#original melodies made by their brain on the spot?

[canisalbus]

I'm not much in the way of a lyricist. But there is definitely music in my mind that comes up when I see those two in love with each other and I want to read that "canon adjacent" short story someone wrote for more inspiration

Making music is complete wizardry to me, I'm fairly certain I'd be impressed by anything you created `v´

[devotedfem]

«Corpse bride groom»

Synopsis: You were forced to marry for convenience, so you practiced your vows in the forest, but you didn't expect the branch coming alive after you marry it. You thought you saw a ghost, but he was worse, a corpse groom.

K. Taehyung x f. Reader

4.7K words.

Genre: Corpse bride au | yander-ish.

Tags: inspired by Corpse bride by Tim burton, arranged marriage, Infatuation, obsessive behavior, Original male character (Victoria's male version from the movie), Tae is so deeply in love with reader, he's whipped, dead Taehyung (he'll come back to life for smut purposes lol), captivity, innocent and naive reader, gothic vibes, Taehyung's a wolf in sheep clothes, possessive behavior, bad ending for reader but not for Tae, smut and dub-con s3x.

From the series masterlist; Hush.

Navigation Masterlist.

You tapped your fingers against your dress impatiently, you didn’t want to be there, you didn’t want to be wed to a stranger. The huge living room greeted you and your parents, the place looked cold and lifeless, your soon to be parents in law were standing before you, with grimaces on their faces. You felt them staring at you -judging you- so you crossed your arms over your chest, almost as if you were shielding yourself from their stares.

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. Everglot!” Greeted your mother with a big smile, you noticed contempt flashing Mrs. Everglot face, but it disappeared as soon as it came.

“Why, you must be Victor…” said your father with a gentle smile.

The boy before you was pale and scrawny, like a fragile Victorian kid. You couldn't believe you’ll be wed to this dull looking boy.

“Smile Dear,” whispered Mrs. Everglot to his husband, and the man did try his best to smile but he made a weird grimace instead, and of course your parents chose to ignore the pathetic attempt.

“We’ll be taking tea in the east room.” Commanded Mrs. Everglot with a blank bored face, turning around to walk towards the east side.

You noticed them walking away and leaving you behind almost as if they forgot about your existence. You sighed with slumped shoulders, blinking with excitement when you spot a piano in the corner of the living room. You glanced around before sitting to play it. You let your fingers play the keyboards, turning them into a sweet melody.

“You play very beautifully.” That voice startled you, making you jump away from the piano.

You felt your cheeks heating with embarrassment at being caught by the fragile Victorian boy.

“Do forgive me, I didn’t mean to be rude…” You muttered biting your inner cheek.

The boy chuckled shaking his head.

“Oh please don’t apologize, I’m not like my parents.” He said smiling, easing your tense shoulders.

But the moment was interrupted by a dramatic gasp.

“Y/n! Victor! How improper of you two being alone before the wedding!” Yelled Mrs. Everglot, making the fragile boy roll his eyes. You bit your bottom lip trying not to laugh.

That woman was such a prude.

After the unnecessary scold, Victor and you were practicing your vows for the wedding. The problem was that your brain wasn’t braining, if that makes sense. You were making mistakes every time.

“With this hand I… I will uhm, lift your, your-“

“Sorrows,” finished softly the fragile boy, you smiled at him in gratitude.

“Sorrows,” you repeated.

“Your cup will never- never empty… and uhm, for I will be your… your wine!”

You heard a deep and disappointed sigh behind you.

“With this candle, I will light-“ you interrupted yourself when the candle flame goes out, lighting it up again.

“I’d light your way in the darkness.”

“I will,” scolded the priest, but you ignored him.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine.”

The ring fell to the floor, rolling under Mrs. Everglot's dress. You didn't think twice before pulling it out from under her dress, regretting your action almost immediately when you accidentally set his fabric on fire.

Long story short, it was a disaster. Your parents were ashamed, and a strange woman save the day by putting out the fire. You felt your lips wobbling and your gaze blurring, you didn’t mean to be so clumsy, you were just trying your best. You ran away from the house, after all everyone was ignoring your presence, so you weren’t worry about them wondering where were you going.

Your eyes were teary and your chest stung with shame and helplessness. You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t realize that you were walking into the forest. It was already night; the forest floor was covered in blankets of snow with the moonlight as the only source of light. You paced around with knitted brows and clenched fists.

“That pale boy must think I’m a fool,” You spoke out loud to yourself, with a long sigh. “It shouldn’t be that difficult to say a few simple vows…” You muttered, clearing your throat to practice your vows again.

“With this hand I will- i… uhm, cup your wine? Fuck no, with this uhm… candle! I… i… set your annoying mother on fire,” you mumble kicking a branch.

You look up to watch the beautiful moon, spinning around and imagining you were at your wedding, everything was perfect and Victor’s parents didn’t hate you.

“Oh hello Mrs. Everglot, you look lovely this evening,” you smiled to a trunk, spinning around with your fluffy dress.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows,” you said raising your hand. “Your cup will never empty… For I will be your wine,” you carry on with an imaginary cup. “With this candle I will light your way in the darkness.”

And then you stopped, watching the shiny ring on your palm.

“With this ring, I ask you to be mine,” you whispered softly, placing the ring on a branch as if it was a finger.

And suddenly, the earth shook beneath you, making you gasp with horror at the sight of the branch coming back to life. Or more like a man rising from the earth, or from the death.

In front of you stood a handsome man, dress for a wedding. His boxy smile and left white eye were charming, unlike his ragged suit and cadaveric purple-like skin. You spotted some of his rib bones through a hole in his wedding suit.

You blink hard and quick, thinking you went mad. You screamed with fear when the man walked towards you, showing you his finger wearing the ring. His grin never eased.

“I do.” He replied with a deep voice, bringing his face an inch closer to yours. “Now kiss the groom.” He whispered lowly, brushing your lips.

And when his mouth touched yours, everything turned black.

“She’s still so soft and warm,” said a distant voice, making you frown and blink slowly your eyes open.

Your eyes widened with horror and your mouth opened with a scream at the sight above you, there was two men looking down at you, the both of them were definitely dead. The one in your right didn’t even have arms. It was horrific, straight out of a horror movie.

Where the fuck were you?

The place seemed like a bar cave, with skeletons speaking and living corpses looking at you with confusion and pity.

“Oh don’t frighten her Yoongi, maybe she’s one of those that doesn’t know they’re dead yet,” the man on your left says with pity in his gaze, making you gasp with disbelief.

“Dead? The fuck are you talking about! I’m alive, is… is this a dream?” You whispered the last words to yourself, maybe you just were in a bad dream. Nothing to worry about, right?

“You two leave her alone, don’t overwhelm my wife,” the mysterious man from the woods ordered with a stern voice, however his gaze was gentle and fixated on you.

You blinked with knitted brows, did you hear him right?

“Wife?” You muttered with confusion, but everyone ignored you.

“Of course tae, we are very aware of your temper,” said the man named Yoongi.

“To the newlyweds!” Yelled the other man, raising a beer and making everyone repeat the words with joy.

“Newlyweds!?” This time you shouted out the words, watching them with horror written on your face. As far as you know you were still single, yet to be wed but single.

“You said your vows so beautifully in the woods my dear,” the deep and dark voice from the mysterious mantook your attention again. His gaze was still lingering on you, looking at you with adoration in his eyes. You didn’t know how to react at his intense gaze, so you averted yours instead.

“I… did?” You muttered to yourself, remembering your rehearsal in the woods. You didn’t mean to wed a corpse.

“You did, my love.” His words were sugary sweat, as if they were trying to melt into your ears.

You gulped, feeling a deep and primal fear squeezing your chest, you were about to have a panic attack. You wanted to run away now.

“Well, let me introduce myself, I’m Namjoon, the waiter. I died a year ago and-“ You interrupted him by grabbing a dagger from a corpse to aim it at them as a threat.

Your mind was foggy and your thoughts erratic, you weren’t thinking straight.

“Get away from me! I-I have a knife and I’m not scared to use it! Give me questions now!” You yelled with panic.

“I think you mean answers sweetheart,” your supposed husband mention with amusement.

You blinked feeling like a moron. Realizing you were threatening literally corpses.

“Ehm, yes, answers. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said calmly, walking towards you with every step screaming confidence and elegance. He stopped inches from your body, leaning his beautiful face to yours. You flinched when you felt him curling a lock of your hair with his finger.

“As you can see, I’m a dead groom, with a very… tragic past. I was betrayed in life the day of my wedding, I thought I’d doomed for eternity until you said your vows to me, as a gift from life… or dead.” He caged you against the bar counter with his arms at each side of you and his body leaning even more closer, making you lean your back on the counter as an attempt to get away from him.

“Our poor Tae, he was so handsome and naïve in life. Always wearing his heart on his sleeve, that snake of a woman manipulated him to keep his money.” Said Yoongi with anger on his voice, while he was speaking, tae didn’t look away from you for a second. His intense gaze was piercing you.

“And our Taehyung has always been a romantic with a kind heart, for that woman to murder him in cold blood on his wedding day. But he made a vow, to wait for his true love.” Continued Namjoon.

You felt a pang of guilt cross your heart, that was truly a tragic and sad story. No one deserves to die in such way.

“Taehyung,” you whispered his name, making him inhale sharp.

“Yes, my moon.” He said back, smiling at you gently.

“I’m… really sorry for what happened to you, but I think there is a misunderstanding,” you tried to say, getting away from Taehyung with him following your steps.

“There is none my love. We are married.” Irritation flashes his handsome face.

“We’re not!” You yelled, and then you ran away.

You ran as fast as you can, almost tripping a couple of times. You watched with horror and fear the corpses surrounding you, passing in your way between a person cut in half. You watched all of their organs.

But then exhaustion drugged your movements, making you stop to take a deep breath and calm your racing heart. Your eyes burned with tears at the realization that you were lost, with nowhere to go. You sit on a bench and sob your heart out like a child.

“Oh my dear, what are you doing here alone sweet thing.” Taehyung’s voice cooing at you made you look up at him, feeling relieved to see at least one familiar face. You hiccupped with fat tears streaming from your eyes, making Taehyung knit his brows with deep concern. He opened his arms and you rushed to them, hugging him tight.

“I want to go home,” you sobbed into his chest, wetting the fabric of his shirt.

He shushed you, stroking gently your hair and tightening his grip on your body.

“You are home.” His words only made you cry harder.

But then a thought crossed your mind, maybe if you manipulate him to take you up to the world of the living then you could escape from this marriage.

“Tae, i- I want to introduce you to my parents,” you said not looking into his eyes.

“Sure Mon Amour. Where are they buried?” He asked cheerfully.

Your stomach twisted at his words.

“They are… alive.”

His brows knitted for a moment, but he smiled again.

“Then we must find a way to go up.” He said taking your hand to pull you with him.

And that’s how you two ended up in front of an old skeleton magician, who was trying to find a spell in his huge and dusty book.

“Aha! There it is, a spell that’ll allow Taehyung to go to the world of the living,” said the skeleton before coughing loudly.

Taehyung’s grin was wide, he was so charming and beautiful like this, it was such a pity and waste that he was dead.

The skeleton that resembles an old man, gave Taehyung an egg, telling him to eat it to be able to go up. After he does, a cloak of smoke wrapped you both, you felt dizzy for a second, with Taehyung holding your hands. And then you blinked slowly, noticing with joy that you were in the woods again.

“Yes!” You shouted without being able to contain your relief.

Taehyung smiled gently at you, although he has a white dead eye, his gaze was full of life and love. Your smile fell at the guilty pang piercing your heart, it was a little bit cruel to leave him like this, but you have no other choice. You don’t belong to the world of the dead, at least not now.

“I- uhm, I’ll look for my parents to bring them here. I’ll go ahead, wait here for me and don’t move,” you said clearing your throat, trying to look convincing enough.

“Sure thing, I’ll wait right here,” he said cheerfully, sitting on a piece of log. Looking at you with a hint of innocence and trust. You averted your gaze, unable to bear looking into his eyes.

“I’ll… I’ll be right back,” you muttered, walking away from him.

At first your steps were calm and confident, until you turn your head back realizing you were far enough to run like a mad woman, and you did, gasping by how fast you were running. You burst with happiness when you got to the town safe and sound, back home.

But Victor’s house was on the way, and you needed to give him some explanations as to why you disappeared the night before the wedding. You climbed to the balcony of his room, too scared to face his parents at this hour.

Your grin widened when you watch him reading on his bed, so you tapped his window eagerly. He jumped with surprise at the sight of you.

“What on earth are you doing here!?” he whispered shouted to you when he opened the balcony doors, and you walked past him into his room.

“I’m so sorry for disappearing, i-I am so scared Victor. Something really bad and weird happened to me! I got wed to a corpse groom against my will!” You knew you sounded like a maniac, probably making no sense to Victor. But there was no other way to explain what happened to you in the woods.

“What? I’m confused…” Victor said carefully, with his brows knitted and looking at you as if you grew another head. You sighed deep at his words.

“I know I sound crazy, but I’m telling you the truth. I’m running from-“

You were interrupted by the balcony doors bursting open and slamming against the walls, making Victor and you startle. There, on the balcony, stood Taehyung, with an intimidating aura. He looked frightening without his typical smile, looking at you two with a cold face.

His steps were large and heavy, pulling you away from Victor with force, tightening his grip around your arm.

“Y/n? who’s that?” Taehyung asked between teeth, not breaking his heavy gaze from Victor.

“He’s my… my-my…” Your brain literally bugged at that moment, blank and without any rational thought.

“I’m his soon to be husband.” Replied Victor, making you open and close your mouth like a fish, you wanted to deny it but you just couldn’t because it was the truth. You didn’t know how well Taehyung will cope with that information.

“You wish,” said darkly Taehyung, pulling you away with him. You two disappeared into the cloaked smoke that brought you here. And you witnessed the horrified face of Victor before vanishing away into the air.

You were again in the place of the old magician skeleton, with Taehyung crying in front of you. Your heart was clenching with pity and anger, he didn’t have any right to take you away from Victor!

“You’re a liar!” Sobbed Taehyung, with tears streaming from his betrayed eyes.

You gasped in disbelief.

“Excuse me? I’ve never lied to you!”

“Yeah sure, go back to that other man,” said lowly Taehyung, with venom and hurt in his voice.

“You are the other man!” You shouted, feed up with his victim complex.

“No I’m not! You’re married to me! He’s the other man!” He screamed with his voice breaking at the last words.

“He’s got a point though,” the skeleton commented softly.

There was a moment of silence, you didn’t know what to say at this point. Taehyung looked defeated with his shoulders slumped.

“And I thought this was going well,” he muttered, making you feel even worse.

“Look, I’m so sorry you have to find it out like this, but I don’t want this marry.”

Hurt flashes Taehyung’s face, his eyes swan in tears again.

“But why? It’s because my eye, isn’t it?” He whispered sadly, looking vulnerable and hurt.

“No! Of course not, your eye it’s very… lovely, you are very lovely, and handsome. But that’s not the point.” You pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. “The point is, that we’re not meant to be! You’re… dead, and I’m alive, this just can’t work.”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that before saying your vows,” he replied with an angry scowl and crossed arms.

“Why can’t you understand that this is a mistake! I would never, ever, marry you!”

You regretted your words immediately after watching Taehyung’s crestfallen face. He just stood there, saying nothing back and turning around, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

“Well, a marriage isn’t a marriage without arguments, isn’t it?” You ignored the skeleton, feeling really bad with yourself.

You went out, ignoring the corpses watching you with curiosity, you were the only one with a beating heart and they know it, everyone knows it except Taehyung.

With a sigh, you sit heavily on the bench, biting your bottom lip with no clue of what to do down here without the company of Taehyung. Are you doomed to be in the land of the death? Maybe that was your destiny, in some way, the universe fulfilled your wish; you won’t marry Victor, but at what cost?

You searched for Taehyung after a couple of hours, asking every corpse If they have seemed him, but they never answered your questions.

And then you listened a sweet piano melody from afar, your body followed the sound as a sailor going after the call of a siren. Your feet brought you to a small terrace where Taehyung was playing piano, he looked absorbed in his own little word, until you sat beside him on the piano’s bench, making him startle and widen his pretty eyes.

But he blinked his surprise away, snorting with a roll of his eyes, ignoring you to keep playing. You played the keyboards too, following his melody. He side-eyed you with annoyance, playing quicker the piano, making you smirk playing even more quicker than him. Your hands touched at some point, and you noticed how Taehyung’s defenses broke down little by little, enjoying the melody you two made, smiling softly at you.

“That was so beautiful,” you say breaking the comfortable silence. Taehyung only nodded at your words.

Your lips curled down, feeling that pang of guilt in your chest again.

“Look, I’m so sorry for what I said earlier. You’re the most interesting and handsome man I’ve ever met, and if death weren’t separating us, I’d fall head over heels for you.” You said softly, trying to make him understand why you two weren’t compatible at all.

He just hummed, not looking at you.

“So the only thing you want from me… it’s a beating heart?” He asked trying to look nonchalant, but you noticed the tension of his lips.

“I… I mean, I can be dead to be with you… at this point, there’s nothing left for me up there,” you muttered, you didn’t miss Victor’s parents flattering the woman that turn off the fire of Mrs. Everglot dress, she seemed interested in marrying Victor.

“No.” Growled Taehyung with anger, a fire burning his dead eyes. “I would never take that away from you, life is a gift, and you’re full of it. That’s whyI’m head over heels for you, my moon.” He whispered the last words, full of love and passion, melting your heart and filling your eyes with tears.

You’ve never felt more loved and seemed in your life, but it felt wrong, because the feeling wasn’t mutual. You appreciate him, yes, you think he’s beautiful and sweet, also yes. But you didn’t love him.

“I have to be honest with you Tae, I just… don’t feel the same, and I can’t guarantee you that my feelings will change in the future.”

Taehyung smiled with sadness and determination, holding tightly both of your hands and stroking lovingly the back.

“I have enough love for the both of us, even If you never love me, even if you hate me. I’ll never leave you.” He said like an oath, one he’s not willing to break.

You blinked at his words, taken aback. It felt more like a threat rather than a confession of love, but you didn’t mind. It felt nice to be cared for.

“Okay.” You whispered, looking into his pretty eyes.

“I have something to show you,” his voice dropped an octave, and his gaze darkened for a moment, but he returned to his bright persona immediately. You nodded slowly, not sure why you felt uneasy all of a sudden.

He took you to a hidden cottage deep in the land of the death, it was hauntingly beautiful, its garden has dead roses and dark sunflowers. Charming and deathly, just like Taehyung.

He showed you a death rose covered in honey, smirking at you like the Cheshire cat, with a mischievous and a naughty glint in his eyes. You narrowed your eyes, raising a brow when he remained silent.

“So? You wanted to show me a withered rose?” You asked with a frown, not sure what the hell you two were doing in that cottage. “Do you live here?” You changed the subject, watching your surroundings with curiosity.

“Yes, we live here. And… this rose it’s enchanted, it will bring me back to life, it’ll make my rotten heart beat again.”

You freeze at his words, whipping your head towards him in shock, watching Taehyung’s eyes darkening. His gaze was intense and unreadable, staring piercingly at you like a hawk, a predator ready to pounce and chase its preys if it dares to run away.

You gulped hard, blinking and processing his words.

“Are you sure…it-it’ll work? I mean, I’m sure it will, we got up a couple of hours ago.” You rambled, trying to think how to say your next words. “If… if, this works, that means… we can go back to the land of the living?” You asked softly and cautiously, watching his every expression as if you were dealing with a wild animal.

Taehyung only smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes. That smile looked forced, so unlike him.

“Of course, my moon, we will go to your home. I want to meet your parents after all,” his voice sounded constricted, as if he was restraining himself.

“If you don’t want to do this, then don’t. Do it because you want it, not to please me.”

This time his smile was genuine, sparkling his eyes.

But then his gaze darkened again, like a dusty cloak covering his eyes, his intentions.

“Don’t worry about me, although I have to tell you something. To make this spell permanent, there’s one condition.” He said, not breaking his heavy gaze from you.

A chill run down your spine at his odd vibe.

“What condition?” You asked with your brows knitted.

“We have to consummate the marriage,” he said lowly, approaching you with slow steps.

You widened your eyes at his proposal, no fucking way. You won’t fuck a corpse.

“Taehyung you’re dead. I’m not fucking a corpse, I’m sorry.”

To your surprise, his smirk didn’t falter.

“Did I say I’ll fuck while dead? No. This spell will revive me, but only for 4 hours, that’s why we need to… be intimate to make it permanent.” He said calmly, getting even more closer to your body.

You didn’t know what to say to that, it wouldn’t be a problem if he was alive, right? But… he was still a stranger, and you didn’t feel comfortable being intimate with him.

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t you want to go back home? To be with your parents? Wouldn’t be easier if you tell them you’re already married? I promise to give you space up there, I can love you from afar.” His tone was deep, and his stare burned with determination.

“I… guess you’re right.” You whispered, not knowing what else to say.

It can’t be that bad. Right?

Taehyung smirked mischievously, his eyes glinting with eagerness. He took the withered rose, eating its petals covered in honey. Staring at you while swallowing each one of them.

And then… he changed.

His purpled skin tone turned tan with a healthy glow, his lips changed into a cherry tone. His hair was more ebony and shinning, and that hole that showed his rib bones, was covered with new skin.

He looked alive.

Your lips parted and your eyes widened with fascination. You took one large step to be an inch closer to him, putting slowly your hand on his chest. Laughing with joy at the feeling of his heart beating against your palm. You just witnessed a miracle.

“I’m impressed,” you said feeling his heart, he felt so alive.

Taehyung pulled your hand towards his lips, kissing it softly and staring at you heavily. His lips lingered on your hand, brushing the inner of your wrist.

And then he carried you in bridal style, making you gasp in surprise by the sudden movement. You wrapped your arms around his neck, watching how he took you deeper into the cottage, laying you on the mattress of his bed.

He lingered above you, caging your head and body with his hands and legs, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. His left white eye didn’t change of color, making you smile. It was his charm.

And then he kissed your smile away, sucking and biting your lips like a starve man, swallowing all of your sounds as if he wanted to devour you.

Your head spined because of how rough he was kissing you, not breaking the kiss to give you a chance to breath. You felt him tearing off your clothes like a savage, making you frown and whimper. It was a lot, you tried to turn your head away but he growled, gripping your chin to attach his lips again.

“Tae. I, I don’t know if this is-“

“You said yes, I won’t let you set a foot outside until I’m buried balls deep inside you.” He snarled, with anger and lust clouding his intense eyes.

He widened your legs until your knees brushed your shoulders, baring you open to him. You felt your cheeks heating with embarrassment, you’ve never felt more exposed in your life.

And Taehyung’s eyes glinted with so much hunger that it scared you, the grip he has on your legs was tight, not letting you go.

“You’re mine,” he growled.

And you teared up, feeling like a lamb that fell into its predator’s trap.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg @acherry04 @lizziekitty @catlove83

[moons-dunes]

Our Song

For Flufftober- Prompt: Dancing

Write-tober Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

Summary: Dancing with Jake always feels magical, no matter where you are

Pairing: Jake Lockley x fem!reader

WC: 735 (sorry this one is a bit shorter than the others, I’ve been sick and the brain fog was hitting hard)

This work contains: Fluff. That’s it. That’s the plot. Probably a bit disjointed because my sick brain refuses to cooperate

Soft music echoed through the kitchen as you slid the tray of unbaked cookies into the oven, setting a timer as you hummed along to the melody.

Jake hummed with you from his spot by the sink, finishing up the few dishes that were made from the impromptu idea to make some cookies together.

He hung the dish towel up with care after the last measuring cup was put back in the drawer, while you gave the counters a wipe down to clear the mess of flour and sugar.

The next song that came on was a very familiar tune, one that had you smiling instantly. You looked to Jake to see if he noticed, and the subtle grin on his face told you he had.

“This brings back memories,” you grabbed Jake’s hands in yours, and he turned to face you.

“Best night of my life,” he reminisced as he broke one of his hands away from yours, moving it to rest at your back instead. His strong arm pulled you closer, leaving very little space between the two of you.

You placed your now free hand on his shoulder, finding yourself at a loss for words as you got lost in his dark eyes.

Before you knew it, the two of you went from simply swaying to the music to moving effortlessly with each other.

This was the song you both remembered playing the night you met, and it later became the first song the two of you danced to together. They were precious memories that you held near and dear.

You were surprised you didn’t step on his toes, always so distracted by the heartfelt look in his eyes or his hands holding you so gently. Yet your feet moved perfectly in sync with his, almost automatically.

You were brought back to the first time you and Jake danced, and how the music seemed to flow through the two of you so perfectly.

Jake was dressed to the nines, handsome as ever, and you were in that red silky dress he loves so much. Now you were both in sweatpants and old t-shirts, but that didn’t dull any of the magic that moved between you.

As the two of you waltzed around the living room, stepping perfectly in time with each other, you couldn’t help but to feel like you were in a fairytale.

So maybe the princess and her prince weren’t wearing sweatpants dusted with flour, but it was close enough for you.

Keeping your joined hands together, you stepped out and to the side so you ended up parallel to Jake rather than directly in front of him. Just like the first time.

“You remembered?” He chuckled a bit, mirroring your action.

“Of course I did,” you smiled back, moving back to your original position. “You’re the one who taught me.”

“I can’t take all the credit here, amor,” he rested his forehead against yours for a moment. “You’re a natural.”

Jake lifted his arm and spun you around, dipping you backwards seamlessly as he leant down to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

You giggled a bit as he did so, feeling a slight blush creep onto your cheeks as you kissed him back. All too soon, he pulled away and pulled you back upright with him.

As he looked into your eyes again, you swore you could have melted right there.

No matter how long you knew him, Jake still always gave you butterflies like it was the first time all over again. The feeling was always the same, and the sparks never seemed to fade.

Both of his hands found your waist, pulling you right up against his firm chest. You let your hands snake up his back to grab his shoulders, and laid your head against his chest as the two of you descended into a slow and steady swaying again.

Jake rested his chin on the top of your head, both of you closing your eyes to simply take in the moment.

The song faded out, but you stayed there in pleasant silence, enjoying each other's warmth as you slowly spun in circles.

Even as the next song started, the last one stayed in your head like it never ended.

The timer going off is what finally brought the world back to you, and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies of course.

[t-lane-writes]

I still have reservations about posting fragments of my original novels / stories anywhere. But mayhaps I'm wrong? Maybe I should start posting them, if I want to interest more people in my characters and their adventures? I don't know...

Okay, I'll try...

WIP: Black Wings Genre: science-fiction Tag line: Humans’ efforts to terraform a planet are thwarted when some decide to save intelligent indigenous life.  POV characters: Kenaed, Zoe Irene, Mattan Nuada, Siesell Keeva Snippet from: Chapter One, Zoe Irene's PoV

#.

Zo’rene and Kenaed had parted ways shortly after The Flood. She had known he’d survived, spotted him in passing a couple of times over the years. But they hadn’t spoken, he hadn’t kept in touch with any of their old friends.  

They had found each other again less than four sun-a-rounds ago. One of those old friends – Zo’rene’s friend still – had celebrated his birthday and Kenaed happened to be nearby. Gam’ir had recognized him and dragged him to their circle and the next thing Zo’rene knew, she and Kenaed had snuck out into the shadows between the modulars to kiss like they were starved and make love before their brains caught up. That fire that used to burn between them ten years ago – it was still blazing. That one thing, at least, was exactly the same as before.  

Zo’rene reached for his hand and smiled like she was twenty-something and wanted to seize the world. He smiled back, eyes flicking to her lips, then her breasts and back up to her eyes. She burst out laughing.  

“Let’s go inside!”  

She opened the door to the unassuming modular and was hit in the face with the noise, the beat of drums and people’s voices and laughter. Dense atmosphere filled with heavy stench of herbs, strong alcohol and hot sweat. Kenaed’s hand in hers was clammy, but she didn’t let it slip out of hers. She led him into the middle of the tightly packed floor and turned to wrap her arms around his neck, as his hands rested on her waist. 

The melody played on strings and pipes, flowed through Zo’rene’s body and cursed through her veins to the rhythm of the drums, setting her blood aflame. When chanting voices joined the instruments, shivers ran through her spine from her groin up through her shoulders and to the top of her head. 

It was not like she hadn’t been to the circles for ten years, not at all. She was young, had friends who shared her enthusiasm for that kind of entertainment. She would come with men too, various men, but none of them was quite like Kenaed.  

The mere feel of his skin under her fingertips made her heart beat faster. 

In the circles, people gathered to sing, play instruments or drink, smoke herbs, and listen to the music. Others danced, and that had been Zo’rene’s and Kenaed's favorite thing. She used to love the way he moved, so confident in his physique, finding joy in feeling alive. They used to have so much in common; similar sense of humor, same goals in life – at least the ones they’d had ten years ago. They used to be a perfect couple.  

Now – he was different. The way he looked at her, that focus. It felt like she was the only person in the whole world. It could be flattering, but it was mildly disturbing instead. Zo’rene closed her eyes for a moment. She wanted this to work. This not-yet-but-maybe-one-day relationship. He was different, alright, but she was not that twenty-something girl either. 

She focused on his palms inching lower and lower down her hips to finally touch her buttocks. He pulled her flush against his body. They moved as one, with the rhythm. They could still be perfect. 

He leaned to her ear and said something she didn’t hear because of the noise. Pulled away a little, brow furrowed, and he mouthed, “Having fun?” She read his lips, smiled wide in response and nodded. “Ready?” he asked, and before she could answer, or ask – ready for what? he pushed her a little away and spun her around like he used to. She stumbled, caught by surprise, but landed safely back in his arms, giggling like a little girl. Felt his laughter rumble in his chest. 

Okay, so he wasn’t that wickedly defiant young man she had been madly in love with. He hadn’t forgotten how to enjoy life though, his eyes sparkled and small wrinkles she hadn’t known from before, appeared around them. Truth be told, Zo’rene’s thirst for adventure had also gone down a notch or five. They were older, and that was okay. They could still get to know each other as they were now and maybe fall in love once more. They could build something new. 

#.

Chapter Two (snippet)

may I tag some of you? I hope you don't mind...

@hithelleth , @echo-bleu , @drippingmoon , @ace-malarky

If you don't want to be tagged, I won't do that in the future, but I think at least two of you are okay with it? ;)

If anyone else wants to be added to my Black Wings tag, please,let me know. I would also be very, very grateful, if you reblogged this post (that is, if you enjoyed reading this snippet, of course)

[ermine-57047]

COSMO SHELDRAKE MENTION 🔥🔥🔥🔥 what's your favorite song of his? All of them are such bangers

AUGH I CAN'T CHOOSE but recently I've been obsessed w Does the Swallow Dream of Flying, Interdimensional, Breathe Round Corners, But Once a Child, Run, and I Did and I Don't and I Do. ur so right tho all of them are bangers it's difficult to pick favs!!!!

Swallow is such a hypnotic song, and every time i hear it, I have to just stop and breathe. I'm quite fond of the live studio ver, too, because the band absolutely pops off at the end. I swear to the odds, Eye to the Ear was MADE for choir kids and music nerds like me.

Speaking of choir kids, whenever I hear Interdimensional, my brain likes to aggressively remind me of how well it would work as an SATB piece with djembe and piano accompaniment.

Breathe Round Corners is so ominous, and fills me with dread. The melody of the chorus has a slow-moving spin feel to me and it's like a slow waltz, down and down.

But Once A Child has a 'motion' to it that entrances me. It's graceful and leaps around in a fittingly birdlike way. I find the song's lyrics comforting.

Run has a very playful, jaunty skip-like feel to it that makes me feel v mischievous.

I Did and I Don't and I Do is a very soothing song to me. It all sounds so "smooth" in the way flowing water can feel "smooth". The origins of the song are also really sweet.

Solar Waltz, Birthday Suit, and Wriggle will always be some of my all-time favorites of his tho. Solar Waltz because of the "spinning" motion of it and how ethereal yet grounded it sounds, and the lyrics (the melody also hits a sweet spot in my vocal range that i quite enjoy). Birthday Suit because OUGH THAT BASS CLARINET and also that ostinato at the start of the song sets it up to have a highly specific, very vivid sense of motion in my head. Wriggle because it's just a fun song in general and it's easy to dance to.

UMM YEAH👍👍👍

[a-s-levynn]

@reveries-of-my-mind

Okay you know what Kay? I'm gonna unveil stuff just for you. And like for the 4 other people who might actually be interested in this kida stuff.

Honestly this is just.. it's probably gonna be disappointing, because there is not too much though behind it consciously.. But maybe a couple of you will find it interesting? Or at least reassuring that i am indeed dumb as shite and you don't have to have a high brow concept to just sketch away stuff that still can turn out half decent.

I had a very certain kind of clear idea how i wanted to approach this challenge. I conscientiously do not listen to the song i'm doing the drawing for. I wanted to somewhat separate the lines from their contexts in my mind, even if it's hardly possible at this point. But it kinda works. I just want to let myself flow with the thing my brain and feeling put together at any give moment. These are for fun not for thinking too hard.

Anyway, so when i look at the line for the day's challenge i just go with the first thing that comes to mind and then fill in the details. And naturally the details do get influenced either by the rest of the song or just the knowledge about the lore from the back of my mind because i'm thinking about it during drawing. But i don't think too hard about any of it. I just let stuff float through my brain as usual.

For this particular one the first thing the lines gave me is the collapsing walls. It's quite literal and a great subject to work with. And then came the fact that the song does sounds like a proper church worship song both in melody and tuning.

Also the video was shot in a church.. so an old church with crumbling walls? Maybe not much is left of it by now? But maybe still sacred ground? Maybe it was even before the now crumbling church? You know these kinda thought flashes, you don't really spend time on, but they were there. So i guess the kind of reverent composition came from these?

And the shape of the arch is pretty much the middle arch of the ST logo. I'm overly fond of the idea of the symbol - gateway parallel so i kinda don't even have to think about that anymore. It just.. there.

Design wise.. I first sketched the arch as a complete one than put Vessel under it. It somehow just felt a bit.. oppressive so i broken up the arch. But then it felt a bit empty so in went the moon.

And then started to detail in the stones and i just really liked how they turned out and didn't wanted to hide them with shading. So i left them for the time being. The ivy is there because the stones looked a little empty before. I also love drawing vines and they fit really well with anything Sleep Token for obvious reasons.

The next was Vessel. Honestly it just didn't felt right to properly detail him with limbs. I like creating smaller focus points with more details and leaving the rest more simple. Partially because i'm lazy but also because i like creating focal points by extra detailed points and those only work if the rest stays simple.

When i finished with the outline i felt like this could be a fun concept if i let Vessel in white actually. Because if he is under the moon and the moon is white and i don't know i didn't went deeper than that. But i'm sure there could be an essay hiding somewhere.

But then the middle of the piece was too empty and flat and the white would not have popped at all so i went in with the 8b pencil and just coloured in the background. I added back the lost leaves and some random highlights with a white gel pen at the end.

Originally i drew him with the current mask but it really did not felt right. So i went back and changed it to the old one and now it made it whole.

And basically that's it. It's not like.. i don't really think much when i draw most of the times. Retrospectively i can spot what influenced what parts but like.. it is rare when i have a clear concept of it from the very beginning.

I'm sorry for taking this long to say: i don't know why i do it it just happens the wy it happens but that's the short version really.

edit: at the and of the day art is art and you interpret it the way you feel it fitting. the minute it's out there it's out of my hand anyway

And you will no longer / Stand between collapsing walls A Series of Small Offerings - I/8 -day8

[eveandtheturtles]

Donnie and a mermaid

Idk, I wanted a cute Little Mermaid-esque story, half way through the direction kind of derailed? Originally I was going to make it more violent and creepy but in the end that changed as well. Just weird shit going down in my brain. I don't think I like it but I'm still gonna post it, so.... Enjoy?

Uuuh, also I drew the mermaid, she's at the bottom of the fic.

Rating: Uh, I'll give it a strong T? Like be wary of the warning below but- yeah?

Warning: mind control.

tagging: @madammuffins @turtle-babe83 @thelaundrybitch @pheradream15 @dilucsflame33 @sharpwindow

What happened was just pure luck. They were patrolling the harbor. Making sure no Foot Clan wannabes were trying to move in.

The night was quiet though. It seemed no serious crime was going to happen that night. Donnie was somewhat relieved. He had some games and a project to get back to.

Suddenly they all heard a high pitched cry. It was not human though. If Donnie was to guess what it was it was closer to a whale.

"What was that?" Leo was immediately alerted.

"I think some whale got beached. I'll go check it out and alert the correct authorities," Donnie replied calmly.

"Alright, let us know if it's anything more serious," Leo agreed. "We'll probably be slowly heading out once you get back. The area looks clear."

Donnie nodded and jumped from a cargo container to cargo container trying to pin point the spot the poor animal was. It let out one more cry for help and that helped him finally find it.

But when he got there it wasn't a whale he saw. Humanoid from waist up and fish from waist down, barely reaching 5 feet in total lenght. It was green in colour from the top of its bald head to the tip of its tail. Gills on its neck and over the ribcage. Wiry arms with webbed hands, yellow eyes and sharp teeth. The tail could belong to a leopard shark species. It was beautiful in a way. There was a spear sticking out of it and the creature was wrapped in a fishing net.

"A mermaid," he whispered.

It's- her? His? Pointy, fin like ears twitched and the mermaid (or merman) looked up at him and hissed in warning, baring their teeth.

"It's okay, it's okay," Donnie said calmly as he carefully walked closer. He had his arms up. No weapon in sight. He hoped that it was universal enough of a sign that he meant no harm. "I want to help you." He hoped they knew human speech.

The mer-creature blinked slowly, confused with what they were seeing. They knew humans but this? This was new.

Donnie noted the nictitating membrane. Fascinating. Anyway. Task at hand. He decided to start first with the spear. The fishing net restraining them was probably better left on for now.

"I'm going to break this, okay?" He said out loud for the merperson to understand.

They tilted their head a little. They saw the hands reaching to the spear and the questioning expression on the strange land creature's face. They nodded. It still didn't make the pain less blinding when the turtle broke the shaft off.

The mer cried out and trashed a little, snapping it's jaw in Donnie's direction. He jumped back in time though. The mer creature made keening noises and his heart was breaking just a little for it. Them.

"It's alright," he tried to reach to them and comfort them.

She calmed down, shaking a little. She blinked slowly. He was helping her, he seemed sturdy and... kind. She opened her mouth and a song flew out of it. A sweet melody that soothed his mind.

He smiled. "Wow, that's magical..." He moved closer to her, entrance by the music.

Suddenly, Donnie's comm went off.

"Donnie, is everything all right over there, you have been gone for a while now!" Leo's worried voice broke through the tense silence.

The purple terrapin jumped up. He fumbled with the intercom, almost dropping it. "Yeah! Everything is fine! I'm good. I ah- am doing a bit of a rescue mission by myself," he replied.

"With a whale? Do you need help?"

"No, no! You don't have to! I got it! It's like a shark of sorts. Much smaller. It's just tied up on nets," he started explaining, trying to keep his brothers away. "You all should go home. I got this." He heard himself say.

Weird. He didn't want anyone else to know about them... Her. He looked at the mermaid. She was humming now, the music just for him. He knew it. It was so beautiful.

"I'll free you now," he said.

The mermaid stilled for him and he cut all the ropes. Once her binds were gone she rubbed her wrists. She looked at him, her big, fully yellow eyes drew him further in. There was a connection between them, he could feel it. Such a wonderful being she was.

He took her cold, webbed hands and marvelled at how smooth and soft they were. How small and perfect they were in his. "You're going to be safe", he assured her, "I'll protect you."

She hummed that beautiful sound again and he swore he couldn't be happier.

The next day Leo did a head count and was down one. He wasn't too concerned as Donnie tended to oversleep for various reasons (experiments, streams, working on gadgets). That was until he saw that neither the bed or the spot in the lab were occupied by the snoring purple turtle.

"Have you guys seen Donnie?" He turned to Mikey and Raph.

"Yeah, he was here for like five seconds," Mikey said, doing kickflips midair. "Grabbed a whole bunch of eggs and stuff from his lab. Said something about shark and then left."

"The nerd gonna open a full blown marine rescue at this point," Raph chortled. "I bet he's gonna install an acquarium right in the middle of the lair."

"Eugh, he better not," Leo sighed and pinched the bridge between his eyes. He let go of it now. Later he would come to regret that.

He didn't see Donnie for the next three days. Their dad was getting concerned. Leo expected this shit to happen with Raph or Mikey but Donnie? Logic driven Donnie? Like yeah even if he'd pull crazy shit (like jump out of an airplane with no shoot) he always calculated all the risks. His younger brother would never rush to things unprepared...

"Where the fuck have you been?!" Raph's yelling got him out of a morbid mood and his meditation.

"We all have been worried sick and you come back looking like a fucking ghost!!" Raph continued yelling.

Leo, with his heart in his throat went to see what the ruckus was about, although he already knew.

"Donnie," he said, relieved but also concerned and angry at the same time. "Where have you been? You turned off your locator."

"I'm fine," the tall terrapin mumbled.

Raph wasn't joking that Donnie looked like a ghost. He seemed exhausted, barely holding on his feet.

"I need to go back," he stumbled towards the kitchen. "Just get supplies," he droned out the words.

He looked sick, almost delirious. "I need to get back to her..."

"Her?"

"The fuck you do!" Raph placed his heavy hand on Donnie's shoulder trying to stop him but Donnie easily flipped him over on his back and knocked his lights out.

"Donnie-" Leo tried to say something but the cattleprod right in front of his face stopped him.

"I have to go back," Donnie repeated. "She needs me."

"Okay, okay." Leo raised his arms up. Something was so very wrong with Donnie. They needed to help him out. "You will go back. We just want to help, we are brothers. We help each other. That's what family does, remember?" He spoke softly trying to her his brother to calm down.

It was a wonder how did Donnie even got strenght to fight off Raph, while his arms trembled under the weight of his bō staff.

The purple brother hesitated. Okay, he was getting to him.

"You can trust us," Leo continued. The cattleprod was lowered. The eldest sighed relieved. "We're out of eggs so I'll call April and we can go all with you, okay?" Leo was talking as if to a toddler. Or Mikey. What a day.

He was lying though, they did stock up on the eggs when Donnie basically took everything with him. But if he could get Donnie to sit down and maybe nap a little maybe they could get some common sense and information out of him.

"I can't leave her..." Donnie's eyes watered up. "She's alone without me. What if something hurts her! I have to go back!" He spun on his heel, panic in his voice rising.

"Hey, hey, Donnie, Donnie!" Leo jumped to block his path but Donnie immediately jabbed him in his throat. "Donnie!" Leo choked and coughed. Damn, that was annoying. "It's broad daylight! Humans will see you." He managed to still grab him by the wrist.

"I don't care Leo! She is singing... I just have to go." Donnie tried to escape.

Who the fuck- Leo was so pissed off at whoever did this to his lil bro.

Unfortunately for Leo, Donnie had his bō staff, while he himself had nothing but his bare hands. He tried to find an opening in his brainwashed brother's defense but this was still Donnie. It was very hard and it seemed the Fearless Leader might lose.

Suddenly, something flew down and Donnie was knocked out unconscious.

"10 points to Michealangelo, whoohoo!!" Mikey spun around victoriously.

"Good job, Mikey," Leo praised him catching his breath. "Now help me tie him up."

Donnie woke up later with a splitting headache. When he tried to reach his hands up to cradle his poor noggin he found out he was tied up.

"What..." He whispered confused. Everything was so blurry and painful.

"Hey there genius."

Donnie looked up. April. She was standing in front of him holding a glass of water.

"Here, drink some. You look dehydrated," she said offering him the drink with a straw in.

The sight of it made him realize just how much of an Arizona desert was his mouth. That first sip had him almost moan in relief. He never knew water could taste so good.

April waited until he drank at least a half of the glass and took a break to catch his breath. "What do you remember so far?" She asked.

"I- ah," his browridge furrowed as he tried to recall what the fuck was going on. "The last thing I remember was... The docks. There was this animal," the last word he said almost like a question. A vague shape was forming in his mind. "A shark..."

Something was trying to break at the front of his mind. Something important. Something....

"It... She- she was hurt.." Suddenly everything hit him like a ton of bricks. "She needs me. I- I need to go!" He started fighting against the binds.

"Donnie, Donnie!" She tried to call back to him but the look he gave her was nearly feral. So she did the only thing she could. She slapped him. "Stay with me!" She commanded him.

There was a shock on his face as he struggled to keep his mind clear. Panic was rising in him and the irrational need to leave was trying to get a hold of him again.

"April... I- I can't-"

"Tell me, what is happening with you? Who is 'she'?." She tried to get as much information as she could while he was still aware.

"A mermaid," he blurted out. "There's a mermaid. She's hurt. I wanted to help." He spoke quickly but it was clear he was slipping again. "She needs me."

A mermaid? What? Then again she was talking to a mutated turtle... "I know," April said cradling his face between her hands. "I'll help you." She promised. "But I want to go with you, okay?"

He was reluctant and she didn't know how long it will take for him to listen to her. So she untied him. He almost raced down the corridors but at least he was going to where she usually was parking her car.

When Leo saw them leave the room they stashed Donnie in April just waved at him. There was no time and this had to be dealt with immediately.

She let Donnie drive, while she prepared to meet the Hitchcock's version of Ariel. She googled mermaids trying to find something useful. Nothing but she saw reference to sirens and that gave her a clue. These bird like creatures would sing and drive men to jump into the ocean. Not very Little Mermaid friendly. Apparently only way to survive a meeting with them was to stuff your ears with wax.

April didn't have wax but she had stoppers. One useful thing coming from Casey's snoring.

"We're here," Donnie said. April quickly got the stoppers into her ears, hoping they would somewhat protect her and followed the terrapin out of the car.

The walk to the cave the mermaid was wasn't easy. A lot of rocks, tricky passage and broken concrete and a lot of water. April had to waddle in knee deep water, following Donnie who seemed to be on autopilot.

"She's here," he said softly, full of awe as they entered. April barely could hear him. "...Stay back," he added as if just remembering she was there too.

The cave was dark with just enough light coming through the entrance. There still was water in there but much more shallow, with few dry spots here and there.

"Holy Shit," April breathed out as the creature came into view. It looked nothing like the Disney certified being. Petite but definitely inhuman. Bald, in a wilted green colour, with markings on her body. No seashells on the androgynous torso. No singing crabs either.

April watched as Donnie knelt next to the mermaid, stroking her face. She chirped happily nuzzling his hand.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get you food," he whispered to her apologetically. "April," he called to her turning his head, "do you have food?"

The reporter was transfixed by the almost alien being, she barely missed the yell. It was so strange. The mermaid didn't seem hostile at all. Seemed young, but maybe it was due to her size. She hid behind Donnie as much as she could. April noted the bandages on the tail.

"I have a half a hot dog with me," she offered and pulled her uneaten lunch.

The mermaid looked at her warily but hungrily. Donnie took the food and handed it to her. She snatched it quickly, devouring it rather than simply eating.

In the meantime, Donnie went on to change the bandages on the tail and April winced. It was healing but the scarring would remain for the rest of the aquatic being's life.

April sat on a rock, closer to the entrance. She observed everything and realized the mermaid wasn't probably even aware she was harming Donnie. She seemed to have grown attached to him. She would follow Donnie with her eyes, want him close to her.

It only made April reel in disgust all the more considering that the responses from him were result of some strange mind control. It must have been the tune every now and then the mermaid would hum. It gave April headache.

Finally, the human stood up and walked up to the creature.

The sudden movement startled her, prompting Donnie to stand between them with his bō staff at the ready.

April tilted her head to look at the mermaid.

"I just want to talk with you," she told her.

A calming chirp and Donnie stepped to the side.

"Hi," April said. "I'm April." She put on her friendlies 'reporter' voice on. "I have never met a mermaid before."

The mermaid frowned. She didn't seem like trusting her a lot. April couldn't blame her for that considering the wound in her tail.

"I'm kind of Donnie's big sister," she told her. "Do you understand that? Sister? Family?"

A feeling of understanding washed over her. Ah, so that was how the mermaid was sentient and could communicate. Even if it was a bit dubious. The mind control must have been a form of self defense and probably a hunting method.

"Do you like Donnie?"

The mermaid looked at the turtle and a feeling of fondness reached April.

"That's what I thought," the human sighed. "You need to stop controlling him."

Alarm and fear.

April shook her head. "He offered his help freely did he?"

This time it was a nod.

"Why did you control him then?"

Frustration, uncertainty, pain, fear.

Ah. There was one more thing April was wondering about (there were more but those weren't urgent). "Can you read our emotions as well? Or thoughts?"

A negative headshake. So there was that. April sighed. Time to get to the main issue.

"You are hurting him, he needs his family, he needs rest. We can all help you better if you just let us. I know trust must be hard to come by but Donnie and his brothers protect people. I don't think they will hurt you if I explain everything and if you release Donnie."

The mermaid averted her eyes and was clearly thinking over what April said. She was obviously still on her guard but remained non hostile.

Finally she curled up in a ball, as if hiding and April a loud sound of a turtle collapsing to the ground. She turned around and Donnie was leaning heavily over the wall. His stomach grumbled loudly.

He blinked confused looking around. "April?"

April sighed with a smile. A victory.

It wasn't a surprise later that Donnie avoided the mermaid afterwards. They had her transported to the lair and she promised to not try anything. They all were wary of one another. Once everyone relaxed enough to realize no one meant anyone harm they started to try and get to know each other. Even started learning alphabet to communicate with them with more than just emotions. She was a surprisingly quick study and soon she was able to communicate with them through a whiteboard. They managed to even get a name for the being - Kara. She was very playful. Splashing water as pranks, swindling food from Mikey, and even trying to play shogi with Splinter. But every time someone walked in and it wasn't Donatello she looked disappointed and sad. She was recovering fast with proper care and was expected to be fully healed in two weeks.

April enjoyed coming over to talk with her. Kara liked telling April about her life in the ocean. The circumstances that got her to New York all the way from California. She wasn't going back there any time soon. She wanted to explore first.

Two days before her release Donnie finally came to visit her. At first he merely stood at the entrance to the room her tub was in. Then it seemed like he was about to leave, having changed his mind. She looked at him from over the rim of the tub. She didn't want him to leave.

"Ah!" She called. It was as far as she could go for spoken words. The whiteboard as in her hands and he paused. "I'm sorry." She wrote. "Do you hate me?"

"I... don't hate you." He walked up closer. "I wish you didn't force me to help you."

She nodded and tapped 'I'm sorry'. She felt like she might need it a lot. "I won't do it again."

"I know," he sighed.

"I'll bring you lots of fish," she offered and he snorted.

"Don't like fish, but thanks I guess."

She lowered herself into the water blowing guilty bubbles.

"You're doing the emotional bluetooth again," he said and the feelings stopped. "If it helps, I'm not angry at you either, it's not easy being around who manipulated your will like that. Do you understand?"

She looked like she wanted to understand and it was a start.

"Did April tell you about the concept of starting again?" He asked and she nodded.

He took a deep breath in. "My name is Donatello, Donnie for short," he offered her his hand.

Kara quickly recalled this human custom and extended her own hand. "Kara," she wrote then on the board. "Nice to meet you."

It was a better start.

Bonus!!

I drew her.

[pies-writes-and-more]

allergic to you

Word Count: 3, 713

Pairing: Tsukishima Kei x High School Age!Fem!Reader

Warnings: some swear words I guess, but as per usual, it’s just fluff from me. 

A/N: Guess who’s finally joined another fandom lol hello Haikyuu fandom! Pls be kind, it’s my first time writing for this fandom but I am in love with Karasuno boys, it’s problematic. Anyways, please let me know if you liked it! Sorry if I didn’t quite capture him the way other writers do haha. Also, Y/N = Your (Last) Name, just cause typing Y/L/N is exhausting lol my b

(Not my gif, credits to the original creator!)

Yamaguchi was trying his very hardest not to laugh, his hands clasped together in front of his lips to stifle his giggles as the tall blond boy he had known for years just looked at him desperately.

“It’s not funny,” Tsukishima’s lips formed into a frown (almost a pout), looking away from his friend nervously. His fingers played with some chopsticks, poking at his uneaten lunch.

Yamaguchi had never see Tsukishima Kei nervous. Volleyball games? Totally calm. Math class? Easy. Exam season? Piece of cake.

But put Tsukishima near a girl? No, scratch that. Not just any girl. Put Tsukishima near Y/N? It was all over for him. Suddenly, this 190cm tall boy wanted to shrink small enough to run away and not be noticed.

“It’s a little funny, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi insisted, finally letting out just a tiny chuckle that he just couldn’t hold back. “I think you’re overreacting. Just a bit.”

Tsukishima’s eyes turned back to the other boy, staring at him as if analyzing him, “How could I be overreacting? I’m telling you, I’m allergic!”

Yamaguchi was really trying his best to be supportive, knowing that talking about things was already hard for Tsukishima, especially when involving a particularly cute girl. “You think... you’re allergic... to Y/N,” Yamaguchi retorted slowly, repeating how Tsukishima started this convo with.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Tsukishima scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Obviously it’s some product she uses or something,” his nose scrunched up slightly as he tried to think of what it could possibly be. “Like that hand lotion she uses. The one that smells like vanilla and brown sugar,” Tsukishima proclaimed, nodding to himself like he had solved the mystery.

The green haired boy was still trying his best to be supportive. He nodded slowly, giving a forced smile to his best friend as he slowly spiralled into insanity. He had never seen Tsukishima this desperate for answers before. “Hasn’t she let you use some of that hand lotion?” He wondered aloud, remembering very specifically how red Tsukishima’s ears got when she rubbed a bit into a rash he had gotten on his hand.

“Gotta take good care of your hands if you play volleyball, Tsukishima-san!” Y/N had beamed, her fingers massaging the cream in.

Tsukishima had practically fainted that day, though he’d never admit it.

The blond’s frown tightened, holding his hand to his chin in thought, “Right. So not the hand lotion then.”

“Maybe she got a new perfume?” Yamaguchi offered, nibbling on some of his lunch while Tsukishima thought it out.

“No, she’s still using the same one,” He mumbled, and Yamaguchi smirked to himself, knowing that Tsukishima would’ve never admitted before that he knew little details like this about her. 

“Well. what kinds of symptoms do you have? Maybe that’ll narrow it down,” Yamaguchi suggested, leaning his head back on the wall behind them. It wasn’t unusual for Tsukishima to want to eat some place quiet, but today had been the first day that he had practically dragged Yamaguchi to this small secluded spot behind the school. The two of them sat against a wall to eat, though Tsukishima’s lunch had been completely forgotten.

“I just-” Tsukishima hesitated, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance as he tried to word how his body felt every time she was around. “I always feel so lightheaded. And my heartbeat’s always irregular too. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe properly.” His hand slid into his jacket pocket, pulling out his phone and tilting the screen towards Yamaguchi to show him a medical diagnostic page on the web. “Some people say these are symptoms of allergies. Or an anxiety attack. But I’m leaning more towards allergies.”

Yamaguchi squinted at the text, “You... Googled it?” He asked, a playful smile on his lips, glancing up at Tsukishima, amused.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” Tsukishima scoffed, scrolling through the page. “I don’t know what else it could be. It’s not with anyone else. It can’t be the classroom either, cause when she’s not around, I don’t feel anything.”

“Hm. So what’re you going to do about it?” Yamaguchi asked, going along with this ‘allergic’ idea as much as he could. He knew Tsukishima was very rational and even if he suggested what he figured was happening, Tsukishima would never listen.

“D-Do?” Tsukishima blinked. He hadn’t thought about what the next step was.

“Well I assume you don’t want to keep feeling that like right? You could always ask the teacher to move you, I suppose. Then ask her not to attend any of our games. Avoiding her for the rest of your life seems like the best choice doesn’t it?” Yamaguchi asked innocently, closing up his lunch box and taking a sip from his juice.

Tsukishima stayed quiet, eyebrows still furrowed and the frown on his face tightening. He knew that made sense - one of the girls in their class was allergic to nuts and she always had to be careful what she ate, and he had even heard of some people not eating or drinking milk products because of allergies. The logical part of his brain agreed with Yamaguchi, perhaps staying away from Y/N was the only answer.

“Then... maybe it’s not an allergy,” Tsukishima mumbled quietly. He hated going back on his word but he couldn’t deny that he loathed the idea of not seeing Y/N’s smile ever again. Or seeing her sit with someone else. “Maybe it’s just something I have to get used to.”

“You know, Tsukishima,” Yamaguchi started again, looking off to the scenery that was in front of them. His voice was light and airy as he tried to coax his friend to the idea, “What you’re going through sounds a lot like-”

Tsukishima could hear it in his voice, he knew the next word forming from Yamaguchi’s lips before it even entered the air. He slammed his lunch box closed and stood up abruptly, turning away from the other boy’s eyes. “Lunch is over,” he grumbled, as if that was the reason he stood up so dramatically.

Yamaguchi smirked and packed up his things, shaking his head slowly when Tsukishima wasn’t looking. He wasn’t at all surprised that Tsukishima was having a hard time accepting his feelings.

The word hung in the very serious boy’s mind for the rest of the day. He tried not to focus so much on Y/N as he sat next to her for the rest of their classes, tried to not inhale too much or look in her general direction, in fear that his “allergy” would act up again.

He was almost positive it wasn’t... that. He would know for sure if it was, wouldn’t he? His nose scrunched slightly as he thought about the music he had listened to before, ones that had just a good melody and beat and he definitely didn’t listen to because of the lyrics since they were about... that thing.

Didn’t some people talk about their heart feeling like it was going to fall out of their chest? That they found it hard to breathe? That it was like all life stopped when they saw that person? And that despite all this, they never wanted to be without them?

Tsukishima had to get to the bottom of this. He was either experiencing some sort of allergic reaction to her or he was experiencing feelings. He thought about ignoring them, pretending like they didn’t exist so that maybe everything would go back to normal one day. But how long would that take? Wouldn’t it just be easier to rip off the bandaid and find out now?

At the end of class, Tsukishima zoomed his way out of class, not waiting for Yamaguchi like usual.

“Is he alright, Yamaguchi-san?” Y/N asked, surprised that the two best friends weren’t walking out together like they had every other day. Some days, they would even walk out with Y/N on their way to practice. But apparently, not today.

“He’s got a lot on his mind,” Yamaguchi explained, waving it away with a smile. Perhaps today he would be walking home by himself. And that was fine by him.

Y/N packed up her things and waved goodbye to her other classmates, heading out the door and slipping in her headphones. Her mind drifted to all the things she had to do when she got home, whether or not there were leftovers to heat up today or if she should cook something up.

“You take so long,” a drawl voice interrupted the very beginning of her first song. She blinked in surprise, looking to her right where Tsukishima was leaning against a tree.

Y/N pulled out one earbud, tilting her head as she watched him. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him do this casual, I-don’t-care-about-anything lean, with his headphones around his neck and his hands shoved in his pockets. But there was something different about him this time. Why was he avoiding her eyes? Why was he not giving her an annoyingly carefree smile? Why were his ears turning pink?

“Were you... waiting for me, Tsukishima-san?” Y/N asked slowly. He didn’t move for a moment, as if still calculating something in that big brain of his. He pushed off of the tree after sighing, walking over to her slowly.

“Obviously,” was all he said, glaring down at her as if she should’ve known this.

“You rushed out of class so quick, I thought you were already going home,” Y/N responded, still a bit confused. “Don’t you and Yamaguchi normally walk home together?”

Why did she have to question so much? Why couldn’t she just realize what he was trying to do? Tsukishima huffed and grabbed her hand, dropping a nice cool juice box in it. His eyes darted away from her next inquisitive look, but glanced back almost immediately because he wanted to see her eyes widen just a little at her favourite juice box.

“W-What is this?” Y/N asked, holding it in her hands. Part of her wanted to examine it to make sure he hadn’t somehow tricked her into holding something that wasn’t actually juice. She looked up at him suspiciously - Tsukishima knew her favourite juice?

“You didn’t have one with you today. I figured you forgot your wallet again today,” Tsukishima mumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket again.

“O-Oh. I did, thank you. Um,” Y/N hesitated. Was Tsukishima trying... to be nice? “Why... why did you buy it for me?”

“I just said why,” Tsukishima scoffed, flicking her head gently. He scolded himself internally, feeling guilty as soon as she showed the surprise on her face. She’s asking why you thought to be nice, Kei, stop being snarky, he told himself harshly. “Sorry,” he muttered quickly, feeling almost immediately bad for flicking her.

Y/N just laughed though, giggles spilling from her lips as she looked up at him, “Are you feeling okay, Tsukishima-san? You’re turning red,” she teased gently and he looked away from her quickly, hating how quickly his face heated up.

He took a breath, trying to mimic how calm he was on the court. He turned back to look at her with a cocky smile and confidence gaze, though he was sure she could tell he was nervous, “I’m fine, Y/N-san. But I need to tell you something. And I’m only going to say it once so listen up.”

Y/N watched him intently, noting the fake confidence he was trying to put on. She nodded as he looked at her for any sign to keep going.

His lips opened for a moment and Y/N could’ve sworn there was a moment of panic in his eyes when nothing came out. “I’m going to walk you home today,” Tsukishima stated finally, each word thudding into the air. He felt his confidence falter as the wrong words left his mouth, shifting his bag on his shoulder and starting to walk ahead.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed, feeling her confusion only rise. Did he really build up that whole thing... just to walk her home?

“Hurry up or I’ll leave you here,” Tsukishima called behind his shoulder, still walking ahead. He was internally punching himself, groaning and uttering insults at his own stupid self. Couldn’t even say it. Couldn’t just say Y/N I like you and I think I’m either allergic to you or I’m utterly in love with you but I’ve been told I suck at explaining how I feel and that I never say the right things at the right time so please just reject me so I can move away from these exhausting feelings.

“Want some?” Y/N’s gentle voice was suddenly beside him, and Tsukishima felt his stomach doing that flipping motion again. He glanced down at her and saw her holding up the juice box at him. “Seems only fair, since you bought it,” she explained, the glimmer in her eyes making him feel way too warm inside.

“Sure,” he mumbled after a moment. She smiled just a little bit wider, holding up the juice to him, expecting him to just snatch it away and drink. But no, Tsukishima being a little bitch and deciding that if he couldn’t admit anything with words, he could try with actions, leaned down slightly, and latched his lips onto the straw. His hand wrapped around hers over the juice box, holding it still as he took a sip.

Y/N felt like she was suddenly bright red, her heart possibly having exploded right then and there. His eyes looked up to meet hers as he sipped, smirking a bit as he noticed the panicked and flushed look in her eyes.

Maybe the feeling is... mutual?

“Mm,” he hummed, pulling away after keeping her gaze for a second. “I guess I can see why you like it.”

Y/N had shivers running up and down her spine, feeling like Tsukishima had looked into her very soul and knew about her year-long crush on him.

The two of them started walking a bit slower after that, and to the external eye, you’d probably just see two classmates walking home together. But look a little closer, and you’d see both of them having internal conflicts. They managed to walk through the small roads filled with shops and make it about halfway to Y/N’s house in complete silence. 

“Y/N-san,” Tsukishima finally ended it, the agonizing silence, in which he had been racking his brain trying to think of how to start a conversation. He stopped in his tracks as he spoke the one word, the two of them now on a quieter dirt path. There was no one to interrupt them, no one to save Tsukishima from embarrassment, no Yamaguchi to fill the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Y/N looked back at him, noticing him just standing there. “Are you alright, Tsukishima-san?”

“There’s something I need to say,” he started, his hands in his pockets clenched into fists.

“O-Oh okay.”

“I’ve been... feeling sick around you.” Baka, he scolded himself for what felt like the millionth time. That definitely wasn’t the way he had wanted to say it. “I-I mean, not like sick sick but like allergy sick,” he tried to recover, but scoffed at himself since that wasn’t all that much better.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed in response, trying to think about his reactions lately. He had definitely been more flushed lately, but she always thought that was annoyance. He’d been quieter and more distant, but it was Tsukishima after all. He looked over to her desperately, hoping to see that she was understanding what he was trying to say. She wasn’t. 

Tsukishima was starting to get frustrated. He knew he wasn’t the greatest at communicating but how hard was it to see how much he liked her? Yamaguchi saw it, hell, even his upperclassmen teased him about it when they first saw Tsukishima and Y/N walking out of class together one day. So why did other people who didn’t need to know it, why did they understand but she didn’t? Why was she so dense? 

You’re not saying anything, his mind reminded him as he scowled to himself.

“It has to be that,” Tsukishima finally continued quietly, his eyes now staring at his feet. He was practically trying to convince himself now. It had to be that there was a health related issue with him being around her. It had to be that, because if it wasn’t, it meant that Tsukishima had to tell her how he felt. And that meant that he was probably going to end up hurt. Why a girl like Y/N hung around a guy like him anyways was beyond him. 

“Why?” Y/N frowned, still terribly lost in the cosmos of this odd confession. “Why would it have to be that?”

“Because if it isn’t that, then it means that I’ve fallen completely head over heels for you.”

Tsukishima wasn’t sure how he had managed to say the words. But there it was. His fists tightened even more, his fingernails digging into his palm so hard it was starting to hurt. 

His eyes closed tightly, turning his head away from her. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t want to see laughter or disgust in her eyes. Maybe he could take it back now. Maybe he could-

Tsukishima jumped at the feeling of a poke on his chest, his eyes opening in surprise when he found Y/N standing much closer than she was earlier. “Are you teasing me?” She asked defensively, squinting her eyes up at him.

“T-Teasing?” Tsukishima stammered. He watched her eyes, noting how visibly upset she looked and he could feel his frustration rising. He had finally said what he had wanted to say this whole time... and she wasn’t even reacting the way she was supposed to. How stupid did she have to be? And why did she have to look so damn cute while doing it?

“Yamaguchi-san told you, didn’t he? I knew that poophead couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” she grumbled, crossing her arms against her chest. “He swore he wouldn’t tell you, but I should’ve known. You guys are best friends and all.”

“Told me... told me what?”

“That I’ve liked you practically since we met,” Y/N huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Listen, Tsukishima-san, if you don’t like me back, you don’t have to tease me like this. I’m perfectly fine being rejected,” she told him with a pout on her lips (she was definitely not fine being rejected, and was planning on crying at home after this). “Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

Tsukishima‘s eyes widened, staring at her like she had grown a second head. “You... You like me?” He gulped. His allergies must be getting worse, his heart was thumping so hard against his chest, he couldn’t think straight.

Y/N and him shared a confused look for a moment, neither one of them sure who was teasing whom at this point. “Didn’t... didn’t you know? That’s why you’re being nice to me?” She asked him, poking his chest again. “Why else would you be walking me home and buying me juice?”

“Why would...” Tsukishima’s lips curled into a smile and suddenly he burst out into laughter, tilting his head back in amusement. 

“Why are you laughing?” Y/N whined, punching his arm lightly with a huff. “This isn’t a time to be laughing at me!”

Tsukishima straightened up with his signature cocky smile, shaking his head as he fixed his glasses on his face. Then, his hand moved to hit the top of her head.

“OW! Tsukishima-san!”

“You idiot. Why would I be standing here confessing to you if I was just going to make fun of you?” Tsukishima scoffed, smirking at her. “If I didn’t like you back and I found out you liked me, don’t you think I would’ve made it clear by now that you never stood a chance?”

Y/N thought about this for a moment, remembering that one time a girl in a different class had confessed to him after attending one of his matches.

“I think you’re incredible, Tsukishima-san! A-And I just.... well I just...”

“Are you trying to confess to me?” Tsukishima didn’t even bother looking up from his study book, finishing an equation before even glancing at her. “You should just give up now. I’m not interested.”

The girl had teared up so much, even Y/N had felt bad (even though she was secretly happy that Tsukishima hadn’t accepted the confession). Yamaguchi had yelled at Tsukishima about being gentle that day.

“Why would I be nice to someone stupid enough to think I’d like them? I didn’t give her any hints that I did, I don’t even know her,” Tsukishima grumbled.

Y/N had internalized those words, deciding she wouldn’t confess her feelings to Tsukishima ever. If she did, and Tsukishima rejected her, he probably wouldn’t want to be around her as friends ever again.

“So...” Y/N thought to herself for a moment, trying to reexamine what had happened today. “What was with the juice box then?” She asked him. 

“I thought...” Tsukishima frowned a little, looking up at the sky in thought. “I thought when you confess you were supposed to... give a gift or something.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at his thought process and Tsukishima glared at her slightly. “You’re laughing at me now?”

She shook her head quickly, trying to stifle her giggles, “I just... I think it’s sweet,” she beamed, holding onto her little juice box even though it was empty now.

Tsukishima watched her carefully before smiling a little, patting her head gently, “Alright then, let’s get you home. I’ll bring another juice box for you for our date.”

“D-Date?” Y/N repeated shyly, following him as he started to walk again.

“You thought I’d just confess to you and not ask you out? Idiot,” Tsukishima smirked, feeling such an intense relief on his shoulders. His heart was still beating furiously and his stomach felt like it was going to come up his throat, but... it wasn’t as frustrating of a feeling now. 

After he dropped her off at her house with the promise of walking her to school tomorrow morning, Tsukishima couldn’t help but allow himself to smile widely the whole way home. 

If this is what an allergy felt like, he never wanted it to stop.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Okay like I mentioned up there in the Author’s Notes, this is my first time writing for Haikyuu so lmk what you thought :) I’ve written some stuff for OHSHC and I think it’s pretty obviously that tall jerks with glasses are my type lol 

Anyways! Enjoy!

[miyalove]

⋆｡˚⁀➷ PILLOW TALK.

cr. originally posted by houseofkarasuno

⤷ pairing. suna rintaro x fem!reader

⤷ genre. fluff, suggestive, timeskip au, established relationship au

⤷ warnings. swearing, crude language, crude humor, implied sex, mentions of bondage, mentions of hickeys,  *unedited’

1.5k | after one of the greatest fucks in your life, suna pops the big question. your response has him not as surprised as he would have thought.

your breath evens out slowly while you trace the outlines of your dull ceiling. besides you, suna plops down on your sheets. he faces you, golden eyes hooded while exhaustion dances behind them.

“how was that?” it’s a question that has you giggling around your jagged breaths. the noise makes him quirk a brow. 

“you always ask that after we fuck.”

“it’s cause i wanna know if ya liked it,” you can practically imagine his cute little shrug after he speaks. it’s become a habit of his to nonchalantly shrug things off, but you know him better than that. it’s not just a simple question. he doesn’t just want to know if you liked it. he wants to know if you liked it. if the position he had you in hurt or if the knots bounding your wrist to the bedpost were too tight. he wanted to know if you were okay. they’re two vastly different concepts, according to him.

you let out a sigh, shifting your position to face your boyfriend. a thin layer of sweat is still present on his skin. under the lighting he looks like he’s glowing making him impossibly more attractive. unbeknownst to you, he’s thinking the same thing. your delicate body fits perfectly next to his like you were simply made to be with him. 

“yes, i liked it, rintaro.” you punctuate your claim with a soft grin, “more than that actually.” you shift closer to him. “that might of just been our best one yet.”

as you wiggle, the mattress moans with your heavy movement. the familiar groan cracks a small smile on your boyfriends face, probably thinking of a stupid innuendo. you shot him a glare, daring him to say it. he let’s out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes instead. 

“good boy,” you lean down pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. it taste salty from the lingering sweat and it’s quick not wanting to get his gross bodily fluids all up on your face either. no matter how quick you are though, you could never be as fast as professional athlete suna rintaro (it’s something he always reminds you about).

in one quick motion, suna wraps his macular arms around your middle. he drags your body over his own. the shock has you struggling to find a grip. your hands fail around to find some kind of support. your legs twist and tangle themselves in your blankets. suna’s arms stay wrapped around your core, steadying you while you struggle. 

it’s an awkward sight. your legs try to mount his hips, but the room is too dark and you’re bones rattle with exertion. to suna, it’s a sight to behold. your hair is messy from your previous action but it frames your pretty face in just the right way. he admires the way you struggle to hop over him. you’re a lot smaller than he is (just the way he likes it, if he’s being honest) so you’re determination to fit is admirable. he can’t help the feeling that washes over him while he eyes you cutely struggling. 

it’s laughable. it’s clumsy. it’s you-- that’s all he could ever want.

“you looked like a fish nearin’ it’s last days,” you huff at the dig. only he would throw such a specific insult. when you finally find purchase on top of him, you feel his knees bend behind you. gladly, you lean back thankful for the support. a comfortable silence takes over the room. he watches as your eyes flutter shut. it seems like fatigue as finally caught up with you. 

he allows you to lean into him. all your weight shifts onto his legs and even if they ache from practice, he doesn’t dare move or mention it. he doesn’t want to wake you. you do so much for him. the least he could do was let you have a few minutes of rest. in the silence, his eyes get to work on you. 

you’re tits are on full display as well as your tummy and if he were to pull at the sheets, your pretty pink panties would be uncovered. it was the only thing you managed to throw own before flopping yourself into bed. pink looks good on you. it was a something he noticed a while ago. he racks his brain to the first time he saw you in the soft color.

3rd year, lantern festival. 

you looked stunning in that outfit. the dress curved and accented all the best part of your body. the bright pink contrasted perfectly with the dark sky surrounding you. you shined bright that day, heads turned and necks were broken. at the time, it worried him having not been yours. he stuck beside you for an uncharacteristic amount of time. every corner you went, he seemed to randomly be there and ready to help you win prizes or to tease you about the little things. 

he was worried then but now, he he’s able to hold you in his arms without a worry. he’s able to fuck you senseless until you’re begging for more. he can be little patchy with replying back to your messages and sometimes he isn’t in the mood for PDA but you understand that. 

you understand him. 

you understand his silences. his thoughtless grunts. his wordless stares.

at this realization, something switches within him. he needs to say something. his words are caught in his throat. choked between waking you up or letting you rest. his heart pounds, his fingers are suddenly jittery. he loves you so fucking much. from the day you stepped into his classroom to introduce yourself to the moment you made fun of atsumu over a shared interest. he finally saw you that day. he knew then he wanted to have your melodious giggle as the sound track to his life. 

he was so stupidly in love with you then.

he takes one last glance your way. his throat dries with that same nervousness he had when he asked you out for the first time (he was a broke 3rd year, so he took you out the the fanciest ramen vending machine spot he knew then the two of you stayed up all night walking and venturing the city. it was absolutely perfect). 

and now five years later, nothing has changed. 

“till death do us apart.” it comes out in a mumble of anxiousness, but it’s loud enough to stir you awake.

your eyes gently open and he’s staring straight into you. your brows crinkle, slightly worried. you’ve only seen him this tense a few times in your time together. they were all about volleyball. weather his time was going to win or not weather he was training hard enough-- all worries that were be quickly squashed once you were there to call him down. 

never have you seen this look as you laid down with him. in the middle of your thoughts, it remember that you had to reply. rubbing the sleep out of your eye, you shake your head, “what was that, love?”

he repeats himself again, just a little bit louder this time. it still makes your head tilt in question. ‘till death do us apart? what the hell is he on about? what about death? and why are we apart of it?

you sit on on his lap staring into his widened eyes. they’re glossed over, hazed with a fear that brings you back to the honeymoon phases of your relationship. you’re so tied up in the thought, you have to force yourself to focus again. till death do us apart... ‘till death do us apart? wait--

“proposing on valentines day?” you lean over him. your chest presses up against his bare torso. you smirk, “how... original.” sarcasm laces your tone. the way you’re able to tease him in such a delicate situation has him huffing out a breath he hadn’t know he was holding. 

“that doesn’t sound like a yes to me.”

“that’s because it wasn’t, silly.”

that heavy feeling presses at his chest again. “oh.” 

one word yet you could already tell he was overthinking it. 

“hey, hey. slow down there.” you pet at his dark locks, gently lacing your fingers through them. your hot breath fans at his face with how close you. mindlessly, he rests his hands on your hips pulling you impossibly closer. 

“i’m not saying no either, rin.” he tilts his head, obviously confused. you read him like an open book as you continue. you can’t help the disappointed sigh, “i’m not saying yes because a proposal on valentines day, rin? come on! you’re 1000 times better than that!” 

so many emotions show through him. there’s confusion because why would you play with him like that. there’s a side of him that want to roll his eyes at your childish antics. then there’s a side of him that gets it. it’s too cliché. it’s too lovey-dovey honeymoon phase. you were never one for romcoms anyways so he gets it. 

“so it’s not a no either?”

“it’s a- uh... to be decided,” you purr.

silence.

“you’re so fucking lucky i love you.” he angles himself forward, pressing a kiss to your lips. it’s starts off soft. your mouths slotting together perfectly. then his grip on your hips gets tighter. your hands start to roam his body. and the way his hands coax you to move has you already knowing where this is going. 

“yeah, yeah. i love you too.”

[sparkliingcrown]

— the trees listen.

Summary: Joshua knows that, even in his darkest moments, the lilac leaves of the forest surrounding him will always be there to listen to his cries.

Pairing: Forest Fairy!Joshua x F!Witch!Reader

Genre: Fantasy AU, Fluff, Angst

Words: 4.3k

Note: SPECIAL THANK YOU TO MARS (@buwuyu) FOR MAKING THE GRAPHIC (You were amazing to work with!), TO EMI (@hxllo-hui) MY DARLING ANGEL FOR BETA-READING and for geeking out with me about fantasy worlds/worldbuilding, TO MARA (@seungkwns) FOR CREATING THIS CHALLENGE AND TO ALL MY OTHER FRIENDS THAT HYPED ME UP ON WRITING THIS ONE - I LOVE YOU GUYS !

PART 1 // PART 2

Joshua could hear all the warnings Seungcheol had told him. It was echoing in his ears. Screw Seungcheol for telling Jeonghan to make sure he has his words drilled into his brain. The wind carried Jeonghan’s words with it, whispering them into Joshua’s ears as he travelled farther along the forest. It was starting to get annoying. The constant “Go back.”, “Where are you?”, “Can you get me some melonade?” was ticking Joshua off. Nevertheless, he pushed forward.

He noticed how the trees seemed to have shrunk from half their original size, gradual but evident, becoming half the size they once were; which could have been common outside the village confinements, but here, it was an abnormality. The birds sang their song, unresponsive to the fact that an unknown entity had entered their territory. Joshua’s wings fluttered in glee under his shawl as he listened to their sweet melody.

He sighed, taking in the beauty of the lush, lilac-colored forest that surrounded him like a blanket. Now that he was out of Jeonghan’s range, the wind could no longer bother him about coming back to the village. Instead, it held his hand as he cautiously stepped over a giant root, guiding him around the unknown territory like a close friend welcoming him into their home.

His eyes catch something moving in the corner of his eye. His head whips around, shawl dramatically flapping in the wind. Joshua caught sight of the winged fawn he came to fetch in the first place. At last! Once he catches the fawn, he can finally head back home to the village.

Joshua chased after the fawn, hovering a few inches off the ground to gain more speed. It stops, wiggling its ears before settling down on the ground. He panted, looking around and sort of trying to take in the surroundings before he took the creature and went back home. Something felt off. A rustle of leaves that clearly wasn't made by the young deer. A glint from some sort of metal, shining under the sunlight. Joshua squinted, trying to find the source of the noise.

An arrow! In a split second, an arrow was soaring through the air. It struck a tree, just above the young fawn’s head, startling it to run away. He followed, finally taking flight. Out of the corner of his eye, in between all the bushes and brambles and branches, he could see a hood dancing in the wind. It was going the same direction Joshua was. He realized. It was following the fawn!

Whatever or whoever was under that hood, Joshua cannot let it hurt the fawn. He quickened his pace, dodging branches and leaves. The fawn slowed down, the mystery person stopping a few feet behind it. Joshua observed. The hooded person draws their string, pulling back and taking aim. With a gasp, Joshua dives down from the height he was at, flying right in front of the creature.

Thud! Joshua could feel a strong piercing feeling on his left shoulder. Thud! He felt the dirt in his mouth and the ground scratching at him. The fawn perked up, flapping its little wings before disappearing further into the forest. Joshua groaned, rolling over to lie on his back on the dirt.

A gasp.

A gasp? Joshua squinted; vision blurry. A clang and another thud. He heard the sound of something dropping to the ground.

“Oh no—” A small voice piped up from behind the trees.

He could only see the figure’s hood falling down before his vision was clouded by dark spots. He inevitably slipped into unconsciousness with a soft groan slipping past his lips.

The smell of sage and lavender filled Joshua’s senses, it’s earthiness slowly waking him up. He lets out a small groan, eyes adjusting to the light streaming in through the round windows. His eyes fluttered open, taking in his surroundings.

Plants were displayed on several shelves with other baubles and trinkets. The whole room was almost filled with plants. It looked like a mess. Boxes and books laid sprawled out on the floor, some empty bottles hid in weird corners and it all left Joshua confused. Where is he?

It reminded him very much of his own home. A bit messy but with paraphernalia that gave him nostalgia. Except, he knew what his home looked like. It looked nothing like this. It felt way far off. His eyes widened, he shot straight up from the bed. Only for him to come crashing down onto the pillow with a yelp.

The door clicks open. His head whips around to see who it was. Joshua could feel his heart sink; he doesn't know where he is, who had shot him, and who wanted to shoot Fauna (the small fawn that ran away).

"Oh, thank goodness, you're awake." A gentle voice piped up, snapping Joshua out of his thoughts. "Are...are you feeling alright?"

Joshua blinked at her. "I- Yeah, I think I'm alright?" His voice was unsure. "Excuse me, sorry, but who are you?"

Her ears perked up, a light blush spreading across their cheeks as she fiddled at the hem of her sleeves. "I- I was the person that shot you with an arrow?"

Joshua sprung out of the bed, ignoring the painful throbbing of his left shoulder as he took a defensive stance. “Who are you and what do you want with me? Why did you shoot me?”

“It wasn’t my intention to shoot you! I never wanted to shoot you!” She responded, voice becoming shrill as she spoke. “And you’re hurting yourself by getting up. Lie down!”

“No!” he exclaimed, avoiding her attempt to push him back down on the bed. “Do not touch me—”

“I already did, idiot. Who do you think put those bandages on you?” She retorted, stepping close enough to push him back on the bed. “Now, stay still.”

“Why should I? So that you could experiment on me? You’re a witch, aren’t you?”

“Okay, really hurtful, but I deserve it- I did shoot you after all,” She mumbled, rummaging around the messy room to find something. Joshua wasn’t exactly sure what, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out.

“What? Did you want my wings? Were you going to rip them apart from me and use them in whatever wicked potion you were going to use on me?”

She looked at him incredulously. “What? No! I was trying to get some feathers off that winged fawn!”

“You were after Fauna?!” he gasped, wings flapping wildly. “You monster!”

“It had a name?”

“‘It’ was my fawn! I was looking for her- Only to find out some cruel hunter was going to keep it captive—” He stood up out of nowhere, only to be pushed back down to the bed by her.

“Don’t even think about leaving without having some tea.”

“Tea?”

“I may be a witch but that doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.” She crossed her arms, giving the boy a disappointed stare. "Is that what they teach in the villages, hm? That us witches are cruel and vile and evil and unmerciful?" He stayed silent, observing every twitch, flinch and breath.

She picked up a tea tray she had set aside earlier. The teapot glowed a slight red color before the sound of boiling bubbles were heard. She poured him a cup of tea and offered it to him before pouring their own cup. Joshua watched as she brought the cup up to their lips and sipped. He narrowed his eyes.

“My cup isn’t poisoned, is it?” he asked, cup halfway to meeting his lips.

“Yes, of course, it’s poisoned,” she replied with a roll of their eyes. “It isn’t. Now, drink up.”

“How long have you kept me captive? Days? Weeks? A month?” Joshua questioned, finally taking a sip from his teacup. Then another, and another, and another.

He hadn’t realized he already finished the whole cup. He tentatively asked for more tea. She amusedly poured him another cup, a small smile growing on his face as he inhaled the calming fumes.

“Is one hour or so a satisfactory answer?” She leaned back in their chair and crossed their legs, taking another relaxing sip. “Plus, I didn’t keep you captive.”

“Sure, that’s exactly what someone who kept me captive would say.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Joshua listened intently as she rambled on about the crazy week she had. In the middle of it all, he was sure that she mentioned her name was Y/n. He didn't understand how he got into this situation. She just kept on talking, accompanied with excessive hand gestures and over-exaggerated stories. The teapot was long empty, having finished the last of it around 10 minutes ago or so.

He laughed at one of her anecdotes, catching the small smile on her face. He decided that, past the awful first encounter, witches weren't so bad. At least, this one wasn't. He wondered what other lies he was fed as he grew up about the other groups that roamed the surface and see of their planet.

"And then, Miyeon said to me-" She stopped abruptly, eyes growing wide as she watched the sun sink in between the trees. "Oh my! I didn't realize how late it was!"

"Oh, right," he replied, somehow unbothered.

"We have to get you home! Are you feeling alright?" She immediately checked his wounds and bandages, casting a small heal spell just in case, before they packed up and set off for Joshua's village.

"How is it sundown already?" he asked, carefully lifting himself off the mattress. "It feels like time just flew by."

Y/n nodded in agreement, "It's crazy. Come on, let's get you back to where you came from."

"I can walk there on my own," he said.

She walked him all the way to the door, a hand at the ready just in case he falls. Joshua took his time, taking in the homey feeling of the cramped cottage. For something in the middle of the forest, it never made him feel like he was too far off from home.

Joshua stood still. He watched the trees sway to the sound of the birds chirping. He watched the way the rays of the setting sun danced among the branches. He listened as—

"You don't know the way out of the forest, don't you?" Y/n asked, crossing her arms.

"No, no, I do," he denied rather quickly. It made her roll her eyes.

"I'll take you there. Let's go!" she squealed, excitement radiating off of her.

She quickly took her quiver and bow, wrapping her hood around her. Joshua raised an eyebrow at her. She defended herself saying that anything could be crawling in the woods. The sun was setting quickly. They were off.

In mere minutes, the sun had already disappeared, painting the sky a navy blue as the two moons rose to take its place. Y/n stared in wonder, a bright, glowing crystal in her hand. She said you could never be too safe. Joshua followed her closely, keeping a very close watch on her just in case she decided to try anything.

“I’m really sorry, again, about hurting you. I really didn’t mean to,” Y/n suddenly said in the middle of their trip back. He let his shoulders drop, relaxing when he felt the breeze greet him warmly. “I…I needed a feather. I didn’t realize that you were the owner, or that you were even—”

“I understand.”

Y/n hummed a tune. It filled the hole the silence made. It felt familiar to him. Her song was that of the birds that chirped and tweeted in the branches. She kept singing as they went on their path. They both hopped over a creek, came across an enormous willow and through a small old ruin.

“For when you reach our sacred place,

I hope you think of me.

Turn left, then right; Stop, feel the breeze.

You’ll see our future beyond these trees.”

She ended the song, parting some low hanging branches. It revealed the bright lights of Joshua’s village, bustling with activity. He looked at her in astonishment as she pocketed the glowing crystal. She looked at him weirdly as if telling him to go on.

“What are you waiting for, stupid?” she asked. “Oh no, is your shoulder hurting again? I’ll heal it, hold on.”

“No, no, my shoulder is fine!” he countered, placing his hands in front of himself. “I just… how did you know that this is where my village would be?”

“It’s the closest village to my cottage. To add, your clothing is very similar to theirs. So, I just assumed.”

“And what about the song?”

“I… I come here often. I’ve never been inside the village but this is the closest I’ve ever been. It looks beautiful.” she replied. “The song helps with remembering directions.”

“Oh, I see,” he hummed. “Thank you, again.”

“For shooting you in the shoulder?” Her brows furrowed. “Or for scaring away your winged fawn? Sorry about that, by the by.”

He rolled his eyes this time. “For taking care of me when you could’ve left me there in the forest.”

“It’s nothing.” She smiled. Gentle. “I’ll get going now. Stay safe.”

“You too,” he whispered, watching as she disappeared in between the trees.

A week had passed. One long, uneventful, tiring week. Joshua once again stared at the brick wall beside him, as if longing to do something. His injury had healed much faster than he expected them to, allowing him to work back in Seungcheol’s pub again.

Everyone had scolded him when he returned home. Or, rather, when they saw him, the next morning while he was sleeping in his own bed. He had gotten an earful from almost all of them. When they saw his injury, it only added fuel to their fire.

“Where have you been?” Seungcheol questioned. “What happened to your shoulder? I told you not to go into that forest!”

"We let you leave for 5 minutes—"

"It wasn't even minutes—"

"And you immediately get yourself injured!" Seungkwan exclaimed, exasperated. "Jeonghan, I thought you stopped him from going out?"

Jeonghan stopped sipping on his drink, waving his hand to call Joshua's attention. "Did you get me my Melonade?"

Joshua rolled his eyes, leaning on the counter behind him. Seungcheol frowned, crossing his arms. He had already tried persuading the rest of them that he's fine. They all insisted, however, that he should take some rest so he could heal up fully.

"Yeah, and I'm not letting you work at the Pub until your shoulder is fully healed."

He stared at him, only before giving in for their peace of mind. "Alright, fine. Only until then."

"You're not allowed to go out either," Jeonghan added. "We'll look for your deer."

"No!" he exclaimed, garnering many looks from the other twelve. "I... I don't think we can find her. She ran into the forest after she heard me fall. I don't think it's possible to get her back."

"Alright, then. Rest well, Shua." One by one, they left his home, allowing him to rest.

He never really slept well that night. Every time he tried to; his mind drifted back to his unusual encounter. So, there he was, staring at one of the brick walls that sheltered Seungcheol's pub from the storms, which had been growing more and more frequent by the day. Even now, he was curious about the witch. That was when he made up his mind. He was going back into the forest to see her.

"Where are you going, Shua?"

He looked up and locked eyes with blond Jeonghan, dressed in his usual white uniform. He stood by the doorway, as if blocking it. His wings were spread out, shimmering under the light. Both pairs of eyes flew to the leather satchel Joshua had hung on his shoulders. He pulled it up his shoulder before heaving a sigh.

"You shouldn't go out," he reasoned. "Aren't you still healing? I thought Cheol wouldn't let you go out."

"He wouldn't. I convinced him that I felt better now," Joshua replied, putting on his brand-new shawl Seungkwan made for him.

"And so, you're going to endanger yourself again right after you've healed by going on another trip?"

"I can take care of myself, Jeonghan. Don't worry about me."

"That's what you said last time!" Joshua's head turned. Jeonghan sighed. "I- We just don't want you to get hurt."

"I promise you; I'll be more careful this time."

Jeonghan stepped aside, leaving the door wide open for him to pass through. Before Joshua left, he gave Jeonghan a short hug.

"It's not like I'm leaving forever, you know?" he asks, chuckling.

"You know how the rest of them are."

"You're right," Joshua laughed.

"Take care! Be back before sundown or else Seungcheol will grill you!” He heard Jeonghan’s voice echo out to him.

He exited the village, walking past the vines that covered and protected their village from harm. He was once again greeted by the enormous lilac trees. They looked a lot less lively than usual, almost tired. He shrugged and went on his way. Through the old ruin, past the willow and over the creek. Just like he remembered it.

“I guess that song really does work,” he mumbled to the air. The trees swayed in agreement.

Soon enough, he could see the small bouts of smoke puffing up from her chimney. Before he even registered it, he was knocking on her door. He smoothed out his pants, dusted off his shawl, even glanced at his reflection on the small door window. Why was he so nervous?

His palms felt sweaty as he watched her trip over unwatched stacks of recipe books and spell books on the floor. He could feel the erratic beating of his heart as she got closer to the front door, as if it almost wanted to jump out of his ribcage. He could feel his wings flutter when she opened the door, only to stop when he realized… What should he say?

He came all this way and he didn’t even have a pure reason why.

“Hi!” her peppy voice snapped him out of his daze.

Joshua cleared his throat, “Greetings.”

Y/n burst out in laughter, gripping the knob for dear life. “You don’t have to be so formal, you know,” she wheezed, opening the door wider so he could come in. “I think we dropped the formalities the moment I… you know.”

She spared a quick glance at his shoulder. “Oh, speaking of! How is it? Did it heal? Do you need help with it?”

“It’s doing fine. It healed up faster than I expected it to,” Joshua replied, watching her zoom around her living room.

She stopped. She smiled at him, a gentle smile that had her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Sorry it’s a mess over here.” She flipped through the pages of a book rather quickly. He just sat there and observed her, trying to figure out why his heart was beating so quickly. “I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of moons. I didn’t think you’d show up so soon!”

He raised a brow. “And why is that?”

“I’m a witch who lives in the middle of the forest, darling. It isn’t exactly easy to get here.” She stopped, eyes quickly scanning over the material. She mutters a few words into the air.

Joshua watched as books and pots and pans started to hover off the ground, a fresh blue hue surrounding them. They quickly returned to their original spots, zooming past the two of them. Joshua spotted a book flying way too fast for its own good. Once he realized it was headed for her head, he tackled her on to the couch.

“Careful,” he whispered, feeling his heartbeat uncontrollably. “There was, uhm, a book.”

He cleared his throat, getting up before helping her up. He watched in awe as the items circled above the two, dancing before they were neatly kept in their own corners of the room.

“Thanks!” He missed the way her cheeks turned the slightest red.

Y/n pulled away quickly, opting to busy herself in her kitchen. The activity stopped, books in their rightful place and trinkets back on their shelves. Joshua cleared his throat again, sensing the sudden tension between them.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, suddenly. “Would you like some tea?”

Slowly but surely, his visits became frequent. Twice a month turned into once a week, once a week turned into every other day, until he was pretty much there all the time. He pretty much stayed in Y/n’s cottage more than he did at his own home. He had never felt so alive.

They used to question him, ask him where he was going or when he’d return – now, they would simply send him off with a hug and a small baggie. Sometimes it’d have bread, and other times cheese. On rare occasions, they’d send him off with a meal cooked by Mingyu. They’d always taste delicious.

Even if Joshua came over every day, it never feels like what they do is dull. A small smile always settled on his face the moment he entered her home. Joshua strolled over to the kitchen, watching as she carefully cut different ingredients while a pot bubbled up next to her. Y/n sighed.

"Since you aren't doing anything but watching-"

"Which I am completely content with, darling." He flashed a cheeky smile at her.

"Why don't you help me prepare for my next trial run? I think there's only one thing missing from this entire thing."

"Okay, fine, you've bewitched me,"

"Oh, shut it. I'll kick you out."

"No, you won't," he said as he got up and stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder to watch her.

“Have you always been so cheeky?” She raised a brow, setting her knife down to look at him. He only grinned back at her. The way the tips of his ears turned red told her otherwise.

Y/n rolled her eyes before picking the knife up and starting a rhythm all over again. Joshua takes up his own space on another counter. He started to chop, struggling to even slice through a layer of the thick fruit. She watched him from the corner of her eye. She was barely even trying to keep her laughter in! Joshua huffed. Y/n set her own knife down and picked up his, nudging Joshua gently for his attention.

“First, squash it down. Then dice it.” She carried out her ministrations with such ease. His jaw dropped to the floor. She placed his knife down, smiling at him. “Try it now.”

He picked up the knife, carefully following her instructions. Squash then dice it. Soon enough, he'd cut one half of the fruit. He looked at Y/n in glee, proudly showing off his work like a child showcasing his drawing.

They continued to work in the kitchen, laughing and making corny jokes and lines that could make the heart flutter. The soft scent of the fruits and herbs she was prepping filled their nostrils. The pot was coming to a boil.

She quickly moved from the counter, taking a plate of flower petals and slowly pouring it into the boiling water. "Hey, Joshua?"

He hummed.

"Do you think there's other places with life out there?" He raised his head from his work, tilting it slightly to the side. "I mean, like, it sounds silly but..."

"It doesn't sound silly, actually. Tell me more," he said, smiling as he handed over the last ingredient to her. She poured it in the water and turned the fire low.

"Come look at this," she said, beckoning him to the bookshelf.

She picked out a navy-blue book, and he could already tell it was brimming with secrets and magic and life. Hundreds of pages, all browned with age like dipped in tea bags. Some pages had nicks and tears, he noted as she flipped through the pages.

She stopped. A beautiful picture of other wingless creatures dancing and laughing and making merry. It looked like Seungcheol and Jeonghan and the others on a free night, drinking their worries away.

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Y/n asked, fingers running over the words, gently brushing them with a sparkle in her eye.

"Yes, it is."

"The thought that maybe I'm- the witches in the other villages aren't the only wingless creatures. That maybe there are other worlds out there! Isn't it exciting?" Joshua smiled as she continued to ramble. His heart beat loudly when she suddenly took his hand in hers.

"I have to show you something," she said.

He nodded, agreeing to let her take him wherever. He turned off the pot and grabbed his things. Y/n placed her coat on her shoulders, recklessly tying the strings together. She was waiting by the door, complaining about how slow he was. He only rolled his eyes, taking the strings of her coat and tied them properly.

"You're a mess, you know that?" he said. She stuck her tongue out at him, grabbing his hand before dragging him out the door.

They jumped over overgrown roots, the white bark seemingly watching their every move. The leaves slowly transitioned from purple to pink to white, just like the bark. The birds sang their song, flying overhead as they ran through the deep forest. Joshua had to remind her several times to slow down, else she injures herself.

"Come on! We're almost there!" she called after him.

He panted, placing a hand over his chest as he watched her figure grow smaller with every step.

"Slow down!" he yelled. "I'm the one with wings yet somehow you're faster than I am."

He let out a gasp of breath when Y/n disappeared behind a wall of vines. He could already sense the power emanating from the slightest peek. What exactly was behind there?

A chill ran down Joshua's spine as he stood before the vines. He reached out. He felt a jolt coming from the softest touch of its leaves - a sort of power he thinks no fairy will be able to harness. What lies behind the curtain of greenery, however, was far more unexpected than he thought.

"Y/n... what is this?"

PART 1 // PART 2

[mariska]

working on composing original music again and figured i would share some of my Thots on the process so far:

1.) i have accidentally discovered that i really like playing basslines with my guitar (my amp is very cool and helpful with levels/fx etc to make fun fake bass presets) which is unfortunate because that means at some point i am probably going to have to try to find a cool bass that is not ridiculously expensive so i can actually play it for real instead of just low amp filters giving my guitar a similar effect

2.) song is actually coming along decent for a garage rock thing where every part is done by me and i have pretty much no idea what im doing except trying to recreate the songs i hear in my head with instruments and all that

3.) im learning a lot of stuff as i am playing and recording so every once in a while a take is just like. awful. and my brain wants me to feel bad for not being an expert at every rock instrument and producing and mixing but every time this has happened yesterday and today, where my brain wants me to be self-loathing about it and give up instead of keeping at it and trying new things abd ideas, i keep thinking about the story i read online a few months back where Dave Grohl talked about creating the Foo Fighters band name pseudonym with no plan or intention for it to become a whole new band with him as a frontman because he was extremely depressed (after Kurt Cobain's death) and knew that if he didn't force himself to keep working on creating and playing and recording music he would lose his passion for it and he booked a few days in a recording studio and made the first Foo Fighters album by himself running around and recording on every instrument and composing things five minutes beforehand or literally just improvising on the spot with some parts since he only had a short amount of time booked for that studio and the record ended up being so good that a band was created from it so he could tour and play the songs live and then it turned into An Actual Band that is now like a classic 90s/00s rock icon. and i have no desire to become A Rock Icon and i certainly don't have anywhere near the experience and skills with music as he does but man that story really stuck with me when i read it and it has literally been inspiring me to just keep playing around with sounds and record even if i think its the worst thing ever and nobody would like it cus like. if he did then i can too and who cares if it actually is the worst thing ever because at least i'm doing it, right? and learning every time i have success or failure! idk. i know that sounds like. movie protagonist corny of me maybe but i've really really really missed doing this kinda stuff, composing melodies and harmonies and basslines and hearing things come together in my head. its just so fun i feel like its worth it for that alone

[cynnied-writes]

i like me better (when i'm with you)

○ fandom: deltarune

○ main pairing: kralsei (kris x ralsei) | minor pairing: suselle (susie x noelle)

○ characters: kris | ralsei | susie | rouxls kaard | w.d. gaster

○ genre/warnings: romance (mostly fluff… for now) | a bit of coming of age angst

○ tags: fake dating | celebrity au | social media au | meet ugly | kris is a tiktok musician | ralsei is an aged-out disney channel star | kris is afab | house parties | slightly underage drinking | mentions of blood | mild nudity | kris is a bit of a mess but we love them anyway | AND ralsei is too! | Aren't they perfect for each other??

○ chapter word count: 8,474

→ summary: Kris Dreemurr, the eccentric musician SilentKnight on TikTok, hadn't meant to trespass through Ralsei Prince's backyard and fall into his pond. But to be fair, they were utterly plastered at the time.

○ note: We're finally here! The end of the First Act! And we get to see Kris reacts and Ralsei's fake dating gambit! You probably know how they answer, but it's the journey to get to their answer that's the fun part. Oh, and there should be a brief appearance from another Human. Hmm, I wonder who. No spoilers from me, so, now, off with you! I hope you enjoy!!

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Chapter 5/22: Songwriting in Closets & Insane Proposals

Kris

In the dark of their closet, Kris wrote.

They’d found that, when cloaked in darkness in a tight space, melodies drifted into their mind easier. For hours they used to sit in the front door closet, amongst the winter coats and all their old shoes, scribbling things in their notebook. Until their mother would call them for lunch or dinner, and they’d crawl out like the gremlin they were. Bones and muscles stiff, eyes stinging from the light of the outside world, but their mind freer than can be.

But in their small studio apartment, their mother was nowhere to be seen, thank the Angel. So, from the moment they’d woken up in the wee hours of Saturday morning, they’d headed into their closet. Hadn’t come out since. MIDI keyboard sitting in their lap, headphones hooked up to their laptop, and, most importantly, their songwriting notebook balanced on their knee.

Technically, they were supposed to be producing content for their TikTok like usual. Nothing too hard, mainly synthwave covers of songs and whatnot. They found themself drifting away from the task at hand, though.

Unable to stop themself from getting lost in their thoughts and writing snippets of lyrics down in their worn notebook. From testing out melodies and motifs on their keyboard, tiny thing that it is. Finding the sweet spot between the two and fleshing them out into makeshift songs. Originals, ones that the world’s never seen. Stories that they were ready to tell. Nothing too remarkable yet, but they could feel it in their bones. They were onto something.

So engrossed in their process of creation that they jumped and flung their headphone off as Susie burst through the door. Taking a moment to settle their racing heart, they scowled up at her. Curling up, they hissed at the pyjama-clad intruder and the onslaught of light that invaded the dark hideaway.

“Angel above, you’re weird. I know Ms. T made sure you have your shots, knock it off.” Susie said with a grimace. Their only response was a wide grin. Rolling her eyes, she held up their phone in a way that suggested it was somehow radioactive. “You left your phone.”

“I know.” They usually did on songwriting days. Knowing how their brain worked, if they brought it in with them, there was a good chance that they’d get nothing done.

“You know, I thought it’d be cool to know someone kinda famous," She said. "But this thing hasn’t stopped pinging for two weeks straight. Take it before I smash it into little tiny pieces.”

Chucking it at them, Susie gave them a sardonic salute before shutting the door behind her. Plunging them back into darkness. And like the child they were, Kris stuck their tongue out at the closed closet door. Placing their headphones back on their head with a half-hearted huff before leaning back up against the closet’s wall.

Guess they needed a break from writing anyway.

Yawning, they unlocked their phone. Nothing seemed all that new, notification-wise. A swath of new follower notifications from across all of their social media. They were still getting atted on Twitter for the whole Ralsei situation, but it was nothing too bad. Apparently, they’d made it into MonStar Teens magazine, which brought a smirk to their face. Oh, they’d have to see if they could find a copy at the Ralph’s up the street. Frame the page and everything.

There were also a couple of unread DMs and text messages from Noelle, Berdly, Asriel, and Ralsei. Nothing too out of the ordinary. They’d get to them, eventually, after they… they…

Wait.

Hold up.

Eyes wide, they tapped on the notification with Ralsei Prince’s name in bolded letters. Their phone’s tabs switched from Twitter to their Android’s messages app, revealing that Ralsei had sent several messages not too long ago.

RP: Hello, Kris. It’s Ralsei.

RP: I hope you’ve been well and that our, for lack of a better word, scandal hasn’t caused you too much grief. I know being in the public eye can be a less than pleasant experience.

RP: Oh, Darkness, I’m so sorry. This is likely so out of the blue. Your manager gave me your number so that personally invite you over. There’s something important I want to discuss with you in person.

RP: This is Kris Dreemurr, yes?

A million thoughts raced through their mind.

Most of it was some variation of ‘holy shit.’ Other parts were worried that the ‘important thing’ was actually negative. Maybe Noelle was right, and he wanted to sue them for oral… what was the word? Defamation? Yeah, that sounded right. He wanted to sue, and this was a polite way to warn them. And between all their silent freaking out, a stray thought was spent wanting to clown on Ralsei. Why did he write so formally in a text message? Like, come on.

They wouldn’t be surprised if he knew how to use a semicolon. Because he’s Ralsei Prince, a famous actor who appeared on magazine covers and red carpets. Who had undoubtedly gone to private schools and probably drank tea with the Queen. He’d texted them—them—wanting to talk about something. Ralsei Prince. HOLY SHIT!

Clutching their phone and smiling down at it like an idiot, another stray thought hit them like a steel bat. They needed to respond to him. But how? And on a dime, ‘holy shit’ became ‘oh, fuck’.

Shooting to their feet without a second thought, they almost tripped and broke their neck as they careened out of the closet. Letting out a hiss as they smacked their head on the door before managing to open it. Spilling out onto their fake wooden floors in a heap. Then, pushing themself onto two hands, they called out, “Susie, help!”

Groaning, the large lump in their shared bed only moved to curl in on herself. “Whatever’s happening on Twitter, leave me out of it.”

“It’s not Twitter.” They said as they got to their feet. Dashing over to their bed, they climbed over the lump and shoved their phone into her face. Glaring at the artificial light, she tried to bat their hand away, but they were persistent. “Look, look, looklooklook. Suz, please, it’s an emergency.”

She let out a guttural groan. “Ugh, this better be good.” Giving in, she grabbed their wrist to still their shaking hand long enough to read the screen. It wasn’t long before she shot up, the movement forcing Kris’ body to fall to the wayside of their bed while their wrist was still stuck in Susie’s grasp. Her jaw dropped, “Holy shit.”

“That’s what I said!”

“What the fuck?”

“I know!”

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, still staring down at the screen. Only to look up and narrow her eyes when they crinkled up their face and shrugged. “What do you mean you don’t know? One of the most famous monsters alive wants to tell you something important, and you don’t know what to say?”

“Of course not. I barely know what to say to a waiter. ’s why I came to ask you.”

“Dude, just text ’em back.”

Like they hadn’t thought of that. Rolling their eyes, Kris snatched their phone back and said, “Oh, it’s that easy, is it? Have you texted Noelle?”

Lifting her chin, she grinned, smug as ever. “I have.”

“You have?” They asked, with a slight smile, their woes temporarily forgotten.

“Yeah,” Susie said as she ducked her head, letting her bangs fall into her face. If she hadn’t, they knew they would’ve found that they had a front-row seat to a Susie Blush Fest. “We’re gettin’ fro-yo after our last classes on Monday.”

“Nice.” They nodded, raising up a hand to which Susie immediately high-fived them. But as soon as the rush of two friends finally coming together after years of pinning faded, they were left with their own problems. In a quiet voice, they asked, “What do I even say?”

“Here, give it back, jackass.”

Curled up on their bed, the two of them draft what they both agree is an appropriate text to send in reply. It took a tad longer than it should’ve, but they had to convince Susie not to add swear words and slang, to be fair. Which was hard because they, too, wanted to add them in. Since when were they the reasonable one. Ugh.

KD: Hey Ralsei. Long time no see. Yeah, it’s Kris don’t worry your horns you’ve got the right number. though I think I need to have a convo with my manager about giving my number out to strange men. 😏

Kris almost immediately regretted it the moment they sent it. The emoji was too much, too cringy. ‘Long time, no see,’ they’re texting, for crying out loud! How do you delete a text? How do you delete a text?

But in a manner of milliseconds, it didn’t matter. Their phone beeped as Ralsei responded before they could take anything back.

RP: Strange men? How strange could I be if I’ve seen you drunk and in your unmentionables? I’m afraid to ask precisely how intimate you are with your friends.

A loud, sharp laugh came from behind them as Susie settled her chin on their shoulder. “He’s got no idea.”

Throwing a glare at her, their thumbs flew across their phone’s keyboard. Okay, snark they could deal with.

KD: So has half the internet. you’re not special

“Nice.”

“Amazing play-by-play commentary from Susanna Drach.”

“Call me that again and I’ll chew your face off.”

Their phone dinged again, pulling both of their attention back.

RP: Well, then, to be fair to your manager, you gave this strange man your address weeks ago. Your phone number is, instead, a step-down.

KD: a self-doxxing. you hate to see it

RP: 😂😂 You truly do.

A smile wormed its way onto their lips as warmth filled their chest. Was it cringy to hope that they’d actually made him laugh? Probably. Forcing their face back to something more neutral, they went back to typing.

For a while, the two of them chatted back and forth. With Susie hovering over their shoulder and making little remarks along the way. Though at some point, even she got bored of them and went off in search of her late morning coffee. They’d hardly paid her any mind. Too wrapped up in texting Ralsei to care, forgetting that they’d only talked to him once, weeks ago. Forgetting that he’d been bumping elbows with LA’s elite for his whole life, that they’d watched him on TV religiously. He was just another friend.

Ding.

RP: That reminds me. Would you be available to meet my manager and I with your representative for lunch?

Oh, right.

The something important he’d been talking about in the beginning, they’d almost forgotten.

RP: All good things, don’t worry.

RP: Actually, if you agree to my proposal, it could end up being quite lucrative for you in the long run. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

RP: I know this is such short notice, but for my proposition, it’d be best to strike when the iron’s hot, you know?

“Why?” Kris asked out loud, under their breath.

Why in the world would he want anything to do with them?

Sure, they’d kind of bonded over nostalgic muffin recipes, but surely that wasn’t enough to endear them to him. And if their comment sections were anything to go by, quite a few of Ralsei’s followers think he should steer clear from them. And Kris couldn’t blame them. Getting caught with them again would ruin his charming, perfect boy image.

Think of all the rumours!

There was no way people wouldn’t think something was going on between the two of them. What could he get out of any kind of proposal that involved Kris? Was this his manager’s idea? To capitalize on all the buzz surrounding the two of them? If it was… They should decline. Save Ralsei the trouble of interacting with them when he really didn’t want to. Imagining those kind eyes of his filled with discomfort made their skin itch.

On the other hand, they did want to see him again.

Memories of them bantering back and forth replaying in their mind. And that opportunity, he said it’d be lucrative for them. What could that mean?

Perhaps he’d listened to their music and was a fan. Didn’t seem like the synthwavey type, but stranger things had happened. Maybe they’d actually done what they’d set out to do at that house party on that fateful night. The impossible, really. Charmed someone influential enough that they and their music had been “discovered.” Plucked out of obscurity and placed in the limelight. If that’s the case, they might not get another chance like this for years. Maybe ever.

RP: I’m baking cupcakes too!

And he’s baking cupcakes.

That had to count for something, right?

Taking a deep breath, they finally replied to Ralsei.

KD: sounds good I’ll be there

There was a beat, a moment of silence and stillness as they held their phone tight. Waiting for his response.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Until—

RP: Perfect!!!!

Like a popped balloon, they let out a happy, content sigh as they deflated, letting themself sink into their mattress. Staring up at their ceiling with a dumb smile on their face. This is it. This is it!

Ding!

RP: Your manager should have the address, but you’ll be meeting me at my beach house near Santa Barbara. It’s just off of the highway on Serenity Way.

KD: beach house?? not an office?

RP: No paparazzi or excited fans in sight. So, it won’t be evident that we’re having a meeting with each other.

Fair enough. Angel above, was that something they had to think about now?

RP: It's crucial that this meeting stays between us, don't want anybody catching wind of our plans. Still in, Kris?

Their whole body stiffened. Susie’s presence became ever more apparent.

Glancing over, they watched as she leaned over the kitchen counter, coffee in hand, reading a stack of stapled papers. Pre-service firefighter college course paperwork, no doubt. She’d been distracted for a while now, but if they left, she’d know that they’d gone to see Ralsei. Best friends didn’t count, right? It’s like when their mother used to tell their dad gossip and told him to tell no one about it. He still told Uncle Rudy because best friends don’t count as “no ones.” Everybody knew that.

Okay, okay, fine. But that meant that they’d have to lie. To their best friend. The thought of it made their stomach twist. Susie knew they would meet up with Ralsei, but she didn’t have to know why. They’d just have to keep that part secret until Ralsei gave them the okay to spill. Hopefully, that’ll be after whichever deal they struck in a few hours.

KD: 🤐🤐

KD: see you there

RP: See you soon!

This is it then, no takebacks. After thinking that their last encounter would be their only one, in a few short hours, they’d be meeting up with Ralsei. At his beach house. Near Santa Barbara. That’s… that’s pretty far away. Serenity Way, he said?

Where is that anyway?

A quick Google search answered that question. It was a forested road in the small beach town of Bloomsea on one of California’s peninsulas. And it was two and a half hours away. Damn, they needed to find a ride quick.

In the next moment, their phone came alive, ringing and vibrating in their hand. And even without the caller ID, they had a sneaking suspicion about who was on the other end.

Answering it, they held it up to their ear and forewent any proper greeting. Instead, they asked, “Uncle Wing Dings, do you know you have scary good timing?”

“Do I?” Uncle Wing answered, his smooth voice as unrushed as ever. “Hmm, never noticed.”

“Right.” They said, drawing out the lone vowel as their eyes squinted at their phone. Sure, he had no clue! The wry smile they could hear in his voice was a trick of the phone, no precognition here. Shaking their head, they asked, “I’m gonna guess you know about the,” but stopped themself. Sneaking a glance at Susie before lowering their voice. “—The thing.”

Uncle Wing chuckled. “Of course, I’m aware the thing, young one, I helped set it up.”

“Great. How soon do you think you can be here?” San Diego was pretty far from LA. It was also as far as Asriel and Dess could get from Hometown while staying on the west coast. But never mind that.

“Don’t worry, Kris, we’ve been on the road for hours now.” He soothed. “I was just calling to inform you that we’ll be at your abode in about a half. No time at all.”

Right, that was no time at all.

Shit.

“Yeah, uh, see you then.” They said, barely waiting for an answering goodbye from their Angelfather before ending the call. Leaping up from their bed, they raced back to the closet. Flicking on the overhead lightbulb

What were they supposed to wear to a life-changing meeting? A suit? A nice dress? Angel damn it all, they’re pretty sure they had neither of those things in here. But, then again, they also didn’t want to feel like too much of a try-hard. They’d rather die than look like some kind of keener.

Okay, okay, okay, next best thing. What would they wear on a date? They’ve never been on one, but surely they had something acceptable. Urgh, they couldn’t even raid Susie’s half of the closet for anything like they usually did. This is the one instance where ill-fitting clothes wouldn’t fix all of their fashion sufferings.

“What’s wrong now?” Susie asked from her spot in the kitchen. Having moved on to misting all the house plants Kris’ father had gifted them.

“Nothing.” They muttered. Stepping over their left behind music stuff to flip through their hanging clothes. Nope, nope, no way, not if they didn’t want to look like a scene kid. Those days were long gone. Groaning as they passed by their fifth neon striped t-shirt, not that far gone, apparently. “Everything.”

Leaning against the door frame, plant spritzer in hand, she asked, “What did Princey want anyways?”

Uhhhhhh, they wracked their brain for a lie. “He wants to see me. To hang out, I think. Don’t know. Celebrities, so cryptic.”

Crossing her arms, she made no attempt to hide her doubt as she asked, “Ralsei Prince texted you to ask you to ‘hang out’?”

“Yeah, something about—” Come on, brain, think! “—Muffins—” Seriously? “—And my binder. Forgot it at his place.” That’ll work.

“The muffins or your binder?”

“Binder.”

“What cha’ freaking out about then?”

Lying is such a pain in the ass. Letting out a heavy sigh, they went back to rifling through their clothes. Crossing their fingers that a perfect outfit would pop out and sock them in the head. “Don’t know what to wear. I don’t want to look—”

“Like shit.”

“Unprofessional. But yeah, that too.” They’d never admit it, but their voice had a wobble in it as they said, “This could be it, Suz.”

From behind them, she sighed. They couldn’t blame her for not freaking out about this like they were. She’s never entirely wrapped her head around the fact that they wanted to be a famous musician. Stardom just wasn’t something she cared all that much about. Even when they’d gone to that fateful TikToker party, she’d hadn’t gone fawn over people who were TikTok famous. Instead, she’d gone to support them. Which, in hindsight, she did a pretty shit job at. But, eh, hardly mattered now.

Either way, she cared very little about what everything they’d been wrapped up in the past few weeks meant. The possibility of ‘making it.’ And yet…

“Well, if this is it,” Susie began, uncrossing her arms and placing her fists on her hips. Shrugging, she asked, “Don’t you still have those suspender pants from when we were mobsters that one Halloween?”

The black ones with the pinstripes, high waist, and wide legs? Falling to their knees, they went straight for their suitcases. Rummaging through them until eureka! Yes, they did! And like a proud parent, they held the pair of pants up for Susie to gaze upon.

Shaking her head, she pulled all of her shaggy brown locks up into a ponytail. Cracking her knuckles, she pushed them aside, making room for her large frame in the tiny closet. “Let’s see what we can do with that.”

Against all odds, they managed to put not only their heads together but a banger of an outfit too. If they did say so themself. Pairing the pinstripes with a sleeveless white button-down, a deep green tie and a pair of silver combat boots. Achieving their “Not Trying Too Hard” business look by tucking a pant leg into a boot, loosening their tie, and leaving their bedhead alone.

And just in time for their phone to buzz with a message from Uncle Wing Dings. He was ready and waiting in front of their apartment building. Whew, now or never.

Shoving their phone, key and wallet into their pockets and sunglasses onto their face, they rush to the front door. Pausing, they looked back at their best friend and asked, “Wish me luck?”

Grinning wide, baring all her sharp teeth, she raised her coffee cup and said, “Go get that it, Kris. Good luck.”

Smiling, they gave her a nod before heading out the door more determined than ever.

Booking it across the courtyard and through the front gates, they found their Uncle waiting in his car. The same teal green Ford Taurus that they’d always remembered him pulling up in whenever he visited. As rare of an occasion as it was.

“Hey, Uncle Wing Dings.” They said, Throwing the car door open and hopping into the passenger seat. It was only a matter of time and distance now. The words ‘ready to rock it’ balanced on the tip of their tongue as they turned to properly greet their Uncle. Only for a movement in the backseat to draw their attention instead. And when they found a human slouching back there on their phone, they let out a yelp. Their heart raced with anger and a tinge of fear. “Who the hell are you?”

“Who’s askin’?” The Human said, their voice curt and slick and head bowed down, chocolate brown hair falling in front of their face. All of their focus was on their phone until they glanced up from it for a split second. Doing a double-take when they caught sight of Kris’ face. Which allowed Kris to see theirs. Lean, pale and rosy-cheeked despite them being in their early to mid-twenties. But that wasn’t what made Kris gasp. Their eyes looked back at them. They’d never met another Human who shared their rare eye colour. This Human, though, didn’t have the same wonder in their eyes. No, only recognition. Sitting up from their slouch, they grinned. “Oh, wait. You’re Azzy’s little sib, yes?”

Azzy? Who did this Human think they were? Jutting their chin out, they sneered back, “Who’s askin’?”

“Settle down now, Kris. We’re all friends here.” Uncle Wing Dings said, placing a skeletal hand on Kris’ shoulder. Pulling them back from their war footing. “This is Chara Mylonas, one of my students. Say hello, Chara.”

“Hello, Chara.” They echoed with a teasing smile at their Uncle before turning back to them. “Don’t worry, kid. I’m only hitchin’ a ride for a little while longer.”

“Why?” Kris asked, still not entirely convinced.

“Parents want me back in Ojai for my cousin’s nuptials,” Chara said, gesturing to their shabby suit with lazy confidence before it faltered. Looking up and to the left, they murmured more to themself than anything, “Or was it my Great Uncle’s funeral?” They shrugged, lidded eyes closing for a moment. “Eh, either way, my presence is required and they pay most of my bills so.”

Oh, they felt that one.

Alright, fine, one final question. Narrowing their eyes, they asked, “How do you know my brother?”

“Dormmates who recently upgraded to roommates.” They answered with ease. Yes, this is ringing a bell in the back of their mind. They knew this, didn’t they? Probably blocked it out, as they did with most things related to Humans. It couldn’t block out how Chara’s porcelain face softened a touch as they said, “Talks about you all the time.”, though.

Okay, this Human could stay. Settling back, face forward in their seat, they fidgeted. Peeking up at the rearview mirror, they caught Chara’s eye. “Did he ever tell you about the time our Dad made him cry over eggs the day after his birthday?”

“Oh, yes, I remember that.” Uncle Wing Dings said wistfully. “That was the one with—”

“Shh, no spoilers!” Chara said. Pressing a hand to their Uncle’s cracked mouth before looking back at Kris with devilishness in their eyes. “Tell me everything.”

As they made their way down the Ventura freeway, the three of them had a fun time trading embarrassing Asriel stories. Kris was almost sad when they finally dropped Chara off in Ojai just over an hour into their drive. Driving down a quiet road before pulling up next to a suburban ranch house. Sports equipment piled on the lawn along with a lofty, leaning tree with an old tire swing. It was all exceedingly average in a way that made them a little homesick.

“By the way,” Chara began as they hopped out of the car. Closing it behind them, they made their way to Kris’ open window. Running a hand through their short waves, they caught Kris’ eye. “Azzy made me listen to your music. On TikTok?” Oh, Angel, he. Did. Not. Curling in on themself, Kris nodded shyly. Chara nodded back. “It’s good.”

Bumping their fist with them before waving goodbye to Uncle Wing Dings, Chara sauntered off into their house. Looking like they hadn’t a care in the world. Angel above, they wanted to be like them when they grew up.

“Well?” Uncle Wing Dings asked, his non-existent brow rising as a smirk spread across his boney face.

Slouching in their seat, they shrugged. “Seemed cool.”

He smiled. “Indeed.”

Soon enough, they and Uncle Wing Dings were back on the road, headed toward Kris’ future. Windows down, air rushing through their hair, they asked, “Do you know what Ralsei’s offer is?”

“Yes, it’s an interesting one.” He said with a hum, tapping the tips of his phalanges on the weathered steering wheel.

“What is it?”

“It’s not mine to offer. You’ll know soon enough.”

Excuse—is this guy serious? Soon enough? The absolute bastard. “His to off—just, just tell me.”

Keeping his eyes on the road, he primly sniffed. Shaking his head, he said, “All I’ll say is that he’s offering you a… partnership of sorts.”

Partnership? Huh.

Before long, they turned off of the 101 and onto a rough road, leading them deep into a dense grove. Dozens of trees lined the winding trail leading them away from civilization. But after driving for a stretch without seeing any other cars or houses, Kris’ stomach started to twist. It was getting closer and closer to lunchtime, and it didn’t look like they were on the right path.

“We’re lost.” They said, their voice deadpan as could be. If only to offset their growing worry.

Uncle Wing Dings scoffed. “We are not lost, Kris.”

“Really because I don’t see a beach house. Don’t even see the fucking sea.”

“I have twelve doctorates, young one. Have a little more faith.”

“Is one of them in navigation?”

There was a long and loud silence in the car.

One that meant a lot more than any combination of words any person would string together. And for the first time in their life, they witnessed their Uncle’s perpetual calm begin to wear thin.

Jaw tight and eye sockets narrowed so thin they could barely see his eye lights, he turned to them and hissed, “You know what, you little shit?”

But before he could get any further, the thick foliage parted to reveal a lone house sitting on the edge of a cliff. Standing tall and somewhat thin, every inch of exterior panelling was brilliant emerald green. Except for the porch, balcony, and window frames painted a pure, dove white. And at the very top of the building, planted on the view tower, was a jet black flag billowing in the light breeze.

As Uncle Wing Dings’ car came to a stop in the driveway, he turned it off and said, “See not lost. We’re exactly where we need to be, exactly when we need to. Are you ready, Kris?”

They had to be. It was far too late to turn back.

By the time they got back into this car, they’d be a different person. Who exactly, they have no idea. But, whatever deal Ralsei has in mind would be life-changing, for better or worse. Putting their game face on, they nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of them exited the car almost in sync. The only difference was that Kris had taken a second to get a good look at their Angelfather. Reed thin, tall to always have to duck through doors and dressed in a lab coat over an all-black suit, he exuded intelligence and poise. And then there was them.

A solid five-five, maybe five-six if they didn’t slouch. Putting off major cagey vibes as they adjusted the lay of their clothes again and again. Doing it dozens of times in the span of them reaching the beach house’s front porch. How did he look that good so effortlessly? They needed to look like they were taking this seriously. They needed to project confidence. Or else Ralsei would think they’re a fuck-up. He would think—

Just as Uncle Wing Dings held up a fist to knock on the front door, it slammed open. Causing both of them to jump back as smoke poured out. And from all the grey clouds, so came Ralsei. Dressed in an overall dress embroidered with strawberries and a frilly apron covered in a red substance.

“Welcome!” Ralsei said, a crazed smile on his snout and his green glasses askew. “I’m so happy you could make it. Apologies for the—” He coughed into his arm before trying to fruitlessly fan the haze away. “—For the smoke.”

Right.

How had they forgotten that Ralsei was as much of a mess as they were?

Smirking, they tucked their hands into their pockets. “Why is it that whenever we meet, you’re always in a baking crisis?”

“Ha! No, I’m not in a crisis, my Uncle is.” He said, gesturing behind him with an awkward laugh. “He insisted we bake a second batch of the jam-filled cupcakes I made for our meeting and then doubly insisted that he had the whole thing covered.”

“I did not insist!” A posh voice called out from inside.

To which Ralsei turned to look over his shoulder and firmly retort, “You insisted!”

“In what worlde did it seem like I hadeth demanded to be put-est in charge of the disaster that is thine kitchen?” Came his Uncle’s voice once more.

With the annoyance of every teenager to ever live, Ralsei rolled his eyes hard. “The same one where you pressed me that it’d be too much of a hassle to make them after our guests left!”

“I have no recollection of such event.”

“I should replace you with a goldfish,” Ralsei muttered under his breath.

“What was that, dearest nephew?”

“Should replace you with a goldfish then!” He yelled back, forgetting that Kris and their Angelfather were even there. Trying to bring him back, Uncle Wing Dings cleared his throat. Catching Ralsei’s attention once more and causing him to look mortified. All of the sharp edges he’d let slip were sanded back down in an instant. Too bad. They were enjoying seeing him all prickly for once. Bowing slightly, he said, “So sorry. Please, come in.”

Much like the Holiday’s beach house, the interior’s vibes oozed beachiness. But it felt a whole lot cozier than the elegant, modern furniture had allowed the Holidays’ to feel. Pale vertical panelling, almost everything was either a shade of blue-ish green or white, kitschy beach items filled space. Fake starfishes, seashells everywhere, a surfboard in the living room’s corner. Even a pirate flag from one of the walls. It was cute and tacky at the same time.

Following behind, Ralsei took them through the house, past the messy kitchen and into the living room. Seating them at a comfy L-shaped couch filled with throw pillows. Hmm, they’re sensing a trend here.

“Please, sit.” He said, gesturing to one side of the couch. And once they were both seated, he folded his hands behind his back. “Would you care for a drink, Dr. Gaster?”

“A cup of tea would be lovely, Mr. Prince.” Uncle Wing Dings said, placing a hand on his chest and bending forward a bit in gratitude. Shifting his gaze, he asked, “Kris?”

“Tea’s fine.”

“Perfect, I’ll only be a moment,” Ralsei said with a chirp before rushing off to the kitchen like a spooked bunny. Hushed voices and clinking ceramic began to sound out, bringing a smile to Kris’ face.

“This is a lot more casual than I thought it would be.” They said, bringing their own voice down to a hush as they picked up a blue octopus-shaped pillow.

Uncle Wing Dings raised a brow. “What were you expecting? He invited us to a beach house?”

“Yeah, yeah, smartypants. I thought,” Holding the octopus close, they sighed. Shaking their head. “I don’t know.”

Thin, boney fingers brushed a few locks behind their ear before shifting downwards to lift their chin. “Everything will go fine, young one. Just relax. Enjoy the tea.” Uncle Wing Dings said, his point followed by a clink as Ralsei set a tea tray on the coffee table. “Good job in on you for not interrogating how Mr. Prince’s manager speaks, by the way. I had a bit of trouble myself.”

What? Wait. Was Raslei’s manager his Uncle? Wait, how had he talked? They honestly hadn’t been listening all that well. How weirdly could someone speak that it’d be impressive not to question it? They’d have to see.

The rest was easier said than done, but they did try. Stilling their shaky hand the best they could as they took the only chipped teacup from the tray. Thanking Ralsei for it before bringing it up to their nose to inhale the herbal scent before taking a sip. Lemongrass. Not their go-to, but still delicious. By the time they’d finished savouring a few drinks, Ralsei and his Uncle (Who they guessed was also his manager?) had sat down at the opposite end of the couch. An odd pair, but then again, so were them and their Uncle.

“Enjoying the tea?” Ralsei asked, picking up his own cup. Both they and their Uncle nodded. “Good, good.”

“Many, many thanks to thoust two for meeting with mine dearest nephew and I on such short notice. We doth have a plenty to discussest.” Mr. Kaard said with not a hint of irony or humour.

Oh. Oh, Angel.

Uncle Wing Dings wasn’t kidding. Why the fuck does he talk like that? Thank the Heavens above that they naturally had a poker face because… What? Making eye contact with Ralsei, they searched for an answer to what the fuck was going on. All he had in reply was a tiny shake of his head.

So he just talks like this?

Everyday?

Had he been talking like that this whole time?

They’d like to repeat. What?

Subtly jabbing a scrawny elbow into their side as a warning, Uncle Wing Dings said, “Thank you for expressing interest in Kris’ career, Mr. Kaard.”

Okay, their career, right, just focus on that. This is it, remember? They couldn’t get hung up on Ralsei’s Uncle’s odd word choice. Even though—nope. Don’t question it. Sitting up straight, they squeezed their hands together in their lap. “I would like to know, though, umm, why the sudden interest.”

“Well, thoust see,” Mr. Kaard began. Gesticulating flamboyantly with his teacup but somehow not spilling a single drop. “Recently it has cometh to ourst attentions that a role that he so desperately wants to get mighteth be out of his reach becauseth of his public reception.”

“Boy Next Door not working for you anymore?” They asked Ralsei with a teasing tone because that whole situation sounded so far-fetched. A role out of his reach? Really? Did they know that they had Ralsei Prince vying for it?

“No, not really,” Ralsei answered, adjusting his glasses as his cheeks pinked a tad. Taking a sip of his tea, he was able to tamp down the blooming blush as he cleared his throat and went on. “It’s also come up that you’re considering a career in the music industry. And for you to have a chance at that dream you need eyes on you. A lot of them.”

Wrapping a long arm around Ralsei’s shoulders, Mr. Kaard gave him a squeeze. “Luckily for thou, my dear nephew haseth an abundance of those on him already wouldst be-est glad to share with thou.”

“That would be quite the mutually beneficial arrangement.” Uncle Wing Dings said, slowly stirring his cup of tea. “But I suspect that Kris has a few queries? Hmm?”

They did. Placing their cup on its saucer on the table, they leaned forward onto their knees and asked, “What’s the catch? You mentioned a role that’s different from your usual persona. Are you playing a bad boy or something and need advice?”

“No. I, uh,” Ralsei said, moving to curl into himself before stopping and squaring his shoulders instead. “I want to play the lead in an up-and-coming romantic comedy show.”

Heat filled their cheeks. Oh, fuck. Does Ralsei think that they’re some kind of Casanova? What could’ve possibly given him that idea? Was it the finger guns in their not-an-apology apology video? Susie had said that they were gonna get in trouble one day for their flirty quirks. Rubbing their arm, they said, “I’m not sure I’d be much help in that regard. Not exactly a romance aficionado or anything.”

Ralsei giggled into his paw as Mr. Kaard, and their Uncle chuckled into their teacups. Shaking his head, Ralsei said, “No, no, that’s not what I meant either. I,” He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steady breath. “I need you to date me for a little while.”

.

.

.

.

Kris was speechless.

Literally.

They went mute.

Unable to force a single syllable out of their mouth as Ralsei proceeded to get more and more flustered. He needed him to… what? Date him? Did they hear that right? No, they couldn’t have. But, but, but. They whipped their head around to look up at their Angelfather. Eyes wide and desperate as they pleaded for some guidance.

“Mr. Prince, would you like the opportunity to rephrase your offer?” Uncle Wing Dings said, his grip on his teacup tightening. And when no response came, he added, “Post haste.”

“Nephew!” Mr. Kaard said, jostling him out of whatever flustered stupor he was in.

Gulping down what they guessed was his worries, Ralsei said, “Yes, I would. I’m sorry, that didn’t come out right.” Settling himself, those big, round eyes of his meet theirs. So many emotions swirled in them, too many to list. “I don’t need you to date me, Kris. I only need for it to seem like I’m dating you for a while. We don’t actually have to do anything behind the scenes. It’d just be for the public.”

Breaking eye contact with him, Kris stared down into their teacup. Their own confused reflection stared back. For the public? So, like, it’d be fake? Is he asking them to fake date him? Did people actually do that? Is this what Uncle Wing Dings meant by a partnership of sorts?

“Alright, how about this.” Uncle Wing Dings piped up once more. Then, gently pulled their teacup out of their hands and placed it back on its sauce before ushering them to their feet. “Why don’t Mr. Kaard and I stay here while Mr. Prince takes my Angelchild somewhere to explain in private?”

“Yes! Nephew, take young Kris up to thine viewing tower.” Mr. Kaard did the same with Ralsei, taking his cup and guiding him upright. Shooing him away with a flick of his hands. “Dr. Gaster and I will doth go over thine contract whilst thou’re gone.”

“Don’t worry,” Their Uncle whispered. “Nothing is set in stone yet, there are just some important things we have to go over in case you decide to sign.”

“This way, Kris,” Ralsei said, untying his apron and laying it on a side table. Then, timid as a mouse, he gestured for them to follow. And they did, up the staircases and through a hatch door, they made their way up to the tower.

It was both big and small at the same time. All of Kris’ family could fit comfortably, the towering Monsters they were, but still, it felt remote. Like they were in a bubble dimension. And the view…

It was breathtaking.

Nothing but the vast, wide ocean. Its powerful waves crashed against the craggy cliffs while a skinny dock with a single boat attached rolled with the swells. Puffy white clouds glided across the neverending blue sky. And with a quick flip of a latch, Ralsei pushed open one of the double windows. Letting the breeze hit them and allowing them to lean over the frame and really take in the atmosphere.

For a while, they stayed there in silence, staring at the horizon. They felt like they were the only two people in the world, standing up there. The sounds of tides mixed with the odd birdsong and rustling leaves, making a soothing symphony.

Speaking of.

Not wanting to break the peace they found themselves in, still staring out at the sea, Kris whispered. “Thought I was here because you liked my music.”

“I do. I do.” Ralsei quietly said back. “Especially you’re rendition of ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight.’”

“Why?”

“Oh, well, because you have this lovely voice and—”

“No, why me?” Finally, they turned to look at him. Bathed in the midday sun, his pearly fur made him glow. Divine, that’s what he was. The son of two Titans of Hollywood instead of Mount Olympus, but celestial nevertheless. What would a God have to gain by mingling with a mere mortal like them? “You’re you. You could have anyone you want. Why would you want the world to think you’re with me.”

“Heh, you’re vastly overestimating my romance abilities, but thank you anyway.” He said with a crooked smile and a nudge to their shoulder with his own. “But to answer your question, it’s half convenience. As my stylist, Swatch said, the public is already primed to believe that we’re a couple. A whirlwind romance is what he called our potential coming together. We even have shippers, if you can believe it.”

Shippers? Man, they hadn’t gotten that deep on Twitter yet. Or actually, it was more likely to be on Tumblr, wouldn’t it?

“And the other half?” They asked.

He shrugged, humming a tune. “Well, I like to think it was destiny that brought you to me.”

“Really?” Their eyebrows furrowed as their nose crinkled. Destiny?

“Yes,” He said with a definite nod before looking out into the horizon. “Like the universe knew that we needed each other to become who we’re meant to be.”

“Ralsei, I fell down a hill after pissing in a tree because I couldn’t find a bathroom and then fell into a pond not five minutes after that. I’m not sure that’s destiny.”

“Maybe the universe has a sense of humour.” He said with a giggle.

Oh, no, it definitely did.

They still didn’t like that thought, though. That fate had made their paths cross precisely when they did. Made their skin itch. It was one of the things they didn’t like about the religion they were brought up in. “The Angel had a plan for them all.” Yeah, but what if it was a stupid plan? What if the path they were “meant to walk” was filled with sharp rocks and blanketed in black ice? If everything was meant to be, premeditated by the Angel above, then did that mean that they made every bad thing happen?

Did they look at the name Kris Dreemurr eighteen years ago and decide that their Human mother would give them up? That they’d grow up unintentionally isolated as the only Human around for miles. Did they push Kris’ parents together all those years ago? All the while knowing that they’d planned to slowly chip away at their relationship until it finally cracked into a thousand pieces? Because if they had, well, they’d promised their mother that they’d keep the blasphemy to a minimum.

So, no, they didn’t like the idea of destiny much at all.

Shaking all of those thoughts out of their head, they sighed. “Still, fate or not, I’m still not exactly what you’d call a catch.”

“Neither am I.” Ralsei shot back with a beam and a snort.

Hold on. Did he just? They scoffed. “Shut up.”

“I’m not attractive, Kris.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not!” He said with not just exasperation but a hint of rage too. Enough that Kris didn’t keep the back and forth going. Taking note of Ralsei’s clenched jaw and fists and his eyes that had turned hard and flinty. Oh. He was serious. But how? With a huff, he answered their silent question. “I’m cute. I’m adorable. I’m precious. And the times I am called something like handsome, it’s in the same way you’d call a four-year-old so handsome. You don’t have to sugar coat it, Kris.”

No, no, no. Sure, Ralsei was all of those things. Of course, he was; he’s wearing the world’s cutest outfit right now. The only thing that’d make it more cutesy would be ribbon bows on his horns and striped socks paired with those lolita shoes. But Boss Monsters don’t wear shoes, so just the bows, really.

But, in their opinion, he was plenty appealing. They’d seen more pictures of him in the past few weeks than they’d had ever before, and they had to say, he could get it. He could get it in the same way Colin Firth could get it as Mr. Darcy. Regal, respectable, and could cut quite the figure in a well-tailored suit. Not to mention his last pride photoshoot where he wore this rainbow corset vest with a long flowy skirt. Took their breath away. And when he sang, oh, Angel above, nothing was hotter than a good singer. They might be biased, though.

Taking ahold of his shoulders, staring him down, they shook Ralsei with every beat of their words. “Ralsei, you. Are. Attractive.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“You’d call me sexy? A real heartthrob?” He shot back. Okay, well, not to his face. How did he expect them to say that? Out loud? Like a dumbass? But before they could, he wiggled out of their grasp and threw his arms up. “Exactly.”

“No, wait—”

“It’s okay, Kris. I get it. It’s just,” He wrapped his arms around himself, stepping away from them and back to the window to gaze. “I’m fine with it. I don’t need to be a sex symbol or anything. I don’t want to be.”

Standing alone in the center of the tower, they asked, “Who do you wanna be?” There were a few moments where they thought he wouldn’t answer. But he eventually did.

Kind of.

“I need to be the captivating, flawless lead. Practically perfect in every way, like my parents were.” He said, his voice growing thick. Just like it did the last time he spoke of them. “But I don’t—I just don’t know how to be that, right now. That’s why I need you.” Turning around, still holding himself tight, he looked at them with a brittle smile. Eyes glistening. “Until I can figure out how to be that, I need you to help me pretend that I’ve already achieved it. That I’m already the person I’m meant to be.”

What if I think you’re fine the way you are now? They thought, wanting to ask him that but held their tongue. What if I thought the best version of you was the one covered in flour and jam and who wasn’t afraid to bicker and complain? What then?

“Kris, I know I’m asking a lot of you.” He said, pivoting back to face the window. “I completely understand if you want to decline my offer.”

Any sane person would decline. Would walk away from Ralsei and find another way to get their shot at stardom.

“It’s completely insane.” They said. Ralsei’s shoulders drew up, tensing. Waiting for the final blow, for them to reject him with seething contempt. Lucky for him, they hadn’t spent a single day on this Earth with their sanity intact. “But one that I’m going to accept.”

Ralsei whipped his head around, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Are you serious?”

A half-smile playing on their lips, they nodded, a fierce, fiery determination filling their chest. “I’m gonna get you that role.”

His eyes began to glisten and gleam again, but at least this time, Kris knew they were happy tears. Voice unwavering despite the surge of emotions they knew he was feeling, Ralsei answered. “And I’m going to get you a record deal.”

While his words weren’t anything special, they still sent shivers down their spine. This is happening. This is happening! Exhilaration raced through their veins, making them want to vibrate out of this plane of existence.

“Shake on it?” They asked, holding out a hand for Ralsei to take. And he did. Clasping theirs firmly yet still gently and giving them a solid shake. Shaking his back, they said with a grin, “Boyfriend.”

“Enbyfriend.” He answered back.

They scrunched their nose at that title. “We’ll have to workshop that.”

Bubbly and melodious, Ralsei’s laughs filled the tower, and soon after, so did Kris’.

In the end, they were right about one thing about today’s meeting. After pretending to date one of the most famous Monsters in Hollywood, their life would never be the same.

You're back! How was it? Kris said yes, right? They did! Perfect.

From here on out, it's time for the part of the fic everybody's waiting for! CUTE FAKE COUPLE TIMES! Holding hands! Kissing for show! Kissing in private? And spending a whole lot of time keeping stories straight! It'll be a blast. Especially the next chapter, which will center around Ralsei's birthday party. It was supposed to be lowkey, but they do need rumours of his burgeoning relationship with Kris to circulate... So a little more oomph will be required.

Thanks again for reading all the way through and handling my odd posting schedule with grace. I genuinely do appreciate y'all making it this far with me and leaving those lovely comments. See you next week!

Later Days!

< PREV CHP | NEXT CHP > | CHP INDEX

[monsoonblooms12]

Sirimiri (Ethan Ramsey x f!MC)

Summary: Reminisces of their first meet from Ethan's POV. Based on OH Book 1 Chapter 1

Sirimiri: (Spanish) A light drizzle, a fine rain🌧

A/N: This is like a band-aid to the hearts I hurt with the Brydia fic on Sat. This is total fluff and has rains, so I hope this nonsense brings a smile to your faces🤎

A/N 2: The flashback portions are indented

Loads of thanks to the amazing @jamespotterthefirst for pre-reading! Love you🤎

If you enjoyed the story, please like it, leave a comment or reblog. Your feedback keeps me going🤎

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey X f!MC (Dr Pooja Sharma)

Word Count: around 1.8 K

Rating: General

Category: Fluff

Triggers: A few curse words (Just 1 or 2)

Prompts: @choicesaprilchallenge2021 Day 25: Bliss

A soft breeze blew through his dark brown hair as Ethan sat next to the window, reading one of those detective novels Pooja rambled about endlessly.

And, not that he would admit it to her in any way, he liked the storytelling. Pooja had told him that the stories were originally written for teens, so he was doubtful that it would appeal to him.

But the books had been written in a way that captured the attention of the old and young alike, breaking through the barriers of age.

As the rain began the rhythm of serenity in the background, he took the bookmark and placed it on page no. 45 of Incident on the Kalka Mail.

The rain was soft, gentle and refreshing. He envisioned her, sitting on Alex's couch, watching the rain as Alex played with Comet & Jenner. She was always fascinated by the rain, staring endlessly at it, and bearing that one dimpled smile he was a fan of.

He got up, went to the balcony, and leant on the railing. Occasional water droplets fell on his forehead and cheeks, making it an enjoyable experience.

His balcony bore a multi-chromatic view with the brown of the earthen pots, the green of the plantlets, splattered with occasional whites, pinks and blues of the vivid flowers. All of them planted by Pooja when she moved in here.

She bears the love of gardening in her traits, he thought. Ethan was amazed when he went to Panchmarhi for the first time and saw the vibrant garden her father had grown all around their house, making it majestic and serene at the same time.

Pooja came into his life like an unannounced shower of rain. Just like her arrival made his balcony's melancholy monochrome full of hues of colours, her love made his life multi-hued with the colours of emotions, feelings and care. Life was a bliss for every moment she spent with him.

One after the other, doors of memories opened. Memories that no matter how much he had strived to forget, refused to leave him. And at this moment, he was grateful for them. A light chuckle escaped him as he thought,

Their memories were as stubborn as both of them were.

Like pages of an old journal, remembrances presented themselves before him and he got lost in them, in her, as the rain accelerated from a drizzle to a mild downpour. But Ethan didn't leave his spot. He was too drenched in her to care about the rain.

Slowly the last pages of the memoir of his brain took him to the first day of their meet. A distant memory, but yet crystal clear before his blue orbs. Nothing was particularly significant on that day. Just another day of handling cases and dealing with petty interns.

But there was one. One person due to whom that day still stands atop the others in his life.

It really started like any other regular day. After taking Jenner for a walk, feeding him his Purina ProPlan and becoming the recipient of his numerous licks that brightened up his day, he got ready.

Get a Vienna at the Derry Roasters was his mental note for the morning.

The smooth cinnamon-y taste enamoured his taste buds, as he internally groaned at the sudden remembrance of what day it was.

This day, every year, was the one he dreaded the most.

Why? One would ask.

Because it was the day a fresh batch of petty interns came to test his patience.

Ugh. Mental eye roll.

That's why he made sure that he got his favourite coffee from his favourite coffee shop and grab on any last moments of solace before going to face the mad troupe.

The sun dazzled overhead, glaring at everyone under its blanket. Ethan's mind kept fluctuating between the medical cases and the agony of facing new interns. Step by step, he made his pace quicker, hoping to get to his office before any "fans" started pestering him.

Even today Ethan hated interns just as much as he did 3 years ago.

Or, did he? Oh, whom was he kidding?

His mind, still could not comprehend how, a single person, waltzed into his life and had such a profound effect in every sphere of his character, slowly, tactfully carving him into a new man.

A tolerant man.

Who knew how it felt to be loved.

Who knew how to love.

The two days, today and the first of her intern year, were such a stark contrast to each other.

The blazing sun vs. the drumming rain. The coldness of him vs. his warmness today. The frown of that day vs. the smile of today.

Two different worlds, two different times and two different circumstances.

How grateful he was to become the man he was today.

He still remembers the spontaneous name he called her that day.

That one nickname stuck as a token of his feelings all through the years.

Rookie.

When he called her Rookie that day, he meant it.

She was an intern, after all.

"Hey. Rookie. Get in here."

Ethan wasn't paying attention to her. He needed an accomplice and saw her, hence called her.

She had the eyes of a diagnostician, he collected. To notice a mild bruise on the patient on the first day of your residence, that too when you have just arrived is not something many would have been able to do.

He knew from personal experience, that half of them would have been complimenting him when there was goddamn patient to save.

He hated them.

But the first day jitters did get her after all. Her hand trembled with the scalpel in it.

And without much thought, he took it in his.

It was the first and last time he did that with an intern.

How foolish he was, Ethan realizes as he makes himself a cup of hot chocolate.

Nah, not quite as delicious as Poo's, but works.

She was an exception to every one of his rules.

He had made her an exception before even realizing it.

"...Sharma." He scoffed, fury rising through his veins.

Tossing back her ID, he went around, muttering just a single "Arrogant interns" as he heeled back to his office.

The faint mutter of her "What an asshole" had reached him, and he scoffed.

Why are all these interns the same?

He is marking the differences, he thinks.

The differences between how it was then, and how it is now.

The fury of "What an asshole" now subdued to a normal remark she teased him with, ending up in chuckles.

One of the most fascinating incidents, for him, was the Barbara episode.

He had tried being strict, pleasant, stubborn, but nothing, at all, had made her take the meds.

That is, until Pooja came, like the flick of a magic wand, and made her take them.

"What is the blood group of an author?"

"Type-O!"

Memory brightened with the stupid joke she had made with so much enthusiasm made him chuckle.

If there's something that hasn't changed, it's Pooja's sense of humour.

Ethan thought of going out for a walk. A pluvious shower spread a scotch-mist all around, and he thought against it.

Always during monsoons, Pooja made it a point to walk around the city, splashing and dancing in the rain, especially if the rain was a heavy downpour.

It reminded her of the eternal, melodious, torrential cloudbursts that enveloped the hills of Panchmarhi throughout the year.

And Ethan? He would be standing in the very same balcony he was moving towards now, watching her enjoy and feeling her enjoyment reciprocate in himself.

The film roll of reminiscences projected on the misty atmosphere as the vinyl played a harmonious melody of her laughter, the splashes of water and the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

The image is vivid in front of his eyes. He spots the faint dimples on her wet cheeks and his heart dances.

For a moment he forgot that it was just a picture cast by the projector of his encephalon.

Just like he was drenched in the rain, he was drenched in her love.

He had never felt all alive as he does at the moment.

He lets the mist envelop him, just like her memories enveloped his senses.

Relaxing against the cool air refreshing his skin and heart.

"You remembered?", Pooja asks, surprise and curiosity evident in her musical tone.

"Just paying attention." Again that dazzling smile appeared on his face and the dimpled one on hers.

If he had paid attention to his soul that day, he would have sensed the butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

He is still not sure why, or how he remembered her name when he had never made an effort to do so with any other intern, especially on their first day.

It's as if his mind knew that this name would become the jewel of his life, the beauty of his soul, and it stored it, kept it safely between the silken folds of memory.

The thunder crackled and the storm raged. Zeus must be having a good time up there, Ethan scoffed as he hurried indoors.

The thunderstorm was playing a fortissimo orchestra and amidst it, he failed to hear the repetitive chime of his phone on the night stand. It was when he saw the lit screen of the notorious cuboid, that he understood someone phoned.

It was Pooja. With 5 missed calls.

Fuck.

He called her back. It didn't even ring once before he heard her speak from the other side.

Ethan! Oh, God, I was fucking scared. Open the goddamn door!

He mentally smacked himself as he proceeded to the main entryway.

As soon as he heard the click, Jenner pounced up and down. He leapt upon him and licked him all over as Pooja entered, chuckling without a breath.

She loved her boys more than anything.

Once Jenner calmed down, he trotted off to the kitchen in search of any buffets Ethan would have arranged for him.

Pooja locked her arms around Ethan's neck, evidently worried, "Why were you not opening the door, E?"

Ethan brought her close, wrapping his arm around her waist, touching his forehead to her, which he knew would bring an instant calm over her elegant features.

Giving the most ravishing smile Pooja had ever seen, he whispered "Drowned in a certain someone's remembrances."

She gave him a playful wink, "Drowned in love, Dr Ramsey? Oh, What a Misery! My Intern Year Dr Ramsey would never..."

And they both chuckled. Intern Year Dr Ramsey would never.

Placing the most gentle kiss on her forehead, he locked her hand in his,

Let's get something to eat?

PS: Thank you so much for reading my mess and I hope you have a great day ahead🤎

Tags (Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!): @bbrandy2002 @whimsicallywayward15 @ohramsey @natureblooms24 @nervoussaladsludgeopera @trrfanaddict @hopelessromanticmonie @ilikemenbutonlyethanramsey @lovablegranny @bellcat2010 @gkittylove99 @kingliam2019 @starrystarrytrouble @3riche @chetachisblog @zoehanji @withbeautyandrage @drariellevalentine @mvalentine @aestheticartsx @angela8754 @schnitzelbutterfingers @ao719 @choicesstan1 @neotericthemis @nikki-2406 @anotherbeingsworld @maurine07 @sophxwithers @twinkleallnight @choicesaddict5 @gardeningourmet @mysticaurathings @jessiembruno @stygianflood @aleynareads @choicesbookclub

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[seoracle]

DRIVERS LICENSE; ii

Pairing: Bang Chan x Idol! Gender Neutral Reader

Genre: Fake Dating! AU, Angst, Lovers to Enemies(?), Occasional Pining, Comedy, Smut 

Summary: Y/N has become an overnight sensation with ‘Drivers License’, Breaking records left and right…But what if the press gets wind of the ill-matched lovers and their company decide it’s the perfect attention ploy?

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Mature themes, Dry-humping and Drinking, Angst warning

A/N: part three will conclude this series, thank you for the support!

“So Y/N, I’ll only ask one question on the topic but...What attracted you to Bang Chan?” 

“Well, everything really.” You say with a fond smile. “When we first met I had just moved to Sydney and he took care of me. I think I started liking him then, But I only confessed when we were both trainees.” 

“How cute!” The interviewer gushes, fanning herself. “I hope you two have many happy days to come.”

Things had been jam-packed since the news of you and Chan had come out, his fandom had been more welcoming than you had expected and left lots of sweet comments under your social media accounts. You hadn’t done any interviews until today, just music shows or performances. You also hadn’t actually seen or spoken to him since it all went down, not even at the meeting.

In fairness you had both become extremely busy, and constantly were a hot topic for netizens. Your fame had skyrocketed even more so than it originally did, you had now become the ambassador of a major brand and already had a performance booked for the end of year awards with a brand new song.

Your mind went back to your conversation with Chan and how quick you had been to blurt out hurtful words that you no longer meant. 

You knew it was up to you to reach out, but admitting your actions were over the top isn’t something you’re ready to do. You hadn’t technically lied but calling him a sellout was a low blow, and although he wasn’t an angel he wouldn’t say something like that to you. 

Today is a better day than any to deliver your reluctant apology, a fake date is scheduled for a popular book store that recently finished an extension for their in store cafe.You dressed casually and made sure to bring your mask and matching black baseball hat, along with Tims Tams.

Even though it’s only 1pm, the sky is dim and dreary which makes the walk to the cafe a bit more nerve-wracking. What if he chews you out before you can get a word in? He was always good at that. The scent of arabica coffee beans brings you to your senses and you walk in before you can make a run for it and never return, goodbye idol life, au revoir pilates and adiós to Christopher Bang.

“You actually came.” A voice remarks, making you squeal in surprise. 

“What the fuck?!” You screech, placing a hand over your heart to try calm it’s rapid beating.

He opens the door, smiling in amusement at your terror. You settle in a corner with a large bright window, perfect for paparazzi and incase you nervous retch. Chan heads to the counter and comes back with a double shot Americano and a Green Tea Latte.

“Thanks.” You murmur sheepishly, feeling like a complete asshole for lashing out at him.

“I wanted to run something by you, well, to clarify something…” He begins to explain, waiting for your nod of approval before he begins. “I didn’t even know Seungah, or ‘Mijoo’ properly until we broke up. I wouldn’t hurt you like that, I know I still did but I just wanted you to understand.”

You’re taken aback by him not being mad at you for two weeks ago, even though he has every right to be. If he had said half the things you had said he wouldn’t know any peace for the rest of his life.

“Thank you for clarifying, But I should be apologising…” You began hesitantly, did he want you to just move on and say nothing? Still, you’re not that person anymore. “I was way out of line to say all that stuff about you, which wasn’t true at all. You worked hard to get where you are and I’m happy for you, if anyone deserves the world it’s you.” 

While he processes your words with his mouth ajar, you push the Tim Tams to his side of the table. His eyes light up and he rips into them immediately, dunking one into his warm coffee and although you find it semi-revolting, you smile.

You spend the next half hour sharing the biscuits and stories of wardrobe mishaps and what you’ve both been up to in the last few years. It doesn’t take long before you feel comfortable in his presence, not fully but more than you thought possible after all that went down.

Chan ends up finishing the packet and relaxes into his chair with a content sigh, you can’t help but smile at the sight. It quickly fades when you spot paparazzi in heards outside the cafe.

“They found us, totally not like our companies tipped them off.” Chan comments, turning back to you after squinting at them for a bit.

“Quick, act surprised.” You order, as you start making over-exaggerated expressions to the cameras.

The flashing of cameras is nothing new to either of you at this point and you head upstairs to the book section, scanning from classics, science fiction and biographies of people you’d never heard of. Chan spots a section of books with their covers hidden under wrapping and the descriptions written in black ink. You decide on a poetry book from the 1700s with a little sun drawn on the brown paper, Chan picks a Sci-Fi thriller and you shake your head knowingly.

Afterwards, Chan walks you home through the playground near your tiny apartment and makes small talk about music, he picks your brain about melodies and what your favourite synth sounds are. It’s hard to believe less than a month ago you wanted to rip his head off. 

“Let’s sit for a bit.” Chan says, situating himself on a swing.

It doesn’t take you long to join him on the swing to his right, if there’s nothing worse than one idiot on a swing it’s two idiots on swings. Instead of chatting you focus on seeing how high up you can go and Chan watches, shaking his head in embarrassment.

“You’re an actual child.” He teases, grabbing a hold of the rope to slow you down. 

“Hey, no fair.” You huff, grounding yourself by using your feet, turning to him with a pout.

He rolls his eyes and ruffles your hair just like he used to, and embarrassingly it makes you feel happy. Just like you used to back when you first met in Sydney and he was all you knew. 

Stop thinking about the past, you say mentally, what’ll It change?

To distract yourself you decide it’s time to go somewhere else, and get up with the intent of forgetting whatever feelings your brain is fabricating. You can hear footsteps behind you and sigh, he’s not letting you go that easy.

“Where are you going?” Chan calls out, finally catching up to you.

“A bar, I assumed you were still on that drinking ban.” You say feigning your intentions of ditching him for your own benefit.

“That ended two years ago,” He replies with a small smile, “What bar exactly?”

“You’ll see.” 

“Y/N….you said a bar, this is a club.” Chan says, stating the obvious. 

It’s a small place just on the outskirts of the bustling city, illuminated by purple and blue with none of the  ridiculous cocktail names, dry humping and reek of Victoria’s Secret perfume you became accustomed to in Seoul. 

“Same difference,” You reply with a shrug, sitting down at an empty velvet sofa. “Wanna be a dear and get us some drinks?”

Chan shakes his head with his usual grin and heads to the counter, you can’t help but notice how buff he’s gotten in the last few years. You look away when he takes the drinks off the counter and focus on the fabric of your ripped jeans instead, fiddling with the loose strings.

“A rum and coke for you and a black russian for me.” He announces, sitting down on the other end of the couch. 

“Perfect choice.” You say thankfully, raising the glass to your lips and taking several gulps.

The blond raises an eyebrow, sipping at his caffeinated cocktail at a more leisurely pace, soon one drink becomes four and a round of shots later you can gladly say any warm fuzzy feelings have been replaced with drunk fuzzy feelings. Chan, who's only had two drinks laughs at your predicament as the bartender cuts you off for the night.

“Chris, order another round!” You instructed giddily, clinging onto his arm.

“Yeah, and carry you home drunk? I don’t think so.” He retorts, finishing his soju.

You grumble incoherencies under your breath, leaning into him and shutting your eyes. He inquisitively still smells the same and carries the same soothing aura that everyone seemed to pick up on. He hums to the song playing and you can feel his chest vibrate when he messes up on a lyric and laughs. The alcohol makes everything seem blurred around the edges and rose-tinged, he puts his arm around you and it all feels right.

“Y/N, Y’Alright?” 

“Yeah, you?” You slur, smiling into his neck, you can feel him chuckle when your eyelashes tickle his skin.

Everything becomes hazy after that, you hardly remember Chan helping you into the back of a taxi or guiding you to your front door. He searches your bag for the front door key and then your jacket, you giggle drunkenly, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Back pocket,” You state with an amused grin.

Chan reaches down into the back pocket of your jeans and the contact makes your cheeks redden and you inhale deeply. He doesn’t seem to notice and clasps onto the key, before he takes the key out you place your hand around his wrist and hold it there. He looks at you with an uncertain glance, his eyes searching yours for confirmation of some sort, arching into his touch gives him the clarification he needs and he presses his lips to yours in a hungry, intrusive kiss. 

You bring your hands up to his hair and tug on it lightly, as if to bring him even closer if possible. Chan groans into your mouth at the feeling and you take advantage of the moment and control the kiss while he eagerly follows, one hand firmly squeezing your ass while and starts to grind against you. The only sounds you hear are his ragged breathing and the quiet whimper that leaves him when you pull apart to nip at his jaw.

“Y/N,” He pleads, rutting against your thigh with desperation. You answer his pleas, allowing him between your thighs, he kisses your ear appreciatively and helps you up onto the low metal shelf by your doorway for better access grind against your sex.

He whines profanities into your neck when you meet his ruts in a more languid pace, it only makes him more desperate for you. You sigh in pleasure at the sight, although your vision is hazy his swollen lips and furrowed brows are as clear as day. You can tell how close he is by how unsteady his breathing is, he cries out your name repeatedly and you coo at him.

“Pathetic, I haven’t even wrapped my hand around your cock and you’re ready to blow your load.” You mock, pretending you aren’t at the edge yourself.

“Ah, shit..!” He bellows, hot breath hitting your neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

You watch his mouth fall agape as he finally reaches his peak, his blonde hair is plastered against his face and his skin has a sheen that suits him well. Chan gasps as you start up again, the overstimulation making him writhe, he slips one hand down the front of your jeans, which surprises you because you still feel secure being held up with just one arm. You rut against his hand, he knows exactly where to touch and your moans only spur him on until you finally reach your own climax, biting down on his shoulder when you do.

Nothing is said while you both collect yourselves, Chan drops you down and presses his forehead to yours while he catches his breath. The alcohol starts to wear off you and fully realise what’s happened and take your keys out of your back pocket, your hands shake and it takes you a while to get the key in and twist it.

“Y/N?” He calls out, sounding helpless. 

“I’m sorry, Chris.” 

Ignoring the downcast expression on his face you go inside, looking at him once more and telling him you’re sorry again and that he should leave. When you slam the door, he calls out for you to open it again, fifteen minutes later he leaves and you’re in the shower crying. You had just done to Mijoo what had been your biggest fear, but she would have never done that to you.

She was a good person and you were disgusting with no morals.

How the fuck had it all happened so fast? Meeting Chris again, loathing him, fake dating him, feeling emotions for him and now practically fucking him? Nothing had really changed, even before the breakup it had always been you crawling back to him and him feeling as if gravity was pulling you two back together just to tear you away again. ‘Cruel fate’ he called it, you call it nonsense to make him feel better.

Whatever it was, it needed to stop or finally be faced.

It’s just after 12pm the next day when you wake up, everything hurts and you try to piece together what little you remember before that thing with Chris. You groan into the palms of your hands and try to think of a solution, you couldn’t ignore or avoid him, at least not forever. Why did you ever agree to fake a relationship anyways? If only you could turn back time and tell your CEO and the entire JYP entourage to get fucked.

A buzzing under your pillow snaps you back to your senses, realising it’s your phone you slide your thumb across the screen to accept the call. 

“Hello?”  You ask in a hoarse tone.

“Check literally any news outlet.” A familiar voice says in a monotone voice.

“Iris, Should I be worried?”

Iris doesn’t reply and you decide to check Twitter, upon opening it you’re bombarded with notifications that all lead back to a photo of you and Chan making out. The picture has clearly been scanned to make the quality better, it’s grainy but even you can see how easy it is to tell who is in the photo. Dread fills your body at the thought of what management would say, this could compromise all of your hard work.

“I thought you were done with him,” Iris sighs, “God, Y/N... it took you years to get over him, and he has a real relationship.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You reply quietly, ignoring the sting of her words.

“I love you, okay? But I’m so worried you’ll end up hurt again.” She admits, you can hear her tapping her nails against wood, a nervous habit. “Just be careful, I’ll call you later.”

As the call ends you sigh with a smile, typical Iris trying to show she cares while remaining unfiltered. You quickly realise there's no point in hiding from any of this and get ready for what you’re sure will be an eventful day. 

When you arrive at the company building you’re quick to sneak past the secretary and into San’s office, he greets you with a suggestive look.

“You’re so lucky the apartment’s security spotted and escorted them out.” San remarks, tongue pressing against his cheek.

“I know, don’t worry Iris got to the lecture first.” You retort, pinching the bridge of your nose once you sit down on his uncomfortable sofa, damn hangovers.

San pulls open a drawer and passes you a bottle of aspirin, which falls to the floor thanks to your slightly altered (and loss of ) coordination. You mumble words of gratitude and dry swallow two.

“So how mad is everyone?” You ask meekly, not meeting his eyes.

“Well, no one really is. It got you more buzz and sales but there is a broken-hearted girl to think about.”

Shit, Mijoo.

You get up in a flash and take San’s unopened energy drink with you, as you exit his office you hear him yelling at you.

“Why does your apartment have shelves at the front door anyways?!”

It’s when you get outside and the fresh air hits that you realise you have no idea what to do. Woolim is a twenty minute walk at best, you have no idea if Mijoo will even be there but it’s worth a shot. On the way you stop to get two cans of iced coffee and hope she’s still feeling kind after what you pulled last night.

The Woolim building is finally in sight and you push the door open and are stunned to see Mijoo on the other side. Her eyes are glassy and swollen and she isn’t giving off her usual bright aura, but still she smiles at you.

“Hey, trying to hit me?” She jokes with a wry laugh.

“Mijoo...can we talk?” 

“Um…” She looks anywhere but your eyes. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Y/N.”

“Seungah, five minutes is all I need. Then if you want I’ll never talk again.” You plead, she sighs but accepts, turning back and leading you to the private back ‘garden’ which is just concrete and a bench.

“Thank you.” You say, bowing your head a little. She laughs and takes a coffee out of the plastic bag when you sit down.

“Formalities aren’t needed between us, what do you want?”

Her bluntness catches you off guard, up close you can see mascara has seeped around her eye bags and dried up. She definitely knew what had happened but wanted to hear it from you, which petrifies you. How are you supposed to casually say the truth and not get punched in the face?

“I know you saw the picture but you need to hear it from me,” You begin, licking your lips. “I kissed Chan, he didn’t return my feelings and he’s probably going to try to take half the blame.”

Mijoo’s facial expression doesn’t change and she takes a sip of coffee, folding her lips into a thin line after she swallows the bitter liquid. 

“I don’t think he ever got over you.” She admits in a downcast tone. “When we started dating he told me he’d always love you a little bit, I just didn’t think you'd come back for him.”

“I didn’t come back for him,” You clarify, “I had no intentions of...any of this. I’m really sorry and I won’t come between you two again. It’s strictly business from now on, you have my word.”

“Why are you so keen on keeping us together?” She says, stunned.

“I don’t want to be the reason anyone is hurt.” 

“What about you then? Won’t this hurt you?”

You don’t reply, instead returning the same kind smile she had given you. Of course it’ll hurt you, but you can’t bear the weight of hurting anyone the way you did, even Chris. For so long it was all you wanted, for him to feel the pain you did that night in his car.

A week passes by in a flash, between schedules and training you haven’t had any time to dwell on Chan which is nice for once. San and Iris make sure to keep you up to date on what he’s been up to since you shooed him away like a bad dog.

Luckily fake media reports of you two being spotted have been enough to keep the ‘break up’ rumours at bay for now. Eventually you will have to face him, but if Mijoo’s Instagram story is any indication, it’s a happy one of them and their daily coffee trips. Meanwhile all your days are spent in the dance studio, trying to perfect your end of year performance.

Your newest track took two weeks alone to record, it was yet again a song you hadn’t intended on releasing. The lyrics were about being drunk, horny and sad which are emotions you felt most days. The choreography was the most challenging part, primarily because you weren’t much of a dancer to begin with. 

“Perfect!” Your teacher, Hyolyn praises with a satisfied smile.

You collapse on the floor and try to catch your breath, taking a second to gulp down water. Although it’s  hard work, it was extremely rewarding. According to San, you’re predicted to win two awards and nominated for four which was insane considering last year you were #9 on ‘Top 10 least watched debuts’. 

“How close am I to acing this?”You ask, completely drained.

“I’d give it a week.” Hyolyn replies after taking a second to evaluate you.

Groaning, you lie down on the hardwood floors and shut your eyes. The performance was in nine days, giving you little to no time to rest. Iris also had you booked for three days of practicing your makeup for the show, which included intricate and trendy tattoo art all over your arms and littered over any other revealed areas, for hair you would be wearing a wig, lighter than your own hair but similar to how it looked in a recent magazine spread. 

It was all down to you to ace this performance, and you only had one shot.

“Y/N? Y/N L/N!” 

San’s voice snaps you back to your senses, he guides you up from the floor and gives you a once-over and decides you look fine. Then, without a word, drags you down through the busy city and into a quaint cafe, filled with greenery and flowers galore. You spot Wooyoung’s blonde hair behind the counter and smile knowingly, of course.

“Am I here to third wheel?” You joke, elbowing his ribs.

“Shut up, We’re here for you to experience a delectable latte topped with chocolate art and if you’re good I’ll buy you a bean bun.” 

You sit down on an empty chair without a word, smiling up at him. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for a fresh bean bun, especially if it’s free. San goes up to the counter, his laugh echoes around the small area when Wooyoung makes a little joke involving word play. Minutes later, a steamy cup of coffee is in front of you with a cute little bunny made of white liquid and you can’t help but look down in amazement.

“Good, right?” Wooyoung beams, full of well-deserved confidence.

“Amazing,” You gush, taking a sip reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the illustration. 

Wooyoung takes a bow and walks back to the counter, brewing up another order in no time, San watches intently resting his chin in the palm of his hand. What an idiot, you think, although you’re slightly envious no one looks at you that way. 

Several more cups and bean buns later, you leave the lovebirds to return home for some well needed rest. Today is the only actual real chance of resting up before the real work begins, even the thought makes your body ache. But all that fades away when you see a familiar face at your door, Chan.

“Chan?” You say bewildered, “Why are you here?”

“Can we talk?” He asks, meeting your eyes for a brief second before looking away again.

“Okay.”

Five minutes later he’s sitting across the coffee table, stirring a cup of instant coffee and not saying a word. What is there to say? You were both drunk exes longing to relive old times, Yes you would always love him but he wasn’t yours anymore, he hadn’t been for years.

You weren’t the same person, the cheap electric guitar you’d adored has spun into a customised Fender, his dark curls had been swapped for blonde locks that hung across his face. You had loved and lost him, found him and begun the cycle again.

“Why did you try to lie to Seungah?” 

“She’s your girlfriend, you clearly care about her and I didn’t want you to lose that because of a stupid mistake.” You say, even though it was no mistake on your behalf.

Chan laughs dryly in response, eyes becoming unreadable and dark.

“You didn’t want me to fuck you that night?” 

Before you can reply he's standing up, walking towards you and clearly loving that in your seated position he towers over you. He notices your thighs are shut as much as they can be and coos. 

“Is that all it takes, huh?” He says, mocking your tone from that night. “As much as you love pushing me around and belittling me, you love to be put in your place don’t you?”

A strained sound leaves your throat and you try to push it away, the feeling of wanting him to be in control, to be vulnerable for him. It’s a feeling you’ve only felt a handful of times and always with him. You knew he was just frustrated and feeling rejected, if anything did happen you’d wake up alone to a regretful voicemail.

“Don’t do something you’ll regret, I would call you dumb but that would turn you on.” You finally retort, standing up to fully enjoy the flush of humiliation come over his face.

“Know your place.”  

“Kiss me,” He pleads, soft eyes full of stars. “Just once more.”

You swallow thickly, once more is all he’s asking for. Hesitating for a second, you raise your arms and gently take his face into your hands, thumbing over his jaw the way he likes and press your lips against his. The kiss is firm and chaste, much unlike the last one that was filled with hunger and urgency, this...feels final. Neither of you pull away, Chan deepening the kiss more and settling on wrapping his arms around you over his oxygen levels. 

You feel tears starting to pool within your closed eyes and it burns, finally pulling away when it all becomes too much. His warm disposition is so apparent in his teary eyes and it hurts more than ever, you drop your hands from his face and he takes them into his own, a bittersweet feeling coming to the surface.

“Goodbye again, Y/N.” Chan says with a smile, letting go your hands and heading towards the door.

“Goodbye, Chris.” You reply in a faltering tone, turning away as he shuts the door behind him. 

You’re left sobbing on the linoleum floors of your apartment, ignoring various buzzes from your phone hours later when you finally calm down enough to sit on the couch and numbly stare at the flickering TV. Then it comes up on a pop music channel, your face and his with the headline: Bang Chan and Y/N announce break up. 

[pianostarinwonderland]

Azul and the Piano

So we all know Azul can play the piano, but aside from that, we don’t know much about it. What genre does he play? Who taught him? Does he even play piano nowadays and we don’t know it, or did he stop? Frankly speaking, there’s a lot we can get from Azul’s character by simply looking at his piano playing, so time to yeet my headcannons and shitty brain farts here because God, I have been thinking about this for days

Tagging my good friend @burnallthebabies for all the big brain details about jazz

Spoilers for Floyd’s robe card story, Azul’s dorm card story, and chapter 3

So we don’t exactly know what genre Azul plays on the piano but we can get clues from what Floyd stated in his robe card.

Floyd tells Kalim in his robe SR story that he used to be in a band in middle school with Azul and Jade. He played the drums, Jade played the bass, and Azul played the piano. Based on the instrumentation, we can already tell Azul plays jazz. Okay fine, it’s kinda obvious at this point especially with the Mostro Lounge aesthetic HAHAHAHJBDFHBJDFH but is jazz really the only genre Azul can play, or can he play classical music? Because if he can play both, holy shit because classical and jazz are two wholly different genres and it’s pretty impressive to play both. 

Speaking of impressiveness, I want to point out how absolutely talented Azul seems to be in piano? There’s only one piece of evidence about it, but it says a lot.

In the same story, Floyd mentions how he always goes at a different beat depending on his mood, you know, the usual Floyd. Azul would be annoyed at the changing beat, but he always manages to match the pace Floyd is at. That’s impressive as hell, and I’m speaking as someone who can play piano (though I haven’t touched it in a while...). It’s already one thing to play with someone else because not only do you have to worry about your own part, you have to worry about being in sync with someone else. But say if that person keeps going off-beat, that makes your job even worse because dear God, you just got adjusted to the other beat and now you have to switch to a new one? Azul has every right to be annoyed lmao and yet, he’s still able to match Floyd’s spontaneity, which is admirable. 

I suppose Jade would also be impressive too, since I assume he would play together with Azul and Floyd, but Floyd makes no mention of that. And anyway, they’re twins, so I suppose Jade is just really used to Floyd’s mood swings at this point that he doesn’t seem fazed when Floyd changes the beat. 

Another question that pops into mind: does Azul play pre-existing pieces, or does he actually compose his own songs? I don’t know if people have asked this same question, but God, I want to think that Azul actually made his own compositions.

Listen LISTEN, I have a personal HC that the Octavinelle rhythmic that plays when we serve in the Mostro Lounge is actually a composition Azul made back in middle school. Same with the jazzy BGM that plays when Octavinelle is around (no, not the calm Octavinelle BGM that you guys are probably thinking). No canon basis at all, it’s just a thought I’d love to entertain.

But thinking about how Azul has to match Floyd’s pace, I have a feeling he can improvise on the spot. Say he was playing one melody that had a tempo of 60 bpm, then Floyd suddenly switches to a tempo of 130 bpm. Unless Azul managed to play the melody faster without ruining the musical integrity of the piece he was playing, he’d probably have to play a variation of the original melody or even create something entirely different, an original melody he probably thought of on his own.

If ever it’s canon Azul did create his own pieces... it could be his one way of expressing his feelings. People didn’t care about what the quiet octopus had in mind because why care about him? Azul was bullied throughout his whole childhood, and he had no one to talk to about it (I mean, if he had his parents to talk about it with, they’d probably have reported it, but we never saw that happen).

Why did Azul get into music in the first place? As he was shown to be focused on getting revenge against his bullies through studying magic intensively, what got him into it? I have a feeling it’s exposure from his parents owning a restaurant. Jade mentioned in Azul’s SSR that their house was pretty much the restaurant, so it wouldn’t be surprising that Azul would have been exposed and influenced by possible jazz music that played in the restaurant. Possibly, he self-taught himself, as Azul is more likely to learn by himself (he’s learned magic by himself so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯).

But aside from exposure, Azul probably got into jazz music because it was his form of escapism. As he’s been bullied, he must have released his frustrations and sadness through music. As stated above, he had no one to talk about his issues with, so he lets it all out through the music he plays. Jazz is historically known to be a genre born from struggles of certain political eras it evolved in, so it’s quite fitting that Azul could have relied on jazz music as a way of coping.

And perhaps Floyd heard him play the piano one day, and that’s how they started playing together, forming a jazz combo.

God, nowadays, every time I think about middle school musician Azul, I imagine Azul playing the piano for days, forgetting about the bullies for a while. He lets all that stress out through the music he plays, and whenever he isn’t researching about magic, he’s playing the piano and getting lost in the melodies he is both familiar and foreign with.

What’s interesting to note is that the specific style of jazz that is played in Mostro Lounge is a big band swing style. The thing about this style is that it was popularized during the 30s and 40s, specifically the time of World War II. The music of that time was a way for citizens and soldiers alike to forget about the war, even for a little while. So imagine if Azul did compose the Octavinelle rhythmic BGM... what if that was one of the tunes he played to cope with the bullies?

But remember that middle school was also the time that Azul unlocked his unique magic and started his contract thing. Once he unlocked his power, his overwhelming desire to attain revenge came over him. And so he started making contracts with everyone while taking away the things they value. Voice, hair, tail, magic, you name it. And I think that’s when he and the twins stopped playing music because Azul focused on making deals.

Most likely, Azul has not continued playing ever since, which frankly I think, is a bit heartbreaking. But there are several reasons why.

First off, he’s busy with school and his restaurant. He doesn’t have time anymore.

And speaking of time, he might think it’s a waste of time to be playing piano when he could be doing schoolwork and writing contracts in small font.

But perhaps a less likely reason... and one that does make me sad... if ever I’m right and Azul was exposed to jazz as a kid, Azul probably considers music as something of his past self. We know Azul tries to bury away the past, as if it never happened. Jade and Floyd stated in Azul’s SSR that Azul was was a glutton back then due to exposure to food, and now look at him counting calories. What if he’s doing the same with music?

Jazz is also known as “the devil’s genre” due to numerous musicians experiencing a self-destructive lifestyle or leaving the genre upon noticing how it’s slowly dying. It’s kind of like that with Azul, except he stopped playing because playing jazz means tying him down to a past where he was weak and vulnerable. And he didn’t want that. 

And until now, Azul still has that vulnerable side. He’s still insecure about himself and his own octopus form. He’s all high and mighty until you take the contracts away from him, and suddenly, he’s breaking down and demanding you to hand it back, and once it’s gone, he’s so scared of becoming a “trashy and idiotic” octopus again. And that vulnerability is a side of him Azul hates and wouldn’t want to show to anyone. If he played the piano, he may end up revealing that side of him without realizing. “Where words fail, music speaks.” as Hans Christian Anderson has said, and Azul doesn’t want to convey any inner feelings in the notes he plays. 

Often, when I see people asking Azul to play piano for them to writing blogs, while I find it endearing that Azul does play for them, in all honesty, will he play the piano for you if requested? Probably not, because he thinks it’s not something he would want to do, not when he treats it as a part of the past he rejects.

But God, I would be lying if I say I don’t want to see Azul play piano because I really want to see him play the piano. Even for just one time? 🥺 I want to know how talented he truly is, even if he’s rusty. Even if it’s for only three minutes, I want to see Azul look so free as he lets loose in whatever piece he’s playing. Let him run wild with the spontaneity of jazz. But I’m too shy to request. 😅Especially with the thought that Azul probably doesn’t play anymore because of all the things I said... 

Honestly, if his birthday SSR groovy is him happily playing the piano, I’d be on cloud nine. It would show that he’s finally accepting his past self, while also moving on to continue improving on himself. It can show that he’s finally in a happier place... and that’s all I want for Azul, to be happy...

[blossom-hwa]

To Bloom in the Night - JOOCHAN

I accept half the blame for this fic but the other half has to go to one casey @thepixelelf​​ both for coming up with the title and for convincing me to make this angst instead of the original pure fluff it was meant to be.... anyway casey this fic and the universe as a whole is dedicated to you because without your big brain I would not have been able to figure out all the storylines

(This is set in the same universe as weaver!Bomin, whose masterlist is linked below!! Also if you want a visual for Joochan think wannabe era like in the gif) 

Pairing: Joochan x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au

Triggers: cursing, brief mentions of death and blood (nothing graphic), one implication of abuse, asshole parents

Word Count: 24.4k

Death cannot exist without life, which is why Joochan can’t exist without you.

To Spin a Yarn | Golden Child Masterlist

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived two princes bestowed with magic. They were beautiful, kind – even their parents’ hardened hearts could not break the bond between them. This was fortunate, for in one prince lay a secret that would set a rift in the family for years to come.

The second prince was blessed, a golden child. His charming face and smiling lips drew attention the second he walked into a room, and the mere sound of his voice made all those present swoon. His song was rapturous, magical – his music possessed the ability to heal the deepest wounds and soothe the coldest hearts. He was useful to his parents, the perfect heir, especially when they decided to pass over his brother, the first prince, for claim to the throne.

For this brother was said to be cursed, cursed with the magic of death rather than the blessing of life. His beauty was darker, eyes piercing where his brother’s were soft, and his song, though achingly beautiful, cleft the very wounds his brother healed and wrought pain on the soul. Despite being first born, despite having a kind heart that never wished a single person harm, the king and queen looked upon him with fear and disgust, lavishing their favor on his brother instead.

Yet despite their differences, the brothers loved each other to the fullest. The elder did not resent the younger for his freedom to sing and only encouraged his art, while the younger saw beyond the sorrow woven in his brother’s voice and into the goodness of his soul. All those who saw the pair marveled at their friendship, in the way their eyes shone whenever the other was near, and many whispered that the royal family was blessed, even if the king and queen themselves refused to see it – these two young princes, blessed with handsome looks and gentle hearts, were more than the cold-hearted rulers truly deserved.

But love, the brothers would learn, meant more than simply staying together. Sometimes a love born of shared blood was not enough to keep one by the other’s side. In time, the first prince would wither under his curse of death, unable to smile even with his brother’s golden light glowing upon his face, for not being free to use the voice he was gifted by the gods cut gashes in his heart deeper than even his brother’s song could heal. Music lived in his soul, song shimmering in his blood, but so long as he was a pariah in his own home, he could not exercise his gift for fear of bringing death upon an innocent.

(It had happened once already.)

So he sang at night, music confined to the corners of his room. His voice echoed between the thick stone walls, lachrymose, sorrowful even with the happiest of songs. He sang for only himself to hear, never daring even to open the windows unless he knew no one stood below on the blank patch of stubborn grass that somehow still managed to grow, even under the curse of his song.

Then the gardener came with their night-blooming roses, petals of the darkest midnight blue blossoming under shimmering stars. And when the first prince stepped onto the balcony to perform for a crowd of what he thought was no one, he heard, for the first time in his life, someone wholly, fully alive, singing words of healing back.

From then, night by night, the prince began to unfurl his withered leaves, darkened flowers reaching for the moon as starlight glinted on his petals. For in this duet with his night-blooming rose, the first prince learned the lesson of the gods, imparted to mortals in centuries past but lost to fear of the unknown, of the darkness beyond the sun.

Death cannot exist without life, as life cannot exist without death. They are opposite and the same, two sides of a single coin. And in this gardener of the night-blooming roses, the first prince had found the life to his death, a second half in ways even his brother, loving though he was, could not yet hope to contest.

This is the story of the first prince, marked as a curse from the age of five, who grew to learn the gift behind his melody of death when it first twined with the harmony of life.

. . . . .

Joochan’s stomach roils as he stands in front of the mirror, silently waiting for the half dozen servants scuttling around his feet to finish the last adjustments to his suit. It fits him perfectly already – he doesn’t understand what they’re still doing to the hemline of his pants or the shoulders of his shirt – but Joochan doesn’t have much knowledge about clothes. Only music.

And curses and death.

His stomach doesn’t flip this time, only sinks as he closes his eyes briefly against reminders of the magic that flows unused through his veins. They don’t fade, though, only come to the forefront of his mind even as he tries to beat them back. His magic is the reason he’s wearing this suit, after all.

“Please turn left, Your Highness,” a soft voice says. Joochan doesn’t argue, just shifts in front of the mirror, and someone goes to work on his left pant leg.

Can’t show up looking sloppy today, not when he’s about to meet the princess his parents have promised him to for the rest of his life.

Joochan bites his lip hard, probably ruining the delicate lip stain applied to make his mouth appear softer, pinker, sweeter. Already he can see one servant frowning in disapproval as she dips a brush into the pink color before swiping it lightly back over his lips. She doesn’t say anything, but Joochan bows his head in apology regardless. It softens the tightness in her lips.

It seems Joochan can’t do anything without apologizing, really. Walking too loudly, biting his lip, breathing, living, being born…

He’ll probably do something and have to apologize to the princess today, too. Trip over her skirts, maybe, or spill his drink. He’s known to be clumsy, much more so than his brother Bomin (though in his defense, he never had the same lessons in posture and deportment that Bomin did, not after they erased his claim to the throne). At least this kind of thing is easier to apologize for than the reason they’re being married.

If Joochan wasn’t so cursed, after all, his parents wouldn’t be this eager to have him shipped off so early.

And he wouldn’t be stuck in this stupid suit.

A careless needle pricks the back of his shin. He flinches. Someone murmurs an apology and he ducks his head briefly in acknowledgement. A needle in his skin is less of an issue than his tiny breakfast threatening to make an appearance on the floor –

With effort, Joochan reins himself in. Just in time, too – the servants have finally stopped crouching around his feet and begun filtering out the door, leaving only Jaehyun behind to help him into the matching coat. “Ready?” he asks, settling the fabric over Joochan’s shoulders.

Joochan relaxes a little with the warmth in Jaehyun’s voice. He only ever speaks when they’re alone for fear of someone seeing him overstep his station (which would not end happily, especially if word reached his parents), but he’s still one of Joochan’s oldest friends in the palace and Joochan knows Jaehyun cares for him, feels it in the light touches, the subtle looks, the brief nods and smiles that the servant passes him when the time is right.

With only a handful of people whom Joochan can say truly know and care for him, he treasures every spot of comfort any of them can give.

“No,” Joochan replies honestly, shrugging his shoulders under the coat. He’ll have to take it off once he reaches the tearoom, what’s the point of putting it on in the first place? “You know I don’t want this. But…”

But a lot of things, all of which Jaehyun already knows.

Jaehyun’s lips turn in sympathy. “She’ll probably be nice,” he says, dreamy voice reassuring. “I mean, she’s Donghyun’s sister. Even if you haven’t met her yet, you know he wouldn’t speak so highly of someone he didn’t care for.”

Joochan swallows. Jaehyun has a point, the same point Joochan has made to calm himself many times over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I hope so.”

Before Jaehyun can say any more, a knock sounds at the door, heavy and light all at once with an energy only Joochan’s personal guard can muster. “Time to go!” Jangjun calls through the stone.

Deep breaths. Joochan clenches his fist once. Lets go. Tries to relax himself as he stares at the door.

“Joochan?”

He blinks, registering Jaehyun’s concerned face. His lips tilt into a brief smile. As bad as this might be, at least he’ll have Bomin and Jangjun there, even if Jaehyun has to stay behind. Donghyun, too. Three friends out of four will have to be enough for today.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m fine.” Reaching forward, Joochan opens the door to Jangjun’s carefully stoic face.

Jangjun raises an eyebrow at Joochan’s countenance but says nothing about it. “Ready, Your Highness?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan bites the inside of his lip so as not to ruin the makeup again. “Let’s go.”

. . . . .

Joochan’s hands ache by the time his parents have had enough of his playing and Bomin’s voice, motioning for them to sit down and take some of the refreshment they’ve been nibbling at during the hour of music. He gladly does, settling himself on the soft chair as he nurses the tension in his forearm. His fingertips have hardened after years of playing the violin, but even after nearly two decades of playing the piano, his muscles still tense after he plays too long.

He looks to the side and his stomach flips unpleasantly, remembering why he’s here.

Donghyun’s sister sits next to him, eyes carefully fixed on the small plate placed in front of her. There isn’t much there – similar to Donghyun, then, in his bird-like appetite, unless it’s just nerves – and she doesn’t look up to face him, even when he almost meets her eyes.

Something curdles in Joochan’s stomach. She’s Donghyun’s sister and Donghyun is one of his good friends. If it were anyone else he’d been promised to, Joochan might be inclined to raise a bigger fuss, but the fact that she’s a member of Donghyun’s family keeps his lips tightly shut.

Bomin wordlessly passes him a plate of cookies. At a warning glance from his brother, Joochan takes one, breaking off a piece and putting it in his mouth. Sweet frosting crumbles between his teeth but all he tastes is sawdust.

At the other end of the table, Donghyun’s mother begins lavishing praise on Joochan’s and Bomin’s talents. She’s a sweet woman, to be sure – if Joochan were normal, he wouldn’t be so opposed to being her son-in-law – but all Joochan can think of as he gives thanks for her kind words is that his parents are forcing him to inflict his cursed little self onto Donghyun’s happy family just so they can be rid of him once and for all.

Well, it’s not as if they’re completely blameless either. The princess isn’t actually royal, just the orphaned daughter of high nobility whom the palace took in when she was young. A match like this is advantageous for them, too – the first prince of a powerful kingdom, even one passed over for the throne, is a good match indeed for one who doesn’t even have royal blood. Even the insult of marrying someone barren of magic can be overlooked.

Children are only pawns for their parents, pawns on a little chessboard where their parents play. They’ll forever be pawns until their parents die, and then they’ll become the players, using their own children as pawns in the new generation’s game of royal chess…

Joochan moodily stirs sugar into his tea. The silver spoon scrapes lightly at the bottom of the cup and he flinches slightly at the grating sound. If Donghyun’s parents knew the truth – hell, if Donghyun himself knew the truth – they probably wouldn’t be pushing this marriage so hard. They probably wouldn’t be pushing it at all.

Not for the first time, Joochan ponders the consequences of telling Donghyun or his sister the real story, the one where he isn’t devoid of magic. The one where he can sing, beautifully, even – it’s just that anything alive will drop dead after the first few bars of his song.

Well, except the grass beneath his balcony window. Joochan doesn’t know how it keeps growing, but he appreciates the effort.

Bomin pokes his side. Someone said his name.

Joochan looks up, almost spilling his tea. The cup rattles in the saucer and he winces, already feeling his mother’s subtle glare out of the corner of her carefully blank eye. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you take your fiancée for a walk in the gardens?” she asks. “Our gardens are always lovely on such a clear day.”

It’s a demand shaped as a question and Joochan doesn’t bother to dispute, only nodding briefly before taking his fiancée’s arm as they stand. “Of course.”

On his other side, Bomin makes a small fist in encouragement. Donghyun smiles from across the table. Joochan does his best to return the gestures before walking out of the tearoom with his fiancée – gods, he hates that title – on his arm, Jangjun following silently behind.

“Do you actually want a tour of the gardens?” Joochan asks when he’s sure they’re out of sight. Jangjun won’t say anything, and his parents probably don’t actually care where he really goes – they just want him away for a little, presumably to get to know his future wife. Bitterness fills his mouth – future wife – but he swallows it down. “We could go somewhere else, if you want. Anywhere, really.”

She only raises a curious eyebrow, jerking her head slightly towards Jangjun where he stands, a silent presence. Joochan understands her unspoken question and smiles, this time genuinely. “Jangjun won’t tell,” he says, glancing back at his guard. He receives a wink in response.

Something in the princess’s expression cracks with relief. Her lips curve, gaze turning brighter with careful amusement. “I almost thought you were going to be one of those suck-up princes,” she says, eyes cautiously teasing. “Thank you for proving me slightly wrong.”

Joochan raises an eyebrow. “Slightly?”

“Only time will tell the full truth.” She shrugs. Joochan appreciates her honesty. “And I wouldn’t mind seeing the gardens, actually, Your Highness. Your gardeners sing to the flowers, don’t they?” Her gaze turns curious.

“Please just call me Joochan, we’re of the same rank.” We’re going to be married soon, anyway. “And yes, they do,” Joochan confirms. It’s wondrous to watch them coax withered leaves into brightness, wilting petals into bloom, even if he himself will never be able to create such beauty. “The gardeners might be on their break right now, but if they are, I’ll see if you can listen to them sing before you leave next week.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, and in another body, in another universe, Joochan thinks he could have fallen in love with her. Donghyun’s sister seems bright for the most part – intelligent, kind, curious, with a pinch of much-appreciated mischief. Her dance was captivating earlier, and she certainly has the same appreciation for music that Joochan and Bomin do.

But Joochan would always have to hide around her, hide his song and his curse. For that reason, he can’t bring himself to contemplate even the notion of truly falling for someone around whom he’d always have to pretend to be a different person.

They walk quietly for a while, stopping under larger trees every so often to admire the flowers from the shade. She compliments his skill at violin and piano, and he admires her dance. Neither of them speaks of his supposed inability to sing. Joochan dutifully picks a small bouquet and presents it to her – all different types of tulips, her favorite (his are roses, but he doesn’t mention that) – and they keep making small conversation, all the while keeping an eye out for any gardeners tending to the blossoms.

It’s a good thing Joochan knows how to talk, because as the half hour mark ticks past, there hasn’t been a single gardener in sight. The grounds are large, of course, and many are probably still on their afternoon break, but words become harder and harder to find and Joochan is almost ready to suggest turning back when they round a corner to see a solitary figure bent over a bush of roses, softly singing to the blooms.

No matter how many times Joochan has listened to those with healing music breathe their magic into plants, the scene never grows old in his mind. Listening to your song, watching the pink roses unfurl their petals under the sunlight, Joochan almost forgets the lady on his arm. It doesn’t matter, anyway – Donghyun’s sister stands just as still as he, gaze fixed on the sight.

If only he could inspire such life.

Too soon, the song ends. Joochan blinks, clearing himself of the daze of your music, and Donghyun’s sister sighs softly at his side, eyes sparkling with rapture. He’s about to suggest quietly that they move on so as not to disturb you from your work, but you turn around first.

Joochan balks as your eyes widen, taking in his dyed pink hair just before you sink to one knee, respectfully bowing your head. “Your Highnesses,” you murmur softly.

Your spoken voice is as beautiful as your song.

“Please rise,” he replies, smiling. The ever-present ache in his heart seems to have relaxed slightly with the sound of your music. “We were only listening to your song. You sing beautifully.”

“You really do,” his fiancée echoes. “Wondrous.”

A flustered smile lifts the corners of your lips and you duck your head, bowing once more. “Thank you, Your Highnesses. I am honored at your praise.”

“Are you new?” Joochan asks on impulse. “I apologize, I just haven’t seen you around before. What is your name?”

You nod. “Yes, Your Highness. I only began work a few days ago. My name is Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, I hope you have been properly welcomed into your employment.” Joochan smiles. “My fiancée and I should be going so we won’t disturb you further, but thank you for gracing us with your voice.”

The smile on your face grows wider. “The pleasure was all mine. Thank you for gracing me with your presence.”

Joochan turns away, Donghyun’s sister following on his arm. Grass rustles behind them as you presumably get back to work. “That was amazing,” she whispers, eyes still rapturous.

“I know.” Joochan shakes his head. “Every time I see it, I still can’t believe my eyes.”

They lapse into compatible silence once more, quietly admiring the flowers on all of their sides. Joochan peers at a new bush of roses, studying the white petals, when Donghyun’s sister stops beside him. He looks up. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no.” She smiles, pointing ahead at an empty patch of grass underneath a tall balcony.

Joochan’s heart freezes. How did he not realize they were coming through this way, under his own rooms?

Too late, he realizes Donghyun’s sister is waiting for a response. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I was just noticing that the garden was slightly empty up there.” She points again briefly. “Is there a reason for it?”

The lie, though bitter, falls quickly from his lips. “Oh, for some reason, things don’t seem to grow well over there other than the grass.” He shrugs, hoping his words don’t tremble. “The gardeners can’t figure out why. They’ve tried everything.”

His fiancée looks mystified, but she accepts the explanation without further questions. Silence falls again and stretches until they return to the tearoom, ready to face cautious siblings and eager parents once more.

. . . . .

“So?” Bomin raises an eyebrow as he and Joochan enter their shared hallway, pausing in front of his room. He looks around, but no one’s there. Jangjun got held up a couple minutes ago, and Bomin has carefully placed himself where no other guards will hear him if he speaks quietly. “What did you think of her?”

Joochan studies a crack in the stone wall. “She was nice. I liked her.”

Even without looking, Joochan can tell Bomin’s second eyebrow has risen. Why they don’t look strange against his brother’s ashy dyed hair, Joochan doesn’t know, but Bomin somehow looks good in everything. Even dark eyebrows against grey-white hair.

“Not in that way, though.”

Joochan doesn’t refute Bomin’s statement. His brother is even more perceptive than he despite his younger age – after so many years growing up alongside each other, Bomin picks up on Joochan’s nuances of language and action more easily than Joochan himself realizes. He just shrugs.

Bomin sighs. He doesn’t say anything, but one look at his carefully schooled expression reveals the apology coating his tongue. It doesn’t fall, of course, because Joochan told Bomin to stop apologizing years ago, but the impulse is still there.

Joochan almost smiles. At times like this, even Bomin isn’t so difficult to read. “It’s not your fault,” he says, words slipping off his tongue with deceptive ease.

“Still.” Bomin bites his lip, smudging the thin sheen of lip stain that’s somehow still there after the entire day. “I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy.” As if to prove it, Joochan widens his lips into a smile and forces his eyes to crinkle in a way that sometimes (rarely) manages to fool his brother. “At least, I might be. In the future. You know.” His lips curl in mischief. “Might fall madly in love with Donghyun’s sister after she saves me from an assassin’s knife, like those –”

A hand covers Joochan’s mouth before he can go on. He smiles behind Bomin’s fingers anyway, a real smile, because Bomin’s ears are red and nothing delights Joochan more than flustering his younger brother.

“We don’t mention those books,” Bomin hisses, face flushed. “Right?”

Joochan licks his hand and laughs at his brother’s cry of disgust. “I didn’t mention them,” he teases, mouth free. “I only hinted.”

“I hate you.” The way Bomin’s hiding a smile, though, confirms that his words are just a lie. “You absolute insufferable menace. I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow.”

“That is, unless a brave princess saves me from my evil brother –”

Joochan dodges Bomin’s swipe, cackling, before skipping over to his door and darting inside. After a second, he pops his head back out. “Goodnight!”

A grumbled “goodnight” follows with the sound of a second closing door, and then Joochan is left to feel the smile slide off his lips as he faces the stone walls of his room.

Alone.

Joochan swallows, staring at the darkened night outside his windows. The stars glitter, moonlight just beginning to seep onto the cold floor.

Already he knows it will be a sleepless night.

He goes through the motions, answers the door to Jaehyun’s light knock and allows his servant to help him undress. Jaehyun doesn’t ask much – maybe Joochan’s expression isn’t as neutral as he thought – but squeezes his arm slightly before he heads back out, closing the door behind him with a low thud. Joochan blows out the lantern on his desk with a practiced puff of breath, crawls into bed, and closes his eyes even though he knows it won’t do anything.

Sure enough, when the palace clocks strike midnight, Joochan is still wide awake. He heaves a sigh, rolling over one more time in a last ditch effort to fall asleep.

No use.

Joochan swings his legs out of bed. Using the moonlight as a beacon, he feels his way over to his desk and picks up the violin and bow sitting on top of all of his books and music. He plays a few quick scales before settling the instrument more firmly beneath his chin and turning to the window.

He wants to sing. Aches to. The longer he stands by his desk, staring out the balcony, the more he feels the urge as though the moonlight itself tugs at his heart, the way it does to the tides.

So he does. The walls of his room are thick for a reason – if no one can hear him playing his violin so late at night, no one will hear his voice, either. He draws the bow over the strings, fingers plucking in practiced motions as he raises his voice with the highs and lows in a wordless melody, achingly beautiful even to his own ears, a song of sorrow and pain under the darkness of night.

When he finishes, he’s somehow migrated to the balcony window, staring out at the barren garden below. The hand holding his bow reaches out, touches the cool glass.

No one will be out so late, not tonight. In just four days, there will be a grand ball celebrating his engagement – everyone will be catching up on sleep tonight before three days of rapid preparation. Guards have never been posted under his balcony for safety reasons (their safety, not his – Joochan honestly thinks his parents would be fine if he dropped dead), and gardeners don’t work at night until they’re tending the night-blooming flowers, none of which are in this stretch of garden. So Joochan shifts the glass aside, letting in a cool breeze that rustles his abandoned blankets and ripples through his nightshirt, and steps into the night air.

Joochan raises the bow once more, bringing it to the strings as he lets his voice loose, singing to silent audience as he leans into the violin like a lifeline. His song carries in the soft breeze, fading beyond the trees, but Joochan doesn’t care if his song merely disappears into the air instead of echoing in a tearoom, in a shrine, in a concert hall. So long as he can convince himself there is an audience listening that isn’t just him, convince himself that people can hear and love his voice as he draws his bow over the violin strings, he will be content, at least in this moment.

His song begins a crescendo and he closes his eyes, sparkling stars and the waxing moon splashed like a mural across his eyelids. His throat strains to keep the melody and he reaches the highest note, slowly, slowly climbing back down as a smile spreads across his face –

The violin almost falls from his hands when a voice begins singing back.

Someone is singing back. Meaning – someone heard his song – and they are not dead and somehow singing back –

Joochan stumbles backward, almost falling into his room. He catches himself on the side of the balcony window, shoulder throbbing where he hit it against the stone, but he can’t even register the pain because someone is down there and heard him singing and gods, maybe they’re about to die and Joochan will have killed a second person in his short life, two people, two people too many –

The song continues. Softer, yes, but deliberately so, not weakened by a failing heart or incoming death. It continues, smooth like starshine, coaxing, beautiful…

It doesn’t stop.

Step by step, Joochan walks forward and peers over the balcony edge. In the moonlight, he catches a glimpse of roses beneath the stone platform – yes, roses, midnight blue roses of Joochan’s favorite variety that only blooms at night – blossoming under his balcony which means they somehow survived the curse of his voice.

And not just them.

Someone steps out from directly under the balcony into Joochan’s line of vision. A vaguely familiar figure with a vaguely familiar voice – no, not vaguely, an entirely memorable voice from just hours before –

Y/N.

Wide, shocked eyes meet Joochan’s directly in the moonlight, confirming his suspicions. His heart leaps into his throat and stays there as you stare at each other, a prince and a gardener, one with a cursed voice and the other seemingly unaffected by it – unaffected by it, which should be impossible –

Too late, Joochan remembers that his face is memorable if not for the fact that he is a member of royalty, then by his head of dyed pink hair. Which means you can recognize him. His feet stumble back into the room and he all but crashes into the side of the balcony before managing to shove the window in place. He nearly crushes his hand and violin between glass and stone before he slides to the floor, head thudding painfully against the stone wall.

You know.

You know.

You – a simple gardener, wholly new to the palace – know now from his stupid face and pink hair that he has a curse that wilts flowers and kills people and yet somehow – somehow your voice is strong enough to make withered roses bloom once more and even more importantly, somehow you didn’t die upon hearing his song.  

Joochan doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

. . . . .

Jaehyun walks into Joochan’s room the next morning and upon seeing his face asks, “What happened to you?”

Joochan just groans and covers his face with a pillow. It’s day two of Donghyun’s family’s visit and he has to be up for meetings and showing his fiancée around and whatnot, but he knows he has to look like death after an entire night of racing thoughts and zero sleep. “Do I look that bad?”

In reply, Jaehyun goes and finds a small army of servants skilled in the underappreciated art of makeup who spend over an hour dispelling the gray from his skin and bringing back the slightest shade of color to his face.

It probably helps, at least somewhat. But even Jangjun, who normally can keep a neutral expression during the worst situations, makes a face when Joochan walks out the door. “Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks quietly as they set off down the hall.

“Some,” Joochan says truthfully. He did drift off sometime toward dawn. But there was less than an hour between then and Jaehyun waking him up again, so it doesn’t count for much.

Jangjun raises a disbelieving eyebrow but only follows Joochan down the hall to breakfast.

All day long, Joochan itches to run away. Not from the palace, not exactly (he’s been wanting to do that since he was a teenager, that’s nothing special), but to the garden grounds where he knows he has the best chance of finding you.

But of course there’s no time, no time at all. Immediately after breakfast he’s whisked off to Sungyoon for the morning lessons Joochan can barely pay attention to. Lunch is barely a moment in passing before Soojung takes him for his afternoon classes, then Jangjun is depositing him in front of the grand ballroom for a special partner dancing lesson with Donghyun’s sister because of course, at their engagement ball, they will be expected to dance. Together.

Joochan tries, he really does. He keeps his hands in place on his fiancée’s waist, doesn’t twitch when she puts her hand on his shoulder. He’s a fair dancer – of course Youngtaek will find areas to critique, but he’s literally a court musician and the dance instructor – but today he trips over skirts and feet and who can blame him when every unexplained sound is a knock at the door summoning him to his parents, who will then ask how he was so careless as to let a simple gardener learn his secret?

And then what would they do to you?

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes over and over to his fiancée as he finally walks out of the ballroom, Youngtaek sick of dealing with him for the day. “I’m sorry, I’m really so sorry about everything –”

“Relax, Your – Joochan. It’s fine,” she says, smiling lightly. He feels even worse – somehow, she can still muster the strength to give him a smile while he can’t even focus on an hour or two of dance. Dance is her magic, her calling, just as Joochan’s is his voice, and she’s already toning down her skill for him – why can’t he concentrate enough to respect that?

“Hey, I’m serious.” Her voice pulls Joochan out of his thoughts again. “Did you sleep at all last night? From what Donghyun said, it isn’t like you to act this way.”

A bitter laugh almost leaves Joochan’s lips but he swallows it away, opting to just sigh instead. “I sometimes have trouble sleeping.” It isn’t a lie. “Last night… was just a little worse than usual.”

She falls silent, then, lips turning down as she undoubtedly tries to process the meaning behind Joochan’s words. He panics. “It’s not – not anything to do with you!” Stupid, stupid, stupid! “I just – sometimes I start thinking and I can’t stop –”

“Joochan!” Two hands fall on his shoulders and Joochan shuts up as Donghyun’s sister stares him dead in the eyes. “Joochan, really. Calm down. It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m fine. Okay?” She smiles again. “One bad day doesn’t mean anything.”

He swallows. “Sorry.”

She waves his words away. “Stop apologizing, I already said it’s fine.” Her gaze is full of concern. “Maybe take some time to rest and relax this evening? I think you need it.”

This evening. Joochan blinks. There’s nothing planned for this evening, at least as far as he knows. Just dinner with Donghyun’s family, then nothing…

This might be the only time he can go to see you.

“Rest,” Joochan echoes. “Yeah.” He swallows, knowing full well he’ll be doing anything but that. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The minute the excruciatingly long dinner is over and he’s excused himself to rest (even his parents don’t argue, which says a lot about his appearance), Joochan takes off down the halls, walking fast, fast, faster until he’s running –

“Your Highness!”

Why did he ever think he could outrun Jangjun?

Joochan stops because there’s no point in trying to leave his guard in the dust. Jangjun catches up quickly, barely panting, and fixes him with a stare. “Asshole,” he hisses, eyes crinkling with slight amusement. Then they turn serious. “Where are you going?”

Jangjun knows. When he was given the position of Joochan’s personal bodyguard, he was fully briefed on everything about Joochan, including his curse. Joochan trusts Bomin above all, but Jangjun is a close second. For this reason, he considers telling Jangjun the truth.

No. Joochan clenches his fist, nails biting into his palm. Not now, at least. He needs to clear this up first – it’s his fault, after all. He’ll only consider bringing Jangjun into this if things grow exponentially worse.

Hopefully, they won’t.

“The gardens,” Joochan says shortly. “Don’t follow me. Please.”

Jangjun’s eyes narrow. “You’re not being blackmailed, are you?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“No secret meetings, no rendezvous with anyone other than the princess?”

Joochan groans, face turning pink. “No, Jangjun.”

“I’m following,” Jangjun decides. Joochan opens his mouth to argue, but his guard cuts him off. “I’ll stay far enough that I won’t hear what you say, if you end up saying anything. You won’t see me either. But if you think I’m going to leave you alone when you’re acting like this, you’re crazy.”

Well, it’s better than it could’ve been. Joochan nods tightly. “Fine.”

They exit the palace and Jangjun slips into the shadows, unseen even though Joochan knows he’s there. He tries not to sprint into the gardeners’ sheds, but he still gets there too fast.

One of his hands rises to knock on the door of the largest shed. He prays you’re inside.

A gardener – Joochan thinks his name is Seungmin – opens the door. Immediately his eyes widen and he swings the shed fully open, sinking down to one knee. “Your Highness.”

Joochan tries to peer around Seungmin into the shed, but a few large tables piled high with plants and tools block his vision. “Please rise,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry to interrupt you as you all are leaving for the night, but I just wanted to speak to one gardener. Privately. Um, their… their name is Y/N?”

Seungmin blinks. “Of course,” he says quickly, though his eyes burn with suppressed curiosity. He ducks back into the shed. “Y/N!”

“Just a moment!” you call back from further inside.

Panic rises in Joochan’s throat at the sound of your voice, so sweet and smooth and healing, everything his isn’t. What if you’ve already told someone? What if you run away just on seeing his face?

What if you’re afraid of him?

Footsteps pad on the floor of the shed and then you push past Seungmin, looking around in apprehension. Your eyes meet.

And you freeze.

Seungmin dithers by the door, looking unsure what to do. Joochan does his best to give him a smile. “Please leave us.”

He disappears into the shed. The door shuts.

Alone with you, Joochan is struck with two realizations.

One: you look about as haggard as he does. Which means you know or at least suspect something is up with him.

Two: he has no idea what he wants to say.

Oh, gods. Joochan fights the urge to bury his face in his hands. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? Why did he even think to try and find you? If he’d just left you alone, would you have just lost your suspicion naturally? Why did he confirm things by coming here? What does he do and what does he say?

You cut his thoughts off by dropping to your knees. Joochan steps back in shock.

“Please, Your Highness.” Your voice, previously so sweet and clear, now trembles with anxiety and fear. Joochan swallows, shame and repulsion building in his heart.

Since when did he learn to inspire such terror?

“I apologize.” Your words shake as you prostrate yourself on the ground. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have been there, I shouldn’t have been trying to plant the flowers at night – I didn’t know, I won’t tell, I swear by all the gods –”

Joochan falls to his knees on impulse, reaching out towards you. You flinch away. Hurt blooms in Joochan’s chest but he lowers his hand – he is repulsive, after all, a prince marked by death itself. He shouldn’t be surprised you feel the same way as he thinks.

Even if it hurts.

“I’m not here to punish you,” Joochan says, voice surprisingly steady. “Not at all, I swear. I just –” he swallows – “I just need to know how much you know…?” He winces at the uncertainty in his tone. Even now, he still doesn’t know what to say. “Actually, is there a more private place where we can speak?”

Your eyes widen. Joochan balks. “No – I – I’m not trying to take you somewhere else where I can hurt you,” he frantically explains. “It’s just – I just –”

You cut him off by pointing to a small copse of trees. “There,” you suggest, still looking like your heart wants to beat out of your chest. “We can speak… there? Your Highness.”

Joochan almost holds out a hand for you to take before he remembers that would probably make you feel even more uncomfortable. Instead, he lowers his half-raised arm before standing and following you to the trees. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

Hidden in the foliage, you look a little more relaxed, as though in your natural element. Joochan envies how easily you shift between the trees. “Is there… something more you wanted to say to me, Your Highness?”

Your voice still shakes. Joochan tries not to cry. How can he convince you that he really has no intention to do you any harm, that he just needed to come and see for himself how much you knew?

He takes a deep breath. “Did you tell anyone?”

You shake your head vehemently. “Not a soul. And I was alone that night.”

Relief replaces a touch of the anxiety welling in his heart. “May I ask why you were there?”

“I just saw that that part of the garden was more or less empty,” you say. “I thought it would be nice to plant something there, and night-blooming roses are my favorite, so I…” You trail off. “I didn’t realize there was a reason for that. No one – no one told me I wasn’t supposed to be there –”

“It’s not your fault,” Joochan says automatically. “If no one told you, then you can’t be blamed. I’m at fault, mostly.” He looks down. “I shouldn’t have opened my window, I just didn’t think anyone would be outside that night.” A lump rises in his throat. “I can’t sing around most people, you know.”

Silence falls. Joochan starts to panic again. He said too much, definitely said too much – why did he even say that last bit, what was the point –

“Most?”

He lifts his head. “I’m sorry?”

“You said most people.” Your eyes brighten slightly with curiosity. “Are there any who can…?”

Joochan swallows as his earliest memory surfaces. His breath catches and he shoves the recollection away. “No, just you,” he whispers.

“Are you sure? It could just be that your magic only withers plants, I might not be –”

“It’s just you,” Joochan snaps.

Silence falls. Joochan takes a deep breath. He tries not to think of his disastrous first and only singing lesson but that just makes the image more vivid – his instructor’s smile freezing, legs buckling, hand coming up to clutch his heart as blood trickles from his lips –

“Your Highness?”

With effort, Joochan jerks himself out of his daze. He looks at his hands, almost expecting to see his instructor’s blood dripping rivulets down his palms, but there’s nothing. “I’m sorry,” he chokes hoarsely. “Please don’t press it. It’s just you.”

You bow your head. “I apologize.”

Quiet fills the air once more. Joochan is pretty sure the conversation is over. “I’m sorry for taking up your time when you were probably getting ready to go home.” He tries to smile. “I’ll leave you now, I know you must be tired after a long day. I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you. Just please, don’t tell anyone, because then I don’t know…” Panic crawls up his throat. “I don’t know what would happen to me or you.”

“Never.” You shake your head. “I’ll keep my silence. And I apologize for any anxiety I have caused you, Your Highness.” You look down. “I should have asked before deciding to do what I did. Speaking of… would you like the roses to be taken away? I could –”

“No!” Joochan flushes with his sudden outburst. Check yourself, Joochan. “No, please don’t,” he continues more softly. “I like them there, if you have the time to keep tending them.”

The small, genuine smile that creeps up your face nearly makes Joochan take a step back. Even as the sky grows darker, moonlight replacing the last rays of the sun, your eyes seem to glow in the deepening night, sparkling softly almost like the night-blooming roses you’ve planted beneath his balcony. “It’s my job, Your Highness.” You bow slightly. “I am honored to serve.”

Joochan feels a smile widen his lips slightly, glowing in the light of your own. “Thank you.”

. . . . .

The rest of the week comes and goes. Joochan puts on a blithe smile, escorts his fiancée anywhere they need to go, dances with her at the ball like a dutiful future husband. He tries to enjoy his time with Donghyun, who’s the only person from the delegation that he’s really happy to see, and when his family eventually leaves at the end of the week, there’s a little bit of genuine sadness at their departure.

It doesn’t match up to the utter relief at not having to pretend anymore, though.

So Joochan settles back into his normal life, deciding to make the most of the next few months alone without fiancées or future in laws, just his blood brother and two friends. His parents seem satisfied with how he conducted himself during his engagement bar the first couple of days, and Joochan slowly slips out of notice as their attention returns to Bomin’s upcoming kingship.

That’s one side effect of Joochan’s semi-exile from royal life that he doesn’t mind. The pressure of being the crown prince, having to act the perfect child even when he wants to do nothing but scream… sure, Joochan doesn’t actually scream when that happens (not until he can bury his face in his pillow, at least), but he has a little more freedom to act out than Bomin does.

Good thing Bomin has always been a good actor.  

But with Bomin’s busy schedule, Joochan has less time to talk to him. And he has so much he wants to talk about – mostly about the marriage, yes, which still turns his stomach every time it’s mentioned, but also other things. Inane things. Stuff like how Soojung could be a little less sarcastic when he’s forgotten a math concept or how the flowers in the garden have begun to fully bloom.

More specifically, the flowers just under Joochan’s own balcony.

They’re growing well. Joochan doesn’t know how many nights you’ve spent tending to them over the past couple of weeks, but the bushes of midnight blue seem to be growing even faster than they usually do. The last time he took a walk through, the buds were just appearing. That was a week ago. He didn’t see you then. In fact, he hasn’t actually seen you since the night you two spoke.

Which is normal. Gardeners don’t usually interact with princes, and Joochan himself doesn’t spend as much time as he’d like walking through the grounds. Besides, not all gardeners have shifts at the same time. But Joochan kind of wishes he could hear your voice again, if only for your song to soothe his mind.

He doesn’t dare go out onto the balcony anymore, though. If you’re working on the roses, it’s entirely possible that someone else might be with you on any given night, singing to the blooms. The flowers would die. And just because you’re somehow immune to his song doesn’t mean anyone else will be.

Joochan does not want to test that out.

So he keeps singing to himself within the thick walls of his stony room to an audience of his furniture and books. He sings more often these nights – life feels a little more barren with a lack of Bomin’s presence and the knowledge of his marriage hanging over his head – but he won’t go out onto the balcony. Not again.

Until a bouquet of roses is delivered to his room.

Once every week or two, gardeners and servants switch out the flowers around the palace. Joochan likes to keep a vase on his desk, usually some variety of roses, and it’s always nice to see a new bouquet replacing the wilted flowers of the past week, their faint scent perfuming the air.

When he walks into his quarters after a long day to see a bunch of midnight blue roses streaked with white sitting on his desk, clustered in a delicate vase, Joochan doesn’t think much of it. He smiles a little – of all roses, the night-blooming ones are his favorite type – but they don’t seem to signify anything deeper until he sees a tiny piece of something white poking out from behind the petals.

It’s a bit of ripped paper. Eyebrows furrowed, Joochan unfolds it.

You are still welcome to sing, you know. No one comes with me - they all seem to think I have some magic touch.

Then, almost as an afterthought:

You have a beautiful voice.

The note isn’t signed, but only one person could have sent it.

Joochan’s chest tightens the longer he clutches the note. You sent him roses, roses from the bushes underneath his balcony – maybe you were even the one who placed the vase on his desk – and left a note, too, a note that welcomes him to sing during the night when you are there.

You have a beautiful voice.

His stomach flips when he reads the line again, but not in the same way it always flips at the mention of his engagement. It feels lighter, sweeter, nervous but almost playful.

It feels nice.

But he still doesn’t dare go onto the balcony and start singing unannounced, so that night, he heads to the garden instead of standing above. Jangjun doesn’t stand guard at night, and it’s much easier to get past the night guard than to get past him. He waits by the rose bushes nervously, knowing there will be many questions if someone somehow catches him.

You appear after the moon has risen. From the way you start, Joochan gathers you didn’t expect him to actually be here on the grass, waiting for you on land instead of on his balcony above. Still, you take it in stride, bowing low as you approach. “Your Highness.”

“Y/N.” He nods slightly. “Thank you for the flowers.”

At that, you smile. “I thought you might like them.”

“I did, very much.” Joochan looks away, fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “I… saw your note. I appreciated that too.”

Your smile grows more hesitant, but it doesn’t disappear. “I apologize if I was too forward, Your Highness.” You swallow visibly. “It’s just that… forgive me for my presumption. I couldn’t live without my song. I can’t imagine how it feels for you.”

Pain, a pain that cuts even deeper than Bomin’s ability to heal. It can be soothed by another’s song, but only singing himself can truly heal it. Joochan barely knows how to describe the feeling – it’s been present ever since he can remember. But he doesn’t say any of that. “Thank you for your sympathy,” he says, trying to smile. “And for trying to understand.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Your smile heals Joochan almost as much as your song.

The conversation lapses into silence, then. You turn to the flowering bushes, pruning some of the longer tendrils and singing softly to the growing buds that have begun to open slightly under the influence of your magic. Joochan sits down against the palace wall and closes his eyes, listening to your soft melodies fill the air –

“I gave you the note with the intention of you singing, Your Highness.”

Joochan’s eyes fly open to see you looking at him, a teasing smile lifting the corners of your mouth. “You came here to sing, didn’t you?”

“But the roses,” he protests. “They’ll die.”

“And I can bring them back,” you counter. “Sing, Your Highness.” Your gaze softens. “It will help.”

Joochan doesn’t know how you know his pain, or even a semblance of it. Your magic heals, doesn’t kill – that means something else must have happened for you to understand a fraction of what he feels. Somehow you do know, though, and Joochan feels more compelled to listen to you than his own doubts when you say that it will help.

He leans back again and hums a brief melody, warming up his throat. Immediately the leaves closest to him begin to shrivel at the edges and he almost stops, but you hum a bar of your own, perfectly mixing your voice with Joochan’s song. You nod, still clipping leaves, and Joochan continues with your encouragement.

The song starts and finishes quietly, Joochan not wanting to disrupt your work too much, but his heart feels lighter by the time he closes his mouth around the last bars. The roses look no worse for wear – your soft humming, barely audible beneath Joochan’s quiet song, seems to have sustained them – and you wear a soft smile on your face that fairly glows under the moonlight. “That was beautiful,” you praise.

Joochan feels blood rush up to his ears. “Thank you, but I never had any formal training,” he says, dipping his head. “I’m nowhere near your level.”

“I know.” Your eyes twinkle when he looks over at you in surprised confusion. “I can tell you haven’t had lessons. It’s something in…” You pause, contemplating a rose. “Something in your technique. It’s a little lacking.” You look up from the bloom. “But regardless, your voice has a very raw power. That can’t be learned. If you had any training at all, I think you might sing as well as your brother, Your Highness.”

“You’ve heard him sing?” Joochan tries not to feel jealous.

You hum a short melody to a bud, which eagerly responds to your song. “Once or twice, at festivals.” Your gaze turns to him, still teasing. “I watched you play your instruments at those same festivals too, you know.”

Joochan flushes again. Was he that obvious?

From the glint in your eye and the restrained smile on your lips, the answer is yes. Thankfully, you don’t push it. “Would you sing again?” you ask instead. “Your voice truly is wonderful, Your Highness.”

Courage bursts in Joochan’s chest and he opens his mouth. “Will you teach me to sing?”

You blink. “You already know how to sing? Your Highness.”

“You said my technique was lacking.” Joochan plays with several blades of grass nervously. “Could you give me pointers? Or at least tell me what you think is the problem?”

“I – Your Highness, I’m not a professional.” Moonlight shines on your face, uncertainty now painted across your lips. “I mean – I just – I don’t want to say anything wrong –”

“If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to,” Joochan cuts in, already feeling regret for asking. His fingers wrap around a blade of grass. It comes away in his hand. “But…”

You cock your head, listening cautiously.

His voice grows small. “You’re the only one who can listen to me without dying.”

Silence falls after his admission. Joochan doesn’t dare look at you for fear of pity or rejection in your eyes.

“I… will try.” You meet Joochan’s wide eyes, uncertainty still present in your own. “I mean, I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

Joochan almost reaches out to touch your arm, touch your hand, anything in thanks, but he restrains himself. You’re already probably uncomfortable enough. “If you really don’t want to, I won’t force you,” he repeats, despite the hope filling his chest.

“No, I want to.” Uncertainty fades in favor of a gentle smile. “I’ll do it, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” Joochan breathes. “Thank you so much.”

“It is my honor,” you reply, dipping your head. When you raise it, there’s a twinkle in your eye. “Now sing, yes? I can’t critique you without a song.”

Joochan has never opened his mouth faster.

. . . . .

With you so uncertain, Joochan wasn’t honestly expecting too much from you as a vocal instructor. You seemed so hesitant about the whole affair – he only really hoped for a few basic tips every now and then. Maybe, as he just got more used to singing, he would get better naturally.

But that first night, you give him a lesson, a whole lesson like the ones his paid instructors give. Open your mouth a little more, Your Highness, close it here. Hey, try a falsetto – see, it sounds much better like that, right? Don’t strain your throat too much, Your Highness. Your voice doesn’t only come from the throat, it comes from the body. Use your chest – yes, that’s it. You’ll have to practice this more on your own, but don’t be discouraged if you don’t get it in one night. It took me weeks to master it.

You’re a good teacher. Really good. Joochan would even hazard to say you’re better than some of the royal tutors and instructors he’s had over the years, and by the time the moon has fully risen and you decide it’s been long enough, Joochan feels like he’s soaring among the stars.

“Remember to practice,” you remind him before you part that night. “I may be the instructor, but it’s your voice.”

He does. Night after night, on those evenings he doesn’t steal away to the gardens to meet with you, Joochan runs through his scales and the vocal exercises you gave him the last time. He scribbles notes, questions, reminders on scraps of paper that he hides in his drawers but shows you on those lovely nights under the moon and stars, singing for you and the roses to hear.

“You’re dedicated,” you say one evening, smiling. “If I were a full-time instructor, I think I’d be blessed to have you as a student, Your Highness.”

Joochan colors at your praise. It makes him feel like one of the roses you tend, blossoming under the sound of your warm voice. “I have a good teacher,” he replies, focusing hard on one of the blooms to avoid your eyes. It’s fully open, silky petals spread wide under the moon. Little stripes of white sparkle like stars on the midnight blue. “How are you so good at this? Who taught you?”

For several seconds, you don’t reply. It’s long enough that Joochan looks up, heart beating uncertainly in his chest. Did he say something wrong? “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer if it’s not something –”

“No, it’s okay.” You swallow, not even noticing you interrupted him (the first time you did, Joochan had to reassure you over and over that it was completely fine). Joochan stays still as your lips thin, eyes trained on the bud you’ve been coaxing open. “My father taught me.”

Your father. From the forced flatness in your tone, Joochan gathers there’s something more behind your words. He stays silent, waiting to see if you’ll continue.

You do. “My mother died giving birth to me, so it was just me and my father for as long as I can remember.” Your smile doesn’t look like a smile, more of a pained gash across your face. Involuntarily, Joochan shudders. “He was a real vocal instructor. Taught me most of what I know of healing, and all that I know of singing.”

Snip. Joochan flinches as a leaf goes fluttering to the ground, cut off by your shears.

“He died when I was eighteen,” you say bluntly, shears held in a vice grip. “Without him, I came to the capital to… you know. Try my luck. I was always a better gardener than a physical healer, so I worked at some of the noble estates before someone recommended me here.”

So that’s the pain. Joochan clenches his fist. That’s the pain that helped you understand even vaguely how he feels, unable to release his song. Different types of pain, yes, but similar in intensity.

He tries to imagine what it would be like to lose Bomin, Jangjun, Jaehyun. Knives seem to dig into his chest.

Your pain is probably even more intense.

“And, well.” Your voice interrupts Joochan’s thoughts. He looks up as you shrug, smile sardonic. “Here I am.”

Joochan swallows, picking at the grass. He knows how empty his words will sound before he even says them. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it wasn’t your fault.” Your smile is understanding, though, even in its sadness. A bit of a teasing tone finds its way into your voice. “You sure apologize a lot, don’t you, Your Highness?”

Hearing the mischief in your words, Joochan would normally feel a smile beginning to creep up his own face. This time, though, a little needle wedges itself into his ribs, deep enough to wound even if not enough to kill.

You’re right. He does apologize a lot. It’s kind of hard to stop when he’s been made to apologize for his entire existence.

“I apologize.��

Joochan looks up at your words. You hold his gaze, unflinching. “I apologize,” you repeat again. “I assumed a level of familiarity that we haven’t reached yet.” This time, you look away. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s not –” Joochan swallows. “It’s not about familiarity. It’s… other things.”

He catches the exact moment your eyes widen, the exact moment you understand. Your mouth twists and you look away again, though Joochan sees shame in the thin press of your lips. “I understand,” you reply softly. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

“It isn’t your fault,” he says automatically, the same way he does to Bomin. The words leave a bitter aftertaste – it never gets easier, absolving people of blame they never even incurred. His mind searches for a way to change the topic. He’s good at that. “As for familiarity…”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hm?”

An idea pops into his thoughts, an idea he’s been toying with for a while but that he was too shy to suggest. “Don’t call me Your Highness anymore,” he says boldly. “Just call me Joochan.”

It takes a moment for you to process, but then you scoff. “You’re funny, Your Highness.”

“Joochan.”

“Your Highness.”

Unconsciously, he pouts. “You were the one who brought up the topic of familiarity,” he points out. “Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

“Ever heard of too much of a good thing?” you retort, putting down your shears. “Too much familiarity won’t mean good things for either me or you, Your Highness.”

“Joochan,” he corrects. “And does that mean you think us being familiar is a good thing?”

You groan. “Walked right into that one,” you mutter. Joochan grins, but you’re not done. “Your Highness, there’s a level of respect I have to maintain for you and your position. I’m sorry, but me calling you by your given name is not something I see myself doing in the foreseeable future.”

Joochan’s pout deepens. “We’ll see about that.”

“Is that a challenge, Your Highness?”

“And if it is?”

You pinch a bud between your fingers, scrutinizing it under the moonlight. Your head turns just slightly so Joochan can see the twinkle in your eye. “Then, Your Highness, I’m afraid you’ll be fighting a losing battle.”

. . . . .

Joochan thinks you might have underestimated his stubbornness.

“Your Highness, don’t you have better things to be doing than bothering me all night?” you ask, pausing in your humming to face him. “Royal duties and whatnot? Or, I don’t know – sleeping?”

“I feel like we’re becoming more familiar even if you refuse to call me by my name,” Joochan says obnoxiously. “What happened to propriety? Speaking respectfully to a prince?”

You pat some soil into place. A few nearby blades of grass seem to perk up when you hum briefly. “Calling you by your title is about the last mark of respect I’m still giving you,” you point out. “Do you really want that taken away, too?”

“Why not just let it go, if we’re already that far?” he counters. “Jaehyun calls me by my name when we’re alone. So does Jangjun.”

“Jaehyun…” You frown, then snap your fingers. “Is he that servant? You know, the puppy-eyed one?”

Joochan blinks. Jaehyun does have large eyes like those of a puppy. “… Yes? I think so.”

You look sidelong at Joochan. “If it helps, I like your eyes too, Your Highness.” Your gaze narrows teasingly. “They’re sharper. Like a fox.”

Joochan’s cheeks burn. “What –”

You burst into a peal of laughter. “Work on not pouting when you want attention,” you say, grinning.

Too late, Joochan realizes his lips have unconsciously turned downwards into a pout. He lifts them immediately, cursing internally – no wonder he’s so easy to read. “Don’t change the subject,” he says, catching himself again before the corners of his lips fall. “Why can’t you just call me by my name like Jangjun and Jaehyun?”

“You’ve likely known them far longer than I’ve known you and you’ve known me, Your Highness.” You put down your small shovel. “It makes perfect sense that you could convince them to bow to your whims, if you’ve been friends for as long as you say.”

Joochan gives up on suppressing his pout. “It’s not a whim,” he says. “I really do want you to call me Joochan.”

“Be that as it may, it isn’t proper, Your Highness, and I’d rather not get scolded for accidentally calling you by something above my station on accident.” Your eyes narrow. “Actually, is something wrong, Your Highness?” you ask, the teasing bite fading out of your voice. “You aren’t usually this forward about just your name.”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He knows you’re perceptive, has known it ever since you rooted out that little bit of jealousy at the mention of Bomin’s singing, but as admirable as it is, he sometimes wishes you couldn’t read him so easily. “What, you don’t like it?”

“You’re deflecting.” Leaning forward, you fix him with your gaze. “What’s bothering you, Your Highness?”

Lots of things. There are only a few months until Donghyun’s family comes back for the second round of forced courtship. His parents are giving him more unwanted attention – asking about his studies in their cold, uninterested voices, reminding him of his duties every time his lip so much as twitches in rebellion.

And earlier in the day, he had the first fitting for his wedding clothes.

Joochan shudders, remembering white silk sliding over his arms, pins poking all over his body as the fabric tightened against his skin, smooth, cold, cloying around his throat and shoulders and torso. It was only the shirt for today – there are still the pants and coat and jewelry, not to mention different hairstyles and makeup combinations to try, all so his parents can get him out of the palace once and for all – and just thinking of how much there is left to do makes Joochan want to throw up.

“Your Highness?”

Your voice, full of concern, brings Joochan back to earth. “Sorry.” He blinks the memories out of his eyes. Gods, he has another fitting in a week, even though the wedding is still months away. “I – yes. Some things are bothering me.” He curves his lips into the imitation of a smile. “I’ll be fine, though, if you would just stop being stubborn and call me by my name.”

By the look in your eyes, you don’t believe him, but thankfully you don’t push it any further. “I’m the stubborn one?” You scoff lightly. “Who’s the one who’s been pressuring me to stop using your title this whole time? I didn’t bring it up.”

“Please?” Joochan asks, making sure to pout as fully as he can. “Please?”

Something breaks in your expression and you shake your head, suppressing a smile. Joochan’s heart lifts in victory –

“No.”

His jaw drops. “You –”

“I’m kidding.” You turn back to him, eyes sparkling. “If it really will make you happier, I’ll stop calling you by your title, Your –” You catch yourself. “Joochan.”

Something bursts in Joochan’s heart when he hears his name from your voice, sweet, clear, songlike in the melody of your tones. A rose in bloom, perhaps, petals unfurling from the bud at his name on your lips…

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His words tremble slightly despite his attempted bravado.

You smirk. “Almost sounds like it was harder for you, Joochan.”

Damn your perception. “Am I going to regret this?”

Your smirk deepens. “Whatever happens, just know you brought it on yourself.”

. . . . .

“You look happier,” Bomin remarks one afternoon.

Joochan looks over. “Do I?”

“Yeah.” His brother nods. “There’s more… something.” Bomin waves his hands around aimlessly. “Something in your face. And in the way you walk.”

“Something.” Joochan snorts. “Is that what all of those literature and speech lessons are teaching you to say?”

“Shut up,” Bomin snips, pushing him away. His gaze turns more serious. “I’m glad.”

Joochan blinks. “Glad about what?”

“You being happy.” Bomin smiles. “Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over?” He shoves his face into Joochan’s. “Exchanging romantic letters?”

The grin freezes on Joochan’s face as visions of you flash through his mind. Dark nights, pale moonlight, stars shimmering on your eyes and hands as you hum a melody that twines with his, keeping the roses in a delicate balance between alive and withering away…

He could tell Bomin. His brother is a secret-keeper to the last and knows how to act. But something tells Joochan that he would disapprove is he said anything, and even if that wasn’t the case, there’s a selfish desire to keep you to himself.

Joochan doesn’t want to share this… whatever it is, between you and him.

“Something like that,” he lies.

And for some reason, Bomin looks like he believes it.

. . . . .

Except, apparently, he doesn’t.

. . . . .

There is no moon when Joochan steps onto the balcony, peering over the edge to see whether or not you’re there, pruning the bushes. You don’t often come out during new moons – something about the absence of light not inspiring your song – but Joochan checks anyway.

To his surprise, he sees a sliver of movement, a flash of metal just beyond the balcony that looks like your shovel or your shears. It doesn’t take long for Joochan to sneak out of his room and into the garden grounds, a smile on his face as he rounds a corner to see –

“Joochan.”

Jangjun?

His guard steps forward, arms crossed and eyes visibly narrowed even in the darkness. Starlight shines coldly on his face. “Who are you meeting out here every other night?”

Stall? Lie? Joochan keeps his mouth resolutely shut as his mind races for something to say. He can’t mention you, can’t bring you into this mess that you never asked for, but Jangjun has known him for so long and might even be more perceptive than you so what kind of lie will even sound believable when Joochan is right here in the garden like he was expecting someone –

Jangjun’s eyes widen with realization and Joochan’s stomach plummets. “You’re meeting that gardener. The one you were talking with when Donghyun’s sister was here.”

Joochan just stares. How did he figure it out so fast?

“Tell me it isn’t true, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward, lips pursed. Any sign of his usual mischief has fled from his eyes. “Joochan.”

He stays silent.

“Gods.” Jangjun rubs his temples, the metal of his arm guards catching the faint starlight. Damn, that was what fooled him. “Joochan, seriously? What are you doing with them? You weren’t lying before, right – they’re not blackmailing you or anything?”

Joochan ignores all of his guard’s questions in favor of his own. “How did you know I was sneaking out?”

Jangjun sighs. “I don’t know why you still sometimes think you can lie to Bomin.”

Bomin?

A conversation from two weeks before flutters into Joochan’s mind.

“Did Donghyun’s sister finally win you over? Exchanging romantic letters?”

“Something like that.”

Bomin. Joochan shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep breath, trying to dissipate the flames of anger beginning to lick in his chest. Of course it was Bomin. Bomin sees through everything.

And right now, Joochan hates that.

“So Bomin sent you to figure out what was going on with me.” He laughs, short, bitter. “Even though he said I was happier, he still –”

“You lied to him, Joochan,” Jangjun cuts in. “You never lie to him and he never lies to you.”

“So maybe I lied for a reason!” Joochan snaps. “Seriously – why is it that you can’t just leave me alone like my parents –”

“Because we care about you!”

“Then why are you trying to cut off the reason I’ve been happy?”

Silence follows his outburst. Jangjun actually takes a small step back. Joochan clenches his fist and takes a deep breath. Calm down.

He closes his eyes. Breathes. Opens them again. “So what are you going to do now?” he snaps. “Report to Bomin about my actions? Report to my parents?”

“Joochan –”

“Actually, don’t.” He scoffs. “I’ll go talk to Bomin myself. And Jangjun, even if you won’t leave me alone about this, listen to me on one thing.” Joochan steps forward. “Do not bring Y/N into this.”

With that, he turns on his heel and storms back into the palace.

. . . . .

Bomin’s attendant, Sanha, opens the door with a confused expression. “Your Highness?”

“Where’s Bomin?” Joochan demands, brushing past.

His brother pops out from behind one of the doors, eyebrows furrowed. “Joochan?”

Joochan bites his tongue to keep from shouting right then and there. “Dismissed,” he says bluntly, barely returning Sanha’s low bow. The door shuts.

And Joochan snaps.

“You sent my own guard to spy on me?” he yells. “With all the spies our parents have in the palace, you seriously sent Jangjun after me – my literal guard and one of the few people I trust – because you thought I told one lie?”

“I was worried!” Bomin says, eyes wide. “Joochan, you never lie to me –”

“Don’t tell me that’s it,” Joochan snarls. “There’s no way this is the only time you’ve ever thought I lied – if you sent Jangjun after me every time –” his eyes narrow – “unless you did –”

Bomin shakes his head wildly. “No! It’s just – I’m worried about with you and Donghyun’s sister!” He steps forward, eyes pleading. “Joochan, if your marriage doesn’t go through –”

Joochan laughs into his hand. “You too?”

“… What?”

“It’s always my marriage, my stupid marriage,” he rants, voice rising. Thank the gods for thick stone walls. “Has anyone ever considered that I don’t want it, I don’t fucking want it –”

“It’s your escape, Joochan!” Bomin snaps. “It’s your ticket out of this palace, so you can be free from –”

“From what?” Joochan laughs, high and mirthless. “From what?”

“From us!”

“And you’d have me gain my freedom by forcing me from one prison to another?”

Bomin’s mouth snaps shut.

“I can’t do anything because I have this stupid curse,” Joochan snarls. “I’m the unwanted son – don’t argue with me, you know it’s true – it doesn’t matter that I’m the oldest, I’ve literally been passed over for the crown because of it! And I don’t even care about that – all I fucking care about is being able to sing and of course I can’t do that either because people will drop dead half a second after I open my mouth – remember my first voice instructor? You think that’ll change once I get married? You think that’ll change?” He scoffs. “Donghyun and his family don’t know for a reason! And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter because singing around them would make them drop dead too!”

Tears have begun to burn in Joochan’s eyes. He blinks furiously, trying to keep them at bay, but months of pent-up rage and anger only make them push harder. Bomin’s eyes shine – they look watery, too – but Joochan turns away with thinned lips. He doesn’t have the energy to apologize to his brother, much less comfort him. It isn’t even his turn to be comforted.

“You don’t understand,” Joochan manages when the silence has grown too thick. “I love you, Bomin, and I know you love me too, but just like I’ll never understand the pressures of being the crown prince, you won’t understand what it’s like not to be able to sing.” He swallows. “You couldn’t even heal that sort of pain. And just when I’ve found someone who can listen…”

When Bomin sucks in a breath, Joochan realizes what he’s said. He panics, mind scrambling for a way to cover up his slip of the tongue – Joochan, you absolute idiot –

But it’s already too late to take anything back.

“You – someone can listen to your song?” Bomin whispers, almost as though he can’t believe it. “How…?”

Joochan groans, putting his head against the wall. Why can’t he do anything right? “It was an accident,” he says shortly, brushing away the stray tears that have fallen.

“But how –”

“Don’t ask me about it,” Joochan snaps, whirling around. His previous anger comes back in full force – not anger at Bomin, at least not as much, more anger at himself for not controlling his mouth, but it’s easier to direct it at his brother. “And don’t send my own guard after me for any more answers. If you think I’m lying, say it to my face, Bomin.”

Before his brother can say another word, Joochan throws open the door and stalks out.

. . . . .

Joochan doesn’t know what to do about you.

Well, there isn’t anything to do about you, per se. He just doesn’t know how to convey that he let things slip and now both Jangjun and his brother have more knowledge than they need, and maybe you two should hold off meeting for a little while.

You aren’t supposed to come around for a few days or so – you and Joochan have worked out a rough sort of schedule based on when the roses need tending and how often he wants a singing lesson – which should give him a few days to work something out. Instead, all he uses the time for is to sulk.

He’s still annoyed at both Jangjun and Bomin. More so at his brother because Jangjun has less leeway when given orders (which were given by Bomin in the first place), but still both of them. Bomin stays quiet when Joochan is near and Jangjun doesn’t even attempt conversation, though Joochan catches him staring over sometimes with a strange look on his face. He doesn’t bother to question it.

By the time night has begun to fall on day three, Joochan still has nothing. He debated going to the sheds and trying to find you there, but that would draw attention from anyone else who happened to be present, and also Jangjun never leaves his side. He tried to catch you in the gardens on the off chance that Jangjun isn’t looking, but you seem to disappear when he’s there – it’s like you magically end up on the opposite side of the palace grounds when he’s looking for you on the other.

In the end, all Joochan has is a rolled up piece of paper and a long piece of string that he hopes will reach the garden from his balcony. He hopes you can read. It’s not that uncommon anymore for commoners anymore, but there are still some. You were the one who wrote him that first note, though, so he isn’t too worried about that.

He’s more worried you’ll be angry with him.

Night comes. You appear at the end of the garden. Joochan waits on the balcony, heart ready to beat out of his chest, and sings a brief note when you get closer.

You look up. The waxing moon glows on your face.

Swallowing, Joochan waves a hand in the air, the hand holding the rolled up note attached to the string. He walks to the edge of the balcony and lets it drop.

The string tenses slightly, then goes lax. You’ve pulled it off and are hopefully reading it. His explanation, his apologies, his understanding if you don’t want anything to do with him anymore out of fear of your own safety…

Nothing happens. Joochan’s heart keeps pounding. You make no sound, no indication that you read anything he wrote –

Then the first bars of a song wisp through the air. Your voice flutters up to the balcony, soft and warm and inviting, singing words of forgiveness, melody soothing to his ears. It’s a little thin, laid slightly bare from the distance separating you, but Joochan latches onto the notes, sitting against the balcony rail and closing his eyes to the sound of your voice.

Your song tapers away eventually. Joochan swallows around a lump in his throat when it ends, fully expecting you to pack up your things and go once you’ve finished tending to the roses (it shouldn’t take as long as usual today since he’s not singing), but the ensuing silence almost has an expectant quality to it.

Like you’re waiting for something in reply.

Joochan clears the lump from his throat. Opens his mouth. Begins to hum softly to wake up his voice, then starts singing back.

It’s strange, not hearing your voice meld with his. You must be humming a little to keep the roses alive, but from his balcony, Joochan can’t hear it. After so many nights of singing duets with you, changing your melodies to fit the other’s, it feels a little strange to listen to himself sing like this in the open air. But he continues until the end of what he has, voice fading into the night.

A beat of silence follows. Then you begin singing again, but it’s a familiar melody this time – one of those that you like to use as a starting point for Joochan to follow, letting your voices twist and harmonize until you’ve created something new together, something fleeting but beautiful in its improvisation.

“You won’t remember the melody afterwards,” you say, cutting off a branch. “But you’ll remember the feeling, and sometimes that’s more important. Music is about making people feel, after all.”

Feeling. Joochan feels a lot, day by day. It’s part of being human. Tonight, singing an ephemeral melody with you…

He feels at peace.

. . . . .

Weeks pass. Joochan tries to live on his biweekly duets on the balcony with you. It won’t fill the void of not being able to talk to you – it’s just more natural to moderate the volume of his song, whereas calling down from a balcony would be more of a hassle – but it’s enough to hear your voice. Or so Joochan tries to tell himself.

(You sometimes leave him notes with the new flower replacements, white paper nestled between dark green thorns and midnight blue petals. Joochan puts them in the box under his mattress where he keeps his most treasured belongings and threads a hair between the lock to make sure no one gets in.)

Jangjun apologizes. So does Bomin. Joochan accepts it – he can’t stay too upset at them for long – and they go back to normal, Jangjun snickering whenever Joochan trips over a rock, Bomin suffering through Joochan pinching his cheeks whenever he so pleases.

Yeah. Normal.

Until weeks have somehow flown by and Donghyun’s family is arriving at the palace gates once more for the second stage of courtship.

They arrive late in the night, so Joochan thankfully isn’t required to be awake to receive them. Their meeting will be at dinner the next day, giving the entourage more than enough time to freshen up, which just means Joochan has more hours to sit on the floor of his rooms after lessons and stare at nothing while he waits for his impending doom.

He knows he’s being dramatic. But he also knows that he really, really, really doesn’t want to go through with this marriage, even more so than before.

His gaze lights on the latest bouquet of flowers sitting on his desk. The roses are white this time, interspersed with light pink blooms. You probably didn’t choose them – there was no note – but they’re pretty, anyway, even if they aren’t the night-blooming roses growing under Joochan’s balcony.

Joochan walks over to the flowers. Contemplates them for a moment. Picks up one of the white roses, imagines it in his fiancée’s hands as she walks down the aisle…

Thankfully, a knock sounds on his door before he has enough time to imagine more. Getting overly dressed for dinner is preferable to locking himself within his mind.

But then dinner actually comes.

And Joochan literally does not know what to do with himself.

His parents keep up chatter at the other end of the table, of course, all polite greetings and inquiries about the trip and we hope your quarters have been to your liking despite the fact that Donghyun’s family stayed in the exact same set of rooms last time they came and liked them just as much back then. Not to mention that said rooms are the fanciest guest rooms in the entire palace. If they weren’t satisfied, Joochan doesn’t know what would work for them.

Meanwhile, at his end of the table, Joochan is trying very hard not to make so much as a single noise against his plate or cup because if he does, everyone will look at him and he’ll be forced to break the awkward silence.

It’s even worse than the first time. At least then, Donghyun was still smiling, and his sister attempted conversation with Joochan. Bomin was fairly able to put people at ease when even Joochan’s social tendencies failed. But now there’s a tense set to Donghyun’s jaw, a burning anger in his sister’s eyes, and Joochan can’t think of anything he might’ve done wrong considering he hasn’t seen them in months. He’s sent letters to both and acted (at least outwardly) like he was fine with this arrangement. He hasn’t done anything to his parents’ knowledge that would indicate he’s opposed to it – he knows that because if he had, he would’ve gotten a scolding and maybe something worse –

Joochan winces as an old scar on his back suddenly twitches with pain. Bomin looks over, concerned, but Joochan quickly schools his face back to neutrality. Damn the memories.

“Is anything not to your liking?” Bomin asks quietly, bravely breaking the silence. His gaze flits uncertainly between Donghyun and his sister.

Both of them blink in tandem. Donghyun’s face relaxes a little and some of the anger fades from his sister’s eyes, their lips upturning slightly in sheepish surprise. “No, not at all,” his sister replies. “I apologize. The trip was long, and some of our nerves are… frayed.”

Judging from the shadow that passes through Donghyun’s eyes, “frayed” is a weak way to put it.

The silence, lifts though, and they converse more normally after that. Joochan catches a flicker of relief in his father’s eyes when they meet for the briefest moment, and even his mother gives a tiny nod of approval when the excruciating meal is finally over.

Everyone splits off, then, to do whatever they have in their plans for the night. Joochan and Bomin take a walk in the garden. Donghyun and his sister disappear to who-knows-where. It’s peaceful. More or less.

Until Joochan and Bomin are returning (they didn’t see you) to their quarters for bed and they happen to pass by the guest rooms, where shouts echo faintly behind closed doors. With unspoken agreement, the brothers start walking quickly down the hall, trying not to listen to what the other pair of siblings is saying.

Then a door flies open and catches Joochan in the face as his fiancée storms out in a swirl of skirts and fury.

For a moment, there is only dead silence as everyone tries to comprehend what just happened. Joochan brings a hand to his nose. It comes away bloody.

Great.

“Gods above,” his fiancée whispers. “Your Highness – Joochan – I’m so sorry –” She turns to Bomin, who still looks like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “Where’s the infirmary?”

So Joochan ends up sitting on the edge of a white infirmary bed, pinching his nose between large bundles of gauze. Bomin has gone off, presumably to tell Donghyun what happened, and Joochan’s fiancée sits next to him, wringing her hands in apology even as he tells her over and over again that it’s fine – actually, it’s even a little funny.

Bomin will definitely be teasing Joochan about this by tomorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” she says again, staring into her lap. “I was just so angry – I didn’t see you –”

“I’m fine,” Joochan repeats, voice still slightly distorted by the residual pain in his nose. “If you were as upset as you sounded, I completely understand.”

She stiffens. “I – you heard us?”

“Not much.” Joochan winces in embarrassment. “I could only hear that you were yelling, neither I nor Bomin could actually make out anything. The walls here are thick.” For a reason.

Relief floods her face. Joochan looks at her for a moment, trying to see if it’s anything he should be worried about, but he turns away. He’d be alarmed if anyone heard any of his arguments with Bomin, after all, even if they were light.

One of the physicians comes in soon after. His nose doesn’t look to be majorly injured, so he sings Joochan a brief, warm melody that stops the bleeding (his voice isn’t as pretty as yours, though) and sends him on his way. Donghyun’s sister helps him wipe away the last of the dried blood, and then they walk back down to the guest rooms, where Joochan bids her goodnight.

She pauses before entering her quarters, though. “I just remembered – could we take a walk in the gardens tomorrow, Joochan?” Her eyes sparkle strangle, a mix of eagerness and muted anxiety. “I couldn’t forget watching the flowers bloom over these past few months.”

Joochan blinks. “Of course,” he says, even though his mind whirls with possible reasons behind the sudden request. The flowers are beautiful, of course, and there are new varieties blossoming with the change of seasons, but the anxiousness etched into the set of your lips speaks of something more than wishing to listen to some song. “In the afternoon? We can take a walk after lunch.”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiles. “Thank you, Joochan.”

He returns the smile. “It’s no problem.”

. . . . .

Everyone seems surprised when Joochan leaves together with his fiancée after lunch, citing a stroll in the garden, but it isn’t bad surprise. Bomin looks interested, Donghyun less annoyed, and Joochan even catches something like satisfaction in his parents’ eyes as they sweep out of the room.

It makes his stomach curdle a little inside.

Joochan starts the conversation, idly talking about the new season and which flowers the gardeners have begun putting into the ground. The air is crisper, cooler, and Joochan takes comfort in the breeze against his cheeks as he walks her around the grass, pausing every so often to listen to one of the gardeners sing. She doesn’t speak much, but at least the singing seems to make her look a little happier.

They pass by the stretch where Joochan’s balcony is, providing a spot of shade under the afternoon sun. Joochan tries to hurry past – he doesn’t want questions about the roses now stretching across the walls, blooming beautifully from your song – but then his fiancée gasps in surprise. “The roses!”

Something tightens in Joochan’s chest. He doesn’t know what it is – it doesn’t feel good, like a cross between fear and anxiety and… he can’t figure it out. None of it. But his fiancée is looking at him and he has to put on a smile so he curves his lips and nods, trying to ignore the feeling. “Yes, one of the newer gardeners managed to make them grow. You met them last time.” He tries to ignore the feeling in his heart, even as it tightens its hold. “Y/N.”

Y/N. You. You made them grow with your gentle hands and lovely voice. You made them grow despite Joochan’s cursed song, molded your melodies with his so they wouldn’t kill so easily, wouldn’t act so much the curse they were always meant to be…

He swallows, trying to banish all thoughts of you from his mind. For the first time on one of his walks in the garden, Joochan feels guiltily glad that he hasn’t seen you.

You and his fiancée don’t exactly coexist well in his thoughts, for reasons Joochan doesn’t have the time or energy to pick apart.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, clearly oblivious to Joochan’s internal conflict. She steps forward until they’re both under the shade of the balcony, marveling at the midnight blue roses streaked with white, galaxies in the night sky. “Do they bloom year round?”

“Yes, this variety does.” Joochan rubs a soft petal between his fingers, trying to recall just how many nights have passed since he last saw you face to face instead of just hearing your voice from up above. Too many, probably. “They wilt a little more easily in winter, but they can still grow if the snow isn’t too heavy.”

She hums in acknowledgement, still staring at the flowers. Her fingers twitch near a couple of the blooms, but she doesn’t do anything more than touch their petals.

Oh. She wants to pick one, maybe. Take it back to her rooms. Admire it.

For some reason, the thought of your flowers in his fiancée’s hands and in her rooms makes the feeling in Joochan’s chest intensify.

His lips fight hard to stay in a neutral smile as he reaches out, fingers trembling, to snap off one of the flowers just above the crown of five leaves at the base of the stem, the way you showed him how to so many weeks ago when he still met you under the moon and the stars, listened to your voice wash over the plants and his ears next to you, not from far away. Carefully, as his fiancée watches, Joochan pulls off the thorns, all the while trying not to feel like he’s betraying your song, your art, then nestles the bloom gently behind her ear. “For you,” he chokes, forcibly ignoring the tightness in his chest.

She touches the rose gently, fingers brushing against the petals. She looks beautiful in that moment, eyes shining, figure lovely against the green garden and sunlight, and not for the first time, Joochan wishes he could have just fallen in love with her. It would make things so much easier.

But the knowledge that he’d have no freedom in this marriage even if he was able to love, keeps his heart from racing too fast in her presence. He couldn’t fall in love with Donghyun’s sister, never – there are too many secrets and hidden agendas behind their match.

“Thank you,” she says, voice soft. For a moment, her eyes sparkle with true peace, true happiness, and Joochan feels a little happier for her. But then a shadow falls over her gaze and she looks away, hand falling limply from the rose to her side. Silence stretches.

“Shall we keep going?” Joochan finally says once he feels uncomfortable enough that he needs to speak. Thankfully, she nods, the smile reappearing on her face as he takes her arm once more, leading her out of the shade and into the sun.

He tries not to look at the midnight blue rose he tucked behind her ear as he forces conversation. “Do you truly like the flowers here?”

“I love them,” she says earnestly. Joochan can tells she’s speaking the truth. “My kingdom has flowers too, but for some reason, the ones here just… they’re so much brighter. Livelier.” She smiles briefly. “Maybe it’s the song.”

Joochan knows what he should say next. He should say something like, “when we’re married, we’ll have a garden of our own,” something that a fiancé in love with his future wife would say.

He’s not in love, but he says it anyway. Because he should. And he thinks maybe the thought of a garden for herself will make her smile a little more, even if the marriage he mentions isn’t anything she wants.

At least, he thinks it isn’t what she wants. She’s polite enough and hasn’t said anything to indicate it, but body language and silence sometimes speak more than words.

Her smile turns smaller, lips pressing together as she shifts away from him, ever so slightly. Joochan confirms his suspicions. “That would be lovely.”

The expression on her face indicates anything but. And even though she was the one who initiated the walk, was the one who seemed to want to talk, she doesn’t speak for the rest of the afternoon. 

Neither does Joochan. 

. . . . .

Several days fly by in a blur. There’s another ball next week, even bigger than the last – Joochan will present the second courting gift to his fiancée, as per his kingdom’s tradition (the first was sent on a long time ago), and she will engage him for the first dance, as per hers. On the one night you two are scheduled to meet, Joochan lowers down a note saying I’m sorry, Y/N, but I’m exhausted tonight – I can barely stay awake long enough to write this.

You’ve taken to bringing a stub of a pencil with you on these nights so that your communication isn’t only by song. This time is no exception, and Joochan quickly lifts up the string at your subtle tug.

Need a lullaby?

Your voice almost soothes him to sleep on the balcony.

He gets through the next couple of days, gets through the last minute fittings for new clothes (as if he needs more), opinions on the appetizer menu (shouldn’t they be asking the cooks?), what flowers would fit best the theme best (they bring in a vase of night-blooming roses and all Joochan can think of is you). Joochan tries to go through it with a smile on his face – he doesn’t trip over his fiancée’s feet or skirts when they have their lessons, which makes Youngtaek seem a little more satisfied – but when the night of the ball actually arrives, Joochan almost fights Jaehyun when his servant comes to drag him out of bed.

The flowers in his room were replaced about a week ago, yellow and red tulips forming a bright sunburst on his desk. Perhaps someone was just trying to cheer him up. Or maybe they somehow knew his fiancée’s favorite flowers were tulips and decided to make a little joke.

Joochan tries not to look at their slightly wilted stems. They only remind him of a certain night-blooming rose whose face he hasn’t seen in weeks.

He wears a dark suit, deep blue trimmed with silver embroidery around the shoulders and cuffs. Jaehyun puts a few last touches on his makeup and hands Joochan an earring, telling him to put it in – “You’re the servant, shouldn’t you be dressing me?” “Are your fingers that inept, Your Royal Highness?” – before taking the prince’s crown off the pillow it was delivered on, silver and jewels glinting in the evening light filtering through the window. The cold weight settles on Joochan’s head.

“There,” Jaehyun says softly. “You’re ready.”

Joochan lifts his gaze to the mirror. A young man stares back, faded pink hair swept elegantly off his forehead, an earring glinting just above his shoulder. Makeup around his eyes makes them darker, more piercing, and he wears a fine blue suit, slim silver chains draping over the shoulders and around the neck. The jewels in the crown sparkle brilliantly, even in the fading light.

He swallows hard. The young man copies the movement. He averts his eyes, clenching his fist.

This man in the mirror, the man Joochan knows is himself, looks fine and elegant and handsome, almost exactly what a prince should be. If he didn’t know he was cursed, Joochan might even dare to say he was the perfect model of royalty, second only to maybe his brother.

He’s never hated it more.

Jangjun’s characteristic knock sounds at the door before Joochan can take more time to hate himself. Jaehyun helps him out of the chair and squeezes his shoulder slightly, their previous teasing mood forgotten in the wake of what they both know Joochan has to do next. With a brief “good luck” and “thanks,” Joochan opens the door.

Both of Jangjun’s eyes rise the second he sees Joochan. “Looking good, Your Highness.”

Joochan scoffs lightly. “You just want me to say you look good too, right?”

He does look good. Few people are blind to the fact that Jangjun is actually very handsome, and Joochan has caught more than a few servants staring sometimes when he walks down a hall, his guard stepping along right beside him. With him dressed as a partygoer instead of in his usual uniform, Joochan thinks his guard will attract even more stares than usual tonight, but Jangjun doesn’t need the ego boost. He can live without it.

“Caught.” Jangjun’s eyes crinkle into a smirk. “But I know I look good, so I don’t need you to say it.” The smile fades, replaced with determination and concern. “Ready to go?”

No.

“Yes.” Joochan steps further into the hallway. Briefly, he wonders how people would react if he tripped while presenting the gift to Donghyun’s sister. “Come on.”

. . . . .

He doesn’t trip. The princess gets her gift without anything more than the usual fanfare, a circlet of gold with a moonstone set into the front that Joochan places on her head with hands shaking both from nervousness and just in general not wanting to be there. Whoever did her dressing left her hair devoid of accessories, thankfully, just some clips holding a few strands back, so Joochan doesn’t need to awkwardly remove things or try to fit the circlet around preexistent ornaments. One less thing to worry about.

He accepts his dances, too, sailing about the ballroom on feet much heavier than hers that seem to be made of air. No mistakes on his end, though – he notices Youngtaek nodding in approval somewhere in the watching crowd – and when they separate at the end of the ball with the last traditional song, Joochan feels satisfied, even if not happy, that he’s at least played his part well.

(It doesn’t matter that when he walks his fiancée back to her rooms and bids her goodnight, he sees the rose he picked for her standing upright in a vase, taunting him with memories of you.)

(It also doesn’t matter that when he returns to his own quarters, the wilting tulips that were on his desk have been replaced by a bouquet of midnight blue with a tiny note sticking out from behind the petals, almost blending in with a streak of starry white.

Sleep well.

Joochan lies awake for at least another hour.)

. . . . .

Because the gods have somehow managed to keep him from seeing you on his walks in the gardens, Joochan doesn’t feel too worried that you’ll meet when he wanders down to the flowers after another wedding suit fitting. He needs to feel sunshine on his skin, not cold silk and satin.

To his surprise, he meets Donghyun’s sister by a patch of roses, and at her suggestion, they continue on together, mostly keeping a comfortable silence. It chafes at Joochan a little – was there something she wanted to say last time, something that she can still say now? – but she doesn’t say anything about it, only admires the flowers. He follows suit.

Then Joochan rounds a corner, trailing his fingers along a vine that creeps up the stone palace walls, and sees a familiar figure kneeling over a small patch of tulips.

He freezes. No, there’s no way that can be you –

The figure’s head lifts, and Joochan catches their eye almost accidentally.

He’d know that face anywhere.

“Your Highnesses.” You bow low, stiff, formal. Joochan aches for even a bit of familiarity to bleed into your voice, your actions, but you keep your face neutral as he bids you to stand. He searches your eyes, your lips, for something, anything –

But there’s nothing. And Joochan understands. It isn’t just you and him, this time – his future wife stands at his arm, and you must maintain your composure.

His fiancée’s voice jerks Juyeon out of his thoughts. “I believe we’ve met before, haven’t we?” she smiles. “You sang beautifully the last time I was here.”

Your head dips in respect. “Thank you, Your Highness. Your words honor me.”

“Joochan told me you were the one who managed to make the roses bloom under the balcony where no other gardener succeeded,” she continues. Joochan hides a flinch when his name falls from her lips, startlingly casual and almost a slap in the face to you, who can’t use his name as you always do for fear of punishment. Something in your eyes flickers, too, but Joochan can’t do anything more than hope his silent apology reads clear in his gaze as his fiancée keep speaking. “Your gift is great.”

Again, you bow in thanks. Your eyes remain downcast, demure and humble, as you speak. The lightest hint of detached teasing colors your tone. “Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song, Your Highness.”

Donghyun’s sister clearly thinks you meant to teasingly brag about your own ability and she responds accordingly, laughing with a brightness he rarely sees on her face. But as she laughs, you lift your head slightly, fixing his gaze with yours.

Perhaps the roses were only waiting for the right person’s song.

The right person’s song.

The right person…

Joochan stares into your eyes, watching them soften. You meant him, he’s certain, as self-centered as it sounds. By the right person, you meant him.

Oh. Oh, gods…

“I agree,” he replies softly. 

Only he thinks that the right person was you.

Your eyes widen for a split second as you take in Joochan’s meaning. Something cracks in your expression, something raw and beautiful and so, so sad, and Joochan tries to memorize it so he can pick it apart later on – why do you look so radiant and so defeated all at once as your eyes flicker to the laughing fiancée at his side –

The right person.

The right person…

No. No. Joochan swallows hard, breaking his gaze from yours as his mind races. Nights spent under the moon, talking, singing, laughing as you clipped roses and leaves and soothed him with your voice…

Joochan is not in love with you. He isn’t, he can’t be, not when his fiancée is literally standing on his arm –

Your gaze catches his once more, and Joochan barely manages not to lose himself in your eyes.

He’s in love with you. Completely, wholly in love with you –

In his mind’s eye, Joochan sees your gaze flicker over to his future wife, turning dark upon contact.

Oh.

Joochan is in love with you.

And you might be in love with him.

He almost falls with the realization. Only his fiancée’s grip on his arm keeps him from swaying forward. Joochan looks at you, drinking in the sight of your eyes and you let him, staring back with a fervor as great as his –

But Joochan’s fiancée has finished her peal of laughter and you both have to look away, your eyes clouding into something darker while Joochan fights the ache in his chest. “Well, we won’t disturb you further,” she says, seemingly oblivious to his pain. “Thank you for your time.”

You bow, and when you straighten, your eyes linger on Joochan for a second longer than it should. “The pleasure was all mine.”

. . . . .

Joochan lies awake that night and several more, still reeling with the sudden realization that he is in love not with the person that people would like him to love, but with a gardener whose voice makes him feel like a night-blooming rose, petals opening in the night, free to blossom and free to grow, free to sing without causing pain.

And this gardener is in love with him too.

He tries to hide it. No one really notices – he keeps up a joking banter with his brother and Donghyun, fights playfully with Jangjun, and performs his duties as a future husband without fail. But several times, he catches Bomin looking at him with a weird expression or Jangjun staring over out of the corner of his eye.

It might be easier if he could tell them what he’s done, how he feels. But both would probably disapprove – Jangjun already suspects something about you, and Bomin, though he now understands Joochan’s revulsion to the marriage, wouldn’t be happy about him having fallen in love with someone else. It will only hurt Donghyun’s sister, too, and she doesn’t deserve that.

When Joochan makes his way back to his rooms several nights later, debating whether or not to even go out onto the balcony because he still can’t think properly, he doesn’t expect Jangjun to stop him just outside the door, a strange expression on his face.

“Joochan.”

He blinks. “Jangjun?”

The guard’s eyes flicker. “Go see them.”

“I –” Joochan frowns. “What?”

“Go see them,” Jangjun repeats in a hushed whisper. “They make you happy, don’t they?” A faraway look comes into his eyes for the briefest second before it disappears. “And you can sing in front of them.”

Joochan’s eyes widen. “How did you –”

“Don’t get mad,” Jangjun says, holding up his hands. “Bomin told me what you let slip to him. I didn’t tell him anything about Y/N, I swear – I just put two and two together, and, well. It’s the only thing that makes sense.” He holds Joochan’s gaze. “Don’t get mad at him. He’s just trying to understand. He hasn’t said a word to anyone else, not even Sanha.”

Joochan leans against the wall, trying to process all of the information. “I – Jangjun, what in the world –”

“Listen, Joochan.” Jangjun steps forward. “I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.” His lips twist in a grimace of pain that Joochan barely has time to decipher. “If you’ve found someone who is able and willing to listen to your song, I’m not going to stop you.”

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

Joochan frowns. As far as Joochan knows, Jangjun is ungifted – he just doesn’t have magic. What part of himself would he have suppressed, and for what reason?

The look on his guard’s face convinces him not to ask.

Swallowing, Joochan takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the meaning behind Jangjun’s words. He wants him to go, to meet you in person under the moon and stars and sing to the roses until midnight. A sick feeling rises in Joochan’s stomach. If Jangjun had said this months earlier, maybe even weeks, he would’ve run out right then and there. But now that he knows what he feels for you, not just for your song but you as a person…

Joochan swallows. He does need to speak to you, though, even briefly. And if Jangjun is willing to cover for him in case something goes wrong, then he should take this opportunity, shouldn’t he?

He nods. “Okay.”

Jangjun gestures to the end of the hall, down the secret passageway Joochan always took to find you. He doesn’t bother to question why Jangjun knows about it. “Then go.”

. . . . .

When Joochan arrives, you’re already under the balcony, humming to some of the rosebuds. You look up at his approach, eyes wide with first fear and then surprise. No wonder – you probably expected him on the balcony again, not right in front of you on the grass.

Joochan’s heart thumps. Gazing at you now, ethereal under the pale moonlight, he has to wonder how he didn’t realize he was in love with you until just a few days ago. Every piece of him aches to reach out, to hold your hands in his, to walk with you around the garden like he does with his fiancée…

His stomach twists at the thought of Donghyun’s sister. Why did their parents have to arrange this marriage?

“Joochan,” you breathe, standing up from where you were kneeling by the bushes. “I –”

“I love you.”

You freeze. Joochan freezes. For a moment, all that hangs in the air is silence and the echoes of Joochan’s words in the wind.

He doesn’t know what made him say it now, so suddenly like this. All he knows is that when you turned around and he heard you say his name, the only thing he could think was I love you, I love you so much I can’t even say and then it all came spilling out.

Finally, you swallow. For the first time since he spoke with you that day in the shed, you look rattled, discomposed, hands shaking as you fight to keep your voice steady. “You – you love me?”

Joochan swallows. Dips his head. “Yes,” he whispers. “I love you.”

Your expression cracks the same way it did when you met in the garden under the light of day, speaking of the roses right by you with his fiancée at his side. Splinters appear in your eyes, a rose’s petals withered past the point of growth even with the help of song, and Joochan can’t help but step forward, try to take your hands in his –

You jerk away and Joochan falters, suddenly unable to meet your eyes. Did he read you wrong? Do you not care for him the same way he cares for you? Because if you don’t, hell, Joochan doesn’t know what he’ll do –

“Joochan.” You swallow. “I mean, Your Highness.”

Pieces splinter off his heart, ice shards shattering on the floor with the sound of his title and not his name from your voice.

“You can’t – you can’t love me,” you whisper, pointedly looking away. “You have a title, you have a fiancée, you have everything –”

“I don’t have freedom,” Joochan interrupts. “No one can hear my song without dying and for that I don’t live, breathe the same way other people do – do you know how much everything hurt before I met you?” His eyes search yours for understanding, but you blink them closed. “Y/N, please.”

“Is that all you love me for, then?” you ask, features twisted in pain. “Just that I can listen to you sing, despite your curse?”

“No!” Joochan shakes his head wildly. “No – I love you for everything you are, beyond your voice and song –”

You remain silent as he speaks, words stumbling over more words as he tries to articulate everything he feels for you, his night-blooming rose under the moon and stars, one of the few people he trusts, one of the few around whom he feels like home. He loves your wisdom, your gentle teasing and sweet song, he loves the way you care so deeply for every living thing around you bar the pests you see sometimes eating the plants, he loves you for you, everything that makes up you –

“I love all of you,” he finishes, tears pulsing behind his eyes. “Not a part of you. All of you.”

Your gaze glitters with unshed tears. You don’t say anything.

Joochan panics. “Please, say something,” he pleads. “Just – anything. If you don’t feel the same, I’ll go away and I won’t come back, I promise, just please say something – tell me if you feel the same –”

One hand drags across your eyes. You swallow hard, finally meeting his gaze. “I do,” you say roughly. “I do love you, but we can’t – I can’t –” An angry sigh bursts from your lips and you wipe your eyes again. “Joochan, this could never end well.”

The relief at you using his name and not his title softens Joochan’s sadness, but only barely. “Run away with me,” he says desperately. “Just give me the word, Y/N, and I’ll run away with you. I won’t look back.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Neither of us is going to run away, Joochan. You have your life and I have mine. What we feel…” Your lips curve into the barest smile, lovely, haunting in the moonlight, before it disappears. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.”

“It matters to me,” Joochan protests.

“And it matters to me, too.” You attempt a smile and more pieces shatter from Joochan’s heart at the sight of you trying your hardest to remain strong when he’s already such a wreck. “But it won’t matter to others. You have a fiancée and a whole life ahead of you. My life will stay here, with the flowers.” Your smile grows briefly. “It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

“What if it isn’t enough for me?” Joochan asks. “What if I want to marry you, not my fiancée? What if I want us to have a garden together, not just one where we’ll see each other periodically –”

“That life isn’t for us,” you say softly, voice cutting clearly through his desperation. “It isn’t for us, Joochan.”

And with that, the last of Joochan’s heart falls away, cracks to pieces on the cold ground. For a moment, you only stare at each other, a million silent words filling the still air.

“Can we just have tonight, then?” Joochan whispers. “Just tonight.”

You chew on your lip. Joochan’s heart pounds.

Then you nod, and within seconds, he’s folded you into his arms, memorizing the warm weight of your body pressed against his. You shudder into his shoulder – you’re crying, he realizes, just as tears begin to fall from his own eyes – and then wrap your arms around him too, pulling him even closer than before. “Sing for me?” you whisper, voice cracking with tears.

He opens his mouth, begins to hum a song he learned years ago from sitting in on one of Bomin’s lessons. It speaks of hope, a new day, love blossoming as flowers do in a garden, as a night-blooming rose does under the moon. It’s strange, singing alone without your faint humming in the background as you keep the roses alive, but even as the flowers wither, Joochan steadies his voice enough to sing softly, smoothly, knowing that this will be the only night he can hold you like this.

You pull back after his song and for one brief, terrified moment, Joochan thinks you’re going to leave. But you only stare at him, stars sparkling in your eyes, and brush a strand of faded pink hair out of his forehead before your gaze lowers, settling on his lips. “May I?” you whisper, sounding almost frightened that he will say no.

Joochan doesn’t deign you with a verbal reply, only closes the distance and kisses you.

Bitterness on his tongue, sugar on your lips, Joochan pulls you close, close, closer, tasting the bittersweet from your mouth as you kiss under the moon. You separate for air and Joochan gasps a little, dizzy from the taste of your lips, and then you kiss him again, deeper, sweeter, again and again until it finally feels okay to stop for a little longer and you end it with a last brief peck on his lips.

“I love you, Y/N,” Joochan whispers as you bury yourself against him once more. “I love you.”

Your voice shakes as you reply. “I love you too, Joochan.”

(Neither of you notices a shadow at the edge of the wall, disappearing into the night.)

. . . . .

By some unspoken agreement, you and Joochan don’t meet under the stars anymore, not even with him on the balcony. That last night was an ending to something bittersweet and beautiful, but you made it clear that that was where things had to stop. Joochan is just grateful you let him have those last hours with you.

At least, that’s what he tells himself, even as he stops singing to himself in his empty room.

It isn’t the same. Joochan can’t sing, doesn’t want to sing if there isn’t someone to listen, to smile, to sing back a melody of their own. It doesn’t feel right. It feels like a betrayal.

You still come under his balcony sometimes to check on the roses. Joochan sometimes sits under the railing so you won’t see him (at least not as clearly), straining his ears to listen to you hum your song to the buds. The seasons are going to change soon, spring turning to summer, and you’ve talked about the changes you need to make when tending to the blooms with the shift in weather. He listens to the faint sounds of your movements and your voice, and he thinks you know he’s there, too, even if he doesn’t join in on your song.

Jangjun begins to look more and more confused as the days pass and Joochan just looks worse. He knows his guard meant well and expected him to be happier after that meeting he encouraged, so Joochan doesn’t have the heart to reveal what actually happened. Jangjun doesn’t ask, but he knows something went wrong.

You disappear from the gardens again. Joochan doesn’t see you when he takes his walks, and even his fiancée remarks on how they never encounter you after a few weeks pass with no sign. For you, Joochan is grateful – it clearly only hurt you to see the two of them together, and he doesn’t want you to hurt at all – but selfishly, he wishes he could see your face just one more time.

“It’s okay. Just knowing that I will see you in the gardens is enough for me.”

What’s the use of that when you never let yourself see him in the first place?

But Joochan respects your wishes, and even when people start remarking on his pale face and the dark circles under his eyes, he doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, nods, says I’ve just been busy lately, don’t worry about me, and carries on. No sense in telling anyone about his broken heart.

He takes a walk in the gardens one afternoon, alone. Bomin offered to come, but Joochan wanted to be by himself (well, by himself with Jangjun, of course). Almost unconsciously, his feet take him under his balcony, where the night-blooming roses grow.

Joochan sits on the grass in the shade looking at the roses. Most of the buds have blossomed with the warmer summer weather, and he fingers a few of the midnight blue blooms, runs a hand over the soft white streaks on their petals.

Then he blinks. Scoots back. Takes in the scene from a farther distance, eyes narrowing in confusion, then widening in surprise.

They’re overgrown. Not by a lot, but still a noticeable amount. The branches that you kept so carefully trimmed now crawl up the wall, creeping past the shade and just barely into the sun.

Joochan frowns. There’s no way you would be this careless normally, but maybe you’ve been busy over the past week or so and haven’t had time to tend them. After all, the rest of the gardens are your main focus – this bush was something extra, since nothing is ever really planted here out of fear of his voice. Come to think of it, Joochan hasn’t heard your voice from the balcony in a few days – he thought it might’ve just been you singing too quietly, but maybe you weren’t there at all.

Busy. You must be busy. Joochan stands, casting one last uncertain glance at the overgrown rose bush before walking off, ignoring Jangjun’s look of concern. He’ll come back and check in a few days to see if they’ve been trimmed.

A few days pass. Then a week. Joochan waits on the balcony every night, straining for a single note that sounds like your voice. Nothing.

And the rose bush is out of control.

. . . . .

On the fifth visit, Jangjun finally says something.

“Your Highness –” he looks around before deciding they’re alone, then drops the formalities. “Joochan, seriously, is something wrong?”

Yes. Something is very wrong. Joochan has come to look at the roses five times and each time they’ve just grown even more out of control. No one is taking care of them.

Which means you haven’t been here. In weeks.

Joochan swallows, debating whether or not to tell Jangjun everything. He could help – Jangjun knows the palace almost better than Joochan himself does, and he has a way with words that lets him seek out the information he needs without giving away what he wants. Joochan might talk to Bomin, but his brother is both busy and in closer proximity to his parents. Plus, he doesn’t have as much freedom to maneuver as Jangjun.

He swallows. “Jangjun, can you find out if something has happened to Y/N?”

Jangjun frowns. “The gardener? Why?”

“They haven’t been here to tend the roses in weeks,” Joochan says helplessly. “Please don’t ask me how I know, but…” He gestures at the overgrown bush. “I think something’s happened to them.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then Jangjun sets his jaw. “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you.” It isn’t a question.

“Not… not now,” Joochan allows. “If something happens, though…” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll tell you what you need to know. All of it.”

Jangjun nods. “Fine. Give me a few days, I’ll see what I can find.”

Joochan only hopes he isn’t too late.

. . . . .

Two days later, Jangjun grabs Joochan out of nowhere and shoves him into an empty room.

Joochan coughs on dust particles flying in the air. “Jangjun, what the –”

“Joochan, you need to tell me everything.” Jangjun’s eyes hold no mischief whatsoever. “Y/N is sitting in prison underneath us this very minute and I need to know how it could have slipped that they know of your curse.”

How it could have slipped.

Slipped.

How –

“What?” Joochan sputters, heartbeat rising. “I couldn’t – I don’t know how anyone would have – we haven’t spoken in a month –”

“Seungmin told me they haven’t been at work for at least two weeks and that they just disappeared. It matches up with the time a new prisoner was brought in,” Jangjun snaps. “Try to remember. Something, anything.”

Joochan closes his eyes. Tries to think. You’re in prison, in prison, because someone somehow found out that you know of Joochan’s curse even though no one has been around when you two sang together – that has to be true or else they would’ve died at the sound of his song, and no one died –

Was there a time when he wasn’t singing?

Oh.

There was – that last time –

His eyes fly open. “That time you told me to go –” he chokes, does his best to continue – “we met, and I told them that I loved them but –”

“But what?”

Joochan puts his head in his hands. “We agreed that it couldn’t work out so we just spent that one night in the garden – nothing happened, don’t look at me like that – but neither of us sang much and someone could’ve heard something and – they could have pieced it together?”

“Okay.” Joochan hears Jangjun take a deep breath. “Okay. That would… that would explain it.” Hands place themselves on Joochan’s shoulders and he opens his eyes to Jangjun’s serious expression. “What do you want to do about this?”

Joochan blinks. What does he want to do about this? What kind of question – “I need to get them out, obviously!”

“Then they’ll be on the run for the rest of their life,” Jangjun counters. “Granted, they’re just a gardener and they might be able to blend in somewhere on the outskirts.” He squeezes Joochan’s shoulders so hard it almost hurts. “Would you go with them?”

In a heartbeat. In a heartbeat.

“Even if it meant giving up living in the palace, bringing a lot of trouble on Bomin and possibly breaking your fiancée’s heart?”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Bomin – Bomin will understand,” Joochan says, desperately trying to convince himself. “And Donghyun’s sister doesn’t love me. She doesn’t want this marriage any more than I do.”

“There will be political ramifications,” Jangjun warns. “I know you weren’t raised as the crown prince, but you have to know this much.”

Joochan scoffs. “My parents will try to pull it off as a kidnapping or something,” he says. “No way would they let it slip that I dared to run away.”

“Then they could send an assassin or a mercenary after you. Kill Y/N, bring you back. Force you to return to everything you tried to run away from.”

Fear bubbles in Joochan’s stomach, but he swallows it down. “If Y/N is willing to deal with it, so am I.”

Jangjun searches his expression for several excruciating seconds. When Joochan doesn’t flinch from his gaze, he finally pulls back and nods. “Prison break is the last resort,” Jangjun says. “Right now, you need to go to your parents and see if you can convince them to let Y/N go. Swear them to secrecy, keep them under watch in the palace or something – it doesn’t matter. Getting them out of here will be much easier if they’re not imprisoned in the first place. Tell Bomin, ask him to help you convince them if you think that’ll help.”

Joochan swallows, still feeling the burn of Jangjun’s hands on his shoulders. The residual pain clears his mind, helps him think. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

. . . . .

Bomin takes it about as well as Joochan thought he would, which is not as well as he would’ve liked but better than it could have been. After seemingly endless explanation, he agrees to back Joochan – you’re only a gardener, after all, this is kind of overkill, and Bomin is just a good brother like that. It almost makes Joochan cry again.

As the doors to the throne room open, Joochan’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. He hates facing his parents, hates looking at them and speaking to them more than most things in the world, but for you?

He’ll do it.

Joochan walks into a silent room, boots thumping on the cold stone floor. Bomin’s footsteps just behind him give him strength as he looks up to his mother and father, sitting with blank expressions on their thrones. “I request that the room be cleared.”

His father searches his gaze. “Request granted.”

It takes a minute for all the guards and officials to filter through the doors, during which Joochan tries to calm his beating heart. Finally, the room is empty save for his immediate family.

Joochan swallows. “I ask that you take Y/N out of prison.”

Eyebrows raise. Joochan hates that they don’t even seem to recognize your name. “The gardener,” he almost snaps, reigning himself in only just in time when he catches Bomin’s warning look.

Faces clear. Eyes become stone. “They know the secret of your curse,” his father says, voice flat and cold. Joochan can hardly believe he has healing power – his voice sucks all the heat out of the room. Your voice always made him feel warm. “They cannot be left to wander the kingdom and spread the word.”

“So bind them to secrecy. Keep them under watch in the palace,” Joochan counters. “They shouldn’t have to be stuck in prison – there are already people outside our immediate family who know, and they’ve kept their mouths shut!”

“They have not been vetted by the palace,” his mother snaps. “They are liable to speak, and as such, they must be kept away.”

Kept away. Like an inanimate object, a toy from ages past, to be locked in a cupboard and never shown the light of day…

Bomin shoots him a sharp glance, but Joochan is sick of this.

“Are you serious?” he yells. “You – have one single ounce of sympathy, will you? Or is that impossible with the way you’ve been running your kingdom – your household – for so long?”

“You are marked by death,” his mother snarls. “It is imperative that no one know this beyond all those necessary.”

“Father, they’re just one person,” Bomin breaks in before Joochan can explode again. “It’s entirely possible to not keep them in the prison and just keep watch over them –”

“You clearly have much to learn before you become king.” Their father shakes his head, as though disappointed. “Just one person? One sick person can spread an illness to a city within days, and illness travels even slower than words. How fast do you think news of this would spread if your gardener decided to speak?”

Joochan scoffs. “You never have any problem paying people off to be quiet or do things you want them to do. What’s so different this time?”

“I? Pay off a gardener?” His father laughs. “Who do you think I am?”

Joochan explodes.

“You think so highly of yourself, don’t you?” he yells. “You think so highly of yourself just because you wear a crown made of some shiny metal and jewels – you think you have the right to rule because of your supposed royal blood even though there’s nothing but cold evil under the surface? We are the descendants of killers – your father wiped out the weavers and you have no sympathy, so how can you think you have the right – why do you think you can just play people as pawns and have them do whatever you want – even your children – do you ever think about what we want?” Angry tears brim in his eyes but Joochan keeps them back. “I never wanted any of this! I never asked for my gift, I never asked to be born, I never asked to be the evil, death-marked child you always made me out to be, I never asked for the arranged marriage, all I ever wanted was to be happy and to use my gift but I couldn’t even do that – and now you’re taking away half the reason I still want to live by shutting them in a prison because of something they found out by accident –”

“You have no gift,” his mother intones, voice icing Joochan’s veins. “You are cursed.” Her lip curls. “Your song is no gift to us.”

Bomin makes an outraged sound in his throat, but Joochan barely hears it. All he can register is the blood roaring in his ears, the cold look on his mother’s face, the abhorrence and disgust on his father’s –

And he knows it isn’t true. You’ve taught him otherwise. Death is a part of a cycle – some flowers you can’t even bring back from their withering, it is just their time – and life needs it just as much as death needs life. Just as much as he needs you.

But hearing the words come directly from his mother’s lips, the woman who bore him, hurts almost more than your words can heal.

Joochan swallows. He could end it all right now. Tell Bomin to get out, sing, watch his song wither his parents away like the petals of an old rose – no, not a rose, even a withered rose is a sight better than the two monarchs sitting in front of him –

But he isn’t a killer. Not by far. He can’t do it.

Joochan steps back once. Twice. His voice, though small, carries in the silence.

“You know,” he chokes, “for people who pride yourselves on your ability to heal, all you really do is cause pain.”

He doesn’t wait for Bomin to follow before he runs out of the room.

. . . . .

Jangjun finds him in his quarters with Bomin half an hour later, sitting on the floor and staring at the wall. “It didn’t work out.”

Joochan doesn’t need to say anything to confirm it.

“So what happens next?” Bomin asks, still rhythmically patting Joochan’s back. It helps a little.

“We break Y/N out,” Jangjun says. “And they run away with Joochan.”

Bomin doesn’t look surprised, but Joochan’s heart still twists. He doesn’t want to leave Bomin or Jaehyun or Jangjun behind – they’re some of the only people who’ve kept him sane since he was old enough to think – but at the same time, he’s been itching to just leave the scrutiny of his parents for years.

After so much pain, even brotherly ties won’t keep him here for much longer.

“I’m going with you.”

Joochan’s head snaps up. Bomin furrows his eyebrows. “What – Jangjun?”

“They might send assassins after you and Y/N.” Jangjun crosses his arms. “I know you’re good in a fight, but Y/N doesn’t know anything about that sort of life. I do. You need me there to lead people off track, plant evidence –”

“That’s not the only reason,” Joochan interrupts. His eyes narrow. “You’re hiding something.”

Jangjun’s jaw works. He doesn’t look angry, exactly, maybe worried –

No.

For the first time Joochan has ever seen, his guard looks scared.

Bomin casts Joochan a concerned look. “Jangjun, it’s fine –”

“I’m a weaver.”

Joochan’s jaw drops. So does Bomin’s. Jangjun just stares back, defiant, arms crossed to hide the shaking in his hands.

A weaver. Joochan’s guard is a weaver. His loyal guard is one of those his forebears tried to wipe out generations ago – so why is he here, protecting the descendant of those who probably killed his family, his ancestors –

All of a sudden, Jangjun’s words from so many weeks ago make sense.

I know what it’s like to suppress a part of you for so long it feels like you’re dying.

He’s a weaver. One of those who wove stories into clothes, one of those his grandfather tried to massacre.

“Why?” Joochan manages.

“I was decent at fighting and needed a stable roof over my head that wasn’t the orphanage,” Jangjun explains. An unreadable look flashes through his eyes. “Took the first opportunity I could get and thought I would hate it. But then I realized… neither of you are your parents. Not even close.” He swallows. “So I stayed. Longer than I expected to.”

“So why leave now?” Bomin asks. “You could still stay – I mean, if we’re the only people who know –”

“Daeyeol knows too,” Jangjun says. Bomin starts at the name of his personal guard. “He knows, and he told me that some of the higher ups have been getting suspicious of… things. My unknown parentage. Why I’m so good at sewing.” He scoffs. “Like only commoners can be good at sewing. But yeah. No one will care how loyal I am if they find out I’m a weaver, so I’m going to have to run off at some point.” His jaw sets. “I might as well go along with you.”

Joochan has to try hard not to cry. “Thank you.”

“Don’t be a sap.” A sliver of the old Jangjun comes back in the scowl that paints itself across his face. “Bomin, you could come with us, you know that right?”

He shakes his head. “No, I need to stay back. If both of the princes disappeared, there’s no telling what our parents would do.” Bomin swallows. “Who knows. Maybe one day, when they’re gone, you might be able to come back.”

That would be a dream.

“Thank you, Bomin,” Joochan whispers.

His brother squeezes his hand in response.

“Well, that settles it.” Jangjun snaps his fingers before Joochan can do something stupid like cry. “Get moving. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.”

. . . . .

Joochan does not like the prisons. He’s been there before, but every time, the mildew smell and darkness make him want to hurl.

The fact that you’re in here, though, spurs him on.

Jangjun makes quick work of the last guard, slamming the handle of his sword into his head. The man crumples to the ground. Joochan stands over another unconscious man, peering forward into the darkness. “Down the hall?”

“Yeah.” Jangjun looks down at his arm. “Oh, come on.”

“What happened?”

“Just a scratch.” Jangjun waves him off. “Go and find them. I’ll stand guard here. There should be one more left, two at most. You can handle it.”

Heart in his throat, Joochan turns towards the dark. Several torches flicker light onto the stone walls and he takes care to remain in their shadows as he creeps down the line of cells, eyeing the guard standing at the end.

One shot. One chance. Joochan takes another step. Another –

The guard turns around.

For a moment, they only stare at each other, eyes wide. Then Joochan leaps forward.

Metal clangs. Armor crashes. Joochan whirls, dodging a metal-covered fist before slamming his sword against the side of the man’s helmet. He crumples to the floor.

Joochan experimentally prods the body with his foot. Breathing, but unconscious. Good. He plucks off the ring of keys –

“Joochan?”

He spins around at the sound of your voice and meets your gaze, face thinner, eyes wider, but still you. Still you.

“Y/N,” he breathes, rushing forward. His fingers tremble as he tries one key after another, all the while trying not to cry. What did they do to you? “Give me a second, we’re getting you out.”

A key finally clicks and Joochan drops the ring, pulling open the cell door and letting you fall into his arms. He holds you close as you shake against his shoulders, chest heaving, not crying yet but the small sounds in your throat make it seem like you’re close –

“We need to go,” Joochan whispers, squeezing you one more time. “Come on, Y/N.”

You lift your head. “Where are we going?”

Good question. Joochan doesn’t even know. Just away, away from the palace, away from everything…

“We’re running away,” he says. “Both of us. And Jangjun.”

To your credit, you take it without question, only nodding and pulling back. Joochan wants to hug you again, but there’s not time. “I guess we should go, then.”

. . . . .

Bomin meets them as they emerge from a dark passageway, immediately pressing a bag into Joochan’s hands. Something rattles inside. “Money,” he says. “And hair dye. You need to get rid of that pink.”

He wraps Bomin in a hug. “Thank you.”

“Live a good life, yeah?” Bomin pats his back, hand steady even as his voice trembles. “I’ll see you again.”

Joochan blinks back a tear. “Definitely. Tell Jaehyun, okay?”

“Of course.” And with that, they separate.

Joochan only hopes that another meeting will come to pass.

Jangjun leads them down endless halls and passageways, some even Joochan doesn’t know. All the while he holds your hand, pulling you forward anytime it feels like you’re faltering, and in the end, Jangjun pushes open a last door and you burst into the early evening, a floral scent in the air. The gardens. 

He looks around. 

Meets a familiar face.

Shit.

“Joochan?” His fiancée takes a hesitant step forward, eyes flickering between the three. Your grip tightens on his hand. “What – where are you going?”

Jangjun looks at him. So do you.

He says nothing.

Her eyes widen. “You’re running away.”

No one needs to confirm it. Their clothes, the bag on his shoulder, the weapons strapped to his and Jangjun’s waists say everything.

“Yes,” Joochan finally says, lifting his chin. “I’m sorry.”

Her expression sinks, though she puts a smile on her face. “I understand.” Her gaze shifts to you. “You were never in love with me. It was obvious.”

The ache in Joochan’s heart grows even stronger. “I –”

“It’s fine.” Her smile takes on a semblance of mischief. “If it doesn’t hurt your ego too much, I was never in love with you.”

Joochan almost laughs. “I figured.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Her lips turn down slightly, a little wistful. “Shame, though. I think we could’ve been friends.”

“I think so, too.” And it’s true. If they hadn’t been forced into all of this…

“Well, I never saw you. Not even a glimpse.” His former fiancée begins to turn around. “Don’t mind me, just walking in the gardens.”

He calls her name, just before she fully turns. She looks back. “Hm?”

For a moment, Joochan falters. This could go very wrong.

But he decides to take a chance.

“Find Bomin,” he says. “Tell him I said he could tell you everything. Donghyun, too. And for what it’s worth…” He swallows. “I really am sorry.”

“Things rarely go according to plan.” She smirks. “Our parents should’ve thought of that first.”

They really might have been friends. Joochan tries not to think of what could have been as he follows Jangjun between bushes, helping you through trees, crawling under fences until they reach the edge of the forest that borders the palace.

Jangjun plunges in, but Joochan pauses. Looks at you. Even gaunt, thinner from weeks of prison, you are radiant under the rising moonlight that filters between the trees.

You smile at him, squeezing his hand. “Ready?”

So many times, he’s been asked that question before balls, before events, before arranged marriage meetings, and every time, though he said yes, his real answer was no.

This time, however…

“Are you two done being saps?” Jangjun hisses from further into the forest. “Hurry up!”

Nothing is certain anymore. He might now technically be a fugitive. But tomorrow is a new day, and though Joochan is on the run, he’s with you. 

And he’s free.

Joochan smiles at you, ignoring his guard. “Ready.”

Together, you slip into the night.

. . . . .

The palace called it kidnapping. There was a manhunt for months, search parties looking for a gardener and a royal guard, the prince’s alleged kidnappers. Many thought it ludicrous, however, that a mere gardener and a guard who had been known to be loyal to the prince for years would attempt something as ridiculous as this, and simply left the palace to fumble through its affairs in the wake of the disappearance.

The former prince himself dealt with assassins sent after his partner, bounty hunters charged to bring him back (dead or alive, he learned, it didn’t matter – if he were dead, at least no one would have to deal with him anymore). The guard lured them all away. Together, the three plunged further into the country outskirts until there was no trace left, not even of the last assassin who had been sent to take care of them all.

This is where the story should end, with two black-haired brothers and a gardener settling quietly at the edge of a forest. Yet though the words now come to close, the world still remains.

The end of one story, after all, is only the beginning of another.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a certain trio + a prince back at the palace)