#playground equipment for all ages

[kidzletplaystructures1]

Best Playground Equipment for All Ages | Kidzlet Play Structures

Playgrounds are more than just swings and slides. They're vibrant hubs of imagination, fostering physical development, social interaction, and a sense of adventure in children. For parks, schools, daycare centers, and any space where children gather, creating a safe and engaging play environment is crucial. This is where commercial playground equipment comes in.

Here, we'll delve into the exciting world of playground equipment, exploring the best options for various age groups and spaces. We'll also introduce you to Kidzlet Play Structures Pvt. Ltd., a leading manufacturer in Delhi specializing in top-tier outdoor playground slide, outdoor gym equipment, and more, ensuring you have a trusted partner to equip the fun!

Enhancing Play for Every Age:

A well-designed playground caters to a range of ages and abilities. Here's a breakdown of some popular equipment choices for different age groups:

Preschoolers (2-5 years): This age group thrives on exploration and sensory experiences. Look for climbers with manageable heights,  a Turtle Sand Pit (Small) for imaginative play, and spring riders that encourage balance and coordination. Kidzlet Play Structures offers a fantastic selection of themed playhouses and toddler-sized climbing structures that spark early creativity.

School-aged Children (6-12 years): As children grow, their desire for physical challenges intensifies. Consider swing sets with various configurations,  Monkey Climber for upper body strength, and slides in different heights and styles., Kidzlet Play Structures offers a variety of options to create a thrilling Seesaw experience that adheres to safety standards.

Teenagers (13+): Teenagers crave social interaction and activities that test their physical limits. Challenge courses with climbing walls, balance beams, and rope bridges provide a stimulating space. Fitness zones with outdoor gym equipment like pull-up bars and leg presses encourage healthy habits. Kidzlet Play Structures offers a range of heavy-duty outdoor exercise equipment suitable for teenagers and adults, fostering a multi-generational play environment.

Optimizing Space:

Not all playgrounds have vast expanses. Don't worry! Here's how to create a fantastic play area even in limited space:

Vertical Play Structures: Utilize climbing walls, rope ladders, and slides that extend upwards. Kidzlet Play Structures offers a variety of space-saving vertical climbers that maximize play value without a large footprint.

Multifunctional Equipment: Opt for equipment that serves multiple purposes, like climbers with slides or swings with attached climbing nets. Kidzlet Play Structures has a great selection of combination playsets that offer a variety of activities in a compact design.

Soft Play Areas: For younger children or areas with limited fall height restrictions, consider soft play equipment like padded climbers and play mats. Kidzlet Play Structures manufactures a range of soft play elements that provide a safe and stimulating environment for little ones.

Safety First: Choosing Durable and Safe Equipment

Safety is paramount. Here's what to look for:

Material: Choose equipment made from high-quality, durable materials like recycled plastic, steel, or treated wood. Kidzlet Play Structures prioritizes using materials that are safe for children and can withstand harsh weather conditions.

Compliance with Safety Standards: Ensure the equipment meets all relevant safety standards set by organizations like the American Society for Testing and Materials (ASTM).

Fall Protection: Consider the use of soft surfacing like shredded rubber or sand under climbing structures and slides to minimize the risk of injury during falls.

Regular Maintenance: Schedule regular inspections and maintenance to ensure the equipment remains safe and in good condition.

Kidzlet Play Structures: Your Trusted Partner in Play

Kidzlet Play Structures Pvt. Ltd., a leading manufacturer in Delhi, understands the importance of creating safe and engaging play experiences. They offer a comprehensive range of commercial playground equipment, including:

Outdoor Playground Slides in various shapes and sizes to add thrilling fun.

Outdoor Gym Equipment designed for all ages and fitness levels, promoting healthy habits.

Themed Playhouses that spark children's imaginations and encourage role-playing.

Climbing Structures with varying difficulty levels to challenge and develop motor skills.

Swings & Seesaws - timeless classics that never go out of style.

Kidzlet Play Structures prioritizes safety and uses high-quality materials that meet international safety standards. Their team of experts can also assist you in designing a playground that caters to your specific needs and space constraints.

Equipping the Fun

Creating a playground is more than just installing equipment; it's about fostering a space for laughter, learning, and physical development. By understanding the needs of different age groups, optimizing space effectively, and prioritizing safety, you can create a playground that sparks endless joy for children. Kidzlet Play Structures stands ready to be your partner in equipping the fun, providing top-tier commercial playground equipment slides that will transform your space into a vibrant hub

[niiwa-angel]

Yesterday was Mothers Day in Canada and given that I work at a restaurant, we got to see a lot of families "celebrating" the occasion. And Gyns, when I tell you men are fucking worthless!!

One family came in, mom, dad, grandma, and two young kids. Probably three and five, if I had to guess. As soon as they get in, Dad plops himself down at the table and immerses himself in the menu while Mom takes the kids to the bathroom. Ignoring the fact that Dad could have easily taken his little boy to the men's room to help use the toilet, or at least tried to help in any way. Nope. He just sat and looked at the menu. Then when their food came, it was mom and grandma feeding the kids, making sure they sat still, wiped their faces so they weren't sticky, and actually got the food into their mouths. Dad ate his burger in peace without lifting a finger.

Next family, grandparents, parents, three kids. Two preteens/early teenagers and one kid who was like, 8. Dad and grandpa busy themselves in conversation and don't even acknowledge their wives and children. At one point, grandma asked Grandpa is he wanted to share the fish and chips with her and he completely ignored her. I repeated the question "are we sharing the fish and chips" and he just laughed to Dad about how women always eat your food. I offered to have the cook prepare a 1 pc fish and chips portion for grandma, using a smaller cut of fish, because our portions are big.

Third family, mom and dad with two toddlers. The kids are crazy, they can't sit still at all. I offer that we have some play equipment outside and they can play out there while their food cooks and I'll wave them down when it's ready. So mom goes out to the playground with the kids while Dad sits and enjoys his beer. I bring the food to the table when it's ready and go to wave down Mom and the babies. By the time she manages to get them inside and seated, Dad's halfway done his meal, he couldn't be arsed to wait for them.

Fourth family, mom and dad with two kids, elementary school aged. Kids order their meal and run off to the playground to play with the other kids, so mom and dad have a chance to relax. Mom and I get talking about our beer menu while Dad scrolls on his phone. She orders her drink and he just adds that he'll have what she'd having. I bring the drinks and they're enjoying those when the food comes. Guess who gets up to get the kids. Is it dad? Nope!! Mom again! And once again, dad starts eating before she gets back.

We had tons of families in and it was rare to see the fathers actually take an active role in parenting their children or actually helping their wives. There were a few! And they were great! Like the dad that took his toddler daughters to the play equipment so his wife could enjoy her mimosa and cheesecake in peace. But they were few and far between. So my ladies out there thinking about partnering up with a man and having children, do so with the knowledge that even on a day meant to celebrate you, your husband likely won't step up to the plate. You'll still be the one in charge of tending to everything while your husband sits in his ass and reaps the benefits of your work.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Why König Was Bullied/ Why He Loved His Family

TW: Severe Bullying, Kids Being Cruel, Severe Social Anxiety, Growing Up Mentally Ill, Chronic Feelings of Being Unsafe, Unstable Environments Growing Up, Isolation, Loneliness, Self Esteem Issues, Anxiety, Social Anxiety,

I'm gonna say it. I think König actually had a great childhood home. He wasn't bullied because he was an abused child, he was bullied because he was a socially awkward kid raised by socially awkward parents. He was bullied because he was chubby (his mama loved giving him sweets) and because he was weirdly big and not in a hot way, just in a lumpish oaf sort of way.

On his own, König loved to keep his own company. He would make up imaginary worlds in his mind and play with stuffed animals and model trains. He read fantasy books, and became an advanced reader for his age. He loved learning as much as he could about the world around him, and his Oma nicknamed him 'her little Why' when he would never stop asking why things were the way they were. He loved to play outside most of all. Almost all his free time was spent outdoors, and he developed a deep love of nature, hiking and camping.

Kids are cruel, and one kid looking a little bit awkwardly proportioned and being awkward to boot was the perfect target. It didn't help that (especially in the beginning) he just liked to do his own thing, regardless of what others thought. He liked playing with his stuffed bears and rabbits at recess and he loved to read more than he liked to play sports. He was a bit awkward in both speech and body, growing too big for his body to adjust to too quickly and always a bit nervous to speak to others, leaving him a lonely child with nobody to play with. Nobody wanted to play with a boy who still played with stuffed animals or played imaginary games with himself. He was the kid who would call himself the dog when kids played house. He had to hold other kids' coats at recess just to be acknowledged.

König had a hard childhood due to the isolation. Kids got crueller when puberty set in, and they got more overt with their bullying. It didn't help that König hit puberty early and shot up like a reed. He grew strangely thick facial hair for a twelve-year-old, and people would pluck hairs out of his face when he wasn't on guard. After his growth spurt, shoves and nasty playground names became black eyes and rumours traded between classes. Everywhere he looked people watched him, talked about him, scorned him. He developed mild scopophobia, and the fear still lingers with him in adulthood.

König always had the potential of developing social anxiety. Just genetics, really. But growing up in a poorly equipped rural town didn't help. He didn't fit in, and for that he was tormented throughout life. Bullies would find out who his crush was and kiss them when he walked by in the halls. Girls would ask him out, and when he eagerly accepted they would laugh in his face. Worst of all was how they'd torment him for startling easily, and laugh whenever he physically lashed out in a panic. They loved to scare poor König, and did whatever they could to get a reaction out of him. He learned to keep his emotions guarded and to himself, but he still tears up when he thinks about how they once set his stuffed rabbit on fire after school. Whenever König felt like he'd learned to take it all, something else would come along and remind him that no, he would never fit in, and he would never be safe.

König grew up to be cold, harsh and cynical. He refused to let others play with his emotions. He became hardened as a man. However, deep inside of König, there was always a little boy who just wanted to read fantasy books and play with his stuffed animals in peace. He took to taking long hikes and camping outside when he needed time away from home. As a preteen, he was humiliated by how fat he seemed as a child, and horrified by how thin and lanky he became as he matured, so he began working out vigorously and filled out into a powerful, handsome young man. When girls would ask him out as a teen, he'd scoff and shoo them off, even though they genuinely wanted to be with him. He'd been burned too many times to know when someone truly wanted him. He didn't realize that he was a highly intelligent, strapping teen that had become a heartthrob among some of the other socially outcast children. Sadly, König would never learn, instead focusing on how his bullies would mock his height from afar (they'd long since learned that fighting a 200 lb young man who learned to fight from a war vet was not a good idea after all). But no matter how much König tried to get out from under their thumb, his bullies ruled his life.

But while school was a battleground, every day this brave little soldier would march home into his mother's open arms. His father would be there to remind him of how strong he was, how proud he was of his little soldier son. Home was his sanctuary away from the war outside.

König's mother was very much a housewife. A big, tall (at least 6'1) woman with broad arms and a powerful jaw, Annabelle Leichenberg looked more like a warrior princess than she did the sweet and doting mother that she was. She was always a bit awkward in the village, and many other mothers made fun of her for being harsh and dismissive in her exchanges of village gossip. She was a practical woman who had no time for their prattling nonsense. All her time was spent doting upon her loving family. She was a dutiful, determined woman who never backed down from a challenge. Despite working in the next village over, she would spend as much time as she could with König and her four other children. She would teach König to braid his sisters' hair, and played card games with him and his brothers late at night. She made sure his siblings never picked on him too much, and she spoiled him rotten with strawberries from the garden. To this day, König swears up and down that nobody makes strawberry tarts quite like his mother.

Contrary to his brash and outspoken wife, König's father, Fritz Leichenberg, was a quiet and studious man. He was the tallest man in the village by far, but he was a shy and soft man who preferred his books and his record player to the drunken sports rallies every Friday night, making the other village men consider him effeminate and weak. König's father was a professor of agriculture, and so preferred to spend time in his garden with his wife or reading stories to his children. He was surprisingly soft-spoken for his size, and seemed to always be shrinking away from conversation, preferring the company of his many houseplants to the boisterous drunks at the bar. Fritz liked to play piano on the baby grand in the foyer, and the family would gather and sing around him (Annabelle could never hold a tune, but Fritz never seemed to mind). Fritz was the major disciplinarian in the household, but it seemed his punishments were composed more of long lectures and discussions than spankings that the other children at school got. König was very close to his father, and learned from him the strength of being comfortable with his masculinity, and learned how to be gentle from him. He originally wanted to be a professor like him, but became a soldier when his grandfather passed away.

König had a good relationship with his siblings. He was the second youngest of five. The eldest was Friedrich, then Stephan and Lisa, then König (Alexander), then finally Klara. König's brothers were awkward, but they fought back hard against their adversaries. Lisa was actually rather popular among her age group, and she managed to keep people in her age bracket from targeting König as well. The brothers and Lisa tried their best to protect König, and even his younger sister ended up becoming a defender and prevented her classmates from targeting her brother. König loved his siblings, but even they could be cruel to him on occasion (particularly when they had friends over). However, they cared for him as a sibling, and they did their best to ensure he was always safe at home.

König also lived with his Oma and Opa (on his father's side). His Opa was a veteran, and taught all the children how to fight. He took a shine to König in particular, and tried his best to encourage his grandson to stand up for himself. His Oma was a bit more skeptical. She loved König, but she always worried about him. She would often try to get him to make new friends, but sadly these efforts were in vain.

So all in all, life was not all doom and gloom for König. He grew up a social outcast, but in a loving home. He's fiercely loyal to his family, and skeptical of anyone he does not consider to be of that ilk. He will always be paranoid, he will always be afraid of people watching him, and he will always have that horrible trait of being ruder than he intends to be. But, in the end, he was loved and raised in a good home.

Bonus:

On König's first day of school, his mother bought him a toy. It became a tradition that every first day of school, she would buy him something special. With all the years that passed, most of these things were broken or lost, but he kept the wooden train set his mother gave him on his very first day.

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (4/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“What elementary?” That stare again. The one he unintentionally uses whenever he wants something, demands something. It’s heavy and uncomfortable, makes you want to beg him to not be upset at you, makes you want to apologise for your wrongdoings.

If you even had any, that is.

“Geh!” A hand slaps over those intimidating blue, palm all too eager to hide away those glimmering orbs as the sound snaps you out of your faraway thoughts.

That must hurt.

“Anyone ever taught ya how to not be demanding?” Suguru’s upset, his cheeks puffed up in anger and frowning at the friend that was sitting cross-legged upon the tatami mats and complaining about how much it hurt.

“It’s just a question!” And that was enough to turn the once intimidating gaze into one of narrowed sulk, drooping shoulders and falling backwards, making a point to let his body flop to the ground. “Hmph!”

Pouting. Gojo Satoru is pouting once more as your fluffy socks pad over to crouch near his head, fluffing up his fluffier white hair and patting at his soft cheeks to test the waters.

He lets you.

“I think Satoru’s mad.” It’s not so much so as a thought, but a way to signal to Suguru that there was going to be an onslaught of whining if something wasn’t done soon.

“Hmph!”

“Y’er not very cute now, Satoru.” Geto Suguru, at the age of 5, had learned just how much the rich kid has been spoiled; by both you and the people around him.

“Satoru is cute.” It’s what you say to him as you pushed your new found friend on the swing-set, with the creak of metal and the kick-up of snow by his boots. “And he’s really honest.”

“So I like hanging around him.”

He goes silent, thinking about it a little bit as he uses his feet as leverage to gain more momentum upon the fancy playground equipment.

You’re not very strong, but he won’t tell you that.

“Am I cute?” It’s a question that has got him parroting his own version back at you, a wonder that prompts him to prod at your mind.

“No,” He can feel your palms lightly pressing against his shoulders, fingers grazing against the soft fabric of his sweater as your voice is muffled by the scarf he had given to you on this cold day when you had sneezed one too many times.

“You’re pretty, Suguru.”

And that has the little boy thinking about what to say next. He’s never heard any of the kids at his old neighbourhood say that before, yet he knows you’re not the type to lie. Is there a purpose to your words? A lying undertone that he couldn’t see through?

He doesn’t know how to reply, so he settles on a truth that at the very least, is true to him.

“You’re prettier.”

“Hmph!” Yet again, Suguru has been snubbed despite his attempt to liven up his pouting friend. Insulting his adorableness won't work either, it seems.

You poke at his cheek as he continues to glower and gloom, his petulant expression never faltering even as you squish the chub of his face.

He’s very soft.

“Suguru said he was sorry.” He didn’t exactly say it outright, but you offer it as a way to dissuade Satoru from his irritation anyway, still nudging at his cheek as snowy eyelashes flutter open momentarily, before snapping close upon meeting your sad frown.

“Hmph!”

A losing battle.

“I’m… Sorry too?” It’s all you can hope that it works. If an apology from you is even something he wants, anyway.

“Whaddya even apologizing for, dummy?” It’s a mumbled grunt, barely missed if it wasn’t for your odd patience when it came to listening to him.

Why? Because he’s mad and he’s in your house. So technically you played a part in this, in managing to make your cherished friend lay on the lightly tattered tatami mats of your bedroom floor and pouting like nobody’s business. That’s why.

“Let’s feed him.” Suguru offers, squatting down on the boy’s other side and mimicking your action of prodding at his cheek, all whilst staring down at the boy who had lost his will to play. “He’s weak to stuffing his face.”

That’s too good of an idea to pass up on.

“I want biscuits and the cake Kimi-chan brought!”

Now you’ve realized the ulterior motive behind your ‘cute’ Satoru’s tantrum. How sneaky of him.

(Honestly? You would’ve done the same if you were hungry. Probably.)

So when your head peers into the fridge, tiptoeing upon your little stool to really survey the field of cool air and white chill, you have to face the biggest conundrum you have met in your so far, 5 years of living.

“We’re out of snacks.”

“What?!” A startled pop-up of spiky white smacks into flowing black as his eyes narrow and his lips curl into a pout. “Already?!”

“Mhm.” You take one last look just in case. “I think we ate everything Mama made—“ Your eyes fall onto the plastic cake knife that still sat on one of the fridge shelves, abandoned in favour of spoons. “And finished all the cake.”

Evidenced by the crumbs on your floor and the 3 spoons stained with leftover frosting lying on the ground.

“No wayyyy! We have to watch Digimon with no snacks…!” A true conundrum as he holds his head and falls to the ground without the grace he was taught to embrace.

“I like Pokemon better.”

“Me too.”

Gojo Satoru chooses to pretend not to hear it. Nobody would ever be able to convince him to pick that over his beloved Digimon.

(He swears nobody can.)

“And we ate everything at Suguru’s house yesterday…!” A sound of defeat as he curls his knees up towards his chest, bottom lip stuck out and shimmery eyes staring at the ground in disappointment.

Truly the biggest challenge you 3 have had to face together. The second being what to watch on television during the weekends when practically everything you ever wanted to watch played back to back.

(Personally, the astrology channel that plays every morning at 9 is a particular favourite of yours.)

“It’s fine, isn’t it?” Suguru’s licking his fingers clean of the remnant cream, his brows furrowing at the now lukewarm sweetness. “We can just go to your house for more.”

Satoru’s… House? Come to think of it, even you have never been there. Mama doesn’t allow that. She says that you’re too young, that you can when you’re a bit older, when you know Satoru a little bit better.

(But you know him plenty now, right? Even made a new friend along the way since you last time you asked her.)

“My house?” A proud click of his tongue and a smirk on his face as his head finally perks up for the first time from his whining, hair spiking up with his now much more hopeful behaviour. “Then ya gotta pay a toll of 50 strawberry cakes.”

“My mama would call you a scammer.” Suguru’s deadpan reply.

50… If Mama can make only 2 cakes a day… And if you helped her, would you even be able to meet Satoru’s demand? Is it even humanly possible? You think you heard the pretty lady on television talk about this expert baker who— You can feel someone waving their hand in front of your face to try to steer your mind back into the real world.

“But Satoru, aren’t you on a sweets ban?” It’s a sudden realization as you phase back into reality, nodding at Suguru now that he managed to successfully get you back. There’s a vague memory of him grumbling about it the very first time you met, the sway of blue firefly sleeves and the glow of his enchanting eyes.

“You’ve been letting him eat sweets when he’s not allowed to?” Suguru looks largely disapproving, a cocked brow and tilted head, as he watches the way your eyes are still glazed over and faraway from this conversation.

“I-It’s only temporary!” It’s a spluttered way of defending himself as his fists lightly punch at Suguru’s shoulder. “The old hag said I could have more af-after I—“

“But if you have guests over, wouldn’t they allow snacks?” It’s another offhand thought you had, not truly tuning into the chatter of your friends as a thoughtful finger is placed on your lip, and you’re settling yourself down on the floor with them.

Silence.

You have to blink at them. Did you say something wrong? Mama always stocked snacks in case of a guest, and partially for yourself; so it just came naturally to you. Was it not a good idea after all…?

——

So the first time you’re at Satoru’s house, you spend a good amount of time wondering why he needed such a big, scary looking metal gate as the unfamiliar man who drove the both of you here talks to the tiny speakerphone.

(It actually wasn’t that hard for Geto-mama to help convince your Mama to let you come. Cause it’s safer when Suguru is around too, right? You think that’s why you were allowed.)

“How many toilets do you think he has?” A genuine question as you gape at the sheer length of the seemingly never-ending fences. With a minka house that size, there’s bound to be more needed… But what do you need so many bathrooms for, anyway?

“Pfft,” A snort beside you and a squeeze of your hand. “Bet he uses one for showering, one for taking a dump and one for wiping.”

Suguru might be right, actually. What else would having that many bathrooms do?

“(name)-sama, Suguru-sama,” The intercom flashes with the image of an unfamiliar man as the metal gates start to open, automatic and creaking and honestly quite daunting as they part to reveal a well-dressed man in shiny shoes. “The Gojo estate welcomes you.”

He’s tall. Very tall. Almost as if he spanned at least a hundred feet up as he takes a bow, his head kept down and his face neutral.

“Young Master Gojo has been expecting the both of you.”

Takahashi-san; that was his name. The dignified Takahashi-san who didn’t smile, who didn’t allow his facial features to twitch even an inch out of place. Stone-faced Takahashi-san who was tall and moved with such quiet, purposeful steps, yet adjusted the stretch of his legs to allow you both to keep up with him as he lead you both around the engawa.

He reminds you of a really tall, really kind rock. If rocks could be kind, anyway.

“He looks fancy.” It’s your quiet whisper to no one in particular as you squeeze Suguru’s palm. It’s a wonder, honestly. Takahashi-san looks really out of place with the black and white suit, compared the varying browns and whites of the infrastructure and the greens of the estate’s seemingly endless garden.

And you think that it’s kind of intimidating.

“Do you think Satoru would wear that too?” Suguru humours you, a chuckle and swinging your intertwined hands together as he ensures his fingers are looped through yours.

You giggle, at ease now that you realize you’re not alone. Mama was right. “Maybe he has one of those gigantic closets like in—“

“We have arrived at the Young Master’s room.” A gloved hand fancily motions towards the fancier wooden lattice doors— Satoru had a really nice house. “Please do not hesitate to call for me if anything is needed.”

Even the wooden floorboards of the veranda don’t creak at all when you walk on them, the traditional tatami of Satoru’s room replaced with a soft Digimon carpet— It honestly blows your mind at just how clean his home was, completely juxtaposing how sloppy your usual Satoru could be.

“Surprise attack!” And you see a flash of blue and white before you’re both tackled to the ground, just barely missing landing front-first on those shiny wooden floorboards you admire so much as you resign to fate on the extreme softness of the carpet you did end up on.

Amazing.

“You’re finally here!” He’s settling his weight on the both of you, holding you both down so that he can reign supreme from above, a catlike mischief on his face when he realises his plan was a success.

“Let’s play! Let’s play!” Because he claims that treats taste better when you’re tired. “Oh, my house is wayyyyy bigger, so let’s do hide and seek!”

“That’s—“ You have to swallow a grunt of pain from the feel of his knee digging into your side as you whimper. “Great…”

“Get off, you heavy snowman!”

——

You don’t know this lady either. Which, honestly? Figures. You don’t exactly live here.

Yet, you can’t stop staring up at ‘her’ at all.

“You’re not meant to be here—“ Her words start off snappy, quick. As if it were reprimanding tone that commanded dominance; before devolving into a tone of confusion and softer frustration.

“Child…?”

She clears her throat upon realization, the ornaments in her hair twinkling a jingle that makes you want to stare agape for a really long, undetermined amount of time.

“State your purpose.”

If it wasn’t for the almost scary tone she donned.

“Satoru’s trying to hunt me down.” You say it like it was the most obvious thing ever in response, almost as if you were reporting back from a mission. “So I’m tryna find a good hiding spot.”

You can’t see her face clearly, or see her at all with how the shoji doors hid her from your view. But her room was brightly lit, casting her standing silhouette onto the fabric screens of the sliding entrance—

It should be impossible for a shadow to look so elegant.

“You must be his…” She lets herself trail off, as if the word was never on the tip of her tongue, far too unfamiliar and foreign on her lips. “Friend.”

She clears her throat once more as the shadow produces a fan from her draping kimono sleeve, its beat is steady and practiced; soft and slow.

“Tell me, child,” You can see the sway of her clothes, her silhouette moving with poised grace and practiced elegance that made you await with bated breath for her every move.

It’s mesmerizing to just watch her.

You remember to breathe when you hear her falter, picking up on the shaky inhale in and the slight stutter of the paper fan that failed to match her once rhythmic pace.

“How is… Satoru doing?”

You blink once, twice. Can see the dance of her sleeves as the fan waves and the jingle of the beads upon the ornate kanzashi tune into your ears. That’s a confusing question for you.

A weird one, even.

She lives here, doesn’t she? Why doesn’t she just ask him herself? Plus, you’re not Satoru. You can’t answer for your friend that wasn’t here.

“I think you have to ask him that yourself.”

The fanning stops abruptly, and your head perks up at what you think is a muffled choke, watching as you see her silhouette started to tremble, before a quiet laugh bursts out. It’s elegant, refined— Yet so uncontrolled and lacking in all the properness she once held.

Yet it didn’t detriment her overwhelming aura at all.

“Hahaha! I should, shouldn’t I?” The fan snaps closed, angry, frustrated— Yet soft and repentant. It had regret, had shame. It sounded like a lot of things that you didn’t know how to put into words.

But you know that her voice was tender, almost pitiful in their tone. And it makes you feel wronged for some reason.

“I hope you’ll continue to treat him well.”

(What does that even mean? Of course you do. He’s your bestest beloved-est friend.)

“Okay.” You think the conversation is over, think you should leave when you notice she’s gone quiet, can see the silhouette of her shoulders slumping with a palm pressed to her forehead.

You can’t seem to smell anything other than the very thick smell of flowery incense that permeated through the entire house.

She must be going through something, with the way the confidence you first saw shattered into itty-bitty remnants— Leaving her to be so dreadfully sorrow as you watch her shadow cower… So you best leave her to it. Mama always told you to never involve yourself too much with strangers.

“Take care of yourself.” It’s all you can offer to the now solemn woman, sensing the uneasiness in the air and the way she just seemed so… Sad.

A desolate chuckle, and the fluttering open of the paper fan once more as it beats against the air, smooth and rhythmic as she seemingly regains her bearings.

As if nothing happened.

“You as well, child.”

Yet, she itches at your brain even long after you’ve been unceremoniously caught and dragged by the hand back to Satoru’s room the moment you’ve been found. You can’t ask that directly— Who even asks about a random lady they came across in someone’s house? So your brain goes for the next best thing.

“What’s your family like, Satoru?”

A genuine curiosity— It’s fine if it’s strange. You don’t have the most normal one either… Do you? You don’t really know, but you’re satisfied with it as is.

You think your Mama loved your father, at least for one day. At the very least. She doesn’t love him like she loves you.

(That’s what she tells you, anyway.)

So you find yourself parroting that question again when they look at you as if you had something loose in your brain.

“What?” Satoru looks… Appalled. All furrowed brows and jutted out lip, scrunched up nose and tilted head. “What does mochi gotta do with any of that?”

You only blink back at him as Suguru plops a mochi into your open palm. “I just… Felt like it.”

A scrutinizing gaze from him as Suguru watches you both.

“All I know is that my Papa married just ‘cause my Mama was a hair or somethin’.” You see him stuff another mouthful of mochi into his mouth. “And cwause she’s—“ A swallow as he pats off the sugary dust on his lips. “An Alpha.”

Not for love. Definitely not.

(And why would anybody want to marry a hair?)

“Mmm…” Your brain feels like it was starting to steam from overwork. None of this makes any sense at all. “I don’t get it.”

Your honest proclamation.

“I say you don’t think too hard about this kinda thing.” Suguru’s patting your arm as he licks cream off of the corner of his lip. “Satoru doesn’t make any sense half the time, anyway.”

“Hey! Yes I do!” A harrumph and crossed arms as he sticks his nose into the air in contempt. “I know that my family only meets with other Alphas so that everyone stays Alpha, ya know?” He swipes sugar off of his cheek as Suguru grimaces, still speaking with his mouth full as he tries to make his point. “So I’m gonna be an Alpha too!”

No idea what that means. Though, Satoru had always been the type to tell you about things you never really understood quite yet. So you can only offer a pat on his back when he starts to choke on the sticky snack, hurriedly downing his milk as you choose not to dwell on it.

It’s not important to you now, anyway.

“Okay,” You smile as your eyes flicker from the mochi still in your hand up to the remaining 5 left on the serving plate. “Can Suguru and I finish the whole plate?”

“Wha— No! I want more too!”

——

And you go through those cycle of seasons once more, and in a blink of an eye— Elementary had begun.

“I can’t believe they don’t let you grow your hair out, Suguru…” Your voice is teetering on a soft cry, your arms hugging around his neck and resting on the backpack behind him as you press against the crook of his neck.

It’s a bit of an awkward hug, with how broad and stiff the bags were— They got in the way.

“Well… My mama said that’s just how public schools are.” He’s patting at your back, trying to soothe you now since there weren’t any other kids around—

The perks that come with coming early so that Mama could get to work on time.

It was hard, feigning confidence and bravery in front of her when the sun had barely started to rise. Smiling at her even past those school gates you were just too nervous to pass alone, waving her goodbye as you try not to show that you wanted to cry— You didn’t think you would make it through at all if you didn’t run into your beloved friend halfway through.

His hair is… Shorter now. Ear-length at best and not at all as flowy and silky and pretty as it once was when it was longer.

It felt freeing; the relief of knowing that he was assigned to be in the same class as you were, to know that you won’t be separated even when you’re in school with at least one of your dear friends.

Your only friends, so far. So you cling on, harder and needier— Enough for you to fulfill Satoru’s daily touch quota even if he wasn’t here with the both of you… And to sate your own selfish need for Suguru.

It’s strange, really. Since when did you crave touching them so much? Even through warm summers when the heat got unbearable, you remember laying with them on the floor to mope and complain about the humidity, hands intertwined together despite the sweat and uncomfortable, sticky feeling.

Even through colder falls where you 3 end up huddled together under Suguru’s blanket to read the newest issue of a manga, a small fight ensuing between all of you to decide who gets to hold the pages open— Due to the different reading capabilities; until the responsibility falls on you when the boys inevitably almost tear the pages apart.

(Manga is a treasure you need to be gentle with!)

So you’re used to their touch. Used to feeling their warmth so much that you don’t even want to pull away even when you hear the telltale sliding open of the classroom door, a running start-up that you both missed as the hug continues—

Before 2 becomes 3 upon the polished, and definitely less fancier wooden floors of your classroom, your fall greatly cushioned by Suguru’s front.

“Guess who!”

And there was chatter. A lot of it. Whispers under stiff breaths, blushes on red cheeks and eyes that kept sticking to him as he simply… Sat next to you, his finger poking at the bandaid upon your cheek from his tackle as you paste another one onto Suguru’s arm.

They haven’t stopped talking ever since that bell rang.

“That’s him, right?”

“Look at his eyes, that’s gotta be that kid…”

“My daddy said that his family’s got bad people connections.”

“No way…!”

“Did you hear? My momma told me that—“

Yet, he ignores everything, everyone else around him as his eyes lock themselves with yours, his arm wound around yours as he tugs you closer, holds you tighter.

“Aren’t ya happy to see me?” A V-sign and a bright grin as he nudges your shoulder with his own. It makes your mind blank, makes you block out the noise that had consistently surrounded him up till now.

So you make a decision when you meet knowing purple that signaled the same thought.

If your Satoru doesn’t acknowledge it, you wouldn’t either. An unsaid promise that will hold strong.

“Yea.”

("How did you even manage to find out? We didn't even tell ya." Suguru leans onto his desk, looking past the you who was sat between them and at the all too proud boy.

"I got Kimi-chan to investigate!"

"Stalker."

"Mn."

"Hey!")

So when lunch rolls about and Satoru is staring down at the last thing on his tray; a bowl of seaweed and tofu-laden miso soup and poking at the floating cubes of white… He starts complaining.

“Cheap stuff doesn’t taste so bad.” Though, you think the ¥250 your Mama pays per day for this to be a lot. That’s at least 9 stickers and maybe one lollipop.

(You’re not really that good at money yet.)

“Well sorry it’s cheap, mister rich kid?” Suguru’s not gonna budge, tone sarcastic and his eyes closing as he finishes off the rest of his rice, chopsticks clapping and eyes avoidant as he lets the rich boy steal another gulp of his strawberry milk.

All whilst said ‘rich kid’ still didn’t even bother to touch his tofu.

But you understand. You have food that you don’t like too, so he must be the same. You notice that he didn’t like bland food; things that were neither sweet, salty nor sour. Tastes that didn’t amount or replicate anything— He didn’t like things that tasted like nothing.

He didn’t like ambiguity.

So when he’s wiping his mouth of a milk moustache, he’s back to scooping tofu up and dumping it back in his bowl. Again and again, staring at it before… His gaze turns towards you. A glance at his spoon, and back— A repeat of his actions once more and—

A knowing grin.

“Say aaaah!”

“Aaaaaaahm.”

“Don’t make her eat your food for you, Satoru.” A scolding sigh when Suguru’s chopsticks pick up the cucumber that you absolutely did not want to touch.

“Hypocrite! Y’er eating the cucumbers for her!”

——

School is fun, even if it’s only the 3 of you. Even if you don’t have other friends to talk to.

“My dad’s an Alpha!” Tachibana… Something was his name. You don’t exactly remember it. A loud boy. You think you’ve heard the teacher muttering something about rambutans before.

“Ehhh? That’s so cool!”

“My mama told me that my cousin’s elder sister is an Alpha!”

“You guys have Alphas? Lucky…”

Yet they only approach, hover around your table like flies the moment only Satoru is gone, scrutinizing both you and Suguru as you try to read together.

“Hey, (last name)!” A slam of a grimy hand onto your table as you frown lightly. “What’re your parents?”

Yet you’re polite enough to blink up at him, to meet his eyes that were all smug and abhorrent— Prideful and spurning your discomfort.

(He didn’t wear the look as well as Satoru.)

“I don’t know.” Your voice unwittingly comes out small, quiet. Like you didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to respond, yet it tries to be firm. You can’t be strong all the time, but Mama told you that acting like you are will always work in your favour. He’s not intimidating per se— Simply uncomfortable to talk to. You’re sure nobody would like it when people get into their faces like this.

And it’s all too soon that Suguru drops his elbow onto said boy’s hand, smile ever so polite and put together despite the twitch of his knitted brows—

His sign of anger.

(Was this really your Suguru?)

The victim didn’t even have enough time to scream, face turning white as a sheet when he starts to hear literal cracks, eyes forced wide open and fear evident when—

No words are needed. Not when Gojo Satoru is the one that slides open the door, huddling various flavours of sweet bread in his hands as his face stays blank.

It makes anyone back off immediately, kids gasping as they run back to their seats and avoid him like the plague as chairs screech against the floor in their hurry to act as if they weren’t near his territory.

Yet you still won’t question it. You think it’s not your place to, honestly.

So when you’re walking back, it hits you that it’s something that you never thought about before, never cared enough about. It’s for the sake of knowledge, for the purpose of knowing.

(“Is she even paying attention ‘nymore?” Small hands clap in front of your face as Suguru practically has to drag you back before you inevitably try to cross the street at a green light.

“Not at all.” A snap of fingers in front of your eyes as both your occupied hands swung back and forth all to the whims of your friends.)

“Mama.” You’re staring at her as she reads through a newspaper, it crinkles along with the clicking of a pen and a flicker of her eyes towards yours as she hums in acknowledgment.

“Which one are you?” Your finger gently lands upon the dark print, pointing towards the headline once you recognize the word.

‘Betas in demand! Employers looking to seek stable—‘

She pauses. “Where… Did you hear about this?” A valid question. You’ve never really cared about it till now despite all the news channels she’s watched with along with you and all the newspapers you’ve helped her pick up from the front door… It didn’t make any sense for you to suddenly inquire about this.

“Tachibana-san was telling everyone how his Papa was an alpha.” You look back down towards the word. “And everyone in class started talking about that kind of thing too.”

Not a lie. At least, not a complete one.

“…I see.” She drawls off into silence, letting it hang over your heads with only your loud wonderment to fill the room.

You watch as she clears her throat, fiddling with the collar of her shirt and a hand briefly rubbing at the side of her neck.

You know what that means. Mama is nervous.

“Mama is…” You hear her pen click close. “An omega.” Her fingers start to trace the scarred over bite, her eyes meeting yours momentarily before going back to the newspaper.

Oh. Cool. But…

“Is that good?” A tilt of your head and a blink up at your pretty Mama as she blinks back at you. You feel her hand on your head, a brief rustle of your hair just as her pen clicks open.

“Alphas are usually at the top of the ladder.” A circle is drawn around the first symbol as she takes a breath in. “They are… Strong-minded people. You’ll see many people talk about them.”

“Like Tachibana-san?”

“Mhm.”

You blink up at her in silence as your hands settle down on your lap. That’s great and all, but you still don’t really get it.

Mama looks to the side, fingers drumming against the table before a solution prods her mind. “Suguru’s mama is an Alpha.”

Ohhhhh. She’s nice. Alphas are nice. You kind of get it.

“Betas are in the middle.” She taps against the the second symbol to continue, the head of her pen clicking open and close with an unsteady rhythm. “You’ll see a lot of them around.” You can see the way her hands are starting to tremble a little more, before she folds her hands over each other, a strained smile on her face.

“Kimiko-san is a Beta.” You didn’t know that either. She’s nice too. Betas are nice people too.

“And Omegas…” The one that your Mama said she was, right? You’ve been waiting for her to talk about herself, memorized that last symbol to a T. Kind of excited about this, maybe a little too much as you feel your toes clench and your eyes glimmer… Though you don’t really get why she chose to do her own last.

(Because your Mama should always be number 1!)

Yet it all comes to a halt the moment you smell something sour, helplessly watching in unsteady silence as she starts to rub at the skin upon her neck a little more roughly, pinching and pulling and digging her nails into her own flesh as she keeps her gaze stuck onto the newspaper below her.

You can sense how the air feels tenser, thicker. It felt like a stubborn lump in your throat, felt like it was going to crawl up your spine and envelop you whole as you watched her chew on her bottom lip.

“Mama…?”

A deep breath in, a fervent scratching against the marred side of her neck. You can see her trembling, see your Mama’s hand practically turn white with how hard she was gripping the pen. Is she—

“People say that they’re better off not existing.”

previous masterlist next

[gallusrostromegalus]

Speaking of public health. What was the soul society reaction to the eradication of small pox like?

"You notice there's a lot less dead babies these days?" Iba asked in the middle of one morning's office work.

"Fewer dead babies." Komamura corrected without thinking. "Less is for things you measure by volume, fewer for things you count. We do not measure dead babies by volume."

"Oh. right." Iba nodded. "Yeah, that wouldn't be right."

After a moment, what his lieutenant actually said caught up with him. "Sorry- force of habit from living with a Librarian." Komamura shook his head and looked up from the monthly intake statistics analysis report, peering at Tetsuzaemon Iba through the narrow gap of his helmet. "What do you mean, fewer dead babies?"

"I dunno, it just occurred to me. When I started the academy in the 40's- right after the catastrophe- we did a student tour of the 7th division's recently deceased souls intake queue, remember?" Iba waved his hand leaning back in his chair, apparently uncertain of where he was going with this either, but articulating his thoughts.

"I believe so. I had just taken over from Captain Kotsubaki." Komamura nodded, patient. Chikane Iba was an excellent shinigami and had done a magnificent job running the third division, but she had a tendency to talk over and bulldoze her son, so Komamura had learned to be patient when the young man when he felt like he should share a thought.

"Yeah, yeah- Not gonna lie Boss, you scared the crap out of me back then." Tetsuzaemon laughed. "-But the thing that stuck out to me that day was just. The sheer number of Infants and little kids in the line. the guy giving us the tour- I think it was Old Ito, actually- He said that one in five babies in the living world didn't live to see their fifth birthday."

"An improvement even back then- it was one in three children when back when I started in the 1840s." Komamura nodded. "It's funny that I frightened you- Captain Aikawa apparently headhunted me for the 7th because Kaname told him about how the children at the library used to use me as playground equipment."

"Good grief." Iba blanched. "So, what, he threw you in the deep end with all the dead kids?"

"In Captain Aikawa's defense, I did volunteer to handle children's cases. As sad as a frightened infant is, it's infinitely preferable than dealing with the deceased who are angry."

Iba frowned, opened his mouth like he was about to object, reconsidered, closed it, considered further, rocking his head from side to side, and then nodded. "I- yeah, Yeah, that tracks."

"You were saying though?" Komamura laced his fingers in front of him, leaning forward to listen.

"Oh! Well- not as much these days but back then, every family had like seven and eight kids, you know? And I realized that, well- almost everyone I know has a dead sibling or two? Almost every mother lost a child- Gods know my mother's a basket case but even getting a cold could send her into fits. If something had happened to me when I was a tyke- I don't think she would have pulled through."

Komamura nodded enough for Iba to see his helmet tilt to indicate he as still listening.

"I- I don't actually know where I was going with this, but I was reading that report earlier and there's a note from Shita-san at the end that this is the first month we haven't had a kid under the age of five in the intake queue. Ever."

Komamura flipped though the pages of the report to read the hand-written note at the end. "That is excellent news!"

"Oh! Yeah! It's great!" Iba nodded enthusiastically. "It just- I don't know, I guess it just snuck up on me and I'm so used to hearing something went wrong I guess I don't quite know what to do with good news?" he shrugged.

Komamura pondered this for a moment. "Hm. Well. Take heart, to start. But I see what you mean- it's a tremendous achievement, but not one we contributed to, and a "No Dead Babies This Month" office party feels in poor taste at best."

"Oof, yeah- especially if next month there's an accident or something and there's a whole bunch in the queue." Iba nodded. He considered things for a moment.

"-What happened that there are le- fewer dead babies, actually?" Iba frowned. "-Whoever it is, it would be appropriate to toast them and make an offering in their name to the Gods of Good Fortune, I think. Also do more of whatever they did."

"That IS a good idea!" Komamura smiled under his helmet. Perhaps it was his training as a priest, but he did enjoy an offering of goodwill ceremony. Also, nobody would ask him to drink- just pour any alcohol he was offered on the statue of the relevant deity. "I think- It's probably in our statistics, if the tenth division doesn't have an idea already. Can you collect the cause of death data for young children for the last-"

He was interrupted by the thunderous footsteps of someone sprinting towards the office, immediately followed by a tall young woman with short white hair throwing the door open, red-faced and winded.

"THEY DID IT! THE MAD BASTARDS THEY DID IT!" She shouted with wild excitement.

"Isane-? Uh, Miss Kotetsu?" Iba flustered.

"Please keep your voice down-" Komamura said through gritted teeth, trying not to growl at being suddenly shouted at. "Who has-?"

He was interrupted by Miss Kotetsu bolting right up to his desk and shoving a newspaper into his face hard enough to actually wrap around his helmet in excitement.

"SMALLPOX! IT'S GONE!!" She shrieked with joy.

"-gone?" Iba asked, bewildered as Komamura gently took the newspaper from her and pulled it back to actually read it. It was a newspaper from the living world, dated that morning- someone had gone through some pains to get it back to the Seireitei at speed, but the news was worth it:

SMALLPOX IS DEAD!

"TOTALLY ERADICATED! EXTINCT! KAPUT! IT HAS CEASED TO BE!" She bounced excitedly. "IT IS AN EX-PANDEMIC!"

"So like. Nobody has it this year?" Iba tried.

"Nobody has it this year, or will ever have it again, if I'm reading this right." Komamura muttered in awe. "Thanks to an aggressive worldwide vaccination and disease protocol program, there have been no human cases of the disease for several years. Since there are no people infected, there is no way for the disease to come back..."

Both men stared into space, the news almost unbelievable.

"Well. That does explain the Less Dead Babies thing." Iba nodded.

"Fewer Dead Babies." Komamura and Isane corrected in unison.

"I mean yeah that sure is part of it because Smallpox was the number one killer of infants in the living world for a long time there, but there's a whole bunch of stuff that's really cut down on infant mortality in the last few decades in particular." Isane nodded.

"We were JUST Talking about that!" Iba said, excitedly. "-Good to know you guys in the fourth are keeping track of that, It was gonna take forever to pull out that data..."

"Oh, could you pull it out anyway Tetsu-kun?" She asked. "-That's most of why I came over- I mean, to share the good news first, but Unohana-Taicho is planning on using this to really push a widespread vaccination program in the Rukongai and having the numbers to back us up would be really helpful!"

"Oh! Uh, sure!" Iba blushed.

"...You know this young lady, Tetsu-Kun?" Komamura lightly teased.

Both of the young people twitched and bowed to him, pointing at each other and speaking at once.

"Oh! I'm sorry Sir, I'm fourth division third seat Isane Kotetsu, i just know Iba because we were in the same class at the academy-" She babbled.

"-this is Isane Kotetsu, she's the smartest person I know and she saved my life from a lizard one time!" He waved excitedly.

"...That lizard was not going to kill you." She sighed, covering her face in embarrassment. "-I mean, if you developed a sepsis infection from the contaminated wound it might have made you very ill but that would take weeks and we have antibiotics for that, the lizard itself wasn't all that dangerous."

"It was INSIDE my LEG!" Iba gestured to his right thigh.

Komamura slowly tilted his whole torso sideways at Iba, hoping that sentence might make more sense at a forty-five degree angle. "...How?"

"I. Uh." Iba stopped, realizing his story was maybe not one he should be telling his boss. "I was. um. Out camping with the lads back when I was in the 11th, and a lizard climbed into my cot and I was. not totally awake and thought someone was trying to cop a feel and well you know, that's behavior you respond to with force so I rolled over and tried to stab the intruder's hand and. Uh. Missed."

Komamura continued to stare at him blankly.

"There was. screaming. lotta flailing, blood, general mayhem sort of thing. And in the confusion the Lizard.... climbed. inside the hole. In my leg. Sir." Iba explained, slowly crumpling behind his desk.

Komamura sighed deeply.

"-but Miss Isane was right there and actually kicked Ikkaku halfway across the camp because he was trying to lure it out with a Banana and generally being useless and she just grabbed that sucker and ripped him right outta there and had the wound packed and sealed in less than a minute and I even got to finish doing boot camp!" He rallied, cheerfully waving at Isane in hopes of distracting his captain with how cool she was.

"...What happened to the lizard?" Komamura asked, warily eyeing her through the gap in his helmet.

"Oh! He was really, really human acclimated and sneaked into my medkit rather than go back into the wild, so Harry lives a very spoiled lizard life in a terrarium in my room at home! Though it's actually my sister's room now but he still gets all the mango and smashed beetles he can eat!" Isane nodded cheerfully.

"You named a lizard. Harry?" Komamura asked slowly.

"...Iba-san named him, actually." She blushed.

"Ironically!" Iba protested. "I'm only mostly stupid, sir."

Komamura sighed deeply and once again regretted that his disguise would not let him rub his face as needed. "Alright. Thank you for the announcement, Miss Kotetsu. We will get that data to you in a timely manner- was there anything else you needed"

"Oh gosh, there was something else, what was it-?" She tapped her chin, trying to remember.

There was the distant sound of explosives, and all three of them turned to see what looked like midday fireworks going off at the 4th.

"Oh Right! Unohana-taicho requests your presence at the 4th as. Um. 'Designated Non-Drinker and Unarmed Combat Specialist' because the party was getting kind of wild when I left actually-"

Komamura sighed, and picked up Tenken from his stand and started tying the zanpaktou to his belt anyway.

---

The following morning, a small party arrived at the local shrines to The Gods Of Good Fortune, bearing offerings on behalf of the living world's World Health Organization and the handful of names they'd been able to glean from the living world newspapers, and nursing varying degrees of of hangover.

Komamura lead the party, having gotten them up at a slightly malicious 5AM to be there first thing in the morning. Tetsuzaemon and his friends from the 11th he insisted come along and 'suffer with me, as my sworn brothers' were quite pained but doing their best to hold it together.

Shunsui was a veteran of this nonsense and was hiding the pain very well behind his longtime party companions, Ukitake and Unohana, who seemed so extraordinarily cheerful that Komamura had to conclude that they were both still significantly chemically altered. He couldn't fault Unohana- they were faint and only visible on the rare occasions she let her hair down, but just below her left ear there was still the faint divot scars from surviving her own infection.

Isane had celebrated just as hard as the 11th Division lads, but had also had the good sense to alternate beer and water and take both aspirin and some sort of horrible pink goop that apparently relieved nausea before passing out under a table and had woken up only slightly groggy.

Komamura's new friend Harry the Lizard- a remarkably loquacious and quick-witted reptile -had taken up residence inside his helmet, lightly intoxicated on the cocktail fruits people had kept feeding him, and was politely nestled in the thick fur of his neck to ward off the morning cold.

The rituals of gratitude for this miracle, and asking the Gods to bless those who had worked so hard went smoothly, and Komamura couldn't help but notice when he turned around that Miss Kotetsu had opted to lean on the shoulder of 'Tetsu-kun'.

It was not often Komamura started the day with the feeling that everything would turn out alright, but as he watched Tetsuzaemon cautiously but gracelessly take Isane's hand and her squeeze it back on the way back down from the shrine, he felt like the feeling might stay this time.

[amuromi]

★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 7.7k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I would just like to thank the girlies for showing me the light of the Dominican-French Connie headcanon. Truly a beautiful thing that you’ve all created.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! modern!au, hurt/comfort, previously established relationship (childhood sweethearts to exes), pet names (baby, mami, mamita), oral (f!receiving), mentions of birth control, untranslated Spanish, ooc!Connie (canon is only a suggestion)

It’s late, just on the cusp of twilight. The sun is setting behind the skyline in flecks of amber light, flickering over the culdesac like a dwindling candle. Soon the streetlights will come on, buzzing in bright halos over the cracked pavement of the basketball court. It’s so strange to see the changes that had gone unnoticed in years prior suddenly become glaringly obvious. The old pavement of the basketball court has always been cracked and faded, dandelions pushing up between the rivers of dirt that worked their way through the broken concrete. The green paint has long since been washed away along with the white lines and red free throw lane. Somebody–probably the same person that tagged the mailboxes up the street–has made an attempt at renewing the paint job, wobbling lines of spray paint marking out half court and the foil line. The rest of the park is just as neglected, having never been updated since its first installation. The swings are old and rickety, creaking under the slightest weight, and all the plastic pieces of the playground have been bleached pale under the sunlight. But it’s still standing. 

All the pocketknife etchings in the picnic tables and sharpie scribbles on the underside of the tallest slide. This park has always been well-loved. There are memories tucked into the cracked asphalt and carved into trees. Some aren’t even tangible, just the wisp of a thought tucked to the back of your mind that comes loose when you hear just the right song at just the right time. A car driving by with the windows down, in the stifling heat of midsummer. Mostly just bass rattling through the frame of someone’s hoopty as they ease down the block just as it starts to get dark, hollering at someone loitering by the stop sign at the end of the road. Hear just the right baseline at just the right time throws you back to somewhere easier. When the biggest worries in life were getting home before the streetlight turned on. 

Age came through and shattered that simplicity. First crack was sacrificing half the summer to a job at some pop-up carnival that closed as soon as school started, then school started getting serious the closer it got to graduation, and that ceremony sent everybody off in their different directions. Like pulling out threads of a sweater until it starts to unravel. Mikasa went one way and Armin another. Eren stayed local. Coming back together has been like finding a dusty puzzle at the back of a closet and hoping it still had all its pieces. Mikasa graduated the same time as you, but Armin and his big brain still have two more years to go for his bachelor’s. Sasha is fresh out of culinary school and looking to set up something local, a little restaurant somewhere in town. 

What started as a throwaway story post that you expected nobody to see or care about–a simple “back where it all began” when you decided to walk to the park at 1AM–had turned into a rallying cry that brought everybody out of the woodwork. Now, after all the new neighborhood kids have gone home, the park is still full of people. A bunch of twenty-somethings too big to be messing with all this playground equipment. The streetlights buzz to life as the sky goes black, bugs crowding around the yellowish light, but no one moves to go home. You’re all grown. The only thing that can tell you to go home now is a half exasperated text from your Momma wondering how long you plan to be out of the house for. It’s still early enough in the night–hardly past nine–that you don’t need to worry about getting called home because you’ve been out of the house for too long or some other nonsensical reason. And even that won’t bother your Momma who’s out living her own life now that you’re older. Something about a weekend trip with her friend Mr. Vick, which you know from childhood, is something she calls all her dates, like it’s an inside joke that she still goes out and has fun. “Acting grown,” as you’ve always called it. 

And besides your Momma, you don’t really need to worry about much of anything right now. With a degree under your belt, this little return to living at home is only temporary. A brief stop while you’re waiting for everything with your new employment and the leasing office of your apartment to clear. Soon you’ll be working your own little corporate job with an office and everything, and you’ll have your own place away from your Momma’s house, too. Life is sweet and seeing all your old friends is making it sweeter, but there’s still that barest hint of bitterness lingering on the back of your tongue. No one has mentioned it, too busy focusing on who’s here rather than who’s not, but there is one glaring piece missing from the little jigsaw of your old group of friends. One soldier that didn’t answer the call of duty. 

Mikasa and Historia are over on the swings, Eren and Jean are playing one on one on the beat up court, and Sasha and Armin are sprawled out on one of the jungle gym platforms. You’re comparatively alone, sitting at the picnic table all by yourself. It’s like something frozen in time. The same chipped paint and rusted bolts. In so many years, it seems like none of the kids have added anything else to the splintered collage you all left behind. There’s still the little lopsided heart that Historia etched out after being convinced that no one would care if she defaced this particular piece of public property. She was always a stickler with things like that. But the park belongs to you guys more than it does anyone else anyway. It’s always been the property of the kids and it’s almost sad that they haven’t added their own touches in the time since you all graduated. Maybe they’ve hidden their tags in different places. On the underside of the jungle gym written in sharpie, or the frame of the swing set etched into the creaking metal. 

After a while, the sound of sneakers scuffing on concrete pauses just long enough for a shadow to cut across your line of sight, eyes half closed as you rest your head on the table.  

“Don’t tell me you’re tired,” Eren teases. He somehow looks the same as you last saw him yet so much different. He’s bulkier and his hair is longer. He’s sweating, looking sticky as honey under the golden haze of the streetlights as he smiles down at you. 

“M’not tired.” It only sounds the slightest bit fatigued as you mumble the words into your folded arms, but you’re not. You slept in today and even when you woke up you only got out of bed sometime in the afternoon. You’re as well rested as can be, but longing is making you a bit lethargic. Something about a watched pot never boiling. Each minute has stretched to a small eternity as you stare up the ridge of the slight hill that flanks the park. The road is mostly invisible from where you’re sitting but you keep hoping you’ll see someone coming down the dirt path worn through the grass. Eren follows your eyes then kisses his teeth, pushing your shoulder as if to break you out of a daze. 

“If he shows, he shows. Don’t sit here waiting for him.” Eren at least has the sense not to sound pitying. It’s not like he’s had the smoothest relationship in the past four years either. He’s been on and off with half a dozen girls since graduation, never seeming to settle down with any one of them. Eren is lucky he’s easy to like because he’s never been hounded by any disgruntled ex and it gives you hope for your own past, but that candle you’ve been holding is burning lower and lower everyday. Soon it’ll hiss out in a puff of smoke and that’ll be that. Another door closed, another chapter ended. 

“C’mon, you’re not ’bout to spend the night over here looking sad. Come by my cheerleader while I break Kirstein’s ankles.” Eren has always been something like a brother. Older by a couple months, always pretending he was more mature and had all the answers. Usually he’s no more insightful than you, but he means well and tonight it’s a welcomed distraction. You sit at the edge of the court on one of those rickety benches that rocks and sags under your weight, hooting each time one of them scores just so Eren can huff about you “only cheering for him.” By the time they’ve played themselves out everyone has gathered at the edge of the court. 

Armin has settled between your legs, shoulders knocking into your knees as you card your fingers through his hair. It used to be longer. Back in middle school he had a thick mop of hair that matched Mikasa’s. They’ve both shorn off their hair to something more cropped and manageable now, still matching somehow. Historia is leaned up against your shoulder, half-asleep but perking up now that Sasha has started talking about food. Something about everyone coming over to theirs tomorrow for brunch. It’s getting late enough that getting up early is starting to sound like a chore but the promise of a home cooked meal courtesy of your favorite chef has you setting an alarm in your phone. Jean sinks one more shot from half court before wiping his face on his soiled shirt and agreeing to call it a night. 

Home is only a couple minutes away, the path lit by merging rings of light pouring down from the streetlamps. The pavement strewn with grass clippings is far less intimidating than walking around campus at night. Here you know house 13 is Ms. Emma’s and the blue car parked on the corner belongs to Mr. Leroy. There’s nothing haunting the streets but a stray cat that meows at you as you split off from Historia at the end of the block. She lives in the next neighborhood over–where the sidewalks aren’t as cracked and the houses not so weathered–and you watch her drive off until her tail lights disappear around a corner. Your phone pings as the group chat erupts with the obligatory “I’m home” texts. You send your own before turning in for the night, trying not to mull over the missing name in the text chain. 

Morning comes in shades of pink and electric buzzing as your phone vibrates through your alarm. It’s early or at least earlier than you’ve gotten up in a while, but Sasha is already up and texting, reminding everyone that food will be ready by noon. There’s a pang of nostalgia as you get ready in the bathroom that saw you through so many formative years. It smells like your Momma now that you’ve spent so long living in dorms instead of at home. Her perfume and hair products, the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa butter that clings to nearly every room of the house. Even your own perfume mimics the comforting scent as you spritz yourself in a generous cloud before stepping out for the day. 

A pair of sunglasses sits low on the bridge of your nose as you make the drive to Sasha’s new apartment. She moved out soon after she finished culinary school. A modest apartment that isn’t too far from the restaurant she works at. It’s humble but it’s hers, and you’re proud to see how well life has been treating her. A notification from Sasha pops up as you check your lipgloss at a stop light, asking you to run to the store for her. Something about running out of eggs. Historia chimes in a moment later asking if any of the liquor stores are open so she can make mimosas. You turn right at the next light and bemoan the lack of cars in the parking lot of the grocery store. It’s not so early that no one’s on the road but you hate to be that person rolling up into the store before everyone’s settled into the work day. 

Just make it quick, you tell yourself as you pass through the doors. There’s an immediate gust of frigid air conditioning that raises goosebumps over your skin as you grab a basket. The store is nearly empty as you meander towards the dairy section. There’s a lady pondering over avocados as you pass through the produce. About as old as your Momma, though her hair is finely peppered with streaks of gray. There’s a vague familiarity to her that comes with growing up in the same place. She might’ve been your old daycare lady or a secretary at your elementary school. You push your sunglasses a bit higher on your face, trying to hide behind the wide lens. It’s too early to navigate through a half recalled stroll down memory lane. She barely glances up as you pass, but you still take a sudden interest in the speckled pattern of the tiled floor, skirting past a display of tomatoes until you can dip around a corner. Halfway down the line of aisles you see an old classmate working the seafood counter. There’s a moment of hesitation before he nods at you and you return the gesture hoping that will be the last of the familiar faces you see until you get to Sasha’s place. 

By the time you make it to the self checkout you’ve only seen three more people in the relatively large store. No one that you knew, luckily. The scanner happily chirps to not forget your receipt as you tuck the eggs into your reusable bag, the motion interrupted as you hear a familiar song ghosting past your ears. It’s quiet, muffled, sounding like you’re only hearing it from a distance. It draws your eyes despite the machine reminding you to remove all items from the bagging area. There’s no one behind you to stir up a fuss about you lingering too long at the register, half lost in a memory. In fact the only other person in the self checkout area is a man that looks devastatingly familiar. Even with his back towards you, you could pick Connie out of the biggest crowd. His hair is a bit longer now, grown out of his militaristic buzz cut, and his shoulders have gotten broader since you last saw him, but it’s him. 

The music is coming from him, of course. A relic from a bygone era of your life, a song older than either of you that his mother used to play. A comforting sound from those awkward years of middle school. It’s faint but you can hear the soulful belting of the love song even from a distance. It sends you back to the time when you first met Connie. He’d been on the fringes of your life throughout childhood. That friend of a friend that you’d never formally met until your sixth grade English class when he was sitting next to you and cheating off your answers. It took a few months before you realized he was an ESL student and suddenly cheating wasn’t the worst thing in the world. 

The register chirps at you to pick up your groceries and grab your receipt and you nearly drop your bag and break your eggs in your rush to leave. Connie glances up from his own scanning at the sound of the commotion. It’s only a cursory glance from the corner of his eye but you see the recognition spark immediately. His whole body goes rigid, suddenly lined with tension at the mere sight of you. It’s too early for this kind of confrontation. Four years suddenly seeming too soon to see him again. You’re halfway to your car before you consider that he might not have recognized you. You try to rationalize that he could’ve just been bothered by some random woman staring him down while he’s trying to get groceries. It makes the lack of any notifications on your phone make more sense. The Connie you knew would’ve been texting you, then calling if you didn’t answer quick enough for his liking. He wouldn’t have let you walk away from him so easily. But, after so long, the Connie you knew only exists in memories. Like the song you only remember as a melody, no true words, just sounds and a feeling. 

It’s so strange how a day can sour so quickly. The bubbling happiness of getting to see your old friends has dissipated to a rueful melancholy. You get to see every friend but one. 

Masking your upset is easy when you can blame your lack of enthusiasm on the early hour despite having gotten more than enough sleep. Sasha puts you to work anyway, nudging you towards one end of the counter with a bowl and instructions to scramble the eggs. There’s a debate between Jean and Armin over adding milk to the mix, then Historia starts another over how much cheese qualifies as too much. Sasha bats all their hands away with a spatula, tossing in more cheese with a petty grin as you lament that you’re just following the chef’s instructions. You find yourself humming the song Connie had been playing as you cook, struggling to remember the words in Spanish. 

If anyone notices your overindulgence in the mimosas, they don’t question it. Historia seems happy to play mixologist as she measures out generous amounts of champagne colored with a splash of orange juice. By the fourth glass you’re feeling fuzzy and warm, like floating in a sun-dappled cloud. Mikasa’s shoulder is a nice place to rest as you drift in and out of the movie Armin put on. Some long, pondering art house film that you’re sure wouldn’t have been any easier to understand if you hadn’t only been half conscious through the whole runtime. The morning tastes like maple syrup and melted cheese. Sweet and savory as you try to ignore the soured note of your shopping trip. You try to imagine what might’ve happened if you hadn’t tucked tail and ran, then decide it was better that you had left in such a hurry. Connie had seen you but he decided to go back to what he’d been doing, ignoring you as if you were a stranger.

By the tail end of the second movie you’re sobering up and thinking of an excuse to duck out early. Sasha is back to banging around in the kitchen, cooking a late lunch, or maybe an early dinner, but you don’t have the energy to pretend to be upbeat for much longer. It isn’t quite sadness. That already came and went years ago. But it’s a strange aching like an old injury flaring up with the rain. Some time to yourself will help clear your head as you obsess over every second of the momentary interaction. Had that been a frown at the corner of his mouth or was it simply a trick of the light? Had he even considered following after you or was he glad to watch you go? The alcohol had dampened the anxiety but with each sobered moment it came roaring back to the forefront with a vicious ferocity. 

You make up some excuse about cleaning the house before your Momma gets home from her weekend getaway, ducking out of Sasha’s apartment to a chorus of disapproving whines. There’ll be other days together. You’re staying at home for at least another week and you weren’t moving so far that visits would be out of the question. Fifteen minutes was barely a drive at all, just a quick shot up the road from the high rise you’d closed on. They’ll be able to suffer one evening without you while you get yourself in order. 

Connie is all you can think about as you drive home. Him and the way he’d looked at you in the store. Like you were a ghost, a memory meant to be forgotten. And really, you have no right to be mad because isn’t that what you’d done to him? You’re strangers now. Hadn’t talked in years. What would you even say if you did? You consider the park as you drive past, but the sky has turned a steely gray and you’re not feeling like getting rained on in the name of nostalgia. It smells like lawn clippings and petrichor when you get out of the car. It’s still warm despite the storm clouds, a sticky sort of heat that ruins hair and melts makeup. The first crash of thunder comes rolling through as you lock your car, and you nearly unlock it just as fast when you notice someone sitting on your front step. 

The porch is outfitted with a cute set of chairs your Momma got from a yard sale a while back but Connie has decided to sit on the steps. He looks up at the sound of your approach and you try not to notice the way the hazel color of his eyes have shifted with the weather. They’re pulling more brown than green in the muted light of the storm as he watches you stomp past him. You hear him scrambling to follow after you even over the jangling of your keys as you rush to unlock the front door. But the porch is small and he’s already there by the time the deadbolt clicks out of the way. The weight of the screen door lifts from your back and the cold glass is replaced with the warmth of his breath skirting over the nape of your neck. It’s the closest you’ve been in years, too close to slam the door on him as he follows close behind you. He shuts the door like he lives here, locking it behind him with a sort of finality. There’s still the back door for you to escape out of and you’ve hopped enough fences to circumvent the enclosure of the backyard, but you aren’t about to let this man run you out of your own home. 

There’d been a draining sort of grief settled over you before but now it’s turned to boiling anger. He’s always been a bit desperate for your attention, though he looks a bit confused to be standing in front of you now. His eyes glance around the front room, taking in every detail as if he wanted to commit it to memory. It had been so long since he’d last been in your Momma’s house and you imagine it felt like wiping clean a window to allow the light through, the haze of dirt and lost memories removed as he breathed deep a smell that must’ve lingered in the back of his mind the same way the scent of his cologne lingered in yours. There’s an awkwardness to him that sits far too foreign on his large frame. His hands are shoved into his pockets, deep enough that they’re pulled just low enough for a peek of elastic to poke out over the waistband. You try not to focus on the strip of skin showing above the band of his underwear. If you look too long you’ll get lost in your head and you can’t let nostalgia cloud your judgment when he’s standing in the middle of your Momma’s living room uninvited, looking so fondly at the pictures of you she has framed on the wall. 

Connie seems to know you’re about to speak before the words even leave your mouth because his hand catches your chin. He tilts your head up to look at him as his thumb brushes over your lips, smearing your lip gloss just as soon as your lips part. 

“Not yet, baby,” he says and you can tell he talked to his mom recently. He’s got that little twang to his voice that he gets after speaking Spanish for an extended amount of time, the accent he outgrew somewhere in middle school slowly creeping back into his voice. You hate that you recognize it. That you wonder what he said to his mom, if he mentioned you. She used to keep a picture of the two of you in her wallet. The same picture your Momma still has framed somewhere. She took it down years ago when you’d come home in the middle of the semester with tears in your eyes, babbling about breaking up with Connie. But she never got rid of it, she said you’d regret it someday. Now, you were slowly starting to understand her insistence on preserving the sweet memory. 

The two of you were laid up on a couch, squished together even though you were small enough that there was more than enough space to spread out a bit more. One of your arms is tucked under your head while the other is laid over Connie’s back as he drools on your chest, leaving a wet spot on your shirt. You can still remember the sights and smells of that day. It was the first time you’d been invited to one of his family gatherings. 

His cousins had loved you, prattling on in a quick rush of Spanglish that you tried your best to follow as his mom kept handing you plates of food. Connie stuck close to your side the whole day, translating the slang that you missed and stealing your food when he got hungry. 

So many of your memories with him were so precious. It seems almost impossible that it had all come crumbling down so quickly. All it took was one phone call for your world to come crashing down because he couldn’t even give you the respect of doing it face to face. Maybe because he knew he wouldn’t go through with it if he could see your teary eyes. He always hated seeing you cry. Even just a pout would have him jumping to fix the problem. Any problem but your broken heart. You almost want to push him away as he leans his head against yours but it feels so good to be in his arms again. Almost like nothing has changed. But it has, and you aren’t about to let him pretend like it hasn’t. 

“Not yet.” He says again and this time he kisses you, stealing the words out of your mouth. It isn’t the kind of kiss you’d been expecting, though you truly hadn’t been expecting one at all. It’s deep and searching as if he’s trying to pour every kiss he’d missed giving you in the last few years into one. It feels like drowning and breathing all at once. As if you hadn’t realized you were starving until he gave you food and told you to eat. He tastes sweet, like cake. 

“You can be angry,” he promises between breathless kisses. “Later, you can be angry. But right now, let me pretend I never let you go.” But he had, and it hurt, and you are angry. Yet your hands are pulling him closer. 

“Not here.” He says between kisses, urging you towards the hallway. He remembers which door is yours–second on the left–even after so many years away. It’s damning how well Connie knows his way around your childhood home. He’s spent countless hours within these walls the same as you. It was like a second home for him. Now it’s like he never left as he guides you towards your bed. It isn’t the luxurious queen size you ordered for your new apartment, just a modest double that was just big enough for the two of you. Usually with room to spare because Connie never did like to sleep on his side of the bed. He doesn’t make an attempt at taking up any space after he sits you on the edge of the mattress, retreating towards the door as if he’s suddenly scared to be this close to you. 

It’s a mutual feeling, the excitement and hesitance. It’s like being lethargic and hyper all at once, locked in some shuddering equilibrium that will go off kilter the moment one of you makes a wrong move. So Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands back in his pockets like that’ll be enough to keep his hands off you after he’s already got the taste of you on his lips. He never was one to be satisfied with just a kiss. 

There’s nothing hiding his eagerness as you catch the shape of his dick pressing through the gray fabric of his sweatpants clear as day. The sight is enough to lead you down a well-worn path. It’s easy to go along with his wish, to pretend he never left, when you’re surrounded by the familiarity of the past. It’s like you’re eighteen again, watching Connie fight back tears as you tell him you’re leaving for college. It was the beginning of the end yet you can’t find it in yourself to regret it. College had been the right choice and you’re not sure what your Momma would’ve done if you told her you weren’t going to your first choice school just to stay close to a boy. Even if that boy was Connie. But that doesn’t matter right now. Later, he said, you can be mad at him later. Right now you want to forget all the lost years and unspoken emotions standing between you. 

There’s a bashful hesitance as you shrug off your shirt, trying not to think of how long it’s been since he last saw you like this. You look different, surely, but Connie doesn’t seem perturbed. His mouth falls open as if he hadn’t expected it to be that easy to get you undressed. Of course you should be a little less forgiving, more steadfast in your anger, but that can all come later. For now, you’re nearly tripping over your feet to get your pants off. Connie stays pressed up against your door, hands solidly in his pockets, but his eyes are greedy as they rove over your undressed form. Light eyes drag down your body, taking in the way your bra strap slips off the curve of your shoulder and your panties are slung low around your hips. It’s mismatched, nothing special, but Connie licks his lips and bites back a smile. 

“Show me.” He sounds breathless. “Show me what I’ve been missing, baby.” There’s a soft thud as he head falls back against the door. His eyes are half lidded, lashes fluttering as his eyes take in your state of undress. The slight gravel to his voice has your knees knocking and cheeks warming, and suddenly you don’t feel as confident as you did a minute ago. Connie smirks, a soft laugh falling from his lips. “Don’t be shy now, baby. Lemme see.” 

There’s an awkward tremor to your hands as you slide your panties off, thighs closing as soon as you kick them off your ankle. Connie clocks you immediately, sucking his teeth at your coy behavior. 

“Uh uh, mama. Spread your legs. Lemme see.” There’s something so familiar in his voice, that slow drawl as he looks down at you, that has your body reacting before you can think. Your legs slide open and Connie groans. “There she is. So pretty, baby.” 

He finally pushes off the door to come closer and the sight of him rushes over you like deja vu. It eases your nerves, the familiarity of it all. It’s been a while but not so long that your bodies have forgotten each other. Connie fits between your legs the same as he always did. Falling to his knees the instant he’s close enough to touch. His hands slide up the inside of your thighs, pushing your legs farther open, before dipping over the curve of your hips to pull you to the edge of the bed. 

“Missed this,” Connie says as he buries his face between your legs. “Missed you.” The words are spelled out with his tongue as he laps at the wet heat hidden between your thighs. His short hair still prickles against the palm of your hand as you look for something to ground you as he takes his time to reacquaint himself with your body. He’s mumbling a litany of English and Spanish that hums against your clit as he sucks the sensitive bud between his lips, tracing the shape of his name like he never left. The way he’s gripping your thighs, tight enough that his fingers are leaving dimples in the soft flesh, it feels like he wishes he hadn’t left. 

There’s regret and possession radiating from him as he eats you like a man starved. He catches you watching him as your nails scratch at his scalp, hazel eyes sparkling up at you as you squirm on his tongue. He’s looking at you like you’ve hung all the stars in the sky as you cum. He groans loud and long, eyes rolling as your legs try to snap shut. He lets you, loosening his grip on your thighs just enough to feel your legs lock around his head. Connie has the nerve to look perfectly happy to suffer the suffocation as he keeps sucking at your clit. It’s not until you’re pushing him away, whining about “too much,” that he comes up for air. He’s got a dopey smile on his face, your slick shining on his cheeks and chin. He licks his lips and kisses the inside of your thigh, leaving a shiny, heart-shaped mark. He does it again and again, a trail tracing up your stomach before he buries his face against your chest, tongue tracing hot shapes across the pebbled peaks of your nipples. He’s mumbling something, low and barely coherent as he sucks marks into the plush skin of your breasts. 

“–me.” It’s a slurred mess on his clumsy lips, his attention divided between spouting his little mantra and tracing the shape of his name against your collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “Only me.” He says it over and over. Only me, only me, only me…

“Tell me, baby,” he says, suddenly crowding over you. He’s pushed you up the bed so your head is resting on your mountain of silk-covered pillow. “Tell me it’s only gonna be me.” His voice, usually deep and dulcet, has risen to an almost whimpering tone as he blocks everything but himself from your vision. The bulk of his arms crowds your periphery, keeps your head from moving as he sits nearly nose to nose with you. He’s close enough that you can reacquaint yourself with the pattern of his hazel eyes, easily parsing which flecks are green and which are brown. “Tell me.” 

There’s still a shy hesitance as you thread your arms around his neck, but it’s less about the sudden proximity and more about the sudden outpour of emotion shaking itself awake, like frost melting in the sunlight. Connie has always been familiar even after so long apart, but the emotions he dredges up have been buried beneath years of hurt and the intensity of it all bursting through the wall you’ve carefully built around your heart is almost enough to drown you. Tears come unbidden, burning at your lash line and threatening to make your mascara run. 

“It’s always been you,” you promise him. “It’s only ever gonna be you.” It wipes the slate clean. Anyone you’d been with, anyone he’d been with, in the years of distance are wiped away with only a few words. They didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered but the two of you. Connie nearly drowns you in his next kiss, tongue dancing over yours as he groans into your mouth. You can taste yourself as he sucks at your tongue like he’s trying to reacquaint himself with every facet of your body. It’s a shared sentiment as your lips find that beauty mark at the edge of his jaw that you always pressed fluttering kisses to. He laughs, low and breathless, returning the favor as he finds all those favorite places he liked to put his lips. It’s soft and loving, staving off the inevitable as his dick ruts between your legs. Each thrust has his leaking tip pressing wet kisses against your clit, adding to the mess he’s already made between your legs. His hand is clumsy when he finally reaches between your bodies to guide himself home. 

“Fuck.” The word comes out as a languid drawl as he fills you to the hilt, reaching to hitch one of your thighs around his waist. Your body remembers the shape of his, bending and bowing with the practiced motions, but you can still feel the changes. Connie has bulked up since you last saw him and he was already a pillar of corded muscles the last time you’d touched him. You can feel the softer parts of your body pressing against the hard contours of his muscles as he wraps himself around you. His arms curl under your back, pulling you closer until your hearts are beating in tandem, chest to chest as he stretches you to your absolute limit on his dick. 

“Bésame,” Connie groans, nosing under your chin to lift your mouth to where he needs it. He hovers a hair’s breadth away from your lips, each panting breath mingled with yours. “Bésame, mami.” He says again and you realize he’s waiting for you to kiss him. You’re happy to close the gap he’s left, letting him swallow all the little noises you’re making. It’s reminiscent of the days before when you had to be quiet so your Momma could at least pretend she didn’t know what the two of you were doing behind closed doors. But she isn’t home now, so you’re free to make as much noise as he can draw out of you as he rocks his hips against yours. He isn’t going for speed. Instead Connie fills you with slow, deep strokes that stir up your insides and make you feel him in your stomach. It punches the air from your lungs, leaving you to breathlessly slur his name as your nails leave marks across the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

“That’s right, mami.” His teeth scrape against the shell of your ear. Each gruff sound slipping past his lips echoes in your head as he presses his nose against your temple. “Mark me up. Quiero ser tuyo.” 

“Tú eres mío.” You say, leaving sticky marks along his neck, lipgloss and spit shining between the beads of sweat. Connie groans as you nip at his pulse, hips stuttering as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“Eres mía, mamita. Dilo, mami, dime.” He’s slurring his words, each one bleeding into the next as Connie fucks you into the mattress. You’re on the cusp of mindlessness as he reaches between your bodies to find your aching bud, nearly too far gone to understand what he’s saying. It’s only because it’s him, only because you’ve heard it a thousand times in what feels like another life, that you know what he wants to hear. 

“Soy tuyo,” you whine as he spells his name on your clit. “Soy tuyo, lo sabes!” 

“Yo sé, mamita.” His voice is damning. You can hear the smile in his tone as he grinds his hips in deep circles, drawing out the inevitable as you teeter on the cusp of a blinding orgasm. It burns low in your stomach, thrumming at the base of your spine as he kisses your fluttering eyelids. 

“Mírame.” He says, tone just short of begging. “Mírame cuando tu vienes.” When you open your eyes, all you can see is Connie. His half lidded eyes and parted lips as you cum with a choked cry of his name. He spits out a gruff “mierda” as your legs lock tight around his waist, keeping him locked in place as your body writhes underneath him. You can feel your muscles tensing, toes curling and back arching as pleasure sings through every inch of your body. You vaguely feel Connie’s fingers fumbling clumsily across your arm, pressing and squeezing like he’s looking for something. When he doesn’t find it, he sits up, lifting your body with him as he sits back on his knees. It draws forward the vague memory of when he used to poke at the little plastic bar in your arm; your birth control. It’s gone now, having run its course in the years since you’d last seen him. 

Still, you keep your legs locked tight around him. 

“Tu turno,” you pant, circling your hips until Connie reaches to hold you still. 

“No puedo, mami. Tienes que dejarme salir.” He says, patting your thighs where they’re still wrapped tight around his waist. It only makes you squeeze tighter and Connie groans, falling on top of you as you tighten around him. 

“Está bien, papi,” you whisper, rubbing soothingly at the marks you’ve left on his back as Connie nearly vibrates with how hard he’s trying to focus on not cumming inside you. Neither of you had been worried about protection before and you’re not worried about it now as you flex your legs, catching Connie by surprise as you roll the two of you over until you’re on top. 

“¿Lo quieres?” You ask, but his hands are already loosening, no longer holding you still. He paws at your thighs, nodding sheepishly like he isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to want anything from you. He shouldn’t, not after what he did, but that’s a problem for later. All the anger and confusion can come after he does. 

“Dime,” you say just to tease him. It looks like he’s on the cusp of insanity, lips poured and eyes glassy as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him.

“Te quiero!” He barely gets the first syllable out before you’re moving. Red lines appear on his flushed chest where your nails scrape for purchase against his muscles, pressing him into the bed as you bounce on his dick. Fatigue is creeping in, singing each stroke with the sting of overstimulation as the pleasure begins to burn away. But Connie’s close. You can tell by the way his vocabulary has shrunk to only a few desperate words, mainly your name, as his fingers dig into the bruises he already left on your thighs. 

“Hazme acabar,” Connie all but whines. “Estoy cerca.” He sits up suddenly, almost knocking you over as his arms wrap around your waist. He’s holding so tight that he nearly squeezes the air from your lungs as he cums with a hoarse shout of your name. It’s thick and graveled, resonating in your chest as he holds you against him. He’s gripping like you’re going to disappear the moment he lets go, looking at you like this’ll be the last time. Later, he kept saying. Later is now as you feel him spill inside you. 

“Lo siento,” he whispers against your lips as he steals a final kiss. It sounds more like a goodbye than an apology and the finality of it digs out the hollow that has been sitting in your chest all these years. When Connie pulls away it suddenly feels like no time has passed at all, like it’s the beginning of the end all over again. Later is now but the anger you felt before won’t come. Instead all you feel is desperation as you cling to him, sticky with sweat, as he lays you across the sheets and kisses your forehead. You can feel him trying to leave again. He carefully detangles himself even as you try to hold onto him, pressing deceptively sweet kisses to your lips as you whine for him to “please, stay.” It’s like he doesn’t hear you as he slips from the bed and pulls on his sweatpants. But when he leaves the room you don’t hear the telltale sound of the front door slamming. Instead, you trace the sound of his steps towards the bathroom, hear the faucet turn on. A few moments later, he’s back. 

“Don’t cry, baby,” he coos as he wipes away the mess he’s made of your body. “If you wanna be mad at me; be mad, but you know I can’t stand seeing my girl cry. No llores, mami.” He insists, wiping away the tears along with the sweat and cum slipping from between your legs. That had been an impulsive decision. One that will have to be dealt with eventually. Later, you think distantly. You can deal with that later. Right now you’re more worried about Connie. He sits sheepishly at the edge of your bed, offering his shirt for you to wear. It feels like a peace offering as you pull it over your head. It smells like him, it smells like home. You watch Connie fumble in his pockets until he pulls out a ring, one you recognize in an instant. 

It wasn’t one of those cheap Pandora princess rings that every girl in your grade got as a promise ring. It was something far more precious. You’d seen his mom wearing it for years before it suddenly appeared in the palm of his hand all those years ago when he asked you to be his forever. He hadn’t wanted to take it back when you broke up. Even as he broke his promise, he wanted you to keep the ring. It’s cold when he slides it back on to your finger, but it fits like it’s always been there, like these last few years had only been a few moments instead of a small eternity. It felt strange to let go of everything so easily. All the pain, all the anger. It shouldn’t be that easy but everything slides back into place as if it is. Everything is different now, yet still the same. You’re different, he’s different. But it reminds you of something your Momma said about distance making the heart grow fonder. She could never muster any trig anger towards Connie because she said this is what you needed. A brief interlude to become your own person after years of entwining yourself with Connie. Now you understand what she meant by all that. It’s too soon to tell if it’s worth it but you suppose you can worry about that later. 

[visit-new-york]

Does Brooklyn Bridge Park Have Any Family Friendly Amenities or Play Areas?

Brooklyn Bridge Park, nestled along the East River with stunning views of the Manhattan skyline and the iconic Brooklyn Bridge, is not only a picturesque destination for adults but also a haven for families seeking recreation and relaxation. As one of New York City's most beloved waterfront parks, it boasts an array of family-friendly amenities and play areas that make it a perfect spot for parents and children alike.

Playgrounds:

One of the standout features of Brooklyn Bridge Park is its well-designed and diverse playgrounds. The park offers several playgrounds tailored to different age groups, ensuring that children of all ages have a safe and enjoyable place to play. The Main Street Playground, for instance, is equipped with state-of-the-art play structures, swings, and climbing equipment that cater to both toddlers and older kids. The imaginative designs and incorporation of natural elements make these play areas not only entertaining but also stimulating for young minds.

Water Features:

For those hot summer days, Brooklyn Bridge Park provides refreshing water features that are perfect for family fun. The Water Lab, located at Pier 6, offers a dynamic water play space with various jets, sprinklers, and fountains. Children can splash around, cool off, and engage in water play, creating a delightful and memorable experience for families visiting the park. It's important to note that the Water Lab typically operates seasonally, so visitors should check the park's schedule for availability.

Sports Facilities:

Families who enjoy sports will find Brooklyn Bridge Park to be a fantastic destination. With multiple sports fields, including soccer, basketball, and volleyball courts, there are ample opportunities for friendly matches and sports activities. These facilities cater to a range of age groups and skill levels, encouraging families to engage in physical activities together.

Picnic Areas and Food Options:

Creating a perfect family day out involves more than just play areas. Brooklyn Bridge Park provides numerous designated picnic areas equipped with tables and benches, allowing families to bring their own meals or purchase food from nearby vendors. The park also hosts a variety of food concessions, ensuring that families have convenient access to refreshments while enjoying the scenic surroundings.

Events and Programming:

Brooklyn Bridge Park regularly hosts family-friendly events and programming throughout the year. From outdoor movie nights to concerts and educational workshops, there's always something exciting happening in the park. Families can check the park's official website or event calendar to stay informed about upcoming activities suitable for all ages.

Conclusion:

Brooklyn Bridge Park stands out as a premier destination for families in New York City, offering a wealth of family-friendly amenities and play areas. From thoughtfully designed playgrounds to water features, sports facilities, and engaging events, the park provides an ideal setting for families to bond, play, and create lasting memories against the backdrop of the city's skyline and the iconic Brooklyn Bridge. Whether you're a local resident or a visitor, Brooklyn Bridge Park is a must-visit destination for families seeking a delightful and enriching experience.

[ariseur]

Cloud strife x reader parent edition? (Denzel is the kid y'all have.)

Also love your work omfg

you couldn’t remember the last time you had seen denzel smile this wide.

an empty lot in the center of edge now adorned a small playground littered with kids. although some of the equipment was made from the debris of midgar, the kids seemed to love it nonetheless. after marlene had begged you to take her, you had finally given in to her pleas and decided to check the place out with her.

various giggles erupted from a group of kids playing tag while you watched marlene run away from denzel, holding out a beckoning hand as she pitter-pattered away. a soft smile of your own etched itself on your face as you put a hand on denzel’s shoulder while he fiddled with his hands, unsure of whether to follow or not.

he looked up at you, eyes blue like the midday skies. you’d always remind him how nice his eyes were, how it looked like there were stars in them with all the lightly colored flecks in the irises, to which he’d look away and cross his arms in embarrassment.

you looked back in marlene’s direction, nodding your head towards where she now sat on the seesaw and waved denzel over. “go on,” you said, “it’s alright.”

he looked around for a moment, and you didn’t blame him considering he was an orphan and had known nothing else than being on the streets from such a young age. your smile turned bittersweet as denzel observed his surroundings carefully before giving marlene a soft smile and running to the other end of the seesaw, the colorful metal sticking out against the dull atmosphere of the city.

you hugged your arms for at least some warmth as you watched denzel finally laugh in what felt like forever. it was like a breath of fresh air hearing the children’s laughter and squeals as a some of them played tag, others sat on the stone curbs drawing figures and shapes into the sandbox.

“he looks happy.” you hear a monotone voice appear from next to you, one that you know could only belong to cloud strife.

you flashed him a soft grin, “yeah, he needs this.” you responded sweetly. cloud never understood how you were so good with kids. he never understood how you were so good with people— in general. mako-infused eyes followed denzel’s movements, his curls bobbing up and down with him while he played with marlene on the seesaw, squeals erupting from both of them as sometimes they’d get too close to falling off.

arms tightening around yourself, you tried to stay warm. “he’s been through a lot.” you finally say, feeling cloud’s eyes on you. he had an intense stare with the way his eyebrows furrowed and lips press together in a pout.

“haven’t we all.” cloud mumbled, frown tugging at his lips as he looked back out to all the kids playing.

you put a hand on his shoulder cautiously, giving him enough time to pull away if he needed to. your hand was feather light against his bare shoulder, only slightly covered with his sleeveless turtleneck. “he really looks up to you, though.” you smiled at him. why was he feeling warm? is this normal? “so, i think we’ve done a pretty good job.”

cloud hums quietly as a form of acknowledgment before resting a hand on his hip, eyes still trained on denzel. maybe it was just due to how unsafe these streets used to be. maybe it’s because he’s so used to the despair that clouded the streets after the geostigma grew stronger, it’s such a contrast seeing joy for what feels like the first time in forever.

you leaned closer to cloud as you slowly rested your head on his shoulder, your hand drifting down to his bicep. you felt him stiffen, making a small noise of surprise as he fixed his posture.

“is this okay?”

cloud carefully looked down at you before looking back up at the kids. denzel was now on the slide, marlene urging him to come down from the bottom. cloud huffed as he crossed his arms, still letting you lay on him. he knew you wouldn’t let go anytime soon, he knew you’d save him from the grief that withered away at him. that mission to nibbelheim was traumatic enough, his memory never let him forget the horrors that went on in his home village. he never admitted it, but he enjoyed your presence even if you both were doing nothing.

“yeah.” he mumbled, “i guess i’m okay with it.”

you smiled, “losing that hard edge now, are you?”

“alright now, shut up.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ this request was actually so cute tho, baby denzel didn’t deserve all that he was only seven ☹️☹️

kiss kiss 💋

[mixelation]

i was like "i should towards finishing my fics on ao3" and then i opened google docs and wrote some other nonsense instead

anyway here's the minato-and-naruto quasi time travel thing i keep threatening to write

The problem with Hiraishin accidents was that they tended to be… strange. Most jutsu accidents ended with an explosion or a blade slipping or something like that. Hiraishin accidents ended with you standing in random places, sometimes with random pieces of clothing missing. 

Minato was a little surprised to end up in a park, but not immediately worried. He was still in Konoha, and all of his clothes were in place. The interesting part was that when he tried his experiment, it had been 2 PM at the height of summer. Now it was dark and markedly cold. 

He was in a park near the outskirts of the village. Hokage monument loomed in the distance. 

Minato blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dark. This end of the park had a playground for children. It had several street lamps, but half of them were out. He was currently standing next to a slide, which was covered in graffiti. These details seemed odd to him, as he’d been an advocate for Konoha’s park maintenance. Konoha sinking all their funding and manpower into the Third Shinobi War meant Minato had grown up playing on rusty and half-broken equipment, and he’d promised his unborn son that he’d have nicer places to play. 

Minato was never going to get to be a father, and he saw this as all the more reason to support infrastructure changes to improve the village for families that did have children. He owed it to baby Naruto. 

Ah, well. This park was pretty far out. Maybe it was somehow getting missed. Minato mentally filed the problem away to address after he’d figured out if he’d… blacked out for a while, or whatever had just happened. 

There was one other presence in the whole park. A little kid was playing in a sandbox. Minato wondered where the kids’ parents were, this late at night. 

Minato approached the kid, making sure to make enough noise to be noticed. The kid froze in the middle of making some sort of… sand pile… and looked up at Minato with suspicious eyes. 

“What?” the kid demanded. He had light colored hair sticking out from under a knit hat. He scowled at Minato very seriously, which was adorably hilarious on such a young face. “What do you want?”

He must not recognize me, Minato decided, amused. It was dark, and the kid was pretty young. 

Minato squatted at the edge of the sandbox. There were random patches of grass in the sand. The kid puffed himself up, his scowl still in place. 

“Hey, kid,” Minato said. “I need some help. Can you answer some questions for me?”

“What questions?” the kid asked. “I’m allowed to be here, you know!”

Minato felt his stomach tighten slightly at the wording. It was so close to how Kushina used to talk, and this kid was about the age Naruto would be… 

Get a grip, Namikaze, Minato thought. This type of distraction was probably why he’d screwed up the Hiraishin to begin with. He needed to focus. Lots of people probably happened to speak like Kushina. 

“Actually, the park is closed after dark,” Minato said gently, and the kid looked scandalized. It was very cute. Minato winked. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Afterall, I’m here after closing too, aren’t I?”

The kid relaxed into a pout. He eyed Minato up and down, and Minato tried to look as friendly and unthreatening as possible. 

“You’re a ninja!” the kid finally said, visibly brightening. “You have a hitai-ate!”

He pointed. Minato grinned. 

“Sure am,” he agreed. 

“Then why do you need help from me?” the kid asked, eyes wide. 

At this point, it would have indeed been faster and more efficient to just teleport back to his office and ask an adult questions. But this kid was very cute, and Minato liked talking to the youth of Konoha. 

“I had a jutsu accident,” Minato said, very seriously. The kid’s eyes basically bulged out of his head. Adorable. “I’m afraid to tell any other ninja, in case they make fun of me. But you won’t make fun of me, will you?”

The kid got so excited he actually ended up on his feet, waving his arms intensely. Sand flew everywhere. 

“No way!” the kid yelled. “Everyone makes mistakes, you know! That’s what the old man says whenever I mess up, and I mess up a lot, you know. I don’t like when people make fun of me! So I won’t make fun of you, and if the other ninja make fun of you, I’ll beat them up for you!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Minato said, putting his hands up. This kid was enthusiastic. “That’s very nice of you, but you don’t need to beat anyone up for me, promise. Why don’t you hear my questions first?”

The kid took a deep breath. 

“Okay,” he said. 

“Do you know what time it is?” Minato asked. The kid shook his head. “Well, do you know what time you left your house?”

“I dunno,” the kid said. “But I didn’t come here from my house. I came from the Academy, you know! I’m training real hard to be a ninja too!”

The kid rambled for a bit, and Minato frowned as he listened to the story. The kid had had detention after class, after some prank he’d pulled on his teacher, and then he’d come immediately over to the park. He said he liked coming at night when the park was empty, because other children often wouldn’t let him play with the “good” equipment. 

“Usually I have to wait until after dinner,” the kid was saying. “But in winter it gets dark real early, you know!”

The kid did know the date. 

“Can you tell me… the year?” Minato said slowly. 

The kid told him.

If the kid was right, Minato had gone back in time five months. So that was… a new way for the Hiraishin to be messed up. What a terrifying discovery. 

When Minato, lost in thought, didn’t ask follow up questions, the kid was unperturbed. He continued to ramble about his ninja training. 

At least, if Minato really was back in time, it was only five months. If he couldn’t figure out how to undo it, he could just lay low those five months until his past self also winked out of time, and just step right back into his life. Unless that wasn’t how time travel worked…? Tobirama had written some theories on time travel and seemed to think it didn’t work that cleanly… 

“...and then I’m going to be Hokage!” the kid cried, pumping a fist in the air. 

Minato grinned, despite the situation. This kid was a riot. How had he not noticed him before? 

“I’m sure you will be,” Minato told him, reaching forward to place a hand on the kid’s hat, like he would to ruffle hair. “Thank you for helping me.”

Minato stood. He wanted to go to his office as soon as possible to get to work verifying he had time traveled, and maybe consult Tobirama’s old writings, but he also couldn’t just leave this kid alone. He’d drop him off at his home as quickly as possible, he decided. He’d love to see this kid’s reaction to realizing who he was. Or to getting to see his famous Hiraishin. 

“Hey, kid,” Minato said. “My name is Namikaze Minato. What’s yours?”

The kid didn't seem to recognize the name at all. But he beamed up at Minato, showing all his teeth. 

“This means we’re friends now, right?” the kid said. “I’m Uzumaki Naruto!”

The kid continued to ramble about how cool it was to have a ninja for a friend, but Minato couldn’t hear him. 

He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t see. He couldn’t breathe. 

Was this a joke? A sick prank by a villager? Or attack, even? A cruel, evil genjutsu, maybe? 

Minato suddenly wanted to flee, or maybe he wanted to fight, or to disappear forever. He had no name for this emotion, but he did push out his senses, tapping into his Hiraishin network. It lit up in his mind, scattered across the village. 

It was wrong. There were fewer markers than there should be. And… one extra one. 

Minato's gaze turned back to the kid in front of him. The kid had one of his markers in him, burning brightly at his stomach. 

“Hey, hey,” the kid said, taking Minato’s hand and tugging. “Are you alright, mister?”

Minato tried to dispel a genjutsu. Nothing happened. The kid was still staring up at him with blue eyes the exact shape of Kushina’s. 

“Na… naruto,” Minato said, the word feeling too intimate to be spoken out loud. The kid just blinked curiously up at him. “I… I need to take you home. Where are your parents?”

“Oh,” Naruto said. “Don’t worry about that! I don’t have any, so I can stay out as late as I want, you know.”

Minato stared at him. 

He sat on the edge of the sandbox. 

He stared at the kid some more. 

“Are you okay?” the kid asked, dubious. 

“Do you know who the Hokage is, Naruto?” Minato asked weakly. 

“Oh, yeah!” Naruto said. “Old man Third!”

“It’s not the Fourth?” Minato asked weakly. 

Naruto shook his head vigorously. “Nope! ‘Cause he’s dead.”

Minato did not have Tobirama’s theories on time travel memorized, but he had read through them. One theory was that true time travel wasn’t possible. Time was just infinite probabilities, constantly diverging with every decision anyone ever made, and one couldn’t go back in time because time simply wasn’t linear like that. 

But one could hop into a different probability. A different timeline, where things played out just slightly differently.

Minato also knew there was no way to fake a Hiraishin marker. His past self in this timeline made one and put it in this boy, the same way he’d wanted to do for baby Naruto when he realized the baby had to become the Kyuubi’s next container, before everything collapsed into Minato’s first and greatest failure as a father. 

Minato put his head between his knees and concentrated on breathing. 

“Whoa, mister!” Naruto cried and helpfully patted his back. “Are you sure you’re a ninja? You don’t seem very tough.”

Minato laughed weakly, staring at the dark grass from between his knees. “You said you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

“Yeah, well…” Naruto stuttered out. 

Naruto. 

Minato sat up and looked at his son. It was too dark to see every detail of Nruto’s face, but now that Minato knew to look, he looked just like Kushina. He even had the unusually chubby cheeks Kushina had hated as a kid. 

He wanted to hug him, to kiss his cheeks and beg for forgiveness. 

He also knew that would probably freak the poor kid out. 

“Sorry, Naruto,” he said finally. “I have… I have more questions. Can we go inside somewhere?”

Naruto squinted at him. 

“Are you some kind of loser ninja?” he asked. “You’re crying.”

Minato laughed. He was crying. How embarrassing.

[owen-writes]

Son Of The Doctor

11th Doctor x Son Reader

The Reader is the son of River Song and The Doctor. Which also makes the reader a Time Lord.

As a young Time Lord growing up in the TARDIS, your first memory is the mesmerizing hum of the time rotor and the Doctor's warm smile as he introduces you to the wonders of time and space.

River Song, your mother, often regales you with thrilling tales of her adventures with the Doctor, creating a sense of excitement and mystery about your own future.

Your childhood is a kaleidoscope of adventures across different eras and planets, learning about history, science, and cultures firsthand from your time-traveling parents.

The TARDIS becomes your playground, and you spend hours exploring its vast corridors, discovering hidden rooms, and playing games with the Doctor and River.

The Doctor teaches you Gallifreyan, sharing the rich cultural heritage of the Time Lords and instilling a deep sense of pride in your heritage.

River, with her archaeologist expertise, guides you through the complexities of the Vortex Manipulator and the intricacies of time travel, making you adept at navigating time and space.

Your bedtime stories are a unique blend of historical events and fictional tales woven by the Doctor, turning each night into an enchanting journey through time.

Growing up, you witness the Doctor's unwavering commitment to saving civilizations, fostering a strong sense of compassion and justice within you.

The TARDIS is not only your home but also a sentient companion. You share a unique bond with it, and it often responds to your presence with soothing hums and gentle vibrations.

The Doctor, in his whimsical way, introduces you to various alien species, and you forge unlikely friendships with beings from distant galaxies.

Your teenage years are marked by rebellious adventures, where the Doctor reluctantly allows you to take the reins of the TARDIS under his watchful eye.

River Song's guidance on wielding a sonic screwdriver becomes a rite of passage, and soon, you're effortlessly using it to solve problems and save the day.

Time travel has its challenges, and you experience moments of loneliness as you watch friends age while you remain young. The Doctor, understanding this burden, becomes a pillar of support.

The TARDIS is equipped with a library spanning all of time and space, allowing you to indulge in literature and knowledge from countless civilizations.

The Doctor encourages your curiosity, and together, you embark on quests to uncover ancient mysteries, blending archaeology with time travel.

As you reach adulthood, the Doctor proudly declares you a Time Lord, acknowledging your growth and maturity as a guardian of time.

You develop a keen sense of responsibility to protect the timelines, ensuring that history unfolds as it should while embracing the fluidity of time.

River Song, despite her occasional mysterious disappearances, is a constant presence in your life, leaving enigmatic messages that often lead to thrilling adventures.

The TARDIS's telepathic circuits allow you to communicate with the Doctor and River across time, strengthening the bond of your unconventional family.

Your love for exploration extends beyond the confines of the TARDIS, and you occasionally venture into the universe alone, carrying the legacy of the Doctor and River.

The Doctor shares stories of past companions, creating a tapestry of friendships and experiences that shape your understanding of the impact one can have on the universe.

Despite the challenges of time travel, you witness the beauty of fleeting moments, cherishing the ephemeral nature of existence.

The TARDIS console room becomes a place of reflection, where you ponder the mysteries of time and space, contemplating your role in the vast cosmic tapestry.

The Doctor's face lights up with pride as you use your knowledge of temporal mechanics to solve complex problems, proving that you've truly embraced your Time Lord heritage.

River Song's journal, filled with notes and observations, becomes a cherished family heirloom, connecting you to the adventures and wisdom of your parents.

Your romantic relationship with the Doctor deepens over the years, the bond strengthened by shared experiences and a mutual understanding of the complexities of time.

Together, you and the Doctor face adversaries that challenge your resolve, but your unity prevails, illustrating the resilience of love across time and space.

The TARDIS evolves with your presence, adapting to your preferences and desires, making it a true home that transcends the limitations of conventional living spaces.

As you stand on the threshold of eternity, the Doctor imparts the final lesson: the true power of a Time Lord lies not in manipulation of time but in the ability to bring positive change to the universe.

With a heart full of gratitude and a TARDIS that echoes with the laughter of countless adventures, you continue your journey through time, eternally connected to the Doctor and River Song, a living testament to the enduring legacy of the Time Lords.

[pancakewithsprinkles]

Sam And Max Headcannons <3

WARNING!!!! THESE ARE ALL BASED ON LITERALLY NOTHING. NONE OF THESE HAVE ANY CANNON BACKING THEM UP

Max loves to draw, though he's on the artistic level of a kindergartener. He likes using crayons the most :)

Sam and Max are both autistic. In fact, the whole reason they got into this business is Sam's never ending hyperfixation on black and white detective films.

They always get icecream after a job to celebrate :)

The commissioner is literally just Steve Purcell

On halloween, they always go as themselves and see how many people they can trick into thinking they're just in costumes. It's always fun

Max likes babies :)

Sam could be making thousands selling his artwork, but he doesn't think its good. (its basically on par with the mona lisa I have no idea where he gets that idea from)

Their favorite icecream is orange dreamsicles :)

Max loves using slang in front of sam to watch him panic because he has No Idea what his little buddy is saying

Max is the top

They like M night Shyamalan movies

Max isn't allowed to listen to Caramel Dansen anymore because last time he did he got so hyper he nearly broke everything in the office

they own multiple of eachother's plushies

They love interacting with kids!! Sam always has police badge stickers in his pocket in case of a Child Spotting. Max also has pixiesticks on hand for the same reason. Sam has no idea if they're actually pixie sticks or if he's just giving kids hard drugs and he's too afraid to ask

Sam is terrified of the Vet. Its a whole day ordeal of Max having to trap, trick, and manipulate his way into forcing sam into the vet's doors. He always gets a chewtoy afterwards though cus he's a brave lil pup :)

Max likes going to the vet because he steals all the equipment

Sam is a giant frank Sinatra fan, listens to him All The Time. This has led to max hating frank sinatra.

Sometimes max will just latch onto sam like a damn parasite and Sam wont even know he's been latched onto him until Max says something. Its nearly given Sam a heart attack on occasions

Sam has a dog bed, and Max sleeps where ever he wants. Spots Sam has found him sleeping in include: The Fridge, On the roof, On his head (suffocating him), In the microwave, and in the fishbowl.

When max dries off after getting wet he looks like a gigantic puff ball. He hates it, and Sam always makes fun of him for it

Sam does the Snoopy Happy dance :)

Max loves being thrown around. Down the stairs, through a window, being spun until he's violently ill... you name it, he adores it.

Max cant swim, but he will lie till the end of time that he can, since he finds wearing floaties embarrassing. He usually drowns at least two times at pool parties

Max's idol is the shark from Jaws

Max loves putting stickers on things he loves! Which usually means himself and Sam are covered in them

If you ask either of them how old they are, they'll reply with "time is a concept" because they've honestly forgotten what age they are

Sam and Max both believe in santa (I guess this isn't a headcannon since they did see/kill him once but still I like it)

Max has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere anytime he wants, including sleeping standing up.

Sam and Max met eachother at a playground because Max bit sam and said he wouldn't let go till they were best friends. I think you all know how the rest of the story goes

[ronnie-quinn]

A Day at the Park

CG!Husk, Babysitter!Alastor, and Regressor!Angel Dust

Plot: Husk and Alastor take Angel to the park.

TW: Blood, thorns

Request by @KittyCarrie (Guest) on AO3

Husk and Alastor had thought about taking Angel to a park to take a break and to just be little. When Husk told Angel their plan, the spider was reluctant to go because one, he wasn’t the most sociable regressor whenever his headspace dropped to a very tiny one. And two, age regression wasn’t fully understood well by the public (despite it being recommended by licensed therapists on Earth) and he didn’t want to be seen as some sort of creepy weirdo. Husk and Alastor understood this and decided to take Angel to a park where it wasn’t busy and he can have all the playground equipment to himself if he wanted.

When the trio made it to the vacant, yet peaceful and beautiful park, Angel spent all of his time playing with Fat Nuggets, slowly warming up to the place and exploring the nature around him at a safe distance where Husk and Alastor can see him.

Angel babbled to Fat Nuggets, asking him if he wanted to play hide and seek. Understanding the question, the pig nodded and ran off to hide while the spider counted next to the bench where Husk and Alastor were sitting.

“What are you up to, kid?” Husk chuckled.

“Hi an’ see,” Angel said. “Nunu hi'in'.”

“Ahh, a classic game for many generations of children,” Alastor nodded. “Did you know that it was invented all the way back in the second century B.C.?”

Angel just stared at the radio demon, not comprehending what he said and went back to counting.

Meanwhile, Fat Nuggets crawled to a nearby bush. However, he didn’t realize that the branches were covered in rose thorns. He tried getting out so he could find a safer place to hide when he ended up getting stuck between the limbs. He squealed out for help, alerting Angel and his caregivers.

“Nunu?” Angel gasped as he ran over to the bush and tried to get Fat Nuggets out.

“Angel, wait-” Husk tried to warn, but Angel pricked the top row of his hands and cause them to bleed. The spider began crying in pain, clutching onto his bleeding hand. Husk and Alastor ran over to him.

The winged cat gently asked, “Can I see your hands?”

However, Angel was too overwhelmed to move. Not only did his hands hurt, but he was gravely concerned that Fat Nuggets was probably stung with thorns, too.

“No need for alarm, little one. We’ll get your friend out of that dastardly bushel and heal him if he needs it,” Alastor reassured.

“Yeah, we’ve got medical stuff in your little bag to help you and Fat Nuggets feel better,” Husk added as he patted the gray baby bag that he was holding.

Angel tearfully showed his injuries to Husk, who grimaced and began carefully plucking out the thorns from his hands.

With the snap of his fingers, Alastor made the bush that trapped Fat Nuggets disappear. The pig crawled over to the radio demon, a couple of thorns poking his back.

“Nunu be o'ay?” Angel asked Alastor.

“Of course, not to worry,” Alastor nodded as he patted Angel's head. “The thorns aren't deep into the piglet's skin. They should be easy to remove.”

Alastor started to pick the thorns off of Fat Nuggets while Husk treated the spider’s wounds with Octonauts Band-Aids.

“Li’ Peso,” Angel sniffled as he pointed at the bandages on his hands.

“Yeah, Peso has Band-Aids just like these,” Husk said as he kissed Angel’s boo-boos.

“Nunu has Peso ba’das too?”

“We’ll give Fat Nuggets all the Peso Band-Aids he needs.”

After Alastor removed the thorns off of Fat Nuggets, he let Angel hold the pig while he applied the Octonauts bandages on his back.

“There we go, it seems that you two are feeling better already,” Alastor said. “Let it be a lesson, though, that you shouldn’t go near bushes if they have thorns in them.”

“Just come get me or Al if you need any help,” Husk added.

Angel nodded as he carefully embraced Fat Nuggets.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

What does a traditional family/House dynamic look like, especially in terms of children?

[Does the whole House live in one large building, or is the House more of a common family space? Are children usually cared for by their parents, or is child minding more of a communal responsibility along the lines of "it takes a village to raise a child"? Etc.] < please treat these questions as additional questions like the ones on a school test that the teacher puts in to make sure that the student understands the original big question. I only included them so you could know what I meant when I say "House/family dynamic", because I know that can be confusing

Gosh, I wish you'd have written my exams.

What does a traditional family/House dynamic look like?

Houses are both residences and familial hubs containing a lot of related Gallifreyans. Here's what the dynamic typically looks like, especially when it comes to raising children:

🏠 Brief House Overview

First, a bit of context - Gallifreyan Houses are huge, often sentient structures. They're designed to support entire extended families, often containing multiple generations.

Interior Design: Houses often have high ceilings, large rooms, and sprawling corridors. This setup is on purpose - designed to make newly loomed Gallifreyans feel like children (many loomlings are created with fully-grown adult bodies).

Living Spaces: Houses contain individual bedrooms, communal living spaces, and operational facilities such as the Loomshed. They also have their own crypts for dead House members.

Animated Features: The Houses often have animated furniture, which, if not properly trained, might chase people around. Paintings whisper at passing cousins, and Druges, large automated humanoid servants, roam the premises, performing various duties.

👨‍👩‍👦‍👦 Family Dynamics

Gallifreyan families tend to be large and very hierarchical, with cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relatives living under the same roof. There's a strong thread of communal responsibility and shared upbringing when it comes to childrene (childe = singular, childrene = plural):

Childcare: Childrene are typically cared for by a combination of their parents and other relatives. Parents are present and will look after their child, performing the usual trips out to the galactic zoo or whatever.

Education: The responsibility for education and upbringing is communal, with older House members playing a significant role in brainbuffing (the educational process designed to shape young Gallifreyan minds). This is supported by the help of Avatroids - mechanical beings who were (basically) enslaved by the Time Lords. The boy Doctor had his own personal Avatroid named Badger, whose job it was to protect and educate him.

Communal Responsibilities: Given the House's size and structure, childcare is often a collective effort. The extended family takes part in guiding the children's education and development, with the aim of instilling a sense of duty and obedience ie. House values.

🧒 Children and Brainbuffing

As mentioned, childrene undergo brainbuffing, a rigorous educational process that equips them with a ton of knowledge before they step out into the big wide world. This process involves both formal schooling and informal training at home.

Early Education: During the first eight years, childrene are educated in writing, culture, mathematics, and science, surpassing the knowledge level of many human college students. Extended family members play a significant role in this process.

Traditional Activities: Despite the emphasis on duty, childrene can happily engage in activities like lushberrying and playing with onion dolls. However, there are no playgrounds on Gallifrey due to the focus on obedience.

Communal Upbringing: The entire House contributes to the upbringing, fostering a strong sense of community and collective responsibility.

🔥Then Comes Life

At the age of eight, children are snatched away from all of this and put into Chapter Academies away from their Houses and families for around 200 years. Bummer.

🏫 So ...

Gallifreyan Houses blend family living with communal responsibilities. They focus on fostering a sense of duty and service, with a significant emphasis on education and discipline. While parents play a crucial role in raising childrene, the communal approach ensures that every child has a network of support and guidance throughout their early years, which is then completely turned on its head.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal!! I hope you’re having a nice weekend/week! As usual I have been haunted by your wips and I’m very excited to read what happens next!

First theme this week is “the OCs who’ve stolen my heart!” I absolutely adore Dove and Cranberry!!!

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞 (DUCKLING STOP THATS ADORABLE!! I’m really loving this story and can’t wait to read it! I know you said you’re waiting until it’s all done to release it - how many chapters are you planning on it being?)

🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮🦮 (guess whose back! Back again! Cranberrys back! Tell a friend! As always I love the early season four Buckley family drama stuff and especially love the established Buddie twist! Very excited to see the Daniel reveal play out and I’m pumped to hear that you’re gonna keep doing Cranberry stories!)

- PCA <3

HI PCA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you!!!!!I I am so happy you're loving the OCs, particularly the new introduction of Dove.

78 for 🪞 (I am thinking 5 or 6, depending on how long the next one ends up being. Right now, I'm in the middle of chapter 3.)

---

Bobby suppresses an amused smile. “Well, I’m all ears. What’s up, Dove?”

“Captain Bobby,” she starts, mustering up her courage. Buck has to keep himself from doubling over from the cuteness. “Can I stay, just for today?”

Bobby pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmm. Do you think you could help out around the firehouse? Keep the other firefighters in line?”

She nods enthusiastically. “Yes!”

“Alright,” Bobby nods. “I think we can give you special permission today. You’re in charge of Buck, though.”

“Hey,” Buck laughs.

“I don’t know, Cap!” Eddie calls down from the mezzanine. “Are you sure about this? She’s a Go-Fish shark.” 

“A Go-Fish shark?” Bobby repeats. “Uh oh!”

Dove giggles. “No. Eddie just loses a lot.”

Bobby laughs. Warm and boisterous. “Why don’t you go upstairs and tell Eddie to get the cards out?”

Dove looks to Buck for permission. 

“He’s the captain,” he reminds her. “He’s in charge.”

She turns back to Bobby. “Okay, Captain.”

Then she drops Buck’s hand and heads towards the stairs, where Eddie is waiting for her at the top. 

Buck turns to Carla.

“Thanks for bringing her,” he says. 

Carla smiles kindly. “She needed you.”

“Do you know what her nightmares were about?” He asks. 

Carla shakes her head. “She didn’t really remember.”

Damn. Nothing to talk through, then.

“Okay,” Buck shrugs. “Well… Thanks again.”

She nods. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

They say their goodbyes and then Buck turns to Bobby.

“Thank you,” he says. “It’s not gonna be a habit, just… She’s been insecure lately. I-I want her to know I’m always here for her. That she comes first, you know?”

“Relax,” Bobby assures him. “It’s all good.”

He nods. “Thanks.”

“For the record?” Bobby says. “I’m proud of you. She’s lucky to have you.”

▪️▪️▪️

It’s a day straight out of a memory. Buck feels the deja vu following him like a ghost. 

The 118 dotes on Dove the same way they do any of the kids. The same way they did for Christopher, on the day he’d spent with them, not long after Eddie had started. It’s the same but different. The same in that everyone is kind and patient and tries to make her laugh. The same in that she gets brought on a call, to help someone trapped in playground equipment. The same in that Bobby seems to light up having a kid around, and it makes Buck melt. But different. Different, in that Dove is too scared to go down the fire pole. Buck thinks they’ll have to work up to it. Different in that she’s still a bit shyer, and clings to Buck and Eddie. She’s not the same kid. Even though sometimes it feels like the same day. 

---

60 for 🦮 (And hell yeah! I literally want to take Cranberry through as much of canon as possible.)

---

“I don’t blame you for not telling me, now that I think more about it,” Buck starts. “Chris is that age, and if we pressured him to keep a secret… Well, of course he would.”

Maddie looks down. “Yeah, I… I was always scared of making them angry. Or sad. Mom… She used to talk about wanting to die, and I… I thought if I was good…”

“That wasn’t your job,” Buck says. 

“I know that now,” Maddie says. She rests her hand on her stomach. “I know I never want my little girl to end up feeling responsible for anyone else’s emotions. I don’t want her to end up… You know?”

Loving someone like Doug. Right. 

“She won’t,” Buck says firmly. “I know she won’t. She’ll have people to protect her. Like I had you.”

Maddie wipes her eyes. 

“But you didn’t have anyone,” Buck realizes. “And when you left, I didn’t have anyone.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No, that’s not why I’m… Maddie, what I’m saying is… We both deserved better.”

She takes a deep breath. “We did.”

“And it’s okay if you want to try to move forward with them. Sweep that under the rug. But, uh, I don’t.”

Maddie nods. “I think that’s fair. That’s your decision.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t like the person they turn me into. Someone who thinks he isn’t worth a lot. I did too much work not to be him anymore.”

Maddie’s mouth wobbles a little. “You’ve always been worth everything to me, Evan.”

He smiles, throat tight. “Back atcha.”

Cranberry flips over and wiggles a bit closer to Buck. He strokes her back. 

“Hey, would you… Would you tell me about Daniel?” He asks. “I would like to know what he was like.”

“Yeah,” Maddie nods. “Yeah, it would be nice to talk about him again.”

Somehow, Buck thinks that in learning about the brother he never knew he lost, he probably stands to learn a lot about the sister he’s always had. 

vii.

Despite his resolution not to bother with them, with things as they currently are, Buck’s parents find him anyway. Unfortunately, this time he doesn’t have Eddie - or any other human - to back him up. He does, however, have Cranberry. And that’s certainly not nothing. 

They’ve been on his mind all day, actually. Not in a good way. 

[softpine]

ALL THE DIFFERENT GRIFFINS. IM SO. I NEED INFO. SPECIFICALLY ON GRIFFIN WITH A DAUGHTER??? DO U HAVE ANY ACTUAL THOUGHTS ABT THESE DIFFERENT AUS BC IM SO,,,,,

yesssss i would be happy to share each of the griffins lives!! i'll just run through them in order:

[major trigger warning for child abuse, attempted murder, etc. all the typical finn things]

1- inmate: he... did something... that i can't tell you yet... as a kid that got him sent to juvy for a few years. by the time he was released at 18, he had practically no life skills, no formal education, and the only people left in his life were other juvy kids. he tried to make the best of a shitty situation by changing his name, moving states, and starting over, but it wasn't long before he resorted to petty theft to make it by. his crimes escalated until he was eventually caught for armed robbery and sentenced to 25 to life. it was almost a relief to know that he wouldn't have to worry about making decisions anymore. he doesn't feel like he's ever been in charge of his own life, so being in prison is just more of the same.

2- drifter: he's still a teenager here. he successfully ran away from home as a kid, never got attacked, but instead of going to live with his aunt in new york, he's been living mostly on the road and in shelters ever since. he sticks to smaller towns, keeps a low profile, and makes a living doing odd jobs. he's safe, but lonely. asa knowing his name was a huge shock to him, because no one ever cares to ask his name.

3- kid: he hasn't hit the turning point in his life where every tiny decision can have life-altering consequences, so this is just a representation of almost every version of griffin at age 12. in this particular moment, he'd just gotten into a fight at school which he will be suspended for. i just think it's funny how he calls asa an old man lmao

4- survivor: he was obviously attacked. when he was found many days later, he was barely clinging to life. he suffered the most severe brain damage of all the versions of griffin we've seen, lost his eye, and has never quite recovered from the emotional and physical trauma. he has frequent seizures that leave him unable to work. it's rare that he even goes outside alone, so asa approaching him on the one day when he did choose to go for a walk by himself was not great timing. where this griffin differs is that he was adopted by his aunt after the attack, because his parents were actually charged with child abuse and neglect for their actions on the night of his attack (many people believe they were directly responsible, but it was never proven. they pled guilty to lesser charges to avoid an attempted murder trial). so griffin is actually in new york in that picture.

5- dad: he was attacked and left for dead, but in this universe, he was rescued within a few hours. his attacker had stabbed him in the arm with a broken beer bottle (this happened to all the versions of griffin who were attacked. it's why he wasn't able to fight back as hard). while he was being treated in the hospital, the wound got infected and his arm had to be amputated. the long healing process meant he had to rely on his parents for a ton of assistance and support. they were even more desperate to prove that they can be good parents and that they would never hurt their son, so the 3 of them all became pretty codependent. he lived at home with them until he was in his 30s, but then his dad died of a sudden heart attack (brought on by alcoholism, because he never quit drinking) and griffin realized it was time to move on. he married the daughter of one of his mom's friends, the first person he's ever dated, but their marriage dissolved a few years later for... a lot of reasons. they got a divorce before the baby was even born, but griffin tries to be the best father he possibly can be. he absolutely spoils her (you can see that based on the excessive playground equipment he bought for his yard lol) and she's his entire reason for living now, even though he only gets to see her every other week. he hopes she can stay for longer when she's older.

6- mechanic: griffin (and our finn, for that matter) was a huge nascar fan and his dream was to be a professional driver. that didn't exactly pan out for him, but he does enjoy being a mechanic. he's about 40 in that picture. he was never attacked, never ran away from home, and instead he endured the increasingly horrific abuse until he turned 18, moved out, and never talked to anyone in his family ever again. he prefers to be mostly solitary; never married, no kids, not even any friends, but he gets along with his coworkers well enough. he has an extremely hard time trusting that anyone has good intentions. in his free time, he restores & sells old furniture. his dream is to retire and move to the countryside.

7- sex worker: honestly, probably the most mentally stable griffin on this list... like don't get me wrong, he's still traumatized from the same childhood that every version of griffin shares, and i'm not saying his job is easy by any means, but he has a ton of friends who actually understand him and who he doesn't have to pretend with, he lives with his cousin liz who he's really close to, he keeps in contact with his parents but hardly ever sees them in person (which is exactly how he likes it), and he has a real sense of community. he was never attacked. he didn't run away from home when he was 12 like he planned, but instead waited until he was 14 and his parents allowed him to go live with his aunt with everyone's agreement. when liz, who is older than him, moved out to go to college, griffin followed her and they've been living together for years now. she's the only family member who knows what he does for work, so she makes sure to look out for him. oh also he's the only version of griffin we've seen that has a boyfriend?? he was supposed to say something about him in response to asa saying "i have a partner", but i cut it because i don't actually think griffin would offer that info up to a stranger, no matter how strangely trustworthy asa appears to be.

[awooghan]

24 to 25 ✧.* y.ji (part one)

❄ PAIRING: jeongin x fem!reader

❄ GENRE: fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, christmas

❄ WARNINGS: mild language, mentions of food, long as hell, i put the ‘slow’ in slowburn (in my defense this trope does not work without it), i’ve checked like 1922847473 times for inconsistencies but if there are any pls be nice it’s my first long fic ;w;

❄ WORD COUNT: 47.7k (part one: 25.9k; part two: 21.8k) i'm so sorry

❄ SUMMARY: “stay for christmas?” was a phrase jeongin first uttered to you when you were both ten years old, but you had no idea how much those three little words would mean to you as the years go by. (inspired by “24 to 25” by stray kids)

❄ NOTES: IT’S FINALLY UP!! i’m so sorry for the wait, i really really wanted to get this right and it took me wayyy longer than i thought it would. but i love how it turned out and i'm so proud of it. i hope y’all enjoy :’)

i’ll include more to the note when i'm not in such a rush to get this posted but tysm to everyone who helped me in writing it! @crispy-chan jas thank you for beta reading (i’m so sorry it was so long) your comments were really sweet and really reassured me that i was doing okay <3 thank u @pearleechai and @gloseoks for helping me out with that one part i got stuck on for like a week lmaooo. to parker specifically, ty for all ur help and encouragement in the couple chapters i asked for help on :D i’m sorry it meant u had some of the fic spoiled for u tho ;w; lastly, @svtbabies hopie u have been my lifesaver from start to finish w this fic. thank u so so much for planning w me and for the multiple times u saved me from a huge writer’s block. i wouldn’t have been able to complete this without you, so ty for everything <33 also ty for the banner lol

➳ IMPORTANT!!! this fic is so long that i have to split it into two parts. i'd use the legacy editor but i can't toggle btwn the two anymore 😭 i did not intend for it to be this lengthy but anything for childhood friends to lovers i guess

[part one] | part two

network tags: @straykidsland

9 years old. (prologue)

“Come on, Y/N, you can’t cling onto my shirt forever,” your mother urges you with a small chuckle.

You stiffen up in your spot at the edge of the picnic bench, and your eyes bounce between the several children on and around the playground equipment. Mixtures of squeals and cheerful laughter ring above the Christmas song playing from the outdoor speaker your new neighbors, the Choi family, set up. You forgot if it was the one with the son older than you or the son your age, though—you didn’t exactly bother to learn their names when your mother introduced you.

“Go on, Y/N.” Her voice fills your ears again as she gently pushes you off the bench. Speak of the devil. 

Shoving your hands in your pockets, you kick the dust with your feet and you keep your gaze cast down on the ground. You didn’t want to socialize—why would you want to make new friends when you had perfectly good ones back in your old neighborhood? Why couldn’t you just go back there? Or just snatch your mother’s dingy old flip phone for a couple minutes to send them a message?

Besides, most of the children here don’t seem like ones you’d be particularly… compatible with. You shouldn’t be one to judge, but the majority of the ones doing laps on the playground equipment couldn’t have been older than five or six. At your big age of nine years old, there’s not much you would have in common with a literal kindergartener. Plus, it seems like they had all formed a friend group of their own, and you’re more than content just watching them chase each other around, gleeful, high-pitched squeals bubbling from their sticky mouths.

Turning your head slightly, you find a group of teenagers sitting around another bench several feet away from all the adults, two of which had their bottoms perched on top of the table as they faced their friends. You would approach them, but just like how you wouldn’t exactly favor befriending the five-year-olds with crayons up their noses, the teenagers likely thought the same of you. Closing your eyes in despair, you groan to yourself and resort to dragging your feet across the dirt.

Why did you even have to move?

As you let out a sigh, you perk up at the fact you could see it in the cold air. It sparks an insurmountable amount of joy for some reason. Perhaps it’s because of the timing of the puff of air with the line, ’Jack Frost nipping at your nose’ that rings from the speakers at the other end of the small neighborhood park, but it causes a giggle to slip past your lips. It’s almost like a new light under the already-dimming sky, the soft pinks and oranges slowly dissipating as the sun begins to dip behind the mountains and give way to the overcast above. 

However, you quickly get distracted by the sight of a boy your age—or at least, you assumed—and you hesitantly step closer.

And there he was.

He was short, upside down on the monkey bars, and wearing the most obnoxious shade of purple you had ever laid eyes on. You aren’t sure what hurts more: the sun in your eyes or staring at his sweater. 

Looking away from the light gray clouds that hung above the park, you let your gaze fall to the boy. He watches you quietly as he continues to hang upside down, and you notice the small smile that paints his slowly reddening face.

Here goes nothing, you guess.

“Um… hi.”

He stays silent, staring at you with his beady eyes. 

Gulping, you continue. “I’m Y/N.” 

He mumbles something back, but you can barely make out what he says and you tilt your head slightly in confusion.

“Huh?”

“My name is Jeongin,” he repeats, only the slightest bit louder. 

A smile of your own quickly forms on your face. You raise a hand up for him to shake, and he just stares at it for a second before moving one of his outstretched arms to meet you, his hand grasping yours at an awkward angle. You both can’t help but giggle as you give your best attempt at a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Jeongin,” you say, slowly pulling your hand away and letting his drop above, or rather, below his upside-down head. “I’m Y/N.”

“You said that already,” he says, and his bluntness makes you chuckle.

Slowly, Jeongin maneuvers himself so he’s sitting on top of the monkey bars instead of hanging upside down. Once he gets upright and steadies himself from the blood rushing down from his head, he stares back down at you. 

You stuff your hands into your pockets and heave out a sigh. “My mom says I need a friend,” you explain your current plight to Jeongin, and you find his soft gaze once again. It’s strange, really—you’ve only exchanged a few words with this boy, but you already feel comfortable enough to complain about your mother’s nagging to him.

You suppose that helps your next words spill out more easily.

“Want to be friends?” 

You watch Jeongin expectantly as he looks down, picking at a piece of lint on his hideous purple sweater. He ponders your question for a minute, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you when he finally nods in response. If your mom wanted you to have a friend so badly, there you go. You got one.

You stand there awkwardly, your eyes drifting back up to the sky for a moment. It occurs to you that you’ve never asked someone to be friends with you; it’s always just kind of happened.

And now you’re stuck, unsure what to do next.

You let out another huff of air, another smile tickling your lips as you watch the faint, white puff form in front of your eyes. Then you look back up at the boy in the obnoxious purple sweater, who seems just as amused by the cold air as you as he lets out his own breath, exhaling like a small dragon.

A chuckle escapes your parted lips as you watch him, kicking his legs lightly as he stares up at the sky. After another minute, you speak again.

“Can I sit up there with you too?”

Nodding his head, he mumbles a small “yeah” and the corners of your mouth twitch up as you hurriedly climb your way up onto the monkey bars. You dangle your legs through the same section as Jeongin’s, and you shift your position slightly as you steady yourself.

A gust of cold air causes you to shiver and as a response, you pull your puffy coat closer to you. This seems to make Jeongin chuckle fondly, and you feel his eyes linger on you for a second before he looks out at the horizon. Neither of you are tall enough to see much above the houses in front of you, but you figure you can use your imaginations to picture what lies beyond that. It’ll have to do.

You both remain silent for a while like this, allowing the chatter and Christmas music below to fill the air around you. It’s comfortable, it feels like a weighted blanket wrapped around your shoulders—which is funny to say because you’re sharing this moment with a kid you’ve barely known for ten minutes. You don’t mind, though. By the looks of it, and the friendly glances you exchange with each other, Jeongin doesn’t seem to, either.

Suddenly, a cold, wet spot falls onto your nose, causing you to gasp and look up.

“Is that…”

Jeongin tilts his head up as well, and he chuckles when another wet drop lands on his face. Meanwhile, you’re in awe. You let your mouth fall open, and your eyes swirl with pure wonderment as you watch the white crystals above you flutter down. It sends chills down your spine, but wraps you up in a cocoon of warmth at the same time. 

“Snow…” is all you manage to mumble. 

Jeongin turns to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Have you never seen snow before?”

You glance at him once, shake your head, and look back up at the sky. 

The boy’s jaw drops. It almost mirrors your dazed expression, except his features are twisted in surprise. But it’s true—snow was something you had only witnessed in movies. As far as you were concerned, the fluffy, white particles only ever graced the stop-motion characters on the old-timey Christmas cartoons you rewatched every year, or the main couple in whatever cheesy Hallmark movie your parents decided to indulge in.

That is, until now.

You didn’t know at that moment what type of future you had in store, but you know one thing: the snow is beautiful. And as you follow Jeongin down the monkey bars and to your first snowball fight, you have an inkling that you’ll be sticking with him for a while.

Maybe this move won’t be so bad after all.

10 years old.

You let out a huff of air, letting your chin bore into the palm of your hand. Unfortunately, though, the air inside a school classroom doesn’t allow you to watch it come to life. Sure, you had a heater and the bulky coat your mother gave you to thank for warmth, but at what cost?

No matter how hard you try to focus on the math test that was laid out in front of you, you just can’t. Not when the outside seemed to beckon you like a siren, begging you to come out and indulge in the ever-approaching Christmas atmosphere. 

It’s all tempting. So, so tempting. Everything else seemed to be falling into place—the air has started to get colder, Christmas music has been playing 24/7 in the stores since November, you’ve worn every ugly Christmas sweater you could get your hands on at least once in the last two weeks, and you’ve begged your mom for a cup of hot chocolate every chance you could get. 

Now you just need it to snow, and you need it badly. 

After you scribble a random answer for the question you’ve been stuck on for five minutes, you throw your pen onto the table and lean back in your hard, plastic chair in defeat. This was too much mental torture, espically when you could hear Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer faintly playing in another room. 

You can’t take it anymore. 

Hopelessly, you stare at Jeongin, who somehow sleeps peacefully next to you. You’re sure he’s been asleep since he sat down in his chair. His head lays on his arm, which is covered by his purple sleeve. You snicker at the sight and pray that one day he grows out of that abomination of a sweater. 

Your eyes drift back to your stupid math test, silently praying again that the torture won’t last for much longer. You were just one step away from greasy pizza and store-bought sugar cookies until your stomach hurt while The Polar Express filled the dim room. Well, one step away is technically two more questions, but it still feels so far.

You begrudgingly answer one of the questions then slump back into your seat, burying your head in your arms. You’re so close to freedom, but you still feel held captive by the test, like it’s shackled your arms and legs to your desk while Rudolph down the hall taunts you, dangling the coveted Christmas cheer over your head.

You don’t even care if you get the questions right anymore. You just scribble down some scratch work that seems somewhat coherent and circle whatever answer is closest then shove your test in your teacher’s hands, eager to get that nasty piece of paper away from you. Then you’re left to wait… and wait… and wait.

It’s unfair. You weren’t meant to be doing a math test the last day before winter break. You weren’t built to be suffering silently at your desk because some people didn’t know how to do long division. (Well, neither do you, but that’s besides the point.)

But nevertheless, you wait… and wait… and wait.

And then, finally, the last student turns in their paper.

The second the teacher plops the pile of tests on her desk, you practically spring up from your seat. You revel in the sweet, sweet freedom, but although your classmates seem just as relieved, they also seem painfully slow. That might also just be all the candy from your teacher’s goody bag pumping through your veins, but it made no difference to you.

Acting as self-appointed leader, you hastily motion for other kids in your class to move the tables to either side of the room, forming a sort of tetris with the desks, while others line trays of food across them. The pizzas are laid out next to different bowls of chips and festive little chocolates in the shapes of snowflakes and snowmen. Small Christmas-themed cups sit at the end of the table with giant bottles of bright, sugary drinks for you to choose from. Like, the ones that are bigger than your face. That’s how you know it’s good.

Hushed whispers of excitement make their way around the classroom as everyone settles down, wrapping themselves in the blankets they had brought to school for today. You take a seat next to Jeongin on the carpet right as the teacher switches the projector on, placing your paper plate filled to the brim with junk food in between you two as you get comfortable.

“How many cookies did you grab?!” Jeongin gawks, marveling at the sight. Whether it’s from amazement or concern is unclear.

You smile smugly at him. The light from the projector as your teacher sets up The Polar Express illuminates his baffled stare. “Not enough.”

He blinks once. “We’re not gonna split it?”

You giggle and push the plate closer to Jeongin, but not without swiping a Santa-shaped cookie from the pile. “I never said we weren’t.”

Jeongin just laughs at you and shakes his head, but the fact that he takes not one, not two, but three cookies from the plate tells you he’s just as excited as you. He attempts to remain nonchalant, though, as he wordlessly pushes a plate stacked with pizza towards you.

Grinning at him, you pick up a slice, the grease glinting in the low light. “Thanks,” you mumble as you take a bite. 

Rolling his eyes, he continues to laugh. “Don’t mention it.” 

There’s something about being next to Jeongin as you watch The Polar Express together, fluffy throw blankets draped around your outstretched legs that catch the crumbs from the snacks you two share, that brings you a sense of comfort. Excitement courses through your body, but somehow, you also feel oddly at peace.

It even seems to transport you to another world, and you forget you had even painstakingly suffered through a math test leading up to this in the first place. Eventually, your mind stops paying attention to the movie—it’s okay, though, because you practically know the story front to back. Instead, you find yourself daydreaming about being awoken in the middle of the night like the boy in the movie, and finding yourself on the fantastical train with Jeongin. A small smile decorates your face as you ponder, imagining all the chaos you could get yourselves into as you made the magical journey to the North Pole together.

However, when the other kids start to gasp and point towards the window, you’re brought back to the real world. Looking over to where they were pointing, you’re greeted with a powdery blanket covering the grass outside, and a grin instantly spreads across your face in delight. 

Finally. It’s snowing. 

You aren’t the only one to jump up from out of your seat in hopes of rushing outside to experience the first snowfall of winter. And you aren’t the first one out of the classroom door either. The calls from your teacher fade into the background like white noise as you scramble out from under your blanket and make a dash for the door as quickly as you can.

“Y/N,” Jeongin calls right before you can run outside, and you turn on your heel.

He speed-walks, then speeds up to an awkward half-jog to where you stand as he digs his hands through his pockets, and you can’t help but chuckle. It takes him until right after he stops in front of you to fish whatever this thing was out. Was it an early Christmas gift? The dreaded cheese touch? You are about to find out.

A crumpled piece of paper falls out of Jeongin’s coat, grazing his hand as he yanks it out of his pocket. He picks it up and unfolds it carefully, squinting at the note.

Leaning over, you peek over his shoulder and furrow your brows as you try to decipher the writing scrawled on. “’Ask Y/N about Christmas’?” You turn your head to the boy. “What about it?”

Jeongin eyes widen for a second as he tries to remember the context of the note. “My parents wanted me to ask if you wanted to…” 

You tilt your head. “Wanted to…?” You repeat.

“What was it that they said?” He mumbles to himself. He looks up, his eyebrows furrowed, and then something seems to click. “Was it… stay? Stay for Christmas?”

You blink, watching the boy with inquisitive eyes. “Stay for Christmas?” you question. 

“Yeah, stay for Christmas.” He hums, and his voice grows more confident as he continues. “Yeah, that’s what they said to ask!” He’s now grinning, and his movements become more animated. “Yeah! Stay with us for Christmas Eve! You have to come, Y/N, it’s a Christmas sleepover! It’ll be fun!”

You light up like a, well, Christmas tree at the idea. You could already picture the absolute blast you’re going to have. Chasing each other around in your pajamas as Christmas music rings in your ears? Eating the cookies his mom laid out for Santa until you're sick? Finding the jolly man himself? And imagine playing in the snow in the morning after ripping your presents open!

“That sounds so fun!” You squeal, beaming from ear to ear. “I'll have to ask my parents, but I'm sure they'll let me go!”

“Y/N, Jeongin,” your teacher interrupts your enthusiasm, her arm propping the door open. “You can’t stay inside by yourselves, come on!”

“Coming!” you two call back in unison, and then you glance at each other. You catch a mischievous glint in Jeongin’s eyes before he bolts for the door, outstretching his arm in front of you before you can react and outrun him.

“Race ya!”

“Hey!”

…

“Mommmm! Daddddd!” you drawl out, a frown stretched across your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet. Your finger impatiently hovers over the doorbell, and if your parents took any longer to grab… whatever they brought for Jeongin’s parents, you would just mash the white button yourself. Or you’d teleport yourself inside; forget the doorbell entirely.

You follow their movements attentively, your fists balled around your backpack straps and teeth pressed against your tongue to keep yourself from complaining more. You had already gotten an earful in the car, not to mention some confused glances when you mentioned the long-anticipated sleepover you had stayed up until the ungodly hours of 10pm preparing your backpack for. If they thought that was late for a fourth-grader, imagine their horror if they knew of your and Jeongin’s plan to stay up all night and see Santa Claus! 

Regardless, you couldn’t pinpoint why your parents raised their eyebrows and snickered at the idea of you sleeping over at Jeongin’s house. Maybe it was the fact that you had your hair messily thrown up into a ponytail and that your light-up Christmas sweatshirt was maybe a size too big—I mean, say what you want, but you’re perfectly dressed for the occasion.

You were sure that was the reason. And certainly not the fact you were practically jumping out of your skin—maybe acting a little bit too excited—to get inside to see your best friend.

Your parents just didn’t understand that this was a pivotal moment. Plus, you’re getting cold. One can only stand outside for so long.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the door finally swings open to reveal Jeongin’s mother, welcoming you and your parents inside. You release your backpack straps from your grip and sprint past your mother, shouting a “Hi, Mrs. Yang!” as you rip your shoes from your feet.

Shaking your backpack off your shoulders, you make a beeline for Jeongin, who puts down his video game controller when you come into view.

“I made it, Jeongin!” you grin from ear to ear, tossing your backpack aside.

“Yay!” he breaks out into a grin and scoots over.

You plop down at the spot next to him, grabbing the spare controller as you watch the mustached man on screen walk right into a brown mushroom and die. And in World 1-1, you may add.

“Let me on! Let’s get this sleepover started!” you mash the ‘A’ button repeatedly, hoping it somehow speeds up Jeongin getting back to the main menu. Oh, were you ready to kick his sorry butt.

Suddenly, you hear bouts of laughter echo from the hallway. You tear your eyes off the screen, finding your and Jeongin’s parents entering the living room. If it weren’t for the wall that your father leaned against, he would have collapsed to the floor from how hard he was laughing.

“Jeongin, you told Y/N there was a sleepover?!” Jeongin’s mother exclaims in between giggles.

Jeongin looks up from his game, his eyebrows drawn together. “Yeah?” He blinks, his voice laced with confusion. “That’s what you said to ask?”

His mom laughs even harder at his reply, her hand over her mouth. “Honey sweet, no!”

Jeongin‘s mouth twists into a frown. He opens his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

Mrs. Yang takes a minute to regain her composure before explaining to the boy, “I meant to ask her to stay for the evening, not the whole night.” She tries to keep a straight face, but another giggle slips out. “There’s no sleepover.”

Jeongin looks down, avoiding eye contact with the four adults laughing at his mix-up as heat rises to his cheeks. Dropping his game controller on his lap, he covers his face with his hands, and lets out a nervous chuckle as his face slowly turns red.

You would’ve been lying if you said you weren’t disappointed that you couldn’t try to see Santa with Jeongin, after all. Despite this loss, you try your best not to laugh at your friend, covering up your giggles with awkward coughs to save Jeongin from more embarrassment. You know both his and your parents will never let him live this down.

And frankly, neither will you.

11 years old.

“You son of a nutcracker!” You cry in unison with Buddy the Elf, your mouth stuffed with an audaciously big chunk of cookie. Maybe you got a bit carried away, but you couldn’t help it if someone was kind enough to bring a platter of fresh-baked cookies to the annual neighborhood Christmas party. It might have been the Choi family—the one with the son your age—which makes sense since they’re hosting the party this year.

Looking up from the gingerbread house he was carefully decorating, Jeongin stares at you with a disgusted frown as you struggle to break down the cookie. 

You look back at him innocently, trying not to laugh. “Hi,” you wave, your mouth still full.

Jeongin shakes his head at you. “I worry about you sometimes.”

“You should.” You swallow most of the bite, wincing as you feel it go down.

Gulping down the rest of the cookie, you prop your chin in the palm of your hand as you pull your attention away from the tv and watch Jeongin. He bites his bottom lip lightly, glancing back and forth between the gumdrops and peppermints around the island and the gingerbread house. He squeezes out some icing, poking his tongue out in concentration, and sticks a peppermint window to the food structure.

Smiling at his little creation in progress, you gently poke one of the small candy canes that stand around the house. Jeongin quickly pushes your hand away, letting out a small whine.

You chuckle at his reaction and do it again, and he swats your hand away once more. “Stop itttt~”

You giggle and hold your hands up. “Okayyy, okay.”

You silently follow his movements with your eyes before they flick down to his sweater. It’s hideous, as most holiday sweaters are. The cartoon reindeer with a head too big for its body taunts you, but at the same time it just screams Jeongin. But there is no trace of that obnoxious shade of purple, and you thank whatever deity is above you for it.

Jeongin studies the gingerbread house for a moment, gently turning the brown building around. He takes a yellow gumdrop in his hand and hovers it over a spot on the roof, squinting ever-so-slightly as he imagined how it would look in the final product, whatever he imagined it to be. You stay quiet and just let him go—you know better than to interrupt Jeongin’s creative process.

“What if you did rows of gumdrops on the roof?” 

Mrs. Choi, on the other hand, doesn’t know better. The one with the son your age, that is—he tagged along with you and Jeongin for lunch a couple times. What was his name again? Beomgyu, right? 

You notice the corners of Jeongin’s mouth twitching downward before he catches himself. “I don’t know,” he says, putting the gumdrop down. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mrs. Choi shrugs and just lingers around, mumbling something about how it reminds her of Hansel and Gretel. You thought she had a point… kind of. You had always heard of the tale of Hansel and Gretel and the house made of candy, but considering it wasn’t much of a Christmas story, you tended to ignore it. 

“Oh, that reminds me…” she says to herself after a minute, walking over to the dining table where all the parents sat around. You lean over in your seat and listen closely. 

“Beomgyu keeps bugging me about having a sleepover with Jeongin,” Mrs. Choi says as she approaches Jeongin’s mom, her voice carrying over the rest of the chatter enough for you to eavesdrop.

Mrs. Yang nods, a small smile playing at her lips. “That'd be fun for them, when can he come over?”

You blink. It’s… it’s that easy for him?

The two mothers begin talking about schedules or appointments or some other boring adult thing. Whatever it is, you tune it out and turn back to Jeongin, who has opted for an array of different colored gumdrops carefully spread across the roof. 

“You’re,” you hesitate, “You’re allowed to sleep over with Beomgyu?” 

“Yeah,” Jeongin hums. ”I’ve slept over at his place and he’s been begging to come to mine.”

He chuckles, gluing on another gumdrop, until his words sink in and he fully processes them. His eyes then widen in realization, and he lets the tube of frosting drop from his hand before marching over to his parents.

“Mom,” Jeongin taps on his mom’s shoulder until she turns to him. “Why does Beomgyu get to sleep over but Y/N doesn't?”

You lean over again, hoping to overhear an explanation from Mrs. Yang. All you hear is laughter.

Laughter? That’s it?

You squint as you lean further in their direction, as if squinting would increase the volume of the conversation. All you could observe was a confused look from Mrs. Choi, and a fit of giggles from Mrs. Yang. How helpful.

“Did I ever tell you what happened last year?!” your mom practically shouts to Mrs. Choi, proving your efforts unnecessary. 

“Oh my god, you have to hear this! It’s a good one, it’s so cute,” Mrs. Yang gushes, glancing at a flustered Jeongin. 

The boy frowns and buries his face in his hands, growing more frustrated. “Mommm!”

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as your eyes flicker between the now-insanely-embarrassed Jeongin, and his parents’ delight at retelling the account of ‘stay for Christmas’. As Mrs. Yang continued, Jeongin sinks deeper and deeper into himself, and you could practically see a little pinkish-red aura surrounding him. 

“And so he tells her…” Mrs. Yang's voice fades into the background when you look out the window and gasp.

Snow.

Before you can register it, your legs are already pushing yourself off the stool, and then you’re running and shoving past other partygoers as you make your way to Jeongin.

“Jeongin.” You tug on his sleeve as you try to get him to move his hands away from his face. However, he swats your hand away. 

“Shut up,” he whines. 

“No, look,” you try again, tugging more. “It’s snowing!” 

Hands instantly falling from his face, he looks out of the window you were motioning at and gasps as well. “Snow.” 

Quickly, you glance at Mrs. Yang, making sure she’s still in in-depth story mode before you grab onto Jeongin’s hand and pull him outside into the cold. You shiver lightly as the winter air nips at your nose, but welcome it nonetheless.

“Wanna make a snowman?” you suggest.

Jeongin shrugs.

“Suit yourself.”

Humming to yourself, you squat down at an empty spot and begin to pile some snow together. A small smile decorates your face, perfectly pairing with your rosy cheeks.

I mean, how could you not be happy right now? It’s the first snow of winter. It may be your third first winter, but you swear each one gets more magical than the last. You know Jeongin would agree, no matter how cranky he may be right now.

“That’s like the fifth time my mom’s told that story this month,” the boy huffs after a minute, kicking at the snow in front of him. “It's not even funny anymore. I was a stupid ten-year-old.”

Looking up from the small base of the snowman, you let out a laugh. “I mean… you were ten last year.”

“Y/NNN,” Jeongin whines.

“And it was kinda funny—”

“Y/N!”

You feel a sudden blast of cold hit your side and you let out a yelp, shielding your face with your arms. Gasping, you look back up after a second to Jeongin preparing more ammunition. Suddenly, you’re in the mood to wipe the shi—sorry, poop-eating grin from your best friend’s face. One nice, cold wipe.

“You ass!” you shriek, gasping and covering your mouth once you realize what you had just said. Thank goodness your mom didn’t hear you or she would’ve brought out the bar of soap.

“That’s what you get!” Jeongin cackles back, hurling another snowball your way. This one also hits your coat, splattering into pieces once it collides with your stomach.

“Oh, it’s on!”

12 years old.

The final bell rings across the school to signal the start of winter break. Students of all types make their way out of the main entrance, leaving you and Jeongin in a rather quiet hallway with your locker still open. 

Whilst you clear it out, the fruitful voice of Jeongin’s new club buddy fills your ears.

“‘Sup, babies.”

You and Jeongin jump at not only the sudden voice, but also the feeling of an arm going around both your shoulders. A year older than you, Jisung, whom Jeongin had met through the middle school’s anime club, sports round glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose. His hair is a chestnut brown, split right down the middle to frame his face. 

Jeongin shrugs Jisung’s arm off of his shoulders, but his other arm stays around you. “How are my favorite underclassmen?” Jisung coos, reaching around to ruffle Jeongin’s hair.

Jeongin jerks his head away from Jisung’s hand, a groan escaping his lips. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope!” Jisung says, flashing the younger boy a dopey grin.

Chuckling, you duck under Jisung’s arm to grab your backpack as Jeongin scrambles to fix his messy hair. You aren’t sure when or why Jisung started referring to you two as ‘babies' when he was only a year older. He once said something about “taking Jeonginnie under his wing” when you first met him, but that’s the closest thing to an explanation that you got.

Once Jeongin manages to tame his hair, he looks at Jisung with a shimmer in his eye. “Did you pick what we’re going to watch next?” he asks, referring to the next club meeting. It wouldn’t be until after New Year’s, but you figured they’d want to plan ahead now while they’re technically still in school.

“Not yet, but I was thinking of going with a classic,” Jisung muses before turning to you. “You should really join us, Y/N.” 

You hum in response, pushing your lips into a line as you ponder it. Of course Jeongin had tried to get you to watch anime with him before, but it was just something you found difficult to get into. “Maybe,” is all you say, mostly to make Jisung happy. 

“Yeah! Anyway,” Jisung quickly moves the conversation along, slinging his arms around both your shoulders again and pulling you two closer to him. “What are you guys doing for Christmas? We should do something!” He gleams, glancing back and forth between you two. “With our parents’ permission, of course.” 

As Jisung gazes longingly at a dog passing by, yours moves to Jeongin and you giggle at the sight of his cheeks tinting pink. He says nothing, but when he looks up and notices you staring at him, he rolls his eyes.

At the silence, Jisung finally tears his eyes away from the dog, who stops at a street pole for a sniff, and looks between you and Jeongin again. “What's up with you two?” he gulps. “You’re acting weird.”

Jeongin makes a sour face. “You’re acting weird,” he tries to rebut, but he only proves Jisung’s point. 

Jisung stops suddenly on the sidewalk. He tilts his head at Jeongin and squints, searching the younger’s face. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Jeongin deadpans, turning his heel to continue the walk home.

“Noooo.” The older boy pulls him back by the hoodie before he can walk away. He gets all up in Jeongin’s face, crossing his arms and furrowing his brows suspiciously. “There’s something going on, isn’t there?”

Nosily, you watch as Jeongin opens his mouth to speak before quickly closing it again. He seems to want to shrink into himself, and you both know why. To his dismay, you find it wholly amusing.

“Baby, come onnnn,” Jisung bounces in place as he chants, “Tell me, tell me, tell me…”

Deciding to ignore the boys’ shenanigans, you look up at the clouds and begin to think about your own plans for Christmas, a small smile forming on your lips.

You’ve always loved the holidays, but after settling into your new neighborhood, it grew on you and swept you off your feet like never before. It’s way more than just the snow—it’s the joy swirling in the air when Christmas music finally begins to play on the radio. It’s the sparkle in the night sky when the whole town shows off their colorful lights. Maybe it’s also the inhuman amount of hot chocolate and sugar cookies coursing through your veins. You’re not hyped up on sugar right now, but Jeongin would be hopelessly shaking his head at you if you were.

It’s way more than just beautiful snow, but it seemed to add a magical touch to Christmas that you never felt in your old neighborhood.

It came like clockwork, too, just like the Christmas party, and you’re eagerly counting the days until both come to life for the first time this season. Especially the Christmas party. Your and Jeongin’s schedules only matched up for lunch this year, and you’re in dire need of some quality time with your best friend.

“Y/N?” Jisung gently shakes your shoulder, interrupting your train of thought.

You blink a few times. “Huh? Yeah?”

“What are your plans for Christmas?”

You look back up at the sky, your lips curving upward again. “I’ll be with my family on Christmas. I'm not doing anything much for Christmas Eve, though,” you say with a giggle, emphasizing the ‘eve’. “It depends.” 

Jisung continues to look at you—and Jeongin—with an eyebrow raised. “On what?” 

You have to take a breath to try and compose yourself before you continue.

“On—” 

“Can’t you let it go?” Jeongin cuts you off with a whine. “It was basically two years ago!”

“‘Cause it was two years ago,” you continue to giggle. 

Jisung blinks, trying to figure out this inside joke you two are bickering over, but the poor boy is just as confused as when the conversation started. “What was two years ago?”

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Jeongin grumbles, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s failing miserably trying to hide a smile. You just flash your brows at him, and he slides out from under Jisung’s arm and heads straight for you. 

A teasing grin grazes your lips, and you gently push Jisung’s arm off of you so you can run away. 

“You do this every year!” Jeongin cries out, attempting to reach for your backpack.

“‘Cause it’s funny!” you shout back.

You can feel Jeongin’s fingers brush your shoulders every now and then as he chases after you. Giggles bubble from your throat as you try to make a break for it, tricking him by going the opposite way to where he is. However, he catches on to your attempt to escape and grabs you quickly. His arms wrap securely around you and pull you back as he hugs you, his laughter loud in your ears. 

You let out a surprised squeak as you try to wriggle your way out of Jeongin’s grip. “Jeongin, I was kidding, I was kidding!” you cry out in between giggles.

“You always do this!” he giggles too, refusing to let you go.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry!” you squeal. Tears start to prick your eyes from how hard you’re laughing. 

Jeongin lets his arms fall and his lip juts out into a pout. You turn to him and quickly match it. 

“Sure, you are,” he mutters, enhancing his frown. 

“I mean it, Jeonginnieee.” You lean closer and let your arms slip around him. “I'm sorry.” 

He stays stiff for a second before he wraps his arms back around you and smiles. “It's okay.” 

A high-pitched squeal from Jisung makes you both jump in surprise and let go of each other. You both stare back at Jisung, who wears a giddy grin stretching from ear to ear. His hands are balled up in tiny fists together, flying up to his mouth as he bounces a little in place.

You blink a few times, stunned to silence for a few seconds before finally speaking. “You okay, Jisung?” 

“Y-You… the…” Jisung stammers excitedly before trailing off.

He points between the two of you, then to the sky, and as you both follow his finger, a cold wet drop lands on your cheek, and another on your nose. Jeongin lets out a squeak at one hitting him in the eye, and he scrunches up his face at the impact.

You looked back at Jisung, gesturing upward. “The snow?” you finish his sentence.

The older boy nods eagerly. “Yeah, yeah, the snow!”

You want to smile, you really do—it is the first snow of winter, after all. But it seems like he has a different reason for his exuberance than you do.

You exchange a glance with Jeongin, and he seems just as lost as you are. At this point, you might as well just ask. “What about it?”

Was it because the snow was pretty as it dotted the earth below you? Was it because it marked the start of only the most beautiful time of the year? This could really go any direction.

“You know, like the movies?” He rambles. “When the boy and the girl witness the first snowfall together and…”

Oh no, no, no. Not that direction.

Briskly stepping away from each other, you both frantically shake your heads, the tips of your ears glowing red. Jeongin argues back with a string of flustered protests that you could only nod along to, as you were at a loss for words yourself.

You wonder what was in the snow that had fallen on Jisung to make him think this way. It was insane, he was insane. You and Jeongin? Jisung must’ve gone mad.

Jisung deflates a little, a pout pulling his lips downward. “Aww. That would’ve been cute though.”

You force out a chuckle before continuing your route home. Jisung parts ways somewhere halfway through, but an icky feeling persists in your stomach for the rest of the walk.

It truly baffles you how he saw you and Jeongin having an inside joke, you know, like best friends do, and somehow morphed it into some coupley thing all because of a little snow. The snow is beautiful, of course, but throwing that sappy stuff on top of it? Jisung’s watched way too many movies. And anime. An alarming amount of anime. 

“I’ll, um,” Jeongin clears his throat as you both approach your front door. “I’ll see you at the party next week.”

An awkward tension still hangs above you from earlier, but you manage to muster a small smile. “Yeah. See you then.”

He smiles back and gives you a little wave before he begins the five-minute walk to his house. But before you knock on your door…

“Wait!” you blurt and reach out for him. You wrap your fingers around Jeongin’s wrist, prompting him to turn around.

“Yeah?”

“That, um, that thing Jisung was saying,” you hesitate, stumbling over your words. You force out another chuckle in hopes to relieve the tension that’s making your stomach twist into knots. “That’s— that’s not gonna happen to us… right?”

Jeongin lets out a scoff, waving you off reassuringly. “Of course not, Jisung’s just being Jisung.” He smiles a little. “We’re best friends, remember?”

His words fill you with relief, and you smile back. “Yeah. The bestest of friends.”

“That’s not a word.”

“You know what I mean, Jeongin.” You chuckle genuinely this time as you roll your eyes, turning back to your front door. “I’ll see you at the party.”

It’s ridiculous that you have to even ask, but apparently it’s necessary. You’re just lucky Jisung listened to Jeongin in the end, or this whole shipping fiasco would’ve been much more difficult than it needed to be.

Especially since several of your classmates who witnessed the interaction in front of the school parking lot actually seemed to believe it. 

13 years old.

You nibble at your bottom lip and run one hand up and down your forearm. Jisung has been glaring rather unamused daggers at you for five minutes now, his round eyes perpetually locked on you as you try to focus on the TV. It makes you feel like there was something crawling all over you, and you have the overwhelming urge to itch every bit of exposed skin you had—which isn’t a lot, but still. 

Part of you was tempted to turn to Jisung just to try and poke his eyes out. You wouldn’t actually do it, but with his eyes boring into your head like this, it’s hard not to think about it. You just wanted to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas in peace.

“...Are you gonna talk to him? Like, at all?” Jisung speaks. 

A small pout plays at your lips and you cross your arms over your chest. “How can I?” you start. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the start of the year.” 

The older boy lets out a sigh. “Have you tried to speak to him?” 

You nod once. Finally, something he can’t get on your case for.

Jisung blinks. “…Besides at lunch back in April?”

You huff, looking down at your lap. Your knuckles turn white as you ball the fabric of your sweater in your fists. "Well, it was kinda hard to do when he’s always with Beomgyu.”

Jisung leans forward to get a better look at you, whilst he rests his chin on his palm. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you sound jealous."

You can’t tell if you want to scoff or to laugh. Jealous? You? Of course not. You just wanted to be around your best friend again. To be able to hang out with your best friend of three years without some stupid kid in your grade teasing you about dating or about how ‘oOOoH, yOu’RE sO iN lOvE’. Ever since winter break ended, it was all you ever heard when you were around him.

"I’m not jealous." You raise your voice slightly, pushing him away without moving your gaze away from the cartoon. "He was my best friend first."

"Can you hear yourself when you speak?"

“Can you hear how annoying you are right now?”

Jisung blinks at you again. He pushes himself off the couch and stands in front of you, his gaze more gentle this time. “You know he asks me about you too, right?”

You sigh. It’s probably the fifth time this week that Jisung has reminded you of this. It’s not that you don’t want to believe him, but with the way Jeongin stared at you with hollow eyes the last time you tried to talk to him in the cafeteria eight months ago, you’re not sure if you can.

“Plus, he’s literally…” Jisung continues, spinning you around to where Jeongin sat in the kitchen with Beomgyu. Right where you two sat at the Christmas party two years ago. “…right there.”

“I know,” you huff.

Of course you knew that, and you knew he knew you knew. Jeongin was the first one you recognized when you stepped foot in the Choi house for the party. Sure, part of it was because Jisung frantically shook your arm and pointed him out, but even if he wasn’t there you would’ve spotted the top of his head from a mile away. You would’ve known he hadn’t left his gingerbread house in the kitchen all afternoon, whether or not the coconut-haired boy was there to pester you about it.

”Then gooo,” Jisung chides, pushing you to the kitchen island by the shoulders. “Talk. To him.”

Oddly enough, talking to him is the last thing you want to do. At least, not here. Not when there’s a bunch of adults that, frankly, are nosier than your typical middle schooler. Luckily, the only adult there when you approach the kitchen island only glances at you for a second before stepping past you. No one else is watching, but it still feels like a hundred pairs of eyes are piercing into your skull.

You suck in a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Hey.”

Jeongin pushes his lips into a thin line when he looks up at you. “Hi.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see Beomgyu raise his head and look at you both before going back to what he was doing. Rocking on the balls of your feet, you take another deep breath. “How’ve you been? It’s been a while.”

You’re not sure how long Jeongin goes quiet for, but every second of silence makes you feel like your insides are trying to escape from you. You purse your lips as your gaze casts down to your feet, unable to look him in the eye. Why did the friendship between you and Jeongin have to change? Why couldn’t people just keep their mouths shut?

“I’ve been okay,” he mumbles. “Just busy, you know?” 

You hum in response. He was right; this year had been a lot school-wise, especially when you counted how everyone watched you like hawks, ready to strike at the first opportunity for a ‘ship moment’, as some people had started to call it. 

“Yeah.” You try to laugh, but anyone can tell it’s fake. “Me too.”  

Jeongin stays silent again, just nodding at your words. You weren’t sure what heartbreak was and of course, you weren’t in love with him. He is—was—your best friend. But if you had to guess, heartbreak probably feels something close to what you’re feeling right now.

You gulp, and take one more shaky breath. Your bottom lip wavers as you try to get your next words out.

“I…” miss you. 

You want to say it so bad, but you stopped yourself as soon as you started. When Jeongin doesn’t turn his head, you feel your heart sink to your stomach, or whatever the equivalent of that was when your best friend completely ignores you, effectively declaring the end of your best-friendship. 

You hate this so much. Screw the other kids for getting in the way of your friendship, screw Jeongin for letting them, screw yourself for not doing more to stop it, and screw Jisung for pushing you over to talk to him. 

You don’t say anything more as you turn away and solemnly make your way back over to where Jisung is still standing. When you feel tears pool in your eyes, you make a sharp turn for the bathroom, and the older boy worriedly trails after you.

“Baby…” he calls as he follows, quickening his pace to catch up to you. “Surely it wasn’t that bad.” 

You stop in your tracks, suddenly causing Jisung to bump into you. He leans forward and around your shoulder before taking a step into your view, instantly frowning when he sees the sadness apparent on your face. “Baby…” 

“It’s over, Jisung.” You blink rapidly. “We’re never going to be friends again, not after this.” 

Furrowing his eyebrows together, Jisung sighs. He places his hands on your shoulders to try and get you to look at him. “Don’t say that, you guys will get past this. You guys are best friends for a reason.” 

“No, we won’t.” Your voice shakes as you speak. “You saw how awkward it was back there! There’s no way he wants to be friends anymore… let alone best friends.”

You continue to blink your tears away, but one manages to slide down your cheek. Your breathing becomes ragged as your world feels like it’s crashing down on you, and all you can do is helplessly step closer to Jisung as you hiccup.

“I just want my best friend back.” 

Pulling you in, Jisung wraps his arms around you in his attempt to comfort you. He sighs quietly, his own frown on his lips as you choke out a sob.

“I know you do.” 

14 years old.

Well, your last year of middle school was off to a surprisingly pleasant start.

After years of being told where in the classroom you could sit, your 1st period teacher nearly had you jumping for joy when she said you were free to pick your seat for the year. It was such a minute detail to be in control of, but it felt so freeing to your adolescent self.

The only problem: you don’t know anyone in this class. You vaguely recognize two or three faces from last school year, but even they had gravitated to other students in the class, clustering into their already-established friend groups. It’s like the galaxies in the night sky that you learned about last year, and you’re a lone star, floating around in the abyss called your new English classroom. 

Shrugging to yourself, you scoot past some students in the aisles and pick a seat in the middle of the room in between two other empty desks. You had counted ten or so desks that had yet to be filled, so you figured you should take your chances. You don’t know anyone… at least, for now. Maybe someone will show up later.

Sliding your phone out of your pocket, you plug your headphones into your ears and listen to music for the last few minutes of passing period to relax a little. It quickly feels pointless, though, as the chatter in the classroom overpowers the song blasting right by your eardrums. 

However, one voice seems to ring above all the others.

“Um… is this seat taken?”

You take an earbud out, lifting your head to find the source of the voice. Jeongin stands over the chair to your left, adorning a god-awful purple sweater that reminds you of the one he wore when you first met. It almost brings a smile to your face… almost. It probably would have if things had ended differently between you two.

This is the first time you have spoken to him since The Most Awkward Conversation Of Your Life™. Maybe you were being slightly dramatic, or at least that’s what Jisung had told you for weeks after the incident, but you still stood by what you felt. You weren't sure if you and Jeongin could ever get back to the way you were—not having spoken since that moment kind of proved to you that you couldn’t.

Yet here you are. You’re not sure if this will just be a one-off conversation or a second chance of sorts. But after a moment, you decide to take that chance.

“Go for it.” You gesture to the seat.

Jeongin smiles awkwardly, the tips of his ears pink as he sets his backpack down on the floor. He doesn’t move to get any of his things out of his bag, and just sits there with laser-focus on his hands that rest on top of his desk.

You’re not sure how long you two sat in silence, but thankfully, it feels nothing like the last time. It actually feels…. comfortable. Welcoming, even. Almost like when you first met him at the monkey bars.

Jeongin looks over at you after a few moments, still rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. “So… how are you?” he finally speaks.

It’s then that you notice just how much deeper Jeongin’s voice has gotten since the last time you spoke. You figure it would make sense; you hadn’t seen each other in almost a year, and a lot can happen in said year. It’s still odd, however—seeing him change, but not being there to experience it with him.

You nod, looking down at your own hands, but you let a small smile slip out. “I’m okay.”

You are okay, really, at least for the moment. But now you knew you would be, for sure.

…

“Who wants the last cookie—” Mrs. Yang calls from the kitchen, but she’s quickly cut short.

“ME!”

You and Jeongin spring up from the couch at the same time, giggling as you push past each other and race to the kitchen. At the last second, Jeongin sticks his arm in front of you just as you come in reach of the cookie, barring you from the baked treat as he swipes it with his free hand.

“Hey!” You cross your arms, biting your lip to stifle more giggles from coming out. “You cheated!”

Jeongin doesn’t even try to hide the cocky smirk on his face. “Oh, you love me anyway.”

You narrow your eyes at the boy. “Do I? Do I really?”

Jeongin only stares back at you, blinking a few times before he bites into the cookie. Right. In. Front of you.

Your jaw drops in betrayal. What an asshole, he knew you loved those cookies more than life itself! If you had to choose, though, you highly preferred this over where you two were a year ago. He may be stealing your cookies like the pubescent raven-haired crook he is, but since it comes with being best friends again, you’ll learn to live with it.

You keep your eyes trained on him as you calculate your next move. You know exactly how to get him back for this, but is it worth it? Was waiting only a few months after recovering your friendship enough time?

Oh, who are you kidding—of course it was.

“Two can play that game,” you state, taking a piece of cookie from his hand.

The boy scoffs. “Oh, really?”

Your eyes widening ever-so-slightly, you bite into the cookie. You keep your gaze on him as you chew, not looking away even for a second, and you say the three magic words—even more magic than ‘please.’

“Stay for Christmas?”

His smirk immediately drops, and one of your own plays at your lips. You know you got him.

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” he grumbles.

You just swipe another piece of cookie from his hand, still grinning triumphantly. “To be fair,” you swirl the cookie in your hand for emphasis, “you walked right into it.”

Jeongin sighs, watching you toss the last bit of the cookie into your mouth. “There's nothing I can do to make you forget it, huh?’

“Nope,” you say with your mouth full. “Not unless you do something more quote-worthy.”

“Fine, then stay.”

You freeze, your cheeks still full of chewed-up cookie. “What?”

“You heard me, Y/N.” Jeongin steps closer, not breaking eye contact. “Just stay for Christmas. It’d be fun, and at least then, you’d have nothing to try and tease me with.”

You swallow the dessert in your mouth and stare at him, speechless. All this time, you had been just playing along with the line as a joke. Was it actually possible to have a sleepover with him? You almost smile as you ponder it over in your head. Being all cooped up in his room and kicking his ass at Mario Kart, then scrambling to be in bed by midnight as if Santa would actually appear the second the clock strikes twelve? You don’t have to think twice.

“Honey sweet, you and Y/N are still on that?” Mrs. Yang says, turning her head to look at you two from the sink.

Jeongin groans. “Yeah, mom, and why do you still call me that?!”

His mother just chuckles and turns back to the dishes she’s rinsing. From what you could gather, she doesn’t seem opposed to you sleeping over. It wasn’t a yes, but it certainly wasn’t a resounding no, so you jump to make a beeline for your parents and beg them to let you stay overnight.

Unfortunately, your parents have a more straightforward answer for you. Not even the growing piles of snow outside could save you from going back home at the end of the night.

You also receive quite the lecture about “the dangers of staying over at boys’ houses” on the way home. Their words fly in one ear and the other for you. If this was anyone else, it’d be different, but this is your best friend that they’re talking about.

The only time Jeongin ever laid a hand on you was during the grand battle of Rainbow Road when you were eleven. In his defense, he didn’t mean to push you so hard that you fell off the bed and nearly dislocated your shoulder, but that’s what happens when two of the most competitive people you know go head-to-head in a battle of Mario Kart.

You huff. At least you know actually staying for Christmas might be an option one day.

15 years old.

You peek around the edge of your locker door every so often as you shove various notebooks into your bag. Even when you finished packing up, you busy yourself with pretending to wipe specks of dust off your binder, and checking that you chose the correct textbooks to bring home with you for the fifth time in three minutes.

Another minute or so passes and you check the clock on your phone, then you look past your locker door one more time, slowly leaning over until one eye peeps past the edge. You find Jeongin speaking to one of his teachers as they exited their classroom, waving goodbye as he heads closer to you. 

You smile to yourself, then scan the area around you one more time. The coast seems clear, but you decide to give it one more minute before going over to him, just to be safe.

“You’re doing that again?”

You jump and turn on your heel, nearly hitting your head against your locker door. Jisung stands behind you as he watches you incredulously, backpack slung over one shoulder as he leans against the wall of lockers. His arms are crossed as he raises an eyebrow at you, and his features are twisted into an odd mixture of concern and confusion.

You look back at the main hallway, then back at Jisung. “Um… yeah,” you state, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Is there a problem?”

Jisung just snickers at your confidence. “Babe, honey, sweetie,” he says. You roll your eyes at the endless string of nicknames. “You look ridiculous.”

“I do not!” you scoff defensively.

He leans closer to you, his wide eyes boring into yours. “Is this about a booooy?” he teases jokingly.

You grimace in his direction, delivering a flick to his forehead as you pretend to rummage through your locker again. “You know what it’s about, Ji,” you grumble.

He’s technically not wrong. It is about a boy, but it’s not about a boy. There’s a huge difference—especially when the boy in question was Jeongin.

“You still look ridiculous.” He props an arm against the locker wall. “It’s like you want people to think you’re dating.”

You sigh, slamming your locker shut. “You don’t get it, people will stare if we don’t do this. Plus, our system’s worked for almost a semester already.”

“Y/N, this almost looks more suspicious than if you two just acted normally.” Reaching out a hand, he turns you by the shoulders to face him. “Is this peeking thing really necessary?”

You let out an agitated huff at his constant questioning. The nearly-unreadable grimace makes a return to Jisung’s face, and you know it is there to stay until you explain yourself. It seems pretty simple to you, though. 

You see, once middle school came to a close, you saw a window for a fresh start in high school. Any indications of The Incident™ (the former name had become a mouthful for you to repeat every time) were to die with the remnants of your braces phase and short-lived obsession with rainbow loom bracelets and 5 Seconds of Summer, as far as you were concerned. So, accordingly, you and Jeongin had devised a plan to prevent those dreaded “ship moments” from repeating themselves in high school.

Since most of your time together at school wasn’t in actual classes, you and Jeongin agreed to sit separately for bus rides to and from school, sometimes even opposite ends of the bus if necessary. On the way to school in the mornings, you two figured it was safe to walk together to the bus most days. Your neighborhood was one of the first stops and the few kids on the bus when you get on are usually snoring in the back. As long as you and Jeongin sat across from each other near the front and didn’t wake them up, you figured you’d be fine.

However, after school, you had to be fast. Ideally, you’d meet up with Jeongin when the hallways were less crowded than right when the final bell sounds, but when enough students were still hanging around the corridors that it wouldn't raise eyebrows with the school staff. You’d meet, speed-walk to the buses together, and enter separately. Once you pulled up at your stop, you two would depart and walk separately—until your bus turned the corner, then you’d walk each other home. It sounded like a lot, yeah, but after a while you get used to it.

After months of practice, you found that the most optimal time to pull this off was around five to eight minutes after the bell. Eight minutes was pushing it, but as long as you and Jeongin made a run for it, you wouldn’t miss your ride home. You had it down to a science. Jisung had no reason to worry, but he always seemed to find one.

Despite this, you don’t want to bother explaining the system you and Jeongin had perfected over the semester, again—the last time you did, it only raised more questions. So this time, you simply wave a hand in dismissal. “Yes, it’s necessary,” you deadpan, “you wouldn’t understand.”

Jisung blinks, then lets out an exhausted sigh. “If you insist…”

The older boy trails off, just in time for the younger one to appear at your side. “Hey, guys,” Jeongin chirps, waving at you both.

You smile at him briefly before turning to Jisung. “Do you have any other questions before we go?” you ask, your voice dripping in (mostly) feigned annoyance.

“No, but I probably will later.” The older brunet waves at one of his friends from anime club before looking back at the two of you one more time. “You two should go catch your bus, get home safe, yeah?”

You both nod, giving him a thumbs up as he jogs over to his friend, and you and Jeongin make your own jog for the front doors of the school.

You’re immediately greeted with a gray cloudy sky and you instantly feel the cold swirl around you. There are crowds of people littered around each section, waiting for their own respective buses. It doesn’t faze you in the least, though.

You had months of practice under your belt—years, actually, if you included shoving past couples in the school hallways who seemed to walk like they were floating on the moon. To this day, you never understood the appeal of holding up foot traffic for your fifth kiss goodbye of the hour, but whatever. Just like how other teenagers always mysteriously seemed to stop right in front of you just as you were dashing full speed for math class, you always seemed to find a way through the crowd.

It was simple, really. Like, actually simple compared to your aforementioned plan. Just keep your eyes straight ahead, and somehow, people always seem to clear a path for you. Despite your current plight, you and Jeongin have yet to miss your bus since the start of high school.

And that’s what you do. You take the lead in pushing through the masse of students, most of which are chatting amongst their friends as they meander to their ride home. Normally, you and Jeongin would talk a bit on the way, too, but you had hit the eight-minute mark thanks to your encounter with Jisung, so you had to book it. 

You keep your gaze locked in front of you, only turning back occasionally to make sure you didn’t lose Jeongin in the crowd. As predicted, students who aren’t otherwise in a hurry move out of your way. You let out a small sigh of relief at this; it’s one less thing you needed to worry about as you got closer to your bus.

Next: enter separately.

By the time you and Jeongin navigate your way out of the crowd and to bus #143, you find a line of students waiting to board that stretches the length of the bus itself. You groan, but at least you wouldn’t be stranded at school, so you consider this a win.

But still, you keep your unwritten pact in mind and you gesture for Jeongin to line up. “You go first,” you mumble, gently pushing him to the end of the line and you step back to wait another minute.

Jeongin turns back to you. “Aren’t you gonna get in line too?”

You stuff your hands in your pockets and quickly scan the line. You recognize the girl in front of him from math class, and two kids from the group of boys that just got behind Jeongin used to tease you two in middle school. “Not yet,” you shake your head. “It’s not safe.”

He furrows his brows together, his lips pulling downward. “You’re shivering,” he deadpans.

Now that he mentioned it, you realize you’re jumping in place in an attempt to warm up. It’s cold outside and you’re eager to leave, but you don’t mind waiting a little longer.

After moments of hesitation, Jeongin removes a hand from his hoodie pocket and grabs your forearm, making sure your hands stay in your own pockets as he pulls you to him. “Just get in line, Y/N,” he mumbles, “the sooner you get in line, the sooner we can get out of the cold.”

With wide eyes, you immediately step back. “Are you crazy?!” you hiss. “People are gonna talk!”

“So? Let them.”

Jeongin’s words ring in your head as he pulls you back towards him one more time.

You let out a gasp when you feel your body collide with his. You blink a few times to recompose yourself and stare up at him, your mouth agape. “What’s gotten into you?” Jeongin makes a face to himself as he responds, “What’s gotten into you?” 

“You know what got into me.” You give him a dubious look. “The agreement, the one we both agreed on?” 

Jeongin hums, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks back over to watch the line. “Who cares?”

“I thought you did…” 

His gaze burning into your skin makes you want to shrink away. Only a few months ago, he was dead set on this agreement, but now? What changed and so suddenly, at that? 

“Why should we let them try to ruin our friendship?” Jeongin asks after a beat of silence. “They already tried once, and look what happened. We shouldn’t let them again.” 

You freeze yet again at his words, so much that the boy has to drag you onto the bus with him. His hand on your forearm is enough to snap you out of your haze, and for some reason, it’s all you can focus on. 

You feel him let your arm go after a minute, and you look over at him. He slings his backpack off his shoulders and places it by his feet as he settles into the window seat, then looks back at you. “Aren’t you gonna sit down?” he says in a similar tone as earlier, patting the empty spot next to him.

“Um…”

Jeongin looks at you expectantly. It was tempting. it really was. But you catch a familiar wisp of curly hair as the group of boys from behind you two turn the corner and strut down the aisle.

You hesitate, before sharply turning on your heel. “I’ll just sit a few rows back,” you mumble.

“Oh my god, Y/N.”

Another surprised yelp leaves your lips as Jeongin pulls you out of the aisle. He tugs you by your hoodie sleeve this time, and when the group of boys walk past you, he lets his grip loosen and you feel his palm rest on your forearm again. It’s warm against your skin and you almost don’t want him to move it, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

The boy glances at the seat next to him, then back at you, his eyes almost weary. “Just sit, please.”

You peer over your shoulder as the group of boys collectively take their seats in the last two rows of the bus. Sighing, you supposed that it’s far enough that you would be safe, and allow yourself to plop on the torn blue leather.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Jeongin smiles at you reassuringly. “No one’s gonna talk, we’ll be fine.”

He pats your forearm twice before bringing his hand back onto his lap. You almost frown at the move.

The last of the students file in after a couple more minutes and the bus slowly pulls onto the road. Jeongin leans his head against the dirty window as he plays Doodle Jump on his phone, and you mindlessly watch him try to beat his high score. 

You don’t know how much time passed when the bus abruptly stops, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. The two of you are thrown forward as the driver suddenly slams the brakes, and Jeongin instinctively grabs your arm to keep you from falling. You don’t, luckily, but you do bump into him.

“Ahh, sorry!” you exclaim.

Jeongin shakes his head, as if to say it’s okay. “Are you okay?”

He gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before letting go. You follow his hand as it falls back on his lap, before meeting his gaze and nodding slightly. “Yeah–” you hesitate for a second, looking down at his hand again then back at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

You nod once, giving him a tight smile before settling down properly. That is, until you catch white flecks falling outside from the corner of your eye. It takes a second to click, but once it does, you turn to the window in a flash, eyes sparkling at the view outside.

“Jeongin,” you squeal, shaking him by the shoulder and you point to his right. “Look!”

The boy slides his phone in his pocket and a grin of his own appears as he looks out the window, seeing the snowflakes blanket the outside world for the first time this winter. Leaning past Jeongin to peer outside, your smile grows even more cheerful. All you need now is a mug of hot chocolate filled to the brim with whipped cream as you curl up on the couch and put on one of your beloved Christmas movies. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t be home for a while, so this would have to do for now.

“I’m not sure if you’ve ever noticed, but,” Jeongin starts after a minute, a chuckle escaping his lips, “the snow always starts when we’re together.”

“Really?” you question. 

He nods, his eyes focused on what seemed to be the most interesting bush in the world to him, and he smiles. “Yeah.”

You’re not sure if it was instinct or the cold that made you want to sit closer to Jeongin. You try not to think about it. 

“It's just a coincidence,” you attempt to laugh. “You can’t really predict the weather.” 

“I don’t know,” Jeongin muses, clicking his tongue. “If Jisung was here right now, he’d be losing his mind.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “That boy lost his mind ages ago. We just spend a lot of time together, of course we’re gonna see the first snow together at least once.”

Jeongin shrugs his shoulders beside you, then it goes silent. You aren’t sure how long for, and you just quietly watch the white crystals of snow hit the glass window. 

You feel Jeongin lean into you slightly after another moment. “That reminds me…”

You hum, looking over at him.

His smile curls into a playful smirk. “Stay for Christmas?”

You gape at him with an amused grin. Jeongin? Saying the line himself, unprompted? Who was this boy in front of you? “I thought you hated that line.”

Jeongin shrugs again, a smile still playing on his lips. “Eh, it kinda grew on me.” He pauses for a moment then speaks again. “But seriously, do you want to?”

Your brain goes static for a second. “As in, stay for Christmas? Like, for real?” He nods, and you deflate, slumping in your seat. “You know they’ll just say no.”

The hopeful smile on Jeongin’s face also fades, recalling your failed attempt last year. “I know,” he said, “but maybe it’s worth another try?”

You press your lips into a thin line, keeping your gaze down as you shrug. “We can if you want.”

Once the bus pulls up at your stop, Jeongin walks you home, but not without going inside with you to find your parents. With a reassuring hand on your back, he helps you plead your case to your parents, but as you feared, they shut you down quicker than last time.

Jeongin sends you a sad smile as he heads home that day, leaving you to mentally prepare for the hell you’re about to receive from your mother the minute the door clicks shut behind him. 

16 years old.

“One, two…” your mother counts slowly as she tries her best to fit the both of you on her screen. “Get a bit closer together, guys,” she ushers you with one hand. 

You huff but follow her order, and step closer to the boy next to you. “Mom, don’t you have enough photos?”

A chuckle leaves your mom's lips as she continues to take more, now at different angles. “There’s never enough photos, sugarplum!”

Jisung snorts from beside you at the nickname and you send your elbow right into his ribs to get him to shut up.

“Y/N!” your mother scolds. “Don’t be so mean, he’s being nice and taking you! Heaven knows he didn’t need to.” 

“Mom!” you gasp in surprise.

“Yeah, sugarplum,” Jisung says mockingly, faking a pout as he looks down at you. 

You glare up at the older boy and silently hiss. You knew this would be a bad idea, but this is still better than what you were originally going to do: go to winter formal on your own. Especially since Jeongin had his own date. 

“Okay, okay,” your mother says as her gaze focuses back onto her phone. “Last ones.” 

“You have plenty,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

Your mother finally lowers her phone and slips it into her oversized cardigan pocket. “Bring her home by midnight, okay? No funny business!” She borderline-chastises Jisung, and you give her a look. She’s known Jisung for years at this point, it was almost as bad as if she lectured Jeongin himself.

Luckily for you, Jisung plays along, drawing two fingers to his brow and flicking his wrist to salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Okay,” you start quickly as you hastily grab Jisung’s wrist. “We gotta go, bye!” 

With that, you drag Jisung out of the door and to his car before your mother can get another word in.

“Whoa there, sugarplum, calm down,” Jisung sings, “we have all the time in the world.”

“Would you let that nickname go, please?” you groan. 

Jisung unlocks his car as he walks around to the driver's seat, laughing loudly. “Never, baby.” With the car open, he stares at you and taps his temple. “That puppy is locked into the memory banks for life.” 

You roll your eyes for the nth time, open the door, and let it slam behind you as you plop onto your seat with crossed arms, Jisung’s laughter filling your ears as he follows your actions. Igniting the engine, he turns the heaters to full blast and rubs his hands together to try and gain some heat. 

“You good?” you ask, watching him blow hot air onto his hands. 

He hums and nods his head, and turns the heaters down shortly after. “I like the car to be toasty, okay? I want to feel like a marshmallow.” 

“...A marshmallow?” 

Jisung nods again affirmingly. “A marshmallow.” 

“I don’t even want to know,” you shake your head in amazement and look away from him. 

“We’re picking Innie up first, right?” Jisung asks, his attention now on the road as he backs the car out of your driveway.

“Yeah,” you hum. “His date is meeting him there.” 

After that it goes silent, partly because Jisung needs his full attention to drive, but also because there just isn’t much to say. You’re surprised Jisung hasn’t taken this time alone with you to grill and interrogate you, but maybe he had turned over a new leaf, changed his ways.

It seems more likely, however, that you just thought too highly of him, especially when he asks you about it in the next moment.

“So, how do you feel about Jeongin having his own date?” 

You turn your head to look at him. “Don’t you have the road to focus on?”

“Don’t deflect, baby,” he hums. “You can’t answer a question with a question.” 

“You can’t answer a question with a question,” you mimic, tightening your arms around your chest. 

“Now you’re just being obnoxious,” he says, which causes you to whine and throw your head back.

“Why are you even asking me? It’s fine, so what if he has his own date? I don’t care.” 

“Kinda seems like you do,” Jisung sings. 

“I don’t,” you spit back a second too quickly. 

“Look at my face.” Jisung takes one hand, motions around his face, and sends a look towards you before focusing back on the road. “Does this face look like one that would believe your bullshit?” 

“Your face looks dumb and like you’d believe any type of bullshit,” you mutter, your arms still crossed. 

“Now, I know you’re only saying that because you’re annoyed at me for pointing out the obvious.” Jisung laughs. “It's okay, I forgive you and I know I’m the most handsome guy you’ve ever laid your eyes on.” 

“You need to get your ego checked.”

Pulling up at the corner of Jeongin’s street, Jisung places the car in park. “The things I do for this friendship,” he sighs dramatically as he pulls out his phone to text Jeongin.

You shake your head, keeping your gaze out the window. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I think you misspelled the word ‘genius’, sugarplum.”

You side-eye the older boy, whose smug smile is illuminated by the light emitting from his phone. “I wasn’t spelling anything.”

“Misspoke, then.” Jisung locks his phone and looks at you innocently. “Same thing. Jeongin’s on his way.” 

“Not the same thing,” you mumble before you nod your head. “Okay, but how is he going to sneak out in a suit?” 

The sudden thought came to your mind. Jeongin had family come in from out of town for this large family party, which admittedly, he didn’t want to be there for. However, his family would definitely notice if he just walked out of the house in a tux. 

“That's where my genius comes in,” Jisung smirks and points to the back seat. “Emergency tux.” 

You look back and there is, in fact, a tuxedo folded neatly on the middle seat along with a belt to match, ready for Jeongin to wear for the formal. You stare at it for a moment too long before your gaze settles on Jisung. “What emergency is there where you need a tux?” 

The older boy shrugs and makes a face. “A fancy one?” 

You blink as you look at him, but you couldn’t stop the side of your lips turning up into a smile. “I really don’t get you sometimes.” 

His confident grin makes your own grow wider. He leans forward slightly and ruffles your hair with one hand, causing you to groan before flipping down the sun visor and looking in the tiny mirror on the back of it as you try to fix it.

Jisung laughs as he watches you. “It's okay, you can say how amazing I am and how much you love me, you don’t have to pretend.” 

Whilst fixing your hair in the mirror, your mouth twists into a disgusted frown and you send him a glare. “I repeat what I said earlier, you need your ego checked.” 

“You’ll admit it one day,” he jokes.

You close the visor back up. “Not gonna happen.” 

Before Jisung has the chance to say anything else, the right back door opens up. Jeongin throws himself in and sighs contentedly at the warmth that surrounds him. After a moment, he opens his eyes and smiles at the both of you sitting in the front. “Hey, guys!” 

“Hi,” you smile. 

Jisung smiles too and points to the suit behind him, which makes Jeongin clap his hands in delight. “Emergency tux?” he says.

Jisung clicks his tongue, sending a wink and a finger gun the younger boy’s way. “Emergency tux, baby.” 

With furrowed eyebrows, you blink at the boys. “What is it with you and emergency tuxes? Seriously, what would you even need an emergency tux for?” 

“A fancy emergency,” Jeongin answers matter-of-factly, which causes Jisung to point at him and nod.

“See, he gets it!” he agrees. “Hey, without that emergency tux, Innie would be going in sweats to the formal. Wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” 

You roll your eyes and look away from them. “Guess not.” 

“See, Y/N?” Jisung reaches over to ruffle your hair again, and you successfully duck your head away this time. He chuckles and draws his hand back, shifting the gear to drive and bringing his attention back to the road. “There's a method to my madness.”

You just huff, slumping back in your seat in defeat as he turned the car around. 

“Wait,” Jeongin pipes up as Jisung straightens out the wheel, “how am I supposed to change?”

“As I said, there’s a method to my madness.,” Jisung says, perhaps a bit too confidently as he pulls out of the street. “Just give me a minute.”

You narrow your eyes at Jisung, who keeps a straight face as he drives. You almost hate it more than his smug smile from a few minutes ago. At least then, you had the slightest clue to what he was thinking. The fact that the car is silent, save for the quiet Christmas music on the radio, does nothing to calm your worries.

Unfortunately, it looks like your gut feeling was right as you realize Jisung is pulling into a stop just right outside your neighborhood. 

“Here you go,” Jisung announces proudly, placing the car in park again. “Changing time!”

Your eyes bulging out of your head, you snap your head to Jisung. “Are you insane?!” you hiss. “We’re in public!”

The older—but you were very hesitant to say wiser—boy shrugs. “He’s gotta do it somewhere! It’s either here or the school parking lot.”

“You didn’t think about a gas station?!”

“Guys, it’s fine,” Jeongin says, his voice wavering slightly as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Just... just don’t look, please.”

You cover the sides of your eyes as you keep your gaze out the window. Every now and then, you hear Jeongin hit something in the back, causing him to groan in pain and Jisung to holler at his misery. 

This goes on for almost a minute before you hear the gear shift click. Keeping your hands around the sides of your eyes, you glower at Jisung, who smirks deviously as he pulls the lever to drive. “Don’t. You. Dare,” you grumble.

“Oh, watch me,” Jisung snickers, tapping his foot on the gas.

“Hey! I’m not done yet!” Jeongin shouts as the car inches forward, sending Jisung into another fit of laughter.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

Jisung abruptly hits the brake, causing Jeongin to shriek as he thuds against the back of your seat. The older boy lets out another cackle at this, clapping his hands as he throws his head back. He glances at you in hopes that you’re just as amused, but you only glare at him.

He lets out a drawn-out but satisfied sigh, and puts the car in park again. “Ahhh, that was fun.” 

You stay silent, maintaining your pointed stare.

“Chillax, Y/N.” He nudges your shoulder, but remains overly cheerful even though you don't budge. “Ooh, look! Snow!“

You blink. As tempting as it is to take your eyes off of him, something in your gut begs you not to.

“I’m serious!” Jisung cries again, pointing fervently in front of him. 

You sigh and turn your head slightly. At least he wasn’t lying about the snow, although it does seem lighter this year. A few snowflakes trickle down here and there, but it’s nowhere near enough to obstruct the view outside. And it definitely isn’t enough to keep Jisung from starting and stopping the car one more time, sending Jeongin crashing into the back of your seat again and proving your worries correct.

“I’m gonna kill you,” the younger boy scowls, and you lean over to flick the older one on the forehead.

“Agh!” Jisung slaps your hand away, stifling a giggle. “Okay, okay! I'm done now!”

“You better be,” Jeongin grumbles. 

After a few minutes, he gasps. “Done,” he says, and you drop your hands from either side of your eyes. 

You look in the rearview mirror, Jeongin in full view as he adjusts his tie. Sure, the suit was a size too big, and the jacket almost slipped off the ends of his shoulders, but he somehow seemed to make it work. You couldn’t explain how, it just has this charm that perfectly complements the sweet but awkward boy you’ve grown so fond of. It’s so incredibly Jeongin, and it makes you smile like a dope.

But as he runs his hands through his hair, in desperate attempts to fix it, you feel your breath hitch in your throat. That… was new. And different. By now, one would look away, but for some reason, you can’t.

That is, however, when you notice Jisung’s eyes are locked on you, his eyebrows ever-so-slightly raised in amusement. You look down at your hands as you feel your cheeks get hot. Now that was another thing you’d have to explain to the older fool. Great.

Snow continues to fall from the sky as Jisung resumes the drive to school, but it never goes past a light sprinkle. It wasn’t even enough to coat the ground in that fluffy, white blanket you had grown accustomed to in the last few years. Every so often, the older boy glances over at you, catching you lingering at the rearview mirror as Jeongin uses his phone camera to fix his hair. It only makes you sink lower and lower into your chair, and you resort to keeping your eyes on your lap for the rest of the ride.

You don’t look up again until you feel the car stop and hear the gear shift click back into park.

“We’re here,” Jisung announces in a singsong voice.

“I can tell,” you grumble, recognizing the dimly lit courtyard in front of you.

“There she is!” Jeongin seems to have spotted his date and he squeaks, checking himself in the rearview mirror one last time. “Do I look okay?” he asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

You both turn back to look at him. You open your mouth to speak but can’t get anything out, and you find yourself stupidly staring at him again.

“You look great, Jeongin.” Jisung smiles over his shoulder. He glances at you for a second, flashing his eyebrows at you, and you turn back around in embarrassment. “Now gooo, she”s waiting!” He winks at the younger boy, ushering him out of the car.

Jeongin chuckles, smoothing out his oversized suit once more before he leaves. You keep your gaze out the windshield the whole time, staring at nothing in particular, but you notice that the snow stops entirely once Jeongin wraps his arms around his date and escorts her inside.

You feel your breath get caught in your throat again. “We–” you start, then pause to clear your throat. “Yeah, we should get going, too.” 

Keeping your eyes locked in place, you blindly reach down to unbuckle your seatbelt. You’ve never felt more suffocated in a vehicle in your life and everything inside you was screaming at you to get out.

But Jisung, ever-persistent, seemed to be working against you all evening. He reaches over, gently grabbing your arm before you can touch the door handle. “Uh, uh, uh, you’re not going anywhere.”

You silently groan in your mind as you turn to face him with a sour look. “What do you want?” 

His mouth curls up into a smirk. “What was that just now?” 

“What was what just now?”

You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowed with your lips pursed together. No matter how hard you try to keep a straight face, it only seems to egg him on more. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” Jisung nudges you repeatedly, his smirk growing wider. “That whole staring at Innie thing! It’s almost like you just realized how in love you are with him.” 

A scoff escapes your lips almost instantly. Seeing Jeongin in that suit was… an experience, to say the least, but to go as far as to say you were in love with him?

That said, it doesn’t surprise you that this all came from the guy who genuinely believed his crush would ask him out at midnight if he made a wish and forwarded a poorly-formatted copypasta to seventeen people. Bless his heart, but you’re smarter than that.

Really, you couldn’t pinpoint what sucked the breath out of your lungs when you laid eyes on Jeongin in the rearview mirror. All you could caulk it up to was some ill-timed coming-of-age epiphany: you two were sixteen now, and you could do things the sixteen-year-olds in movies do all the time. It’s a strange pill to swallow, but unlike Jeongin, it didn’t even occur to you that you could’ve asked someone out to winter formal. Everyone else your age seemed to jump at the chance, but a small part of you figured you and Jeongin would’ve gone together—as friends, of course.

Of course, you know Jisung wouldn’t buy that answer, so you had to think of something else. Something more his style.

“That’s— that’s not what happened.” You take a breath then wave him off with your hand as you continue. “It's just the tuxedo effect, it’ll be gone in the morning.”

You turn to get out of the car (again), hoping Jisung would leave it at that, but he leans over (again), grabbing your hand this time. 

“No, no, no, sugarplum, you aren’t getting away that easily.”

You want to scream. Praying for the earth to swallow you whole sounds good, too. Anything over facing Jisung, whose eyebrows are raised as he nosily rests his chin on his palm.

“Spill.” 

You lightly push him away from you as you sigh. “What is there to spill? It’s…” You pause, before continuing in a rushed mumble. “It's when you find someone attractive because of the fact that they’re wearing a suit.” 

Jisung blinks a number of times before he bursts into laughter.

“That’s so bullshit! Finding someone attractive just because they’re wearing a suit?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That's insane.” 

“Oh, so magical snow makes complete sense, but finding someone attractive because of a suit doesn’t?” 

“It’s not magical snow, it’s fate and romance all twisted into one!” 

“Whatever, you’re hopeless.” You throw your hands up in defeat. “My point still stands: it’ll be gone by tomorrow.” 

The main doors capture your attention and your eyes linger on it as multiple other students filter in and out of the formal. Your shoulders tighten and an unexplainable uneasy feeling makes a home for itself in your chest. 

“I thought this was what you wanted…” Jisung starts, his gaze following yours, “for people to not think you guys were dating.” 

“It’s not that,” you respond quietly. 

“Then what is it?” he asks, matching your tone.

“It’s just…” you begin. “It’s weird to think he’s at the age where he’s actually thinking about liking someone and dating people.” 

“But you know what that means?” Jisung asks, prompting you to break your staring contest with the school doors and look at him. “It also means you’re old enough to do the same thing: date and move on.” 

You scoff, open the car door, and put one foot out, ready to leave. “I don’t know what you’re on about, shut up.” You get up and let the door swing closed behind you. 

Jisung quickly follows suit and makes his way around the front of his car and over to you. He places one hand on one of your shoulders, as the other delicately moves some of the hair that had fallen in your face behind your ear. 

“I’ll stop bothering you about this, yeah?” he says, his voice more gentle than teasing this time. You could count the number of times he’s spoken to you like this on one hand. “At least, I’ll stop for now. And if Jeongin won’t tell you, then I will—you look absolutely beautiful.” 

Gently lifting your chin with two fingers, Jisung leans over and places a light kiss upon your forehead. You swear that for a minute, your heart stopped beating. Even with all of the overly sweet nicknames and the babying, Jisung had never gone so far as to do something so physically affectionate with you as this. However, you like it. You like it a lot more than you thought you would. 

His lips linger there for a moment longer before he pulls away with a smile. “You’re more than capable of going after what you want. But don’t let him cloud your judgment tonight. Have fun, make memories.”

The older boy steps back from you, but offers an arm for you to take. Once you do, he leans in slightly and chuckles. “And try not to let this so-called tuxedo effect get to you too much,” Jisung adds as an afterthought. “You might fall in love with me by the end of the night.”

Using the arm linked around his, you deliver a light smack to his chest.

“In your dreams, asshole.”

…

Spending the night with Jisung as your quote-unquote “date” was more of a blast than you thought it would be. From the flavorful fruit punch and the obviously bulk-bought snacks, it truly was a night to remember. 

You made sure to catch plenty of Jisung’s dad-dancing on your phone—for blackmail purposes, of course. And when it got to that normally awkward slow dance section of the night, Jisung did what he did best and made it anything but that. Sure, you stood on his toes once or twice, but he didn’t complain, at least verbally, and all-in-all, the night seemed to be a success.

From the few glances you stole during the night, Jeongin also seemed to enjoy his time with his date. The feverish look he had in his eyes when he hopped in the back of Jisung’s car paired with the hint of lipstick on his cheek confirmed it for you. You decide not to dwell too much on it, taking Jisung’s advice, and just hand Jeongin a makeup wipe before he could stroll home with crystal clear evidence on his face that he was ever gone.

The car might as well have been a fridge as you’re sitting there, hands rubbing together so quickly you could start a fire in your attempt to gain warmth. Jisung had started the car already, but his heaters are taking much longer to kick in compared to earlier. Jeongin, now laid out across the back seat, gushes about how the night was and how breathtaking his date seemed to be in her off-white dress. (You don’t know who would wear white to a school dance, but you try your best not to judge.) 

His rambles, however, are soon cut short by Jisung, who looks at him through his rearview mirror. “Sorry, buddy, but you need to change before you get home, remember?” 

Jeongin huffs as he pulls himself up into a sitting position and nods his head. He looks at you, to Jisung, back to you, then Jisung again. “You’re not going to do that stop-start thing again, are you?” 

“Nah.” Jisung waves him off with one hand. “Wouldn’t be as funny the second time. Plus, I feel like sugarplum here would kill me.” 

Jeongin’s eyebrows furrow together slightly. “‘Sugarplum?’” 

“Don’t ask,” you say hollowly, and send Jisung a stern look to not answer Jeongin either. But in all honesty, if ‘sugarplum’ was the main thing the older boy took from tonight, you’d be completely fine with that.

“Just hurry up and change, nimrod,” Jisung says as he once again looks in the mirror.

You stare at him blankly. “What the heck is this? The eighties?” 

“Just say you’re jealous and go, okay, sugarplum?” Jisung makes a face, and you throw your hands up dismissively. 

“Did someone spike the punch?” Jeongin asks. “You’re both acting weird tonight.” Every now and then, you hear bumps and noises as he attempts to get back into his sweats in an orderly fashion. 

“We’re not being weird,” you respond flatly, your eyes locked on a shallow puddle on the sidewalk from the snowfall, if you could even call it that. You try your best to change the subject and keep Jeongin from questioning you more. “Are you done yet? Can we go?” 

With one last grunt, Jeongin succeeds in getting his head through the hole of his sweatshirt. “Yep, you can drive, Jisung.” 

That was enough for Jisung to pull the car into drive and to get on the way. 

You drum your fingers against the dashboard as Jisung drives, using everything in you to not pluck off the acrylic nails that took you an hour to stick on. You’re pleasantly surprised with how little this whole operation had gone wrong, and you could only hope that the rest of the trip would stay this way.

You don’t even allow yourself to relax into your chair until you three pull to the corner of Jeongin’s street for the second time. Jisung nearly laughs at you for this, but you quickly silence him with another smack to the chest.

“Owie! Looks like sugarplum’s feisty tonight,” Jisung cries, flashing you a fake frown.

You wince at the nickname and turn around, ignoring him. “Jeongin, do you have everything?”

Jeongin haphazardly tosses the bunched-up tuxedo on the seat beside him as he nods. He slides across the back seat and reaches for the door handle before you stop him in his tracks. 

“Wait.” You lean over the back seat and quickly wipe at his cheek, and he attempts to back away. “You missed a bit of lipstick, idiot,” you state flatly, ignoring the sudden heat you feel creeping up your neck. “You’re basically asking to get caught.” 

Jisung sits and stares as he watches you wipe away the little remnants of lipstick on Jeongin’s cheek, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way the tips of Jeongin’s ears turn a subtle pink color at your touch. 

“Ah,” Jeongin chuckles awkwardly, “thanks.”

It is when Jeongin exits the vehicle that you finally take a closer look at what he was wearing. He wasn’t just wearing any sweatshirt—it was purple. Suddenly you remember your plight from earlier and your breath catches in your throat for the third time tonight.

“Wait, Y/N.” You hear Jeongin knock on your window, snapping you out of your daze. 

You turn over and lower the glass, Jisung snickering under his breath all the while. “Yeah?”

A stupid grin comes over Jeongin’s face as he utters his next words.

“Stay for Christmas?”

You scoff and suppress a laugh. Maybe if he wasn’t still on a high from the formal, you would've considered asking your parents again this year. But what’s the point if they’ll just say no?

“Not a chance, now go home.”

After making sure Jeongin climbed into his bedroom window, Jisung turns the car around and takes you home. As he pulls into your driveway, you quickly notice how all of the lights are off in your house, minus the porch light. You let out a sigh of relief—your parents must be asleep. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to Jisung with a smile. “Thank you, Jisung,” you hum. “Tonight was fun.” 

“That's alright, sugarplum, glad to be of service,” he shoots you a toothy grin and salutes. 

You once again wince at the nickname, but decide to let it go this time. You quickly lean across the dashboard and place a kiss on Jisung’s cheek. “And thank you for what you said earlier, it meant a lot.” 

Jisung chuckles as you pull away. “You’re not falling for me, now, are you?” he quips.

“Don’t ruin the moment.” You slap him on the arm, and pause for a moment before opening the car door. “Just, thank you for tonight, seriously.” 

“Y/N, it’s fine, I had fun too.” Jisung smiles. “Just make sure to get inside, it’s cold.” 

You smile back and hum once more. Shutting the car door behind you, you rush your way up to your front porch before turning back to Jisung with a final wave. Then, you’re met with warmth, welcoming you after a long trip away as you get ready for bed.

The next morning, however, you’re greeted by two very angry parents.

By the time you got home last night, both your parents were already asleep, so you thought you had successfully gotten away with everything. Even if they were awake, they had no way to know what you did. But it turns out Jeongin’s cousin, Jungwon, caught him sneaking in and immediately snitched to his parents, who, in turn, texted yours, and probably Jisung’s as well.

Let's just say that you are now grounded well into the new year. No going out for a whole month, except maybe the Christmas party next week, if your parents are feeling generous.

You know it’s going to suck being confined to your house for the entirety of winter break, but you suppose that’s the price you pay for being a loyal best friend. If anyone was going to help Jeongin sneak out to a school dance, it’s you—even if you wouldn’t be the one to go with him in the end.

You’d do it again in a heartbeat.

17 years old.

“Can I open my eyes now?” you whine.

“Nooo,” Jeongin drones from behind you, “just be patient. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

You sigh impatiently as he guides you by the shoulders to… somewhere. The December cold swirls around you, biting at your cheeks as you attempt to swivel your head and look around. You don’t know why you even bothered trying, though, as Jeongin had tied a black cloth over your eyes before he drove you off to this mystery location. 

Despite this, he still instructed you to keep your eyes shut. It felt excessive, but you obliged to make him happy.

“Fine, but do I really need the blindfold?” You bend your head up and over, looking to your best guess as to where Jeongin is. You can feel his hands on your shoulders, so wherever you’re staring couldn’t have been far off.

“Yes— well, not really.” Jeongin laughs sheepishly and he helps you onto what you assume is a crosswalk. “It was Jisung’s idea.”

You snort, shaking your head to yourself as you try your best to walk in a straight line. “Of course it was.”

Upbeat chatter and Christmas music dances around your ears as you near the still-unknown location. You can’t see a thing, but you can already feel the aura of holiday cheer everywhere around you, just waiting to sweep you off your feet. It is just a week shy of Christmas, after all.

Soon Jeongin comes to a stopping point, and you feel his hands leave your shoulders. “Can I take off the blindfold now?” you frown, bouncing on the balls of your feet.

“Yah, just wait!” Jeongin scolds, but you hear a light chuckle quickly follow. “Patience, Y/N.”

You feel his fingers gently graze your hair after a moment, finding its way to the knot on the back of your head. He gets it undone quickly, but holds the cloth around your head as he counts down.

“Three… two… one…” he says softly, slowly removing the blindfold from your eyes and unveiling the scene in front of you.

The glinting lights make you wince for a moment before your eyes get used to the new sudden brightness. You gasp at the sight in front of you, almost jumping out of your shoes in joy. Thousands of Christmas lights are hung up around trees, swirled around lamp posts, and hung overhead for people to walk under. It is breathtaking, truly breathtaking. 

You spin around to face Jeongin in an instant. His smile almost puts the lights out of business. “You brought me to the lights?” 

“No, I brought you to the desert.” The boy rolls his eyes, his words coated with sarcasm—but still, he smiles. “Yes, I brought you to the lights, dummy.” 

His warmth soon overtakes yours as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in close. He freezes for a moment, but soon lets his arms wrap around your waist. He squeezes you tight one final time before he pulls away, looking at you with a tender smile. 

“We should go, don’t want to miss out on the lights, do you?” 

You aren’t sure if he meant to grab your hand as he drags you away, but you don’t do anything to let go, either. You just stare down at your enjoined hands as you follow him, the background noise blurring away into nothing, overtaken by your heartbeat ringing in your ears. 

Minutes seem to tick by before you can bring yourself to look up again. Your gaze lands on the back of Jeongin’s head, and it only seems to intensify when he swiftly turns his head. Something about the way his hair flowed with the quick action almost makes you dizzy, and you have to look back down to shake yourself out of it. 

You finally have the courage to let your eyes trail back up again a moment later. Immediately, something in the air feels different. Jeongin had turned back to check on you, and a cluster of yellow and white lights seemed to give him a halo-like ring above his head. The music and chatter blurs around you once again, fading into a quiet buzz as your body stiffens and you nearly lose your breath. It’s like you’re the main character of one of those animes Jeongin tried to get you to watch, like the one where the boy and the girl stumble upon a field of fireflies together in the middle of the night. Here you two are, a mere speck amongst the thousands of lights, yet the boy in front of you seems to shine brighter than them all.

It’s strange to think about. You are here for the Christmas lights—no, Jeongin brought you here for the Christmas lights—but all you can focus on is him.

“Are you okay?”

The three words and a light squeeze of your hand pull you back down to earth. You didn’t realize Jeongin stepped closer to you, and you feel yourself exhale shakily, your hand slowly slipping from his grasp.

You stare back with wide eyes, and something inside you compels you to step closer to him. “Y-Yeah,” is all you manage to get out.

The colorful lights seem to flicker as you look around. For a second, they do feel like little fireflies, floating around you as they emit their warmth. And when your gaze lands back on the boy in front of you, the warmth seems to encircle you even more. You nearly forget about the cold nipping at your cheeks, and a rosy glow fills them instead. 

“It’s just… I…”

As your eyes meet Jeongin’s once again, you can’t help but notice a slight redness in his cheeks as well.  His lips curve upward slightly, and he gently takes your hands in his.

“I know. It’s beautiful.”

You smile up at Jeongin and notice something moving behind him. You squint, looking past his ear, and find those all-too-familiar fluffy crystals fluttering down. Immediately, your jaw drops and your smile grows wider. 

“Jeongin, look!” You let go of one of his hands and point to the snow surrounding you. 

The scene unfolding around you leaves you awestruck. The colors from the lights bounce off the falling snowflakes, and the music seems to chime more vividly as the snow whisks around, making everything feel brighter and more alive. You feel like your head is spinning as you swivel around, sparkles in your eyes that could rival the spectacle in front of you.

A shaky breath leaves your lips as you take one more step towards Jeongin. Your hands slowly find their way up his shoulders and around his neck, and you let his body heat swaddle you, wrapping you up in a wintry glow as you take it all in. It truly feels like you’re in a dream.

Jeongin follows your gaze and chuckles, a fond smile on his face as he gently pulls you closer. “Yes, Y/N, I know what snow is. Is snow bad?”

You look at him again, your wide, shimmering eyes meeting his warm ones. In that moment, nothing else mattered: just you, the snow, and the boy in front of you.

“It's perfect.”

And like the blonde girl in the firefly scene, you’d give anything for the moment to last forever.

…

“Where were you?”

Your mother’s words nearly make you jump out of your skin the second you step in the house, and you hiss to yourself. Your time with Jeongin at the light festival had swept you off your feet so much that you forgot you weren’t even supposed to be there.

After the events from last year, your parents had grounded you for a whole month, effectively barring you from even stepping foot outside of the house unless it was to school and back. Even worse, they grew so concerned about your so-called “excessive time with this boy” that they placed a strict curfew on you once your grounding sentence was lifted. No seeing friends—read: no seeing Jeongin—after 8pm, lest unspeakable things happen to you. It was ridiculous, not only because you’re seventeen, but because, somehow, your best friend since you were nine was now this supposed threat.

The only way you had been able to skirt around this was to lie, usually about studying at a coffee shop with an unnamed friend. You can’t remember what excuse you gave this time, but at this point, it didn’t matter much.

Your mother crosses her arms, a look of disapproval etched on her features. “Where were you, really? And don’t say the school library this time.”

You curse to yourself, your mistake dawning on you. Why'd you pick a Saturday night to say you were meeting up with some friends at the school library? Did your excitement over Jeongin and his ‘mystery surprise’ really mess with your head that much? It couldn’t have been him… could it?

After a minute, you conclude that you just slipped up after exhausting your list of excuses over the course of the year. It was bound to happen.

“Well?” your mother says expectantly.

You just sigh, throwing up your hands in defeat. “I was with Jeongin.” 

Your eyes flick up, waiting for her next frustrated ramble about how you’ve been spending too much time with him. Instead, you get a throaty chuckle as she shakes her head at you, a smirk taking the place of her frown.

“Of course you were.”

Blinking, you stare at her in shock. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! It means nothing.” She turns around, busying herself with wiping some crumbs off the dining table. However, after closer inspection, you see that the table is spotless.

“No, it means something,” you protest. What happened to all her complaints about how much time you’ve spent with Jeongin? Why the sudden change of heart?

“I didn’t say anything, sweetheart,” your mom says. “But did he?”

“Did he what?”

“You know, the three words,” she looks up, sending you a wink and imitating Jeongin, “‘Stay for Christmas?’” 

Mortified, you feel heat rush up to your ears as your mother lets out another laugh. “Mom!”

You refuse to admit it to her, but you actually said it first this year.

It was just half an hour ago. Jeongin walked you to your car, a gentle hand on the small of your back as he followed you down his driveway. He wrapped you up in a strong embrace before you could even unlock your car, and you looped your arms around his neck in return, smiling into his shoulder.

The hug was sweet—Jeongin’s hugs, which seemed to increase in frequency lately, always were. But he held you for a second longer than normal in this one, and when you tried to let go, he let out a small whine and held you closer to him for one more moment. The move took you by surprise, but you hugged him back nonetheless.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you melted into his hold, letting your head fall against his chest. The sound of his heartbeat could’ve lulled you to sleep if you let it, and the light snowfall twirling around you two certainly didn’t help matters. Gradually, you relaxed your arms, letting them hang loosely around his neck, and you let out a contented sigh. You truly never felt more at peace.

Maybe it was safe to say something in the air shifted while you were wrapped up in each other’s arms. Usually, he’d give you a fond chuckle and a curt pat on the back right before he pulled away and took off. But when the two of you finally let go, you opened your eyes to find him smiling down at you. Something akin to affection swam in his soft irises as he slowly pulled back, his hands gently resting on your waist. It was… different, for sure, especially coming from him. 

You smiled back warmly, linking your hands together behind his neck. “Are you okay?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jeongin nodded his head, an adoring smile still tugging at his lips. “Just… got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

Something seemed to swirl in his features that you couldn’t quite pick up. You registered the return of the light pink on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you stood under the streetlight together, but nothing else. It was probably just the cold that stirred this up, so you decided not to ask.

You could only stare back at him as you tried to think of something else to say. Something about the position you two were in—arms wrapped around each other under the moonlight—felt too close to lovers in the movies. You couldn’t explain why, but it made your brain go static. And in your attempt to relieve the tension, you gulped once and spat out the first stupid one-liner that came to mind.

“By any chance, are any of those things ‘Stay for Christmas’?”

Of course it had to be that.

Jeongin let out a light scoff, rolling his eyes playfully as he dropped his hands from your waist. You giggled at his disappointment, but you instantly missed the warmth that radiated from him. Luckily, you had half a mind not to say that out loud.

“Okay, moment over,” he mumbled, gently pushing you towards your car. “Get home safe, Y/N.”

“I’m just kidding!” your mother cries in exasperation, bringing your focus back to her. “I know I can’t stop you from seeing him. He is your,” she pauses to make air quotes, “‘best friend’, after all.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “He’s my best friend. No air quotes needed.”

Your mother nods, clearly not believing you. “Right… for now.”

Feeling more blood rush to your face, you roll your eyes and unceremoniously march upstairs. “Goodnight, mom.”

She’s crazy, right? Absolutely. You know yourself and you know your friendships better than anyone. You and Jeongin are best friends for a reason—nothing more, and certainly nothing less. The way you felt like you were on cloud nine just hours ago? It was a one-time thing, you were just fascinated by the lights.

Jeongin had nothing to do with it.

18 years old.

Your scarf is wrapped tightly around your neck and face in attempts to shield yourself from the cold. You jump on the balls of your feet in place as you wait for one of the Yang family to open the door and invite you into the familiar warmth. It’s pretty much tradition at this point to spend at least part of Christmas Eve with the Yangs, but they’re hosting the Christmas party this year so it’s just another reason to stop by.

Shoving your hands into your coat pockets, your eyes brighten when you see movement through the front door window. Soon enough, Mrs Yang opens up the door with a smile of her own. 

"Y/N!" She sings, ushering you in before she pulls you into a hug. "I think Jeongin's still asleep, so you can do those honors?" She chuckles. 

You pull away, slip off your coat and scarf, and hang them up before you rush up the stairs. "Leave it to me, Mrs. Yang!" 

Once you’re up the top of the stairs, you creep down the hallway and knock on the door. When you get no response, you just let yourself in.

The scene in front of you is something you expect, but it brings a fond smile to your face nonetheless. Jeongin is spread out across his bed, his blanket bunched up around his chin. His hair is all fluffy from a good night’s sleep and his face looks peaceful as he snores lightly, like nothing in the world could ever hurt him. 

Going over to his bed, you let yourself fall onto it and your head rest on the pillow next to him. Examining his face, you notice how his eyelashes lay against his cheeks and how his lips part slightly as he breathes.

"I can feel you staring at me," Jeongin says, his eyes still closed.

You clutch your chest in surprise as you roll onto your back. "Oh my god, why do you have to scare me like that?” you cry, staring at the ceiling. "You could have said you were awake." 

"But then you wouldn't get your chance to admire me," he chuckles as he finally opens his eyes. 

"Shut up, no I wasn't!" 

"I don't know, your stare felt pretty heavy to me."

You glare at him, flying up and off of his bed before ripping the blanket off of him.

"Y/N! What the hell?!" Jeongin gasps, shooting up so he’s sitting. "What if I was naked?!" 

"I know you too well, you don't sleep naked." You bend down to stare at him. "You'd be too scared to sleep naked," you add as you throw his blanket back onto his bed. 

Jeongin rolls his eyes, grabbing the blanket before he wraps it around himself like a burrito. "What are you doing here anyway?" he mumbles. He runs one hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but all it really did was make it even more fluffy. Something about it makes your heart quicken its pace. 

"Don't you remember what day it is?"

Jeongin blinks slowly, his tiredness showing. "Friday?" 

You groan, sitting down on his bed again before quickly grabbing his pillow to hit him with it. "It's the Christmas," hit, "party,” another hit, “you idiot!"

You attempt to hit him again, but he catches the pillow with his hands and pulls it away from you. 

This only causes you to stumble into him, also making Jeongin fall back in the process. A gasp escapes your lips and you use your hand to stop yourself from head-butting the groggy boy. You blink quickly, his eyes gazing into your own. His nose brushes up against yours ever-so-slightly, and you clear your throat, your cheeks flushing. 

"This is your fault,” you attempt to joke. 

"Me?!" Jeongin scoffs. "You hit me first!" Mimicking his words silently, you roll your eyes. "Uh, but can you move, you're a bit heavy." 

Your eyes widen and you scoot away with lightning speed. "Sorry.” You blink, staring down to play with your fingers in your lap. 

"By the way," Jeongin says, "I didn't forget today was the Christmas party."

“Well, that’s why I’m here early, to help out,” you mutter, your face still down. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Jeongin gets off of his bed, goes over to his drawers and pulls out the first shirt he finds before pulling his pajama top over his head. You jump and turn in the opposite direction, your cheeks fully flushed.

“Jeongin!” you whine, holding the backs of your hands to your cheeks in an attempt to cool them down. “You could have warned me or told me to leave.” 

“Aww, you blushing?” Jeongin snickers. “Never seen a boy undress before?” 

Without looking back at him, you try your best to chuck his pillow in his direction. You hear it thump against the wall instead.

“You missed~” Jeongin sings, which makes you scoff.

“And I wasn’t blushing, asshole, just didn’t want to get scarred for life.”

Of course you’re blushing. Especially when he nonchalantly stood and started to strip off his top. And of course you had seen men undress before… in the movies. But there’s no way you’d utter a word of it to Jeongin, not when it would send his already-soaring ego to new heights. 

“We both know that your life would actually be improved,” Jeongin chuckles to himself.

He walks across his room and when he comes into your peripheral, you instantly move to cover your eyes. It doesn’t help your reddening cheeks when the sound of Jeongin’s laughter rings out louder.

You feel his fingers wrap themselves around your wrists as you try to fight him from pulling them away from your face. “I’m dressed, idiot, stop being so shy.” 

“Stop making fun of me!” you cry and he guides your hands away from your face. 

Your eyes meet his and you notice the cheeky smile playing at his lips, which only turns yours into a pout. You only wish he’ll soon forget about this and move on to something different to make fun of you with. However, when you note the playful twinkle in his eyes, you know your prayers won’t be answered. 

“Look, you’re blushing so hard!” He continues to smirk. 

“I told you, I’m not blushing!” 

You attempt to hit him, but with his fingers still wrapped around your wrists, you fail to do so. His grin seems to only grow wider as you roll your eyes and try to pull your wrists from his grasp. 

“By the way, Jisung said he was going to stop by later for the party,” you mention.  Jeongin’s smile seems to drop slightly at the sound of the older boy’s name. 

“Why? He doesn’t live in the neighborhood.” 

You shrug as you look at Jeongin with a blank expression. “How am I meant to know how Jisung’s brain works? He's in a world of his own.” 

Jeongin hums, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

“But in all seriousness,” you start, “he said something about missing us, and that, like, his college just isn’t the same without us?” you suggest. “Also, there was something about this girl he really likes and magic snow and shit,” you add, which causes Jeongin to snort.

“Did he actually say this or you making it up?” 

“It’s more like reading between the lines, if you will,” you giggle. 

“So he didn’t say shit, you’re just making it up as you go along.”

Jeongin crosses his arms over his chest as he stares at you, waiting for you to formulate your next response. But when the only one he gets is you playfully hitting his arm, he rolls his eyes for the nth time. 

“Don’t we have to help set up the party or something? Or a movie to watch?” 

“Right, yeah. We should do that.”

Jeongin laughs and as soon as he grabs your hand, flashbacks instantly flare up in your mind from the year before, of the Christmas lights he took you to see—of the way he seemed to shine under them all. You make sure to wish again that he won’t notice the new blush that presented itself as you thought of that time.

You keep quiet, not wanting to give yourself away as Jeongin gently pulls you out with him. You let your eyes gloss over his room once more. You’ve been in here a thousand times before and it seemed to grow with him over the years, and in a way, it grew with you, too. You remember the days when his bed was adorned with Toy Story bedsheets, Woody’s face front and center on his comforter (but you knew Rex was his favorite character). It had long since been traded in for sleek, black sheets—arguably more fitting for someone who is waiting for his first choice university, at the other side of the country, to respond with his admission decision.

And although you’ve been here a thousand times before, something new on his dresser catches your eye.

“Wait, is that…?”

Letting go of his hand, you make your way to the dresser, moving a crumpled up piece of paper out of the way to reveal a photo. It’s from when you were both ten years old; nearly a year after you had first met on the monkey bars, about two weeks before that classroom Christmas party. Mrs. Yang had taken Jeongin to a lights festival one December weekend, like the one you went to last year, and she happened to invite you and your parents along. You and Jeongin stood together in the center of the picture, and a giant Christmas tree towered behind your small frames. The mirthful glow of the tree enveloped the two of you as you posed for the photo, jolly smiles plastered on both of your faces.

Gasping in surprise, your lips part slightly as you take the photo in your hands. “No way…” you murmur softly, and you look up at Jeongin as he makes his way to you. “How… how did you find this?”

Jeongin peers over your shoulder. He gently holds the frame in one hand, his fingers brushing against yours as he smiles fondly. “My mom stumbled across it a couple months ago. She was digging through old photo albums and found this tucked in the back of one of them.” His thumb grazes over the glass. “She framed it and gave it to me, I guess she knew how important it was.”

You blink several times, hoping he doesn't catch the way your eyes briefly well with tears as you take in the details of the picture. You remember that night vividly and all the memories from it seem to come flooding back all at once. 

It was your first ever Christmas lights festival, and it was nothing short of magical. The vibrant holiday lights glistened all around you, rivaling the sparkles in your wide eyes. The bells in the soft Christmas music gently tinkled in your ears, as if Santa himself was reminding you he would be on his way soon. The gooey, fresh-baked (and rather expensive) chocolate chip cookie you had split with Jeongin, paired with the rich (and also questionably pricey) hot chocolate you had begged your mom to buy along with it, brought even more warmth pooling in your belly as you leaped down the lit-up aisles with your best friend. 

Looking back, perhaps that was what sparked your ongoing Christmas obsession. Sure, it didn’t snow that night, but seeing the bright bulbs all around you twinkling like stars in the sky captivated you wholly, wrapping little ten-year-old you in a warm, merry glow. It calmed the impatience for Christmas bubbling inside you by the day, but lit the fire inside you for the awaited day like never before. And best of all, your best friend was right by your side, being pulled into the evening’s embrace with you.

You notice one very important detail in the picture, though, that breaks your bubbling sentimentality, and instead makes you giggle.

“Oh my god, it’s the sweater.”

The fact that the picture was taken at night and the lights added a yellow glare to the photo made it difficult to spot. But one could take a closer look and see that, indeed, Jeongin was sporting that obnoxious purple sweater under his puffy blue coat.

Jeongin lets his hand drop, leaving the frame in yours as he frowns in offense. “Heyyy, it was comfy!”

You stifle another laugh. “Doesn’t change the fact that it was ugly as hell.”

He sneers at you, “Oh please, like you didn’t wear hideous clothes when you were ten!”

You shrug as you pull the frame up to eye level and continue to giggle. “Maybe, but nothing will beat that sweater.” 

You lunge out of the way as Jeongin tries to wrap his arms around you and grab the photo from your grasp. However, a giggle escapes your lips as Jeongin’s fingers graze your side, which causes you to jump away from him. 

A knowing smirk appears on his face. Your eyes widen. 

“Don’t you even think about it.”

Jeongin doesn’t listen to you though, and his hands are already at your sides. Your grip on the photo tightens in an attempt to not drop it as your eyes prickle with tears. Jeongin’s fingers run up and down your sides as he tickles you, and causes a mix of gasps and laughter to escape your throat. 

“Jeongin!” You continue to laugh as you try to step away from him.

Jeongin thinks quicker. Instead of torturing you more, though, you’re surprised that he chooses to pull you closer to him instead, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I got you now!” His giggle rings in your ears as he wiggles you like a rag doll. You halfheartedly try to push him away, protesting in between your own giggles.

“Stop itttt, you asshole!”

He seems to listen to you this time, too, and lets you go. However, an evil grin lingers on his face.

You inch back cautiously, keeping a careful watch for his next move. He responds by slowly leaning closer, his smile stretching wider and wider. You slowly move your hands up to your sides to protect yourself from another tickle ambush, a nervous giggle slipping out.

He seems to inch closer and closer to you, and he stops right before your noses can touch, a shit-eating grin on his face. Then he mumbles, flashing his eyebrows:

“Stay for Christmas?”

You groan exasperatedly and lightly push the cheeky boy away from you.

“Oh my god, Jeongin!”

Jeongin breaks out into shy giggles as he steps closer to you, poking you playfully. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from doing the same whilst you try and swat his hands away.

“Come baaaack!” He chuckles after a moment, stepping close enough to wrap his arms around you again.

“Get me out!” You cry out as you try to break free. Your giggly demeanor completely breaks, however, when Jeongin just hugs you closer to him, taking you by surprise one more time.

“No,” you feel him hum through your shoulder, tucking his head in it when you try to step away. “Don’t move.” 

You fight and lose to the smile that appears on your face as you wrap your own arms around his shoulders. 

You can’t explain how in moments like this, he easily causes your heart to race by doing the littlest things. It makes you wonder if he can feel your heartbeat right now as you’re pressed up against him. If he can, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Ahem.”

A familiar voice breaks the silence hanging around you two. You both break away from the hug, keeping your gaze cast downwards as you turn to face Jisung. He had swung the door open at some point and was now leaning coolly against the doorframe as he watches you two.

Seeing you both cower under his gaze seems to amuse him greatly, and a smirk makes its way onto his face. “What was that?” he says, failing to hide the chuckle threatening to spill out.

You stuff your hands in your pockets as you sputter. “It– it’s not what it– we were just–“

“We were just reminiscing, Jisung,” Jeongin grumbles from beside you, his arms crossed over his chest. His cheeks seem to burn red as Jisung grins wider.

You simply nod along with Jeongin. “Yeah, reminiscing. What he said,” you murmur.

“Oh, you keep telling yourself that, baby.” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair, which he had seemed to let grow out during his time away.

He lets out a satisfied sigh before he continues. “Ahh, I knew this would happen! It was snowing by the time I got here, so I figured you two were up here together,” he wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, “alone. And you called me crazy!”

You want to roll your eyes at his antics, but you can only chuckle fondly. Sure, it seems like the now-college boy still believes in magic snow, but you have to admit: you did miss hearing him gush about it all the time.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “why’d you come up here anyway?” You seize the opportunity to wiggle your eyebrows back at him. “Did you miss us?”

It’s now Jisung’s turn to roll his eyes at you. “Mrs. Yang was looking for you two so she sent me up here,” he says, dodging your question.'' You know the party started already, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you and Jeongin flush in embarrassment again.

“Oh, right,” Jeongin mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he exits the room. “The party.”

You place the framed photo of you two on the foot of Jeongin’s bed before following him out. Jisung holds the door open for you two, his smirk getting cockier by the minute.

The older boy pokes both your and Jeongin’s cheeks as you step out of Jeongin’s room. “For the record, I did miss you two.”

You snort, reaching a hand up to ruffle his hair before the three of you make your way downstairs. “I know.”

19 years old.

“You’re cheating!”

Hyunjin’s voice nearly makes your ears ring. He really has no need to be speaking so loud, as you’re literally right next to him.

You grip your controller tighter as he tries to swipe it from you with his hand, and you lean away from him. 

“Am not!” You yell back, your eyes focused on the tiny Nintendo Switch screen. “You just suck at this game.” 

At the same time as Hyunjin gasps, Felix and Seungmin burst into laughter at your response from the other end of Jisung’s bed. At the corner of your eye, you notice Felix fall to the ground amidst his fit of giggles.

“Just get better, Jinnie,” you quip, a confident smirk tugging at your lips.

Even with Hyunjin trying to swat you like a bug, you still manage to keep your eyes locked on the game. Your chosen character, Toad, remained in first place, and after getting a green shell from a lucky box, you send it backwards, causing Hyunjin’s Princess Daisy to spin out. 

He gets passed by multiple NPCs, landing him in 10th place with one lap to go. The way he grumbles and glares at the screen only increases yours and the other two boys’ laughter. 

You’ve successfully maintained your first place title as you raced around Moo Moo Meadows. That is, until halfway through the last lap, when a voice pulls your attention from the game. 

“Why are only two of you playing?” Jeongin says, entering the room with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. At the sound of his voice, you shoot up out of your seat and look at him with a smile. 

“Jisung only has two controllers and Felix was dumb and forgot his,” Seungmin snorts, which causes the blonde boy to pout. 

“Hey!” 

Hyunjin goes silent, his own eyes narrowed on his half of the screen as he slowly creeps up the positions. 

“About time you showed up,” you giggle, “thought you weren’t going to come.” 

Jeongin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, had a few things to do first, but I’m here now.” 

Gasps erupt from Seungmin and Felix, and Hyunjin cries in triumph as he throws his hands and the controller into the air. Your head snaps to the game and your mouth falls open as you find Princess Daisy listed as first place, dancing in her car as she continued around the track—whereas Toad, in your distracted state, had been passed by all of the NPCs and was in dead last, “DNF” flashing on your half of the screen and on your 12th place ranking in the middle. 

“You cheated!” You gasp at Hyunjin, throwing yourself back down onto the couch as you mash the ’A’ button. 

“Just get better Y/Nie,” Hyunjin remarks as he grins mockingly, using your own words against you. 

“You guys did this on purpose,” you huff, glaring at the boy who just ruined your five-game-win streak. “Rematch, now.” 

“But it was meant to be our go next!” Felix cries, his pout exaggerated. 

“Maybe Hyunjin shouldn’t have cheated!” 

“Maybe you should have stayed focused!” Hyunjin fights back. 

“Where's Jisung?” Jeongin asks out of the blue, and you motion to the door without saying a word. Jeongin snorts, nodding his head. “Thanks.” 

He leaves the four of you in the tiny dorm room to join Jisung wherever he was outside—you assumed the convenience store by the dorm lobby. Your attention gets caught once again when your phone lights up, a message notification greeting you on your lockscreen.

baby: outside :)

you: be right there :)

You chuck the controller to Felix, and he jumps in surprise. “You can play now, I need to go get someone,” you state simply, but the grin on your face seems to give you away.

A single “huh?” escapes Felix’s mouth as the other two boys watch you with curious eyes. Not letting their gaze disturb you, you head to Jisung’s front door. 

You open it swiftly to be met with your fairly new boyfriend, Heeseung. you met him after starting college this past semester through a mutual friend, and have been dating for around two months now. you don’t remember what drew you to him in the first place, but one thing is clear—he’s so damn cute.

Your cheeks heat up quickly at the sight of him. His fluffy brown hair was hidden underneath a hat and the bits of his fringe that did stick out fell against his forehead. 

“Hey.” you smile, taking a step towards him.

“Hi,” he responds, wrapping his arms around your waist which you reciprocate. “Sorry I’m late.”

“All good,” you hum into his shoulder. “All the boys are here. I’d say they’re not crazy, but I’d be lying.” 

You feel Heeseung’s chuckle vibrate through you. “It's fine, you’ve met my friends, how much worse can they be?” 

Pulling away slightly so you could look at him, you push your lips into a thin line and feign a concerned look. 

“Eh, they’re something, alright,” you drop the fake look, chuckling. 

“They finally have those snacks downstairs~!”

Jisung swings the door open, prompting you to turn around. He’s beaming and there’s a bounce in his step as a bag of chips sways in his hand, but it all dissipates into an inquisitive, perhaps even nosy, stance once he sees the boy whose arms are wrapped around you.

“Who's this?” The chestnut-haired boy tilts his head, his eyebrows drawn together.

You can’t help the smile that adorns your face. “Jisung, this is Heeseung, my boyfriend.”

You gesture one hand towards Heeseung himself, and you grin wider as he pulls you closer, nuzzling your nose against his shoulder. When you settle your head against his chest, you look back at Jisung and his jaw is practically on the floor. 

“Boyfriend?!”

Oh boy.

Heeseung chuckles again, shyly this time. He glances down at you, unsure of what to say, and you take that as your cue to do most of the talking.

“Yeah?” you affirm with a nod, but your statement sounds more like a question. “Is… is that bad?”

Jisung, still in a shocked state, opens and closes his mouth like a fish. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously. “Oh, no, of course not! I’m happy that you’re happy, it’s just…”

Heeseung cocks an eyebrow at the older boy. “It’s just…?” He repeats, trailing off at the end like Jisung did.

You want so desperately to pretend you don’t know what Jisung meant by that last bit, but the fact that you catch three heads peeking from around Jisung’s bed only seems to prove your suspicions correct. Looks like Seungmin wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned that “Jisung has told us so much about you!” when you met him and the others an hour ago. From the way Jisung glances fervently between you and the door, though, it’s safe to assume the majority of what he said involved Jeongin in some context.

Maybe you should’ve told them ahead of time the “plus one” you were bringing to the Christmas hangout was, in fact, your boyfriend. In hindsight, it was foolish of you to assume they’d get the memo from the mere mention of “plus one.” And by someone, you meant Jisung—the main man on the “Y/Ninnie train”, as he liked to call it. 

Funny enough, you were just following his advice from that winter formal back in high school: date and move on. Sure, it was three years too late, and there wasn’t anything in particular that you needed to move on from, but advice is advice.

Still, you send the flustered boy a stern glare. You were not getting Heeseung involved in his shenanigans if it’s the last thing you do.

But you notice Jeongin stumble in the room, bag of gummy bears in hand, and Jisung’s eyes grow wide. Your voice nearly strangles, but you quickly snap out of it before Heeseung can notice.

“And this is Jeongin,” you gesture to the hooded boy, “my best friend.”

You don’t notice the way Jeongin’s smile falls slightly as his eyes land on you, though your eyes trail after him as he wordlessly shuffles past you two and plops on Jisung’s bed. 

Jisung seems to recompose himself, and he steps closer to you and Heeseung, holding out a hand. “Heh, I’m sorry about that,” he laughs nervously, but Heeseung smiles curtly and shakes his hand. “Make yourself at home, we’re happy to have you here.”

“No worries, man.”

Jisung leaves you two alone, but you don’t miss the look he gives Jeongin. It’s full of concern, and you can’t pinpoint why.

Blinking, you shake off the sinking feeling in your chest, and take Heeseung’s hand as you two move to a spot on the floor by Seungmin’s feet, as the bed was all occupied.

Heeseung snakes his arm around your shoulders as you both focus on the tiny console screen. Felix and Hyunjin were on their last lap of Cheep Cheep Beach, neck-in-neck with each other, and you both chuckle at the boys’ chaotic screams as they pass each other back and forth.

You notice throughout the evening that Jeongin will occasionally meet your gaze when you glance his way. Each time, he opens his mouth to speak and there’s this look pooling in his eyes—some mix of longing but urgency that you can’t sense the reason behind. Regardless, your chest tightens at the sight.

You observe Jeongin whisper something to Jisung, ignoring and trying to filter out the screams of the other three boys as they argue over who gets to be Yoshi, but it’s no use.

“Are you okay?” Heeseung asks softly, the hand around your shoulders gently rubbing your arm.

You gulp but nod, not taking your eyes off of Jeongin but leaning into Heeseung’s side. “Yeah.”

An hour or so passes, and it seems like the awkward glances have only increased in frequency—not just from Jeongin, but between the other boys, too. It eats at you inside not knowing why. All you have gathered so far is that it definitely involves you and Jeongin.

“Hey, Heeseung, is it?'' Felix suddenly pipes up. Both you and Heeseung look up to his spot in the middle of Jisung’s bed, his legs criss-cross applesauce.

“What’s up?” Heeseung responds.

Felix smiles and hands Heeseung his Switch controller. “Wanna play a round? You haven’t had a turn yet.”

A smile of Heeseung’s own forms on his face as he takes the controller in his hands, slowly moving his arm from your shoulders as he hops on the bed. “Oh, bet!”

You’re happy to watch your boyfriend get along with Jisung’s friends as if they were your own—in a way, they kind of are. But one look at Jeongin and all that comes crashing down, seeing the longing look in his eyes.

You still don’t know what’s wrong. Is it because of Heeseung? Does he have some unspoken beef with him? If so, why were all his gazes targeted at you and not him?

Jeongin looks back at Jisung hopelessly, and you attempt to eavesdrop as they whisper amongst themselves. Again, the other boys in the room are too loud for you to get anything useful.

That is, until you glance back at the screen as Seungmin and Heeseung go head-to-head on Rainbow Road, and Jisung scolds Jeongin out of the blue—probably louder than he intended to.

“You need to tell Y/N. Now.”

Your head snaps their direction. Your gaze lands on Jisung for speaking so loud, but slowly shifts to Jeongin. The other boys seem to fall silent, too.

“Tell me what?”

You’re already driving yourself crazy trying to figure it out. All you want is an answer.

Jeongin sighs and sits next to you on the floor. You carefully follow his movements with your eyes. He clasps his hands together, resting them on top of his knee. He opens his mouth to speak, and you nod expectantly.

And… nothing.

After a minute of strangled silence, Jeongin sighs in defeat and drags his feet as he shuffles back to Jisung. The older boy gives him a look you can’t quite read and quietly scolds him some more. The other boys just exchange glances with each other and continue to play Mario Kart quietly, making for the worst awkward silence of your life. So much for your first college hangout.

At least you’re able to pick up some information now. You can barely hear Jisung and Jeongin’s hushed whispers even though the room is largely silent, but you do hear the word “college” over and over.

You guess it makes sense. After months of patiently waiting during your senior year of high school, you remembered Jeongin’s dispirited form when he found out he had been waitlisted for his top choice school. Following that, he’s been going to the state university in your city with you, but he mentioned something offhand about re-applying for the spring semester. Maybe he’s stressed about that, but it seems like Jisung has it covered for now.

Still, they both look over at you with those concerned, longing stares, and it’s not hard to miss.

Even after you get another turn on the Switch, you’re still left with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach by the end of the night. Yes, you won another cup and got your sweet, sweet revenge on Hyunjin for earlier, but it does nothing to tell you why Jeongin hasn’t spoken a word to you all night. Well, he tried to, but look how well that went.

It seemed like everyone around you knew except, well, you. You hate that feeling, but at least, whatever it was, Heeseung wasn’t involved. He doesn’t need to be thrown in whatever drama had concocted under your nose, especially not during his first time meeting them all.

By the time the boys start heading out, with Jeongin being the first to go, you’re practically squirming in your spot. You can’t take this anymore.

You give Heeseung a goodbye peck as he slips his coat on and leaves the dorm. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a great time.”

You smile. “I’m glad. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

Heeseung nods, leaning down to kiss your cheek once more before exiting the dorm. That left just you and Jisung, and you turn towards the wide-eyed boy the second the door clicks shut.

“Okay, what is going on?” You don’t mean to snap, but your pent-up emotions get the better of you as you storm toward Jisung. “You and Jeongin have been acting weird all night. Actually, all of you have! What the hell, Jisung!”

“Y/N—” Jisung tries to speak, but you cut him off quickly.

“Was it Heeseung? He didn’t even do anything wrong, he was the quietest one here besides Jeongin!”

“Y/N—”

“And you think I’m not gonna notice you and my best friend staring at me like you two just did?” You stop to take a breath, and you feel heat rush to your ears the more you think about this. “How do you think Heeseung felt?! Is this some kind of sick joke?”

“Y/N, listen.”

Jisung’s soft voice makes you step back. It’s the same tone he gave you in the school parking lot when you were sixteen.

“Jeongin got into the school he wanted for spring semester. He’s been trying to tell you for weeks, he— he just didn’t know how. He leaves tomorrow morning.”

You freeze, and your heart sinks to your stomach. It’s like everything around you comes to a stand-still and the world goes deathly silent. All your attempts to speak go unheard as all you do is open and close your mouth, unable to formulate a sentence, let alone a single thought. 

A long list of questions fly through your mind at rapid speed. Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t you push him to say something? Why did he not want to tell you when Heeseung was there? Why couldn’t you have just stayed with him instead?

“What?” 

You feel Jisung gently place a hand on your shoulder as he frowns. He pulls you in close and wraps his arms around your shoulders. That's when you notice tiny dots dampening his shirt and you finally realize you’re crying.

[go to part two HERE]