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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

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our beloved summer | jjk (01)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, college au (in flashbacks), fluff, angst, eventual smut, kissing, swearing

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.4k

note: OKAY SHE IS FINALLY HERE. i am so nervous about this oh god i will hide in my bedroom and never come out again. anyway umm obviously all the technical stuff about music producing and album making comes from google so! blame google if i get things wrong about music making lol

playlist | series masterpost

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

The movies lied—college really isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Who even has the time to constantly go drinking and clubbing, deliver assignments on time, maintain a social life, all the while be expected to have a blooming love life? Definitely not you, and not when there’s a pain in your ass by the name of Jeon Jungkook.

The douchebag in your music theory class who’s always trying to one up you.

To be fair, he’s not a bad person (probably), but he’s just so goddamn annoying.

It’s only your first semester, but you’ve already found a sworn enemy in Jungkook. The funny thing is, you and him share the same circle, and your friends all adore him to bits.

Curse Kim Taehyung for bringing you into this mess.

(You got a job at the campus library nearly halfway into the semester, and that’s where you met Taehyung, a fellow part-time librarian and full-time stressed out college student. Though your majors and interests don’t exactly align—he’s studying Art History while you’re pursuing a Music degree—you somehow hit it off and he became your first real friend at college.

Taehyung introduced you to Jimin, his roommate, who then brought in someone that you recognized from class named Hoseok but had never really talked to before and… tragically for you, the bane of your existence, Jeon Jungkook.)

At every party and get-together that Taehyung drags you to, Jungkook is there. There was a part of you that hoped he was only an asshole to you because you two had been competing for first place in class, and it wouldn’t have mattered that much if the person with the highest GPA wasn’t given the opportunity to intern at an up-and-coming record label where one of the executives was old friends with your professor.

Neither of you got it in the end; the professor said you and Jungkook had too much “unhealthy” competition going on and decided to bestow the honor upon the third highest ranked in class which was Hoseok. (Okay, that was good for him, but still.)

Anyway, even outside of academia, Jungkook is insufferable only toward you while he’s a ray of sunshine to literally everybody else. You’ve seen him interact with other people, and you’ve witnessed how his attitude completely switches up when it comes to you. No, whenever he talks to you, sweet and bubbly Jungkook immediately morphs into a cocky and patronizing version of the man.

He probably thinks he’s so much better than you just because he happens to have a great singing voice (not that you would ever admit this to him) and you can’t belch out a single note to save your life. But newsflash buddy! Not every music major has to end up a singer.

Taehyung, Jimin, and even Hoseok have assured you that Jungkook doesn’t hate you, but who are they to say? They’ve never received the same treatment as you.

“On Earth, We’re Briefly Gorgeous?” You skim the cover and quirk an eyebrow. “Huh. I didn’t know you’re into stuff like this, Jeon.”

He isn’t. Though he was surprised that the school library even had a shelf for contemporary autobiographies, the only reason he borrowed it was because Taehyung mentioned in passing that it’s one of your favorite books.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” he mumbles under his breath, which you don’t catch.

When Jungkook lingers, you look at him in confusion. “I already know who you are. You don’t have to give me your student ID. You can go.”

“You should, uh, check if I damaged the book or something.”

“Did you?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“No, no… I mean– Just do it, will you?”

Rolling your eyes in annoyance, you reach for the book but his hand shoots out to stop you. “Not right now,” he stammers. “Later.”

What the hell are you doing? You want to bark at him, but it’s nearly 9 o’clock and this tiresome day has drained the life out of you.

After you finished your last exam this morning, all you wanted was to go back to your room and get some much needed rest. But alas, the universe had different plans. Taehyung begged you to cover his shift at the library because the dumbass messed up the dates and bought his bus ticket home today instead of tomorrow to visit his family. You’d do anything for your friends so naturally you said yes, at the expense of your physically deteriorating form.

Right now, you just want to teleport to your dorm and sleep till the sun swallows up the Earth. “Fine,” you grumble, not having the energy to deal with whatever Jungkook’s schtick is, “anything else?”

He purses his lips, glances between you and the book, then shakes his head. He taps his fingers lightly against the wooden desk between you, like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know how to verbalize the words. If you weren’t so tired, maybe you’d even make fun of him for getting his panties in such a twist.

“Okay, um,” he says finally and turns to leave, “goodnight then.”

You only hum and wave a disinterested hand at his retreating form, not caring that he can’t see you. Leaning back against the chair that offers you zero lumbar support and has been killing your back for the past few hours, you groan loudly.

The library barely had anyone coming in today, probably because finals were over and everyone was either recovering from nights lost to exam preparation, or out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester. You highly doubt there would be anyone dropping by ten minutes before closing time, so you push yourself to your feet and start to gather your things.

After entering Jungkook’s name into the computer and ticking his borrowed book as ‘returned’, you flip through it boredly per his request.

A piece of yellow paper slips from the pages and falls to the floor. When you go to pick it up, you freeze at the sight of a neatly scripted line in black ink. Surprise (or perhaps shock would be a better word) parts the fog in your brain.

Dinner this Saturday? – JK

The next afternoon, Jungkook comes back to the library with no book to return nor a need to borrow a new one.

“Hey,” he gives you an awkward wave as he approaches, “how’s it going?”

You give him a small smile in greeting that you know must look weird and manufactured. Never in your few months of knowing him have you ever smiled at him on purpose. “Fine, thanks.”

“Did you, um, check the book?”

You stiffen, and this makes him stiffen. Jungkook knows you saw it.

Do you say yes? No? What’s the best course of action here? What did he even mean? Why would he ask you out for dinner? What does he want? Why was he acting so self-conscious about it? God, why isn’t Taehyung here to help you through this crisis?

Your lips tighten into a thin line as you contemplate your plan. Jungkook has never seemed shy around you. Maybe he’s just trying to be nice because all your friends are home to see their families, and you and him are the only ones who aren’t. Maybe he just pities you because he thinks you might be lonely.

“Yes,” you decide.

“And?” he prompts, growing more nervous by the second. What is up with this guy?

“Do you need to talk about something over dinner?”

“No, not really,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just want to hang out with you, one on one. Get to know each other better, y’know…”

“Just the two of us?” you narrow your eyes at him skeptically. “Are you… asking me on a date?” That can’t be possible, right? But then, he was acting weird when he was returning the book. And he’s here again now, anxiously glancing between you and the door like he’s ready to bolt any second.

You can’t figure out what it means.

Is he messing with you? Is it all part of his plan to trick you into dressing up for him only to stand you up and humiliate you? He’s annoying, but you’ve never thought of him as someone who would do such a thing.

No… Jungkook might be the most irritating prick on the planet but he’s not that douchey.

“Yes?” he doesn’t sound so sure of it. He looks like he’s summoning the ground to swallow him whole under your scrutinizing gaze. “I mean,” he adds in a small voice, “if you want...”

It isn’t that you don’t find Jungkook attractive. God knows that man is blessed with looks that people dream about, but you suppose the hostility between you two has distracted you from that fact. Irritation eclipses attraction.

But that irritation is nowhere to be found now, not even an inkling. There’s mostly perplexity, and that certainly isn’t enough to trick you into thinking that Jungkook isn’t one of the most handsome men you’ve laid eyes on.

You can’t think properly in this stupefied state. The words slip out before you can make sense of the whole situation. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

Jungkook looks just as surprised as you are once you realize what you just said. Your eyes widen and your lips part. You should definitely take it back, this is absurd! Where’s your goddamn voice when you need it?

“Yeah? It’s a date?” he asks, gazing down at you with those stupid doe eyes that you haven’t fully taken in until now. They compel you to nod.

“Yeah… it’s a date.”

What is happening?

A few seconds pass, and part of you thinks he’ll start laughing in the middle of the library but you’d be the one embarrassed.

Instead, Jungkook gives you a big bunny grin that has you startled. You’ve never been on the receiving end of it before, having gotten used to his arrogant smirk and condescending tone the entire semester. But this is clearly something you didn’t expect. It’s kind of… beautiful, actually.

Before you can react, he’s already headed for the door. He waves enthusiastically, nerves seemingly gone now, and calls out in a loud voice that you would usually frown at and shush people for. “I’ll text you!”

What if it ends up a huge disaster? Well, then you suppose you’d go back to hating each other and forget the whole thing happened. But there’s a possibility even worse that you can’t even begin to fathom right now. If it goes well, would there be another date?

What should you wear? What’s a good outfit that doesn’t make it seem like you’re trying too hard? It’s January though, should you sacrifice warmth for fashion? Where’s that pair of lace underwear that you bought last month–

Wait, why do you care?

God, why is this happening?

You were definitely overthinking this. These were the questions plaguing your every waking moment since that day at the library until this afternoon, a couple hours before your… date. Your brain went haywire the moment he left the library and evidently, it didn’t get a chance to calm down.��

(When you called to tell Taehyung about it after the realization that you would actually be going on a date with Jungkook hit you like a truckload of bricks, your friend gasped and mumbled to himself something you couldn’t quite catch over the phone, something about owing money to someone.)

In the end, you settled on a fitted sweater and your favorite winter coat. Mostly because Jungkook showed up right on time and you spent too long fussing over the possibilities to think of anything else to wear.

It was awkward at first with neither of you knowing how to act. What’s a girl gotta do on a date with her arch nemesis? No one writes guides on these kinds of things, not even Buzzfeed. You actually considered shaking his hand when you saw him, but he pulled you into a loose hug before you could do anything else.

Throughout the evening, he felt like a stranger. It wasn’t the Jungkook that you’d been used to, the one who constantly volunteered to make your life a living hell.

No, tonight you were with a different Jungkook. You laughed with each other, smiled at each other, let your hand intentionally brush the other’s but never gathered enough courage to actually lace them together. There was still banter, but not the kind that you hated.

There was no trace of the jerk who always irritated you to no end and instead, Jungkook was softer, incredibly sweeter and thoughtful. You felt like you were meeting him for the first time.

It was refreshing, but also… disheartening? These past few months, you could’ve liked him rather than despise him had he shown this side of himself to you. You suppose that’s a question for another occasion; you don’t want to risk turning the mood sour.

Now, as he’s walking you back to your dorm, only one question lingers on your mind.

“Tonight was actually… really nice,” you admit shyly.

He laughs softly then. “Did you expect it to crash and burn?”

“Yes,” your lack of hesitation only spurs on his chortles. He sounds like he could be an Elmo impersonator.

Once the laughter dies down, you’re left staring at each other in front of your building. The mid January cold bites at your exposed skin, making you shiver lightly and your nose redden. Your skin heats up for a reason other than the wind.

“We’re here,” you say, lamely pointing to the front door. “Guess I should head inside…”

You watch Jungkook visibly gulp as he nods, eyes locking onto yours for a brief second before his gaze falls to the ground, then back to your face again.

You haven’t gone out with someone in a while, but you still know what should happen now.

Will he kiss you? Do you want him to kiss you? Wow, you think. You never imagined there would come a day where you would have to ponder about something like this. Taehyung would be hounding you for days if he got to pick your brain right now. Oh One Direction, just how fast the night changes indeed…

Jungkook takes a step closer and your heart involuntarily picks up a couple beats. When he leans down, it has your stomach doing somersaults. But the tingly sensation is soon replaced with disappointment when you feel his lips press against your cheek.

Damn.

“Goodnight,” he smiles when he pulls away.

You’re sure you look flushed, but it isn’t something that can’t be easily blamed on the cold. You return his smile and bid him a safe walk home before turning toward your dorm.

Once there’s some distance between you and Jungkook, you can’t help but ghost your fingers over the spot where his lips were.

Goddamn. God damn him, god damn those stupid lips and god damn those stupid eyes.

This isn’t how you imagined you would spend your semester break. The moment you set foot in your room, you know you’ll begin to analyze every single detail that happened over the last few hours. You had a good time, but didn’t he? Is that why he only pecked your cheek like you were his grandma?

Oh God, not to mention the way your heart dropped when he didn’t kiss you. On the mouth! Jeon Jungkook!

As you riffle through your cluttered purse to fetch your keycard with an even more cluttered mind, a hand lands on your shoulder. Instinctively, you gasp and jerk away.

Naturally, your heels are your downfall in this moment of hasty panic. Your purse drops to the ground as your arms flail in the air. Seconds feel like hours as you await the impending collision between your butt and the asphalt, though it never comes.

The hand that was on your shoulder is clutching your arm tightly to keep you upright. It might leave a bruise tomorrow, but at least it’s the only thing keeping you from falling ass first right now.

“Shit! I’m sorry, that was so stupid,” Jungkook stutters as he helps you steady yourself. “I called your name but you didn’t respond.”

He should be the one embarrassed, but somehow you are. When he picks up your purse and hands it to you, the awkwardness from earlier returns. You’re staring at each other again; whoever is watching the security cameras must be having a blast.

You clear your throat. “Oh, I must’ve been… thinking. Did you, uh, need anything else?”

“No,” he mutters as he fumbles with his fingers. “No, I…”

Okay, this just took a turn for the worse. This is going to be what you fixate on for the rest of the break—how you almost fell on your ass in front of Jeon Jungkook, because of Jeon Jungkook.

He seems to be having a different kind of dilemma than you though. He still has an apologetic look on his face, but he shakes his head a little more harshly than necessary, as if that would erase what just happened from existence. He clasps his hands together firmly, like he’s about to give you a sales pitch.

Fuck it, Jungkook thinks, now or never.

“I chickened out earlier,” he says and loops an arm around your waist, tugging you closer and effectively making you gasp at the suddenness. His other hand brushes your hair from your face and settles on your cheek, the one he kissed only minutes prior. “I wanted to do this.”

He leans down for the second time tonight, and this time you know what’s coming. More importantly, you know you want it to happen. Your faces are so close that you can see the small scar on his cheek; your fingers itch to trace that line of his skin. You hope there’ll be another time for that.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you just yet. He waits a moment to see if you’d pull away and when you don’t, he just smiles. Like he can’t believe this is finally happening.

His pillowy lips meet yours in a tentative greeting. It’s slow at first, you’re both just testing the waters.

A goodbye to your old dynamic now that a line has been crossed and you two can never go back to the way it was. A hello to a new beginning and to the seeds that it’s planting in your chest, right beside your heart.

His body wraps around you as his mouth envelopes your own, everything is just a little surreal that you get lightheaded. It’s kind of… nice, and you tell yourself it’s the heat radiating off his body that’s making you feel this warm.

When you pull apart, you would’ve thought it was a fever dream if it wasn't for the blush that colored his cheeks. His lips are shiny from the kiss, and his eyes are still glued to your mouth.

Okay, so maybe there are two things you’ll never forget about today: How you almost fell on your ass, and how he kissed you.

He laughs breathlessly to himself and pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours while you remain speechless.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since your presentation on tonal systems.”

Eight Years Later

Wednesday. The absolute worst day of the week.

You can’t even remember what made you hate Wednesdays so much, but you always feel a sense of dread whenever the middle of the week rolls around. Maybe it’s because every bad news you’ve received in your life has mostly been delivered on a Wednesday. That’s why you never work, or do anything really, on this day, and given that you don’t have a traditional 9-to-5 job, it gives you more leeway to skip work anyway. It’s your own self-care day, where you allow yourself to stop worrying about anything and just be.

Nothing bad can happen if you don’t let it, right? (It’s definitely not a logical plan, but whatever, let’s just entertain this.)

When the incessant rings of your doorbell echo throughout your apartment at 7:56 on this—surprise, surprise—Wednesday morning, you already know it can’t be anything good.

Your sleep-hazed brain doesn’t allow you much to work with. It’s too early for deliveries, and all of your friends and co-workers know better than to bother you on Hump Day, least of all in the morning at that. So when you throw open your door, ready to tear a new one into this godforsaken person who woke you up from your slumber, never would you ever expect to see a ghost from your past standing in front of you. Not in a million years—because it has been years, hasn’t it?

No, not a ghost—the ghost, one who has been haunting you since the summer of your college graduation.

Him. In the flesh. In a simple black blazer thrown over a t-shirt but still looking every bit like the sun on the day he left you. Jeon Jungkook.

You must still be dreaming, right? There’s no reason for him to show up at your door after all these years of radio silence and oh yeah, especially after he—once the keeper of your heart—crushed it into pieces and even went the extra mile to cut it up like finely-chopped garlic, and left you. Besides, how does he even know where you live now? There is absolutely no reason for him to be here. It must be the bottle of rosé you wholeheartedly chugged last night while rewatching Goblin. That’s right, this is just a figment of your worst imaginatio–

“Long time no see, stranger.”

You almost jump. Oh no, it speaks. Was your wine laced with hallucinogens? Your brows knit together and your lips part in bewilderment.

In this nightmare of yours, he looks good. Jungkook always did manage to look effortlessly handsome even if he had just rolled out of bed. Still the same pillowy pink lips, same sparkling doe eyes boring into yours. His hair is styled differently, in an unfamiliar way that you’ve only been acquainted with through the photos that he gets tagged in online. He’s back to his black hair though, with zero traces of the blond head that he sported last year. You never did get a chance to see what it looked like in real life, but once in college, you and him had laughed about the possibility of him dyeing his hair golden and how it would look so terrible. That didn’t turn out to be the case, obviously.

It’s not until the figure in front of you snaps his fingers that you realize you’ve been gaping for the past few minutes. You reach a hand out to poke him in the shoulder, and you almost gasp when he doesn’t dissipate into thin air.

What the fuck.

Jungkook only chuckles. “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

You let yourself gape at him for another minute before you speak. “Why are you here? How do you know where I live?”

“A little birdy told me,” he smiles, but soon gives up when you remain unimpressed. “Fine, it was Tae.”

Taehyung, that fucking traitor. You make a mental note to send him a very strongly worded letter.

You exhale in annoyance. “Get to the point. What do you want?”

“So…” he starts, rubbing his hands together as he looks at you, “I’m assuming you know Jin, right?”

“Jin? Kim Seokjin?” you stare at him like he’s stupid. “Global superstar Jin? Two-time Grammy nominee Jin? Turned-down-an-offer-to-be-in-a-Bond-soundtrack Jin? The guy with the face of a Greek God and the voice of an angel? That Jin?”

He pokes a tongue into his cheek, a very Jungkook thing that you haven’t seen in a very long time. He used to do that when he was annoyed or jealous, and to be fair, they often overlapped. “Yeah, that Jin.”

“Sure,” you shrug, “I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, I’m producing his new album. No, I should be producing his new album, and…”

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him a pointed look. And? C’mon, out with it.

“He’ll only sign with us if… if we get you on board as the primary songwriter.”

If it were anyone else saying this to you, you probably would’ve jumped up and down in pure excitement and called every single person you know to brag about the international pop sensation wanting to work with you. Snatching an opportunity like this will most likely ensure that you’ll never be unemployed again, not when you’ve had a hand in creating a Kim Seokjin album. It’s the big break you’ve always dreamed of, the one to propel you forward and get your name circulating around the industry. Just imagine the kind of apartment you could get with Kim Seokjin-level royalties.

If it were anyone else asking, you would’ve fainted, woken up again, and said yes in a heartbeat. Instead, it’s your ex boyfriend who’s propositioned you out of the blue because it’s really him who needs to make this work.

In the moment—and to be fair, in the morning too—you’re not level-headed enough to weigh the pros and cons. If he’s the producer, you’d also be working with him and you don’t think you have the capacity to handle being in the same space as Jeon Jungkook, and even for months on end until the album is fleshed out. But it isn’t even just that, there’s a petty voice inside your head screaming at you to forgo whatever success you may garner from this project, just for the sake of fucking him over.

You’ve heard enough chatter about Jin to know that he isn’t someone that can be sweet-talked and bargained with. If he wants something, he has to get it. If not, the man walks.

You succumb to the pettiness. “I’ll have you know, my email is just blowing up with offers. I’m doing quite well for myself.”

Okay, it’s not completely untrue. Your inbox might not be on the verge of combustion from an overload of messages, but you have made a name for yourself. Since your project with Agust D last year, your songwriting has definitely been a sought after commodity, but not anywhere near the circles of Kim Seokjin though.

The smirk on Jungkook’s face drops, and in its place a smile blooms across his lips, an earnest smile. “I know.”

You’re taken aback by the sincerity, and how you still think his smile is beautiful enough to part way for the sun on cloudy days. Like Kim Taehyung, your own heart becomes a traitor when it misses a beat.

Jungkook’s acknowledgment of your achievements has you blinking at him to make sure you heard him right. It takes you a moment to regain your composure and straighten up. “Oh… Then you know how it is. I don’t have time to take on another project. Off you go now.”

“C’mon, you won’t even consider it for an old friend?”

Your mouth sets in a grim line as you stare at him, and he knows from the way your jaw clenches that he’s said the wrong thing.

No, he’s not an old friend. And while he knows of your achievements and that you’ve created somewhat of a decent life for yourself, he doesn’t know that your first day of work started with false bravado and nearly ended with a breakdown in a lavender-scented bathroom stall when you remembered that the only person you wanted to talk to about your day wouldn’t be there when you got home.

He doesn’t know you used to get so shitfaced on a weekly basis that Taehyung became genuinely concerned for your health at one point, that he and Jimin had to sit you down for a talk before they thought your liver would give out.

He doesn’t know how much it fucking hurts to be suckerpunched by someone you thought was the love of your life, to be disregarded and abandoned as if years together held the significance of mere days in the end. To be left without a single word as to why you weren’t good enough for him.

So no, Jungkook isn’t an old friend. Sometimes you think maybe it would have been better if that’s all he ever was to you.

“We’re not friends,” you declare eerily calmly that you even surprise yourself. The door closes in his face with a click. The wood under your palm should feel light, but somehow it weighs a thousand pounds now.

Old friend, you mull over the word in your head. Is that all you’ve been reduced to? You’re reminded once again that you hate Jeon Jungkook, and this sensation poking into your heart like a sharp needle is just your accumulated disdain toward him—nothing more.

For a split second you wonder if you should have let yourself feel that January cold instead of his warmth.

You can’t go back to sleep now that your entire morning has been ruined.

[08:38] You: Kim Taehyung.

[08:38] You: is there anything u would like to tell me

[08:39] You: ? 😇

[08:52] Taebear 🐻: ?? it’s not 10 yet why are you up

[08:53] You: answer the question, Kim 😇

[08:53] Taebear 🐻: what are you on about

[08:55] Taebear 🐻: is this because i ate your ice cream the other day?

[08:56] You: what ice cream

[08:58] Taebear 🐻: that white flavor with the chocolate bits

[08:59]: ????

[08:59] You: wtf u ate THE haagen dazs irish whiskey and chocolate waffle ice cream that i’ve been saving ?? fuck that was limited edition

[09:00] You: wait no i can’t even focus on that right now. why the fuck was jeon jungkook at my apartment on this godforsaken wednesday morning??

[09:04] Taebear 🐻: oh

[09:04] Taebear 🐻: damn

[09:09] You: ?????

[09:09] You: that’s all u have to say ???

As irritated as you are at Taehyung, you refrain from calling to yell at him while he’s at work. So when he casually strolls into your apartment at lunch with a takeaway bag of two poké bowls from your favorite diner, you know he’s here to spill the beans. (And also to butter you up; he even splurged on a side of tobiko and a large taro boba for when you’re finished.) The sight of the food dilutes your anger; you gotta hand it to him—Kim Taehyung knows the way to your heart. (Hint: it’s through your stomach.)

The moment he sets his and your food on the dining table, you immediately narrow your eyes at him. “Explain, Kim.”

Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, sighing as he begins to mix the content of your bowl for you. “Jungkook asked me where you lived like a month ago, said he needed to ask for a work favor. But then he didn’t do anything after that so I forgot about it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when he asked?”

“He told me not to.”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, mouth hanging open to gape at him, flabbergasted. “And you listened to him? You’re supposed to be on my side!” Are you childish for wanting Taehyung to be on your side? He has always been closer to you; he was your friend first. “I can’t believe you’d do me dirty like that, Tae. I feel so betrayed right now. I got you in the divorce and Jungkook got Jimin. I can’t believe you’d go running off to daddy like that.”

He scrunches his face in distaste. “Ugh, please don’t call Jungkook my daddy.” He pushes the bowl toward you.

Silence settles over your apartment aside from the sounds of cutlery against ceramic. As you munch on your rice and spicy mayo salmon, Taehyung asks warily. “You good though?”

Jungkook has always been a sensitive subject, clearly. With your shared circle of friends from college and even now with your mutual connections in the industry, you’re surprised that you haven’t run into him at all in the past five years.

You only grumble around a mouthful of food. You take your sweet time with your poké and when you’re finished, you wash it down with a generous sip of the boba Taehyung brought over. Salmon and milk tea are probably not the best combo though.

“Positively dandy.” It’s just my ex who I haven’t seen in half a decade and would’ve liked to never see again for the rest of my miserable life. “Live, laugh, love, Kim.”

He only squints at you. Though your face is devoid of any emotion—you have to praise your own poker face when someone brings up Jungkook, it’s taken you a hell of a long time to master—your bitter tone is a dead giveaway of how much the surprise reunion is affecting you.

You should’ve suspected that Kim Taehyung was up to no good when he suddenly called to treat you to lunch two days later. The man even insisted that you order the most expensive thing on the menu, something that you and him have only reserved for celebrations.

You never thought that one day, food would be your downfall.

A figure slides into the chair next to yours after you gulp down the last of your drink, and it became all too clear what Kim Taehyung had been scheming. You should really be more cautious when people randomly start offering you food; it’s becoming a problem.

You look at the intruder with wide eyes, fingers still gripping the glass. “What are you doing here?”

“Listen.” It’s Taehyung who speaks up, drawing your attention away from Jungkook. “Just hear him out–”

“Kim Taehyung!” You kick him in the shin under the table, to which he yelps and gets a few heads turning in the semi-crowded restaurant. “You backstabbing bitch!”

“God, you’re so dramatic. Just hear him out, okay? I think this could be really good for your career.”

Your jaw clenches, and both men notice the way you slightly scooch away from the one next to you. Damn them and damn you. You’re always more pliant with a satiated stomach; maybe that’s why Jungkook didn’t show up until after you had finished eating.

Waving a hand in the air in defeat, you motion for your ex to do whatever it is that he came here to do. Mostly, you want to waste his time just to say no to him in the end.

Jungkook immediately launches into a whole speech about how this could be Jin’s greatest album yet if they had you on the team. Apparently Jin has been itching to sink his claws into you ever since he found out you worked with Yoongi; you knew the two of them were friends, but you didn’t realize that your work even drew that kind of attention.

As the man explains what the album concept would be, your resolve almost breaks. Fuck, if it doesn’t sound like something right up your alley. You’re already envisioning everything you could do with this album, the lyrics that are practically writing themselves inside your head. Nevertheless, it isn’t that simple. There’s always a but, and that but is sitting right beside you, droning on about how this album might actually be the one to score Jin his first Grammy win. Jungkook didn’t seem fazed when he saw you the other day, and he sure isn’t fazed now. You’re supposed to be someone he used to love, but the way he’s so nonchalant makes you feel like you were never more than just a mere acquaintance.

When he’s finished, you don’t respond. Instead, you turn to your friend. “Seriously, Tae,” you scoff, glaring at the man sitting across from you. This is the second time that Kim Taehyung has betrayed you in a span of two days; one more strike and you might just key his car. “I can’t believe you ran off to daddy again.”

He rolls his eyes at you while Jungkook raises a brow in amusement and leans back against his chair. “I told you not to say that,” he grumbles. “But honestly, I’m saying this as your best friend–”

“My best friend wouldn’t use my greatest weakness to trick me.”

“Oh my God, just—listen, do you not see what an insane opportunity this is? It’s Kim Seokjoon, for crying out loud. Even I know who that is and you tell me all the time that I have zero knowledge of pop culture.”

“Kim Seokjin,” Jungkook pipes in before you can.

“Oh, shit,” Taehyung scratches his head awkwardly, “right, well, my point still stands. You’ve always wanted something like this to happen, so why are you doing this to yourself now? Just because it’s Ju–”

“Tae.” Your gaze hardens as you look at him, and Jungkook sees how you and the older man communicate without having to utter a single word. He never understood the connection, the bond, between the two of you but he has always appreciated the fact that you have someone like Taehyung. Someone who understands you in ways that he couldn’t, who looks out for you and takes care of you no matter what, who made sure you wouldn’t fall when Jungkook was the one to shatter the ground beneath you.

After a minute, Taehyung softens. “I’m just saying,” he nudges your foot under the table to ease the tension, “when are you gonna get a chance like this again? Some things aren’t worth sacrificing your dreams for.”

He’s right, and you know you’re being childish. When are you going to get an offer of this magnitude? This is your dream; this is something you’ve been working toward all these years. Are you really about to let it pass you by because of Jungkook?

You turn away from both of them and close your eyes, sighing as you expel the weight in your chest. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, “my life is a dumpster fire waiting to blow up. Fucking hell.”

“Language, sailor,” Jungkook scolds you lightly. “How can someone with such a foul mouth write lyrics that beautiful? You never used to swear this much.”

You choose to fire back at him rather than focus on the fact that he listens to your songs. “The keyword here is “used to”. You don’t know me anymore.”

He stares at you, and once again he knows he’s dug his own grave, earning even more points in your bad books. He only meant to be playful, but now he doesn’t know how to respond to that.

Thankfully, Taehyung chimes in. “It can’t hurt to think about it right? It’s a good opportunity.”

Your brows knit together and you fist the hem of your shirt. You look a little distressed, and Jungkook remembers how you used to do this to will yourself before you committed to something you really don’t want to. It used to be research papers for psychology classes, but now it’s him.

“Fine, I will think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” Jungkook says, his voice a little smaller now. He hands you the folder that he’s been holding, and you gulp when his hand brushes yours, just barely. “Here’s the creative brief. Let me know what you think, alright? My business card is in there.”

As Taehyung watches the two of you, he isn’t entirely convinced if this is such a good idea anymore. Career-wise, you’d be out of your mind not to snatch this offer right off the bat; but emotionally speaking, there’s still something that he can’t properly decipher between you and Jungkook.

He sees the way the younger man glances at you, and the way you wouldn’t look at him. Taehyung has noticed how your tone has grown subconsciously more defensive and overly nonchalant the past couple of days, as if you’re trying to convince yourself and everybody else that you’re doing fine. For years, you’ve been claiming that you despise Jungkook and that the resentment you have toward him will never change, but no one has really been able to confirm that hypothesis. You haven’t been in the same room since college, and it’s a hell of a lot easier to say you’re over someone when you aren’t standing in front of them and looking into their eyes.

Nonetheless, it’s his duty as your friend to make sure you choose what’s best for you, and this—no matter how ludicrous it sounds to you—will do you more good than harm. Whatever may happen, he knows you’ll never forgive yourself if you miss this chance. And just like how Taehyung has helped you through your toughest days before, he can do it again. You’ve recovered from Jungkook once, you can do it a second time.

…Right?

Naturally, you had to go and get sloshed that night. Alone, because Taehyung had a work function that he couldn’t skip and though he promised to take you out to drown your sorrows the next day instead, you just couldn’t wait to forget about Jungkook.

On his birthday the year of your breakup, you had called him to wish him a happy birthday even though he never made an effort to reach out to you at all after you went your separate ways; or rather, he went his own way and you were left there all alone. The line rang, and rang, and finally when the call connected, you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs at the sound of a woman’s voice filtering through the speaker, airy and giggly.

“Is this… Jungkook’s phone?” you tried to keep your voice from breaking.

“Jungkook?” the woman sounded confused. “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong number.”

You promptly ended the call afterward, not knowing whether to feel relieved that no, he didn’t get a new girlfriend, or dejected because he changed his number and didn’t tell you.

Well, of course, why would he? You broke up and Jungkook made it blatantly obvious that he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. It hurt you to admit it—something that had once been so unimaginable now taking over every aspect of your life—that you had become strangers who once meant the world to each other.

Shit happens. People wake up and fall out of love everyday. People change, then they leave. Life goes on.

It didn’t mean much, but you deleted the number that night.

Now, as you’re staring at this new set of digits you took from the business card Jungkook had given you, anxiety bubbles in your stomach. The fact that you’re actually considering it, means you’ll say yes. It is an incredible opportunity, Taehyung didn’t need to do all of that for you to see it. But partly because it’s Jungkook who’s asking, and you’re weak despite how many times you’ve claimed to hate his guts. Despite wanting to say no with your entire being, he affects you in ways that you never thought were still possible. Though you haven’t agreed to his proposition, your mind is already picturing what will happen when history inevitably repeats itself.

You’ll say yes, he’ll take what he needs from you, and he will leave. You will go back to being strangers again. The numbers staring at you in blue light will be another set for you to delete.

That’s why Jimin is here now, at the wine bar where he’s found himself with Taehyung so many times before just to pick you up and drag your drunken self home.

But Taehyung isn’t here tonight because of the aforementioned work event so Jimin brought backup—it just happens that it’s the same person you're trying your hardest to forget about.

(They were lounging on Jungkook’s couch playing video games when the call came and interrupted Jimin. When Taehyung’s voice rang through the speakers to inform him of your situation and how Jimin would have to handle it alone this time, Jungkook’s curiosity was instantly piqued.

“I’ll take you,” he said to the older man. “You didn’t drive here anyway.”

“Oh, you’re with Kook?” Taehyung asked hesitantly, then went quiet for a moment after Jimin confirmed. “Yeah, sure, you should take him with you. She probably won’t remember it…”)

“Jiminie,” you whine loudly once your friend helps you into the car, “Jiminieee.”

“Yes, what? I’m right here.”

“I saw Jungkook again. Twice.”

“Oh?” He looks at the younger man, unsure of how to proceed. “How did it go?”

Jungkook watches your face in the rearview mirror. Your hooded eyes are looking out the window, blinking lazily every few seconds before closing completely shut. He thinks you might have fallen asleep until you speak up a few minutes later.

“He didn’t ask how I’ve been doing. He just showed up out of the blue because he needed something from me and didn’t even bother to ask if my life’s been okay or anything. I–It made me feel so insignificant.”

For a moment, the already stuffy air in the car thickens. You sound like you’re sober, like you’re saying all of this under the guise of inebriation to see how he would react. But before either man can respond, you’re lolling your head to the side and mumbling incoherently again. Jungkook swallows, and Jimin remains quiet for the rest of the drive. The only sounds are your occasional hiccups and giggles.

When the car pulls up to your apartment complex, Jimin is too preoccupied with hauling you out of the vehicle to notice Jungkook’s hesitation to help him lug you into the building, but he does anyway. He hasn’t touched you in years, and you won’t even remember it in the morning.

It’s been so long, but when his arm wraps securely around your waist, it seems like no time has passed at all. His hand on your body still feels familiar and not as foreign as he would expect. Since you’re mostly leaning against Jungkook, it stirs a strange sensation in his gut when your head falls to rest in the crook of his neck.

The elevator ride only lasts a few minutes, but he can’t focus with the way your warm breath is fanning his skin. When he crashed your lunch date with Taehyung 12 hours earlier, he didn’t expect the day would end like this—with you in his arms again, though the circumstances could’ve been better.

Once you make it to your door, you immediately perk up. “Oh?” You turn to Jungkook, as if you’ve only just noticed him for the first time tonight. “Chimmy, who’s your friend here?”

Jimin doesn’t reply, too busy ruffling through the chaos in your bag to find your keys and letting Jungkook hold you up by himself. (He never understands why women carry so many useless things around. The only things a person should need to bring with them outside are keys, phone and wallet. Maybe a pack of gum and condoms. Why do you even have a flask of vodka when you were already headed to a bar?)

When he takes too long, you turn to him and whisper. “Bitch, your friend is so cute!” (Only you think you’re whispering.) Jungkook chuckles as he tightens his grip on you. He can’t help but think you’re adorable—you’ve always been a cute drunk in his eyes, though if you would probably smack yourself over the head if you were aware of the words coming out of your mouth. It’s nice to hear that you still find some part of him tolerable.

Jimin lets out a triumphant sigh when he finally pulls your keys from the bag. The way he navigates your apartment in the dark and makes a beeline for what Jungkook assumes is your bedroom makes him wonder how many times the older man has done this whenever you’ve had one too many. Jungkook purposefully, albeit awkwardly, stands in the middle of your living room, glancing at your open door at Jimin who’s setting you on the bed and struggling to take off your jacket because you keep flailing your arms trying to hug him. Jungkook could help, but he feels like being in your home is already pushing his luck, let alone your bedroom, even if you aren’t quite conscious of his presence.

He takes the liberty of looking around, smiling to himself when he sees traces of you in every corner. Picture frames are scattered across your apartment—of you and your friends, your family, even Taehyung’s dog Yeontan because you love the little fluff ball so much. Dainty trinkets from your travels and art prints that you always said were pretentious but you secretly liked them anyway.

No photos of you and him, but that makes sense of course.

Jimin emerges from your bedroom after a while, leaving the door ajar to see if you’re sleeping soundly before they leave. This is the first time in years that he has seen you and Jungkook in such close vicinity of each other. Sure, you’re drunk out of your mind, but still.

“She didn’t mean what she said earlier,” he says as he hands Jungkook a glass of water.

“She did. It’s fine, it’s not like she said anything wrong,” he takes a sip to wash away the slight sting creeping up his spine. “Of course I wanna know how she’s been, hyung. I just didn’t think I had the right to ask. I didn’t know it made her feel that way.”

Jimin sighs, unsure of what to say. Wounds that he thought had scabbed over are starting to bleed again, but this time it seems like it’s affecting the both of you. You were once each other’s safe haven, but now the waters are murky, and no one has a single clue on how to chart them.

A couple of sentences, but this might be the most that Jungkook has talked about you in years. You’re in the same circle of friends, your name was bound to come up in conversation. Whenever it happened, he would simply not contribute anything to the topic, or excuse himself to go to the bathroom until chatter about you has stopped.

He has always refused to disclose anything about the breakup when anyone asked. No one knows what really happened back then; not his brother, not his closest friends, and certainly not you.

— taglist: @bids97 @ggukkieland @bloopkook @canarystwin @princehyun-jin @scoupsnotscoops @eridanuswave @mwitsmejk @thebluegoddess @pb89nv @ppeachyttae @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @xxxxxuixxxxx @bananamochidaisy @jungkook-er @acciofirewhiskey @bbtsficrecs @luv--you @jeonkoookiee @sweetonkookieandtae @mrcleanheichou @betysotelo18 @neverthefirstchoice @lllucere @parkethereal @tsundoku-world @investedreader @armys-dna

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littlemisslol-fic · 3 years ago

Text

The Silent Opera

Chapter Nine: Harmony

Summary: In a world populated by Soulmates— people drawn together by wordless music connecting them to their destined other half— Varian is an anomaly. He is Songless, someone without a Soulmate of his own. He makes due with the cards dealt to him, used to being the castle oddity by now, but when an interesting blond takes up residence in the castle, he can’t help but be drawn to him.

Hugo, on the other hand, is horrified to find that not only is his Soulmate a palace brat, but that Varian doesn’t hear him back— meaning Hugo is trapped in a one-sided bond. When presented with a horrible choice between completing the theft Donella had sent him to do, or taking a frightening step into vulnerability, Hugo finds himself at an impasse he just might not be able to charm his way out of.

And then politics get involved.

Notes: Fallout and escalation is always a winning combo, don't you think?

The next week is a lesson in avoidance.

Varian tries to talk to Hugo. Really, he does—but every time he gets within fifty feet that asshole manages to bolt like a scared rabbit into the nearest hallway, vanishing before Varian can get close. Fuck.

It doesn’t help that Landis is starting to stick to Varian like a particularly devoted shadow, always looming in the corner. Every time Varian thinks he’s escaped, Landis pops up around the corner and scares him stupid.

He can’t deal with all of this—Hugo, Landis, the crop shortage, it’s all a fucking mess. Varian’s being pulled in a million different directions, stretched thin and exhausted. A less stubborn person would probably drop dead.

But he keeps going, placating Fred and trying to hunt down Hugo, all while trying to ditch Landis with varying success rates.

He’s currently prowling the halls around Hugo’s room, trying to catch the blond as he leaves. Hugo’s supposed to have this day of the week off, so in theory he’ll be around eventually—so Varian has hope that he can catch the older teenager trying to hide in his room.

No such luck, unfortunately. Just as Varian gets ready to hunker down and wait it out, who else shows up but the bane of his fucking existence.

“Varian,” a voice says loudly. Varian nearly yelps, jumping clean out of his skin, but manages to get himself under control before he makes a total ass of himself.

“L—Landis,” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest, “Sun, you can’t be scaring me like that—”

Landis doesn’t seem too guilty, instead putting his hands behind his back. “Apologies.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. “I was hoping you might accompany me to the archery range. I want to keep my skills sharp.”

Varian casts a look back to Hugo’s door. Shit.

“Oh, sorry, I’m a little busy today, maybe later?”

Landis only smiles, something smug. “I insist,” he says. “Your King told me that your duties come second to this, do they not?”

Fuck.

Varian feels a pinch of guilt as he’s forced to turn away from Hugo’s hallway. “Yes, I—of course.”

He feels a large hand settle on his lower back, overly hot and pushing just a little too hard. Landis’s smug smile doesn’t leave, only growing wider.

“Excellent.”

—————♪—————

The range isn’t somewhere Varian frequented. It’s always crawling with guards, the pompous meat-heads (sorry, Eugene), and while Varian’s used it once or twice for testing out some of his more… chaotic inventions, it’s not exactly the most fun of places.

And yet he somehow ends up sitting on a bench, bored to tears, as he watches Landis miss the target for the tenth time. Well, missisn’t quite the right term: he’s hitting it, but usually on the side, never on the direct center. I think even I have better aim then he does, Varian thinks to himself with a sigh.

Landis keeps making frustrated noises, drawing his bow back and grunting when the arrows miss their marks. “It’s because it’s a different range from back home,” he tells Varian, like that’s an actual reason. The alchemist has to bite his tongue to stop from mentioning Cass; surely Cassandra would give this prick a run for his money, and Varian would personally pay to see it.

Alas, Cass is somewhere in Galcrest according to her last letter to the castle. More’s the pity. Maybe Varian can convince her to show up for the Day of Hearts… for his wedding. The word brings up bile in the back of his throat, but he swallows it down; he might as well start getting used to the idea. Rapunzel had at least fought for the marriage to happen under a Coronan roof, to follow their traditions. Varian’s never been one for the more spiritual side, but anything to keep him home longer is welcome.

He sighs when Landis misses the center of the target again but still applauds politely when his betrothed looks his way. This is agonizing.

His thoughts drift back to Hugo, to a week ago on the roof. To Hugo, to the kiss—and then to the blond’s retreating back, vanishing into the crowd.

We’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. Nothing has to change.

Fuck’s sake. If a weeklong avoidance is nothing changing, then Varian had a much different impression on their friendship than Hugo did. The guilt’s been locked in his throat for the entire time, ever since he managed to cock up their friendship so succinctly that Hugo felt no other recourse than to never talk to Varian again.

He… he just needs to explain. To figure out how to explain that, while he had indeed enjoyed that little activity, it couldn’t continue. Like it or not, Varian was promised to someone else. And, if you accounted for the Song, so is Hugo.

The thought makes the guilt in his chest worse. Somewhere out there Hugo has a Soulmate, and they’re surely waiting for him. Varian’s just… a waste of Hugo’s time. Somehow he finds the guilt wrestling with a sudden, sick twist of jealousy, but he does his best to shake it. Whoever Hugo’s Soulmate is, they’re very lucky.

Another arrow fails to make its mark. Landis curses, sending a servant to go collect them so he can try again.

Varian’s teeth clench. The sky above is cloudy, a rarity for Corona. It makes everything seem dull. Landis must take his sullen attitude as boredom. He grins, leaning on a nearby bow stand and waving to Varian.

“Want to give it a try?” he asks. Varian shakes his head, trying to be casual.

“I’ve never fired a bow,” he calls back, “I’m good here, thanks.”

But Landis waves him over, and with a sigh Varian finds himself awkwardly positioned two hundred yards from the target. The longbow is too large for him, seeing as it was made for Landis, making it awkward in his hands; Landis leans close to his back, making him shrink away unconsciously.

“Now, you’ve gotta draw it back,” he instructs. Varian shudders at the feeling of hot breath on the shell of his ear—it’s an uncomfortable sensation, nothing like how it had felt being close to Hugo…

Ah. Fuck.

Varian pulls in a deep breath as he draws the bow back. He understands the theory of shooting—he’d managed to aim project obsidian without too many misses, thank you very much—so as he takes his aim he does his level best to ignore how Landis is still prattling behind him, and levels out the bow.

The arrow leaves his hand, whizzing past him faster than a blink of an eye. With a thunk it embeds itself in the target, not perfectly in the center but pretty damn close. Much closer than Landis had gotten, at least.

Varian lets out the breath he’d been holding and his shoulders slump. Landis laughs loudly, thumping Varian on the back with a grin.

“We’ll make a hunter of you, yet,” he praises. Varian can’t help but grimace, thinking of his track record with blood, but forces himself to mumble a thank you as he passes the bow back.

“I don’t think I’m much of a hunter,” he says. Landis scoffs, still looking out to the target with an impressed face.

“A waste of talent, really, I’d love to see what would happen if we gave you a crossbow.”

“Probably murder someone.” The joke slips out before he can remember that Hugo isn’t here to laugh at it.

Landis’s smile does something weird. “I’d love to see it,” he says, distantly, before blinking. “Sorry, bit of soldier’s humor for you.”

Right. Yep. Not concerning in the slightest. Varian forces an awkward chuckle through his teeth, backing away slightly. Landis looks out to the pitch, putting his hands on his hips.

“I’m impressed,” he says, after a beat of silence. Whoop-de-fucking-do. But Landis only focuses on the target. “You’ll be perfect for the Hastilude.”

“Hastilude?”

Landis’s smile goes sharp. “Hm, yeah. Corona’s different from Socria in that way.” When Varian doesn’t say anything, he leans back. “Socrian royalty doesn’t have a specific heir through age. Our leaders pick their successor from any member of the royal family.”

Varian tilts his head. “Meaning…?”

“My uncle will make his selection soon. That also means that Hastilude will run. Three days of tests for the candidates… and their spouses.”

Varian swallows a bit at that. Sun help him, competitions? Rapunzel would lose her mind. Landis must see him go pale, chuckling.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “With a brain like yours, my cousins won’t have a chance. We’ll be a shoe-in.”

The weird feeling in Varian’s stomach twists again, an ominous… vibe for lack of a better term. Something about the way Landis works, the inflection in his voice—it reminds him of Andrew, unsubtle but slimy, conniving but obvious. Landis seemed almost excited for them to be stuck together, but not for the right reasons. He’d also lied about his Soulmate’s death, one way or another. Something in their guest is untrustworthy.

And Varian doesn’t fucking like it.

—————♪—————

Varian stews on the thought for a while more. He manages to escape Landis eventually, slipping free with a quick excuse, but it’s like that looming shadow refuses to shake.

Varian makes his way to the lab. When he reaches the door he sees a familiar head of blond hair, sighing in relief when he sees Hugo sitting on a stool, carefully watering Seventeen. They’ve lost a couple plants to the power of science, leaving only ten of the original thirty: brave little soldiers, marching to their deaths.

Varian sucks in a breath, hiding behind the door frame. Hugo hasn’t noticed him yet, humming along to a tune only he can hear—it would be child’s play to sneak up on him.

So that’s exactly what Varian does.

“H—hey.” He winces when his voice cracks.

Hugo nearly shrieks, whipping around and looking at him with wide eyes. Varian stands in the doorway, trying to subtly block the only exit. He sees the way Hugo’s eyes dart around, looking for a way out; for a second that green gaze settles on the window and Varian tries to mentally prepare to stop Hugo from jumping.

The silence stretches until it’s awkward. Hugo must decide against hopping out the window (good, they’re pretty high up, even for being a lower level) because he slumps. He doesn’t meet Varian’s eye.

“Hey.” His voice is flat. Nothing like Varian’s used to hearing from him. It sounds… wrong. But if they’re talking at long last, then at least Varian can stop guarding the door.

“Hey,” he repeats. He walks to the table, taking the seat across from Hugo. Those green eyes won’t meet his. It hurts more than Varian would like to admit.

There’s another awkward pause, which is weird for them; Varian hadn’t realized how much of their time was filled with jokes and jabs and teasing. He misses it. The alchemist sucks in a breath through his teeth. Time to rip the band-aid off.

“Are we going to talk about what happened?”

“Nope.”

Fucking… what? “Hugo—”

“Nope.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

Okay… so someone obviously isn’t ready to talk. The brash part of Varian wants to push. Wants to force the conversation until he gets his point across. It’s the part of him that’s used to Rapunzel attacking any emotional issues with openness and an urge to connect—something he respected and tried to emulate. However, if Hugo doesn’t want to talk, wants to be stubborn and shove his head in the dirt, is it right for Varian to force it?

He sighs.

“Fine. But we can’t avoid it forever.”

Hugo smirks in a way that says oh, yes I can; Varian grumbles again before shaking his head. Later, I can bug him later.

“How are the plants, then?” he asks. There, neutral territory. Hugo’s grin turns smug now that he thinks he’s won; Varian will let him have that. For now.

“They’re fine,” Hugo replies. “The survivors are still going strong, though test group A is getting a little wilty.”

“Hm, that’s not great.”

The blond shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye on them while you’re out with the boy-toy.” His voice tilts up in a taunt, but Varian sees the way his hands twitch.

The alchemist groans, letting himself slump. “Please don’t mention Landis right now, I only just managed to ditch him. He was being weird again and it was so awkward.”

Hugo winces—an odd reaction, but Varian isn’t about to judge. “Did you catch him lying again?”

Fuck, of course Hugo remembers that. “No, no, he’s just… off. Sometimes he says things that throw me a bit, I don’t know if it’s a cultural difference or if he’s just like that.”

“I bet he got dropped as a baby—”

“Hugo.”

“—Oh what, am I not allowed theories?”

Varian can’t help it: he snickers into his arm. He shouldn’t be laughing, but damn does it feel nice to laugh after a week of silence. Even if he’d never admit it, he’d missed Hugo in their time apart; he’d missed the jokes, the laughter, the snide humor. Most of all, he’d missed being listened to. Even Rapunzel was still pushing the try and get along narrative—though that was probably to avoid an international incident…

Wait.

“Hugo, do you want to cause some problems with me?”

“Hell yes I do.”

Varian grins when there isn’t even a beat between his question and the answer. What a guy.

“Back when you said that you’d…” he lowers his tone, “…break into Landis’ room? How serious were you about that?”

Hugo’s face lights up like he’s been told he’s won the lottery. “Why, sweetheart,” he croons, “I would never joke about crime. If I said I’d do it I wasn’t lying. Did we have a change of heart?”

“I just—I don’t know—I’m hoping that if you don’t find anything I can let it rest. Like if he’s just weird then it’s fine, but I need to know there’s nothing else so I can stop thinking he’s a serial killer or something.”

Hugo chortles with glee and quietly claps his hands together. “Any excuse to fuck with that guy is a good one.”

“But you can’t get caught. And he can’t know you’ve been in there or it’ll be a diplomatic nightmare.”

“Please, goggles,” Hugo leans on the table, propping his head up with a hand under the chin, “I am the king of subtly.”

Varian groans again. This is a terrible fucking idea—but if it would put his stupid, overly paranoid gut feelings to bed, it would be worth it.

Hopefully.

—————♪—————

Hugo hasn’t been this excited in months.

Well, okay, maybe he has. But getting a chance to break into the ponce’s bedroom? And having Varian to blame for it? He can’t say he’s not having a great time. Something in him giggles with joyful malice at the fact that Varian still doesn’t like Landis—something childish and stupid and angry that preens whenever Hugo’s Soulmate is just as fed up with the ponce as he is.

Maybe there’s hope for him yet, even after he absolutely fucked up and made things as awkward as humanly possible. Honestly he’s surprised Varian’s even fucking talking to him after Hugo went and was a giant idiot that night on the roof. Of course Varian didn’t want to continue, of course he’d push Hugo away.

Why the fuck wouldn’t he?

Hugo had made a stupid mistake, and now Varian’s Song has gone snippy and angry and—fuck. He’s not sure what he would do if Varian got angry enough to finally tell him to fuck off. Isn’t that just pathetic.

Hugo struts through the halls of the castle, drawing closer to the guest quarters. No one spares him a second glance, some of them waving as he passes but otherwise acting unbothered. Hugo slips by without a problem, stewing in his own thoughts.

He’d hoped that avoiding Varian would make this whole… thing feel less agonizing. He’d made a stupid fucking mistake and ended up risking the careful relationship they’d built together. He didn’t even know what to call it, a friendship for sure, but friendship didn’t wave away the butterflies that appeared in his stomach when he saw Varian smile, or the cold dread he’d felt the night the alchemist had pushed him away and said no.

You’re pathetic, a voice in his head whispers. Pining over a simple boy, you’re better than that. It sounds like Donella, cold and calculating and right, but it doesn’t help the nausea that came the whole walk back to the castle. Hugo had run with his metaphorical tail between his legs, trying to ignore how the Song had crescendo-ed into a loud wave of HurtSadAngryUpset that had drowned out all else.

So he’d avoided Varian. Tried to get used to being on his own again, like he’s supposed to be, and it had gone terribly. Every time the Song groaned in irritation he’d wanted to go find the other alchemist, only for his higher function to pull him back. He can’t go chasing a pretty boy because Varian is promised to someone else.

He’s not meant for Hugo. The Song may want it, but life certainly said something different.

The sight of Landis’ door is nearly a welcome one. At least it gets his thoughts to stop spinning for twenty seconds. Hugo pulls out his beloved bobby pin, cracking his knuckles before getting to work. The lock pops open within seconds under his skilled hands, barely even an obstacle.

It swings wide into the dark space. Landis must have pulled the curtains before he left: it’s pitch black in the room. Hugo slips in, silently closing the door behind him—Varian had promised him at least an hour to poke around. So. Time to get to work.

The room is considerably more extravagant than his own. Flashy and sophisticated, filled with dark wood and starchy white linen—there isn’t a speck of dust in the place, and if Hugo didn’t know better he’d assume that he has the wrong room. The only real indication of anyone staying here is the single trunk set aside in one of the corners. Bingo.

The bobby pin’s out again. Hugo smirks as the trunk pops open and the oiled hinges open soundlessly. He peers in, all business. There’s clothes, obviously, a few items of jewelry oddly enough—and Maker above, does it take some self-control to keep from taking them—and odds and ends. Nothing super interesting, honestly. He’s rather disappointed. But there’s something weird about the trunk… Hugo just can’t put his finger on it.

He pokes around a little bit more. He can’t shift too much, or else Landis will definitely know someone was poking around in his underwear, but eventually Hugo’s hand touches the bottom of the trunk. He fiddles with it a while more, before he finally realizes what exactly seemed weird.

Testing, he brings his other hand to the floor next to the trunk, trying to gauge. There’s always a bit of real estate lost at the bottom of a chest, but this one seems extreme: his left hand is nearly six inches higher than the one that’s touching the floor… almost like…

Oh.

Oh-hoh how smart.

But not smart enough.

Hugo smirks as he removes his hands and closes the trunk, flipping it on its side. The bottom is a basic wood, nearly perfect, but when Hugo looks closer a small seam makes itself apparent in the light from the window.

Gotcha.

He fiddles with it a second more before pressing inward until a small click echoes through the room. He’s on a fucking roll—the false bottom of the chest swings open, revealing a handful of papers all stacked neatly.

A smirk crawls across Hugo’s face. He really is ridiculously good at this.

He can’t take these with him. Surely if they’re important enough to be hidden like this, then Landis will notice them missing—however, Donella had shown him a trick ages ago. He whisks the papers—a collection of letters, from the looks of it… a bill of sale?—to the nearby desk. He sets them down, grabbing a handful of blank stationaries and a piece of graphite, and gets to work.

Laying a piece of blank paper over the letters, he gently rubs the charcoal onto it; the impressions left by a pen or quill in the original is enough that it shows through, a perfect impression emerging. Hugo works quickly—if he gets caught, surely he’ll end up in deep shit—but there’s only a few papers to go through.

Once done he re-organizes the originals and puts them back, closing the false compartment and resetting the chest in its place. He even goes so far as to line it up with the floorboards, exactly as it had been originally.

With a grin, he folds his copies and tucks them away in his vest.

Like candy from a baby.

—————♪—————

Varian’s made it back to the lab by the time Hugo gets there. He had been sitting there for a while, chewing his fingernails as the stress leaked in and slowly made a mess of his nerves. What if Hugo gets caught? What if Landis finds out, and goes to Frederic? What if, what if, what if—

When Hugo slips through the door, Varian heaves a sigh of relief he didn’t know had been building up in his chest.

“Sun blessed,” he murmurs, “I was getting worried. Did anyone see you?”

“Nah,” Hugo grins smugly, pulling a set of papers from his vest with a flourish. “You were right, though, the ponce had at least one secret. He’s got a fake panel in his traveling case—had these in them. I took impressions and got the fuck out.”

“Smart.” Varian actually means it, for once.

“Thanks, I know.”

There’s a moment where he wants to smack Hugo, but it gets lost when the blond places the stack of papers in front of him. Varian always was a sucker for a good mystery. He picks up the first one, scanning it quickly.

“And these were hidden in a chest?” he asks it carefully. Hugo nods, looking over his shoulder. Varian tries not to shudder at the feeling of his breath on the shell of his ear. None of that, thank you. He literally just rejected Hugo, he can’t go getting… excited when the blond gets too close. Even if it feels disingenuous to his own feelings.

Varian coughs roughly, looking back to the paper.

“What’s this one?” Hugo asks. Varian tilts his head, narrowing his eyes.

“Looks like some kind of request letter for a job, but it’s really weirdly worded.”

“How so?”

Varian hands him the paper, pointing to a specific sentence. “Look here. I am in need of your council, and would like you to meet me at Buxburrow Bridge at midnight. Bring no one, and make sure you are not seen leaving town… and then, over here, I may also be in need of a compound you are aware of, in a larger dose. You would be rewarded handsomely. That doesn’t sound like any sort of summons I’ve ever read.”

Hugo holds his chin, looking at the note. “You’re right. It’s very strange.”

“I’ve put orders in to Xavier before,” Varian keeps going, the wheels in his mind are turning a mile a minute. “And it’s important to be specific about what you need, obviously—”

“Especially if it’s expensive,” Hugo’s voice cuts through, not rudely, but finished Varian’s thought for him. “Yeah, that’s suspicious as hell. Almost like… hm.”

“What?”

Hugo freezes for just a split second, but Varian catches it. “What is it?” he asks again, trying to meet Hugo’s eye.

The blond sighs, shaking his head. “I don’t want to say anything extreme.”

“Hugo, we just broke into a delegate’s room and stole copies of his secret notes from a hidden spot in his trunk.” Varian snorts, playfully elbowing Hugo. “We’ve gone solidly past extreme, at this point.”

Hugo cracks a smile at that, shrugging. “I just think the way he avoids naming the actual compound is very strange. And you said their manor is big, right? Why would he ask to meet someone, maybe a physician, to meet him out on a bridge in the middle of nowhere?”

“What makes you think it’s a physician?”

“Compound, right? Not something to make a compound, one already made. Meaning whoever Landis was meeting knew what they were doing.”

Varian nods, biting his lip. “Whatever he wanted—wait, this is dated for nearly four years ago… so old—anyways, whatever he wanted, it must have been secret. There’s no way about it.”

“The parchment definitely felt old.” Even stranger if the originals were old enough to have a different texture from age. “Which is strange. If this is a normal letter, why keep it?”

“And bring it with you across two kingdoms…”

Hugo scratches at the back of his neck. “I can answer that one, I think. If you had something that could… let’s say, incriminate you of something—you’d want it kept as close to you as possible, right? Especially if you were going away for months and couldn’t keep an eye on it if you left it at home.”

“But why is this incriminating…?”

There’s a silence as they both peer over the note. Hugo pulls another paper from the pile and shows it to Varian; from the dates on the corner this one was sent two days after the original letter. “Here,” he says, “it’s the reply… from a Dr. Holmigivre.”

“What a mouthful.” Varian sounds tense even to himself. Hugo must pick up on it.

“Hah, yeah. Looks like the good doctor agreed to meet him, and that he’d bring the requested compound”

Varian watches as he points lower down in the reply. “Look,” Hugo says, “the doctor mentions that he’ll be bringing the—oh.”

Varian tilts his head, seeing the impression of the word word Digitalis written in cursive; he has to think for a second, but the uses slowly start to come back. “That’s a plant used to help with heart problems, right?”

“Maybe your boy-toy isn’t as infallible as he wants to seem, hm?”

Varian’s about to snap back with a retort when Hugo freezes. It’s only a split second later that he grabs for the papers, shoving them under one of the many larger blueprints. “Footsteps,” he hisses; Varian’s up like a shot, helping him hide the evidence before whoever it is gets closer.

They both hold their breath as the person gets closer, marching by. A guard? But Hugo said he wasn’t seen—fuck! Varian’s hands start to shake, the fear curling around his stomach and churning until he’s surely going pale. Hugo doesn’t look much better, flat faced and tense as a bow; they both go deadly quiet, waiting… listening…

The footsteps continue past the lab, not even stopping, but neither of them moves for a good minute after they fade away. Varian’s heartbeat rings in his ears, loud and frantic and drowning out any thought beyond not safe, not safe, not safe.

When things finally break, they both slump with a loud sigh. Hugo wheezes out a relieved laugh, bent over the table.

“That was too fucking close,” he giggles hysterically, “I am not cut out for prison, sweetcheeks, I’m too pretty!”

Varian lets himself fall back into a chair, rubbing at his face. “You’d get eaten alive,” he agrees, half serious. He probably would. Not that Hugo picks up on that—fuck, had anyone even filled Hugo in on Varian’s… history?

Sun be damned, one problem at a time, Varian. He reaches over and pulls their stolen notes out from under the blueprint, instead opting to tuck them away in a nearby drawer. Hugo watches with acute eyes as he does.

“We can’t keep talking about this now,” he says. “You never know who might be listening. We should wait until later, when there’s less people around.”

Hugo nods, looking at the drawer. “Sounds good,” he agrees. “We should look into that plant, see why he might need it.”

“Alright—”

“Okay bye!”

Varian blinks as Hugo vanishes. Oh that little fucker—fine. The blond’s long gone by now, obviously running before Varian can try to loop him into a conversation again. He sighs, slumping down in his chair and rubbing at his face.

The clock behind him chimes, announcing the start of a new hour. He’ll need to go; there’s a dinner happening in an hour, and he needs to be ready for it. He stands, forcing his tired body into moving again. He groans, trying to ignore the aches and pains for yet another night; he’s expected to be on time, prim and proper and perfect. Again.

Fuck’s sake.

—————♪—————

Dinner was abysmal—and we’ll leave it at that. Varian grumbles as he lets himself fall forward, flopping down onto his bed with a fwumph. Landis had been a bore, brooding and boorish in every way he could. Eugene and Rapunzel even had been banished to the other side of the table, leaving Varian to suffer between his intended and some other stuffy noble from Socria; all Varian had heard for the entire night had been them trying to one-up each other on who had brought the biggest hunting trophies home. Absolutely riveting.

He rolls over in bed. Up above is a sea of wooden beams and plaster, ones Rapunzel had painted with countless murals of their adventures. He spots countless shenanigans, some team awesome moments, he and Rapunzel reading together… all things he’s due to lose in only two scant months. The thought makes him want to burst into tears so he rolls over and stares at the wall instead. Seven hells, he’s going to go insane.

Varian’s too stressed. He knows this. Can feel it growing in his stomach like a tumor, getting bigger and bigger the more he ignores it. He’d almost gotten it controlled that night with Hugo, but… well, the ending kind of soured it. When Varian soured it. He can’t help but think back to their kiss, the feeling of chapped lips on his own—a solid, almost chaste thing that had sent a series of butterflies through his stomach and does so now.

The alchemist covers his eyes with a groan, feeling his face heat up. He can’t be thinking about this, or he’ll… he’ll…

What will he do?

He can’t kiss Hugo again. It’s a broken heart waiting to happen. Sure, Hugo’s funny, and sweet, and dazzlingly intelligent… oh fuck. The heat in his face gets worse, Varian shaking his head like he can deny it to an invisible audience. Okay. Fine. He’s crushing on Hugo. That doesn’t mean jack-shit. Not now, when the future of his home is at stake.

And, like a creeping chill, the thought comes back: Hugo hears the Song. He has a Soulmate out there, waiting for him, and it’s not Varian.

The teenager sniffs, oddly upset at the thought. He can’t pin the emotion in the wave of AngerJealousyFrustrationAnxiety that flows through him—everything tangling up into an incomprehensible ball until he can’t make neither head nor tail of any of it. He sits up then, scooting off the bed and walking to the cabinet.

(Months ago, when he’d turned eighteen, Eugene had arrived at his room first thing in the morning with a bottle of whiskey and a smug grin. He’d waved it in Varian’s face, all loud pride and brotherly teasing.

“I wanted to be the one to give you your first drink,” he’d said, holding the bottle out.

“Eugene, you know my dad lets me drink, right?”

“Your first legal drink, then.”)

The whiskey hadn’t been his usual fare: he’s more of a cider guy. But it had been a gift, and whiskey was always good for clearing up a cough, so he’d kept it. Sure enough, it’s still there, tucked away at the back of the cabinet along with the glasses. Something in him knows this is a bad idea but fuck it.

He could use a goddamn drink.

—————♪—————

Hugo nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when someone loudly knocks on his door. He’d basically been ready to tuck in for the night—relaxing in bed and scribbling another note to Donella, he’s basically a homebody at this point—and hadn’t exactly been expecting visitors. The knock comes again, more insistent.

Who the fuck—?

He opens the door, swinging it wider when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” Varian says, holding up a bottle of whiskey. Hugo knows the label; that’s the good shit. His guest smiles, something awkward and twitchy, before also showing a couple of glasses in his other hand.

“Hey,” Hugo replies, unsure.

Varian bites at his lip—fuck, he’s so cute—and holds up the bottle. “I want to relax a bit.” He says it quietly, like they’re young teenagers trying to hide it. “But drinking alone is just sad. Wanna split?”

Hm. An interesting development.

“You’d be surprised, I’m actually not much of a drinker.” And yet, he still backs up and lets Varian in.

Varian smiles at that, entering the room and putting the whiskey down on the desk. “You can watch me, then.” His tone is teasing. Hugo laughs, sitting himself down on the bed and trying not to focus on how Varian’s lean fingers uncork the bottle. He pours into the first cup before looking at Hugo with an arched brow.

Hugo knows this is a terrible fucking idea. He already had issues keeping to himself when he’s sober, let alone what would happen if he’s tipsy. But Varian keeps looking at him, quietly asking, and Hugo’s resolve crumbles. The blond finally shrugs and grins just a bit too harshly.

“Fine, whatever, one won’t hurt.”

And it doesn’t, really. Their glasses clink together in a sarcastic toast, Varian muttering out a to Corona before knocking back his shot. Hugo does the same; at the very least, he appreciates the smooth glide of alcohol down his throat. The second goes down much the same. The buzz starts to build—by no means is he drunk, he’s barely tipsy—but the warmth in his belly is a pleasant one.

Varian sets the bottle down, leaning back in his chair. He’s occupied Hugo’s desk chair, lounging on it like one would a throne. He looks better than Hugo wants to admit; the ebb and pulse of the Song flutters with contentment for the first time in days. Varian smiles, running a finger along the rim of the glass.

“That’s so much better,” he mutters. “Everything’s gone insane, even worse than before.”

“With the ponce?”

Varian snickers at the name. “Yup. Sun help me, he’s the worst.”

If it were any other time, without the warmth of alcohol on his breath or in his thoughts, Hugo would have more control over his dumb fucking mouth—but the curiosity burns, as does the jealousy.

“I have to ask.”

“Mh?”

“Why?”

Varian tilts his head, eyes closed. “Why what?”

“Why are you going along with this?” Why am I not good enough for you?

“It’s an honor to serve my country—”

Hugo groans. Varian’s voice trails off. When Hugo looks to Varian again, he can see the younger teenager give a half-hearted shrug, staring a hole into the floor.

“Fine, fine. How much has anyone told you about… me?”

“Not a damn thing.” Oh, tragic back-story time. How fun.

Varian looks surprised by that. “Well, okay. So Rapunzel and I didn’t always… get along. When I was younger, my dad—there was an accident. I asked for her help, and when she couldn’t give it to me I lashed out.”

“Like… lashed out how?”

“Lashed out like kidnapped her mother?” Varian picks at a loose thread in his apron. “It was a… bad choice. And obviously it didn’t work out for me. I ended up in… well, in prison.”

The dungeons are horrible this time of year, Varian’s voice echoes in Hugo’s mind. Holy fuck. “You’re joking—”

“I can promise you I’m not.”

Suddenly, Hugo thinks to when they would have been young teenagers. That loud projection of misery, of pain, that had echoed in his mind for nearly a year through the Song. He’s reeling, the thought of Varian, of all people, kidnapping a queen and ending up in fucking prison—

“I can’t believe you, of all people got arrested.”

Varian laughs, but it’s humorless. “It gets worse.”

“No.”

“Yes. I made some not-so-great friends. We all broke out together, and uh. Staged a coup. And succeeded for a few months, at least. Rapunzel, uh, she came home and put a stop to it.”

“That is so fucking hot.”

Varian lets out a startled laugh, going bright red. The Song splutters in a barely contained glee, something Hugo barely has time to parcel through before Varian’s leaning over to punch him in the shoulder.

“Stop.” The alchemist can barely get the word out through his laughter. “None of that!”

Hugo smacks playfully at his hand, giggling like an idiot. Varian finally gets himself under control, but that pretty blush still stays. It certainly does something to Hugo, to know he’s the one who put it there. Varian bites at his lip and shifts in his seat.

“While we were in control, I wasn’t… I wasn’t the one in charge, but I was helping the guys who were. And they weren’t… they weren’t kind, to the townspeople. They hated Corona, and I—I was just so angry, and I thought I did too, so I never said anything, and—”

“Goggles…”

“And they suffered. A lot. So much of it was my fault. And they… Hugo, even after all that, they still forgave me. Do you know what kind of kindness that takes? What kind of compassion? They would have been right to demand my execution. But instead they forgave me.”

He uncorks the bottle again, pouring only a half shot. Obviously he’s not out to get drunk, thank the Maker; Hugo doesn’t fancy having to drag his ass back to his room. Varian downs the drink in one go, leaning forward and capturing Hugo’s gaze with his own. It’s hypnotic. Like staring straight into the stars.

“If there is anything that I can do to make sure they’re safe, I will do it. I owe them everything.”

The words rattle around his head like clusters of marbles in a jar: loud, chaotic, and frazzled. Hugo sighs and taps at his empty glass. Something brews in his stomach, thinking back to the time Rapunzel had cornered him outside the library, when she’d tried to convince him to pretend to give a shit. The pieces start to fall into place.

I think he feels he owes everyone after…. Well, after everything.

Son of a bitch.

“Varian…” he starts. The words are hard to form; Hugo knows that this isn’t exactly his forte. But even he can spot an unhealthy martyr mindset from a mile away. “They didn’t forgive you because they wanted you to do things for them—you know that, right?”

Varian snorts. “You sound like Rapunzel,” he says. The thought makes Hugo’s stomach curdle.

“It’s because I’m right.”

The shorter alchemist grumbles then, staggering slightly as he stands. He flops down onto the bed, awkwardly wiggling until he’s tucked between Hugo and the wall. “Stop being right, then.”

Hugo gives up on any sort of decorum—and honestly, if Varian’s going to try and steal the bed then he can fight him for it, Hugo was here first—and lays down next to him, propped up on his pillows. He tries to ignore how they’re so close, arms almost touching. Varian had said no. He’d said no and that should be the end of it.

Varian sighs then. It’s a sad, lonely sounding thing and it breaks Hugo’s heart.

“Can we… talk?” he asks. Hugo flinches. Bad start. He doesn’t want to fucking talk, not about any of this—but then Varian makes another sad noise, and the Song dips low in something that almost sounds like rejection and…

“We don’t have to.” Hugo looks up at the ceiling above of him, playing with his fingers. “We’ll forget that night on the roof ever happened. It’s fine.”

“And if I don’t want to forget?”

Hugo freezes. Varian can’t be serious, right? There’s no fucking way he knows what he’s saying—though the question gets answered pretty quick when Hugo snarls out an angry noise. Varian doesn’t even flinch, his head propped up on the pillow and watching Hugo with those big, dumb, baby blue eyes. Hugo nearly rolls off the bed, nearly leaves the room, but something keeps him tethered to Varian. It doesn’t make the hurt any less real.

“Well you should. Don’t pretend to spare my feelings, sweetheart—”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you forget the part where I kissed you back?!”

The last part is whispered out—you never know who’s listening—but they do the job. Hugo jerks away like Varian hit him.

“Hugo. I kissed you back. You left before I could say anything—”

“I left before you could kick me off the roof.”

Varian huffs out a frustrated breath. He sits up, looking down at Hugo like he’s the dumbest fucker on the face of the earth. Maybe he is. Who knows?

“Hugo. Would you please let me explain? I know that—that I didn’t say things right, on the roof. And it hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but if you’d just stay and let me try again…”

Hugo crosses his arms, looking away. He doesn’t say anything. Varian takes it as the invitation it might not be.

“I—I really like you.” The Song flutters with apprehension: Hugo’s heart does the exact same. “And I kissed you back because I like you. But… there’s a lot going on. Even if I didn’t choose… I don’t want… fuck.”

Hugo chances rolling over, meeting Varian’s eye. He’s startled by how bright they are in the light of his desk lamp.

“It’s not fair to you.” Varian finally seems to get his words back on track. “It’s not.”

“What if I don’t want it to be fair?”

The words slip out before he can stop them, turning Varian’s argument back on him. The alchemist tilts his head back, closing his eyes.

“And what about your Soulmate, hm?”

“What about—”

“No, no. What about them. I’m practically married, and you’ve got a celestial perfect match out there somewhere. What else could there be?”

Hugo grits his teeth to the tide of truth swelling behind them; maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the way Varian’s looking at him… but either way, he can’t hold it back anymore. Not all of it at least.

“He doesn’t hear me.”

“What?”

Varian’s voice is breathy. It echoes in the silence left behind Hugo’s confession. The blond sinks deeper into the pillows, hiding his face.

“He doesn’t hear me. I hear him, and… he’s wonderful. I hear him. But he doesn’t hear me back. I don’t think he will—if he hasn’t by now, right?”

Varian’s eyes are as wide as dinner saucers. “Have… does he hear someone else instead?”

Ouch. Right.

“Yeah.” The lie slips from his lips. “He’s not my match. I was—the Song made a mistake.”

Varian reaches over, his hand shaking and tentative. He brushes it against Hugo’s cheek and wipes away the feeling of wetness. A tear. Something in him feels shame, burning hot and threatening to boil over, but the rest of him is soothed by the cool feeling of Varian’s calloused thumb gently stroking his cheek. The dichotomy is something that will surely ruin him.

Hugo reaches up, covering Varian’s hand with his own. The touch on his skin is wonderful, cool and gentle and everything he’d ever wanted. Varian’s eyes are soft, compassionate. He looks like a piece of a puzzle has just slotted home.

“I guess we’re both a little bruised when it comes to Soulmates, hm?” Varian murmurs. Hugo laughs wetly. He holds Varian’s hand just that little bit tighter.

“That’s what makes us fun,” Hugo replies, his voice cracking slightly as he gets his stupid emotions under control. The twist in his guts gets that little bight lighter when Varian laughs, the sparking humor filtering though the Song.

“I like that you’re fun.”

Hugo smiles then, tilting his face until he can press his lips into the palm of Varian’s hand. He hears the way Varian’s breath hitches—he should stop this. Should back away, leave this while he can. Should turn around before things can go too far. He knows this.

The alchemist sighs, shuffling a little bit closer. Their breaths mingle, ghosting along his skin. He needs to pull back. Varian leans forward, slowly, carefully. Hugo needs to stop this, his heart is beating a mile a minute, he’s going to scream, or cry, or laugh, or sing—

When their lips meet, the Song swells.

Varian makes a noise, his arms carefully moving up to wrap around Hugo. The blond lets him, completely taken by the feeling of Varian, kissing him. They move together in sync, a careful dance that neither of them wants to break. Hugo finds his hands moving, cupping Varian’s face and tilting him to deepen the kiss. Varian makes an appreciative noise, moving again to shift them so that Hugo starts to lean over him. The blond pulls back for air, gasping from more than just oxygen deprivation.

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs against Varian’s lips.

“Not that drunk.”

“And what happened to not fair?” he asks, smiling when Varian scowls.

“Maybe I want to be selfish for a night.” The shorter teenager grumbles. He’s flushing red, not meeting Hugo’s eye. It’s adorable.

“Just for the night?”

The question hangs in the air. Varian’s breath hitches; Hugo feels it on his skin.

“Just for the night,” Varian replies, like he truly thinks that they can stop at just a night. This is a terrible idea… they need to stop…

“You can be as selfish as you want to be,” Hugo assures him. He needs to stop this. He’ll get a taste, the knowledge of what he could have had… it would drive him insane for the rest of his life. But Varian lays under him, hopeful and willing, and Hugo isn’t sure if he could even bring himself to tell them both no. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

He feels like he’s sinking.

Varian looks at him then, expression unreadable. “I’ve never… I don’t want my first to be picked for me,” he says it carefully. “I…I want to choose for myself. I want to be selfish with that.”

Oh, fuck.

“And—”

“And I pick you, Hugo,” Varian murmurs. His arms snake up to wrap around Hugo’s neck, pulling him back down. Hugo’s going to sink, pulled down into the inky swells of uncertainty; the waves churn and rock him until finally…

Hugo lets himself be brought into another kiss, his hands already undoing his shirt buttons. Varian tugs at the short hairs at his nape, moving them until Hugo’s hovering above him. Their hips end up locked together, a timeless dance. The Song swells again: JoyEleationLustSatisfaction bleeds through and permeates everything Hugo hears. He pauses as they split apart again, looking down at his Soulmate below him. Varian smiles, something with just enough desire in it that it’s obvious how far he wants to go. Hugo’s head begins to slip below, drawn down into the swells of the Song and the knowledge of the hole he’s dug himself.

“Let’s be selfish,” Hugo agrees, voice loud to cover up the sound of his heart breaking.

He sinks under the waves and lets himself drown.

#varigo #varian and the 7 kingdoms #varian #tangled the series #vat7k #tts #fic #silent opera

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caramelcal · 4 years ago

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Fool for you

a/n: eye- y’all wanting a part 2? cause i have it planned lol x

it gets much more interesting i promise oml...the enemies arc really do be one of my faves tho

word count: 3.15k

warning: swearing

She couldn’t believe how much shit that stupid kiss had landed her in. Her head was clouded, arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at her lap, trying not to grumble. Not only her own manager was sat in the room, but 5 seconds of summer’s too, along with their bassist, one of the people she hated most, Calum Hood.

“We have seen how everyone reacted to the speculation,” The woman in front of her started, legs pressed together with a large binder sitting on her lap, hands folded gently on top. Normally Y/N got on quite well with her manager, Caroline, but right now she wanted to scream due to the words coming out of the woman’s mouth, “You’ve been gaining popularity from it, Y/N. This could be a great way for you to gain more of a following.”

Y/N had dreamed of the day she started to trend on Twitter, but this was not what she wanted to be trending for. She wasn’t trending for her music, not even her newest single. No, she was trending because everyone thought she was Calum Hood’s girlfriend.

Speaking of the boy, he sat beside her, keeping quietly to himself. This had to have been the first time that he had ever been in her presence where he hadn’t been annoying the shit out of her. Must be because his manager is in here. He had already been approached about it and seemed sold on the idea.

An idea of them being in a fake relationship.

Her, with Calum Hood. She wanted to scoff at the thought. He was unbearable at best, constantly annoying her to the point where she wanted to rip her hair out. When she had first been asked to be the opening act for 5 Seconds of Summer’s tour she had been ecstatic. The boys were nice, welcoming her onto their tour with open arms. Honestly, Y/N got on with all of them, apart from Calum. From the moment he set eyes on her he seemed determined to do anything and everything in his power to piss her off, slowly waiting until she finally lost her cool and lashed out. It was frustrating, especially considering Y/N knew she couldn’t do much about it.

Now, not only did she have to put up with Calum normally, but they wanted her to get close with him. To be in a fake relationship, which, obviously, meant spending more time with him.

“So, of course, you guys will have to be seen out in public with one another every so often so we were thinking you guys get ‘caught’ kissing my paps again, then we’re thinking dropping hints,” Ink began to get scribbled across a piece of paper, writing out a messy and brief plan which Y/N didn’t even want to look at, “Possibly y/n being caught wearing Calum’s shirt...We aren’t entirely sure yet but we will make sure to keep you updated. Do either of you have any questions?”

Despite the question seeming like it was for both of them, it was directed at Y/N, and she knew that. PR stunts and fake dating amongst celebrities were never unheard of, but she never thought she would be getting into one herself, not now and definitely not with Calum, “I do, actually. What’s in it for him exactly?”

The question was asked towards the two managers, y/n honestly didn’t want to even look at Calum right now. He probably wanted to do this simply to annoy her because he knew that he was the bane of her existence, but y/n just hoped that he wouldn’t get even more annoying, despite knowing he definitely would take advantage of the situation.

“Publicity,” His manager stated simply, nodding his head slightly in her direction. Y/n didn’t know what else to say, and they all were enveloped in a very uncomfortable silence before Caroline let out a sigh, snapping her folder shut.

“Well if that’s all,” She stood up, making y/n’s eyes travel up to her as she began to walk away, “We will leave you two be.”

With that, the two managers left without another word, shutting the door behind them. Y/n and Calum sat in awkward silence for a few moments, y/n’s eyes set firmly in the door before she stood up, going towards the door before Calum caught onto her hand.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” Y/n huffed, tugging her hand away from the boy’s grip as she glared down at his hand. He awkwardly pulled his hand back, putting his hands down in his lap, “Going to get my last few hours of peace before we have to start this PR stunt.”

“Aw y/n/n, not wanna spend time with me, huh?” Calum teased, making her roll her eyes. He was already annoying her and he had barely spoken three sentences to her; something he had a special gift for.

“No, not really,” He gave her a fake pout before a smirk rose to his lips, making her roll her eyes.

Calum was acting as if she would actually enjoy his company. The same Calum Hood that woke her up by pouring a bucket of water on her that morning. Freezing cold water. Dickhead.

“Why are you doing this? Like why are you actually doing this?” She asked suddenly, making Calum meet her gaze with those brown eyes of his.

He shrugged, averting his gaze for a moment before speaking, “Publicity. It might not get us any more listeners but it’ll get people talkin’.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence before y/n nodded her head, “Fair enough. I’m gonna get going. Bye.”

And with that, y/n left the room.

Both y/n and Calum were walking together, hand in hand after a lovely ‘date’ together. It, honestly, was nothing short of awkward. Honestly, they didn’t know what to talk about with one another when they weren’t fighting; something that they became painfully aware of on their trip out that evening.

Calum, despite normally being reserved and quiet in public, actually took the lead in the conversation. Mostly because y/n didn’t know what to say and they knew that they couldn’t sit in silence, especially if someone noticed them and noticed that they didn’t even talk to one another.

It was the first PR date that had been set up, only three days after their meeting discussing the start of their fake relationship. Y/n couldn’t lie, she was incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, her white dress doing nothing to protect her from the cold air nipping at her skin.

As instructed, she was holding onto Calum’s arm, one wrapped around and intertwined with his bicep and the other one clasping their hands together. It’s a strange and awkward movement to uphold, especially when walking but they do it nonetheless.

“Calum, stop going so fast, I can’t keep up properly,” Y/n muttered to him quietly, almost tripping over her own feet when she felt herself getting tugged yet again due to her hold on Calum.

His eyes briefly flicked back to her, “I can’t really help it, y/n. I’m already going as slow as I can.”

“Well sorry I don’t have legs like the BFG like you, I’m trying not to fall ‘cause you keep tugging at me. This dress was not a good move for this,” She grumbled quietly again and Calum doesn’t even reply. Instead, he started walking even faster, “Calum! Slow down!”

She was pulled into a lane by Calum by the time she had finished that sentence, his hands on either side of her arms holding her in place. His broad shoulders are obstructing her from being able to see out of the small alleyway but before she could ask why he did that, he’s shushing her quietly and whispering, “Saw the paps. They saw me, too. It’s time.”

God, he made it sound so dramatic. It wasn’t like they were fighting off any evil spirit or villain, all they had to do was get caught kissing by the paps. It didn’t seem like it was going to be a particularly difficult job, just one they had to execute properly, and right now everything was going pretty smoothly. They just had to make sure that it looked authentic and like they actually wanted to do it.

He let out a breath he was holding as he looked down at her, asking her silently for permission to start as his fingers went around the back of her neck, thumb resting on her cheek. She nodded her head and he began to lean in, y/n standing on her tip-toes with her arms splayed over Calum’s shoulders woth him bending down and pressing his lips on hers.

They kissed for several moments, taking little breaks in between. No tongue was a rule they had decided on so instead they stuck to closed mouth. On the last peck shared between the two of them, Calum gently pulled away, y/n’s bottom lip trapped between his lips before her feet hit the ground, their lips now completely disconnected.

She, discretely, tried to peek around Calum to see the paps, but couldn’t, so instead, they stayed in that position for a little while longer. Her eyes glanced up at Calum, seeing him still staring down at her, she whispered, “What?”

“Nothing,” He dismissed, shaking his head hesitantly before he took a small step back before putting his hand out for y/n to grab onto. She shot him a smile as she laced their fingers together, tugging him along and out of the alley.

The games had begun.

It’s only about a week later when y/n was doing her washing as normal in some hotel’s launderette. She had been off of social media for the past few days, paying no mind to the several thousand people talking about her and Calum's 'relationship’. It surely had blown up, and some might say more than they had expected it to. Y/n had accumulated thousands of more followers after the whole fiasco and although she wouldn’t admit it, she enjoyed seeing the fan theories.

Calum had actually been a lot nicer to her recently, something she hadn’t expected, but enjoyed very much. A smile is on her face as she thought about the lack of pranks that he had been playing on her, and sure, he was still irritating her but it was simply with his words. He walked her down to the launderette, before turning to get his own load of dark clothes.

Surprisingly, despite having rather heavy music, y/n owned quite a lot of white clothes. Sure, she mostly wore black, but right now she was washing her white clothes. Well, what were her white clothes...

Now? They’re pink.

She took the wet fabric out of the washer, noticing one of her favorite white dresses is now dyed an ugly pink, one that she knows she won’t pull off. Her eyebrows are furrowed, a frown settling on her face as she tried to pull the clothes out, trying to find the root cause of the problem.

That’s when she found it. A red sock; Calum’s red sock.

Suddenly everything seemed to make sense as to why he was being so nice to her; so he could pull another prank on her when she least expected it. That’s why he had waited behind once she left the launderette, that’s why he seemed so interested in her white, now pink, clothes that she apparently ‘hadn’t washed in a while and should definitely wash’.

“Calum!” She screamed out in anger, glad for the lack of other people in the small room, clenching her fists around the wet, pink clothes in her hand. They’re all ruined, inconsistent blotches of different shades of pinks coating the fabrics.

It was only seconds later when Calum popped his head up in confusion, “Yeah?”

Except, Y/n didn’t reply, and instead trained her e/c eyes onto his brown ones with a firm glare, one filled with frustration and anger. He, however, hadn’t seen her glare just yet as he surveyed the room before he catches onto her crouched-down figure. She watched as they trailed down to the pink clothes in her hand and he struggles to fight a grin off of his face.

“Thought you were doin’ a white load, y/n/n?” His voice had snide amusement in it and it only made y/n even madder.

However, before she replied, she grabbed onto the red sock of his and threw it at his head, letting out a complaint that sounds more like a whine, “You’ve ruined my favorite dress, asshole!”

“Woah calm down sweetheart, don’t be rude to your boyfriend,” Calum teased, walking around to where y/n was sat, reaching down to ruffle her hair. She quickly swatted his hand away with a grumble.

“Fake. Fake boyfriend, Hood.”

Calum simply rolled his eyes in reply, waving her off, “Yeah, yeah whatever. Enjoy your pink clothes.”

It was only a week later when management is rushing them to take nice pictures together and becoming Instagram official. Theories are still burning in the air, especially after they were ‘caught’ by paps, kissing, for a second time. Everyone knew something was going on, that much was obvious, but they wanted to hear it from them.

They snapped pictures off stage, the last one being of Calum’s arm over y/n’s shoulder, holding her close to his body with her lips placed on his cheek. Her eyes are closed upon instruction, and he has a bright smile on his face, looking straight at the camera. The photos they snapped were quickly looked over before they’re approved to post on Instagram.

Y/n doesn’t know what to say, and in fact, she’s finding it hard to breathe. It was only fifteen minutes before she had to go on stage for their next concert, and this was the most nervous she had felt in ages. What if she gets hate? What if the whole fandom hated her? She knew that most likely some fangirls would be jealous, that was perfectly understandable, she just hoped no one went far enough to send her tons of hate; especially considering it was fake.

Y/n didn’t like this situation any more than they did but there was nothing she could do about it. Watching over Calum’s shoulder, she saw him press post, and she felt like she couldn’t even breathe. She felt like the air was being restricted from her lungs, and she can’t even bring herself to opening her phone to see people freaking out over the announcement of their ‘relationship’.

“Well, that’s that.” Calum looked at her over his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh as his brown eyes wrack over her face. She’s pale, and she didn’t even seem to hear his as he talked, making his eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Y/n? You good there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” She dismissed quickly, taking a step away from him, wringing her hands awkwardly. She’s nodding her head, but her eyes are firmly set on the ground now and Calum knows that she’s nervous. Sure, the two weren’t close and Calum took enjoyment in annoying her, but he was surprisingly good at telling how she was feeling simply from her body movements.

He hesitated, lips parting as he thought of what to say as he stared at the smaller girl who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole, but after a few moments, his lips snapped shut. He wasn’t good at consoling, especially not her. And even if he did want to try, what could he possibly say?

This situation wasn’t ideal for her. Sure, it got her publicity, but he knew it wasn’t the type that she wanted. She hadn’t been fully introduced to the famous lifestyle yet, articles written about her, fan accounts, everything so he knew this was going to be hard for her. It took him a while to adjust to the lifestyle, and sure things like paps were still uncomfortable but they weren’t scary anymore.

As he stared at her, a frown prominent on his lips, he studied her. He noticed how awkward and uncomfortable she had become from the moment that he had posted the photo, almost as if she was awaiting an attack. He knew it was scary, the paps, the fangirls, and he also knew that this abrupt change in lifestyle from this moment on was going to be difficult for her; so he would make it easier.

He would answer the questions, take the heat about the relationship. He would protect her from all of the nasty comments as best as he could because no one deserved to be flung into the lifestyle like she was being right now, despite wanting publicity. This was a whole new life starting for her from the moment he posted the picture and as he nodded his head discretely, it was like a deal had been sealed with himself.

He was going to help her through this, even if she still hated him.

It was three hours after the show had taken place and she still hadn’t turned her phone back on yet. She felt sick to her stomach, staring at her phone almost as if it was taunting her; itching for her to open Instagram but at the same time, wanting her to stay far, far away from the app.

Yet, soon enough she found herself booting up her phone and going onto Instagram, almost immediately finding Calum’s photo. She clicked on the comments and was pleasantly surprised. People were actually being supportive.

“omg look at them!!!”

“THEY LOOK SO GOOD TOGETHER WTF”

“I want someone to look at me the way Cal looks at Y/n”

That last one made her smile. She knew exactly what picture they were referencing. The one where y/n has her back to the camera in Calum’s embrace, and he’s staring down at her with a smile, arms wrapped around her, pulling her flush against his chest. She remembered her face buried deep into Calum’s shirt, surprised that the makeup she was wearing didn’t rub off on the material.

She was subconsciously shaking her head as she pulled her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them. She flicked back up to the pictures, almost analyzing the way Calum stared down at her. The fan was right, Calum looked at her with so much “love” in his eyes, a look that y/n had never seen on Calum before.

It was crazy. If y/n didn’t know any better she would think that Calum actually was in love with her but the only thing he loved about her, was how annoyed he could get her. Calum was certainly a good actor, looking at her like she was the sun and he was the revolving planets; like the only girl in the entire universe. Well, at least if Calum got bored of music he could go into acting.

They already had everyone fooled, and they were just getting started...

#calum hood #calum 5 seconds of summer #calum 5sauce #5sauce #5sos #5sos blurbs #5sos x reader #5sos x y/n #calum 5sos #calum hood x you #calum hood x reader #calum hood x y/n #calum thomas hood #5sos x you #5 seconds of summer x reader

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drawlfoy · 4 years ago

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Detention, Retention, and Draco Being a Lying Shit (halloweek day 1!)

masterlist

request guidelines

pairing: draco x reader

request: nope!

summary: y/n’s two month detention sentence goes from being the bane of her existence to harry potter’s last hope to bringing down malfoy.

a/n: hiiiiiii everyone so i’m starting new classes today and idk how much time im gonna have to write consistently until i’m home for break but i just want to thank all of you! this week is my tribute to everyone who takes time out of their day to continue reading my content. i have so much appreciation for you.

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence, mentions of drugging someone (in jest)

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast

word count: 1.1k

no music recs for today i b tired fdjskfdsja

For legal purposes, the york pudding she lobbed at Pansy Parkinson’s head on Monday evening was simply meant to be a joke. She didn’t know that her aim was bad enough that it was going to get in Snape’s hair instead--honestly, it wasn’t even supposed to get past the Ravenclaw table, much less veer to the left to make a beeline for the professors--but no matter how much she tried to explain this to McGonagall, her sentence remained the same: detention every Friday. For two months.

Her life was ending for sure.

“I honestly don’t know what you were expecting,” Hermione told her as she gently wiped off the nib of her quill later that night in the common room. “Even if you had hit your mark, that’s still technically assault.”

“Did you even hear what she said to me? She told me that I looked like the type of kid that bit people in primary school,” complained Y/N. “I didn’t even think she knew what primary school was!”

Hermione snorted. “How long ago?”

“Two days. I’ve been waiting until there was something throwable on the dinner table.”

“How very analytic of you.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“And you wonder why you’ve got detention.” Hermione tsk-ed at her, her face stone serious but her tone light hearted. “Maybe take this as an opportunity to, I don’t know, do your homework for once? So you won’t have to have a breakdown over the next Potion’s essay and beg me to write it for you?”

“I’m going to go to sleep and think terribly mean thoughts about you.”

“Have fun.”

Detention.

Something that Y/N wasn’t completely unfamiliar with--she’d done her time organizing Snape’s cabinets, just like every other Gryffindor--but it was different when it came to McGonagall. An impressive old lady, she thought that McGonagall saw something in her. She was always the first to chuckle at Y/N’s jokes and hesitated to reprimand her stupid behavior. And she never gave Y/N detention.

Until now, she supposed. 6th year was changing a lot of things--even their Potions professor--so McGonagall turning a new stone shouldn’t have been anything shocking.

At least, not as shocking as the first thing Y/N saw as she walked into her house head’s office.

“Malfoy?” she spat.

The platinum blonde didn’t even bother to look up from his desk.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor McGonagall chided. “I think we would all prefer if you restrained yourself from getting into any more physical altercations with Slytherins.”

She huffed, plopping down in the chair furthest away from THAT foul git and reaching for her satchel.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” said the elderly professor. “If I hear anything, and I mean anything, other than the sound of studying, consider your sentence doubled.”

With a swish of her robes, McGonagall was gone, leaving her with Malfoy.

“So what’d you do to get in here, huh? Did the administration finally get a hold of that video of you licking Voldemort’s toes?”

“What the fuck does that mean?!” he snapped, whipping around to glare at her.

“‘s just a joke,” said Y/N. “Like--how everyone says your family houses him and everything--but whatever. I can tell it’s a sore spot.”

His gaze, never withering in intensity, remained trained on her face. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Apparently so. What’re you in for?”

He exhaled sharply. “If I tell you, will you shut up and let me think?”

“No promises, but maybe.”

“Late work. I forgot to turn in the Transfiguration exam last week.”

She made a tutting sound as she lazily shuffled through the crumpled parchment in her satchel. “I expected more from you. Aren’t you gonna ask me how I wound up here?”

“No. I am going to ask you to stop talking now, though.”

“That’s terribly unfortunate,” Hermione said over breakfast the next morning. Ron and Harry were nervously chit chatting at the other side of the table over the Saturday Quidditch game against Slytherin--supposedly it was supposed to be quite a high stakes match. Not like Y/N cared much, though.

“Yeah! And the worst part was that he won’t even tease anymore. Like, he just sits there all broody and woe is me. We’re ALL on the brink of war...he’s not special!”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just Malfoy,” said Y/N. “We have detention together with McGonagall. He’s such a nasty little greaseball, don’t you think? I mean, look at him right now, glowering over his cereal.”

“Wait! That’s it!”

“What’s it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“It’s genius, really,” he said. “Y/N has to spend time with him alone every week, and we know that something is up with him. Malfoy is absolutely a Death Eater and has connections to You-Know-Who, but I just need to find a way to prove it.”

“I vaguely forecast where this is going, and I hate it already.”

“Listen, Y/N. It’s not for that long, and it’s for the health of the wizarding world. If you just get to know him--”

“Ick!”

“If you just get to know him, maybe get him to trust you and find out his secrets...we’d finally have enough to turn him in and throw him out of Hogwarts for good.”

“Is that really necessary, Harry?” Ginny butted in from her seat further down next to Dean. “Malfoy’s probably just exhausted like the rest of you. 6th year is difficult, and we have no solid evidence that he’s a Death Eater. I’m sure being stuck in a room with him for 2 hours is hard enough without pretending to be nice to him.”

“But what if Harry’s right?” said Y/N. “What if he is actually a Death Eater? What if he’s an active danger to the student body?”

“Exactly!” The joy written across Harry’s face at the prospect of someone else finally agreeing was infectious. “So will you?”

“Er…” She dragged her spoon across the top layer of her porridge. “In theory, sure. In actuality, I’m not sure how I could do it. Malfoy doesn’t want anything to do with me, either.”

“Love potion?” offered Ron.

“I don’t care how much of a prat he is, I’m not roofying him.”

“I rarely agree with you, Y/N, but I think you’re right. If you want to do this, you need to get him to trust you for real.”

“Your back-handed compliment skills never disappoint, Hermione. Do you think you could help me out with a plan?”

A slow smile spread across the girl’s face as she nodded. “That’s my strong suit.”

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #harry potter imagines

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faefictions · 5 years ago

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Lonely People | Ch 3

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader

Word Count: 3,360

Playlist and previous chapters can be found on my Master List (link in bio)

Wednesday morning, y/n groggily pulled herself out of bed. She still hadn’t replied to Harrison’s text from the morning before.

She had felt bad about inviting him and Tom, just to have the shit show with Jace unfold. Her apology was sincere, but the morning after, she felt weird about continuing the conversation after he had said that they still had a great time.

She pulled on a warm sweater and a pair of black jeans before rushing through a simple hair and makeup routine in her bathroom. By the time she was out the door, she had 15 minutes to get to class. Her walk was 10 minutes on a good day, but that morning wasn’t too nice to her.

She was already 1 minute late by the time she passed the coffee shop she always stopped at. She figured since she was already late, she might as well stop.

She walked into class 8 minutes late, her professor looked up from his spot in the front of the classroom.

“Well look who decided to show up,” he called, the smile on his face anything but sincere.

“Better late than never,” her expression mirrored his as she made her way to her seat, where Harrison was already settled.

Her professor made his way over to her seat as well, gazing down at her as she pulled her laptop from her bag.

“I thought we agreed the tardiness was going to end.”

“This will be the last time.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you. And quick tip, next time consider skipping the coffee. Might shave a few minutes off of your commute.”

She scoffed at him as he walked away.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said to Harrison, not looking at his amused face while she pulled up the app she used to sketch.

“That little interaction was worth the wait.”

They spent the next 15 minutes discussing style. They both decided to go for some more daring looks, hoping it would score them some extra points on the final grade.

Halfway through the hour, they all packed up their stuff and made their way to the theatre building. The room they used to store costumes was huge. The walls were lined with endless racks stacked upon each other, all filled with hundreds of garments. The middle of the room was filled with circle racks, all containing various types of clothing.

Y/n dragged Harrison over to a rack filled with jackets that looked straight out of the closet from a pimp in the 70’s. Harrison’s initial reaction wasn’t too excited, but as she searched, he was pleased with the few she plucked from the rail.

“How do you feel about a royal purple?”

“I look good in everything,” he bragged sarcastically.

“Oh do you now?”

“Sure do.”

“Would you like to test that theory?”

She started to back up towards a rack full of cloth that appeared to be colored like various animal skins. She didn’t break eye contact as she got closer, reaching for one of the garments.

“I could make the ugliest thing in here look amazing.”

She closed the distance between her hand and the item, pulling if off the rack and holding it out to him. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was a cow costume, udder and all. The only missing piece was a head.

“I’ll be back,” he called. He disappeared through the door, going into one of the dressing rooms kept off the side of the black box that the theatre department occasionally held events in.

Y/n continued to look for pieces she liked. She knew the assignment was fashion, and her portfolio had to be bigger and better than any other students. That meant she had to get out of her comfort zone and present more than one kind of outfit. She chose some interesting t shirts, sweaters, and pants, hoping Harrison would return soon to help her with her decisions.

As she was going to search for some pairs of shoes, she saw the cow print out of the corner of her eyes. She met Harrison’s gaze, and the second she took in his appearance fully, she burst out laughing. He approached her, keeping a smug look on his face.

She reigned in her laughter as he approached her, holding his hands out to present his full appearance to her.

“You look ‘udder’-ly amazing.”

“I told you, I can make it all look good.”

He winked at her, sending a small blush across her cheeks. But she sent that flustered feeling away as quickly as it came to her.

“So I found some other items, but I wanted to know what you thought. Want to go try them on?”

She followed him to the dressing room this time, waiting right outside the door while he tried on the full outfits she had laid out for him.

They had narrowed it down to 3 definite outfits, but she was hoping for five.

They went back in to search for some more clothes, but y/n was getting increasingly frustrated with the quality of the clothes.

"We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel now," she groaned as she pulled another button up shirt from the rack. It was brown with a darker brown pattern on it. It almost resembled the inverse of a Louis Vuitton bag, it was just 15 times uglier.

"You just have no taste," she heard a teasing voice from the other side of the rack. She rolled her eyes before she stood on her tip-toes to see over the clothes. "Put a sock in it, Robin," she spat at the boy as he showed a rude, sarcastic smile.

Y/n grabbed the clothes she had gathered and made her way back to the dressing room with heavy feet.

"What was that all about?" Harrison asked, trailing behind her.

"That's just Robin, the bane of my existence," she huffed, shoving the clothes into Harrison's hands so he could try them on.

"He had some pretty nice outfits chosen."

"Are you trying to say he has better taste than me?" y/n asked, half offended, half chuckling.

"No, just saying, it would be a shame if they somehow ended up in our pile."

"I'm not sneaky enough to steal them," she laughed, but he just winked at her in response. He handed her the pile of clothes and quietly made his way back into the costume room. Y/n kept her distance, but watched intently as Harrison made his way towards Robin. He pretended to look on the same rack until Robin ended up setting his pile of clothes on a chair. Y/n almost couldn't contain her laughter as she watched Harrison not so stealthily grab one of the sweaters and trip over his own two feet as he ran back to her. Luckily he didn't fall and didn't catch Robin's attention, but it was still funnier than the sight of him in the cow costume.

At the end of the hour, they had found a full 5 outfits.

Harrison sure had the cockiness of a model, fully convinced he could make anything look good. But his sense of humor and willingness to sabotage her competition were traits that y/n could get behind.

They returned to the class room to get the rest of their belongings. Y/n was about to head home, her arms full of their clothing items, when Harrison stopped her.

“Are you busy right now?”

“Well, I’d like to set these down, but besides that, no.”

“Would you want to sketch out some more ideas with me? Get ahead of everyone else?”

She took a second to think about it, but the idea of being ahead of Robin was too tempting, so she nodded her head.

Harrison took half of the clothes from her arms and began to walk.

They decided to drop all of the clothes off at her apartment and work in her living room. Sierra and Jace were both in classes and y/n figured it was easier to just stay there to work.

When they got inside, she took all the clothes from his arms and took them to her room, telling him to make himself at home on one of their couches while she took the clothing and hung them all in her closet, hoping to prevent any wrinkling.

She retuned to the living room with her laptop. Harrison was eyeing the decor in the room as she opened her computer to show him some of her ideas.

She had collected a plethora of inspiration, some saved on boards on pinterest and others saved into a folder on her computer. As they went through different possibilities, she crudely sketched out any ideas that came up between them.

Y/n found herself surprised by how much she enjoyed Harrison’s input. She wasn’t exactly used to working on projects with other people, but that had never been a problem. She usually preferred to work alone, and the stuff she could come up with was amazing. But Harrison’s input was extremely helpful to polish her ideas.

A few hours and hundreds of pictures later, Jace and Sierra came into the apartment together. Y/n and Harrison were laughing about the picture she had pulled up. She was trying to convince him that the ridiculous pose was a must have for the portfolio, Harrison didn’t seem to agree. They were both still laughing about it when the door opened, halting the laughter coming from y/n.

“What’s going on here?” Sierra asked, amused at the sight of her best friend on the couch with her new boyfriend’s best friend.

“We’re working on a project,” y/n stated quickly, shooting both her roommates a knowing look. She knew what they were both going to assume about her being alone with a boy in their apartment, but she wanted to shut that down the second it came to their minds.

“Sureeeee,” Sierra trailed off as she disappeared into her room, making y/n roll her eyes and chuckle in annoyance.

Jace disappeared into his room without a word, and y/n hoped that would be the end of their interruptions, but Sierra came back out and asked for opinions on her outfits every few minutes, wanting to look good for her date with Tom.

As they were trying to focus after Sierra had interrupted them for the fourth time, y/n and Harrison both jumped when loud music started playing from behind Jace’s closed door.

“Well, so much for working,” she grumbled, pushing the laptop mostly closed.

Sierra walked out of her bedroom one more time in a stunning red dress, not too fancy, but still beautiful.

“That’s the one,” y/n said to her, smiling at her friends appearance.

“I hope you know this headache is on you,” Sierra replied annoyed, gesturing to Jace’s bedroom door on the other side of the apartment.

“Si…”

“I’m not going to say any more. Just fix it before his ear drums rupture. Please.”

Y/n just nodded her head, trying to avoid Harrison’s gaze.

Sierra disappeared into her bedroom again, starting to do her hair and makeup. Her plans with Tom were hours away, but the girl could spend days trying to get her appearance just right.

“So… I know you told me not to worry about it the other night, but seriously, what is going on with you and Jace?”

Y/n let out a frustrated groan, collapsing back into the couch.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to, but I mean, you’ve got me so curious.”

“It’s dumb, really, he’s just mad about something that happened a few months ago. It’s a long story, but we just started talking again recently, thanks to Sierra’s meddling, but somehow it’s my job to make everything better, even though he was the one who got us into this mess, and I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“But I will talk to him about it eventually. And I am really so sorry that you have to witness all of this.”

“It’s fine,” he reassured her nonchalantly. She breathed a sigh of relief as he grabbed her computer to pick up on the last picture they had left off on. She had successfully danced her way around the full story, something she was getting too good at.

After another hour of looking at pictures, Harrison mentioned that he had another class to get to.

“You should have told me sooner, I could have made you something to eat before you left. “

“What are you, my grandmother?”

“Growing boys need to eat,” she joked back in a croaky old voice.

They both laughed as he grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

She didn’t really want him to go. He was good company, something that was hard for her to find. She was excited to be working with him on this project, glad that they were becoming better friends.

Once Harrison left, y/n headed into Sierra’s bathroom to keep her company while she curled her hair.

“So…”

“Don’t, Si.”

“I have to. Are you guys a thing?”

“No, we are not a thing. Why do you have to ask that every time a boy does so much as breathe in my direction?”

“That’s not why I’m asking. I saw you laughing when we came in. I… Well I don’t think I have ever seen you smile like that.”

“What do you mean? Of course you have. I smile all the time.”

“Yeah, but not like that. Well, I guess, when you won that contest in the first month we were hanging out you were just as happy. What was that for again?”

“It was just a photo contest.”

“Well, yeah, when you got the framed picture and the $100 check, I had never seen you that happy. And I haven’t seen you act like that since. So, as much as I love Jace, I am officially switching sides. I’m shipping you and Harrison. And you can’t do anything to change my mind.”

Sierra was picked up by Tom around 5:30. She had probably asked y/n 100 times if she looked ok, each time getting a “You look just as amazing as you did five minutes ago.”

After Sierra left, y/n decided that it was time to try to talk to Jace, mostly so Sierra would stop bringing it up.

She knocked on his door, but the music playing inside was too loud. She tried again, louder this time, but he still didn’t answer. She couldn’t tell if he was ignoring her on purpose or not, but she opened the door anyway.

She was met with the sight of Jace lying down on his back in bed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. One of his hands rested on his chest, the other hung off the side of the bed. He didn’t notice as she entered slowly. She made her way over the record player on his desk and turned the volume dial, bringing the level down so she could speak.

Jace looked up at her as the music faded, but looked back up at the ceiling once he saw who it was.

“I was wrong,” she said reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with him.

“About what?” he sighed.

“I shouldn’t have asked you not to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine, we don’t…”

“No, Jace, I… We can’t keep doing this. So say what you need to say. Yell at me, scream if you have to, but we need to get it all out so we don’t keep going between ok and you hating me.”

“I never hated you,” he stated sadly, sitting up to look at her.

“You don’t have to lie for my sake, Jace. I fucked up and I hurt you, it’s ok to hate me.”

“Peach…” he trailed off, not knowing how to react to her. He had seen her at some of her lowest points, but through it all he knew her as strong and relentless. But looking at her now, she seemed weak, and it hurt to look at.

He scooted over and patted the space next to him on the bed. She didn’t hesitate before taking it. They sat in silence for a moment, neither one knowing what else needed to be said.

“I could never hate you.”

“Jace, I’m not dumb. The way you look at me now, it’s like I’m the last person you would ever want to be around. And I mean, I get why. I just can’t keep going in circles.”

“Y/n, I don’t hate you. I just…”

“Just what, Jace?”

“I feel the exact same way that I did 2 months ago. But that’s my problem, not yours.”

She felt terrible. Here they were again, him telling her how he felt, and her unable to reciprocate. Sure she loved him, and she wanted to love him in the way he loved her. But she just couldn’t and it made her feel so incredibly guilty. But she refused to make the same mistake she did last time.

“I’m sorry, Jace.”

“What would you have to be sorry about?”

“I didn’t exactly react in the best way.”

“You can say that again.”

She smiled and softly hit his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I just panicked.”

“I don’t get why. You could have just said you didn’t like me back. I understand that. I was kind of expecting it.”

“I know, I should have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

She stared down at the carpet for a minute, trying to come up with the proper response. Deep down she knew why she did what she did. But that wasn’t something she could talk about now. Not yet.

“You know what, actually just forget about it. I ordered some take out, should get here soon. I got you your favorite, so let’s just…”

“Jace…”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, don’t do it for my sake. I’ll suck it up.”

He couldn’t bear looking at her anymore. He had only seen her in such an emotional state when he would find her after she had nightmares. She always looked so distraught and it broke his heart every single time. He couldn’t sit there and be the reason for his pain.

So he walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on his bed staring after him.

The music was still faintly playing from his speakers, so y/n made her way over to shut it off before she slowly followed him out. She watched him quietly make his way over to the couch, but before he could sit down, she rushed over and wrapped him up in a tight hug.

He was startled at first, hesitating to return the embrace. But he turned in her arms so he was able to wrap his around her. He knew that was her way of simultaneously apologizing and thanking him. Apologizing for being such a mess, but thanking him for doing his best to deal with her.

And that was all he could ask for from her in that moment. It was what he has hoped for when he had initially confessed to her. So he was content with it now.

The silence continued for the rest of the night. When their take-out came, they ate right next to each other, the only noise in the apartment was the movie playing in front of them. It was the most quality alone time they had spent since the incident, and they were just happy that the silence was no longer heavy. It was no longer filled with guilt or regret, it was just a silence.

Sierra came home late to see y/n fast asleep on Jace’s shoulder, who was sitting on the couch watching a documentary through droopy eyelids.

“I see you two are getting along for once,” she whispered, catching Jace’s attention.

“Shut up.”

“Did you two finally talk about it?”

“Sure.”

“That doesn’t give me confidence that I’m not going to have to deal with this same shit in a week.”

“We’re fine now, Si. How was your date?”

“Amazing,” she smiled.

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