light accentuate an unspoken fear drawn across her face, something Taehyung feels uncomfortable about. “What are you staring at mama?” he whispers, following her gaze out the window. "Are you okay?" "I am okay for now," Standing by the window, he presses his hand to the cold surface as he feels the wind brush against the surface underneath his palm. She laughs softly under her breath from behind him. “It’s a full moon. The wolves are out howling for blood. I’d be careful on such an auspicious night Dr. Taehyung, who knows what might happen.” He turns back to her. “It’s always an auspicious night when one is in a hospital mama, anything could happen here too.” Leaving her cubicle, he pushes the hand sanitiser on the wall into his palm, rubbing the dollop into his hands as he walks down the hallway. “You know, the other patients call her a witch,” Yoongi says, walking beside him with the trolley, patient file on top as he hurries with writing the last note. “Her notes say that she chants under her breath at people, gave me the shivers reading it but you seem close with her, so good for you. If you get hexed, let me know.” “You shouldn’t talk about people like that Yoongi,” Taehyung laughs, walking towards the nurses station. “You’ll be the one hexed. So, what was that patient's primary concern?”

Looking back at the notes, Yoongi says. “Another patient needing laxatives. Typical for this ward. I don’t know why you don’t just prescribe laxatives post operatively anyway. Saves so much time.” Taehyung shrugs, leaning against the station. “I would if it were me doing it. It’s Dr. Minho. He thinks the best laxative is water and exercise.” Yoongi snorts. “He sounds out of touch with real patients.” “He’s a good doctor Yoongi.” “We’re all good doctors until we’re proven that we are not.” Settling in the nurses station, Yoongi starts nibbling at the cake the nurses left out, as Taehyung leans against the station. It was dark, the nurses had turned off the hallway lights so patients could settle to bed. The nurses station was empty as nurses eat their dinner in the fishbowl behind it. Their laughter flutters nicely out from their office into the long empty hallways. Taehyung’s ward was the only department in the hospital who did night doctors rounds. It was the only department in a rush to discharge people, shift them back home for recovery and it was good for student practice. “Dr Minho’s on tonight, floating between orthopaedics and urology by the way. You in ED tonight?” Taehyung asks, “I hear it’s been really busy down there.” “I’m the floater tonight,” Yoongi shakes his head. “We’ve got too many staff on down there. Too many damn know-it-all students too.” "Isn't that good though for the acuity?" he asks and Yoongi rolls his eyes. Looking over Taehyung’s shoulder, Yoongi sighs. "Speaking of the devils." The first lot of students walk towards Taehyung, file outstretched waiting for his signature to co-sign. “Younggi,” Taehyung says, reading over her exceptional penmanship. “Next time, just draw the lungs if you assess them. What is your plan? What do you want the nurses to do?” She smiles, looking at her partner. “Regular repositioning in bed, PRN asthma medications when symptomatic and lots of pillows for comfort.” "As if they aren't doing that already," Yoongi snorts behind Taehyung. "Your kids need to spend a week with the nurses, that'll make ‘em work." All the students arrive back and Taehyung reads through their notes, signing his name at the bottom. Congratulating them on their first lot of assessments. “Now, that is how we’ll do our night rounds from now on. In the morning however, it will be different. I will be assessing your assessment skills on morning ward rounds. One at a time, in front of all of us." They all groan. “Oh shut up, if you don’t like it, drop out,” Yoongi cackles, “You with the orange hair, put the folders back in the office and if you groan again, I’ll steal the muffin I saw in your backpack you had on earlier.”

Taemin, the boy with the orange hair, disappears to do so. "God," Taehyung says, yawning into the crook of his arm, "Why is it so settled tonight?" Yoongi laughs. "Trying to avoid the q word?"

"What's the q word?" a student asks. Know it all Younggi fills her in. "It means quiet, he's asking why it's so quiet tonight." Taehyung sinks against the station, dropping his head onto his hands, a loud groan falling from his lips as Yoongi leans up and smacks his head. "You didn't tell your stupid fucking kids not to say that word did you? Great." "Did I say something wrong Dr. Taehyung?" she asks, insecurity suddenly plaguing her usually confident demeanor. Taehyung stands up, turning to face her. "That word is a cursed word. We don't use it here."

"Oh. I'm sorry?" Re-emerging with his phone in his hand, Taehyung gasps loudly as Taemin walks towards him, face focused on his phone. He was 100% against students using phones on the ward at all times, often challenging them to stay engaged. “Taemin, you know the rules, I don't like phones on the ward- -you're gonna wanna hear this though. A code black has been triggered at Forest Lakes Hospital,” he looks up at the two senior doctors, suddenly pale faced. “My girlfriend’s a nurse there and she’s just texted me “FLH called a code black, it's not a drill, I am fine.” oh god.” "What's a code black?" one of the students asks much to the chagrin of the other students. "That some sort of medical emergency alarm bell?" Taehyung and Yoongi trade vacant looks. “What?” “It’s probably just a drill,” Yoongi says, picking his nails. “They always do them over there. They’re close to a military camp, lots of North Korean defectors get treated there. A code black is a bomb threat kids."  

Taemin looks up at Yoongi. “With all due respect, there is no way in hell that this is a drill. Look,” Turning his phone screen to Taehyung, a picture of ambulances rushing patients out, all wearing equally terrified facial expressions as they pile in the back of the trucks. “They’re evacuating people.”

“Are you sure you aren’t being pranked?” Younggi asks, hovering over his phone to check. Taehyung watches her double tap the picture, her face suddenly growing pale. 

“Doesn’t look like a prank does it?” Taemin whispers and they all watch her retreat back as she shakes her head. 

And then, all of their phones vibrate, pinging with texts, tweets and calls.

All 8 of them, pull out their phones.

Yoongi and Taehyung’s pagers go off. Ward phones start ringing. Grabbing his phone out of his coat pocket, Taehyung opens the first notification on the screen and the picture makes his heart stop; a wing of the hospital was on fire. A wing of your hospital was on fire. “Dr. Yoongi,” a nurse runs out, all the nurses following behind her. “Did you check your pager? Am I calling it in?” “Call it in please. Get your manager to remove all the patients in this ward. Orthopaedics is the mass casualty ward for this hospital kids. Whoever is the ward co-ordinator tonight in the nursing team, call all the other nurses, get them to come in immediately and cancel every single elective operation scheduled for tomorrow,” Yoongi says, reading his pager. "I want this ward cleared of patients within half an hour. I assume from the distance, patients will be arriving soon. So, let's do this quickly and properly according to your emergency protocol." “Why do we need to remove all the patients?” a student asks and Yoongi frowns at him. “Victims do better psychologically and physiologically where other victims are. Hence, why we need to get everyone out now and get the ward prepared for incoming patients.” “How many do you think we will get?” he asks again, his eyes widening in fear. Looking up to all the students and nurses pooling out from their office. Taehyung's hands suddenly begin to tremble by his side. “In this case, probably a lot.” “But you never know.” His heart begins to pound harshly against his ribs. Adrenaline surged down his body at the prospect of all those incoming patients; at the thought of you being in that building. “Text your families that you're okay.” Yoongi announces, pulling him out of his thoughts. Putting his pager in his pocket. Looking up to each and every nervous face in front of him, he grabs the department phone, immediately pressing the emergency number and holding it up to his ear. His hands are shaking but the only one who notices is Taehyung as a voice loudly screams into the receiver. Everyone in the room watches Yoongi's eyes widen and his head nod before hanging up again. "Fuck, it's real. All of you go, get ready. Remove these patients and clear this fucking ward right fucking now." "What about us?" Younggi asks, as the ward lights turn back on and nurses begin to frantically run around them. "What do we do?" “Text your families right now, none of you are going home tonight." ↣ FOREST LAKES HOSPITAL | Dr. Y/N The first blast hit the far west side of the hospital, where the VIP recovery ward was located, as you had run back into the dark and desolate, abandoned looking Emergency Department. You could smell the fire, you could even see it’s smoke boil up from the building in the northern windows of the ER. You ran harder. You were panting, completely solely running on adrenaline.

Your heart raced out of your skin as you looked in every room. In every bay. In every office. You were running completely on instinct and your instincts were telling you, someone was left behind. And you don’t leave people behind. No, not you. The force of the blast rumbled the entire floor, it was weak, a warning of what was yet to come and had you not been standing by an empty bed, it would have knocked you clean off your feet. Falling onto the white bed, plaster from the ceiling fell and the room seeped into darkness as the electricity completely cut out. No generator back up or anything provided you with a light to see in the dark either.

You coughed into your hand as you inhaled the plaster. 

“Hello, is anybody here?” you had screamed, coughing as you run through the hallway you’ve memorised by heart. “We don’t have much time, is anyone here?”

A voice muffled behind a door screams loud and clear out for you as they bang their fists on the hard wood. “PLEASE SOMEONE, I’M STILL IN HERE!” You were right. "HELP ME, I’M STILL HERE, OH GOD I’M STILL IN HERE, HELP ME PLEASE! DON’T LEAVE ME!” Running down another hall, you hear a terrified scream from behind the controlled drug room. Someone remained like you had thought, banging on the door for their dear life. The door shook from the sheer force of their desperation to get out but the lock made it impossible to break free. “I’m still here,” they sobbed, banging on the other side of the door, “Please save me.” You don’t think as you run towards it, punching in the code for the room and forcing the door open with all of your might. The doctor on the other side had tears down his face, falling straight into you. It was Jungkook. Idiot doctor and housemate, your Jungkook. "Y/N," he sobbed, looking completely broken. "I thought I was going to die." “Well, I’m glad you’re alive and all but we need to go, right now." He looked distraught and terrified, but of all, he looked relieved. Grabbing his hand, you run with every inch of strength you can muster out, of that goddamn building. He holds your hand tightly, practically dragging you as he runs faster, jumping over shattered glass and plaster. 

You hold images of Sunny in your mind as you pick your feet up. You hold the sound of her laughter and her cries, her singing, her screaming. You think of Taehyung, his smile, his embrace, his warmth. You think of a life you still think you can have. You think of punching Taehyung in the jaw when you see him next, you couldn’t die today knowing you haven’t. No, not today satan.

You run towards the clearing. And the automatic doors... ...they don't open. “What the fuck, why won’t they open?” you ask, waving your hand up to the monitor. “Fuck, I thought these would open in an emergency?” Jungkook bangs against the glass. Jimin and Seokjin look up, prompted by the loud banging. Ramming his shoulder into the glass, it doesn't budge. He throws everything close to him at the doors, again, it doesn't budge. They’re stuck. Irene holds back the boys from running over to help you. They had parked on the far end of the carpark to be safe as they waited. You both stare at the red lights of the ambulance in the night. “We need something heavy to smash it.” you say, “We’ll get out, don’t worry.” “How can I not fucking worry?” Jungkook shouts, throwing himself at the glass doors. “It’s just fucking glass, why won’t it break?” “It’s shatterproof material Jungkook.” Looking for an emergency button on the doors and falling short, “I’m going to find the emergency axe thing Jungkook, keep trying to pry it open okay?” 

You were certain that there was an emergency axe somewhere, you had seen it before and wondered if you'd ever need to use it and for what. Slipping on blood, you fall to the floor as the ground continues to shake beneath you. "Where is it, come on Y/N, think." Getting up again, you run to the hallway leading off to the operating theatres and that's where you find the axe, contained in a glass box, nailed to the wall by a fire extinguisher. Punching the glass, it's splinters piercing your knuckles, you grab the axe. You were certain that when this adrenaline stops fuelling your attempts to survive, everything is going to hurt. But you don't have time to think about that as you run back. Jungkook's running into the doors, kicking and screaming at it, continuously bruising his shoulder. “I’m not dying in this fucking building.” "Jungkook," you shout, he turns, eyes glinting in happiness at the sight of the axe. "I have no strength, you smash it." He takes it happily, immediately hacking at the door. "I need to get out." he chants, each time the axe hits the doors. "I'm not dying today." The axe cracks the glass but it doesn't shatter like you thought it would. He hits it again and again, only cracking it. “What the hell is this fucking thing made of?” "Jungkook," Turning to survey your area, you grab anything hard enough to throw through the glass. "Jungkook, move out of the way." "What?" He turns, watching you throw a vital signs machine straight into the cracked glass with a strength you didn’t think you had, shattering it completely. He watches in slow motion as the glass shatters and falls to the linoleum floor. He screams happily as he throws the axe into the reception to their left. He grabs your hand as you run over the ocean of glass pooling onto the sidewalk as you both run into the carpark. The ambulance was so close, yet so far away. The fresh air hits your lungs as you breath it in and then out. You were free. You would be okay too. 

Jungkook turns to you, smiling widely at you. “I’m free!”  "Kim Seokjin! Park Jimin!" you scream, running towards them, "Open the back doors!" But they never hear you, and that you are grateful for because what happens next would've definitely hurt him too. 

The second blast hit as you were running out of the building with Jeon Jungkook. The force of this blast, much bigger than the first, had thrown you in the air and onto the soft grass by the car park, metres away from the now swaying ambulance, winding you. Jungkook had fallen onto the hard concrete pavement of the carpark beside you, hands falling on shards of broken glass, blood dripping from his forehead. He screams in agony, feeling the bone of his arm break and tear through his skin on impact.   Black coloured smoke rushes out of the burning building, covering you and Jungkook in a cloak of silent darkness. It chokes you, filling your lungs with it’s painful toxin as you try to breathe. Jungkook looks at you, expression pleading, lips moving to form words you can’t understand. Everything is blurry and dark and deep and your falling into yourself as black spots fill your visual field. You can’t hear anything but a loud ringing in your ears, you can hear the faint scream of Jungkook at the back of your brain but you can't process what he's saying. He looks at you desperately, is he hurt? That's a stupid question. You know you should get up but you feel compressed, stuck to the ground, and you can’t breathe, feeling winded as though your lungs had lost their ability to take in oxygen. You try to get up, falling back to the ground. Were you hurt too? You look over to Jungkook again, watching him battle his demons, forcing himself to get up and to you. You watch as if it were in slow motion as Jungkook pulls himself up, rushing over to you as he cradles his left arm in his now dirty white coat. There’s a god awful whirlpool of horror in his brown eyes as he runs over to you, you may have saved him but he definitely earned it because he saves you right back. You pull yourself up as much as you can before his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as you both run to the ambulance. You look back at the building, still standing with flames and smoke boiling out the windows. You knew it wouldn’t last long until it collapsed or forced to the ground by another and much larger explosion. You didn’t want to be here for that. Blood dripped from your ears and down the sides of your soot covered face, building materials you couldn’t identify laced through your hair, shards of glass embedded into the skin of your arms. You felt like you had been punched in every soft part of your body. Jungkook looked equally as dishevelled. Waving you both over, Jimin and Irene rush you both into the back as Seokjin revved the engine. Minutes pass of complete silence as you rush. Isn’t that weird, after something so huge, there was just silence? No piercing screams, no sirens, no pleas for help, just fire, fear and silence. Pulling themselves in first, Irene and Jimin sit opposite each other, strapping themselves in.   The third blast hit when you were trying to close the doors behind you. The blast wave hit the truck, pushing you into the back of the truck, shattering the windows, prompting Seokjin’s immediate acceleration as Jungkook toppled straight on top of you.  

The glass from the window narrowly missed the intubated patient on a stroller in the middle of the ambulance, but it cuts across Irene's cheek, something she'll probably need stitches for. She wails in agony, holding a hand against her cheek, immediately applying pressure to the wound as dark red blood dripped down her neck and onto her scrubs. 

Jungkook was afraid of letting you go, and for that, he saved you again. The doors slapped against the sides of the ambulance as Jin speed through the carpark and as far away from the hospital as he could. You wrap your arms around Jungkook’s waist tightly as he held onto anything that would keep you both in the ambulance as it sped away. His dead arm curled up painfully against your chest underneath him as Jin's abrupt driving makes you swing underneath him towards the other side of the truck causing shards of glass to tear through your coat as you do. You scream in agony, feeling the shards slice and embed into the flesh of your ass. It’s sweltering, a burning pain filling you by waves as it rolls over you, over and over again. You were hurt everywhere. 

"Are you okay Y/N?" Jimin shouts at you. You clasp onto Jungkook tighter, eyebrows flexed as pain tears through your body. “Hold onto him, we’ll get you out of here!” Jungkook sobs, wailing in pure agony. The sound breaks Jimin as he watches, the once strong Jungkook, completely break and fall apart.   "It's collapsing!" Irene shouts and you all look back to watch in horror as the sound of destruction echoes across the night sky. "The hospital. Our homes. You guys could've ...that was so close." she sobs loudly, feeling the horror of what could've been you two so deeply into her bones. “Drive faster,” Jimin screams, hitting the back of the front seat. Jungkook and Irene watch the orange flames burst from black clouds of smoke, as the hospital collapses from the emergency exit they just left, “Drive fucking faster Seokjin!” He presses his foot on the accelerator with sirens blasting and red lights flashing through the graphite night as he zips away. “I’m driving as fast as I fucking can!” Irene screams when he skids around a corner, her head hitting the wall hard as he drives straight through the car park entrance sign. The sound was like nothing she had ever heard before when she looks to her right, the once dark night now full of orange light as the fire boils and consumes her home away from home. It was haunting, something Irene would never forget. 

They had only just gotten away from the building in time when fire began to rain down onto the trees, there would no doubt be a forest fire too. Everyone would be working overtime tonight. “Irene, are you okay?” Jimin asked, watching her rub the back of her head. She pulls her hand back, fingers covered in blood. Grabbing one of the only packets of gauze from beside him, he clears his throat. “Hold these to your head and hold on tight to your chair okay? We’re going to be fine.” She pants, biting her bottom lip. “Are you sure?” Jimin looks at everyone in the ambulance, he doesn't think he should dignify that question with a response, you were all safe now. “Go, Seokjin! Get us out of here!” Jungkook yelled, as he sunk his head into the crevice of your neck. “Get us to the hospital!” How you both hadn’t died was a mystery. Irene and Jimin pull you both further in by the collars of your coats, dragging your glass covered bodies further into the ambulance when Jin drives over a bridge, forced to slow down. "Irene, grab Jungkook," Jimin says, watching her pull Jungkook up beside her, strapping him into the seat. Pulling you up, he forces you into the seat beside him as he sobs. "Y/N, I've got you. You're okay now, you're okay now." He holds you close, telling you something you can’t hear but he's crying and he's crying hard. He looks like a wreck. 

Holding your hands up to his checks, you wipe away his tears only to smear blood and soot across his face, he leans into your warmth. At least the sentiment was there. “Jimin, I have no idea what you are saying,” you think you shout, dropping your hands and leaning against him. The blood dripping down your right ear stains his green scrubs. “The barotrauma ...I think I have a ruptured eardrum in my right ear. Left feels like it’s resolving. I can only just hear you kind of.” He nods, red eyes sweep over yours. “I’m very glad you’re safe” he mouths and you smile softly up at him, glad you are too. Jimin hands you a bottle of water as he pulls out the first aid kit to attend to the cuts on your face. "Call Yoongi, tell him you're okay. I know he's probably worried." Jimin smiles, lips quivering. "I did, he was scared, still is I bet. The phone cut out during the second explosion, I'm just going to have to wait to see him at the hospital." "What? I can't hear you? Did you call him? yes or no?” Jimin nods, gesturing for you to drink the water. You looked worse for wear with your bloodied and blackened white coat; ripped, crimson stained scrubs; messy hair tied in a loose ponytail; and soot covered face but you were okay.    You were feeling okayish. Drinking the water, you sag against him. Jimin dabs your fingers, brushing his fingers over your pulse, completely thankful you still had one. You look out the ambulance window to see your hospital, the once tall white and green structure, up in flames. All those years of hardwork, patients you’ve saved, lives you’ve lost, friends you’ve made, memories you’ve cherished. All gone. Seemingly in the blink of an eye.

You suddenly want to cry. 

Today wasn’t a normal day at all. As you drink the last of your water, you feel your left ear pop and then you hear the unmistakable sound of the ambulances sirens and Irene shouting at Jungkook and Jimin shouting at Seokjin to update the hospital. You could hear and you wish you couldn't. Everything happened at a lightening speed, as though it all occurred within the single blink of your eyes. Seokjin pulls out the radio, bringing it to his lips as he speeds through the intersection, sirens blazing. “Seoul Hearts hospital, this is Ambulance 22 Kim Seokjin speaking. We are currently enroute to your facility with a 32 y/o male motor vehicle accident victim from Forest Lakes. Patient is unconscious, intubated and-

-yes, we came from Forest Lakes," he stops, listening attentively to the voice on the other end that you can't quite hear. "Mass casualties ...how many have you already got?" "32?!" he shouts, "We'll you're about to get three more- He then scoffs into the radio. “Don’t interrupt me. I have nurses Park Jimin and Bae Irene, Drs. Jeon Jungkook and Y/N who are injured- “Yes, I know the hospital has just blown up, I’m looking at it in my rearview mirror right now, we have two injured doctors in the back of the ambulance as well! Possible internal trauma, possible broken extremities,” he snaps, frustration ebbed into his voice, “We are unable to take current accurate vital signs of the patient and the doctors but our patient is unstable as hell. I'll update you if things change. See you in 5 minutes.”

He slams the radio back down. “Buckle up kids, we’re driving through the city now. Y/N,” Seokjin shouts from the front, “You good?” You nod, feeling your hearing fully come back in your left ear. “I think so?” "Good, you crazy fucking bitch, don’t you ever fucking do that again or I’ll cut your legs off." You're all staring out the back of the ambulance, watching the reactions of the public move out the way for Jin and gape at the very mangled up looking ambulance. It's almost a spiritual experience being in this position, having people responsibly move out of the way for you as you zip impossibly fast through red lights and traffic. "How's the patient doing?" you turn and ask Jimin, who had been watching you the entire time. His face pale. "What’s his vitals looking like?" "What?" Jimin shakes his head, forcing himself back into reality. "Um, I haven't checked. Hold on." You watch his heart monitor, the vital sign of life beat after beat after beat. You frown at a particular beat as it moves. "His hearts not looking too good," you point out. "It's not often but his hearts skipping a couple beats." "After everything, I would expect that too. We're just lucky he hasn't got a serious cardiac illness otherwise, he's fucked." Jimin says, shifting beside you. You watch him try to breathe. It was an insidious reminder of your responsibility to save this man. He was dangling by threads, he was so close to death. You look away from the numbers on his screen. You stare at your soot covered hands. That could’ve been you. “Seokjin,” you shout, “How far away are we from Seoul Hearts?” “A couple of minutes,” he shouts back at you, “You don’t need to shout at me you know!”

“I can’t hear anything well,” you say, pointing to your ear and the dried blood around it. “I think the blast burst my right eardrum.” Irene laughs suddenly, smacking her thigh. “I hate to laugh but consider yourself lucky it was just that. When you ran back in, I didn’t think we’d see you again. Jimin ...he-” “I thought I lost you,” Jimin interrupts, not wanting to relive those moments of his life. “You’re stupid but you’re incredibly brave saving Jungkook like that. How did you even know he was in there?” “I had a feeling someone was still in there, that’s just it,” you nod, looking over to Jungkook. The boy looked frightened as hell. “He would’ve saved me too, that’s for sure.” Jungkook stays silent, eyes wide as he tenses his jaw. You watch him cradle his arm, was he hurt? Jimin looks at him, shaking his head. “She saved your life Jungkook, you could’ve died back there. Why do you consistently and constantly go against your superiors instructions? What is wrong with you- -I got locked in the drug room!” he shouts back at Jimin, “It locked behind me when Namjoon asked me to clear it, she only found me because I was screaming for my fucking life. You think I don’t already know that I could’ve died back there, I know okay! I know it very well. I called my parents while I was holding a vial of fucking ketamine, I apologised for being a shit, I told them that I was locked in a room and that I was going to die. You think I wanted to hear my mother cry?” “Jungkook,” Jimin musters, unsure what to say, “I’m sorry, I- “-I was going to swallow it, you know. With the first sign of fire, I was going to kill myself. My girlfriend ...all I could tell her was that I was sorry that I loved her… I could’ve died back there, I could’ve seriously died back there.” Jimin crosses his arms over his chest. "But you didn't because she ran back- -and saved my life." Jungkook finishes. “Oh shut up both of you,” Irene shouts, “Pick up your damn phone and tell your family, you didn’t die already. Who knows what they’re doing thinking you’re dead. Hell, if I loved you, I would be driving out here right now to try and get you out.” “Seokjin,” You ignore their discussion as you gaze back at your patient. “Are we close?” “I’m driving as fast as I can with my sirens on, Y/N,” he shouts back clearly agitated, “Just focus on monitoring your patient. And Jimin, shut up and please Irene, fucking deal with Jungkook’s arm instead of pissing him off. It looks bent as fuck from the rear-view mirror. The kid is obviously hurt psychologically and physically, stop being assholes and be compassionate.” “You’re hurt?” Irene gasps, her voice now dripping in sympathy. Her bloodied fingers reach out for him. He lets her tender touch explore the mangled arm from underneath his coat. “It’s broken. How did this happen?” You snort. “Besides the hospital blowing up and the waves that were emitted from the explosion travelling at a supersonic velocity straight through us, throwing us in the air with all that glass and onto hard concrete and debris?” “I fell on it,” he says, watching Irene open up the bag on the floor. She nods her head. “You hurt anywhere else?” He shakes his head, letting her dab the wounds on his face with saline and gauze. It’s quiet again as she works his wounds, there’s not much she can do with his arm trapped in his coat like that, he’s just going to have to wait. Irene hands Jungkook her phone to call his family before finishing up on his wounds.  Jungkook dabs her cheek with some gauze. Everyone was hurt in different ways but they were alive. 

The ambulance grows silent when Jungkook sends the group text to his parents and to his girlfriend. 

Jimin fusses over your knuckles, his mind on fire with residual grief and anger over your stupidity and bravery.  But you were okay. For now.

* * *  

Jungkook stares at the face of your patient.

He filters through the faces he knows, the patient’s he’s treated before leaning forward to look at his wrist band. “Oh it’s this guy, oh man, didn't think he'd come back,” he says, looking up at his cardiac monitor carefully, scrutinising every wave of his heart beats, “Y/N, are you aware that your patient has a past cardiac history?”

“Yes, angina pectoris,” You nod your head, pointing to his monitor as Jimin cleans your arms, “Are you worried about those PVC’s (heart skipping a beat) too? He's post motor vehicle accident, fucked himself up pretty bad. He needs surgery pretty much as soon as we get to Seoul Hearts.”

“Angina?” He frowns, prompting Irene to swap places with him beside the head of the patient. “He doesn’t have Angina, I have a photographic memory, I would’ve remembered that. He had an acute myocardial infarction a couple weeks ago and he hasn't been compliant with his medication-

-what!” you shout, interrupting him, commanding the attention of the truck as you dart your eyes into his. “This patient's had a heart attack before? That wasn’t in his medical files at all when he came in. That’s pretty fucking important information. Jimin,” you turn to the boy. “Did you get a history from the family?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Didn’t have time with the code. They still don't even know he's a patient.”

“I can see Seoul Hearts Hospital now, we’re about 2 minutes away.” Jin says, but you’re heart is racing hard against your ribs now. It’s like a dose of adrenaline and you suddenly feel so awake.

“If what I am thinking has happened, this patient probably crashed his car because he had chest pain. Irene,” your voice is shaky, everyone in the ambulance detects the urgency in your voice. You forget about the bomb. “Did you get any cardiac biomarkers from the bloods you took?”

“The ones that detect heart muscle death?” Her eyes widen as she tries to remember, clearly put on the spot as everyone looks at her. “Oh my god. I think so, like almost ...almost immediately but Dr. Namjoon came in before I got to ...I didn’t have time to check exactly.”

“What were they, do you remember? It’s okay, take your time. It’s important to remember which ones there were.”

She closes her eyes and Jungkook resets the vital monitor to get an accurate reading. “He’s hypotensive with ventricular dysrhythmia,” he says, printing the ECG out. He grabs the pen from his pocket as he reads the rhythm carefully. “Was it troponins T and I Irene? Do you remember a T?” She opens her eyes, pursing her lips at him. “I think it might’ve been but I don’t remember- -Y/N, his heart rate is 165, blood pressure is 80/40. I think he’s in cardiogenic shock,” Jimin cuts in. “Vitals are crashing.” "Good timing." you slap yourself. 

“Fuck the bloods. Holy fuck,” Jungkook circles a portion of the rhythm, spotting an ST-elevation in the electrocardiogram (heart attack), holding it up to you as Seokjin drives. “He’s having a fucking heart attack right now Y/N.” “What do we do?” Irene asks. You look back at his cardiac monitor seeing it clear as day now that the patient's heart rhythm goes from erratic to nothing. "HES ARRESTING," Jimin shouts, pulling you out of your gaze. "He’s going into cardiac arrest Seokjin!!“ “This can’t be fucking happening right now. Jimin, we need the defibrillator he needs defibrillation immediately. We need an epi?! Wheres the adrenaline?” You shout, unsure if you could jump straight onto the patient with the door open like that. It looked dangerous. “The ambulance isn’t stocked, there isn’t one in here,” Seokjin shouts from the front, “You’re going to have to do chest compressions until we get there but fuck, it could be dangerous for you with the door open so be careful.” “I’ve got this,” You close your eyes. "I can save him." “Jimin, ambu bag, right now. Get on the resps." Without hesitation, you get out of your seat as Jin turns, to straddle the patient. Holding your arms straight, you press the heel of your palm on his lower sternum, compressing it in a steady rhythm with your interlocked hands, one on the other. You hear a couple cracks almost immediately. "Irene, are you sure we don’t have any adrenaline in that bag?” She tips the back out onto the seat looking for a little vial, it all flies out the ambulance anyway. “There’s no medication in here, so no we don’t.” Jimin gently squeezes the ambu bag twice. "We're nearly at the hospital, I can see it out the window now." “Beginning ...30 compressions to 2 breaths. Jimin watch me closely," you say, feeling your own heart rip through your ribcage. "Seokjin radio report change in status.”  “Will do,” he shouts, pulling down the radio to call it in. “Hi, this is Seokjin, incoming ambulance from Forest Lakes we have a cardiac arrest in progress in the back of our truck, prepare for defibrillation on arrival in less than a minute.”  “25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30. Resps!” Perspiration drips down your dirty face as you pause your chest compressions, turning to the two to the left of you. “Irene and Jungkook prepare to wheel me out of this ambulance and in to that fucking Emergency Department. No one is dying on my watch, not if I can help it.”

Jungkook and Irene look at each other as the ambulance comes to a halt outside the Emergency Department at Seoul Hearts Hospital. Turning off the engine, Jin runs around the truck, pulling down the ramp and grabbing the end of the stroller.

You can ear the screams of agony inside the Emergency Department from here as doctors rush in bright yellow aprons, blue gloves and white face masks towards your truck. 

“Let’s go, get out Irene and Jungkook,” Seokjin yells, pulling the stroller towards him and down the ramp with Jimin shuttling beside it. “Let’s move team! Keep doing compressions Y/N and hold on tight.”