#she gets me flowers occasionally - so does my sister for that matter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

softykooky · 4 years ago

Text

the habits of a broken heart.

☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers

☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader

☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak.

alternatively,

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)

☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡

The first time he had his heart broken, Jeon Jungkook had been 13 years old. He was fresh out of middle school and so ready to face his freshman year with an impressionable mind and plenty of voice cracks to earn him months worth of teasing. You see, at the age of 13, Jungkook wasn’t something to swoon over. He had yet to grow into his ears and Dr. Park assured him that his braces would be off as soon as she could get them. He was a little lanky and a bit too reticent to be considered social. So when a girl in his grade comes up to him, nervous and stuttering, and asks him to go to the heavily romanticized homecoming dance, Jungkook has already come to the conclusion that she might be his soulmate, even if he was far too young to get his mark yet.

Her name was Mina, and Jungkook is confronted with this memory every time he visits home and his mother makes the family flip through the photo albums dating back to his high school years. He grimaces every time he sees the picture of them together. Him in a pink button-up to match her offensively ugly ruffled taffeta dress.

Mina broke up with him three months after that picture was taken, through one of her friends no less and in front of his entire gym class. Jungkook couldn’t remember how long he cried for while he felt the pain from his first heartbreak would never go away, regardless of how much time passes. He held onto his mother and sobbed out the agony and humiliation of Mina not wanting to be his girlfriend anymore, and how he had lost his soulmate before he even knew it was her. His mother assured him that without the mark, there was no way to be sure and that there was hope. But back then, all Jungkook could think of was ways to avoid Mina the next day, especially when they sat next to each other in 3rd period biology.

At 13 years old, Jungkook thought he would never find love again.

He is 18 when he stands alongside his parents in a pale examination room and awaits his destiny. He’s leaving for college the next day, yet the only thing that’s making him nervous is the mark that will inevitably appear on his wrist in the next few minutes. The same one he would find on his soulmate’s, and Jungkook wonders if there is the possibility of scaring everyone away when the first thing he’ll ask on a date is: can I please see your wrist?

To say the least, Jungkook is petrified. Because that mark on his wrist is going to serve as a constant reminder of his missing piece, and Jungkook knows he’ll always feel lacking until he finds them. It’s a crescent moon. Small and black and nestled comfortably on his skin. He knows many times the marks don’t have any correlation with the couples, but Jungkook wonders if you are an astrologist. Or an astronaut. Or just had a weird affinity for the moon. He smiles when they congratulate him and can’t stop himself from thinking that he might be in love with you already. Wherever you are. When he leaves for university, he feels less lonely when there is a crescent moon to accompany him.

Contrary to the beliefs of his 13-year old self, Jungkook does fall in love again. Hard. This time, it was a girl with brown hair and big eyes and a smile so pretty he could see it from across a crowded room. She was a grade below him; a frazzled college freshman with no clue to where her lecture hall was, and he: a sophomore who had a compulsion of changing his major every other month. When he met her, it had been chemical engineering and three weeks before that was film composition. Her name was Yoojung, 18 years old while he was 19.

Her soulmate mark is a single star, and even though he knows she is not his soulmate, he can’t help but to think how perfectly their marks complement each other. How they would make a perfect night sky.

They had met at a frat party, no less, and the combination of cheap booze and bad hiphop music had made her look so incredibly gorgeous under the dim lighting. They had their first kiss in a random person’s living room, highly intoxicated and much too irresponsible and Jungkook had barely even remembered it in the morning until she showed up at his doorstep and invited herself in. Yet it wasn’t too long before he made a perfect space for Yoojung in his life.

Each day after his physics lecture, he’d go to her dorm and they’d chat over breakfast until she had economics at 10 o’ clock. After she was done, he’d insist that they go get a greasy hamburger at the joint his friends took him to when they got high and, she’d end up dragging them both to the health food restaurant that prided themselves on only using organic. Leave it to Jungkook to find himself a vegan girlfriend.

Sometimes though, when he looks at Yoojung, his mind drifts to his actual soulmate and a little flower named guilt blooms in his chest. But he is so young and his other half could be anywhere in the world, so Jungkook thinks there is no harm in allowing himself to indulge in a little affection. These days, it wasn’t completely abnormal for soulmates to part ways, and when Yoojung is in his arms, Jungkook likes to think that his soulmate would understand. They would want him to be happy. In the middle of synchronizing their busy student schedules and sneaking in quick kisses through cramming for finals, he had found it unnervingly easy to fall in love with her.

Deeply and blindly in love.

Yoojung brought him home to her family on fall breaks and the occasional winter vacation and Jungkook had melded perfectly into their dynamic. The son I never had, her father would tell him over the dinner table while her mother constantly made sure his plate was piled high. Her little sister was visibly in love with him, and would ask Yoojung where he was every time she came home from university, yet avoiding him at all costs when he was there.

Jungkook’s own family, however, was a different story. To put it delicately, they had liked it more when he came home by himself and left her at school. It had put a strain on their relationship sure, but at the end of the day, Jungkook loved her. A simple love.

Every day he remembers that their marks do not match. But if this is love and he feels like he is on cloud 9 with every moment they are together, Jungkook begins to doubt if the universe’s will is truly divine and successful. Maybe Yoojung was his soulmate and it did not matter what was on their wrists.

He loved her intensely, and she did him. She was the first thing on his mind when he woke up and manifested in his dreams when he slept at night. To Jungkook, Yoojung could do no wrong. Like some sort of divine being or angel that the heavens sent just for him, and he found himself thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life beside her.

But he would come to learn that the higher the climb...the harder the fall.

Jungkook and Yoojung were together for the better part of 4 years before she cheated on him with a guy that she’d supposedly met a couple weeks ago. When Jungkook screams at her asking why she had been disloyal, Yoojung shows him her wrist. Her single inked star.

“I found my soulmate, Jungkook. And I love you so much, you know I do. I didn’t know how to tell you so I…”

The rest of her words fade into white noise and all Jungkook can do is look at her and commit every detail to memory as he feels her fade farther away. Her teary and remorseful brown eyes. Her plush lips. The fan of her eyelashes and the mole on the side of her temple. He’ll never get to see her like this again.

“I was ready to be with you, soulmate or not. I know it’s not fair but I wanted the same from you”, he whispers, falling down on the couch and burying his face in his hands.

“Soulmates be damned, the universe was wrong. I was so hideously in love with you. How could you not at least tell me when you met him?” Jungkook feels his heart collapsing in on itself with every word of resignation. Of burgeoning acceptance. Yoojung can only mirror his desolate expression and stares down at the star on her skin.

Jungkook wishes it were a moon.

“Just go, Yoojung.”

It would have hurt less if it was only a one night stand with a stranger she did not know the name of. He was in love and spineless enough to move past a one night stand. However, Yoojung had found her soulmate and fallen in love with him. Jungkook had merely acted as a placeholder for the real deal to come along and sweep her off her feet.

This time he doesn’t cry. Just stares out the window of his living room and wonders what it would be like to disappear altogether. When the door is slammed shut, and he is left to nurse his aching soul, Jungkook apologizes in advance to the person that shares the same mark on their wrist as him. He no longer believes that soulmates exist.

When Jungkook looks back at his 13 year old self with the innocent construct of what heartbreak feels like, he wants to laugh and maybe slap that stupid boy upside the head. Yoojung had destroyed him. Destroyed the innocent and starry-eyed person that he’s tried so hard to preserve. Destroyed his vulnerability and bright outlook on life and in their place, cultivated walls of rock and steel meant to keep everyone out and him safely tucked inside. In her wake, Yoojung left behind a shell of a man who pushed his emotions so deep he became numb and forgot what it was like to feel.

So Jungkook does what he always does to push away the hurt. He changes his major; to art history this time. He stacks up bracelets on his wrist to forget the mark of a moon. He scrapes up his rainy day money and treats himself to the most expensive pair of Saint Laurent boots he’s ever worn. He tests the limits of the human liver, and takes advantage of the biceps and jawline he’s acquired since high school to establish a reputation.

To his friends, Jungkook remained raucous and always down to order infinite rounds of shots until he couldn’t see straight. To those that looked even closer, Jungkook was so completely shattered he didn’t even feel it anymore.

The second time he had his heart broken, Jungkook was 23. He promised himself he wouldn’t let it happen again.

◐

“For the last time, Jimin, I’m not going to give you a blowjob so you can pay for my student loans.”

You don’t know how many times you’ve had this conversation with your roommate. Most of the time, it was convenient to have a roommate whose parents were loaded and sent him monthly installments that looked more like small loans than allowances. You knew he just wanted to help. Heck, he probably would be willing to pay them off for you without the promiscuous favor, but you had made it clear to Jimin that you wouldn’t be riding off of his charity.

“Ugh, Y/N you’re really no fun”, he sighs, falling backwards onto your twin-sized bed and feigning devastation. You reward his melodrama with a giggle, ruffling your hands through his fried hair. Jimin had a knack for changing his hair color as quickly as his mood.

You look at the bill that’s staring back at you from your computer screen, and it feels like it’s just reached out and punched you in the face. “Hey do you think it’s a common mistake for bank tellers to add a few too many zeroes?”

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m rationalizing as a self-defense mechanism.” Sometimes it was annoying that your roommate had a degree in psychology. Then again, Jimin was making more money than you and your degree in English.

You sigh deeply and look up at the ceiling in attempts to quell your tears of frustration. And also because it is a plea to whoever is up there controlling your destiny: please I’m begging you. Melt my debt away.

You and Jimin sit in comfortable silence and he plays with the hem of your worn comforter while you scroll through the emails you have been ignoring in your inbox. You want to smash your head in at all the deadlines. Times like these, there is one thing that brings you comfort and always has since you turned 18.

The quaint little crescent moon that sits right atop your radius.

You had a habit of pressing your thumb against it and feeling your pulse against the mark, stupidly wondering if your soulmate’s heartbeat has synched up with your own. If he was out there somewhere, touching his mark and wondering the same about you. He was taking his sweet time, that’s for sure. Jimin sees your nervous tic and sighs again.

“You’re so hopelessly romantic it makes me want to barf, Y/N.” You scowl at his words and chuck a pillow at his unsuspecting face.

“I don’t understand you, Jimin. Your soulmate is out there and you’re not the slightest bit curious? You don’t want to do anything extra to find them?” Jimin looks at you with a knowing smile.

“That’s exactly it, though. I know they’re my soulmate and I’ll find them when the time is right. So why worry about it? It’s better not to force anything.” His statement is followed up with a grin and his fingers reach out to pinch your cheeks. This was the dynamic of your friendship. He is easy-going and flows like a careless river. You’ve read one too many books to not vie and daydream for the moment you lock eyes with your soulmate.

Your mom always said that you’ll know just from a look. It’s like getting hit over the head with a ray of sun, she said. Like suddenly their eyes are the only eyes you ever want to look into again. Since then, you’ve dreamt for the day you find someone with that same moon on their wrist. For now though, you had more immediate concerns more along the lines of crippling debt.

“What do I do, Jimin? Should I be a stripper?” He laughs and the thought makes you groan. You couldn’t even walk in heels, much less try to dance or look like you didn’t have two left feet. Stripper life just wasn’t for you.

“Hm...I could call in a few favors for you at the office. Get you an internship or secretary position.”

“Maybe. Too much nepotism. Your father owns the office you work at”, you remind him, and his eyebrows crease further in thought. God, maybe you do have to be a stripper.

“Wait!” Jimin yelps so suddenly you almost fling the computer off your lap.

“I think I know someone. He’s been looking for a model for his art portfolio or something, and he said he’s willing to pay.” Jimin reaches for his phone and his thumbs type up a storm while you watch from the sideline.

“I think he mentioned it’s about a month-long project. You’d just have to be on call whenever a stroke of genius arrives.”

“That sounds great! I’m an amazing model!” you crow, to which Jimin giggles again.

“The several candids I have in my camera roll tell a different story, Y/N.” Naturally, he receives another pillow to the face. But you follow up with a cheery kiss to his cheek as you rejoice in the new opportunity for cash flow by a celebratory dance, which looks more like a wiggle when you remain seated on your bed.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”, you chirped, “I owe you one.”

“Hey...I know how you can repay me.”

When you look towards him, his eyebrows are raised inquisitively and there’s a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jimin gets a third pillow to his face that day.

◓

Jungkook’s favorite type of arguments to get into is whether Neo-classicism or post-impressionism had the most impact on European art and architecture. Call him a snob, but he loves to prattle on about Degas and Caillebotte until his opponent tires or concedes out of pure exhaustion. Jungkook regards it as a battle strategy: bore your enemy so that they stop fighting.

He’s in the middle of a heated debate with his classmate from graduate school when he receives a phone call from Park Jimin. Now, Jungkook has no idea how or when Jimin became an installment in his life, or how he’s roped his way into his inner circle. He just remembers waking up one day with a killer hangover and finding that there was a pink-haired stranger lying on his floor. When he tried to shoo him out, the stranger shoved a wad of money in his shirt pocket, muttering “just five more minutes”, and Jungkook was in no position to deny easy cash. Jungkook now considers Jimin one of his close friends.

“What’s up, Jiminie?” He laughs into the microphone.

“I told you not to call me that, you brat. I’m older than you.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“My dick is bigger.”

“I-okay fine you got me there.” He hears Jimin wheeze over the line as he tries to rein himself in to say what he needs to say.

“In all seriousness, though. I have a proposition for you.” Jimin lilts in a mischievous tone, which makes Jungkook nervous enough to get up from the café table he had been sitting at with his friend and careen to a quieter corner.

“Shoot.”

“Okay, so you know how you were telling me about your portfolio for the gallery. The one you have to submit by the end of the season? How you needed a model on call 24/7 in case inspiration struck?”

Jungkook wants him to spit it out because he has been searching high mountains and low valleys for someone that would be willing to be his muse for a month or two. Constantly at his beck and call so he can finish this damn portfolio and get his name out there in the art world. Maybe start debating post-impressionism with the cream of the crop.

“I think I’ve found someone to do that for you.” Jungkook exhales in relief at his words.

“She’s my roommate and she’s super low on cash and unemployed with a bachelor’s in English literature, so she’s got time to spare.” Perfect. That way, Jungkook can call her whenever he needs to.

“That’s amazing, Jiminie. Can she meet me at the art building tomorrow at noon? We can start right away.” Jungkook breathes through the phone, a small weight coming off his shoulders now that another thing had been accomplished. One less thing he had to worry about on the journey to his goal. Jimin confirms the plans and they exchange pleasantries before Jungkook hangs up as the man on the other line starts screaming about his burning lunch on the stove.

Jungkook catches sight of the mark on his wrist when he looks down, and quickly rearranges his bracelets so that it is once again covered to his eyes. Out of sight and out of mind.

The gallery portfolio had been a thorn in his side. It had been months in the making and if he allows himself to reminisce, Jungkook remembers the nights he and Yoojung stayed up until dawn and talked about his blossoming interest in art. How he wanted a space of his own to display his works. Back then, she listened to him with stars in her eyes and basked in the afterglow of post-coital cuddling, promising that she would help him achieve it.

His heart sinks at the memory of the imprint of her tresses of hair spilling on his bedspread. He burned those sheets the second she left.

Jungkook represses his intrusive thoughts about Yoojung and wills her to get out of his head. He forces it down until it feels like he’s just dumped ice water over his heart and vomited out any semblance of emotion. He makes his way back to the cafe table with a sly smile that hides the internal ache he’s promised himself to never let anyone suspect of.

“So what were you saying about Renoir’s Moulin de la Galette?”

◑

The art building is situated besides a library, with a bakery flanking its left. Two years spent at the university, and you’ve never once stepped foot there. Maybe it was the daunting abstract sculpture on the front lawn or the prejudices you held against annoying art snobs on their high horses, but you often found yourself subconsciously avoiding the space in intimidation.

“Okay, Y/N, you’re going to do this so you can pay off your loans”, you whisper under your breath, words meant for your ears and no one else’s. “And if he asks you to pose nude, you run the opposite direction.”

It was easy to get lost in the building. For art students that know how to draw, they really took advantage of abstractionism to make the most confusing map you had ever seen in your life. Luckily, with some direction from the vapid front desk secretary and some intuition, you were able to to find room 62B. You don’t think you’ll be able to forget the number 62B if you tried, Jimin had screamed it to you so many times as you left the apartment.

The door soundlessly opens with a nudge of your hand and you stick your head inside.

“You know when Jimin told me he found me a model, he didn’t mention her lack of punctuality.” His voice is calm and subdued with no lingering annoyance, even if his words are uncourteous. You whip around to him and the first sight you see of Jeon Jungkook is merely a tuft of brown hair behind a vast canvas. And some expensive looking leather boots that anchor his feet to the ground.

You clear your throat and approach with an outstretched hand and the shiniest smile you can muster.

“I’m Y/N. Jimin’s roommate. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Jungkook.”

It is when he steps out from behind the canvas that you finally understand what your mother meant when she said meeting your soulmate feels like getting hit over the head with a ray of sunshine. You can’t describe it any other way, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Like the air becomes so sweet in your lungs it turns to viscous honey. Like suddenly the person standing in front of you is Valentine, encapsulated.

You know he feels it too, yet you don’t know why he forces himself to remain blasé, and if you hadn’t seen his widened eyes and heard the gasp from his lips you would have never suspected anything at all. Stranger courtesy is abandoned and you forcefully grab his wrist, turning it over to find his mark while pulling up your sleeve to reveal your own.

A little black crescent moon.

Right on the pulse point.

Just like your’s.

When you finally muster up the nerve to look into his eyes again, you wonder if it is healthy for the human heart to beat so fast and so thunderously it feels ready to jump out of your chest. Jungkook, however, still wears that same expression on his face. Flat and cold, not even a glimmer in his eyes. He stares at you disinterested and wrenches his wrist from your grasp.

“Wait, Jungkook...aren’t you….”, you sputter through a desperate smile, “aren’t you happy?” He stays silent and trains his attention on the canvas in front of him, but you can see the conflict that swirls in his iris.

“I’ve been looking for you for so long! And I’ve finally found you. In the art building no less, just my luck that-”

“Y/N, I don’t know what you expect from me but I’m not looking for anything right now.”

There were no objectively ugly words. But you think the ones that have just spewed from Jungkook’s lips come pretty close. They stoke a fire in your chest.

“What do you mean? We’re soulmates”, you faltered, sinking deeper into confusion as you stare at the unaffected man in front of you, whose only concern is the conglomerate of paint on his palette.

Jungkook sighs monotonously. Almost as if he had better things to do than be here.

“It’s only a mark on your wrist. And we just happen to have the same one. Amazing that you still think somehow one single person was made entirely just for you.” His words are bored and he doesn’t even have the decency to look you in the eye when he speaks. You think you might want to punch him if you weren’t so speechless.

“Look”, he sighs as if you were inconveniencing him, “I’m not going to sugarcoat it and tell you that I’m the one you’ve been looking for this whole time. We have the same mark, but...I’m not the guy you want.”

“B-But...I’m your soulmate. We-we’re made for each other.”

Jungkook scoffs harshly, and you want to sink into the ground. “That’s just a silly myth.”

“So you don’t...believe in soulmates?” The words felt wrong to say when all your life, finding your soulmate felt like the ribbon at the end of the finish line. But here he was now, and you felt so small under his gaze. Like you weren’t meant to be there and standing in the same room with him was a concoction for heartbreak.

“No.”

Jungkook’s syllable pangs in your ear, and you think it might be your least favorite sound. Then you leave. And if it was hard for you to meet your soulmate - the person who you’re destined to be with - who doesn’t believe in you, then walking away from him was a different cross to bear.

You take the bus home and ignore the glare of strangers when you burst into tears at a red light, and cry the rest of the way back. Your mother hadn’t described this. She prosed on and on about the feeling one gets after finding a soulmate but never mentioned to you how it feels when you find out they want nothing to do with you. What do you do when you realize the person you’ve been chasing for forever has been trying to run away at the same time?

Jimin holds you together that night on your bedroom floor, while you break apart and scratch at the moon on your wrist until your skin breaks. He listens to the words you sputter; as much as he can decipher when they are drowned out by the painful sound of your sobbing. Jungkook’s beliefs bleed into your consciousness. Perhaps he is right and perhaps there is no such thing as true soulmates, and the marks are obsolete.

However, when you fall asleep in your friend’s arms from the physical fatigue of violent crying and the sheer mental exhaustion of meeting Jeon Jungkook, your mind comes to a more painful conclusion.

A more truthful conclusion.

Your soulmate only needed to meet you to decide that he did not want you.

◒

Jungkook doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks they’re a stupid coy to give people false hope. An illusion to feign happiness and to take Yoojung away from someone she genuinely loved. Though in the hours of the night, when he is by himself and the bed feels too big for one body, Jungkook wonders if there is truly a reason why someone has an identical moon on their wrist. But he is still so broken and unhealed from the wounds Yoojung left behind.

So instead of soulmates, he thinks about what she must be doing. If she’s eating well. If she’s moved in with her own soulmate and if they’re happy together. Jungkook is an involuntary masochist and he pays for it with every pillowcase that becomes stained with his tears.

He sighs out an expletive after downing a shot of whiskey, relishing in the familiar burn as it slides down his throat. Alcohol doesn’t seem to be working efficiently, though. He’s only barely tipsy after years in college building tolerance, and he can still see your face each time he blinks. Like you are imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Jungkook wonders why Jimin had cancelled on the group tonight.

There is a little devil called remorse and it stands atop his shoulder, unseen by everyone but him, and Jungkook decides he will get rid of it by calling another round of shots. From his seat in the dirty booth, he can see Min Yoongi and his soulmate practically dry humping on the dance floor. If anyone asks him if he ever gets jealous seeing soulmates happy and in love, he’ll laugh in their face and tell them he pities people like that. People that are so blinded by the system. But loneliness is a stern mistress and it makes him think of you. How lovely the moon looks on your wrist. How your hand felt so warm when it caressed against his skin.

He tips his head back again. Vodka this time.

“Dude, are you okay?”

To his right comes Kim Taehyung, designated driver extraordinaire, and he looks at Jungkook with friendly concern laced with amusement. Jungkook nods contentedly.

“Soulmates are so bullshit, Tae”, he snickers, fingers tracing the rim of the shot glass and smirk on his face to mask the bitterness of both the alcohol and his heart. Taehyung spares a knowing glance, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder with the weight of knowledge of Jungkook’s past.

The night is young and so is he. He drinks until he can no longer taste the liquor and forgets altogether about what had happened only a couple of hours before. Until the crescent mark on his skin just looks like a shapeless black blob, and it makes him smile. He thinks he likes it better that way.

Taehyung drops him home and personally tucks him into bed while he is still in jeans and his shirt smells like the bar. His sleep is dreamless that night. When the morning comes and his friends tease him about how he begged Taehyung not to leave, Jungkook will laugh and blame the alcohol for his foggy memory. He won’t tell them that he does remember, and that he was only grasping at any warm body to soothe his aching loneliness.

◐

Usually when he first opens his eyes in the morning, Jungkook is thinking about the next class he has to attend and if he is late (which is usually most of the time). This morning, albeit morbidly hungover, Jungkook thinks of the apple strudels they sell at the bakery next to the art building. Mrs. Kim always gets the pastry to filling ratio just right. But when he opens the door with a jubilant smile on his face and the scent of baked goods already in his nostrils, Jungkook has a feeling apple strudels will have to wait.

There you are. In all your messy-haired glory, huffing like a caged bull in the doorway of his apartment, fiery gaze directed completely at him and all he can think to say is:

“How do you know where I live?” Jungkook schools his face expressionless in your presence. He hopes this will discourage you, but it only makes you angrier.

“Park Jimin”, you snarl.

Of fucking course, it’s always Park Jimin. Jimin who drunkenly sleeps in his bedroom and now Jimin who is leaking his address to any stranger.

“Um”, Jungkook stammers and takes a step back, “what are you doing here? Didn’t I get my point through yesterday?” He can see the statement catching you off guard, and the fury in your eyes dwindles to dejection. Only for a millisecond though, before you are aiming your wrath at him once again.

You take a deep breath. “What is wrong with you?”

Jungkook can think of a lot of answers to that query. He opts to interpret it as a rhetorical question and keep his mouth shut.

“You just...found your soulmate! I’m your soulmate! And you don’t even want to get to know me? At all?”, you scream exasperatedly. Jungkook catches the gaze of a middle aged lady who is not-so-discreetly staring at the two of you, and pulls you inside his apartment by your arm. If you weren’t so frustrated, you would have been flustered at the physical contact.

“Listen. Soulmates don’t end up together all the time. I’ve told you I’m not really interested in anything right now and it’s not a priority”, he takes a breath through his passionate monologue, “and I’m sorry that that’s not something you expected, but I….don’t want a soulmate.”

Maybe...he just doesn’t want you.

When he says them out loud to a living breathing person, Jungkook realizes how cruel it sounds. He can see it in the way your eyes have become glossy under his living room lights and the way you shrink into yourself as self-defense against his blows. He rationalizes that he’d rather tell you the truth than lie to you now, only to hurt you later. Really, he’s doing you a kindness. Right?

You turn your back to him to gather your thoughts, and wipe the tears that you refuse to let him see. The salty drops sting the raw skin of your wrist after last night, and you are brutally reminded of the current reality. His brutal honesty makes you want to abandon all hope, but you were a woman with a plan. You came here for a reason, not to just lose your temper in your soulmate’s apartment and tell him what you really thought about him.

“I have a proposition for you”, you asserted calmly, staring Jungkook in the eye as he remains unbothered.

“Now I reckon something’s happened to you to make you lose all your faith in soulmates, so I’m not forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do.” Your eyebrows furrow when you speak focusedly.

“We don’t have to be together. That’s your will. But…”, you hesitate, pushing past the uncertainty and fear of another rejection from Jungkook, “will you let me at least try? You don’t have to promise anything. Can we just start as friends?”

Naturally, Jungkook wants to shoot down your offer, kick you out of his apartment, and pretend like he never met anyone by the name of Y/N. Call it divine intervention but when he looks at you, pleading for any semblance of connection, he feels a tug at his heart strings. So Jungkook makes another promise to himself. He would let you “try”, whatever that entails. But there was no virtual possibility of letting you any closer than necessary.

You both stand in contemplative silence before he lets out a resigned sigh. “On one condition”, he responds slowly, but there is already a premature grin growing on your face and you don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.

“You still have to be my model for the art portfolio.”

You agree before he even gets to take another breath.

“Deal.”

When you finally make your way out of Jungkook’s apartment, parting ways with an awkward number exchange and a ‘see you later’, there is a simultaneous feeling of hope and desolation. The optimism for Jungkook combines with the insecurity that perhaps you, just as you are, is not nearly enough to make someone fall in love. Especially someone who disregards their soul connection to you.

You walk back to your apartment with a heavy heart that warms with embers of determination. Jeon Jungkook was an enigma. A Bastille fortress of self-defense mechanisms and destructive tendencies, and you know that there is unresolved pain. Call it a soulmate instinct or something, but you see it in his eyes. You see it in the way his face begs to show emotion but his mind refuses to acknowledge.

You know Jungkook is not obligated to accept you after the dust settles, much less fall in love with you. Under the peach blossoms of the campus sidewalk, you make a promise anyway. To yourself and to your soulmate and the silly little mark on the inside of your wrist. Even if he does not love you, you vow to help Jungkook learn to love himself.

◓

When you are harshly woken up at 5:30 in the morning, the last person you expected to be blowing up your phone was Jeon Jungkook. If it weren’t for the pure exhaustion seeping through your bones, you would have been excited about your soulmate calling you. Alas, slumber was your soulmate now. Jungkook would have to step down.

On the other side of the paper thin wall, Jimin is frustratedly banging from his room, your ringtone reverberating throughout the entire apartment. You pick up his call without even opening your eyes.

“Hello?”

“Y/N I need you to come to my apartment as soon as you can.” There is no sleepiness in his voice. Just clean and cold like it always is and he has hung up before you get the chance to scold him for waking you up at this unholy hour. You’re about to give him a piece of your mind but you remember he is paying you very handsomely for your efforts, and reluctantly drag yourself out of bed to call an uber. Thank god he doesn’t live too far away otherwise you’ll stick a foot through his canvas for the transportation bill.

The front of Jungkook’s apartment door is strangely therapeutic, and you find yourself falling asleep standing up after you’ve rung the doorbell. Either time passes too slowly when you are sleep-drunk or Jungkook moves to get the door as quickly as your grandfather does. Whatever the case, you are about to pass out on his doorstep if he doesn’t come soon.

“Y/N, why are you just standing there? The door has been open.”

“Jungkook. Why are you making me do this so early?”, you yawn, pushing inside the apartment.

Jungkook takes in your discombobulated appearance, and almost wants to laugh. You were still in your pajamas, and the bun on your head now looked more like a heaping blob that drooped down your temple. It was obvious that you had just rolled out of bed and he almost feels bad for disturbing your sleep, but he does not decide when his strokes of inspiration spontaneously appear.

The living room is bombarded with Jungkook’s art supplies and stray canvases, and you take note of the clay sculpting table that blends in as furniture next to his kitchen. You plop yourself down on the stool across from Jungkook’s easel, eyes still half closed and impossibly tired.

In this moment, Jungkook wipes the fact that you are his soulmate from his mind. He needs to do the portfolio. That is all he’s keeping you around for, and the only reason he agreed to your plan was so that you would remain his art model.

In the silence of his makeshift art studio, Jungkook paints whatever comes to his mind, referencing your figure on the stool for the curves he can never get right without a model and need for a human presence to translate onto his canvas. You become more lucid as time goes by and the sun starts to rise from outside his window, sitting up straighter and paying more attention to his concentrated face as Jungkook pours himself into his creation.

Looking at him in this light, you realize that he is beautiful. And not just because he’s your soulmate. Jungkook’s hair is scruffy and stubbled, undereyes sporting impressive dark circles. But the way he caresses the paintbrush and the way his body moves to the beat of the painting is poetic. He glances at you sporadically, eyes darting to and fro to capture as much as he can before the creativity burns out. He is beautiful and it makes your heart ache to know that he does not want you. In spite of the bond the universe has created.

You wonder if in his focused hazed, he notices the new glaze across your eyes and the silent sound of your soul calling out for his. You wipe away the first dripping tear as quickly as it came. You know Jungkook sees, but does not bat an eye and you can’t tell if you’d rather prefer him to acknowledge it.

It’s 8:00am when he puts the paintbrush down, takes a step back, and surveys his work. His eyes trail over each organic line and areas where he decided to use burnishing instead of cross hatching. It’s far from perfect, but it’s enough.

“Okay. You’re free to go”, he announces, plucking the painting off the easel and resting it against the wall, hidden from your eyes.

“W-What? That’s it?”, you sigh disappointedly, “you’re not even going to let me see it?” Jungkook shrugs. His detachedness makes you want to rip your hair out and sob into your pillow at the same time. You don’t understand how a person could be so unfazed.

“S’not ready for debut. Thanks for showing up, though.” He doesn’t spare you another glance. Just goes back to cleaning his brushes and dumping out the glasses of murky paint water. You ignore the twinge of hurt in your chest and slide off the stool.

“Okay, fine. Now it’s my turn. Would you like to go have some breakfast?”, you smile expectantly to Jungkook, who stares at you with an indifferent gaze. His first instinct is to make up a half-assed excuse to get out of this, eager to detach himself from you as much as possible and avoid any more interaction. However, he was insanely hungry, and the glimmer in your eye just looks so hopeful even Jungkook couldn’t bear to shoot you down.

He sighs with resignation. A little breakfast couldn’t hurt, and he wasn’t going with you necessarily. You were just...going to the same cafe in the same direction as him and likely sitting at the same table. Yeah, that’s it.

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.”

“Wait...actually?”

You blinked in shock at his lack of resistance.

“Yes. Now come on. I know a place with really great apple strudels.”

You weren’t aware that by ‘breakfast’, Jungkook actually meant sitting in complete silence and wolfing down food like your life depends on it. You want to be grossed out when he inhales 3 apple strudels in less than 10 minutes, crumbs flaking on his shirt without a care in the world. Yet you just feel endeared. The sight makes you smile. And maybe if Jungkook did not detest you, you would have leaned over and kissed the cinnamon sugar right off his lips.

“So….”, you sip on a sweet coffee, “Jimin told me you’re going for a masters in art history?”

Jungkook nods halfway through a bite of his pastry. “Yup.”

“Is it something you’re really passionate about?” you inquire, desperately wanting the conversation to delve into something that wasn’t so surface level.

“Uh huh.”

“What are some other things you’re interested in besides art?”

“Totally.”

Jungkook is completely clueless. He only spares glances to the windows and occasional looks to his oh so precious breakfast treats. You want to slap him and be angry, but you only sigh. It shouldn’t be so hard to talk to your soulmate, yet it felt like trying to pull teeth when he was so completely disinterested in you. You wonder if this is worth it.

You look up at him from your steaming cappuccino cup and use your wildcard.

“In my opinion, Botticelli’s Birth of Venus did little for the Italian Renaissance movement.”

Your statement almost has Jungkook falling backwards in his chair and choking on a piece of fruit filling, eyes growing as wide as saucers when he finally processes what you just said. A flaming insult to the entire art historian community.

“What do you know about Botticelli?”, he sneers, and you internally celebrate for this is the most emotion Jungkook has shown since meeting you.

“I know that his work supposedly epitomizes the spirit of the Renaissance”, you swirl the coffee in your cup nonchalantly, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “But if you ask me, Bellini’s San Giobbe Altarpiece did much more to encapsulate the values of 15th century Italy.”

Jungkook’s speechless expression is one that you want to take a snapshot of and frame it to your wall. It is glorious, and arguably more artful to you than Botticelli himself. So what, you had conveniently forgot to mention to him about the class you took junior year of college, with a professor that made you engrave the fundamentals of Italian painting in your brain. It’s so much more gratifying to see him stunned silent.

Across the table from you, Jungkook feels a warm smile itching to display itself. Before it can appear, he disguises it as a cold smirk. He feels something akin to a butterfly at the pit of his stomach, but blames it on indigestion and the inhuman pace at which he devoured his breakfast. Yeah that must be it. There was no way he was feeling butterflies.

He cracks his knuckles, raises his cup to gulp down a lukewarm green tea, and rests his elbows on the table separating the both of you.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me your thoughts on the influences of neo-classicism in the 18th century?”

◑

“No, Y/N, turn to your left a little”, Jungkook frustratedly sighs behind the camera lens.

“Your left or my left?”

He pauses. “....left.”

To any outside eye, you and Jungkook look like two buffoons trying to take pictures on what might possibly be the windiest day of the season, under the peach blossom trees. Jungkook had called you earlier that day and stressed about how he needed mixed media in his beloved portfolio, and photographs were the next topic of interest. Though you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just set out a fruit bowl on his windowsill and call it still life photography.

Jungkook stares down at his camera, dissatisfaction clear on his face. You almost want to apologize for your abhorrent modeling skills but hey, he was the one that chose you.

“Hmm...try staring at that boat in the distance”, he dictates, standing beside you and aiming the lens at your side profile. You do as he asks, but don’t hear the shutter of the camera. Jungkook sighs again and leans forward, so close you could feel his warm breath hitting your skin. You hope he doesn’t notice the beet blush on your cheeks.

Jungkook’s hands meet your chin when he uses it to slightly tilt your face downwards. He positions you in the way that he wants you to pose and you finally understand why photography is considered an art. Because it’s almost as if Jungkook is molding you like clay, to get the silhouette he wants to capture with his camera lens. The day is brisk, but his skin on your’s lights you on fire.

“Okay, that’s…..that’s perfect”, Jungkook breathes, hurriedly picking up the camera that had been hanging onto his neck by the strap and angling it. At the moment his index finger presses down on the button, there is a gust of wind that surrounds the both of you.

The breeze loosens a strand of your hair and it falls into your eyes. You let your eyes drift close for a second, smiling into the cold air that tingles on your skin. Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat and he thanks the skies for the howling wind so you wouldn’t be able to hear his thumping heartbeat. But surely it’s only because it’s cold. And absolutely nothing else. Jungkook coughs inconspicuously to snap himself out of his trance, sighing in relief when he realizes your eyes are still closed and that you hadn’t noticed his internal struggle.

He drags you to a bridge next and makes you lay on the cold wood to which you vehemently object before you remember that he’s paying you and that you want him to fall in love with you, not dislike you more than he already does. After the bridge, Jungkook makes you kneel beside the park pond and dip your hand in the icy water and you find yourself wanting to do the same thing to his precious camera.

Before the two of you have realized, the sun sets into the horizon and tinges the sky in a combination of purples and pinks that Jungkook himself has a hard time replicating on canvas. He aims his lens at the clouds and takes a picture that he knows won’t make it into his gallery. He just felt the need to have something to remember this day by. For no reason in particular…

A buzzing coming from your coat pocket alerts you both of the time that has passed and how the sky has considerably darkened since you began the session. When you fish your phone out, Jimin’s contact photo is staring back at you while the marimba ringtone continues playing. You put the phone on speaker.

“Hey Jiminie”, you smile and Jungkook catches a glance of it. And the discomfort in his chest is definitely, 100%, not jealousy. Not at all.

“I told you not to call me that! What is with you younger people and your disrespect for the elderly?” The corner of Jungkook’s lips twitch into a subtle smile at the similarity of your’s and his conversations with Jimin.

“Okay, okay, grandpa. What’s up?”

“Can you come home ASAP? I may or may not have broken the stove trying to make soup.”

The redundancy of his confession makes you sigh, as Park Jimin desecrating your shared kitchen space was not a rare occurrence by any means.

“I’ll be right there”, you chided through the line, “please do not cook anything else before I arrive.”

“Thanks Y/N-ie, you’re the best!” Jimin’s voice is far too cheery and you make a mental note to nag him a little extra when you get home. The phone call is ended promptly and you turn around to Jungkook, eyes widening in surprise when he has already packed up all his photography gear. The sky had turned dark and the streetlights had been turned on to illuminate the park. If you had craned your neck upwards, you would have noticed the stars that awoke again to shine down upon the city. But you didn’t. You only saw the stars that were twinkling in Jungkook’s eyes.

“Uh”, he stammers, “I’ll walk you home. It’s late.”

“Oh! Uh...Thanks.” Though he was still cold and indifferent, your heart jumped in elation. Perhaps this could be considered baby steps.

The trip home is quiet, only the sounds of your tandem footsteps on pavement and the rustle of a breeze through tree leaves fill the space of silence. But the quiet is not uncomfortable. Just a bit awkward as you two try to figure out how to be around one another. Jungkook’s hands are shoved in his pockets and your fingers itch to intertwine themselves around his own. To press your soulmate marks together and feel them calling out to each other. But you and Jungkook are anything but normal soulmates. For you are already head over heels in love with him and he is adamant on not sparing you a crumb of affection.

To your disdain, the apartment was closer than you thought and the short walk with Jungkook ended before it really even began. You could practically hear Jimin’s impatience emanating from the third story of the building.

“So I’ll see you later?”, you smile meekly. Jungkook readjusts the strap of his camera bag before nodding. He is walking away before you turn around to enter the apartment building and even though it was something small and mundane, you wished he would have waited to see you get in safely. You make your way inside, more downcast than you had been before.

You don’t see when Jungkook turns around. You don’t feel the reassurance that washes over him when the door shuts safely behind you.

That night, Jungkook is reminded far too much of Yoojung. When he goes to make his usual chamomile, he finds her mug at the very back of the tea cabinet. She must have forgotten it when she packed up her stuff. When he spoons in the sugar, he remembers how Yoojung drinks her tea with honey instead. And when he feels himself start to fall apart, he remembers how Yoojung is not there to keep him together.

Jungkook pushes away his pain, abandons the lukewarm mug of tea, and opts for an early bedtime to sleep away the ache. The camera sitting on his nightstand, though, beckons him to look over the photos you both had taken that afternoon.

In the moment, he had been dissatisfied with the pictures, always thinking there must be a better angle or a better position you could shift into. However when he looks down at his camera now, in the quiet and solemnity of his bedroom, Jungkook can’t help but to think they are absolutely perfect.

He doesn’t know whether to credit his own artistic skill or you; for breathing life into his photographs. It’s the lines of your hands, the slope of your nose, and the stray strands of your hair that makes his pictures more human.

The ones he ends up picking though, are not perfectly staged and not the ones where he made you change the position of your stance for 10 minutes. No, the best pictures were the ones he took without you noticing. When you had just been enjoying the cool breeze or admiring the beauty of peach blossom season. When you point out a cool looking bird and when you stared annoyedly past the cameras lens (at him no doubt).

Yoojung is gone from his mind for just a tiny fleeting moment. For little reason at all, Jungkook finds himself smiling. And there is only the company of the moon to see it.

◒

It is ten o’ clock in the morning and Jungkook comes to a realization that in the couple weeks since he has met you, he has sighed more times than he has in the past 23 years of life. Jungkook sighs when you text him first thing in the morning about the dream you had the night before and describe it in painfully vivid details. He leaves them unanswered. Sometimes he wished you would just email him the google document instead. He sighs when you fidget in your seat when he’s trying to paint and keep focus, but you are only interested in asking him the snacks he has in his fridge or when he’s going to finish. He sighs when you and Jimin collectively trash his art studio by spamming his $1,000 camera with ugly face pictures and sword fighting with his sable paint brushes. Jungkook often has a hard time believing that both of you are in graduate school.

Today, he sighs when you bombard into room 62B of the art building; what is supposed to be Jungkook’s completely zen and peaceful creative space. You are tiptoeing around him as you always do, scared that you’ll do something to set him off and your soulmate will disown you for good. He glances at you once, eyes quickly darting back to the sculpture he is molding on the clay table and saying nothing.

“There’s a new cafe that just opened right across from the apple strudel place”, you gulp tensely. “I was gonna go check out the competition.” Your words seem deaf to Jungkook’s ear and he only furrows his eyebrows, fingers fussing over the mass of clay. There was just something he couldn’t get right. He didn’t know what it was.

Jungkook pushes away the sculpture frustratedly, wipes his hands on his apron, and finally looks at you. Maybe he did need a break and come back to it with fresh eyes. That’s all it was, though. A break. He wasn’t going because you asked him to.

“They better have blonde roast otherwise you’ll be compensating me for my time.” Jungkook is as ruthless and blunt as ever and you decide to look past it as you always do. Him agreeing to go with you was a mini success.

“Welcome in! You’ve stopped by at the perfect time. The strawberry scones have just been taken out of the oven!” The cafe employee is far too enthusiastic for receiving minimum wage and greeting grumpy people off the streets who just want to be caffeinated. His name tag reads Jung Hoseok.

“Oh, strawberry is my favorite”, you whisper, the statement only meant for your ears but Jungkook picks up on it anyway. He declines to tell you that strawberry is his favorite as well. Hoseok’s eyes light up when you and Jungkook approach the entrance, like he finally succeeded at luring a customer.

The cafe isn’t anything special. A bit more modern compared to the one across the street and you think you prefer the latter because this new one doesn’t have the owner’s handsome son standing at the cash register. He may not be your soulmate, but even you had to admit Kim Seokjin was a beautiful man if there ever was one. However, this cafe is warm and has ceiling length windows that let in an obscene amount of sunlight. Jungkook makes a mental note to try some pictures here in the future.

Jungkook’s phone buzzes in his pocket and you are already leaving him behind in the dust, walking straight to the counter and peering up at the menu deep in thought. You turn around to see that he is immersed in mysterious conversation, and take it upon yourself to order him a drink.

“I’ll have a matcha latte. And uh…”, you decide, trailing off as you wonder what kind of drink Jungkook would enjoy. “And an iced vanilla mocha latte, extra whipped cream, extra chocolate syrup. Do you guys have rainbow sprinkles?”

A little sugar never hurt anyone. Especially someone so often bitter like your one and only soulmate.

When Jungkook hangs up and makes his way to the corner table where you are situated, the sight of the concoction on the table is enough to give him an instant cavity. You hide your smile behind the mug of matcha. He grumbles and sits down swiftly, sticking the straw past his lips in defiance and you can only watch expectantly.

“Well…do you like it?”

This is when Jungkook realizes you didn’t order this to spite him. You just had completely zero idea what he liked and disliked and chose the first thing you thought was best. As cold as he is, he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he drinks coffee, he likes it black. No cream, no sugar, and the darkest roast with the most caffeine to push him through those nights spent in front of a canvas or over a clay table.

Jungkook fights to keep steady from the ambush of sugar and wills himself to swallow it down. There is sticky chocolate syrup on his hands and it feels cosmically more uncomfortable than paint. But Jungkook manages to look up at you and nod, to which you reward with a smile.

“I knew you would like it”, you say smugly, giving yourself a mental pat on the back. “You look like you have a giant sweet tooth.” There is a mellow giggle that follows your statement. Jungkook feels a flutter at the bottom of his stomach, and convinces himself it’s only because it sounds so much like Yoojung. He catches sight of the moon on your wrist, and pushes the feeling away even farther.

The two of you spend the rest of the midday there, tucked away in a corner of a cafe and losing track of time as you always do. Jungkook finds himself forgetting about the mountains of work he has to do to finish his art gallery portfolio, and the unfinished sculpture back at the studio that’s just not right.

Today, he allows himself to enjoy your presence and get to know you more. Your favorite color is yellow. You had a dog named Benny when you were a child. You detest beer with a passion, but enjoy a nightly glass of pinot grigio. Jungkook barely notices when the entire cup of coffee has disappeared. Every last rainbow sprinkle.

On second thought, he feels that maybe there was something sweeter than his unexpectedly delicious iced vanilla mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Maybe that something was sitting right across from him, rambling about the fundamentals of English literature with unexplained vigor.

Jungkook’s soul feels lighter when he goes to bed that night. And when he finally succumbs to Morpheus, his last lucid thought is of you; sun beams coming from the large cafe windows that comb through your hair. He looks at you through his mind’s eye and all he can see is the potential heartbreak you have the power to put him through. The fan of your eyelashes. The curve of your smile. The plush of your lips. All he can see is Yoojung as she crushes his soul in her bare hands.

Yet in the midst of his internal conflict, Jungkook’s subconscious allows him to fall in love with you a little bit. Perhaps not love just yet, but affection. Like a toe dip in uncharted waters or sticking his finger in a bowl of creamy cake batter just for a taste. The walls he has built are still there, strong as ever, but perhaps a couple bricks look a bit askew. He doesn’t know, but his soul calls out to your’s through the fortress.

◐

“Y/N I don’t know why you thought this was a good idea.”

“Oh hush, just close your eyes and point where your heart tells you to.”

In the lobby of a train station, facing a map and an ETA board is where you and Jungkook will be embarking on your next “date but not really because you don’t believe in soulmates so let’s just hang out”. It had taken a good two hours of nagging and whining on your part to convince him to abandon his portfolio for just a little bit to go an outing. Now standing here, with you excitedly bouncing next to him and a mystery destination, Jungkook feels something akin to utter regret.

“What if I choose somewhere that’s a thousand miles away? Or just in the middle of nowhere?”, Jungkook groans, still putting up an unbothered and cold front.

“Well then we will go somewhere that’s a thousand miles away or in the middle of nowhere”, you quipped back at him. Jungkook had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to get out of this one.

He reluctantly places a hand over his eyes, sighing with resignation before pointing to a random spot on the map. There is a giggle that sounds to his left and Jungkook finds himself wanting to hear more.

“Wonderful choice”, you smiled, “couldn’t have picked it better myself.”

Jungkook peeked his eyes open one at a time, scared of seeing what his intuition has chosen for your guys’ spontaneous destination. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that his fingers landed on a town on the outskirts of the city, 20 minutes away from the university. He silently thanks the universe for not sabotaging his wallet and time.

“We’re never doing this again, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks as you are in front of him, skipping happily to the front desk to buy two train tickets.

“Wasn’t it fun, though? The thrill?”, you chuckle at his demeanor, to which he only shakes his head vehemently. You note the newest thing you’ve just learned about Jungkook: he has an aversion to uncertainty and spontaneity.

The train ride was as brief as it was uneventful. You spent the time rambling to Jungkook about all the quips and quirks about yourself and he only listened. Though he kept quiet, his face was free of any annoyance or indication that you were speaking too much. Jungkook only stared at you and unknowing to you, he soaked in every bit of information like a sponge. If anyone asked, he could tell them what foods you were allergic to, what colors wash you out, and what vegetables you hated the most.

“Wow you didn’t have to pick somewhere so far away, Jungkook.” You muse as the two of you step out of the train car. So far away in fact, that if you were to crane your head up enough, you would be able to see the university from a distance.

“Hey, you were the one who made me choose”, Jungkook spares a rare smile, “Would you rather we have shelled out our wallets to go on an 18-hour train ride?”

“Okay, fair point.”

The city was as abundant as it was big, and the both of you walked aimlessly from avenue to avenue, stopping occasionally whenever you see a dog you just can’t help but to pet or whenever Jungkook complained about his sore feet. As cold and indifferent as Jungkook made himself out to be, you’ve quickly come to realize that he’s actually a big baby. He still hasn’t let you in or even lowered his walls by a tiny centimeter, but you like to think that even agreeing to go anywhere with you could be considered significant progress.

Jungkook doesn’t notice the pounding of his heart whenever his hands graze against your’s, walking side by side so close he can feel the heat emanating through your coat. He doesn’t notice the peace he feels, just the synchronicity of his feet as he places them on the pavement.

The fraught wind that blows straight at Jungkook’s face prompts him to look up from where his eyes were cast on the ground. He almost staggers at how strong it is, but finds himself weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

Of course.

Of all the days, of all the times, of all the people in this entire city.

Of course she had to be the one that was currently staring at him from across the intersection.

The red light seems to go on forever. Either that or time has just spontaneously frozen, Jungkook can’t tell. But his eyes are fixed on hers and his feet bolster him to the concrete when all he wants to do is sprint the other way and forget he ever saw this ghost from the past.

Yoojung looks as beautiful as the day she left him.

She’s gained some weight and her cheeks have filled out, but it looks healthy on her now (Jungkook always chided her for forgetting to eat). She stares at him with a combination of shock and guilt and something he wants to overthink into affection but he won’t give himself that satisfaction anymore. She dyed her hair. Light brown looks good on her.

She looks...happy. As happy as anyone can look when they’re rushing through thick crowds of a city, traffic horns blaring like a dilapidated symphony.

In the heat of it all, it’s impossible for you not to notice Jungkook’s sudden change in demeanor or the way he has suddenly stopped breathing. When you follow his gaze, there is a girl on the other side of the street that shares the same starstruck expression and even from the outside looking in, you can feel the weight of something painful in his eyes. In her stature.

When the lights turn green, the throngs of city dwellers migrate across and you stay beside Jungkook when he doesn’t move a muscle. Not even a finger twitch. But she does. And he can only fight to keep the ache away when Yoojung gets closer with every millisecond. Until she is standing right in front of him and he can smell her familiar vanilla perfume.

“Jungkook”, she speaks, apprehension in her voice. “It’s been a while...how are you?”

Yoojung only spares you a side glance while keeping attention on Jungkook and you only grow more curious as to who this strange woman is.

He wants to speak so badly but his tongue remains frozen. He turns to you with flabbergast in his eyes and shakes his head to snap out of the daze of confusion. Of seeing the love of his life again. Or who he thought was the love of his life.

“Could you give us a minute, Y/N?”

You didn’t know why but the words that came from his lips made you feel disappointed. Perhaps you were just stupid for thinking he would introduce you. Tell her that you’re his soulmate and scream it at the top of his lungs with sheer pride. But your imagination has hurt you countless times and you had a feeling this one wouldn’t be the last. You manage a curt nod and push away the twinge in your heart. There was a boundary between you and Jungkook and today was not the day to cross it and introduce yourself as his soulmate to any random stranger.

Once you are out of vicinity and have found solace in a bookstore 10 feet away, Jungkook allows himself to breathe in Yoojung’s presence.

“I didn’t know if you were still in the city”, he falters, voice coming out quieter than he would have liked it to. But what was he supposed to sound like confronting the supposed love of his life.

“I never left, Jungkook...my entire life is here.” She sighs, smiling lightly with eyes seeping with guilt.

He scoffs. “I don’t know Yoojung, you seem to leave behind important things pretty easily.” Jungkook feels himself getting angrier and resentful by the second, and though he knows it is unfair of him, Yoojung’s mere presence brings back all the wounds he never truly healed from.

Granted, on a concrete sidewalk next to a traffic light pole was not the best place to have a heart to heart about failed relationships. But when has the universe ever given Jungkook the best things in life. He is devastatingly cynical for someone who dedicates his career to art.

Yoojung wears a frown on her face, but there is no vindictiveness there. Just an overwhelming sense of remorse that Jungkook communicates as pity.

“I don’t know how else to say that I’m sorry”, she sighs, eyes falling to the ground. Jungkook wishes it would just open up and swallow him whole.

“Then don’t say anything.” He turns to walk away.

“Wait! Jungkook can we...can’t we catch up or something? For a couple minutes?” Yoojung is visibly desperate, and her hands are outstretched as if wanting to touch him but keeping herself from overstepping the line.

Jungkook glances through the window of the bookstore, and you are situated on a chair, already nose deep in a hefty book. He wants to smile and tease you for being such a nerd, but the weight of Yoojung’s presence makes him reinforce those walls of indifference tenfold.

He exhales frustration and inhales temptation, looking back into Yoojung’s familiar eyes and nodding. Jungkook walks to a nearby bench and sits down with no words exchanged, looking forward coldly even when he feels her warmth next to him. A couple months ago, Jungkook would have set all his canvases on fire to feel her beside him again. Now, he’s not so sure.

“So…”, she starts, “who’s that cute girl you were with?”

“No one.” He shoots out a little too soon with no hesitation. Yoojung gulps.

“You know Jungkook, it’s okay to find someone. I-I know I hurt you, but I’m glad if you’ve found someone who doesn’t.” Jungkook doesn’t say anything so she continues.

“I’m really happy for-”

“I never really forgave you Yoojung.” He stares blankly at the passersby and tries to ignore the ache in his bones. The one that’s been there the day she left and took a piece of his heart with her.

“And I don’t want to blame you for my decisions but I want you to know that I push away a lot of people because of you. People that don’t deserve it.” From the corner of his eye, he can see her nod solemnly to his words and fidget with her hands in her lap. Part of him feels guilty for unloading on Yoojung. Part of him feels like maybe he deserves to.

“What you did was really shitty. Astronomically fucking shitty. And I’ve spent the past eternity hating you and maybe I still do, but…”, Jungkook takes a deep breath, “I want to forgive you now. If not fully, then partially. I hope you can understand that.” He finally tilts his head to look at her and though the smile on her face is as beautiful as he remembers it to be, Jungkook no longer feels the longing. No longer feels the sting that he usually does when his thoughts take him back to the years they spent together.

Jungkook doesn’t want to call it closure, not yet anyway. Sitting here on the bench, he still wants to scream and yell and tell Yoojung of all the nights he’s spent alone since she left. He still wants to drag her back and wonder if she could love him again like she used to.

But he doesn’t. He listens when she tells him about her new job and her new apartment right by the lakeside. They share snippets of their separate lives. Just deep enough to rekindle something warm but shallow enough to not invite anything else in.

When he walks away from the bench and into the bookstore, Jungkook stills feels the walls that he has built around himself. He is still scared of opening up and being vulnerable but the anger held for Yoojung for so long is no longer a raging fire. More so a wickering flame.

When he spots you, though, he remembers why he built those walls in the first place. He remembers how easy it used to be for him to climb a high peak and fall to his demise. Your eyes widen when you catch sight of him, lips curling into a wide smile and clear excitement in your expression. The book in your hands is tossed aside and tunnel vision reserved for him and him only. Something blooms in his chest and he can’t remember the last time someone’s been so elated to just simply see him...aside from his dog. Jungkook reminds himself to act uncaring. If he pretends long enough, he’ll start to believe it himself.

◓

The train ride home feels longer than the one there. The minutes drag by and perhaps it is because of your drooping eyes or the way Jungkook is looking at you with a different tenderness than he has been before. His stare is not harsh. It’s soft and sweet, but subtle enough for you to wonder if you are just imagining it. The night has always been unforgiving and cold even in the spring, but perhaps all that’s needed to breathe some warmth, is a 15 minute train ride and a wrist with a crescent moon.

Yet every time you become more smitten with Jungkook, there is a harsh reminder that follows you everywhere like a designated storm cloud.

Jungkook does not love you. And you are trying and you will continue to try but his eyes tell you something he is too courteous to say. You see it now as he sits across from you and admires the skyline from the window. It makes you wonder if it is soulmates he doesn’t believe in, or if it is just you that he can’t bring himself to accept. With every cold glance and wall that he puts up, you start to convince yourself that it is the latter.

“We’re here, Y/N”, Jungkook speaks quietly, interrupting your drifting thoughts. He turns around and leaves the train car with hands tucked in his coat pocket. Did you expect him to escort you out and hold your hand? Of course not. But you were tired of Jungkook being so indifferent to your existence.

You follow him glumly out the doors that slide close after you step through. Then it zips off again and you wonder where it would have taken you if you just stayed in your seat. If Jungkook would have even noticed that you hadn’t followed him when he left.

You sigh into the night air and wish it was winter so that your breath could be visible as a white cloud. Maybe then Jungkook would notice that you were a living being beside him.

“Who was that girl that we met back there?”, you murmur hesitantly. Jungkook nearly chokes on air.

“No one”, he responds curtly, effectively cutting off the conversation then and there. It makes your heart sink. She must be important and all you want to do is know every single detail about their relationship, but the look in his eyes warn you to not pry.

You don’t think you can forget the way Jungkook looked at her from across the street. Like he had been lost this whole time and she was the North star. You saw the way his eyes twinkled in the midday sun and sparkled even more when she came closer. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to have that effect on him.

“Hey, next time you should pick a place you and I both do not live in”, you giggle, nudging his shoulder with your own. It makes him smile and even though your heart feels heavy in your chest, Jungkook looks so beautiful when he smiles.

The two pair of feet subconsciously carry you both to the front door of your apartment building and the scene is too familiar from the last time. You expect him to turn around and whisper a hushed goodnight under his breath, and you’ll have to watch the back of his head disappear down the street. But he doesn’t. Just stands across from you quietly and waits for you to say something. So you do.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry if I brought up something you didn’t want to remember. I don’t really know your story but it seems you two have a lot of history.” You want to tell him how hard it is for you to be his soulmate when he is so clearly vying for the warmth of someone else. Someone who didn’t have a crescent moon on her wrist.

“I know you’ll tell me whenever you’re ready, and if that’s never then I’ll keep waiting until forever. But I’m here if you want to talk or unload and I already know I can help because…” you fidget with your hands and look around nervously.

“Well, because I’m your soulmate.”

When you say it loud and explicitly, Jungkook thought the statement would have made him recoil. But it doesn’t. It just seeps through his consciousness and feels warm when he thinks about the weight of those words. You are his soulmate, regardless of if he believes in such a thing or not. You carry the same mark as he does on your wrist and somehow, by some intangible factor, the universe had decided that you were created for him and he for you.

And when he looks at you. Really looks at you. When Jungkook processes your sincere words and how you manage to deal with his insurmountable boundaries even when you barely know him…

Jungkook has never wanted to kiss you more.

So he does.

Your lips taste like mint chewing gum and the ghost of words you wish to tell him but can’t. He feels you stiffen until you completely melt in his hold, and Jungkook cradles your face with both his hands, pulling you closer to him until there is no barrier between you but the clothes on your back and the emotional distance. You feel so far away even when you’re this near. Was it a trick of your imagination when you felt the moon on your wrist tingling?

It doesn’t last as long as you would’ve liked it to. Jungkook yanks his hands from you like your skin scalded him and takes several steps back. His chest rises up and down violently when his breath comes out ragged, posture stiffening as the gravity of what just happened finally absorbs. You’re there, he knows you’re there and standing in front of him. So why is it he can only see Yoojung. Yoojung and the star on her wrist and apologies on her lips. Yoojung and the tears in her eyes when she walks away.

You can only stare confusedly when his body goes rigid, and a sudden coldness envelops you both.

And in the haze of post-embrace, like any two normal lovers, you catch something in his eyes that sets a heavy feeling in your stomach. Before you can confirm if it’s just a trick of the light, Jungkook is already running in the opposite direction and you can only see a shadow of sullen love that follows him. He is gone and you are standing alone, wondering how moonlight could feel so cold even on a spring night.

You don’t get any sleep that night. Every time you close your eyes, there is only the sight of Jungkook’s disgust and regret to lull you to dreams.

20 minutes away from your apartment, there is a boy who doesn’t sleep either. He won’t text or call to tell you that he can’t shake off the feeling of your skin on his and your breath fanning his cheek. He won’t admit to himself that tonight, when he looked at you, he felt the possibility of falling in love. He won’t tell you that the moon on his skin longs to be traced by your hands. No, he just shares those secrets with his pillow as its linen soaks up his tears.

In the midst of it all, there is one verdict that becomes clear to him.

Jungkook wishes he had never told Jimin he needed a muse.

◑

The next three weeks is dedicated to trying to get in touch with your soulmate. Through the whirlwinds of utter confusion and desperation, you try texting, calling, emailing, even showing up at his art studio and apartment to no avail. It seemed he had a talent for avoiding soulmates.

It hurt, to say the least. That he left you high and dry after giving you the most intense

kiss of your life and doesn’t even have the decency to let you know he’s alive. The feeling of his lips still burns on your skin and you wonder if you are a complete fool for being so smitten with a person who, quite possibly, hasn’t spared you a single thought after that night. You just want - no you just need some clarity.

Jungkook makes you wait another week before replying.

It is an impossibly sunny day when you wake up. Your neck is stiff from sleeping like a contortionist and your heart aches even more than your muscles with every passing morning with radio silence from your soulmate. You want to call him and tell him you’re sorry. That you’ll forget anything ever happened. It hurts to even think about it, but for Jungkook, you would go through a little more pain so he would let you into his life.

Outside the hall, Jimin is singing along to a familiar melody of a song you don’t know the name of and judging by the aroma that wafts through the cracks of your door, he has successfully made a pot of coffee. He has been an anchor throughout this whole thing, and sometimes you make a secret wish to the stars that Jimin had been the one with a crescent moon on his wrist instead. Perhaps that way, you wouldn’t have to go through the agony of chasing love that is constantly sprinting away from you.

Your phone lays on the bedside table and buzzes innocently to start the morning. When you reach over and scroll through notifications routinely, there is a name there that makes your heart pang. Makes you want to throw up and celebrate at the same time. A text from Jungkook. Your fingers shake as you open it.

I no longer need a model for the portfolio. Thank you for your involvement. Compensation will be provided promptly.

The day you met him, you already knew that Jungkook was cold. He never dawdled around a painful truth or toed the line between bluntness and sparing feelings. Jungkook spoke his mind, collateral damage be damned. But this is a different type of cold. This one feels more like dry ice on warm skin. Like the numbing chill of a fading hope. Like winter’s first snowfall when autumn had promised you it would forever stay.

Phone in your hand and tears threatening to drip down your cheeks, you wish you would have waited a bit more before opening his text. Perhaps that way you could have spent the rest of your morning basking in the spring sun, drinking Jimin’s inevitably bad coffee, having hope that Jeon Jungkook would grow to care for you. Perhaps if you hadn’t opened it so soon, your soulmate would still seem in reach.

Jimin’s mug nearly drops out of his hand when the door of your bedroom is slammed open. He flings it to the side when he notices your red-rimmed eyes and the shaking hands that clutch onto a cellphone. You scream and sob at the universe, at anyone, asking why it was you that had to experience the chaos of longing. Jimin was there to hold you, as he always is, and helplessly listen to the sound of your heart breaking once again by the hands of Jungkook.

◒

Room 62B of the art building is a place you hope to never have to visit again. Though it’s walls contain memories of you and Jungkook, and the evenings navigating his gallery portfolio along with your convoluted relationship, the wallpaper bleeds with a longing ache. A yearning pain. And if those walls could talk, you don’t think you would want them to say anything at all. They would only murmur what you are slowly accepting to be true.

Jungkook, your soulmate, wants nothing to do with you.

When you hesitantly rap on the door with a fisted hand, the sound of him rustling from inside makes you want to run the opposite direction. It opens before you get the chance to change your mind and the sight of him nearly takes your breath away. He is beautiful as he always is, hair ruffled and mussed from undoubtedly running his hands through it compulsively. His lips are pink from biting on them and the dark circles under his eyes tells you of the dreams he has deprived himself of.

Jungkook is painfully gorgeous and painfully not yours.

“Y/N...I sent you a text earlier.” His voice is saccharine but the words taste so bitter.

“I know. I read it”, you murmur, shrinking in on yourself.

“I....Can we talk, Jungkook?”

His eyes dart around nervously at your question, chewing on his bottom lip and tapping the toe of his shoe as if he was impatient and you were bothering him. And you have known that simply being around Jungkook hurts but the light at the end of the tunnel only continues dwindling.

You understand why he is acting so restless when your gaze drifts past him and into the room. There is a girl perched on a stool, across from a canvas and easel that you know awfully well. You don’t recognize her but it’s only in your nature to begin comparing every aspect of yourself to this stranger. She sits on her hands and swings her legs back and forth, head in the clouds and eyes trailing the ceiling. She isn’t aware of the weight of her presence in the studio, nor the turmoil she has brought to you, who is standing just outside the door.

The oxygen in the hallway thins and the breath you’ve been waiting to release since knocking catches in your throat. Coming here, you prepared yourself for a long and inevitably heart-wrenching talk with your soulmate. But you hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had replaced you overnight.

The only thought that blares through your mind is that this is your fault. For letting yourself think you were worth more to Jeon Jungkook than any other stranger. You can no longer find it in yourself to be angry at him. Just yourself.

“You…”, you gulp down a whimper, “you replaced me.”

Jungkook follows your vacant stare past him and sighs, realizing you had most likely deducted what this scene looked like. You would be right. Between the weeks of trying to understand what you were to him and the impending due date of the portfolio, Jungkook was sure the best way to move past this confusion was to just speed full steam ahead. That meant finding another muse. You were no longer an option.

You only stare down at the floor, but Jungkook begins speaking anyway.

“Y/N, I…I’m sorry.” You scoff at his words, feigning anger when inside, you truly didn’t know if you could piece yourself back together this time.

“Look, Y/N. It’s not you. It’s just that…”, he breathes deep, not knowing why it was so hard to say. “I’ve stopped believing soulmates were truly a thing a long time ago. I’m sorry.”

It’s not the first time you’ve heard these words but it doesn’t mean they hurt any less.

“I didn’t want to initiate anything, Y/N, but you did and I let you and that was my fault to let anything start. I shouldn’t have when I knew nothing would come of it.”

It was a fault to him. It never should have happened.

“So you just thought you would kiss me and decide that I meant nothing to you afterwards?”

“It was a mistake.” It was painful to think it but when you hear Jungkook say it, you experience a new kind of ache. A humorless chuckle bubbles past your throat.

“I really thought you would grow to love me. Now I know it’s not your fault that I’m a complete fool. To fall head over heels for my soulmate who wishes he had never even met me. Much less share a mark.”

You can see Jungkook’s eyes widen at your confession, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. It was the truth. He deserved to hear it.

“You shouldn’t. You can’t.” He reaches up to pull at his hair frustratedly.

“Can’t what, Jungkook? Love you? You think I want to be in love with someone who wishes I didn’t exist?” You hate your voice for breaking, but its impossibly painful when he does nothing to deny your statement.

“What do you want me to say, Y/N? What can I say to make this better?”

Try: I love you too.

“I don’t need you to say anything you don’t mean, Jungkook.”

“Then shouldn’t you leave?”

Jeon Jungkook is cruel even when he doesn’t mean to be. There is oblivion in his gaze, and his question is one of genuine curiosity. But it still stabs you exactly where your heart is most tender. Yes, I should have left.

“I guess I thought you were worth the pain, Jungkook. When you pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me, I thought you were worth hurting for just to try a little more. Worth the uncertainty of being around you but never getting to actually be with you”, you numbly mutter, uncaring about the rivulets of tears down your face. Not like it wasn’t something he’s never seen before. There is more to come on the tip of your tongue, and Jungkook stays quiet to let you speak. There is conflict in his vision, but you don’t want to give yourself the false hope that he cares for you.

Look where that has gotten you before.

“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”

Saying the words are revelation for you as much as it is for him. All this time, you’ve been running away from the truth in the pursuit of your soulmate. You hadn’t realized that the chase led you astray.

“And I know that loving me is not easy. I’m…”, you force the words out so he can at least hear your turmoil by his hands. “I’m never really good enough for anyone. Why did I expect that I would be good enough for you?”

Jungkook’s expression crumples into a frown. “Y/N, no, that’s not what I mean-”

“You don’t have to tell me what you mean, Jungkook. I meet you and the first thing you say is that you don’t believe in such a thing. I try to get close to you and all you know to do is push me away. And I try so hard to be enough but how can I when Yoojung still has your heart? So you don’t have to say it. I know what you mean.” You’ve stopped crying but the ache relents, and you can only look desperately at the boy who’s slipping from your grasp with every passing second.

“I’m sorry.” The message is redundant.

“I can’t…” Rip off the bandaid.

“I just can’t love you.”

The words make their way past his lips before he can stop them, and they shoot through your core ruthlessly. A sharpened dagger to soft flesh. It manifests itself in a physical pain that reverberates across your chest, and when the last strength left in you is used to stare at Jungkook through a pained and teary gaze, you are deaf to everything but those four words.

I can’t love you.

You’re not sure what he is sorry for at this point. If Jungkook is apologizing for not loving you, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry for entertaining the possibility, you don’t blame him. If he is sorry that you are the one with a crescent moon on your wrist, well...you don’t blame him either. All your life you cherished it like some kind of gift from the universe. Now, nursing your crumbling soul in front of Jungkook, you wish it had never appeared in the first place.

You shake your head, tucking your lip in between your teeth to stop the sob in your chest from escaping. Through the crack of the door Jungkook hadn’t shut fully, the girl was still there, patiently sitting where you were supposed to and making herself scarce after inevitably hearing you bare your heart to a boy who had no interest in it.

Humiliation goes hand in hand with heartbreak, and the embarrassment that comes with confessing your love and insecurity urges your feet to run home. But even you cannot deprive yourself of looking at him one more time.

His wavy head of hair. The scar on his cheekbone that makes him look even more beautiful, if that were possible. The gloss in his dark brown eyes, and the way he looks at you through stone cold walls. You commit it to memory, however painful, before you walk out of his life.

“Be happy, Jungkook.”

You truly mean it.

◐

The sound of your footsteps getting farther away from him is a sound Jungkook thinks he’ll remember for a long time. It almost prompts him to run after you, cradle you to his chest, and profess how sorry he is again and again until you can truly feel the sincerity. But he doesn’t. Only remains behind the self-procured walls and watches when your figure disappears down the hallway.

Cold. Unbothered. Indifferent. That’s what he had always told himself when it came to you. But the hallway feels so lonely and the ghost of your presence feels even lonelier, and Jungkook wonders if he had been wrong.

He walks back into the studio, permanent frown on his face and shoulders hunched over in stress. The paintbrush feels like a stranger rather than an extension of his arm, as it always does, but Jungkook begins painting anyway. Looking at the girl in front of him, he is reminded of the look on your face when you realized he had replaced you completely in the span of three weeks, without even giving you a notice. Her presence in his art studio suddenly feels entirely suffocating.

“Mina, Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out of my studio. I don’t need you as a model, anymore. Thanks.” His voice cut through the tension of the room, like a hot knife to butter. He recognizes it as the voice he always forces himself to use around you, and grows even more aggravated.

The girl scoffs annoyedly, snatching her handbag from the floor and rushing out of the room. Obviously she had thought something more was to come from Jungkook’s art arrangement. He made sure to let her know that was not the case.

There is a gnawing in his chest. Deep and subtle, but it becomes more prominent as the window view from his studio turns from blue to black. He ponders about spending the night in here, instead of going home to his bedroom where he is forced to consult with the agony of solitude. On top of everything today, Jungkook doesn’t think he can handle that.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the pain in your face when he tells you that he can’t love you and he hears the shaking in your voice when you tell him the things that weighed on your soul. He thought the word “wither” was only reserved for flowers. Jungkook didn’t realize a person could wither until he saw it right in front of him.

In truth, he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he could love you or not. And to Jungkook, that was already a feat in itself. He’s spent so many months convincing himself that his emotional fortress was impregnable. So many nights over whiskey bottles telling himself that love was only for fools and pretenders. To be uncertain about love, now, well...that’s something he is not yet ready to admit to himself. Much less admit to you. But letting you any closer was a fatal game.

Being uncertain about love means being uncertain about getting hurt. Jungkook has a feeling he wouldn’t make it out in one piece if his heart fell into wrong hands.

He does end up returning to his apartment that night. But the walk feels far too long and the air feels far too frigid, or perhaps is it because he can’t hear the tread of your footsteps beside him?

Whatever the reason, tonight feels more lonely.

The stars tell him it’s because he does not like the person he’s alone with.

Back in room 62B, there is an abandoned painting on a rickety easel. He hadn’t even had the will to wash out his paintbrush, and he’s sure he’ll pay for it the next day. Looking at the piece now, his professor would tell him that there’s too many colors. Too much contrast and nearly not enough depth in his strokes. But what was he to do when he had kicked out his new model and couldn’t get the image of your visible heartbreak out of his brain?

A familiar wrist with a quaint crescent moon sits on the canvas, and he sure as hell didn’t use Mina as the inspiration. Jungkook reminds himself to throw out the painting tomorrow morning.

◓

The grease on Jimin’s skillet pan is always so hard to clean. The dish soap never truly cuts through the oil, and no matter how much you rinse it over with scalding water, it still feels soiled. On a normal day, it wouldn’t frustrate you so much. Today, a month-and-a-half after your soulmate made it clear to you that you had no place in his life, you want to throw the pan out the window and cry on the kitchen floor until it collapses with the weight of your tears.

You settle for throwing down the sponge and making Jimin wash his own dishes.

The phone-that you usually now tend to ignore-buzzes on the counter, and you groan at your complete lack of desire to answer it. But the screen lights up with your roommate’s name and you hit the green button.

“Y/N! How are you feeling, lovebug?” Jimin’s cheerful tone on speakerphone makes you want to cry. You can only imagine how terrible it is for him to be your roommate when all you know how to do now is mope and cry about a boy who probably hasn’t thought about you since. But he’s been holding you through all your breakdowns, and even sets up the air mattress on the floor of your bedroom when some nights are a little bit harder than most.

“I’ve had better days”, you glare at the pan in the sink. “What’s up?’

“So I have a friend…”

“Jimin, no.”

He sighs over the phone understandingly, but still not satisfied. “I know it’s only been a month Y/N, but it doesn’t have to be anything. He’s not looking for anything serious either. But maybe it would be good for you to take your mind off things.”

It’s been a month. Four weeks. Roughly 31 days, and you still remember every word he said to you in the hallway of the art building. Every pause and quiver of his breath, and the way he looked so completely indifferent to your pain. Was one month enough for you to let go even after finding out Jungkook never planned to hold on in the first place?

“Look, you don’t have to decide now. I’m sorry for pushing you if you’re not ready.” His mumbling is apologetic and it makes you realize that Jimin genuinely means well. Maybe you weren’t ready to move on from Jungkook yet. Maybe you never will be. He was your damn soulmate, after all. But maybe a distraction couldn’t hurt.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll do it.”

You can practically feel him smiling like an idiot over the phone. “Really?!” You sigh into the speaker and Jimin knows better to continue talking before you change your mind.

“His name is Namjoon, he works with me at the office. Super cute. Super hot. Super smart. Checks all your boxes!”, he rambles on about the nitty gritty details and though a part you is proud that you’re making the decision to move on with life, you can’t help but to realize that no one will ever be able to “check all your boxes”.

Not if they’re not Jungkook.

“He sounds great, Jimin.” Anyone can tell your happiness is disingenuous, even through the phone. Jimin tells you that he had already planned a date (without your knowledge), and sends you on your way with a quick goodbye when his taxi arrives. The silence of the apartment after the conversation leaves you feeling even more weighted, but hopeful for the possibility of a distraction. You had a feeling you won’t be able to forget the likes of Jeon Jungkook if you tried. But, if only for a night, you were to forget the pain of loving him, you’ll take that chance.

◑

“What do you mean they all ‘feel the same’?” Jungkook is exasperated. He had drafted a complete version of his portfolio, working through the nights by the sweat of his brow. Now his professor was telling him that all his pieces felt the same and Jungkook thinks he might commit arson to the art studio.

Professor Sejin sighs contemplatively, taking off his glasses and throwing them on the table, all too familiar with Jungkook’s periodic art tantrums.

“I mean that your pieces lack any variegation. The portfolio is well done and coherent, but the completed package is one-noted. It’s consistent. But too much so.”

Professor Sejin’s words make him fall back into the chair dejectedly, shoulders slumped and disappointment in his eyes at the critique of his art. Though it is hard to hear, Jungkook always welcomes productive criticism. The older man sympathizes with his downcast eyes and the visible stress on his back.

“Look, Jungkook”, he affirms sincerely, “you just need to find some dynamic. Something to make people know that you can do more than one tone of art.” It’s obvious that the professor has a soft spot for the boy in front of him, who looks like his entire world is collapsing. The portfolio folder is handed back to him and Jungkook has the urge to burn it and not hear the word “gallery” again in the next decade.

“I have faith in you. You’ll figure out what it is that you’re missing.” The smile on the man’s face is congenial. Genuine. And even though he has an ambitious amount of work to do, Jungkook finds the will to nod, haul himself off the office chair, and begin the trek back to his studio.

The pinnacle of spring is approaching and the sun shines brighter with each morning. Not that he would know or care. He’s spent the last month locking himself inside, dedicating every fluid ounce of energy towards completing his project. It’s been surprisingly easier, and Jungkook finds himself finishing paintings, sketches, and sculptures with ease. Like untapped inspiration had revealed itself to him suddenly. Yet it still wasn’t enough...at least not according to Professor Sejin.

Headphones drown out the cacophony of hustlers and bustlers with the laughter of children as accompaniment. He doesn’t allow himself to enjoy the music of the city. Not anymore. It gives him too much space to think, and Jungkook has a feeling that’s not good for anyone and definitely not good for him.

The sight of a familiar bakery with particularly delicious apple strudels is enough to stop him in his rush, feet winding down until he is standing outside, staring at the door and wondering if he could go in without being reminded of you. Well, it might be too late for that anyhow, but further signs of protest are halted when he hears his growling stomach.

Jungkook had morbidly underestimated your presence in the memory of his favorite cafe. You are everywhere. He sees your smiling face when he looks up at the chalkboard menu, soul vying for you to be next to him and excitedly choosing a new fru-fru drink that would undoubtedly have excessive sugar. He hears your giggles ruminating through the cafe while the other patrons only hear the music over loudspeaker. He practically feels you near, but that doesn’t matter now. It’s better this way. No one gets hurt this way.

Jungkook plops himself at a corner table and buries his face in his hands, fingertips soothing over his pulsing eyebags and wrinkles he’s gotten from sleep deprivation. He desperately needs an espresso shot. Or five.

“Hey…”, a voice makes him snap his head up. Jungkook recognizes the stranger as the owner’s son, who always stands guard at the cash register. The tag on his lapel reads Kim Seokjin, and Jungkook has a distant memory of you gushing over how nice Seokjin’s hair was. He had acted unbothered back then, but Jungkook would die before telling a soul that he was annoyed and jealous when you thought the cashier was cute.

“Jungkook, right?”. He has a kind smile and a natural air of invitation. Jungkook nods.

“I’ve seen you around a lot. Where’s that girl you always come here with?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business”, he nearly hisses, antsy at the mere mention of you. He instantly regrets it though. Seokjin looks like he’s been cornered with a blunt weapon, and it makes Jungkook sigh at his own asshole-ishness.

“I’m sorry”, he mumbles, “just not a good day. At all.”

There is a pause and hesitation before the boy speaks. “Do you...wanna talk about it?” Seokjin’s question is met with silence.

There is a predictability about Jeon Jungkook. He doesn’t open himself up to anyone. He pretends that he doesn’t have problems so well, people start to become convinced. He avoids new connections like it’s the plague. But there is something so idiosyncratic about Kim Seokjin that makes him want to talk. Makes him want to trust a complete stranger.

So Jungkook nods, depositing his black backpack besides him and lets himself breathe deep.

“Her name is Y/N….”

In the lukewarm air of the café, Jungkook tells Seokjin about you. About the tiny crescent moon on your wrist that identically matches his - even unwraps his cloth to show it - and how he pushed you away hard enough to put an ocean’s worth of distance between the two of you. He tells Seokjin about Yoojung and the stars on her skin that have been plaguing him since the day she left. He tells him about that damn portfolio that refuses to be finished; one that he apparently has to start over because Professor goddamn Sejin says it's too boring. He allows himself to unload, and wow is it easier to breathe when you talk about your feelings. Jungkook reminds himself to do that more often.

The “conversation” seems to stretch for hours (if a conversation can be considered one person unleashing all their hidden baggage on the other while they sit in silence). Jin listens intently through the entire ordeal, offering occasional nods and encouragement for him to continue. When Jungkook finally finishes with a deep breath, falling back on the chair looking completely worn out, Jin fixes him with a hot tea before speaking.

“The portfolio is important to you, Jungkook. If it’s important to you, you’ll find a way. Something tells me that you’re not one to give up so easily”, he quips with a playful lilt in his voice. Jin’s genuine faith in him makes Jungkook believe in himself.

“And as for Yoojung, well, I can’t speak on your pain. You are the only one that narrates your experiences but as much as she seems like a villain in your story, perhaps she has opened a door.” Jungkook thinks his voice sounds far too wise to be coming from a guy in his 20’s.

“Would you have known how to nurse a broken heart had it not been for her? I’m sorry she did that to you, Jungkook, but..Yoojung is your past. And I see so much in your future.”

Jungkook only stares into the abyss of his tea cup. The reflection that stares back is someone he desperately wants to learn to love. When he looks up again, there is a sad glimmer in Seokjin’s gaze. Something so despondent that he feels second-hand pain.

Jin pulls up the sleeve of his knit sweater. On his wrist sits a faded marigold, so blanched it almost blends in with his skin and makes him wonder if it will just disappear one day. Jungkook feels his blood run cold.

“It’s been two years since she died”, he stares solemnly at his skin, “I don’t think a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about her.”

Jungkook’s thought about his soulmate mark disappearing before. Even hoped and prayed for it the days after Yoojung left. But now, when he sees it up close on Seokjin’s wrist, Jungkook doesn’t want to wish that loneliness upon anyone.

“She was so damn...persistent”, Jin laughs, fondness dripping in every word. “Like your Y/N in that way, I suppose. She had a goal and was hell-bent on achieving it. She was so kind and strong and much more of a badass than I could ever be. I loved that about her.” There is sorrow in his voice when he uses the past tense, and Jungkook feels even worse for pouring his heart out about his very alive soulmate.

“She was studying to be a doctor, you know? Ironic that even the best doctors couldn’t have saved her in the end.” His sentence trails off and he loses focus gazing out the window, fidgeting with the ring on his left hand with a faraway look in his eyes.

“I don’t mean to ramble about my dead soulmate for no reason, Jungkook. And I’m in no position to tell you what you should or should not do regarding Y/N. But if I could restart this life with my soulmate, there wouldn’t be one second I would waste not at her side.” Jin’s tone is not accusatory or convicting. Just honest.

“It’s normal to be scared and apprehensive. Hell, I would be more concerned if you weren’t going into it with a shit ton of skepticism. I was terrified. Yet out of the billions of people that could’ve had my mark on their wrist, just knowing that she was that one was enough for me to love her.”

The cup of tea has long gone cold. Jungkook only manages to stare at the mahogany table, thoughts too heavy to voice aloud, so Jin continues.

“I think I would give anything to know that such a person still exists for me. Someone out there that was chosen by an unknown, cosmic force for an unexplainable reason just for me. To see a mark that matches my own. Well…”, Jin breathes deeply, tears welling in his eyes but not falling, “I think that must be the most wonderful thing in the entire world.”

◒

Seokjin’s words stick with him long after he has departed from the café. Long after the tea has settled in his stomach along with the weight of what a soulmate means to this stranger whose life story he has learned in the course of an evening.

Even so, Jungkook’s not sure what he should feel. The fear of vulnerability still feels like a designated thundercloud above his head, and the thought of letting you past his walls makes Jungkook want to run the other way.

At the same time, the trepidation doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. It’s still there, and he can’t pinpoint exactly what happened but when he sees your smiling face behind his eyelids, Jungkook doesn’t feel scared. When he focuses on what you look like under sunlight, or your eyes staring at him through a camera lens, there is no fear of the broken heart you could leave him with. Just something warm. Something that feels an awful lot like...love?

But what does Jungkook know about such things?

He shrugs it off his shoulders, and readies himself for a night of inevitably restless sleep. He blames it on the impending due date of his beloved portfolio, but really, it is you. You and your insistence on trying every single coffee shop in the city. You and your convoluted idea of a date; letting your partner choose the location with their eyes closed. You and…

Just everything about you.

He falls asleep well into 4am. The thin strap of cloth sits on his bedside table. Even if it is only for the night sky to see, Jungkook lets his soulmate mark breathe.

◐

It’s been so long since you’ve dressed up or cleaned up to go out anywhere, the reflection that stares back feels like a stranger. You’ve opted for a bold red lip, meticulously applying your makeup so that even the wing of your eyeliner was sharp enough to kill. Jimin forced you to curl your hair too, of course. The girl in the mirror looks beautiful. You know that she is beautiful.

So why is it that you can only see the face that is not enough for Jeon Jungkook? A person that he is unable to love. No, not even foundation can cover the face of longing.

“Y/N”, Jimin sing-songs, “hurry! You don’t wanna be late do you?” No, you don’t want to be late. You want to not go. Maybe retreat to your bedroom and cry the night away again. But you won’t tell him that when he is so clearly ecstatic that you’re spending a night out for the first time in months.

The restaurant looks like it is entirely out of your budget. Well, you reckon any restaurant is out of your budget with all the debt that looms overhead and your painfully apparent unemployment. Waiting for Namjoon is less than exhilarating, and you spend the time fiddling with your bracelet that conveniently covers the crescent moon. These days, you can’t bear to look at it anymore. Your eyes are glued to the little mark, before a voice sounds from across the table.

“Sorry I’m late, traffic was insane. You must be Y/N, nice to meet you.” You weren’t sure what you expected Kim Namjoon to look like but were pleasantly surprised. Namjoon looks like he takes care of himself, neat and clean and sporting a very shiny watch that looks like 4 months’ worth of rent.

“And you must be Namjoon. Likewise.”

When he pulls out the chair to sit down, you can’t help but to notice the cloud on his wrist. It was smaller than yours but you had no doubt it felt just as heavy. If Namjoon felt your gaze on his skin, he did nothing to show it.

“Hey, I know I just got here but…”, he sighs and takes a look around the room, “do you wanna get out of here? Find the cheapest and greasiest food we can?” His request makes you smile, and you grab the purse that rested on the table.

“Namjoon, I think that’s the best idea you’ve had yet.”

You and Namjoon manage to find a diner that wasn’t far from the fancy restaurant, and you thank the skies that you didn’t have to pay $50 for a salad tonight. Just some pocket change for quite possibly the best and oiliest hamburger you’ve ever had.

By conversation that happens through mouthfuls of food and faces smeared with milkshake residue, you come to learn that Namjoon is an unsurprisingly nice guy. He studies poetry, but is working as a secretary at an office, hence his connection to Jimin. He loves to garden and talks about his bonsai plants to you like they’re his kids, even pulling up pictures on his phone and gazing down at them fondly. It makes you smile. He plays the piano, and likes to take long bike rides when the weather permits.

It’s nice to have someone reciprocate your effort. It’s something you haven’t experienced in a long time, all credit to one Jeon Jungkook. Namjoon is warm in all the corners where Jungkook is cold.

In a word, he is pretty damn perfect. And if he had a crescent moon on his wrist, you probably wouldn’t bat an eye or have a lick of doubt in the universe. He encompasses everything you want, so alike you in so many aspects it makes you wary. If Namjoon had your matching soulmate mark, you would already be in love with him.

But he doesn’t. And that thought alone keeps you from feeling anything but platonicity. He is not Jungkook. You don’t think anyone can make you feel the way Jungkook does. You want to curse the stars for making this so.

It’s well into the night, and you both remain planted in the diner booth, chatting and chuckling over a plate of french fries. It’s when you drift off while he’s talking about his latest attempt at focaccia that Namjoon sighs and sits back in the seat.

“What?”, you confusedly ask after he suddenly stops speaking.

He smiles. Stays silent for a couple seconds. Then speaks.

“So what did your soulmate do to you?”

His question catches you off guard and you can only stare at him, frown on your face and words lost on your tongue.

“You’ve been staring into space every 5 minutes this whole night, and fidgeting with your bracelet so much I’m surprised it hasn’t fallen off”, he explains, tenderness and sympathy in his tone.

“Every time I speak, you have this sad look in your eyes and I have a feeling you’re imagining someone else’s face, Y/N. I’ve enjoyed talking to you...a lot. But I can tell you want to be somewhere else so”, Namjoon places his elbows on the table and gazes at you endearingly, “tell me about your soulmate.”

You stare at Namjoon through shocked eyes, glistening with the onset of tears that you manage to keep from escaping. Gosh, you were pathetic. Already wanting to cry at the mere mention of him. Or maybe the fact that someone could see through your facade. You take a deep breath.

“His name is Jeon Jungkook.” Your voice quivers, and Namjoon continues listening intently. You are reluctant to continue because you know that once this conversation begins, there is a chance you might have to confront yourself again with the pain of loving someone who doesn’t want love. You internally apologize to Namjoon in advance, for you might cry on this first date.

“I…I’m completely head over heels in love with him but after everything, I’m not sure I have the slightest clue what love is. Because what sane person can fall in love with a person who has made it clear that that love wouldn’t be reciprocated from the get go?”

You fiddle with the plastic straw in your milkshake, searching for the courage to go on and tell him about every thought that you have denied yourself the satisfaction of verbalizing.

“He loves apple strudels, you know. Eats them every time like they’re the last apple strudels he’ll ever have and he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching”, you chuckle, gaze drifting off to space. There is a fondness in your eyes as you speak, and Namjoon does not miss it.

“He’s as punctual as the day is long. One time I was late to a photoshoot and he almost made me cry lecturing me about the importance of being on time. But now I’m never late.”

The memory makes you, as well as Namjoon, smile.

“He paints like his life depends on it, and he’ll get oil paint on his face without noticing and sometimes I just want to reach out and wipe it off. But I think he’d murder me on the spot.”

“How come?”, Namjoon offers his first words in the midst of your monologue. You’re not sure what to say next.

“Well...I think Jeon Jungkook might be the coldest person I’ve ever met”, you dejectedly sigh. Reality tastes bitter even with remnants of whipped cream on your lips.

“Every time I was around him, it felt like I was willingly breaking my own heart just for the chance to know that he was next to me. That in this entire world of billions of people, the one with the same moon on their wrist was next to me. And...I guess I didn’t really need him to love me yet”, your gaze locks onto Namjoon and you find he is already staring at you with utmost curiosity and subtle pity.

“Jungkook alone was enough. I just wish he could have felt the same about me.”

Perhaps the reason why the truth is so painful to speak is because people have a tendency to run from it. Then when it catches up to you, it’s a harsh trip and fall to the rocky ground. There is no cushion when you land.

Namjoon doesn’t offer advice. Doesn’t dish his own experiences to relate to your own or even make any comments from his perspective. He just sits and listens in silence, but it doesn’t feel like he is disregarding you. No, his eyes tell you that he soaks in every word. You hope you’ll get the chance to do the same for him...if he ever decides to share his story with you.

The two of you leave the diner with a prospective to be friends, and no plans of a future second date. You had a strong feeling that spending the entire evening talking about your unrequited soulmate love had something to do with that. Nevertheless, though Namjoon didn’t work out as a distraction, you were glad to have met him. It made you realize something.

Even if Jimin thought you were ready to move on. Even if you thought you were ready to forget. It might be a lifetime before you finally let go of that boy.

◓

The morning reeks of rain and dew, humidity nearly clawing its way through his window and turning his apartment into a swamp. When he wakes up, it is not to his blaring alarm clock, but the uncomfortable sensation of a sweaty shirt sticking to his back. Jungkook groans, already tired of this day. It seems hopeless from the beginning.

As much as he wanted to stay home and crank up the air conditioner so much that his landlord would come running, Professor Sejin’s voice reverberates through his eardrums.

You art is too one-noted, Jungkook.

Be better, Jungkook.

You’re talentless and will never succeed, Jungkook.

Of course, these are not Professor Sejin’s verbatim, more so Jungkook’s own mind that twists his teacher’s constructive criticism into something else. He is a master at feeding his insecurity.

Jungkook chugs down a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and his stomach growls for something with a little more sugar and maybe a dash of rainbow colored sprinkles. He guesses he has you to thank for that. The art studio is always a daily destination, and this day is no different. Jungkook has a plan to dedicate himself to fixing his portfolio and maybe finish that clay piece he never got around to.

The studio is too cold for his liking; Jungkook can’t remember how many times he has begged the superintendent to lower the AC. The cold he can deal with. The loneliness, however, is a different story. Jungkook is always alone. Alone when he’s in his apartment. Alone when he’s in class. Alone when he’s in the art room. These days, aloneness feels more haunting when he knows he had the option to escape it, but chose to stay. A part of him is ready to admit that it’s because of you.

Jungkook hums a random melody that had been stuck in his head since the morning, fingers gliding over the slick sculpting clay. The days are easier now. He doesn’t think about you so much when the sun is out and there is the bustling of the busy city to distract him. The nights, however, are just as difficult as they have been. Jungkook’s last drifting thought is of you, and your face torturously carries over to each dream. Like his entire being misses you but he refuses to accept it.

He takes a deep sigh in relief once the sculpture feels finished. Professor Sejin wanted something more dynamic, so there: his very own realist clay piece drawing inspiration from Praxiteles’ sculpture of Aphrodite. He sits back in pride, admiring his own handiwork and giving himself a mental pat on the back. It looks great. Perfect even. It looks….

It looks like you.

Jungkook pales at the realization as the clay face stares back at him. No, this was supposed to be Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love, inspired by the ancient Greek artist that sculpted her. Then why does she have your nose? Those eyes are definitely your’s and even those cheeks are identical. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that in the rhythm of his art, he got lost and accidentally sculpted your face instead.

He walks away from the clay table and hurriedly yanks off the soiled apron around his waist, confusion swimming in every cell of his body. How had he just...made a sculpture of you? With no knowledge that he was doing it?

Jungkook leans with his back against the sink, staring down at the floor with furrowed brows and a thundering heart. With a sudden epiphany, Jungkook leaps from his position and pulls out all the canvases, printed photographs, graphite drawings, and clay pieces he’s made for the past few months. Everything he can grab in the small studio space.

It is then that he comes to the daunting realization:

Holy shit.

Professor Sejin was right.

Everything feels the same. His whole portfolio has one note and no dynamic or diversity because...well, because all of his pieces are of you. Not you, necessarily, but your breath has come alive on his art in some way, shape, or form.

The multimedia painting he made two weeks ago using polystyrene sheets was supposed to mimic sunlight through a stained glass window, but Jungkook hadn’t even noticed he'd drawn the window of the café you dragged him to on its opening day. And the colors of the glass is just the twinkle of your eyes when they stare back into his.

The photoset he spent hours taking around the city, after taking a 15 minute train ride, were just repeats of all the places you two went to that one day. The book store. The park. The streetlight where Yoojung stopped him. He hadn’t even realized he only saved the photos associated with a subconscious memory of you.

Jungkook can’t explain it, but he feels you in every single picture. Every piece of art that his hands have manifested since you walked into his life, stupid smile on your face and that little moon on your wrist. He feels it...and call it artist’s intuition or something but perhaps that’s why Professor Sejin could feel it too.

Even though he stopped making you his muse months ago, you are still the root of inspiration for whatever he’s produced since. And if that’s not enough to finally tell him what he needs to hear. Finally make him realize that he’s fallen in love with you without even knowing it, the universe doesn’t know what will.

The minutes it has been since he realized your place in his life melts like slow dripping honey, feeling like an eternity when it is mere moments. Jungkook regains his focus in the haze. He knows what you mean to him now, but there was something he had to fo first.

He swipes all his paintbrushes and palette knives to the side, sweat on his brow as he furiously rearranges his portfolio. He takes out the pictures of Mina - no one would miss them anyway - and trashes all the photos he took before he met you. He only uses the art he’s created post-Y/N and tucks them in the manila folder so rapidly, there’s paper cuts on his fingers. But he doesn’t feel them. Jungkook has only one objective.

He snaps a picture of the new clay sculpture he’s just finished. The photo goes into the portfolio with the name ‘Aphrodite’, but Jungkook knows better about whose face that truly belongs to. Not that anyone would bat an eye. He thinks you are as beautiful as the goddess herself.

The trip to Professor Sejin’s office is short, unsurprising though, since Jungkook sprints the whole way there. When he arrives, and the professor can only stare as he’s bent over and huffing violently trying to catch his breath, Jungkook reminds himself to spend less time at the studio and more time on the cardio.

He throws the portfolio onto the man’s desk unceremoniously, nearly collapsing on the chair across from him and not ready to speak yet. Professor Sejin confusedly rifles through the folder quickly, too quickly, and sighs, ready to offer Jungkook yet the same critique again.

He opens his mouth, but Jungkook cuts him off.

“Before you say anything…”, he gulps, finally ready to admit the truth to himself.

“I want you to know that I’ve met my soulmate, a-and there’s a reason why you feel that my portfolio is all the same. There’s a reason why you feel it’s all one-noted or that there’s no progression.” Jungkook takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and you are there behind his lids.

“It’s because she sowed the seeds for all of them. Everything. Those paintings and photos and sculptures are just symptoms of what I’ve been feeling this whole time after meeting her. She’s practically the artist, not me.” Professor Sejin stays silent at his monologue, gaze unreadable but eyes sharp and trained solely on Jungkook.

“Maybe...Maybe art doesn’t need to be super variegated all the time. Maybe it’s supposed to be a cohesive unit and the pieces should string to each other. Maybe paintings should have a relationship to photos and them, to sculptures. Maybe you’re just...wrong.”

He is exasperated and passion flows out of him through every pore. Jungkook looks expectantly at his professor, who has the open folder in his hand and still in the process of taking in his words. When the adrenaline starts to fade, he realizes that he just dissed his venerable teacher.

“With all due respect…”, he coughs, “sir.”

Professor Sejin lets Jungkook spend the next couple minutes in complete torturous silence so that he can finish reviewing his portfolio. The tension is cut with the sound of the man’s hands slapping together as he closes the folder. Jungkook prepares himself for a stern lecture.

However, when he looks up, there is a smile on the man’s face. There’s no malice there, or even disdain. He pulls off his glasses, sets them on the table, and sits back in the office chair, arms folded over his chest. Jungkook can feel his heart threatening to pound past his rib cage.

“Jungkook…”, Professor Sejin declares, “I think you’ve got a contender for the gallery spot.”

◑

If someone had asked you what Jeon Jungkook meant to you, you would look them in the eye and tell them that he meant nothing. Because it’s easier to pretend that someone does not mean anything to you after they pretend that you do not exist. That the universe had not given you both matching marks and deemed that your souls were meant for each other. Jeon Jungkook is a stranger to you. One that you wanted so badly to love. But you’ve come to learn that no matter how hard you try; you can’t love someone who doesn’t want to love at all.

So the days trickle by as they usually do. Painstakingly slow and viscous with memories of a boy named Jeon Jungkook and the way he has hurt you enough to last a little bit over forever.

“I understand why you don’t want to go, Y/N. But aren’t you the least bit curious? Especially after that fancy invitation in the mail?” Jimin’s query is innocent. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t make your blood boil.

“I don’t know...the thought of going to my soulmate’s grand art gallery when the last time we spoke, he told me he can’t love me, just doesn’t seem appealing Jimin”, you snark, burying your face into the bowl of cereal you are now spooning far too aggressively.

“But...it’s been months. And he wouldn’t have sent you an invitation if he didn’t want you to come.”

This conversation has happened too frequently since that red envelope arrived at your apartment. You cried your eyes out when you opened it, both out of pride for Jungkook and the fact that no matter what you did, the universe found a way to keep you from moving on.

A sigh heaves through your chest, and the cereal is abandoned by your loss of appetite. “I’m not going to show up there and have him tell me again all of the reasons he can’t be with me. I barely survived it last time.”

“But what if, Y/N?”

There is a glimmer in Jimin’s eye and he radiates so much hopefulness for you, you can’t help but to feel it too.

“Isn’t the what if already enough? You used to tell me that Jungkook was worth anything. Isn’t he worth the risk this time too?”

You don’t have anything else to say after that because as much as you hate to admit, perhaps Jimin is right. Jungkook is worth going through anything for, even if he wants to stay as far away as possible. Call it a fluke in the postal system that the invitation to his gallery landed on your doorstep, but can you allow yourself to read between the lines and dare say that he sent it himself? Can you put yourself through such a perilous thing like optimism?

Jungkook has left you battered and broken for the past months. But you would give your heart to him to break all over again if he asked.

◒

To say that you did not fit in with those dawdling around the art gallery was a gross understatement. You didn’t just not fit in. Your entire presence and aura defied every expectation, and suddenly, watching the upper echelon of the city mingle with champagne and gaze critically at Jungkook’s art, makes every breath feel like an insecurity.

The boy in question was nowhere in sight, and you now regret not dragging Jimin with you. The invitation had specifically prohibited plus one’s, and though Jimin whined to no end about his hurt feelings and emptily promised never to talk to Jungkook again, you managed to keep him home. Now, you wish you were back at the apartment with him.

The pieces were, in short, completely breathtaking (to no surprise, of course, this was Jungkook you were talking about). Though you knew he always held doubt in himself, in the short time he allowed you to be in his life, you had never once thought he was anything less than spectacular. Yet you could not allow yourself to completely enjoy them. Each brushstroke and paint color you remember from his palettes, or the filters on the photos that you helped him with, was agonizing to look at.

You are standing in front of a canvas titled “Windowlight” when a man comes up beside you. He nurses a flute of bubbly champagne and makes no move to gain eye contact. Unknown to you, Professor Sejin knows exactly who you are. He’s seen your face in his student’s portfolio one too many times.

“Artful use of mixed media, isn’t it?”, he mutters.

“I suppose so.”

“He’s quite the prodigy. Have you met him yet? I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” The man takes a sip from his glass, smirk on his lips hidden from your eyes that still blankly stare ahead.

“Yes. He’s a...friend.” We share a soulmate mark. He hates my guts.

He hums a sound of affirmation and you ignore the weird feeling it leaves in your stomach; one that tells you this stranger sees right through you.

“Ah, how rude of me. Professor Sejin. Arts director and senior advisor.” He spares you a brief glance, but you make no move to shake his hand or pretend to be courteous. You don’t have the energy for it tonight. Just being in this building, surrounded by everything Jungkook has touched, makes you want to collapse into yourself.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” He speaks nonchalantly, and you almost miss the fact that you never told him your name. Your brows crease in confusion and you are ready to turn and interrogate the stranger, but he is already walking away, gliding smoothly across the gallery. Before he gets too far, though, Sejin cranes his neck and makes eye contact.

“Oh, and be sure to visit the one called ‘Moon’. It’s upstairs, next to the Aphrodite sculpture on the second level exhibit”, he entreats, a suspicious lilt in his voice.

“Something tells me you’ll appreciate its…sincerity.”

Honestly, you’re not sure what you expected when you came to Jungkook’s art gallery tonight. But to be approached by a stranger who already knows your name, who dubiously instructs you to seek out a mystery art piece, was not on the list of expectations. Still...Professor Sejin’s words made you curious.

Through the night, your eyes subconsciously seek out that familiar head of fluffy brown hair and a tall gait that always seems to stick out, even in a large crowd. It was as if Jungkook versed himself in complete camouflage, so much so that you began to doubt that he was even in the building.

The traipse through the gallery is done in silence and solitude, and you tune out the sounds of popping champagne and raucous laughter coming from the second floor, as the patrons undoubtedly banter over which piece to auction off. You hope he keeps them. You’ve never seen someone appreciate art the way that Jungkook does.

You catch sight of a few pieces that you recognize, ones that you remember him showing you when he had finished. You always excitedly told him every single one was a masterpiece, and Jungkook only rolled his eyes and made minimal effort at hiding the blush on his cheeks. Your steps falter when you come across a set of photographs in black and white, set in consecutive frames next to each other and it feels so warm despite the lack of color. Jungkook just had that special talent when it came to photography.

It’s the bookstore. In the city during the impromptu train ride you had coerced him to take. Your heart catches in your throat as you recognize all the other ones immediately because well...you’ve been to all those spots. A familiar pressure builds in the back of your eyes, and you swallow down a whimper of pain.

The urge to leave becomes too strong. But not strong enough to quell the slow burn of curiosity from Professor Sejin. There is a chance that you might not run into Jungkook at all tonight with the vast space and people bumbling through the corridors. It hurts to think that you might never see him again at all, but you’ll allow yourself another indulgence. Something is calling you.

Moon. He titled it Moon? You grip onto your wrist reflexively and run your thumb over the mark, like you did when you were younger and still had hope for soulmates. The pulsepoint there beats under your finger and lets you know how alive you are. Compels you to give into your curiosity, even if it might decimate your already crumbling heart. The stairs that lead up to the second floor are short, but the trek feels like it knocks the wind out of you, or perhaps that was just the anticipation of what was waiting for you on the other side.

You were right to be scared. Because right in the smack dab center of the circular room is where you see it, and your gasp is one that can be heard from each wall and corner.

A painting of you. A portrait from the waist up, with oil paint and so much detail, Jungkook has even managed to line the shallow wrinkles by your eyes when you smile. You have never considered yourself beautiful in any sense but the way he has captured you on canvas starts to make you believe that you truly are. You feel Jungkook in each streak of the brushstroke where he hadn’t spread the color evenly. It is as if the painting is alive, and though you are staring at yourself, it doesn’t feel like the way it does in the mirror. Doesn’t feel like a reflection.

No, this feels like looking through Jungkook’s eyes. It is what he sees in you, rather than what you see in yourself. And what he sees is beautiful. Through the haze of shock and confusion as to why he chose this as the centerpiece, you don’t notice the warm presence that lurks behind you. The one that has watched your every move since you walked into this building.

“Yeah, that’s my favorite one too.”

You whip your head around so quick it nearly gives you whiplash, but the sight of him is the nail in the coffin. Jungkook is cleaned up in a black suit, and an unfamiliar smile on his lips he rarely lets you see. A genuine one that he’s tried to hide so many times but now that it’s clear and up close, you resent him for keeping it from you.

Jungkook is just as gorgeous as the day you lost him.

But looking at him hurts. You don’t know why you’re even here, and why he sent the invitation, or why he was standing in front of you now and there is not a sliver of antipathy in his eyes. You don’t know why your face is plastered in the center of the gallery. Most of all, you don’t know why you are still weak in the knees for Jeon Jungkook.

“Although, I have to say, it was a close race between this one and the pictures I made you take at the lake, when you nearly dunked me in the river because it was so cold”, he breathily laughs but you aren’t able to get through the shock just yet. If Jungkook notices your starstruck state, he doesn’t let it affect him.

“And I definitely have to give some credit to the one I painted after you told me about your dream”, Jungkook prattles on, “where you were a mermaid who planted peaches under the sea, remember? That’s an honorable mention.”

These memories make you want to smile but in this moment, the best you can do is try to hold yourself together when your eyes begin to warm with tears. Jungkook stays silent when you do. He notices you haven’t said a word and your gaze refuses to meet his.

“Why are you doing this, Jungkook?”, you curse yourself when your voice cracks. “Why are you telling me these things? Haven’t you hurt me enough?” Jungkook’s smile drops off his face, and for once, you can see your own pain reflected in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, hands hanging limply at his side that itch to wrap themselves around yours. To feel your skin. Feel your mark.

“I…”, he hesitates in his words, “I remember that day every night when I go to sleep, Y/N. Every time I shut my eyes, I just see your face when I told you I can’t love you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt such aching before. Not even when she left me.” Jungkook’s voice is tinted with desperation but it just makes your walls rise higher.

He’s lying to you. Your tongue wants to protest, but he continues.

“I see you in everything”, Jungkook breathes out, like he is also admitting it to himself.

“The paintbrushes I can never put down to the black coffee I force myself to drink nowadays because the ones I actually like, the ones with too much whipped cream and vanilla syrup, just reminds me of you.” His brows are knitted, and his feet vie to step closer to your quivering form. But you look like a caged animal about to bolt at any moment.

“And when I’m reminded of you, I am reminded of…”, he gulps down the fear, “I’m reminded of how I am utterly in love with someone who deserves so much more than what I have put them through.”

The blood that runs through your veins drops to subzero temperatures, and you swear in the split millisecond that you have absorbed what he’s just said, your heart ceases its beating. The world stops turning, and the waves still for a brief moment. You can’t find any words just yet, but Jungkook can see straight through you and your stupefied expression.

“Y-you’re lying to me, Jungkook. Stop lying.”

“I’m not lying, please…” Jungkook knows he’s losing you by the second, but he’s promised you he would persist. He just wants you to listen. Wants you to feel how sorry he is, and how his soul screams to be next to your’s.

“I can’t explain how it happened. Like it was an epiphany. Like someone has been screaming at me and I had been ignoring them, and that someone was my own heart.” Jungkook doesn’t stumble over his words once. He does not stutter because it is the plain white truth.

“Stop, Jungkook.”

“It’s been knocking on the door of my chest and when I finally let it in, it just yells and shouts ‘oh my god, you’re in love’ and then I realized oh my god, i’m in love. In between painting you and convincing myself that soulmates meant nothing to me, I’ve completely and unquestionably fallen in love with you, Y/N.”

Jungkook can’t decipher the look on your face. Something between the lines of disbelief and heartbreak, and it makes him want to split at the seams at the pain he’s put you through. How he’s convinced you you’re impossible to love. He vows to make it right again.

“Jungkook-”

“And you’re wrong, you know. You’re not hard to love. Hell, I was dead set on never loving again and you managed to make me so smitten, I can’t paint or draw a damn thing without including some aspect of you in it.” Jungkook steps back and gestures to all the canvases and photos that hang on the wall.

“Take a look around, Y/N. It’s all you. Every piece.” Once he says it, you finally notice Every piece of art in this room can be traced to you, or a memory you two share. It’s so clear, you don’t know how you missed it before. You feel yourself in the art Jungkook has poured his soul into. Instead of making you feel elated, these words that you’ve been waiting your entire life to hear just ignites the sting.

“Just stop. Please.” It is only a weak whisper through your lips, and he ignores it.

“If you can’t forgive me, I get it Y/N. I can’t forgive myself either. But can you just know that you are enough. You are more than what I deserve. And I know you told me to be happy, but there is no way I can possibly do that without you.”

When your gaze falls to the floor, you notice that his wrist is clean of any bracelets or watches. Come to think of it, this is one of the first times you are seeing it clear and in the flesh. Jungkook doesn’t tell you, but nowadays, he doesn’t allow anything to impede on the sight of the crescent moon.

When your guard is down and you are distracted, he finds the perfect time to finally reach forward and take your hand in his. His touch is gentle when it wraps around your wrist, tugging off the ribbon that circled it, and revealing the matching mark. Your pulse jumps under his fingers, and skips a beat when he runs a thumb over the moon. You are already melting with such simple contact, and you almost allow yourself to succumb. Almost.

It’s as if suddenly his skin was scalding, and you snatch your wrist from his grasp at lightning speed. The tears that have strayed down your face are wiped away as quickly as they came. The surprise on his face is missed by your eyes because before he can comprehend what is happening, you are bolting down the staircase and out the glass doors of the gallery. No, you cannot forgive him yet. What would you do if he hurt you again? You don’t think you would survive.

You ignore the pain of seeing his art pieces as you run, now that you know you are the muse behind them all. The only noise is the sound of blood rushing in your ears, and you are oblivious to the racket of Jungkook’s shoes clapping against marble flooring as he chases after you, expertly dodging the other patrons and butlers holding trays of champagne.

And Jungkook? Well, he is oblivious to the complete turmoil that runs through your every nerve. He only sees your back, and not the way you bite your lip painfully to keep the sobs from escaping. Not the way your pain is exhibited clear as day in the crease of your eyebrow and the wrinkle of your nose.

The air outside is so cold it bites at your nostrils, but makes it easier to breathe. The wind calms the thundering heart in your chest.

He must be lying. There was no way he had a change of heart now, not when he was so rooted in his belief before. There is no virtual possibility, on any plane of existence, on any dimension where Jeon Jungkook has fallen in love with you.

Right?

The hand that circles around your wrist tightly to keep you from getting any farther tells you that you are wrong. He did come after you. Jungkook’s strength forces you to stop running, but you can’t find the courage to turn around and face him just yet. But you don’t make an effort to pull away, and he takes it as progress.

“You can run if you want, Y/N. You can walk away from me and from us, but don’t doubt that I’ll always be chasing after you. For as long as it takes.” He is panting and speaking through heavy breaths, but you hear him. Loud and clear.

“I won’t let you leave again. Not like last time.”

There is no malice. No coldness, and for the first time since you’ve met him, his words feel like warm honey instead of monotone ice. He is utterly distraught when you turn around slowly, hesitant like you’re afraid he will break your heart right then and there.

His heart shatters at the wetness at your waterline, and the way you look up at him; completely vulnerable and scared.

“Do you promise?”

There is a lot of weight in your three-word question. It’s not as innocent as meets the eye, and Jungkook knows it. He feels it. When you ask him if he promises, it is an invitation back to you. You are offering him your heart, which he has already broken and bruised, and trusting him to be careful with it this time around. Jungkook already knows he loves you. And if you let him, he’ll spend the rest of his life making sure this promise remains unbroken.

“I promise.”

It’s a commitment. One he used to be terrified of making, but it seems so easy when it’s for you.

And when you fly forward to wrap your arms around him, Jungkook feels like home. Like the stars twinkle a little brighter and the earth stops spinning for a mere second, just for the two of you. You feel him squeeze you closer, just as tightly, and Jungkook wants to kick himself for depriving you both of a simple thing called love.

You are here, souls and now bodies intertwined, and Jungkook lets the pain of past hurt fall away. Pain is so miniscule when you are by his side. When you pull back, Jungkook frowns at your red-rimmed eyes, and the tears that still persist. He wipes it away oh so softly, as if you were delicate clay and he, a sculptor.

“Please don’t cry anymore, princess, it breaks my heart. I’m so sorry.” It is the softest, most sugary tone you’ve ever heard out of him. But hearing affection from his lips makes you feel that perhaps all of this sorrow, this longing, has been worth it. He has been worth it. He always has.

“I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook’s words are almost as beautiful as he is.

His lips are familiar when you lean forward and kiss him. Yet they are different. This time, the hands on your waist hold you a bit more carefully, even closer if that were possible. You can feel his thudding heart as it beats against your own, learning to match rhythms with each other, and Jungkook cradles your face in his hand like you are the only artwork he has truly been proud of.

And it’s true. All the canvases and paints and camera film seem wasted now. Nothing he ever makes will be quite as alluring as the art he holds in his arms in this moment.

“I love you too, you goddamn idiot.”

You meant it all those months ago, and you mean it now. If Jeon Jungkook was the sun, you would gladly change your name to Icarus. If Jeon Jungkook was the moon, then you are the tides that he pushes and pulls. If Jeon Jungkook belonged to you, well...you don’t have to imagine that anymore. He is your’s, as you are his.

Old habits die hard, but they are not immortal. They wax and wane, and remind you that in the cosmic vastness of things, you are only human. Humans whose hearts beat in tandem and souls made to complete the other. Humans with identical crescent moons, lost but now found.

Old habits die hard. But you have learned to fix those of a broken heart.

☾

8K notes · View notes

theladyismyshepard · 3 years ago

Note

37 kill for Daniela the red head, She kills one of the servents because of jealousy but the maiden is into it?? Maybe kinda nsfw

Sorry for the wait, my friend

I Always Feel Like Somebody’s Watching Me (NSFW)

TW: Violence

The sun was beating down on your back as you tended to the garden that you grew in the back courtyard. You had appealed to the Dimitrescus the benefits of planting your own vegetables and fruits and possibly the occasional pretty flower here or there. The Lady seemed uninterested in the thought altogether, making it clear that her mind was reserved for more stimulating subjects. Bela seemed halfhearted with her thoughtfulness, quickly zoning out. Cassandra had rolled her eyes and walked away after the word “garden”. Daniela was smiling though, her eyes glittery before she nodded along almost vehemently.

“I agree,” she said unabashed, ignoring her mother’s arched brow and Bela’s scoff. “Think of the ingredients we could grow ourselves instead of sending for delivery every other week.”

“Daniela, dear,” started Alcina, sighing almost exasperatedly, “Do you plan on going out and tending to this “garden”, hmm?”

You wanted to interject, it was the perfect moment to take responsibility for the care of the garden, and possibly even the grounds just to improve your worth around the castle. Yet, it required a lack in manners to interrupt a Lady when she’s speaking, and Alcina had a severe standard when it came to manners. And so you were forced to go with the smart move and bite your tongue as Daniela’s face dropped. That didn’t stop you from attempting to gain eye contact to give her a beseeching look.

“I’m sure we can find someone.” insisted Daniela, her eyes cutting to you before snapping back to her mother. “Someone very dependable,”

“I can do it,” you piped up, taking the opportunity, eyes dropping to the floor once Alcina’s gaze fell onto you.

“The question is will you,” drawled Alcina, eyes narrow as they looked you up and down. “As in, will I allow a human thing as yourself to control anything that is mine?”

You would have fell to your knees beneath the weight of the Lady’s attention had it not been for a certain redhead to stepped closer to you. You wanted to grab her hand, pull her close, wrap yourself around her for comfort, but you don’t. You never act on it, and she never dragged you to her bedroom cackling and giggling wildly as she did with other maids when she needed to get off. Though you were also the only one who didn’t emerge scarred and torn up.

“Of course, my Lady,” you conceded, bowing your head to show a sign of submission.

“Mother,” said Bela quietly, calmly interjecting, and waited until Alcina turned to address her. “I also think that a garden would be beneficial.”

Daniela had clapped happily when she realized her sister was aiding her in swaying their mother. Your eyes couldn’t settle between the three of the Dimitrescus. Alcina cocked her head to the side, adopting a fake look of thoughtfulness to cover how unimpressed she was.

“Oh, you do, darling?”

“Yes,” pressed Bela before her mother could continue on. “Imagine the access to ingredients for remedies to give the livestock. We could even grow foreign plants required for different potions!”

Fuck the fruits and vegetables, I guess.

And that was how the Lady was worn down and forced to give into her daughters desires. The garden didn’t necessarily consist of the produces that you originally planned for, but it got you out of the castle for extended points of time, and you weren’t complaining one bit. Castle Dimitrescu was a rather large estate, so there was plenty of room for the several varieties of roots, plants, and flowers that the Dimitrescus requested you take care of.

The heat of the sun had you pulling at the hem of your shirt to bring it up and wipe the sweat from your brow. The warm breeze hit you squarely on your exposed midsection, and you felt the dripping sweat drying grossly against your flesh. It felt as though eyes were upon you and when you let go of your shirt, ready to turn to check the windows of the castle, a person standing next to you nearly had you jumping out of your skin.

“Oh!” gasped the woman — a maid, “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“It’s alright,” you assured, breathless and attempting to return your heart rate back to normal. “What’re you doing out here?”

Being outside was a luxury that none of the other maids could afford, so you were confused as to how this maid, Elle, had managed to avoid the lingering eyes that were everywhere. Her eyes averted as a slight blush came to her cheeks, and that’s when you saw the glass of water in her hand and your brain put two and two together. Oh.

“It’s hot today,” said Elle nonchalantly, even shrugging. “I figured you might need this.”

“Thank you,” you replied earnestly, grabbing the glass and taking greedy sips before you handed it back. “I appreciate it.”

“Well, I can’t have you fainting and bringing attention to yourself, now can I?” joked Elle, smiling bashfully.

You could’ve sworn that eyes were upon you, and you even went as far as to turn and check the windows, and while you thought you saw one of the curtains shifting, it also could’ve been a trick on your eyes. You furrowed your brow but turned back to Elle, who was looking at you expectantly, and for what, you weren’t sure. You smiled warmly.

“Thank you again, Elle, but I don’t want to hold you up any longer than I have.” You warned, making a face to emphasize, and she nodded in disappointment but reached forward to squeeze your hand.

“Stay safe,” she said, the maids’ usual words of departure.

“Stay safe,”

Eyes were watching you, but you couldn’t see from where, and that was the most dangerous predator: the one who hides before striking, and there was one predator who always had her watchful eye on you. Daniela. You gulped at the thought of Daniela catching another maid outside just to talk to you... no one, not even you were allowed to bend any of the rules, not even once... not when you were so easily replaced. Hopefully if you just went back to attending to the garden (rather stiffly), you could pretend that nothing would be amiss when you went back inside.

***

There was tension hanging in the air, thick enough to choke, and it had your spine as straight as a rod as you trudged through the pristine castle with your overall dirtiness, your shoes abandoned at the door. It was oddly quiet, and when the maids spotted you, they turned away quick, eyes wide with fright. Every step you took towards any of them, the maids took about six or seven steps away from you. Castle Dimitrescu might’ve been weird, but that was a new one...

You gave up on making conversation and instead wandered off to find a clean uniform to change out of the more comfortable wear you wore to tend to the ingredients. There was the nagging feeling that something was off in the air... Where were the Lady’s daughters? Their signature cackles failed to echo off the walls, and it left an uneasy silence in its wake. Now that you thought about it, you weren’t running into Elle either as you wandered deeper into the castle and found the maids’ quarters.

You quickly changed and made yourself presentable for your next task, and then you were again walking through the silent halls as you made your way to the kitchen. There was no real warmth to the kitchen, not when the stove had gone untouched for as long as you had been there. It wasn’t your place to question things around there, but you couldn’t help but to ask questions when you stepped inside and there was a silver platter with the cover still hiding what was underneath. What had you puzzled was the note that simply read your name propped right up against the cover.

You craned your neck when you felt eyes upon you yet again, but nobody was there... you knew better though and that’s what had needles prickling your skin and a cold sweat to break out. All that was missing was the giggling, but this really seemed like one of Daniela’s games she enjoyed playing. You turned back to the platter, and reached for the handle of the lid. After a shaky moment of building yourself up, you ripped the cover off like a bandaid, and froze, arm still raised.

Placed neatly upon the silver platter was Elle’s severed head. Her eyes were closed, and for that, you were grateful... you were too ashamed to look her in the eye seeing as this was all your fault. As your breathing hollowed out, that was when you finally heard a deep chuckle, one that had you going rigid... this wasn’t the Daniela that you had gotten used to, but it was one you were aware she could possess. Was she directing it towards you? You dropped the lid with a clatter.

“I didn’t like her very much.” said Daniela simply, and you gulped. “She liked you too much.”

You couldn’t miss the edge in her voice on the word. You finally blinked (your eyes suddenly burned) and looked away from the platter to connect eyes with the redhead. She wasn’t smiling and that was never a good sign. You forced a smile, one that you were scared was too obviously false.

“I didn’t like her either.” You choked out, fully turning your body away.

“You didn’t?” asked Daniela, her voice suddenly small and seeking reassurance, and you were struggling to keep up with her complete 180.

“Daniela...” You couldn’t say what you really wanted to... She was just bringing me water! “Why does it really matter to you so much?”

“Because you are mine!” She snapped, and you frowned.

“Doesn’t every maid here belong to you?” You countered, though you had to admit, you have more leeway than others did.

“They belong to the family, but you, you are mine, darling.” purred Daniela, stalking forward very slowly until she was before you. “No one else can even look at you the way I do.”

“But the other maids that you’ve...” You cringed, unwilling to finish, but Daniela picked up on what you were trying to say.

“I feed from them and that is all... Getting them a little scared makes the blood just a bit sweeter.” chuckled Daniela, and you frowned yet again.

“I thought you-”

“Slept with them?” Daniela drawled, now it was her turn to frown at you. “As tempting as it was, I think there’s one delicacy that I’m saving my pallet for.”

Her eyes roamed over your body with no holds barred, and you weren’t sure how you felt about the shiver that tingled down your spine. The fact that there was a severed head behind you was kinda throwing you for a loop. Daniela had her index finger and her middle finger tiptoeing up your arm until she was gingerly holding the side of your neck with obvious care. You gazed into her eyes and you were thoroughly entranced by the red headed beauty that would kill for you.

“Do you love me?” You whispered, almost afraid that what you were asking was a stupid question. Daniela’s face softened.

“I absolutely adore you, my love,” cooed Daniela, pulling you into a searing kiss that had your heart stuttering in your chest, and when the need for air had you pulling back, she already had her eyes open and watching you. “No one can take you away from me.”

Any sane person would hear the threat for what it really was, but there was nothing sane about the feelings she evoked from you just by being near you, even with Elle’s head served up right beside you. There was something about her possessiveness that could make you either feel very secured, or somewhat aroused, and you could hardly think of anything else but the fingers scratching at the hair at the base of your neck.

“I doubt anyone would be capable of taking me away from you.” You mused, and it was true. Bless the soul who tried to free you from the clutches of Daniela.

“Hm,” she hummed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as her eyes cut over every inch of your face. “Perhaps I should leave my mark for all to see?”

What surprised you the most was it seemed as though she was genuinely asking you. Her hand was still scratching the back of your neck, and her free hand reached up to rub soothing circles along your jugular with the pad of her thumb. Daniela’s compulsive attitude can lead her to doing whatever the hell she wanted without fear, but here she was, asking for your permission to drink from you. This redhead never failed to be full of surprises, and you found that you kinda liked that Daniela was so crazy for you.

“I belong to you,” You said quietly, unwilling to break the atmosphere that was enveloping the two of you, and you knew you said the right thing when her eyes shone with nothing but adoration and if you looked closer, love.

Daniela continued to cup the back of your neck with one hand, and used the other to hold you carefully by your shoulder, and she gently guided you to expose your throat just a bit more before she slowly bit into your throat. You gasped at the initial sting of your flesh giving way beneath the power of her teeth, but you allowed her to continue what she needed to do and permitted the subtle pull at your bloodstream. You felt the vibration of her own moan against your skin and it had you lightheaded.

“Daniela,” you groaned, feeling her teeth still inside of your skin with every syllable, and it also felt good when the hand on your shoulder rubbed down your arm and up your back.

“Does that feel good, darling?” pressed Daniela, unlatching just long enough to pull back and bat her eyelashes at you. “Do you love this as much as I do?”

Her tongue flattened against your bite mark, cleaning you of any trickling blood before she moved to the opposite side. She placed an open mouthed kiss there before she latched on once more, prompting your whole body to flinch within her grasp, but trust Daniela to hold on tight. It felt as though there would be a couple bruises by the time the next morning rolled around, but something told you that was a good thing to have within Castle Dimitrescu. It was like your own charm to ward off the evil that could lurk around the many hidden corridors.

You felt her pushing you back up against the table, and your foot brushed against the lid, causing it to scratch against the floor with an unflattering sound. The small of your back connected with the table, leaving you no more room to go backwards. Your hands flew to the edge as you used the table as support as Daniela basically leaned her full weight into you as she fed and marked you.

Your eyes flew open when she abruptly pulled away, her chin smeared with your blood and her eyes crazed with desire, but also soft with emotion and it was directed right at you. She never broke eye contact as she slowly dropped to her knees before you, and your breathing became irregular as she reached forward to push the end of your uniform up higher and higher until you had to shiver at how exposed you felt.

“Do you love me?” asked Daniela suddenly, bringing your wandering mind to a complete halt, and you looked down into her wide, almost innocent eyes as she stared earnestly up at you. “I never heard you say it to me.”

“I love you more than life itself,” You responded and you were surprised at just how honest it felt... You could die tomorrow and you’d have felt content enough to just allow it.

Daniela’s megawatt grin was so wide that you knew there was no way of it coming off anytime soon, not with the pure happiness radiating from it, and certainly not with the way it reached itself to her eyes. She giggled madly and soon it was the only indication of her because she disappeared beneath the skirt of your uniform and you jumped at the warm tongue that was persistent in searching your body. Your knuckles turned white as your grip on the table tightened and you lost yourself to the wetness of Daniela’s tongue on you, and you found that it was true...

No one could ever steal you away from the perfection that was Daniela. Not when she was the only one that could turn you on with a familiar severed head just inches away..

#bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu's daughters #lady alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8

220 notes · View notes

study-coffee-chicago · 4 years ago

Text

Seasons of PD: Season 1: Lonnie Rodiger (A Jay Halstead + Halstead! Sister Imagine)

Any quotes from season one that I put in here, credit obviously goes to the writers of PD. For the sake of my story, Ben Corson was killed when he was 11 so you would've been 10.

Trigger warning for mentions of rape and murder.

Jay's age: 27

Your age: 13

Jay walked up the steps of the front porch of his childhood home. With how crazy gangs have become the past few weeks, it was hard for him to get a good night's sleep without his phone going off, let alone keep track of what day it was. So, when he walked into the district this morning and learned that it was the day of what would've been Ben Corson's fourteenth birthday, he was crushed. He'd learned how to deal with the pain because it wasn't his best friend, it was the little brother of his ex-girlfriend. But, he was your best friend and, despite the saying that time heals all wounds, this day was still hard on you. It was a bit better than when the night he was killed rolled around each year, but it was hard nonetheless. It was also hard because Jay had to see his dad, even if it was just for a few minutes.

"Hey, Jay. How's work?" Pat Halstead asked as his youngest son entered the house. He was seated in the recliner in the living room, catching the highlights of the Blackhawks game from last night.

"Please don't do that," Jay stated.

"Do what?" Pat asked as he muted the tv.

"Pretend like you care. Pretend like you were there for me when I was Y/N's age because we both know you weren't. Remember that fight I got--"

"Jay? Are we going to the Corsons?" you asked, popping into the living room and stopping your dad and Jay's conversation in its tracks.

"Uh, yeah, c'mon let's go," Jay faltered.

You smiled, but it was more of just tipping one side of your lips upward. Today was a day that didn't warrant full smiles, only half-smiles and maybe a few quiet giggles like when you, Jay, Gail, Danny, and occasionally Allie if she was home, told stories about yours and Ben's escapades when you were younger...when Ben was alive.

"Thanks. I made a card, too." You turned to your dad before you left. "Bye, Dad. See you tonight."

"Bye, don't let her eat too much cake, Jay," your dad replied.

"And just for that, you're getting two pieces," Jay whispered in your ear as soon as you were out on the front porch. You rolled your eyes. "Hey, don't use that teenage sass with me, missy."

"Shut up," you joked. "It's just funny because every time Dad tells you not to do something, you do it anyway. It's probably because it's more fun when you're not allowed to do it."

"Okay, fine, I guess you're right about that."

"Ha, you're wrong about something!"

"Technically, I wasn't wrong. I just said you were right. But, do not tell Will."

"No promises."

You walked up the porch steps and Jay rapped on the door of the Corson's. You took a deep breath, trying to forget the many afternoons after school that you'd do the same exact thing, impatiently waiting for Ben to emerge so that you could both play in the backyard together until one of you got called inside for dinner, not without promises to play with each other the next day.

"You okay?" Jay asked, noticing your change in demeanor from joking with him to solemn in a matter of seconds.

You shrugged, not knowing what to say.

"Jay, Y/N," Gail Corson said as she answered the door after you and Jay had each given her a hug.

You walked inside to the kitchen table, where Ben's dad, Danny, was just sitting, staring into space. "Hey, Danny," Jay said.

"Hi, Jay. Y/N," he replied.

You never knew what to say when it came to this day, so you just handed Danny the envelope. "I, uh, I made a card for Ben," you said. "I don't know if you want to open it and read it or just put it somewhere, I just--"

"I'll open it, sweetheart," Gail interrupted and then took the card from her husband.

You had made the card out of light blue construction paper and had used a navy blue pen to write in your best cursive handwriting, Happy 14th birthday, Ben!, since blue was Ben's favorite color. You hadn't known what else to write, because, what else could you write? Tell him what he was missing out on with being gone and cry so hard while making the card that that marker smudged and bled through the other side of the construction paper? No, you couldn't do that. So, you had resorted to printing out some pictures of you and Ben (some with you, Ben, Jay, Allie, and the occasional one with Will) on computer paper, cut them out, and glued them inside the card. You wanted the card to be filled with happy, funny memories, not sad, sappy writing.

Gail let out a sad laugh. "When was this one taken?"

You looked at the picture she was pointing at. It was a selfie no doubt taken on Allie's old flip phone. In it, Jay and Allie were making funny faces and you and Ben were both smiling proudly because of the work you had done.

Jay was supposed to be babysitting you and Allie was supposed to be babysitting Ben since your parents and his parents had gone out for dinner together. You both should have been in bed in your own separate houses since there was a rule about Allie and Jay not hanging out alone together at home when there were no parents around, but you had lost count of how many times they had broken that rule.

It was around 11 at night when Ben had woken you up with two black, Crayola markers in his hand and had told you that both Jay and Allie were asleep on the couch. So, as quiet as you could, you both tip-toed into the living room, uncapped your markers, and got to work.

You knew they had seen the trouble you two had gotten into when you heard running. You and Ben giggled to yourselves as you heard the water running from the bathroom.

Soon enough, Jay flung your door open. And, you guys just couldn't help yourselves and started to laugh even harder.

Then, to get you back, Jay had tickled you and Allie tickled Ben. Once you had all calmed down, Allie suggested that the four of you take a picture. And, the next time Allie and Ben came over when Jay was babysitting, he was sure to hide all the markers on the top shelf of his bookshelf in his bedroom where there was no way either of you would be able to find them, let alone reach them.

"So, you and Allie did hang out together with no parental supervision," Danny chirped. "Don't do stupid things like your brother here, Y/N."

"Hey," Jay started to defend himself. "We learned our lesson...to hide the markers."

"Do you remember when he got in trouble for pushing some kid on the playground, Gail?" Danny asked his wife.

"Oh, how could I forget that! I got a call from the school saying that Ben was in trouble and I knew on my way over there that he'd be grounded from the tv for weeks. But, then in the car on the ride home, he explained to me that some kid in his grade was telling Y/N she couldn't play with them since she was a grade below them. Then, he pushed him down and said that, yes, she could play."

"You never told me the full story of that, Y/N. What's this kid's name?" Jay asked.

"Jay, it was years ago! Give the overprotective big brother thing a rest, would you?"

"Would you kids like some cake?" Gail asked.

You swallowed. Chocolate on chocolate cake, Ben's favorite and yours. But, now on your birthday, you'd switched to marble just so that you wouldn't be reminded of how Ben would never see you on your birthday again.

Jay noticed your discomfort and how you probably didn't want to start bawling your eyes out just because you didn't want Gail and Danny to start crying, as well. Even though they'd probably done enough crying today as it was.

"Actually, we gotta run. I have to get Y/N home because she has homework to do and I have some police business to tend to," Jay answered, sensing your discomfort as the good detective he was.

"At least let me give you a slice to go," Gail suggested.

Abruptly, Danny stood up and shoved his chair under the table, and left the kitchen. You heard a door slam.

You widened your eyes for a split second and then quickly regained your composure. His son was dead and his killer was still on the loose; he had every right to lash out.

"This is always a tough day for him," Gail started. "He won't eat it. I just end up throwing it out."

Jay nodded. "Small slice." He turned to look at you. "And an even bigger slice for her."

Gail went over to a cupboard and pulled out two Tupperware containers and then two plastic forks from a drawer. Then, she cut two slices of cake and placed them inside the containers, handing you the one that contained the bigger slice.

"Thank you," you said.

"Yes, thank you," Jay agreed. "And, if there's anything either you or Danny need, please don't hesitate to call me."

Gail nodded and the two of you left the Corson's house, cake in hand.

"Happy birthday, Ben," you whispered when you were walking down the steps.

Then, when you got back to your house, Jay pulled out his keys and unlocked his car. "Hop in," he told you.

"Where are we going?" you asked. "I thought you had some police stuff to do?"

"You know how on Mom's birthday, we always go to the cemetery and plant flowers?" he asked. You nodded. That day was always full of crying despite how old you got. Hell, even Jay cried. It was one of the only times that he'd let his guard down and let his emotions take over in full force. "Look in the backseat."

There, sitting on the backseat on a towel so that dirt wouldn't get everywhere, was a carton full of Morning Glories. "Blue. Ben's favorite color."

"Yeah," Jay said, the volume of his voice almost a whisper. "We just have to make a quick pitstop first and then we'll go and plant them." You both buckled up and then Jay actually realized that he might have overlooked something. "You don't actually have a ton of homework to get done, do you?"

"No, even if I did, I wouldn't be able to focus on it." You took a bite of the birthday cake. "Does it get any easier?"

"Does what get any easier?" he asked, while still keeping his eyes on the road, his cake forgotten.

"You know, losing people. I know it'll be hard every year for Mom because she was our mom--"

"First of all, she's still our mom, Y/N. No one is going to replace her. Second of all, continue."

"Sorry, I know you got more time with her and knew her better than I did--"

"Listen, if you ever want to hear stories about Mom or Mom and Dad or anything like that, just ask me. I know you were just a kid, hell you are still just a kid, but you can always ask me about her. Always, okay?"

You nodded, feeling grateful that you at least had one brother who looked out for you. Lord knows Will didn't since he was barely home. You didn't hold a grudge against him or anything like Jay did, you just felt like he wasn't there. And, you knew that him not being there had hurt Jay, so it was hard for the three of you to all act like siblings when you felt like you'd need to jump in and stop a fight between your brothers at any moment. If it was just you and Will or just you and Jay, your relationship was great. But, when it was the three of you together, you could practically feel the tension between Will and Jay.

"So, does it get easier? Losing friends I mean. Like, when their birthdays come around or the day they died, does your heart feel like it isn't being ripped out of your chest every second of those days?"

You assumed that Jay had lost friends when he was overseas, which was why he came home from his second tour a year earlier than scheduled. That and your mom was sick.

"That's how you're feeling with Ben? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked.

"I knew you had your own stuff going on with being a detective and all and I know you think you know who did it and I don't want you going to prison."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. My job will never be more important than you." It might be more important than Will, he thought to himself. But, you didn't need to know that piece of information. "But, to answer your question, no it doesn't get any easier. I mean it kinda does, because the pain of losing them isn't as fresh as the years go by, but the day still sucks no matter how many years it's been."

"Then how do you deal with? When those days of the year roll around?"

"Distract yourself to try and forget. But, pretend I didn't tell you that. Go talk to someone instead."

"That's not what you do though, is it? Talk to someone?"

"Do as I say, kid. Do as I say, not as I do."

"Will you ever stop calling me kid? I'm thirteen, Jay!"

"Nope, in my head you're still that four-year-old with the Build-A-Bear."

He pulled the car up to the curb. You looked up as Jay put it in the park. "Why are we here?"

"Just, stay in the car, okay? I'm gonna be right outside, but I just have something I need to take care of."

"Okay."

You knew this house. You weren't going to tell Jay, but you walked past it every day when going to school because it was shorter than taking the route your parents had taught you to take. Jay was the one who actually taught you to take this route three years ago when he had walked you to school after Ben's death. But, he told you never to take this way to or from school when you were alone. But, seeing as it was five minutes faster and you were a teenager and cherished every second of sleep, you didn't listen and took this way every single school day.

Jay got out of the car and leaned up against it. Then, he opened his container of chocolate on chocolate birthday cake and began to eat it. You knew what he was doing. It was the reason he had taken this route to school with you. He told you it was because it was faster, but you knew it was because he wanted to tail Lonnie Rodiger...which you assumed was the reason why he didn't want you walking here alone. Because a pedophile lived here. Well, technically he wasn't a pedophile yet because he wasn't convicted, but you had heard enough conversations between Jay, Gail, and Danny when they all thought you were out of earshot to know that Lonnie was the one who killed your childhood best friend.

You saw Lonnie peak out through the curtains of one of the windows. And, if it weren't for Jay's water bottle that was sitting in the cupholder that you quickly took a swig of, you would've choked on your bite of cake.

A patrol car pulled up across the street and a uniformed cop came out. It was the same kind of uniform that Jay had been wearing the night you ran over to the Corson's house when it became a crime scene. You quickly wiped the few tears away at the memory of that night. If Jay got arrested, you knew you'd have to go with him because you couldn't drive. And, you didn't want to be crying in the back of a cop car while Jay was trying to talk his way out of an arrest.

Jay resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, they called the cops! Of course, they did! They'd call the cops and arrest him for harassing a pedophile and a killer, but they wouldn't arrest Lonnie for being a pedophile and a killer.

"Can I see your driver's license?" the patrolman asked.

Jay lifted his shirt, revealing his badge and gun. Despite being off duty, he had it. He always had it when he came around the Rodiger house. If Lonnie struck first, then he'd have him on assaulting an officer...and have an excuse to kill the son of a bitch. It would be in self-defense after all. He feared serious bodily harm.

But, of course, that wasn't going to happen, not today anyway.

"Halstead. Intelligence," Jay answered.

"This is harassment!" Phil Rodiger yelled as marched outside and pointed at Jay, Lonnie right behind him.

"Just eating some birthday cake," Jay said, poking the cake with his plastic fork. "Today would've been a birthday."

You felt your lip begin to tremble.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you kept telling yourself.

But, it was no use. It was just those three words: would have been.

It would have been Ben's fourteenth birthday if he was still here and if he wasn't buried in the ground in the cemetery, a high collared shirt on to hide the strangulation marks that Lonnie gave him when he wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled, choking him to death.

If he were still here, he would've had a birthday party. It might have been small with only a few people. You might not even have been invited because you're in middle school and middle schoolers like to talk. And, maybe, if you had been invited, people would have said that he had a crush on you and teased him about it.

Maybe, the early stages of puberty would have hit Ben by now and he would have become what you deemed to be cute. Maybe, he would've had a crush on you and you would've had a crush on him if he was still around. But, he would forever be stuck in your head as your best friend, no romantic feelings whatsoever, since he only lived to be eleven years old.

"Arrest him!" Phil Rodiger yelled, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Get him out of here!"

This was it. Maybe the patrolman wouldn't notice you were in the car and you could sneak back home in a few minutes and call Erin, get her to talk to Voight about getting your brother out of lockup. (Yes, you had Erin's number because you needed questions answered that would make your dad and Jay uncomfortable. Even though Will was a doctor, there was no way you would ask him about girl stuff, even though you were pretty sure he had heard and seen it all in New York.)

"Sorry, pal," the patrolman said.

Okay, so you wouldn't be dragged into the back of a patrol car and also wouldn't have to help Jay beat a charge. Thank god your brother was a part of Chicago's famous Intelligence Unit.

You set your cake on the dashboard. You couldn't take it anymore. If Jay wasn't going to say it, you would.

Jay heard the passenger side door open and whipped his head around. "Y/N," he warned. "Get back in the car."

"He killed my best friend, Jay!" you yelled, tears running down your cheeks. "What do you want me to do? Sit in the car and watch him just get away with it?"

The patrolman's eyes grew wide. Seeing that made you realize what you had just said.

You just accused Lonnie of murder.

"Y/N!" Jay yelled. You looked up to see that he had thrown his cake on the ground. "Get back in the car!"

Okay, so Jay's scary when he's angry, noted.

You made your way around the car and into the passenger seat. Then, you just watched as Jay talked to the patrolman, trying to sort this all out.

You didn't mean to do it. It just came out.

You fucked up. Maybe you were going to be the one arrested this time. And, since you weren't a cop, there'd be no way to easily get out of those handcuffs.

You put your head in your hands and changed the radio station, trying your best to make sure you didn't hear the conversation between Jay and the patrolman.

Soon, the patrolman sped off. You were safe. But, Lonnie and Phil were still standing across the street, outside, watching Jay, watching you.

"Get outta here!" Phil yelled.

Jay was almost to the car when he turned around, rage painted on his freckled face. "Three years ago today, Lonnie! Three years! He would've been fourteen! Fourteen!"

"I'm gonna call my lawyer! I'm getting a restraining order!" Phil promised.

"Yeah? Well, I'm gonna give you a reason to need one someday! You and your sick-ass son!"

He slammed the door shut, but you didn't look at him, just kept your gaze on the world outside the passenger side. Jay turned the key and his car roared to life. You heard him sigh, but didn't say a word.

"Look, I'm sorry," he began as he started driving.

"So you get to confront him but when I try it's all get back in the car, Y/N?" you quoted his words from earlier using a mocking tone.

"Lonnie's fu- he's messed up in the head, okay? I don't want him to have any reason to come after you. We both know what he did to Ben and I wish we could nail him on that, but right now, with the evidence that there is, it just can't happen. I'm sorry, I just wanted to keep you safe. I couldn't live with myself if that psycho did anything to you."

"I guess you have a point."

"I always have a point."

Ten minutes later you pulled up to the cemetery. Jay grabbed the small bag of tools and you carried the flowers, not without being warned every thirty seconds not to tip them at all so that they didn't fall out. It was the same thing as when you'd plant them at your mom's grave: you'd always be the one to carry the flowers, but they'd always warn you to be careful with them and then say that you weren't carrying them next year...and then they'd forget they'd said that and the process would repeat itself.

"I'll dig up the first bit of dirt and then you can help me. The top part's always the hardest," Jay said once you had made it to Ben's grave and he started rummaging through the tools.

"Okay." You didn't know what else to say. You just stared at the headstone. You wished he'd just come back to as a ghost or spirit or something for a minute--literally just sixty seconds--so that he could tell you that Lonnie did it.

Twenty minutes later, you and Jay stood up and admired your work. There were flowers there already from the Corson family, but the blue gave even more color to the normally dismal place.

"I'm gonna go find a trash can," Jay said as he picked up the empty plastic pots that the flowers came in. "Give you some time alone."

You nodded, not knowing what to say. Even when Jay left you had no idea what to say. It had been three years, so you didn't feel like you needed to talk to Ben. After all, if he was in heaven, he was looking down on you and knew what was going on in your life, so there was no reason to tell him about it. And, he was a kid, so he had to have gone to heaven, right?

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

You heard thunder rumble from above, which drowned out the sound of your choked sobs. The grass beside you started to get wet from the drizzle that had just started, but by how many seconds there were between each clap of thunder, you knew a downpour was just a matter of minutes away.

So many things could have gone differently that night. If Ben had come over to your house to spend the night, he'd still be here. You knew you couldn't change anything. Hell, you didn't even talk about having a sleepover that night, that week, or even that weekend. And, the night he was murdered was a school night, so your dad wouldn't have let Ben spend the night anyway. There was nothing you could have done.

Despite how many years passed, you wondered if you wouldn't have fallen asleep so fast that night if you would have been able to hear screams and called 911 for help. Maybe he'd still be alive if you couldn't fall asleep that night. Maybe, if Jay was off-duty that day and if there was a Blackhawks game on that night, he would've come over and you would've insisted on staying up late and ended up falling asleep on the couch. But, because of Jay being very observant, maybe he would've seen something, heard something, or even just felt that something was very wrong and could've stopped it and arrested Lonnie before it ended tragically.

You felt something wrap around your arms and looked up to see that Jay was back. You felt goosebumps on your body and that's when you realized your hair was sopping wet and water was dripping down the side of your face and was soaking your jeans and shirt.

You heard the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the large umbrella that Jay usually stowed in his trunk and pulled Jay's jean jacket that he just laid over your shoulders tighter around yourself.

He picked up his tools and turned to you. "You ready? Can't have you getting sick."

"How long have I just been crouched here?" you asked. You knew your thoughts sometimes got the best of you and before you knew it, an hour could've passed when your mind was focused on one subject.

"Until I thought you were going to freeze to death and get sick. And, it's only been about fifteen minutes. I ran to the bathroom and then grabbed the umbrella out of the car. You ready?" he repeated.

You wiped your eyes, not knowing if it was dried tears or dried raindrops on your cheeks. "Uh, yeah."

Jay picked up the bag of tools and you walked back to the car, the umbrella being big enough for both of you to fit underneath.

Once in the car, you slipped off Jay's jean jacket and tried to hand it back to him. "No, at least wear it until we get home. Dad'll kill me if he sees that you're sopping wet and then he'll think that I just left you out in the rain."

"Brother of the year." And, despite the circumstances, both of you laughed.

***

Math homework is due tomorrow...why does math have letters anyway? I'm never gonna need this in life. Snap out of it, Y/N. You can focus on that later. Just focus on the walk home. You have to be careful now since you're walking by their house.

You tried to turn your attention to the world ahead of you, or more accurately, the road and houses in front of you. You needed to be on high alert since you were about to walk past the Rodiger house. And, they saw you now...hopefully, they hadn't filed a restraining order against you, too. As far as you knew, it was just Jay, but you didn't need to have Jay get you out of trouble today.

Your eyes darted across the street to the house, while you tried to make sure you didn't cast your glance there too long as to be suspicious. It was Jay's job to be suspicious while walking past this house. It was your job to get to and from school safely when walking past this house. You'd leave the detective/spying/surveillance stuff to Jay.

You tried to focus on the road straight ahead of you, but it was no use when you saw movement out of the left side of your peripheral vision.

You turned and gasped. They turned too, and now you were frozen in place.

He widened his creepy eyes and stared back at you, like a deer caught in the headlights, like a criminal caught in the act because right now, that's what you assumed he was.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, neither of you breaking eye contact.

Then, you took off running. No way in hell were you telling your dad what just happened. One time he caught you walking home this way and said if he found out that you walked to or from school this way again that you'd be grounded for an undisclosed amount of time.

No one needed to know that you had just seen Lonnie Rodiger with duct tape and rope, the two things everyone assumed he had used to kill Ben Corson. No one needed to know. Just shut your mouth and don't tell anyone and everything would be fine. You would be fine.

***

Jay was sitting across from Antonio at Molly's, slowly sipping on the bit of whiskey left in his glass. "You knew the family?" Antonio asked him.

"He's the younger brother of a girl I dated in high school. Was Y/N's best friend, too. And his parents, Danny and Gail, they came to my graduation from the academy." When my dad wouldn't because he hates all my life choices. Probably hates me, too, Jay wanted to add but stopped himself. "I still see 'em on what would be Ben's birthday. Y/N comes too and god, you know what she asked me this year, Antonio?" Antonio shook his head. "She asked me if their birthdays or the day they died gets easier when it rolls around every year. She's thirteen! She shouldn't have to remember his birthday. Ben should be alive and Y/N should be seeing him on his birthday. But now all she probably remembers on his birthday is seeing his lifeless body lying in the grass...that's probably what she remembers." He took another sip of whiskey.

"Wait, you're saying your little sister saw the body at the crime scene?" Antonio asked.

"Uh, yeah. Me and my partner were first on scene. And...I see a shoe. I push the reeds back because Gail used to have this huge garden with really nice grass, reeds, flowers, other things. And, now she doesn't because it reminds her too much of that night.

"But uh, anyway, I pushed those reeds back..." He swallowed and tried to keep the tears at bay. He couldn't cry. Not in front of his mentor; not in front of the detective who got him into Intelligence in the first place, even if it was only because he caught a bullet in the process of trying to help Gabby and everyone's favorite after-shift hangout spot, Molly's. "And there he is. I still see his face."

Antonio took a swig of his beer. "How'd your sister find him?"

"My dad told me later that she had heard and seen the sirens and went to wake him up and then they came over to see what was going on. She was only nine, hell, she even had her teddy bear with her when they came outside. She was small and easy to miss. Before anyone could stop her...she, uh, she ducked under the crime scene tape and she saw him. I will never forget how she screamed out Ben's name.

"Then, I ran over to her and tried to block him from view, but you know as well as I do, Antonio, that seeing a body like that, well the damage is already done. So, then I just took her home and my partner explained the situation to my sergeant so that I didn't get in trouble for just leaving a crime scene. I never told her about the rape, just that he was dead. She probably put the pieces together that he was raped since she's gotten older, but I didn't heave the heart to tell her."

Antonio nodded. If he was in the same position as Jay was and Gabby was in your position, he knew he'd do the same exact thing. "I remember his dad alibied him out," Antonio stated. "But, they never had anything on Lonnie. Nothing?"

"No," Jay scoffed. "They caught him jerkin' it outside an elementary school a week prior to finding Ben. They found fucking kiddie porn on his computer. A-And secret pictures that he'd taken of Ben."

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Nuh-uh. We all knew Lonnie did it. But, you know, his dad lied." Jay shrugged. "And, uh, they got a good lawyer for that sick of a bitch."

Jay took a sip of his whiskey, blinking back tears. Antonio sighed and looked at the young detective. "Hey, be careful. You hear me?"

"I know, I just--" Jay was cut off by his phone ringing. He looked at it. Why's Dad calling at 11 o'clock at night? Why is Dad calling me at all?

He declined the call.

"Who was that?" Antonio asked.

"Not important. Anyway, I'll be care--" His phone started ringing again. "Dammit," he muttered and then pressed the answer icon. "Yeah?"

"J-Jay?"

"Y/N? What are you still doing up? Don't you have school tomorrow?"

"I didn't want to tell you because you and Dad always tell me not to walk there by myself, but I saw him and he saw me and I thought I'd be fine but now I can't sleep and--"

"Whoa, whoa. Take a breath, okay?"

You took a deep, shaky breath as few tears slipped down your face. You tried not to think about your encounter with Lonnie earlier today, but as you tried to sleep and the darkness took over the world, you couldn't stop your thoughts from running rampant. What if he was going to use that duct tape and rope on you now because he had seen you? Kill all the witnesses so that there wouldn't be a trial and he wouldn't get convicted?

"Now, tell me again what happened," Jay said calmly, all his cop instincts taking over and talking to as if you were a victim for the time being. "This time slower."

"I took the way home from school that you taught me to take and tell me to never take alone--"

"Y/N," Jay wiped a hand over his face. "Me and Dad told you not to go that way by yourself."

"I know, but I saw Lonnie and he had supplies and he saw me. I thought it was fine but now I can't sleep and--"

"Y/N," Jay started again. "Slow. Down. You saw Lonnie?"

At the mention of that name, Antonio looked up.

"Yeah," you answered, trying to slow your rate of speaking. "He had- he had rope and duct tape. And- and he saw me. I'm scared. I'm so scared, Jay. What if he comes after me now?" You covered your mouth with your hand to stop your dad from hearing your sobs. You assumed he was sleeping, and if he wasn't you hoped he didn't notice that you were on the phone. All he had to do was pick it up and see line in use and then you'd be in trouble for walking that way.

"Y/N, listen to me. I'm not gonna let that happen. I'm gonna leave Molly's right now and then be over there. Are you in your room?"

"Yeah."

"Is Dad still up?" Jay asked.

"I-I don't know."

"Okay, just stay put and I'll be there as soon as I can. And, we can explain it to Dad together, alright?"

"Okay. You promise you'll be here soon?"

"I promise. I'm leaving Molly's right now."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna hang up now."

"Okay, bye Jay."

Jay ended the call and started putting on his jacket. "What was that all about?" Antonio asked.

"Y/N took the fastest route home from school today, which goes by the Rodiger place. She said she saw Lonnie and he had duct tape and rope with him. He saw her, Antonio."

"Shit." Antonio pulled out his wallet and threw a few bills on the table. "I got it. I'll be right behind you."

"Thanks, man."

***

Jay slowly turned the key in the lock and opened the door, Antonio following him. "Dad?" Jay asked.

"Jay?" he answered from the living room, sounding as if he had just woken up from falling asleep in front of the tv. "What are you doing here?"

"I can explain if you wanna go check on Y/N, Jay," Antonio suggested.

"Yeah, yeah that'd be great. Thanks, man."

You heard knocking at your door, causing you to draw in a deep breath. "Y/N? Open up, it's Jay."

You set Beary down--yes when you were scared you still liked to have your Build-A-Bear in your hand because it gave you comfort--and then stood up from your bed to open the door.

"Jay." You launched yourself into his arms before he could even comprehend what was happening. "I'm so scared. What if he comes after me?"

Jay wrapped his arms around you and ran his hand up and down your back, just like he had done a few years ago when he had brought you back home after you had seen Ben's lifeless body lying in the grass. "Shhh, shhh it's okay. You're okay." Now he was most definitely using the tone he used when talking to child victims.

"What if he- what if he comes after me though, Jay?" you asked, soaking his shirt with tears of fright.

"Hey," he pulled away. "Look at me." You looked up at your older brother. "I will not let that happen. Ever. You understand me?" You nodded. "Now, how about you pack a bag, and then you can stay at my place until this all blows over."

"Why?"

Jay sighed. "Just, please do it."

You pulled out a peach-colored duffle from your closet.

"I'll be right downstairs if you need me."

He walked downstairs to see your dad still sitting on the living room couch with Antonio sitting in the chair across from him. "I'm taking Y/N to my place for a few days until this whole thing gets sorted out," Jay announced.

"She was walking that way because you taught her how to take it!" Pat Halstead bellowed as he stood up off the couch and pointed an accusing finger at his youngest son. "If you had never walked that way when you took her to school, then we would never be in this position!"

"We?" Jay asked rhetorically. "I don't recall Y/N telling me that you were with her when she saw that sick son of bitch walking home with his weapons of choice! It's Y/N that's in this position! Not me, not you, not us, Y/N."

"She's my daughter!"

"Yeah, I gathered that," Jay scoffed. "At least you care about her...unlike how you weren't there for me and Will. Or, if my memory serves me correctly, it was when I was in my early teens when you stopped caring. So, I expect in the next two years that you'll stop taking good care of Y/N and stop showing up to her games, like you did for me and Will. Oh, and you'll start questioning her life choices, just like you did almost every damn day to both me and Will."

"It's not my fault that you made a stupid decision with your life and Will decided to leave and waste all his money and to do what? To go to Sudan and then to New York?"

"There you go again, same old same old. You want us to be here, but whenever we are, we just end up fighting."

"Okay, okay," Antonio butted in. "How about we all take a breath and then talk about what's gonna happen next."

Jay took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. Your dad sat back down on the couch and crossed his arms in front of him.

"Good," Antonio began. "Y/N give you anything else about what she saw upstairs other than what she told you over the phone?"

"No," Jay answered. "She just told me that she's really scared that Lonnie's gonna come after her. Noting more about what she saw."

"Jay?" you asked as you poked your head into the living room, duffle bag slung over your shoulder. "I'm ready."

You said goodbye to your dad and then followed Jay to your car. He explained that Antonio was going to come to his apartment just for a little while so that they could discuss how they were going to proceed with the information you had given them. But, that you should go to sleep when you got to his apartment because it was a school night.

"Do I have to go to school tomorrow?" you whined as you set your bag down next to the couch...which would also be your bed until all this was cleared up.

"I know you're not going to get a lot of sleep, but yeah, as much as it sucks, you have to go to school tomorrow."

It was nearing 12:30 and you had to be up for school at 6:00 since school started before 7:30 in the morning. You'd be lucky if you managed five hours of sleep.

"Please, Jay," you begged. "My first two classes are just choir and gym, so I can miss those. And, I'm pretty sure if you called me in it'd count as an excused absence. Please?"

"Fine," Jay conceded. "But just because I think it's stupid how early school starts."

You heard a knock on the door. "Be right there, Antonio!" Jay said, trying to keep his yelling voice at somewhat of a normal level since people in the other apartments were sleeping.

"I'm gonna go grab a blanket," you told Jay.

You grabbed a blanket and threw it on the couch as Jay went to answer the door and let Antonio inside.

"Jay, I'm stealing one of your pillows," you told him as you entered his bedroom area.

"Actually, you can take my bed for tonight," he suggested.

You cocked an eyebrow at him. In all the nights you had spent at Jay's apartment in the past few years when your dad had to work late or went out, you had always slept on that couch. And, it was because it was actually comfortable. (Jay's reasoning was that he didn't want to get one of his nightmares that happened a handful of times per year and break his hand from hitting the coffee table in his sleep because he was thinking that it was an enemy because he thought he was back in Afghanistan. But, of course, you didn't know that.)

"It's just because I need to talk to Antonio and I don't need you having easy access to the conversation."

You nodded, tiredness overtaking you. "Alright." You yawned. "I'm going to bed. 'Night guys."

Jay and Antonio both said goodnight and then you walked into Jay's bedroom area and slid the sliding doors closed. During that time, the two detectives each took a seat at the kitchen table.

"We can put a patrol car out in front of Lonnie's house," Jay suggested.

"You know we can't do that," Antonio told him.

"Well, why not? You know he's gonna kill again!" Jay resisted the urge to slam his fist down on the table.

"You have no solid proof. I know you believe Y/N, and I do, too, but we don't have proof. If we had cam or pod footage, we might be able to do that. But, as far as we know, we don't have that. Nothing's been reported or called in. Hell, for all we know Lonnie's doing a DIY project."

"So get his credit card records and security footage from the store," Jay growled.

"You know as well as I do Halstead, that we can't do that without a warrant. And for a warrant, we're gonna need sufficient evidence. And, the word of your sister just isn't gonna cut it this time. Sorry, man."

Jay sighed and put his head in his hands, then looked back up at Antonio. "I just can't let him do it. I can't let him kill another kid."

"I know. Believe me, neither you nor me want that, but for now, we just need to wait until the right time. And you, need to get some sleep."

"I guess you're right. Maybe sleep would help me figure out how to solve this thing."

***

Jay had just dropped you off at school--he had called the school and excused your absences from your first two classes--and was walking out of a small coffee shop a few blocks away from the district when his phone rang.

"What do you got, Jin?" Jay asked. Benefits of working in Intelligence and having a tech guy for the unit: getting him to dig into things under the table.

"That Lonnie Rodiger credit card you wanted me to track," Jin started on the other end of the line, "Just got a hit from a toy store downtown."

"Text me the address."

A few seconds later, Jin had texted Jay the address and he jumped in his car and made his way into the heart of downtown Chicago.

Then, he sat in his car and stared at the store, waiting for the scrawny, creepy-ass pedophile slash murderer to make his way out of it.

When Lonnie walked out, Jay just stared at him. If he got made, so what? He was in his car. He could say he was doing surveillance for another case that he couldn't talk about right now because it was an open investigation. But, he wouldn't be able to blame surveillance of an ongoing investigation for strangling Lonnie to death, killing him the exact same way as he had killed Ben Corson three years ago.

Lonnie was carrying a bag full of what Jay assumed were toys. The toys, the rope, the duct tape, Lonnie was going to strike again. And, Jay had to act fast to ensure that another kid didn't get their life taken away just because this bastard had sick, twisted fantasies.

Jay was about to call Jin back, see what else he could pull up on him, anything that gave him an excuse to call Atwater and Burgess to arrest him. But, his phone rang.

"Go for Jay," he answered.

"Where you at?" Voight asked on the other end of the line. "I know you came in late because of your sister, but I need you now."

"I'm on my way in," he lied.

"Good. We're in Chinatown. I'll send you the address."

"Oh, Sarge?"

"Yes, Halstead?"

"Do you mind if I leave for a bit around 2:15ish? It's just, Y/N has a doctor's appointment and my dad's working and I don't want her taking the bus--"

"Jay," Voight interrupted, "Take your sister to her appointment. I'll just send the address of where we're gonna be if we aren't at the district. Just, keep your phone on."

"Thanks, Sarge."

Of course, that appointment was a lie; Jay just wanted to pick you up from school and then drop you off at his apartment while he went back to work so that you wouldn't be at home where Lonnie could find you. But, Jay had to push that out of his mind right now because he was on another case with his unit that needed solving, his side case on Lonnie Rodiger needed to be put on the backburner...at least for the next few hours.

***

"Lonnie Rodiger's credit card," Jin said as Jay entered the tech room.

"Yeah, I know, I'm working on a court order so I don't get my ass handed to me by Voight, I know," Jay replied.

"Okay...you deal with that. All I was gonna say was that another hit came up from his card at a Home Depot in Humboldt Park. He bought..." Jin clicked some keys on his computer until the list of things Lonnie purchased popped up. "A two-person tent, a kerosene lamp, and some bug spray. A rapist-murderer planning a camping trip? Not much you can get him on with just that."

"Any chance he purchased rope and duct tape?" Jay asked.

Jin scrolled through the list of items again. "Not that I see here. Why?"

"Not important. Thanks for the help, Jin."

Jay walked back into the bullpen, about to grab his jacket and head into the locker room when Voight emerged from his office at the same time. "Halstead, my office."

"I told you to let the Rodiger thing go months ago," Voight told Jay when the door was securely shut.

"I have...for the most part." I have...until my sister got involved and told me he bought duct tape and rope and now she's staying at my place so that I can protect her from that sick-ass son of a bitch.

"If you're not straight with me, I can't protect you."

"You? Protect me? I don't need protecting, Sarge, but thanks for the offer. I'll keep it in mind if I ever go off the rails and kill someone."

"Jay, listen to me! What the hell is going on with you? You got here later than usual today, which I know you said is because of your sister, but you look exhausted like you haven't slept in days. And don't think I didn't notice that you've been constantly checking your phone when we weren't out in the field."

Jay sighed. "I think Lonnie's gonna kill another kid."

"Jay, I know that kid's family was like your own. But, you gotta be careful. You've got eyes on you. And, it's not just me this time."

"Copy that." Then, Jay exited his sergeant's office, grabbed his jacket off his chair, and headed to the locker room. Damn, did he really want to go home after that conversation with his boss.

"You headin' to Molly's, Jay?" Adam asked as they grabbed their stuff from the locker room.

"Nah, man. I got some stuff I gotta take care of," Jay replied. "Maybe another night."

"If you say so."

***

You were sitting on the couch reading a book when you heard a knock at Jay's apartment door. "Y/N, it's Jay, open up."

You got up and unlocked the door, letting him into his own apartment. "Why didn't you just unlock it yourself? Or, did I get your only key?

"Nope, you got my spare. I have mine." He pulled his keyring out of the front pocket of his jeans and set it down on the counter. "Just didn't want to scare you is all."

"Thanks, greatly appreciated. What are you hiding behind your back? And what smells so good?" you asked, seeing as Jay hadn't moved his left hand from behind his back and was trying really hard to make sure you didn't see what was there. Even when he had walked inside the apartment from the hallway, he still somehow hid it behind his back and out of your view. And, the smell of greasy food was starting to waft around the apartment so you had a pretty good idea what he was hiding.

He pulled a takeout bag from behind his back. "I got us Arby's!"

"Really? Did you get me mozzarella sticks?" you asked trying to grab the bag from him, but he held it out of your reach.

Jay chuckled at your excitement. "Yes, I got you mozzarella sticks. Now, let me get this out of the bag and you can get the game set up?"

"Okay!" You sat on the couch and turned on the Blackhawks game that was going to start in five minutes. "It's ready!"

"Be right there!"

A minute later, Jay passed you a plate which contained an original roast beef and cheddar sandwich and of course, your precious mozzarella sticks and a few packs of Arby's and marinara sauce.

"Uh," Jay groaned as he lowered himself onto the couch.

"You're getting old," you laughed.

"I am not!" he protested.

"Yes, you are! Only old people sigh like that when they go to sit down!"

"Well, excuse me for having to chase psychos around the city for a living." You reached over and grabbed a few curly fries off his plate, hoping he was distracted enough by your old Jay comment that he didn't notice...he did. "Hey!"

"Oops." You squirted some Arby's sauce on your plate and dipped a curly fry in it. "Good." Jay just continued to stare at you. "Fine, here," you said as you handed him a mozzarella stick.

"You're not gonna offer me any marinara?"

You tossed him a pack. "Better?"

"Better." Both he and you turned your attention to the tv. "Remember, end of the second period, it's bedtime."

"Jay," you whined. "Please can I stay up and watch the entire game?"

"No, because I am not calling you in late tomorrow and getting to work later than usual because of it." Luckily today we didn't catch a case until around 10 o'clock this morning, so it didn't matter that I was late and tailing Lonnie anyway. "And, you're gonna be a grouch if you don't enough sleep."

"Jay! I am not grouchy!"

"Yes, Y/N, you are! Whoa, a fight!" And while your attention was quickly focused on the tv, Jay stole some of his curly fries back.

***

Jay walked into the district the next morning to be met with Erin and Alvin. "Did you guys catch the game last night?" he asked them as he slipped off his jacket and slung it over his desk chair. "Eighteen seconds into overtime, Kane scores a backhander. Guy's on fire this season."

Despite Jay telling you that you needed to go to bed after the end of the second period, the game was so good that he let you stay up to watch it all...the one caveat being that you had to get up in the morning with no complaint. And, you didn't complain one single time even though you almost fell asleep with your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth when you were getting ready this morning.

Neither Erin nor Alvin had said anything, they just stared at Jay with worried looks on both their faces. "What's with you two?" Jay furrowed his eyebrows and walked closer to them.

"Halstead," Voight said after he opened his office door.

Jay's eyes widened. Shit, what'd I do now?

"Commander," Jay said as he saw Commander Perry standing in Voight's office. So, even when I'm a grown man, there's still a version of the principal's office. Who knew? Except, this principal controls my job...which means he controls my money. Whatever he thinks I did, it wasn't me.

"Halstead. Have a seat," Commander Perry told the detective.

"I'll stand." Jay placed his hands on his hips.

"Okay then. Where were you last night after shift?"

"Home. Why?"

"So, you're telling me you didn't go out at all last night?"

"I started to drive home from work, but then I turned around because I thought my little sister might want Arby's for dinner. If you want to count a drive-thru as going out, then yes I went out."

"And after that?" Commander Perry prodded.

"Me and my sister watched the Hawks game and I was in bed by midnight."

Commander Perry picked up some black and white photos that were taken from traffic cam footage and held them out to Jay, pointing at specific a specific car. "This was taken last night, right as you pulled into that Arby's. That's Rodiger and that's you, right behind him."

"Okay, so I happened to be getting my takeout behind a pedophile. Maybe he just wanted some curly fries, Lord knows Y/N did when she stole some of mine last night."

"Halstead!" Voight barked. "This isn't a laughing matter! Now shut up and listen!"

Jay clasped his hands behind his back.

"Well, Detective, your alleged pedophile was found dead this morning."

"What?"

"So until this is straightened out, I suggest you find a better excuse than just watching a hockey game and eating fries with your impressionable little sister. Until then, you are officially stripped. Expect a call from Internal Affairs. They'll want to interview you as soon as possible."

"You mean they'll want to interrogate me as soon as possible."

"Jay!" Voight's voice boomed off the walls of the small office.

"I'm the one who wanted to stop that freak! And now I'm the target? Unbelievable!"

Jay flung open the door and was about to storm out when the Commander stopped him. "Halstead!"

"What? I tried to save my sister from this psycho because she saw him buy duct tape and rope and he knows that she saw him! So, excuse me for trying to make sure that my sister stays safe and doesn't end up like Ben Corson!"

"Y/N saw something?" Voight asked. "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you."

"I told Antonio, but that's only because we were at Molly's when Y/N called me freaking out. And that's why she's staying with me because Lonnie knows where we live and I didn't want to get a call saying that my sister was murdered and--"

"Halstead, if that's the truth then this isn't just based on your word. We have a witness now. So, I'll talk to Detective Dawson and you go pick up your sister from school. We need her here for questioning. But, you are still stripped until we get this all sorted out."

***

"Can you please send Y/N Halstead to the office please?" the office secretary's voice came over your classroom intercom. "She'll be leaving for the rest of the day."

You furrowed your eyebrows. Leaving for the rest of the day? What? The last time you had to leave for the rest of the day unexpectedly was when your mom died.

"I'll send her down," your teacher replied.

"Alright, thank you." Then, she turned to you. "I'll have your missed work ready for you on Monday, Y/N, and I can email the other teachers you have today that you'll be missing their classes as well if you'd like?"

"That'd be great. Thank you."

"Have a great weekend, Y/N."

"Thank you. You too."

Then, you grabbed your books and made your way to your locker. Once you put everything you needed into your backpack, you made your way to the office. At least you were missing math and science class...you hated both of those subjects. Will got the brains when it came to those two.

But, your relief was short-lived when you saw Kim Burgess and Kevin Atwater standing in the office. You frantically pulled the door open. "Did something happen to Jay? Is he okay? Did he get hurt?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Kim quickly reassured you. "We just need to bring you down to the district is all."

"Why?" you asked, drawing out the word.

"It's better if your brother and Voight explain this to you. But, you are not in any trouble, Jay's not in any trouble, and he's fine," Kevin answered.

"Okay..."

They quickly signed you out and the three of you made your way to the parking lot where their squad car was parked. "Ever been in a patrol car, Y/N?" Kevin asked.

"No," you answered, opening the door to the backseat and throwing your backpack in.

"Well, today's your lucky day. We'll even let you control the music." The three of you got in and Kevin turned on the car and started fiddling with the controls on the radio. "Just tell me to stop when you hear a song you like."

***

"Jay!" you yelled as you ran up the stairs to Intelligence, your backpack bouncing up and down with every step you took. Jay walked out of the break room. You ran to him, narrowly missing Commander Perry. "What's going on? I didn't know I'd need to leave school and then Kim and Kevin came to pick me up and I thought you might be hurt but they said you weren't and--"

"Whoa, whoa," Jay cut you off. "Y/N, slow down. I'm okay. Everything's okay. Voight and Commander Perry here just need to ask you a couple of questions."

"But, I didn't do anything wrong."

"You're not in trouble, kid," Voight said. "Like your brother said, we just need to ask you a few questions and Jay will be with you the whole time."

Since neither Jay nor Voight could get ahold of your dad to get permission to talk to you, they had allowed Jay to sign off on it. And, since you were a minor, the person who signed that paperwork had to be in the room with you the entire time they were talking to you.

"You hungry?" Commander Perry asked as you sat down and Jay stood behind you. "You can grab a snack from the vending machine before we start if you'd like."

It was only 9:00 am. "No thank you," you replied. "I had breakfast a few hours ago and I'm still full from that. Thank you, though."

"You're welcome." He and Voight sat down across from you. "Now, you're probably wondering why you're here," Commander Perry started. "Your brother mentioned that you saw Lonnie Rodiger buy rope and duct tape?"

Your eyes widened and you drew in a breath. "Is he after me? Did he try and break into mine and Dad's house, Jay, because he was looking for me?"

"No, it's nothing like that," the commander interjected before you got worked up even more. "We just wanted to ask you what you saw is all."

You looked to Jay and he nodded, giving you the go-ahead to tell the two men what you had seen when you were walking home from school a few days ago. So, you did just that. You told them about walking home from school and seeing Lonnie with rope and duct tape and him seeing you.

"And you told your brother this?" Commander Perry asked.

"Uh, yeah, I wasn't going to tell him because I didn't want him to freak out or anything, but he always told me that if I saw anything off with Lonnie to tell him. And, I couldn't sleep that night, so I called him really late and he and Antonio came over."

"And what happened next?"

"Jay said that he wanted me to stay at his house until this all blew over because Lonnie saw me. He saw me. And, he knows where I live."

"So, Jay was trying to keep you safe?"

You nodded. "He's even been picking me up from school because he doesn't want me going home--to mine and my dad's place that is--to wait for him to pick me up after he's done with work. He's worried about me."

"Did he do anything else? Take you anywhere in the two days you've been staying with him?"

"No, nowhere other than school."

"Do anything fun?"

"He brought home Arby's last night and he let me stay up late and finish the Blackhawks game! Dad never lets me do that! And, they even won in overtime! And, I stole some of his curly fries."

"Do you know if he left last night after you went to bed?" Commander Perry asked.

"No, he didn't."

"And how can you be so sure about that? You were sleeping weren't you?"

Jay clenched his fists at his sides. You were a kid and this wasn't a trial, it was just getting a statement from you, not putting you on the witness stand.

"Jay never leaves me when he watches me at night. Never has and probably never will. Even when his girlfriend called when he watched me when I was little, he'd either make her come over to our house or would tell her that he was playing with me."

Voight chuckled at how you were spilling bits and pieces of Jay's life before he became a cop and entered his unit. He knew that Jay would never tell him these things, so it was funny hearing how protective and soft the big-shot detective of one of the most elite units of Chicago was with his little sister.

"Okay, thank you," Commander Perry said. "Do you know why we're asking you these questions?"

You shook your head, no.

"Halstead, you want to explain this. We'll butt in if needed," he said. He didn't know how much you knew about this alleged pedophile and murderer, so he figured it would be best to hand Jay the lead on the explanation portion.

Jay sat down in the chair next to you. "Y/N, you're not in trouble. I promise you that."

"You already told me that," you pointed out.

"I know, but I wanted to tell you again."

You furrowed your eyebrows and cocked your head to the side. "Then, why are they asking me questions about Lonnie and about you? Did he kill someone again? Like he did to Ben?"

Jay swallowed. He wasn't about to tell you the details of how someone murdered Lonnie Rodiger. Despite knowing the details of Ben's murder, you didn't need more gruesome pictures of murder in your teenage mind. "Um, Lonnie was found dead last night."

"And they think you did it, don't they?"

Jay's jaw dropped, all his years of being a stone-faced Army ranger and detective flying out the window as you quickly put the pieces together of why you were being talked to by his sergeant and commander. "What? How- Why would you assume that?"

"Dad's not good with turning his Law and Order down when he watches it at night so sometimes when I can't fall asleep, I'll listen to it and I'll hear the interrogation or trial scenes." You shrugged. Then, you turned your attention to Sergeant Voight and Commander Perry. "If you think my brother did it, I can tell you that he didn't because he was home with me all night. I even woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and he was asleep on the couch with his mouth open and he was drooling." You scrunched up your nose in disgust at Jay's sleeping position last night.

"Alright, Sergeant, your unit can investigate this one. But, Halstead, not that I don't believe your sister, but you're still stripped until this gets all sorted out. Go home."

Jay nodded. "C'mon, Y/N. We can go grab lunch or something."

Jay ushered you out of the break room and you grabbed your backpack. "Halstead, what's going on?" Antonio asked, catching you and Jay on your way down the stairs.

"Just, give this case hell for me, Antonio, will you?"

***

"Is it wrong?" you asked Jay when you were driving away from the district. "That I'm glad Lonnie's dead that is?"

Jay sighed. "Listen, I know we shouldn't be glad about someone being dead, but in all honesty, kid, I'm glad he's dead, too."

"Because the world's a safer place?"

"Yeah." And because justice was served for the Corson family, but I'm not gonna talk to my little sister about killing someone for justice...I don't need her to turn into the female version of Hank Voight in twenty years.

"So, were you and Mouse glad when you killed the bad guys over in Afghanistan?"

Oh no, no, no, no, no. I am not about to have this conversation with her. I'm not about to have this conversation with anyone for that matter, much less with my very impressionable, middle-schooler, little sister. "What do you want for lunch? Mcdonalds? Burger King? Wendy's? Pizza Hut?"

"You never answered my question," you told him.

"And you never answered mine. So, what do you want for lunch?"

"Hmmm...I really like the chicken alfredo from Pizza Hut, so can we go there?"

"Pizza Hut it is."

"What are you gonna get? Wait, lemme guess...meat lover's pizza?"

"And, you would be correct."

You arrived at Pizza Hut, which was only half a block away from the Corson's. And, since it was also so close to your school, some high school seniors would come here for lunch...not that you had an open campus at school, but they'd dip out for lunch and then get back unnoticed before their next class. You wondered if you'd be brave enough to do that in high school. You didn't know and you had a few more years until you got to that grade anyway.

"Hey Detective Halstead," a woman greeted Jay.

"Oh, hey Rachelle," Jay said as you both walked up to the counter at Pizza Hut. "How's school going?"

"It's going great actually. And who's this?" she asked, motioning to you.

"This is my little sister, Y/N. Y/N, this is one of my best CIs, Rachelle."

"You're a CI? That's so cool! So you help my brother solve cases? He never tells me about anything he does, so what do you help him with?"

Jay placed a hand on your shoulder. "That's confidential information, kiddo. And don't go blabbing about her being a CI either, because she could get in trouble."

"Got it. She's just someone I know from coming here so much. I have no idea what you're talking about, Jay."

Jay laughed. "Alright, what can I get started for you two?" Rachelle asked.

"Actually, since you're here, I have a quick question for you."

"Okay, let's go around back," she replied, thinking he was going to ask her if she knew anything that might help them with a case.

"No, it's nothing like that. I was just wondering if you'd watch Y/N for a bit while I go run a quick errand? It'd be for twenty, thirty minutes tops."

She looked around the restaurant, it was practically empty. "Yeah, no problem. I can keep an eye on her."

"Awesome thanks. And, uh, she'll have the chicken alfredo and I'll have the meat lover's pizza."

Rachelle rang it up and then told Jay the total. He pulled out his wallet and paid for their food, not without placing a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar. "You didn't have to do that," Rachelle said.

"You're watching Trouble here for a bit, so yeah, I do."

"I am not trouble!" you protested. "Where are you going anyway?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll be back soon."

"But--"

"Hey, Y/N. You want a chocolate chip cookie? I think they just came out of the oven." You frantically nodded your head up and down. "Well, c'mon back here and I'll grab it for you."

She opened the piece of the counter that flipped up and you walked through. Then, she motioned for Jay to leave before you pressed him for more answers on where he was going.

***

"To be honest, I don't feel any sympathy," Danny Corson told Jay as he sat at the kitchen table next to his wife with Jay across from him. "Do the police have any idea who did it?"

Jay had come to the Corson household to tell them the news that Lonnie Rodiger was dead...and to ask Danny some questions that would not go on record.

"We're still trying to piece that together." Jay turned to the red-haired woman. "Gail, do you have ay milk for this?" he asked, holding out his coffee cup."

"Oh, yeah. Let me get it for you," Gail answered.

"Thank you," Jay said to Gail's retreating back as she left the table. Jay turned back to Danny. "They suspended me. They think I did it. So, if you did something, Danny, I need you to tell me now so that we can figure this out together."

"Jay, I have been fantasizing about it for years, but I didn't do it. After all you've done for this family though, if you need me to confess, then I will."

"No, no you will not. I will not let you, or me for that matter, go down for something neither of us did."

"So, you have no idea who did it?"

"At the moment, no."

Jay's phone rang and he held up a finger to tell Danny he'd just be a second. But, then he looked at who was calling him and he practically froze.

"Jay, you okay?" Danny asked.

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He accepted the call and placed his phone to his ear. "Rachelle? What's going on? Is Y/N okay?"

"Physically she's fine," she answered. "But, there's this guy yelling at her asking where you are and--"

"Tell me where he is! Your brother! My son is dead because of him!" Jay heard through the phone.

Phil Rodiger.

Jay drew in a breath. "I'm on my way."

He hung up and then turned to Danny and Gail. "I gotta go, I'm sorry. If I find out anything, you'll be the first to know." And then he ran out the door and ran as fast as he ever has to the Pizza Hut half a block away.

***

"He didn't do it!" you yelled. "He was home with me all night!"

"Yeah right! He probably told you to say that!"

"Y/N! Don't say another word!" Jay sprinted over to the booth where you were sitting, your pasta halfway eaten.

"You! You killed him!"

"Phil, we're in a public place. The cops can get called for a disturbance." Jay flicked his eyes to Rachelle and she nodded, picking up her phone.

"Fine! Then let them call the cops! I'll tell them that you killed him! You killed my son!"

He took a step closer to the side of the booth that you were sitting in and Jay quickly placed himself between you and Lonnie Rodiger's father. "You know what? I may have not killed him, but whoever did, did everyone in this world a real favor! Killing a pedophile and a murderer? I'd like to give the guy who killed your sick-ass bastard of a son a medal when they find him!"

"Jay!" you yelled, grabbing the back of his shirt and tugging it so that he would turn his attention back to you.

"Y/N, this is grown-up stuff. Butt out!" He turned back to Phil. "Lonnie brought this on himself and you know it!"

You saw a few people from the Intelligence Unit walking up to the building out of the corner of your eye. "Jay, shut the hell up!"

"You killed him!"

"For the last time, I didn't kill your sorry excuse for a son!"

"Police! Break it up!"

Jay was yanked away from you by none other than Antonio Dawson. Adam and Voight had each grabbed one of Phil's shoulders to keep him at bay. Erin knelt in front of you.

"Are you alright, Y/N?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

"What the hell, Halstead?" Antonio yelled.

"Wre're taking you in," Voight told Phil Rodiger.

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, we just have some questions about last night we want to ask you is all. Why? Should you be under arrest?"

"No, but he should! I know you did it--"

"We'll talk to him," Voight said. "Don't you worry about that." He turned to Antonio. "You and Lindsay got this, bro?"

"Yeah, we got this," Antonio answered.

Voight nodded and then he and Ruzek escorted Phil Rodiger out of the building.

Antonio waited until Voight's car was safely out of the parking lot, before trying to lead Jay out of the building.

"Dude, I don't need a police escort. I can drive my car back home just fine," Jay protested.

"Jay, just come on. Or do I need to put you in cuffs?" He pulled his handcuffs out of his pocket and allowed them to dangle off his pointer finger.

"Tony, not here," Erin warned. "Not with Y/N watching."

You gasped. They weren't going to arrest Jay, were they? No, they wouldn't. They couldn't.

"Let's just go out to the car," Antonio said.

Once you were all in the car, Antonio driving, Erin in the passenger seat, and you and Jay in the back, did Jay finally address the elephant in the room...or, well, the elephant in the car. "Just so we're clear, I didn't kill Lonnie Rodiger. If I was gonna kill him, I would've done it the night he raped and murdered an eleven-year-old Ben Corson! I was this close, too!"

Your breath caught in your throat. You had assumed he had been raped, hell you had heard Jay talk about it with Gail and Danny, once with your dad, when they thought you were too far out of earshot to hear or thought that you were asleep. But, hearing Jay say it out loud, right in front of you, made it more real than hearing it when you weren't supposed to. And, hearing Jay say that had thoughts about killing Lonnie before...you didn't know how to feel about that. You had wanted him dead, just like Jay had (and how the Corson's probably did as well) but you never thought Jay would actually admit to wanting to kill him, much less say that he had been close to doing it.

"Shit, Y/N, I'm sorry I never told you about that," Jay said, his voice much quieter now. "I just, I didn't know how to tell you and you were ten, so you shouldn't have even known what rape was and I didn't want to explain it to you under those circumstances--"

"I knew," you told him.

"What?" he gasped as he furrowed his eyebrows. "How?"

"I heard you talking to the Corson's once when you thought I couldn't hear you and once when you were talking to Dad when you both thought that I was asleep."

"Well, either way, I'm sorry you had to hear it from me like this. And, I'm sorry he had to go through that."

"Me too," you whispered.

Erin leaned back and handed Jay a file folder. He raised an eyebrow.

"Lonnie Rodiger's homicide file," Antonio told him. "If anyone asks, no ones knows how you got that."

"That goes for you, too, Y/N. As far as you're concerned, you don't know what a homicide file is."

"What's homicide?" you joked. "I don't even know what that is."

"Works for me," Erin said as Jay flipped open the file.

***

"What'd he say? Jay asked, cornering Antonio in the locker room.

"Not here," Antonio told him and led him to the basement.

Once the two detectives were safely in the basement, Antonio let Jay in on the statement that Phil Rodiger had just given the Intelligence Unit about Lonnie Rodiger's murder.

"Can I run something by you?" Jay asked.

"Shoot."

"So, Phil Rodiger gives his statement, and he says...that his son never came home that night," Jay took a deep breath, hoping he wasn't going to get in trouble for saying this. "But I know he did. I may have not gone straight to my apartment after I got takeout for me and Y/N before we watched the Hawks game together."

"I'll talk to Voight. But, I think Y/N needs some help with homework, so go be the good big brother and do that." Antonio clapped Jay on the back and then started up the stairs.

***

"We're good to go," Antonio told him. "But, we got a problem."

"Which is?" Jay asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They kicked him."

"The hell do you mean they kicked him?"

"I mean, they don't think he did it. But, Jin's getting a location on him." Antonio's phone binged. "And here is that location. Erin, you riding with me? Halstead will follow. I got the photos."

Erin picked up her coat. "Ruzek, watch the kid, okay?"

"You got it," he answered, walking over to the break room.

"Ruz, please do not corrupt my sister."

"I'm hurt Jay, really. That hurt, man," he joked.

The three detectives left the district and made their way to a bar where Phil Rodiger was sitting and drinking alone. The three had agreed that only Jay should go in so that he wouldn't get spooked and try to run off.

Jay entered the bar and took a seat next to Phil. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but started Jay on his reasoning anyway. "In the statement you gave the detectives, you said that you didn't see Lonnie after 10:00 pm, that he went for a drive and he never came back." Jay placed a photo on the bar in front of Phil. "I was following Lonnie that night, and not long after these pictures were taken, I watched him walk into your house. Lonnie got tired of hunting, so he went home. And according to the time of death, he was killed an hour after I took this photo." Phil Rodiger just stared at the photo as Jay turned his attention away from it and onto Phil. "Your son wasn't killed in the park, was he?"

Phil stood up and brought his face close to Jay's. "You got no idea what you're talking about."

Then, he started to walk away, but Jay got up and followed him. Jay was pretty sure his cop instincts were right once again. "Phil, where you going?" Jay paused and looked at him. Phil was looking at the floor and avoiding eye contact the way only a guilty man would. "You killed him."

"He was sick."

Yeah, we all knew that. Took you long enough, Jay thought to himself.

Then, Erin and Antonio rushed in and put Phil in cuffs.

***

Half an hour later, Jay was standing in front of the one-way window with Voight, watching Erin do her thing in the interrogation room.

"I found some pictures on his computer," Phil told Erin. "Boys, same age as the Corson kid. Then I- I confronted him."

"How did you kill Lonnie?" Erin asked, straight to the point. The faster this got straightened out, the faster Jay'd get his badge and gun back.

"We fought. I picked up a belt, and I just- I just kept choking him." Phil tried to keep the tears back, but he couldn't. What kind of father would kill their own son? But then again, most fathers didn't have sons who were monsters.

"And then you dropped his body in the park?"

"Yes."

Jay walked out of the interrogation room the minute he heard those words. He knew Voight had heard the same things he had. So, when Voight motioned for Jay to step into his office, this time, Jay didn't hesitate.

Voight pulled open a drawer and grabbed Jay's badge and gun. "Good to have you back."

"Thanks, Sarge."

"Now, go and get your sister out of here. I think she's bored out of her mind."

Jay chuckled and clipped his badge onto his jeans and holstered his gun. "His dad did it?" you asked, exiting the break room.

"How did you know that?"

"Ruzek told me!"

"Dude! I told you not to corrupt her!"

"Technically, I didn't corrupt her. I told her the truth," he defended.

"Fine, whatever. Mind giving us a ride so we can go get my car back from Pizza Hut?"

"Yeah, no problem."

"I call shotgun!" you yelled and started to race down the stairs.

"No fair!" Jay exclaimed as he chased after you.

***

You and Jay were crouched in front of Ben's grave, the flowers you had planted four days ago brightening the dismal place up a bit. "They got him, Ben, they got him," you explained. "Jay almost got in trouble for it, but it turns out that Lonnie's dad did it." You paused as if waiting for Ben's reaction. You knew he would be saying something along the lines of no way where he was. "I know, no way, right?"

"You okay?" Jay asked as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

You had stopped talking after you asked that rhetorical question. You had no idea what to say now. Ben was still gone.

"I guess it doesn't feel as good as I thought it would," you said, turning your attention to Jay. "It's as if I thought that finding who did this would bring Ben back. I feel relief, but that's it."

"Hey, no matter what you're feeling, it's okay. The way this went down today and the past few days don't matter. We got justice for Ben and that's all that matters. You got justice for Ben. You were the one who saw Lonnie with that rope and duct tape and told me. You were the reason this entire case got off the ground."

"Really?"

"Really," Jay confirmed.

"Well, at least it's justice."

"At least it's justice," Jay echoed.

A/N: Thank you for the amazing feedback on the first installment of this series I posted a few days ago! Your comments really got me motivated to write this one! But, I have some bad news, which is that since I have exams in a week and a half, I won't be posting for at least two weeks, probably closer to two and a half.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and please vote and comment! Reading your comments really gets me motivated to write...even though the next chapter will have to wait a while since I have exams.

taglist: @theambracer88 @virtualreader @kelelas-life @celyndavies @brookerz122493 @musicismyescape27 @anotherfan07

#jay halstead #will halstead #chicago pd #jay halstead imagine #chicago pd fanfiction #halstead sister #halstead sister imagine #Halstead brothers #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #imagine

168 notes · View notes

flowercrown-bard · 3 years ago

Text

Flora and –yikes! - Fauna

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

read on AO3

thank you @kitcatkim for letting me use your idea with the two flower crowns <3

summary: Jaskier is making flower crowns, naturally. Too bad no one warned him that bugs like to swarm around flowers

Content warnings: bugs, insects

--- "Geralt, wait!"

Jaskier didn't give Geralt the chance to protest or grab the scruff of Jaskier's neck to keep him in place. As Jaskier ran towards the wildflowers blossoming in a patch next to the road he could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes in the way he grunted.

"Jaskier, we can't keep stopping every other minute just for you to gather flowers." Despite his words, Jaskier could hear him bring Roach to a halt. "What are you even going to do with them? Don't tell me you spent your last coin on a vase."

Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn't bother turning around to fix Geralt with a glare.

"Of course I didn't. If you please to remember, I used it to buy some more bandages because someone didn't bother to restock before rushing into a hunt."

"I remember," Geralt grumbled but there was something strange in his tone. Something that wasn’t gruff or dismissive at all. Something that might have even been the exact opposite of that. Jaskier couldn't name it but it made his heart skip a beat. "But fine. We can take a break. Roach could use it anyway."

She didn’t. She was stubborn enough to make it known when she wanted or needed to slow down and she had done no such thing since the last time Jaskier had made them stop.

"Make sure she doesn't eat my flowers," he called over his shoulder.

His smile widened as he plucked the most beautiful blue flower and added it to his already impressive collection. Maybe he had gathered too many flowers, but how was he to know how many he needed? He had never done this before. It wasn't as if he could just pluck flowers out of flower pots at Oxenfurt and he would rather not dismay a town's residents by raiding their gardens.

Besides, no garden could grow such beautiful flowers as blossomed on their own in the wild. At least that's what Jaskier hoped Geralt would think. He never seemed to appreciate the carefully cultivated beauty of cities when instead he could have the open road and woods.

Jaskier eyed his flowers critically. Though most of them had differently shaped and shaded blossoms, most of them were blue. Perfect to bring out his eyes. Hopefully. Surely.

Satisfied and a little giddy, Jaskier marched over to Geralt and thrust the flowers into his hand.

"Hold this," he said, fighting the unreasonable blush that crept up his cheeks.

Geralt's brows pinched together in confusion and he looked almost flustered. Still, he didn't hesitate to close his hand around the flower stems, perhaps a little too tightly, as if he was afraid of them falling if he didn't clutch them in a death grip.

"I-Jaskier, what are you-"

"I need both hands to do this," Jaskier explained and began searching for the best flower to begin with. Not that he had any idea what constituted as a perfect starter flower, but as long as he scrutinised the bouquet, he surely looked competent and there was nothing more attractive than a person who knew what they were doing.

Geralt frowned. "And what exactly is it you need both hands for?"

"Why, making a flower crown, of course." Jaskier beamed up at Geralt and randomly pulled a flower out of Geralt's grip to begin. "I mean, really, it's a shame that I haven't thought if this before. But a bard out there in the wilderness without flowers on his head? That's just wasted potential."

Geralt gave an amused hum. "Are you sure you want to put flowers on your head?"

"Absolutely." Jaskier's voice left no room for argument. "I am going to look beautiful with it."

Geralt is going to look at him and think him beautiful.

"What does it matter? There's no one here to impress."

Jaskier's hands faltered and just for a second his eyes darted up to glare Geralt.

"Who says I want to impress anyone?" His voice definitely didn't waver and there was no way to interpret his words as defensive. "Can't I just want to be pretty for the sake of being pretty?"

Geralt grumbled something dismissively. It was wishful thinking, but to Jaskier is almost sounded like "You don't need flower crowns for that."

More to hide his burning face than anything else, Jaskier turned his attention back to the flowers and started weaving - or rather chaotically knotting – them together.

Geralt let him work in silence, but whenever Jaskier glanced up to pull another flower out of the bouquet, he found Geralt's eyes on him. It made his neck feel hot and his chest tight.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, he finished the flower crown. It wasn't stunning by any means, but it was passable. Kind if pretty even. Actually, for a first try it was downright amazing.

Filled with excitement about his craft, Jaskier hopped the crown around his arm so he'd have both of his hands available again and made to work on Geralt's crown.

"Looks like you got too many flowers," Geralt said, lips twitching up.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jaskier rolled his eyes good naturedly and bound some more flowers together. "I'm making a second crown."

"You know Roach will eat the flowers before you'll be able to put them on her head.”

Jaskier's hands froze and his heart jumped into his throat. He had forgotten to ask Geralt if he even wanted a crown. Judging from how he didn't even think about wearing the crown himself, it was quite clear just how much he didn't want it.

Jaskier's eyes went to Roach, silently begging her for help, but the horse was just munching on some grass, giving him an unimpressed and perhaps slightly judgemental look.

"It's not for Roach." Jaskier blurted, thoughts stumbling over each other to find an excuse. "It's for me. They’re both for me. Obviously. Why would I wear just one crown if I could have two and be doubly pretty, am I right?"

He grinned at Geralt in a way that begged please kill me now and let this embarrassment be over. But Geralt didn't grant him that mercy but at least he didn't call him out in his nonsense either. Instead his lips quirked up and he handed Jaskier another flower, unprompted.

While working on the second crown, Jaskier started talking again. One might also say he was rambling. Anything to distract Geralt from the way Jaskier's cheeks were bright red and he was still cursing himself for his stupidity on the inside.

He told Geralt about how he had always wanted to wear flower crowns ever since he had read a story book about a princess with flowers in her hair as a child.

Occasionally, Geralt would grace his tale with a hum or a barely noticeable upwards quirk of his lips.

Jaskier took that as encouragement. He continued to talk about how his sisters used to wear flower crowns when they were young, about how Jaskier had always been envious about how pretty they looked with pink, blue and yellow flowers in on their heads. He reminisced about all the times he gifted flower crowns to his dance partners during Belleteyn and never got any in return.

More than once it looked as if Geralt was going to open his mouth, but then he always thought better of it and contented himself with listening to Jaskier.

It was only when Jaskier eventually ran out of flower related things to talk about that Geralt spoke up again.

“You’re getting better,” he commented, nodding towards the now finished second crown.

Jaskier’s face lit up but he forced his voice to sound nonchalant and teasing. “Why Geralt, is that a compliment?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, that’s exactly where it’s going.” Jaskier winked and put both crowns on his head.

He felt a little stupid wearing both of them, but the sheepishness was quickly overshadowed by the giddy excitement of finally making his childhood dream come true.

A small giggle escaped Jaskier and he didn’t care how silly he probably looked; there was just too much joy bubbling up inside him that needed to be released somehow. He twirled and threw his head back laughing. Quickly he realised his mistake, when the crowns threatened to fall off. His hands flew to the flowers to hold them in place.

When he came to a stop, he found Geralt’s eyes fixed on him with an unexpected softness, though he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. It wasn't fast enough for Jaskier to miss and try how he might, Geralt would never be able to hide such a fond look from Jaskier.

"So?" Jaskier made a point of fiddling with the crowns as if he was righting a fancy little hat. "How do I look?"

Geralt contemplated him a long moment with a complicated expression. "Happy."

Jaskier's moth went dry. The way Geralt had said it made it sound like he meant so much more.

"Geralt-"

He let go of the crowns, but the universe saved – or damned - him from doing something stupid like take Geralt's face in his hands and kiss him. Now that he wasn't holding onto the flower crowns anymore, they immediately fell over his eyes.

Jaskier let out a little noise of surprise that very much wasn't an undignified squeak.

Geralt chuckled and had Jaskier not been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having leaves poke them, he would have glared at Geralt.

As if was, he found that he couldn't be upset even when Geralt was making fun of his misfortune. Geralt's laugh was too beautiful a sound to ever want him to stop. Especially if Jaskier was the one making him laugh.

"Guess there were too many flowers after all," Geralt said and Jaskier could practically hear his smug smile.

Jaskier tried to lift the crowns, but he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began and he absolutely wasn't going to risk them falling apart because he tugged on the wrong one.

"I just miscalculated a little," Jaskier grumbled, but his own lips were stretched wide grin. "You know you could do the noble thing and save me from my predicament."

Almost immediately he felt the lightest touch on his cheek. For a second, Jaskier's heart sped up at how tenderly Geralt was touching him. But then it hit him.

Even if Geralt ever were to caress his cheek softly, he would not be able to do it that softly. In fact, the touch was so light it almost tickled.

Jaskier furrowed his brows and his heart began racing in earnest for a very different reason.

"Geralt?"

Something buzzed right next to his ear. Something that sounded very big and very crawly.

"Geralt!" Jaskier almost shrieked, but all the reply he got from Geralt the traitor was another laugh.

Another light touch as something landed on his skin, this time on his hands.

Immediately, he pulled them away from the flowers and clutched them protectively against his chest. He needed his hands. He couldn't let some insect sting his fingers.

He wanted to call out for Geralt again, demand that he help him, but the bug on his face chose that moment to crawl closer to his lips.

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and held his breath.

"Now there's that blessed silence," Geralt teased as if he didn't even notice the danger Jaskier was in.

Mentally, Jaskier took back everything he had thought before. Right now he wanted to wipe away the smirk that undoubtedly was on Geralt's face. And if Geralt didn’t stop laughing, Jaskier was going to write the most scathing song about him, once he could open his mouth again.

Oh gods, but what if keeping his lips pressed together wasn't enough? What if one of those crawling things decided to go up his nose?

The buzzing around his head got louder. More insects landed on him and Jaskier could do nothing but keep his eyes and lips shut and pray none of the insects were dangerous.

He was tense as a bow string and his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s foot hitting the ground.

He could feel tiny legs all over him, could hear nothing but that horrible buzzing. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him.

"Jaskier?" All traces of humour were gone from Geralt's voice. In fact, he sounded concerned.

Oh. Oh no. If Geralt was worried, that could only mean that something truly bad was happening. Maybe one of the bugs had a venomous bite. Maybe one of the things on Jaskier's head was the larva of a giant centipede. Maybe one of them was a were-bug and Jaskier would get turned into a disgusting insect himself!

Jaskier wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to civilisation where he was safe from those tiny monsters. Adventure be damned. Inspiration be damned. Flower crowns be damned. He would be happy if he'd never have to see another insect again. If being pestered by swarms of insects was the prize for walking the Path, Jaskier would not shed a single tear abandoning it. Good riddance.

If only that didn't mean that he'd also lose Geralt...

"Jaskier?" Geralt repeated, softer this time. He sounded closer.

Strangely enough, the touch if the insects disappeared and got replaced by another sense of tickling, but this was one warm and almost glowing. It washed over his skin and spread wider around him. Slowly, the buzzing grew more distant until it disappeared fully.

A warm hand brushed Jaskier's temple and the crowns were pushed back onto the top of his head where they belonged. Well, we're one of them belonged.

Carefully, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He let out a tiny gasp and then his breath got stuck again for a different reason. Geralt was standing surprisingly close to him, their chests almost touching. The hand not occupied with the flower crowns was twisted into an uncomfortable looking shape.

Quen.

A dome of warm golden light surrounded them. Jaskier hadn't known the sign could be used to keep bugs at bay, but as far as he was concerned insects did definitely count as fiendish enemies and he wasn't about to complain about the protection. Especially not since Geralt was looking at him with his brows knitted together in soft worry and his hand left the crowns to caress his cheek instead.

"I take it the story about the princess didn't warn you about the bugs?" Te corner of Geralt's lips twitched into a half-smile.

Jaskier shook his head and swallowed. "No, definitely not." He leaned into Geralt's touch. It was warm and comforting and Jaskier never wanted him to let go again.

Maybe... Maybe if this touch was the reward he got for bravely withstanding the terror of the insects, he could face the bugs again sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps being in nature wasn't too bad if he had Geralt with him.

"There's one thing the story did teach me, though."

"Oh?" Geralt's brows rose a little.

"At the end the hero gets a kiss." Before his bravery or foolishness could leave him, he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against Geralt's lips.

He expected the kiss to be over quickly, little more than a brush if lips, but Geralt's hand on his cheek travelled to the back of his head, holding him close.

Jaskier lifted his own hands, burying them into Geralt's hair. Geralt let out a soft sound and then a second hand found its place at the small of Jaskier's back.

Jaskier pulled back, just enough to speak, his lips nearly brushing against Geralt's with every word.

"Geralt, put the damn Quen back." His eyes narrowed. "I am not kissing you with bugs crawling all over me."

"Perhaps you could give one crown to me and share the burden?"

Jaskier drew back suspiciously. "You mean that?" he asked slowly, his insides twisting in excitement. "You would really wear my flower crown?"

Geralt shrugged. "I don't want you to complain about the bugs and the leaves in your hair," he grumbled, but his eyes shone with a fondness that made Jaskier's heart swell. The hand on Jaskier’s back gave a small squeeze and tugged him closer. "And I happen to like my hand right where it is."

Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, mischief and another, softer emotion lighting up his eyes. "You can pretend not to like my voice all you want, but you just traded your blessed silence for my comfort. I know where your priorities lie."

Geralt hummed quietly, the smile on his lips getting wider and his thumb caressed Jaskier's cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe I don't mind your voice too much when you're talking about something you like. Or when you're singing. Or laughing." He leaned forward, too fast for Jaskier to react and stole a quick peck. "And I prefer keeping you silent by kissing you."

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. "Who knew you could be such a romantic," he deadpanned and shook his head fondly. "Truly, you know how to charm a man with your words."

"It's working isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

With a mental strength Jaskier didn't know he possessed, he let go of Geralt's hair and lifted one of his flower crowns off his head to put it on Geralt's instead.

For a long moment, he just stared at Geralt, admiring him. The colours of the blossoms contrasted beautifully with Geralt's hair. But that wasn't what took Jaskier's breath away. It was the fact that Geralt actually looked happy like this. Happy to be with Jaskier. Happy to make him happy.

"You know" Jaskier said with smug satisfaction as a bug with shimmering green wings landed on Geralt's forehead, "you're lucky I love you more than I hate bugs."

Geralt snorted. "Now who's the romantic?"

Jaskier could have answered with a quip if he wanted to. He most certainly had multiple quick-witted responses to that.

Too bad that he too liked kissing Geralt's words away.

And so that was what he did.

They only broke away again when Geralt's crown fell into his eyes. Jaskier burst out into a well-deserved laugh at Geralt's dumbfounded look. As much as Jaskier liked kissing him, he found that he also rather liked the way Geralt's eyes lit up when he joined the laughter.

He could get used to this. In fact, as he buried his face in Geralt's chest to stifle his giggles and could feel Geralt's heart beneath him, he knew that he could battle any creepy crawlies if it meant that he got to keep this.

---

tag list: @snowfea @diedfromembarrassmentlikeasim @thebloodletter7 @eleos-fawn @palefuckingmeme @irongal21 (sorry for tagging you unasked, but you seemed to like the idea when I posted it a while ago so I figured you might like this too)

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geraltxjaskier #flowers #flower crowns #fluff #i think #witcher #witcher fic #fic #my writing #jaskier #geralt #bugs #insects

77 notes · View notes

inumaki-roll · 4 years ago

Note

hi!! could i please request mha (( deku, bakugo, todoroki, kirishima, denki, sero, shinsou, tamaki, mirio, shindo, monoma, shiggy, dabi + hawks ?? I’M SO SORRY IK THIS IS A LOT..... )) + danganronpa guys (( nagito, hajime, makoto, rantaro, shuichi, chihiro, byakuya, izuru, kazuichi, & kiibo )) with an s/o who is like tall & chubby ? they get insecure about it and really are body-insecure to the point it’s like super frustrating bc they want to express themselves through their outfits but absolutely hate clothes shopping and will break down bc of the amount of people, the clothing sizes, and being upset after trying things on... sorry this got kinda personal lol i just really am in need some comfort and would appreciate this!! thank you so much!!

hi anon !! unfortunately i don’t have writing requests open for bnha !! i’m sorry abt that !! but here are the dr ones you requested !!

- mod rantaro ✧･ﾟ: *✧

➽───────────────❥

MAKOTO NAEGI

- makoto would love it that you’re taller than him omg

- he’d be so confused on why you’re insecure abt it bc he finds it so cute

- if you can’t find anything to wear he’d let you wear his jacket if you want !!

- he would 100% ask komaru for clothing advice and she would let you borrow some of hers to avoid going to the store and being uncomfortable in the store

- she could also help you online shop !!

- if you guys were ever in the store together and you started panicking bc of insecurities, he’d immediately get you out as soon as he senses your uncomfortable

- hed hype you up if you were trying clothes on in a store i know it

- he doesn’t know much about “fashion” but i think he’d like picking out clothes for you but he’d also be nervous bc he doesn’t wanna pick out the wrong thing

➽───────────────❥

CHIHIRO FUJISAKI

- he’s also short so i think he’d think it’s so cute that you’re taller than him

- OKAY BUT. HED BE AWESOME AT FASHION ADVICE YOU CANNOT TELL ME HE ISNT.

- he literally dressed in both masculine clothes and then feminine clothes. he’d know a lot about how to dress

- he’d give timid little tips of advice it’d be so cute please

- he’d like clap for you when you try things on

- like cute little claps with the biggest smile like “y/n! you look amazing in that!”

- he’s also quite insecure so you guys would be able to comfort each other !!

- he’d always feel so worried if you got upset and would try his best to calm you down but he’d be so panicky

- i think he’d also make a website that like... gives you clothes recommendations like specifically for you

➽───────────────❥

BYAKUYA TOGAMI

- he’d be very shocked when he finds out

- like he’d be like “y/n! why are you so concerned about something so insignificant? looks do not matter, although the feelings you feel are valid. many people experience this problem as well, so you are not alone. if you wish, we can go shopping together sometime if you are comfortable with that.”

- he’d be very concerned about you and would constantly check up on you

- he’s also tall so like,,,, power couple

- he’d buy you whatever you want no matter how expensive

- he’d be very nervous if you started crying at a store, he’d pull you to the side and talk to you to calm you down

- he’d say very heartfelt things to you, and he’d really mean them

➽───────────────❥

KAZUICHI SODA

- HED BE SO CONFUSED ON WHY YOURE INSECURE

- “if y/n pretty... 🤨 why they not think so... 🤔”

- he’s the biggest simp so he thinks you look amazing in literally anything

- if you try on clothes at a store his jaw would be on the floor the entire time

- CONSTANT PRAISE AND COMPLIMENTS

- like if there’s a commercial on tv and it’s for clothes he’d look at the outfits and points to the ones that you would look good in (it’s every single outfit btw)

- he would want to try his best to help

- he’d find your height so cool too though

➽───────────────❥

NAGITO KOMAEDA

- OKAY BUT HED BE SUPER SUPER CONFUSED WHY YOURE INSECURE

- HE SEES YOU AS FLAWLESS

- he lets you take your time, he lets you call the shots when you want to go shopping so he won’t invite you bc he doesn’t wanna offend you accidentally by inviting you to go shopping with him

- i feel like he’d like immediately hug you when he found out

- like he’d be genuinely SAD that you feel that way

- he’d wrap you up in his big jacket and lay you down on the couch and hold onto you

- if you do want to go shopping he’d be willing to spend sm money

- he’d also be literally drooling over how you look the entire time too

➽───────────────❥

HAJIME HINATA

- he wouldn’t even notice

- he would have to have a flat out sign that you’re insecure

- as soon as he suspected it, he was a little hesitant to confront you

- he had no clue what to say

- but he did give you many compliments and saying that if you need something to always come to him because he will try his best to help

- if y’all ever went to the store together he’d be blushing the entire time bc he thinks you look so good bye

- he would give recommendations occasionally but when he does give recommendations they’re wicked good

➽───────────────❥

IZURU KAMUKURA

- he would immediately know and would know exactly how and when to comfort you

- when he notices that you’re having a particularly bad day, he’d drag you to lay with him and pet your hair with no words whatsoever

- he’d give the best recommendations. like they literally look perfect on you

- i think he’d also like buy you clothes without taking you to the store

- he already knows your taste in clothes and what would compliment you, he would go out and buy them for you

- he could also make clothes for you !!

- pls. imagine him sewing. why is that so cute bye

➽───────────────❥

RANTARO AMAMI

- he’s got 12 sisters, he’s used to this

- he’d know immediately as well

- but he’d confront you almost immediately

- i feel like he’d make a little plan to make you feel better

- like when he notices, he’d buy you a little “comfort sweatshirt” and a bunch of flowers and would buy a new movie so you could hang out with him and watch it together, to get your mind off of insecurities

- he’d give you a bunch of his jewelry and say they look pretty on you

- he’d let you wear his shirt too bc that shirt looks wicked comfy

➽───────────────❥

SHUICHI SAIHARA

- okay he’d also put all the clues together and know immediately

- he would not say anything about it, he doesn’t wanna make you upset

- instead, he does little things that might make you feel better

- he’d let you wear his hat while shopping, to block out other people

- he’d be very comforting and would avoid crowds of people bc that makes you uncomfortable

- if you ever complained about yourself this boy would not be having it

- “y/n!! don’t talk so bad about yourself!! you need to see how pretty i think you are!! i don’t care how tall you are, or what you look like! you’re very beautiful to me!!” then he’d realize he was kinda yelling so his voice would soften up

- “ah, y/n, i’m sorry about my tone- i d-didn’t mean to be loud. but you get what i meant. i think you a very.. pretty and i wish you would see yourself that way too.. please?”

➽───────────────❥

KIIBO

- he’d google how to help you and would be kinda shy about helping you but he knows that he needs to help you

- i feel like he’d be kinda lost on this since he’s a robot and he’s always looked the way he looks

- he would.. understand how you feel though?

- not exactly the same as how you feel but he would relate in a way because he does get teased and discriminated on for being a robot

- he’d give you little pep talks

- “y/n. as your significant other, i think it would be good for me to confront you on this subject. this subject may be a bit awkward but i hope to make you feel better about this. i have noticed you are not confident in looks, but there is no need for you to feel this way. you are extremely attractive, and it’s insignificant what you look like anyways. what matters is how you treat others. i am a robot, i an aware of that but i am not ashamed of it. this is why if you think you are lacking in something to acknowledge it and to embrace it. there are plus sides to being a robot as well as there are many plus sides to being tall like you are. if you would like to accompany me on a shopping trip i would be more than happy when you are ready.”

- i dont think people realize how short kiibo is so he’d think the way you’re taller than him is absolutely endearing

➽───────────────❥

116 notes · View notes

mxpseudonym · 4 years ago

Text

Just Good Business II

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, "wife”

Summary: After your arranged marriage with Tommy Shelby, Tommy is MIA while you become one of the Shelby’s

Length: 1549 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Overtones of forced/arranged marriage, otherwise strong “My husband is clueless” vibes

A/N: Part III is very likely!

Part I | Part III

As far as things that sounded interesting went, marriage wasn't one of them. Sure, the lead up was fun enough, but a wedding wasn't a marriage, that was for sure. Your first few months with Tommy only confirmed it.

You'd consummated your marriage on your wedding night, and even once more, when you decided that sharing the master bedroom was a must. But after that, Tommy was always gone. Over three months, you could count the number of times Tommy came to bed on two hands, and the times you actually woke up next to him on one. If he wasn't in London or Birmingham, which was nearly always, he was locked away in the home office. More than upset, though, it made you curious.

"He does everything on his own, for better or worse," Polly said when you got the Shelby women together for tea.

"Head as hard as a rock," Ada tsked Tommy, who wasn't there to defend himself.

In Tommy's absence, you found yourself getting to know the rest of the Shelby's. It wasn't just relocating from many of your friends and your dubious relationship with your own family that made you cling to them. On occasion, when they allowed themselves to be, the Shelby’s were a lot of fun.

"I can't!" You jumped back from the horse troughs and the goldfish swimming inside with a laugh.

"Stop being a scaredy-cat, y/n," Finn teased, expertly picking up a fish with his bare hands. "You can't even touch one."

"Lady's aren't used to slummin' it, Finn," Isaiah said, nudging his friend with his elbow. Along with meeting Ada for talks about politics and occasionally drinking John under the table, you'd gotten into the habit of throwing big picnics for your new nieces and nephews birthdays. John's small army allowed for two in a month, but that didn't stop you from rallying the troops. Between getting to frolic around the gardens barefoot and teaching the children how to catch fireflies, this was your favorite part about being married. Fish, however, was where your steady nerve stalled a bit.

"It's not too bad, sister," Arthur urged you. Tommy's older brother was sweeter than you imagined. You weren't a fool, you'd asked about the Peaky Blinders during your London escapades. Arthur being comparable to a rabid dog was amongst the rumors. But here he was, kneeling by the troughs and guiding your hand into the paths of goldfish.

"You're okay. Just take a deep breath," Arthur said when you almost pulled away. The soft scales brushed against your fingertips making you shiver, but Finn and Isaiah's cheers of encouragement kept you going until you did it yourself. Arthur cleared his throat while you tried cupping your palms around one.

"How's my brother treatin' you?" he asked.

"I don't see him much, but pretty well, I suppose. Big house, lovely new brothers, who's to complain?" You shrugged.

"If Tommy gives you any trouble, you let us know," Finn said, high fiving Isaiah, who was shaking his head.

"Alright, simmer down, Finn," Arthur murmured, then turned back to you. "He's right, though. We'll talk sense into Tommy."

"Not that you can't do it on your own, Mrs. Shelby. The way Tommy talks about you, I bet you're keeping him in line," Isaiah joked. Arthur gave him a warning look while you raised an eyebrow. How did Tommy talk about you?

"Aunt y/n!" Katie came running around the corner, stopping any questions you may have had.

"Hello, birthday girl!" You hugged her when she was close enough. She really was a spitting image of John.

"Can we eat cake?" She asked.

"Yes, we can eat cake."

The cake was eaten, gifts were opened, and Ada had just joined the children in a game of tag when Francis, the head of the house staff, came to you with word that your husband was home.

People of habit always stay that way, so finding Tommy in his office was easy. Tommy was just about to pour a glass of whiskey when you entered after a brief knock.

"You know, knocking doesn't mean you can just enter," Tommy said, looking over your birthday attire. It included a flower crown from Katie and no stockings.

"Oh? What does it mean, then, Thomas?" You asked with more snap than expected. You did actually tell him about the birthdays. Whether or not he showed up was dependent on the stars aligning. He sat down the glass and turned to you with a sigh.

"Alright, have at it. Go on and tell me your grievances."

There were so many things to say, you hardly knew which to choose first. Where the hell have you been? Where do you get off not greeting anyone in the house before hiding away? Are your manners lost somewhere alongside your damn mind leading to such a greeting? But the bridge of his nose was pinched between his thumb and forefinger, so you weighed your options and chose the most important one.

"Did you wish Katie a happy birthday?" You asked. He wasn't expecting that, you could tell.

"No, not yet."

"Come on, then." You walked to the door and held it open until he walked out first. Seeing Tommy kiss Katie's cheek and slip her a coin was satisfactory enough, so you quickly got swept into the shenanigans going on by the gramophone. Polly told you that you looked wilder that day, and like one of the family. She also mentioned on her way out that Tommy stayed for a bit and could hardly take his eyes off of you while you danced with the kids.

"Polly," you warned. The all-knowing matriarch put her hands up as a white flag.

"There are worse things than your husband loving you and vice versa," Polly said, ever so sly.

Love? After washing up, you thought about what she said while browsing the downstairs library. Of course, there was nothing wrong with loving your spouse, some would even say it was preferred. Even if one of you had something to confess, what did it matter?

"I'm sure you have some things to say to me," Tommy's voice broke through your thoughts and gave you a start.

"Fucking hell!"

"I did knock," he said, smirking a little. You looked over the robe and slippers you'd gotten him, knowing it made him feel too posh but not being able to resist a bit of teasing in retaliation for being ignored.

"It's alright, I was just grabbing a book." You picked one up and walked towards him. "All I have to say is I don't like the way you talked to me earlier. I don't care how stressed you are."

"I'm sorry," he apologized with no hesitation. You nodded and went to leave, only for Tommy to stop you. He pulled you back, his hands on your waist. Nothing prepared you for your husband wrapping his arms around your middle and resting his cheek against your belly. You slowly wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

"Are you alright? Has something happened?"

"I've got blood on my hands, y/n. Done things I'm not proud of," he murmured. You could only just make out what he was saying. "And I don't stop. I want you to be angry with me for bringing you along with this and putting you up in my house then leaving you alone. Talking to you how I did and putting you and everyone in danger." After a moment, you let out a chuckle.

"Thomas, what the fuck are you talking about?" You couldn't help it really, even when you looked down to see those distressed blue eyes. You pressed the back of your hand on his cheeks and forehead. "Are you ill, Sir?"

"I'm not. I mean it y/n, you've no idea what's gone on." Tommy shook his head and rested it on your stomach again. You scoffed at the man.

"First of all, you haven't put me up in your house, you've put me up in my house, remember? I just let you live here sometimes," you reminded him of whose name was on the deed. It was for the sake of business, but it was also a gift. Tommy let the corner of his mouth tug up a bit.

"Second, if you think your wife is dense, think again. Did you think I wouldn't do a bit of research? Ask around? I don't just sit around all day, Polly does like to keep me active, Tom. Plus, one of my mates works at that rum bakery, you think I don't keep tabs on you?" You gave him a knowing look. If you could catch him before he was out the door, you'd have already given him a lecture on getting involved with Alfie Solomons.

"Ah," Tommy hummed. "That's why you told me to tighten up on security."

"Mmhm. Third of all," you grasped Tommy's face and made him look at you. "When I agreed to marry you, did I ask you where your hands have been?"

"No."

"No." You shook your head. "And maybe that's my burden to bear, but I'll always look out for myself, don't worry. And I'm not scared of blood, Mr. Shelby." You leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Clever, bloody woman," Tommy murmured.

"The cleverest," You agreed.

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor

#tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby

463 notes · View notes

aseioh · 3 years ago

Text

Of Stars and Moonlit walks pt.2/?

Notes: Some housekeeping first. Donna for the purpose of this story will be based partly on her unused content from the game as well as some canon info. This means that she has a darker background than the one that was used in the game proper as I would really like to incorporate those into this story.

Another thing is that as you’ve probably read from the previous chapter. The characters here are slightly out of character, I’m afraid this is entirely my problem as I’m not used to writing stories

----

Chapter 2: Dinner with a show

Dinner with the Dimitrescus’ was never a quiet affair, in fact it is the very definition of a happy family dinner. The three daughters vying for their Mother’s attention, retelling their afternoon adventures. Alcina sitting at the head of the table patiently listening to everything her daughters tell her, her smile so much different from the usual smirk or predatory grin she sports during the meetings with Mother Miranda and the other Lords.

It made her look softer; Motherhood seems to suite her like her gloves.

At the back of Donna mind, she remembers her childhood before things went bad. Sunday roast dinners made by Mother, Father sneaking from behind to leave a kiss on her Mother’s cheek. Yes, everything seems so simple back then.

The dining room itself is small and cozy, Donna guesses that this room is where the family usually dines compared to the cavernous dining hall that exits into their courtyard.

Across the table Bela has been silently studying their mysterious guest. Of course she has been joining her sisters retell their afternoon escapades in the garden and how they had manage to scare the new maids. But throughout dinner she has been subtly glancing at Donna.

The women certainly is interesting, so quiet compared to her doll that you would have imagined that the chatty doll is the Lord and the woman is the puppet. But she had listened to her Mother’s lesson unlike her two sisters. She knows who Donna Beneviento is, what the woman is capable of.

What an interesting study, I wonder what is behind that veil.

‘She must be pretty.’ She thought as she swirls the wine in her glass.

“So Angie, wanna play hide and seek? Bet you can’t find us! We’re very good at that game” Daniela challenges Angie. The moment that the youngest sister saw the moving doll she has become utterly fascinated by it.

It was obvious that Angie was the greatest doll Donna possesses, as she has mostly used the doll as an extension of her psyche. That said, the doll seems to be capable of autonomous actions based on the way she flitters around the room inspecting various stuff that catches her attention.

“Ha you’re talking to the greatest hide and seeker! Hehehe, alright. Let’s play” Angie exclaimed hopping up and down Donna’s side.

“she really is one of a kind huh?” Cassandra muses.

“Yes, my Father built and gifted her to me on my birthday, we’ve been inseparable since. When I’ve received my gift from Mother Miranda I’ve decide to share some of my psyche with her. In a way she is an extension of myself, albeit a rather excitable one at that.” Donna explains as she looks on fondly at Angie.

As Alcina stands up from her chair and offers her hand to Donna “Yes well enough of that melancholy dear, shall we retire or will you join me for a short night cap.”

“And girls if you are going to play with Angie make sure that you don’t cause too much noise. God knows we need some rest after today.”

“Yes Mother!” the three answers in unison

“You guys hide, and I’ll seek” Daniela announces as she grins predatorily. The ‘preys’ have already scattered before she even finished her sentence. After counting to ten she proudly bellows “READY or NOT, HERE I COMEEE!!” with that she disintegrates into hundreds of flies intent on ‘hunting’ her preys.

----

Adjourning to another room the two Lords sit in front of a roaring fire. Alcina casually cupping one of her finest vintages, while Donna content on sipping her tea.

“Donna when I asked you to join me for a night cap, I didn’t expect you to drink tea” Alcina chuckles at Donna’s preferred drink.

Donna having removed her veil as she was alone with Alcina responds by standing up and taking the crystal decanter by the table. She pours a fingers worth of aged whiskey into her cup. Smirking she raises her tea laced whiskey to Alcina and gulps down a mouthful.

Seeing this Alcina roars into laughter. “You really can surprise anyone” Wiping a stray tears from her eyes “and that is why anyone who underestimates you meets their end.”

“At that I can only blame them” Donna answers. The two fell into a companionable silence, the silence only broken by the occasional cracking of the fire.

“Tell me Donna, how is your project with Heisenberg. I do hope the man is not running you haggard. I know that it concerns Mother Miranda’s plan but you shouldn’t run yourself to hard. Let Heisenberg sweat a bit”

“Thank you for your concern Alcina, but you shouldn’t worry. Believe it or not Karl and I are very efficient with our work, and yes, I let him do all the heavy lifting. I’m just there when he needs a second opinion on the new ‘soldat’ hardware.” Donna levels Alcina with a grateful smile, who knew that the tallest and blood thirsty Lord of the village have a soft spot for her ‘siblings’.

“Yes, yes I’m just worried that Mother Miranda has been running you ragged. Lord knows she’s been going full tilt with her so called ‘plan’.

“Actually Alcina, may I ask you for a favor?”

“Depends, does it involve the depletion of our whiskey stores?” At that Alcina couldn’t help but give a short chuckle.

“Very funny. But no. I would never deprive Karl of his favorite drink.” Donna shakes her head, pin it to the back of her head ‘Alcina is a funny half-drunk.’

“No, I was wondering if you would allow me to tour your greenhouse. I would love to see your plants and roses.”

“Is that all? Of course, I’ll ask Bela to take you tomorrow. She’s usually the one to tend to my roses, she’s picked up the hobby after reading some books and my roses have never looked livelier.”

“Thank you.”

-----

A knock on the door alerts Donna that her companion for the day has arrived. From what Angie has relayed to her last night, the girls had fun with their game with Angie being declared the ultimate victor followed closely by Cassandra. Apparently being a small doll makes it near impossible to find her inside the huge castle.

“Good morning Donna, shall we go to the greenhouse?” Bela extends her arms towards the hallway as they make their way to the greenhouse.

“You look pretty today Bela! I love your dress, it suits you so much it brings out your eyes!” Angie says as she turns her head to face Bela. Donna who has been carrying Angie had to think hard on not dropping the doll or stop walking.

Bela for her part slightly blushes at the compliment. “You really think so Angie?” Angie enthusiastically nods her head, fearing that it might fall off Donna decides to intervene.

“Angie’s right Bela, you look really beautiful today.” At that Bela’s blush blossoms like one of her Mother’s roses. “Thank you, Angie, Donna”

“I must say though, your hands are beautiful Donna, they look so soft-“ Bela stops herself before she could say more and embarrass herself further. ‘Really Bela, her hands are pretty, Mother Miranda above what are you a child!?’ she chides herself.

Not knowing how to respond to such a compliment herself, Donna instead slows down her walk and whispers, “Thank you, Bela” Although Bela doesn’t seem to hear as she was busy chiding herself.

Thankfully the two arrive at the Castle’s greenhouse without any hitch.

Entering the great building Donna is surprised by the sheer number of plants that the building houses. Exotic plants that can only survive in tropical climates seem to thrive even in their Romanian climate. At the center of place is Alcina’s roses, the bushes so lush its as if each rose were painted there. Truly they were the main attraction of the greenhouse.

“They’re beautiful, and is it true that you yourself tended to these flowers?” Donna enquired as she caresses the petals of a rose amazed at the softness of it.

“Well, yes. I read in the library on the optimal way to care for the roses. I though that I could try my hands on caring for them. To ward off boredom of course, Mother said that we should look for hobbies and stop terrorizing the hired help” Bela explains as she tries not to blush on how Donna touches the plant.

“I don’t think it’s just that Bela. You have a big heart. You’ve managed to grow something from this barren and frozen place. You gave it your time and love and in return, they bloom for you.” Donna says quietly voice soft it’s as if the wind itself is talking.

Bela blushes furiously and is left speechless. ‘this is the third time she’s been made to blush! What the hell Bela get a hold of yourself’.

Donna sensing that she has said too much tries to back paddle. “I’m sorry it’s just how I see here. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

“No thank you Donna, really that’s the sweetest thing anyone has said to me.”

Thankfully the awkwardness of the place changes when Cassandra barrels through the greenhouse. “Lady Beneviento, may Angie play with us again? We want a rematch with her. This time we’ll definitely win” She says with fire in her voice.

And even though her sisters have said that she can sometimes gloss over and ‘cannot read the room’, Cassandra knew for certain that something has happened. It might be the blush her elder sister is sporting or the subtle twitch of Donna’s hands.

But there are more pressing matters at hand, a Champion needs to be dethroned. Therefore she filed the weird atmosphere around Donna and Bela for another time.

At the mention of the challenge Angie becomes animated and hops off to run into Cassandra. The three leaves Donna alone to ponder the situation inside the greenhouse.

Perhaps her stay at Castle Dimitrescu would be full of surprises after all.

----

Another note: I’ve also been made aware that Donna may suffer from Agoraphobia. I’m sorry that I haven’t taken that into consideration when writing this story, in this case Donna just suffers from a slight fear of unknown people and will not talk at all if she’s in front of new people (which won’t technically happen in this fic)

#resident evil village #re8 village BelaDonna #donna beneviento #bela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #Of Stars and Moonlit walks

35 notes · View notes

letterstomilen · 4 years ago

Text

i discuss the classification of igneous petrology as you fall asleep during my lecture (PART 2) (ASMR)

Childe/Zhongli, Alternate Universe When Childe's younger sister tells him about the volunteer at the library, he does not make the connection between that and his new favorite ASMR YouTuber, Rex Lapis.

Childe’s unfortunate love life starts at the age of eight. He, of course, did not call it “love” when he’s eight. When he was eight, he plucked a couple of weeds and sunflowers from his neighbor’s garden before he went to the park and handed them over to a classmate he doesn’t remember the name of now.

Handed over is an understatement here, seeing that she fell over from him shoving the flowers towards her chest before declaring, “Please marry me!”

In hindsight, storming over with the delicacy of an elephant with two left feet was not the best idea. But as somebody who recently discovered that watermelons could not grow out of your stomach no matter what, he was not the brightest. (Lumine now would argue that this is still the case. Unfortunately.)

She, as all eight-year kids would when faced with a loud boy that shoved you to the ground, started bawling. It didn’t help that Childe wasn’t aware of the fact that some worm wriggled in with the weeds and sunflowers he uprooted, with said worm now wiggling on the glittery, cursive ‘i’ in ‘Magical’ on her t-shirt.

This promptly resulted in her mom heading over and a long talk over dinner that night on why you should not ask girls to just marry you at your age.

“So I can ask boys then, right?”

Pleased with the loophole he discovered at age eight, Childe toothily smiled at his mom, who sighed and shook your head.

“You can’t ask anybody to marry you when you’re eight. And please don’t throw flowers at them too.”

The stolen flowers resulted in him being on his neighbor’s blacklist for the next couple of years; this in itself was fine, seeing that Childe was always a bit of a troublemaker and it was bound to happen at some point. However, the crying girl left a big impression on him even as he got older.

It did help that the older he got, the more silver-tongued he became, but this resulted in short-term relationships and a famous incident that once got dubbed ‘Tartaglia’s Shakespearean Slipup.’ (It involved a drunk retelling of Macbeth, several dumb questions, and a shirt that could never get the stain washed off of it.)

So in short, Childe’s love life is, to put it bluntly, a travesty. It has been downhill ever since he was eight years old, and nearly two decades later, he’s sure that he finally hit rock bottom.

“Tonia,” he begins, wondering how his little sister could be so cute yet so cruel at the same time, “what did you not tell Zhongli?”

“Hmm… Oh, I didn’t tell him about your obsession with his channel!” And cue the self-satisfied smile before she took another sip of his coffee.

Oh lord, she learned it from him.

“Anything else?” he presses, wondering what kind of image he has of him now — definitely not a good one. No amount of smooth talking or knowledge about petrology could save him from his past mistakes. He’s sure that Zhongli would not take kindly to the plethora of times that his insobriety has made him infamous among certain groups of people.

And he’ll admit just to himself, he was wholly unprepared for this. He couldn’t even be lulled to sleep by his voice last night — which is unfortunate because the series where he discussed the inspiration behind Tao Yuanming’s work just came out and if there’s one thing Childe likes, it’s poetry — because he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that he knew who he was.

Except not as Childe. As Tartaglia, his younger sister clarified, ever so proud of herself that she taught somebody how to say his birth name correctly, never mind that it stumped even the most persistent of professors.

“Not really! He said he likes listening to me brag about my older brother! ‘Cause he’s an only child and everything. Actually… he mentioned that you’d like to hear your stories sometime. Sweet, right?”

“My stories,” Childe echoes slowly. “The ones I told you when you were a kid? The fairytale rip-offs?”

“Yup.”

“Including the one where the kids locked the evil queen up and used her Magic Mirror to cheat on their tests?”

Admittedly, he was a bit lazy with that one. But Tonia was just eight and Childe was half-awake, trying to remember the difference between Hudibrastic and hija. So, like any good literature major with a bone to pick with their academic advisor, he decided that he’d very subtly rehash Snow White and make it all about cheating. (On tests of course.)

“Yuup. They got in trouble, right?”

They didn’t, but his mom would have his head if he said otherwise, so he smiles at her, ruffles her hair, and says with the attitude of a picture-perfect older brother, “Of course. The evil queen immediately sent them to the dungeon. So don’t cheat, okay?”

She nods, rewarding her compliance with another sip of his coffee. The library is fairly close to their apartment, as all things in Liyue are. A tightly packed city by the sea where you were sure to know everything about your neighbor and their neighbor. Which meant that the tenants next door still remembered when Childe first moved in and spent a week high on ambien, only to invest his time in writing a paper about how Snowpiercer was the sequel to Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. (When they spoke for the first time, they asked politely if he could please turn down the volume, because it was difficult to sleep when your neighbor watched the two movies consecutively with the volume all the way up at three in the morning, don’t you think?)

(The paper ended up being legible to only the most dedicated of readers anyways.)

Deciding that they’re an appropriate distance from the entrance of the library now, Tonia stops walking and drags her brother towards the benches. “Now, before I take you to meet Zhongli, I just want to ask you one thing.”

He looks at her expectantly, wondering if she’s going to ask if he remembers what Lumine said. Don’t embarrass yourself, don’t act shady, and before you do something—think ITWTWW? (A.K.A Is This What Tsaritsa Would Want? A joke that arose after a particularly hellish class last year after the professor’s attention towards Childe was a source of debate—did she hate him? Did she think of him as her son? Did he—a suggestion brought forth by Aether—remind her of annoying neighbors that’d spend all night partying? To this day, he still doesn’t know.)

“What is it?”

“Did you bring your library card?”

“Huh?”

It turns out, Childe learns five minutes later with relief that his long-forgotten library card was collecting dust in his wallet, that Zhongli has a limit on books he can check out because he’s always forgetting them. And his overdue fees are quite an impressive sum—both for a library volunteer and anybody that’s frequented a library for the past decade.

But to the library’s great relief, he’s only checking out books nobody has ever checked out in the past so by default they belong to him now. (No harm no foul—unless you’re the occasional poor individual that has to research an incredibly specific and niche topic only to find out that the book is not in the library at the moment.)

Tonia sounds immensely proud of herself as she informs him of this while they wait for him to finish help somebody find a book. Help is an understatement, Childe realizes, as he watches Zhongli talk, smiling as he ensnares the visitor in an answer to a question where “yes” or “no” would have sufficed.

It’s ridiculously cute. Really. Tonia seems used to this sight as she drags Childe closer to the two. Zhongli must’ve realized that he slipped into a tangent because he apologizes and points to the nonfiction section before opening his book once more.

“Oh… I forgot.” Tonia purses her lips the same way Lumine does as she sighs, lowering the hand that she was enthusiastically waving moments earlier.

“Hm?”

“He won’t notice us. Ah, Zhongli,” she says melodramatically while they watch him flip through pages in a book, her tone every bit the longing princess in books they poured over when she was younger. “Why can’t you see us? Isn’t my wonderful big brother enough to catch your attention?”

He’s very flattered. Really. He knows that compliment was partially influenced by letting her have a lion’s share of his drink and Lumine’s sarcasm, but he takes it in stride, squeezing her cheeks. Tonia rolls her eyes in response, and heads over to Zhongli, chatting him up quicker than Childe can respond.

“And this is my older brother,” she introduces, gesturing her hand towards Childe, who smiles brightly, hoping he looks every bit the composed person he doesn’t feel like right now.

Zhongli is just as charming in person and it doesn’t help that just the realization he’s standing right here makes Childe’s pulse race, contributing to his increasingly forced smile that he reserves for uncomfortable situations. Oblivious to that, Zhongli smiles at him—one that is ingrained in his memory from days of watching it on loop —and says, “You must be Tartaglia, right? Tonia told me a lot about you.”

Oh fuck.

His first thought: of course she told him about him. He knew beforehand, the dread of being characterized through his sister’s dramatizations of Childe’s mistakes. It’s partially why he could only get up this morning through two cups of coffee and dunking his head in the freezer for several minutes.

But also his name—

Childe’s torn between asking why the hell his sister told him his real name or excusing himself to go read a dictionary to cool his nerves. Even though he’s well aware most of his family calls him Tartaglia still—mainly his parents when he’s in trouble (which, to be fair, is most of the time)—most people in Liyue call him Childe for two reasons.

One, Tartaglia is a mouthful and two, after many questions about how his name was pronounced only to get it butchered on several occasions, he’s stopped. (Scaramouche, Tsaritsa, and Signora are the only ones who call him that at this point, really; but he’s convinced Scaramouche does it just to vex him.)

“Yes,” he chokes out. “That’s me. Tartaglia.”

Childe decides that if Zhongli would just say his name and nothing else, he would die happy. Which is a mortifying thought but maybe a little bit of an upgrade from falling asleep to listening him talk about rocks. Isn’t it?

“You can call him Childe,” Tonia offers. “My brother doesn’t like it when people call him Tartgalia.”

His mouth forms an ‘o’ out of realization and sheepishly says, “My deepest apologies, Childe.”

“N-no—” Childe starts, his sister’s expression burning into the back of his head. “It sounds really nice when you say it. Call me Tartaglia—anything you’d like, really.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Tonia smiles mischievously, implying that she never forgot all along as she raises a finger to her chin in mock thought. “You watch his ASMR channel, don’t you?”

“You do?”

They both turn to Childe, who’s sure this is turning into an interrogation; their burning gazes, the expectant silence, and a question he’s reluctant to answer.

“Yeah. I’m a huge fan,” he confesses brightly. “My favorite series of yours is the petrology one. It felt really nostalgic.”

He never thought he’d remember high school clearly ever again, but the videos made his classes a little less lazy. And the heat of the sun on the back of his neck as he slept in class would follow, lulled to sleep by a lecture he couldn’t quite remember. But he recalled his friends’ amusement clearly when they asked how he managed to sleep nearly every class, only to get a cheeky smile as an answer.

“Is that so? May I interest you in some books then? There’s quite the collection here, although I’m not sure which would interest you the most then. Any preferences?”

Ohhh, his expectant look was so cute. But Tonia looks bored at the prospect, so he clears his throat instead.

“Actually, I came here to check out Legend of the Lone Sword so I could follow along with your newest video,” he finally says. “Could you show me where it is?”

“Hmm… We do have two copies but unfortunately both have been checked out. One has just been checked out by Xingqiu and the other… ah, it’s still at my house. We’re having difficulties with the video unfortunately because Venti said… now what did he say?” Zhongli asks himself, humming as he takes out his phone and reads out loud.

“’Find somebody that’s willing to record the video and help you set up b-c’… er, before Christ?”

“Because,” Childe clarifies.

“Thank you. ‘Because I can’t do it without laughing’,” he finishes before sighing. “Also several crying emojis followed by a wine emoji and a suggestion for me to find Diluc…? There are also several other texts that I would not be able to read out loud but that’s the gist of it. As soon as I manage to find somebody, I’ll be able to return the book so you can check it out. My apologies.”

Diluc? All Childe remembers about him is what Lumine once said about him.

‘I was convinced him and Kaeya hated each other until I found out they were siblings.” A pause. Then: ‘I’m still fairly sure they hate each other. They’re at each other’s throats a lot. Diluc more so.’

He had not considered him to be a rival in love. Granted — that’s limited information from several years ago but it’s not as if Childe knows that many people outside of his own department. But still.

Eager to save any chance of a love life, Childe says, “Why don’t I help you record?”

“That’s a great idea! Then my brother can read the book while he stays over. Right?” Tonia presses on, smiling far too brightly for his taste as Zhongli muses, considering the possibility.

“Are you sure that wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

Childe nearly stumbles at the sight of his relief. Really, his smile isn’t good for his heart—neither is the look he gives him, as if he hung over the moon that very moment. “None at all.”

“What a relief… I’ll tell Venti immediately that I can record the ‘ASMR: Boyfriend Reads to You’ video.”

—What?

Zhongli looks up from his phone after he texts his friend and tilts his head slightly in confusion, his earring brushing against his shoulder.

He looks adorably concerned and maybe a little bit aware that he’s responsible for Childe’s reaction. “Is there something wrong?”

“N-no. Nothing. That’s great. Good. I’m excited to be your boyfriend.”

Tonia lets out a little giggle and he’s sure that there’s somebody at the library silently praying for his downfall as he hurriedly corrects himself. “For the video, of course. Should I give you my number so we can set a date?”

Not deterred by Childe’s flustered expression, Zhongli nods as he hands him his phone. Maybe this is what he expected—that’d most likely be the case if most of his prior knowledge about Childe came from Tonia, who delights in both embarrassing and complimenting her brother like there’s no tomorrow. “Of course. Please give me your number.”

So with the shame of a college student that never managed to shake off his competitive streak from high school, Childe types his number in and promises himself that this won’t happen again.

(His younger sister lords it over him anyways on the way home, a skip in her step as she recalls it.)

Childe 2:34 i got his #

Twin 1 2:35 for the video recording*

Twin 1 2:35 u also embarrassed yourself. tonia told me all about it lol

Ugh. Of course she did. Childe peeks his head into his sister’s room, hearing her recount the library incident with a few more exaggerations poking fun at what he did than he’d like. Aether must be having the time of his life, which should make them equal considering that Childe made him think that Scaramouche was the best TA ever and would be even nicer if you made him an apple pie. (He hated apples.)

Well. They’re even now, aren’t they?

Childe 2:38 ya but he didn’t notice so its ok. BTW neither of u told me he was that airheaded

Twin 1 2:38 itd be funnier that way

Childe 2:39 oh yeah it was really cute

Twin 1 2:41 didn’t need to know that. anyways u do know how to work a camera right?

Childe 2:41 yea…? who do you think takes all of tonia’s pictures

Twin 1 2:42 no i mean like actual professional cameras used to record

Hm… That was a bit of an oversight on his part, wasn’t it? He texts a quick ‘yeah’ because it couldn’t be that bad and he’ll watch several videos on how to work a camera later, won’t he? There should be three buttons max. Easy.

Not to mention he took an elective on film and he’s watched Zhongli’s videos more times than he can count at this point. So really, there’s not much to worry about. The only problem is that he needs to build up immunity.

If he looks like a “blushing maiden”—Tonia’s words, not his—every time Zhongli looks at him, wouldn’t that be trouble? It’s bad enough that he embarrassed himself in front of his twelve-year-old sister but to look like a fool in front of the same guy his sleeping schedule depends on would be debilitating in more ways than one.

Deciding that he won’t let himself lose this time around, he sends a quick text to Zhongli saying ‘Saturday at 4:00 PM, right? See you there :)’ to psyche himself up before deciding a plan of action. There must be something that’ll impress him—no, completely sweep him off his feet.

More aware than ever that he’s fitting the image of a lovestruck idiot his sister painted him as, Childe watches his phone as it pings with a single ‘OK’ and ‘I am looking forward to working with you’ trying to convince himself that his erratic heart rate and the heat rushing to his face is just a side effect of working with somebody that he greatly admires. (It is, by all accounts, infatuation — but he’ll try to ignore that for now.)

#Genshin Impact #Childe/Zhongli #Childe & Tonia #Childe & Lumine #asmr fic p2 #asmr fic

147 notes · View notes

illyrian-lover-flower · 3 years ago

Text

Crow of hope

Hey @duneska I want to wish you a Happy and full of delight filled Birthday, you truly deserve it 😊.

You have become a wonderful friend over the little time I knew you and you just brightened up my whole day with even the littlest message. The conversations we had were always so bright and funny to me, and I just bonded with you over similarities I always believed no one would get.

But I am so glad I was wrong and I was able to form this friendship with you, you were after all one of the persons who brightened up my tumblr experience the most.

And like I said, you brightened up my day with even the littlest message.

I hope I could also brighten your day a bit and wish you a lot of fun with this piece I’ve written.

It might not be your taste as it is rather angsty at the beginning, but I’ll promise there is a lot of fluff making up for it. Something I also want to apologise in advance for is that it turned out soo long, but when I tried to shorten it - I just wasn’t happy with it. So buckle up and enjoy this fic with a well deserved piece of cake 😊

However, I have brabbled enough - enjoy your Birthday present and your B-day😊

Words: ~8.5k

„Alright, put the daffodils right there – yes, to the Dahlias.” Commanded Elain in a soft voice as fae of all kinds bustled around the grand hall – her voice a drowned-out whisper in all the other murmurs which echoed off the sleek white walls. Bustling skirts, hurried steps, exhausted breaths, and small conversations all around her lithe body, while everyone -female, male, old and young – worked together to make their High Lady proud.

No one knew that it wasn’t their priced High Lady who organized all this; the flowers, the decoration, the cluttery – it was all chosen by Elain, though the main idea really came from Feyre and perhaps that was all that mattered, but right now there was no time to frown at that.

Tables were still in the need to be placed by the walls, so everyone could dance to their hearts content in the middle of the great hall with tapered ceilings, the last bits of food needed preparation and mostly had the decoration to be finished -the colours a special order from Feyre herself when she had approached Elain two weeks ago. Telling her sister in a rushed afternoon, which the seer spent working in her greenhouse, that she would love to have an garland of flowers – rowed in the colours of the rainbow – stretching all over the room.

Considering the fact that the hall was at least thrice the size of the river Estates living room and mid-January – it was a miracle that there were even that many flowers available in Velaris. Many florists had given their last flowers to the charity event of the High Lady, once Elain’s begging voice whispered through their ears, having to close for the next couple of days as they had no other arrangements to put on display, but no one of the shop owners seemed to care.

And honestly, Elain didn’t either -having put the blooming part of her spacious greenhouse to good use – as the last flowers were braided into a river of poinsettias, orange Dahlias, daffodils, Jasmines, light blue Delphiniums and many, many more. If the seer was truly truthful, were it a bit too varying shades of colours to her, as they nearly seemed to jump into one’s eye, but who was she to care. Feyre was the artist who wished to paint this dull hall into a sea of happiness and surely knew what she was doing – hopefully.

Thought Elain while her delicate hands smoothed over the sea of flowers, a coughing fit crawling from her throat the moment all those different smells hit her flaring nose thrills – giving her already a headache – while she ordered for the garland to be pulled up.

“It’s just … magnificent.” Breathed Feyre next to Elain, a swirling cloud of dark chiffon skirts swaying to her feet, as she watched how the rainbow expanded over their heads in a bow, like a real rainbow. “It sure is.” Coughed Elain, while she tried to hide her coughing fit and tearing eyes behind the back of her hand – this was just too much for her nose!

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay till the party starts? You know, my students keep nagging me to bring my pretty sister back to the art lessons.” Mocked her carefree voice the tearing seer, who just shook her head – to more she wasn’t able anyway as Feyre already rushed off to Rhysand, who strode into the grand hall as if it was a catwalk, together with Nyx on his hip. Smiling sadly to herself did the seer shake her head and avoided to gaze at the happy family, safe, together and alive – unlike many other families who had fallen victim to the war.

The cold luring song of death pulling all those warriors and innocent fae away from their loved ones. This evening was for those loved ones, who stayed in the charts and rubble of a past life. This evening was supposed to be giving them hope – hope of a healed life as they were to laugh to their hearts content again. And Elain should have been happy for Feyre and Rhys – is happy for them – but somehow this was never all she felt, somehow there was this pinch. Twisting and stabbing her guts whenever she thought of all of the happiness, the freedom – all which she denied herself and did not dare to believe in anymore, as it was taken from her. Her freedom – her choice. Given to a male she nearly did not change a word with and did not even whish to have a bond with as her happiness vanished in the puff of a stary night as a ravenous voice declared to her: ‘It was a mistake.’

Never would she forget those words. Never would she ever be able to hear them from him again -whispered, yelled, breathed, or just told in a voice as cold as a grave – as no matter how, they would always be her end. Always send her heart bleeding in a flood of scarlet red while her eyes cried the river of a thousand seas binding together.

But it was no use- mourning after someone she was not supposed to be with. After all immortality awaited her and right now were the things on her mind far more important than a male – no matter how charming, generous, kind, patient and good looking he was. Elain tried to shake her head at those silly thoughts, her bleeding-heart wandering in a mine of salt with them, as her golden locks flew around her like a spinning skirt of the finest silk twirling under the glimmering lights of a chandelier. Sparkling and sprinkling as if a thousand stars lived in those heavy strands of hair. But those stars would not shine, would not rise as she hurried with silent steps away from the last preparations.

Past a happily laughing Rhys and Feyre as they listened to Nyx blabbering and let her pass without a second glance into the dull hallway.

‘She forgot!’

‘Of course, she forgot!’

Raged her mind while she waltzed over the marble in a barrel of sky blue chiffon skirts; ‘Why would she remember?’ , asked her heart her, this traitorous head of hers silently answering her ‘She has many things swirling in her head right now, she just forgot this year – there are millennia’s to come, don’t be too hard on her.’

Lie! Screamed her shattered heart, as tears dreaded to fall from her doe eyes, waiting like brave sailors at a plank end for the final push of the captain, while her delicate hands gathered the soft material of a dainty blue chiffon. But this last push never came.

The words in her head and memory those of a salt dipped dagger, but she did not cry, did not bend as her cruel heart sang to her, that her sister had not only forgotten this years Birthday, but the one of last year and the one before that and even before that.

Feyre forgot Elain’s birthday for the fourth time in a row and if things were going to continue like they were now, her younger sister would surely wonder in a century, if Elain was truly born or just popped out of a seed on some nameless day. Though Nesta was not of much difference, her number of rows only a three, while her pretendence of knowing her beloved gardener sister hurt just as much as Feyres.

Both seeming to know what was best for her.

Both seeming to know that a rainbow would wait to be spotted in her life – funny thing was just, that instead of letting her watch out for the numerous colours painted in her fate, did those two stand in front of her. Clouding her vision and senses with their good believed thoughts as they were ready to fight for this miraculous happiness of hers with a shield, dagger and sword, and bow and arrow. Never letting anyone past them, as they watched out for her, believing that this suffocating grip they had on her heart was something non-existent.

But they didn’t know that she felt about them this way, after all – Elain never really spoke a word of discomfort to them, never truly. All that spoke for her was her body – lithe a pale swaying from time to time under the glowing sun, whilst her last meal had been days ago. A peaceful sleep seemingly something which mocked her from a century long distance as it escaped her over and over again.

But no one noticed -except for Nuala and Cerridwen, who tried to nurse the delicate fawn silently back to health with heart sweetening friendship and occasional baking lessons, in which they all ate the results after wards.

Though did another name occur in her mind, as she raced through the long, sleek corridors and farther away from the shining stomach of the bustling manor. Grabbing her lilac cloak in a hurried way, while she repeated that same name over and over again in her head. The smile she wore stretching itself impossibly wider on her lips the more often she thought of him and his dazzling smile. Him and his gleaming eyes and sun lightening laughter.

And it were those thoughts which made her rushed walk to her home so much lighter, almost jumping from one step to the other as she hurried past chatting fae on the cobbled street. Only noticing with a distant consciousness that each house she passed grew darker and darker. Colour fading, whilst walls crumbled under the broken roofs.

Her nose didn’t even scrunch up at the rotten smell which wafted through the air, unlike she had done before, because she knew -just knew- that this was a familiar scent. One which would come without suffocating sisters, one which would come without an always smiling gardener but one which would come with a light sweet hearted boy, who lived among greys and browns.

Only a few houses stood crumbled, but proud, under the sinking sun of the night court. Rags and hastily put-up tents dominating the dark paths far in the outskirts of Velaris. Though some did not want to acknowledge that they were still part of this shining city, feeling out of place and unheard, whilst the high fae and lesser fae lived in glorious peace with their High Lord and Lady, who believed to have restored houses and families of their city. The healing of the peoples hearts a process which started long ago. The charity ball of Feyre was a part of this process too.

Her cheery and optimistic self, which also understood the pain and grief of the fae, made them all come together for those in need -mostly for those at the rainbow. Little did one of them know that those who needed the help the most, suffered in silence under ruins, and decayed bodies of their loved ones. Skeletons of delicate fae females, bulky males, Illyrians and even children resting in dreading ivory colour among crumbled walls and roofs.

Fortunately, he was not one of them, luckily, he was brave enough to get a hold of her skirt one fateful day on which she got lost. Mortified by the skeletons, ruins and death singing streets, did her heart nearly leap out of her chest once this little hand brought her to a halt. This traitorous muscle already readying her to meet the empty eye sockets of a dead being. But those eyes glittering and shimmering like a mountain lake at her were pretty much the liveliest she had ever seen. Specks of brown and green swimming in those eyes of his, that one could think they were fishes enjoying the warm presence of him.

Just like Elain would do now, as she reached a small house. A cracked door -rotten and hanging off on one hinge- was all which kept her from seeing him again. Eager to see his blinding smile, did she knock three times: one short and two long, just like she had told him.

“Elain!” squeaked his voice already from the inside, as he hurried to haul the door open. The seer could only smile at the little boy standing in front of her with this dazzling grin – one of his front incisors gone. “Hey Amel! Would you let me in?” “Of course!” beamed the boy and crushed the seer into a warm hug once she closed the door behind her. “What did I miss while I was gone?” spoke her voice softly, once she had picked him up and carried him towards the rag of a couch only a few steps away. His little wings twitching up for the shortest of moments, when she accidentally brushed the base of his wings with a slightly calloused hand. “Nothing much.”, mumbled Amels voice into her shoulder, “though I did miss you. Does that count?” Elain giggled at his hopeful eyes and could only plop his little nose; “Of course it does! I missed you too after all.”

Amel nuzzled into her at those sweet words and enjoyed her warmth like a giant cat, which curled up on the seers chest. Though he did not purr, but did the boy fold his wings neatly back in – almost as if he were ready to fall asleep.

“I have a surprise for you!” spoke up the little Illyrian in a rush, once Elain sat on the slightly mushy pillows of the couch, as if he had just remembered the surprise himself rather than to tell Elain. “And which one is that?” But she did not even receive an answer, as the little Illyrian had long scurried to the kitchenette in the back of the giant room, in which next to the sofa and a kitchenette stood an old table, with two chairs, accompanied by an old cask, which worked as a bathtub and an ancient fireplace. The in grey stone set cleft gaping at her, whilst the heavy stones crumbled, but the important parts of the old fireplace were still intact. The empty blackness reminding her that she had to feed it with wood and light them up in order to have some warmth in the perforated house.

Kneeling in front of the ancient fireplace did she fed log for log and lit the stack of wood with cold shaken fingers up, silently listening how Amel dragged a chair over to the kitchenette and climbed on top of it.

It were mere minutes which the seer had spend here, yet had the sun sunken that low already, that the stars begun their twinkling evening dance atop of their heads – bringing chilly January coldness with them, that let her breath fog. And that was the sign for Elain to start the nightly preparations with a whistling wind around her shaking shoulders, picking up various piles of blankets, while Amel still bustled around in the rotten kitchen cabins.

Blanket after blanket were strained atop of the clumsily, over the holes nailed wood. Blocking out any roaring sound of cold gusts and any light. And whilst the seer put the last blanket over the gaping slit of the broken door, did Amel sit down eagerly on the couch. “Come on, Elain! You are going to miss your surprise!” She smiled then, nailing the last blanket for today against the old wood and strode over towards the young boy with two thick wool blankets in her hand.

Once she sat down on the slightly warmed pillows, did Amel pull something to the front, from behind his back, the happiest smile he ever wore stretched on his thin lips: “Happy Birthday, Elain!” Exclaimed his cheery voice and let her gaze on a plain little muffin, which was topped with a half burned Birthday candle. “You shouldn’t have, Amel.” Whispered the seer as tears welled up in her eyes and hugged him with all her blazing heart.

She had only mentioned the day of her Birthday once, in a bedtime story she told him, and here he was – this young soul, full of happiness despite all his pain, who presented her a sweet little muffin as if it was a great Birthday cake. And it was, for her it was everything she ever asked for. Elain did not need any gowns or jewellery on her Birthday as presents, she just wanted a soul which remembered her.

And Amel was together with Nuala and Cerridwen the only souls which truly remembered her. Perhaps Azriel remembered the date too, but after the Solstice a few weeks ago it was probably clear that he would not wish to speak his congratulations to her, after all – she was a mistake. One he was likely to never do again, as he seemed to avoid her like the plague – only letting her catch one accidental glance at him while he admired the work in her Greenhouse from afar.

“You have to blow out the candle!” cheered Amel. Though did his eyebrows raise once Elain told with a slightly stern voice, that he was the one to eat the muffin. “I already ate lots of cake Amel, one more bite and I’ll explode!” joked the seer, but the Illyrians wings only lowered itself down on the brown pillows “I knew it is not good enough…” “It is, Amel. This is all I could ever ask for and I bet it tastes delicious,” Elain rested her cold hands over those of the little Illyrian, cupping the muffin together with him “but you need to eat more than me. You are still growing.” He nodded at that and let the seer blow out the striped candle.

She did not have a wish then, but after Amel devoured the baked good and went to take a bath with her, did he ask her sleepily “What did you wish for?” Elain tugged the blankets around them impossibly closer, a cocoon of warmth, “I can’t tell you; it won’t come true otherwise.” “Pleaseee…” “Alright.” Chuckled Elain at the Illyrian, whose wet black hair stuck out as if it were hedgehog spikes and leaned down to him: “I wished for your Mama and Papa to come home and that you three live in a cute little hut together.” “Without you?” “I’ll come by to visit – verry often.” spoke Elain once she saw his sad blue eyes, that lit up the moment she announced her regular visits.

It made her smile, when Amel cuddled closer into the pillows of the large couch and into her warm side, his arms and wings sleepily drabbed over her while he tried, even in his sleep, to protect her and hold her close to him. Elain could only draw calming circles over his wet hair, as she too pulled his little body closer. The sad awareness of her lie chuckling behind the sofa leans at her.

She knew that Amels parents were to never return. Their broken bodies one of the first she had found and buried, after she decided to come and help those who needed it. Fae of all kind had helped her burry those which did not survive the Hybern attack and had taken her advice on going into the starlight kissed city. Only this little boy stayed.

She had met him the week after she buried the winged female and in rind covered male, the descriptions he made to her sending chills down her spine as she realized that he was the child of those two lovers. An orphan now – though did he not know it, as he eagerly waited for his parents to come home after their grocery shopping and Elain did not have the heart to tell him of his parents passing. The only thing she had told him, was that they were asleep and that for a verry, verry long time – forever-she had told.

But Amel did not understand the meaning of those words and simply waited for his parents, in their house, to wake up and get him back. Elain couldn’t count the times she had asked the boy to come with her anymore. His reason of stay always the same – “Mama and Papa won’t find me, if I’ll leave.” And so, all she could do was visit him, as often as she could and if one considered that her presence at the river estate was barely acknowledged, did she spend almost all her time here. The only ones which knew about her whereabouts were Nuala and Cerridwen, who occasionally send her with a basket ‘into town’ to get something for them, if Feyre ever asked. Though did the basket never come back filled – it was always empty. The smuggled loaves of bread and wheels of cheese always staying at the little hut together with Amel, who had fallen soundly asleep next to her.

His little snores pulling her under too, whilst wind and darkness raged outside and slowly let the fire die down.

A heavy knock on the door was what pulled them awake. Sleep mused and dry did the Illyrian boy and Elain look at each other and waited for another knock, which followed soon. The seer already wanted to go and check the door herself as Amel only hurried past her, to haul the door open again. Letting her poke the dying ember glimmers in the ashes awake.

And then he just stood there at the door, wings dropped and mouth wide in amazement, did the boy not even shiver when coldness cloaked his in rags covered body. “Who is it, Amel?” shouted Elain from the fireplace, as her eyebrows furrowed together. At this time of day no one had any business to attend here. The worry she felt overtaking her once no one answered her. And as she saw the one standing on the other side of the threshold, did she nearly lose the black fire poker in her hands. Shock, delight, and pain all suddenly exploding and chasing around in her heart.

Amel only took her free hand, once he saw her frozen face – widened eyes and a slightly parted lips. “He looks like the one you always describe in my bedtime stories.” Stated his happy voice in a hushed tone, as if he feared the person at the threshold – chunky as a cupboard – was just a ghost. He was certainly not the only one believing that, as Elain herself could not process the picture in front of her.

Azriel stood there, in flesh and blood, with a heavy breath fogging the air as his murky coat and wind mussed mass of dark hair stood black against the stary night. At first glance one could believe he was one with the darkness, but at second glance one saw the broad shoulders, tugged in wings and tousled hair standing darker than the shadows against the sky. A silhouette painted in the depths of a night blooming sky in one of Feyres paintings.

And he was just that, a painting whose face lit it up in a golden hue with surprise once he saw the little Illyrian hauling the door open with his yet dainty fingers, now clutching to the seers hand. His breath halting the moment he saw her -just like hers had flogged itself away in her chest once she saw his eyes again. Dulled and almost entirely hazel, the specks of grey and green which she had spotted over a year ago, nearly gone as they seemed to hide away from pain and hurt.

“Elain.” Tore her his ravenous voice away from his empty eyes. She felt shocked, to say the least as they were always warm and seemed to sing of companionship and appreciation whenever her gaze wandered into them, but now there was nothing – just a murky sea of hazel, empty and without a feeling. “Can I come in?” “Of course!” chirped Amel before she could even lift her tongue for an answer. Sending the boy a stern look -accompanied by a suppressed smile – when he left her delicate hand and placed his little palm against Azriels large one, dragging a stumbling Shadowsinger into the little hut, as they left the seer to close the door.

Elain could only smile and shake her head, once she saw how the two took their seats on the coach, a strong wind- piercing and shivering- flickered through the rotten walls and send the fire dancing, whilst the seer merely shook at the gust. Hazily closing the door after this howling bite reminded her of the gaping opening in the wall.

“Are you really the Shadowsinger?” whispered Amel at the gigantic male by his side, as if he were afraid to accidently summon an ancient creature. “I am.” Azriel inclided his head, “At your service little lord … .” “Amel.” The Shadowsinger send a rare grin to the boy and repeated his name, which set the Illyrian giggling “But I am no Lord!”

“Really? But I thought you had the heart of one.” Mused Elain as she stepped back to the two again, her arms loaden with wood and those delicate shoulders covered in a sheet of wool. Amel watched her with raised eyebrows feed the fireplace. “How do you know one has the heart of a lord?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Smiled the seer to herself once she sat down with the two curious males. Amel a small curious bundle of wings between her and Azriel – watching her with the same curious stare as the Shadowsinger. “A lord is one of a noble kind, though I do not mean the kind of nobility you are born with. I mean a kind of nobility you grow over time, one which is not defined by money or jewels, but by the weight of the heart and one’s decisions.” Whispered her small voice at him and poked the spot above his heart with a teasing finger. “A lord is -for me- not someone born with the claim of a throne or a higher stance in society, only minding his own business and his alone. A Lord is someone who is kind and generous, with a heart as bright and pure as the sun.” And somehow her gaze wandered over the ash black locks on Amels head and into the curious eyes of the Shadowsinger.

Specks of life and colour returning to these irises in green streaks once her words had settled into his heart. A shy smile stretching on her lips after she had spotted the faint blush in his cheeks, under the glowing light of fire.

Amel only hummed at the words. “So does that mean I am a Lord?” “To me, yes!” smiled Elain at the boy and wrapped him into the wool blanket beside him. Afraid that the wind which rattled at the planks and blankets would bite into his warmed body. Tucking him away with a careful hand and slowly pushing him down on the spacious couch. “Come on, Amel, it is time for bed.” “But I don’t wanna go to bed! We have a visitor!” Protested the young boy with an uprising of his wings and voice.

Making the Shadowsinger uncomfortable as he was brought into the argument. “I can go … if you need your rest little boy.” The little Illyrian jumped at that – not on the floor to have a temper tantrum – but to the Shadowsinger. His little fingers holding on tightly to Azriels’ neck as he sat in his lap, “No! Please don’t go! It’s nice to have you around!”

“You are certainly the only one who is thinking that.” Grinned Azriel at his head. Somehow laughter and sadness lacing those uplifted corners. Those twisted ties drawing in the seer so much, that she could not prevent those childish words from slipping; “That is not true. I like your company very much.” Only when his head snapped to her, those eyes widened and brimming with green and grey again, did she hear her own words pounding against her ear and nearly punching her heart out of her chest, as she got lost in the forest in his eyes.

Only catching herself once a last crack of wood screamed in the flames, making the burning ember jump out of the chimney and onto the rotten wooden tiles. It had the seer nearly jumping to her feet – pushing the glowing ember back with the heavy fire poker, as if she were stabbing a chicken.

Or a king for that matter, as suddenly not the gleaming heat of the fire covered her hand, but the warmth of freshly spilled blood. Elain shrieked at the sight, eyes wide and mortified did she throw the iron poker in front of the fireplace. Wiping her ash covered hand at those chiffon layers of sky blue.

Azriel was there the moment her back hit the old couch. Setting Amel on the old cushions and picking up the slightly heated fire poker with a careful, scarred, hand.

He took the space beside her the moment his ears heard the Illyrian boy shuffle to lay down, trying to give them at least the imagination of privacy with his back turned to the two fae. “El, are you alright?”

Her heart jumped at her nickname on his tongue. Rolling off of it so easily, as if he had done it a hundred times. “I am fine.” Croaked this silent voice of hers at him. Making her laugh at her ruined try of steadiness. “It’s fine Az, really. Nothing to be worried about.”

He didn’t answer her.

Hearing the lie a mile away even if he were deaf.

But he gave her time to sort herself out and collect all the silent thoughts she did not share with him. The moment she wanted to, his words flowing into hers as they were to interrupt each other’s sentences; “What are you doing here Azriel?” “I wanted to wish you a happy Birthday.”

They looked at each other then, really and for the first time in weeks. Those brown swirls in the seers’ eyes drawing him in, as if he were a child yearning for chocolate. Whilst the seer wandered into those streaks of green in his irises as if they were a mystical forest, she long wished to discover, but never dared to.

It had them still, yet throwing their heads back as laughs, as sweet as the first flowers in spring bloomed from the seer’s mouth. Whilst those frail petals slithered down Azriels spine, had the rich ravenous sound of his laughter goosebumps emitting on the seer’s skin. Amel merely turned around, peeking at the two adults merely sitting inches away from each other. The Shadowsingers wings slightly extended to Elain’s side as content silence wrapped around them as a warming blanket.

Even after weeks of silence did not change a thing of their companionship.

Even after all this time, after all the mistakes, had nothing changed.

There was a bond, buzzing and glowing, as warm as a hearth between them. But something dimmed this radiant glow.

Though it was no shadow which touched this magnificent bond. Enthralled by this golden glow themselves did they sneak around it like curious snakes, watching and gazing, tracing and tickling.

But neither of the two fae acknowledged this bond, this tether between night and day.

And so Amel saw it upon himself to cut through this thick silence, once no one dared to utter a word, not even a heave of a silent breath. “Elain, I am tired. Can you tell me a story, please?” “Of course!” jumped the seer to answer immediately, as she turned to wrap him up. Snuggling onto the couch close to his fragile body, to prevent him from freezing, and put another blanket atop his frame.

It didn’t take long for the boy to nuzzle into the seers side, pressing his rounded ear next to her left ribcage -listening to the thundering sound of her heart. “Do you want to listen too, Shadowsinger?”

“Please, call me Azriel. And only will I stay if your mother is alright with it.” Elain stiffned at that, barely noticeable -at least for Amel- as the little boy merely answered him “Elain is not my Mama – but she is waiting, together with me, for her to come back.”

Dread immediately filled Azriels guts as he saw the almost invisible shake of her head. He was an orphan. Left in the rubble of Hyberns attack.

He had to chock down a small “I am sorry.” For the boy did not yet know of his parents passing. But even though this was a message as dark as a shadow, did he still feel a spark of light inside this black mist, when he remembered how long ago the attack was and Elain was still here to watch and guid him. “Before you ask, Azriel, I don’t want to go into the city. Mama and Papa won’t know where I am if I leave.” Yawned the boy tiredly, surprising the Shadowsinger ever more, as he seemed to have known his next question.

Elain merely smiled at the boy and caressed his back protectively, whispering to no one in particular “I have tried to convince him for months now to come with me into Velaris, or at least a little hut -not a ruin- but this stubborn Illyrian doesn’t even give me a chance to reason with him.” Her gaze shifted then, from a warm fire to a cold batch of earth “But I am already used to that.”

Azriel didn’t know if she meant the incident on solstice, or if she was talking about her lack of choice in general, but he did not dare to pry any further as the shadows whispered of her uneasiness to him.

Amel seemed almost fast asleep in her arms, lulled in by the beat of her heart -how he would have liked to switch places with the little boy – barely noticing anything around him as he carefully got up from the creaking floor. “I better get –“ “Stay.” Interrupted him Elain before his heavy booted feet could even make one tentative step towards the door.

The Shadowsinger was torn between leaving and staying. The High Lords words,as well as his own ringing in his rounded ears. ‘You are to stay away from her.’ ‘It was a mistake.’

Did these words hunt her just as much as they chased him?

Letting him grief and nearly cry out in anger at a love he was denied being with, as his brother -His High Lord- assumed him to be driven by the need of his lusts. But this was by far the furthest thing from reality. He had long admitted to himself, that the taste of the seer on his tongue would send him to heaven and hell all the same.

But what he carved more than any taste of her, was just the feeling of her. The warmth of her lithe body seeping into him, whenever she would hug him. The sound of her voice giggling at one of his dry jokes – whilst her smile brightened up his world. Her smell a perfume of Jasmin he wished to smell for the rest of eternity.

And driven by all that -his hearts carvings- did he give in to the temptation of her company and settled to rest at the other end of the brown couch. One of the woollen blankets Elain had carried before resting atop his massive frame with slight scratches, but they gave him warmth and something other to concentrate on than the seers smell.

„All right. You settled in, Amel?” “Uhmm.” Hummed his young voice at Elain, sleep already drenching from every little sound. It had the seer giggling, whilst the Illyrian only nuzzled into her. Merely peeking an eye open when he had heard nothing of the silent Shadowsinger. Only to see the picture of darkness at the wrong spot.

Elain was sure, that if Feyre, or any other artist was to capture this moment, it would not be the taunt reality with a shy Shadowsinger trying to hide at the other end of the couch. For anyone else it would be death peering down on his next victims. The shadows behind him seemingly lashing and wiping at those preys, whilst the truth was one of shyness. The shadows not knowing what to do with themselves as their master was fully at ease and their presence of needlessness. But the curiosity they harboured, for the story that was to come, made them stay. Shyly settling down by Azriels wings and shoulders as they waited patient as dogs for the seer to begin.

But apparently was Amel not happy with the arrangements. Huffing a loud puff of air at the seer when he had realized the uncomfortable shyness with which Azriel gazed at them. “Azriel, please come here too – I wanna cuddle with you too!” It had the Shadowsinger go stiff as a board, the calm shadows beside him suddenly twitching alive again. But instead of lashing out to protect this cupboard of a male, did they more seem to gather behind his back. As if trying to push him.

“Traitors!” muttered the Shadowsinger under his breath, making the seer giggle ever the softest at his stern gaze into the black void. Amel hadn’t heard this word, which echoed through the seers pointed ear, but was delighted when he saw the dark male standing and gathering his blanket. The fire beside them dancing and seemingly caressing the stern panels of his face and gigantic wings.

Every other kid would have trembled in fear at him. Afraid that those painful eyes would hide a volcano of rage and violence, but Amel knew it better. And Elain couldn’t help as to smile at herself, with the knowledge that this better knowledge of the boy was her fault – telling him every night a tale of the Shadowsinger, which she herself heard from Nuala and Cerridwen.

“Scoot over.” Ordered Amel with the try to push the seer at the sofa lean. Even though the seating was rather large considered to regular couches, it still was not enough to fit all three next to each other.

Azriel already wanted to see it as a cue to finally go. A sigh of relief, but also exhaustion flooding him, as his heart yearned for the company of the seer. But also was afraid to come too close to her. Hurting her perhaps. He didn’t wanted to do that.

To his relief or unluck, he wasn’t sure, grabbed the seven year old his tainted hand and pushed him into the space next to Elain.

The seer, as well as the Shadowsinger, gazed at each other in a moment of surprise. Their widened eyes searching the company of each other as Azriels wings twitched beneath him, adjusting ever the slightest to his new form of rest -trying to make them some space.

But as it turned out was the only option to let Elain slightly lean up and let the wing pass under her. Cradling this lithe body of hers, while Amel crawled on the males chest and snuggled between the two. His own wings a warm cocoon around him. “Comfortable?” asked Azriel the boy and had his heart leaping in his chest at the bright smile the boy offered him. Hugging him close as if he were not a monster, as if he were not covered in the blood of hundreds and hundreds, but as if he were a male like everyone else. With a heart and a life and a mind which could make generous decisions.

It was the case that he did, but right now, even this moment seemed too innocent to weigh against all the bad decisions he made. Sensing his discomfort snaked the seer an arm around the little Illyrian between them, and let her palm silently rest on his drumming heart. She felt every nervous pump of blood on her skin, yet she merely smiled and tugged the blankets -which were shortly discarded- up to cover all three of them.

The fire still crackling happily in its pit. Whilst those three souls lay in comfort there.

It was the physically closest they had ever been. Even with Amel between them could the seer not say were his heaving chest ended and her calming hand started, connecting them as if he were a vibrant tree sprouting out of her calming earth. Somehow this coaxed a smile out of her and using the situation shamelessly by snuggling even closer.

But it did not like as if Azriel minded, as his scarred hand grabbed a hold of her waist. Steadily keeping her against him.

“Ready for your story?” whispered Elain in the warmth before the fire. “Yes!” declared the boy and too, snuggled closer to the Shadowsinger. In whose chest seemed to bloom a flower of happiness, nurtured by the appreciation, patience and love of those two in his arms.

Elain merely smiled and started a tale which the quiet Shadowsinger was to remember even in the passage of centuries.

“Once upon a time, there lived a princess. She was of utter beauty and kindness, pure and entirely unstained. Something her two sisters wanted to prevent from ever happening, as they searched the truest, kindest and sweetest soul for her sister to marry. Promising her hand to him at a time she had not even met this mysterious man. The bubble of solitude and guarded safety her sisters kept her in, stifling her chances of ever getting to know him before their wedding was to happen. Promising her forever to the hand of a stranger, who did not even own her trust.” Azriel noticed, that during sometime at her telling – had slipped a sting of pain in those normally bright shining eyes. But Azriel assumed to know why this was the case, her fingers starting to rub unconscious circles over his heart – chanting searing circles through his burning skin as his heart thundered and pumped in response at them. At even the softest of flame rings did this beating muscle in his heart not miss a chance to capture this circle.

And then she whispered again -at the night, at Amel, at him or at the fire, he wasn’t sure. “But this marriage was a trap. Not for the lovely sister, but for the poor man -who would spend his entire life in the fear of losing his wife to a so believed demon inside of her. This creature inside of her -so it was told- capturing her and leaving her eyes in a mist of grey whenever he was to talk to her. “

“Her sisters had worried for their beloved, lovely sister ever more with the passing years, as this haze of grey seemingly hunted her day and night. Fearing that this beast might kill her, had they locked her up, far, far into a tower with barred windows. Her entire freedom taken away from her, when her sisters had sent a guard to watch over her.” Elain chuckled, and sneaked a glance at the Shadowsinger, who cradled the tired Illyrian, as if her were worth an entire court. “At first, she believed him to be a statue, one created without emotions displayed on his looming face. But over the time she got to spend with him – she saw it was actually a massive cauldron brewing beneath his bronze skin. Mixing happiness, kindness, gratitude, sadness, anger and so much more into one pot that he just didn’t know how to express them.”

“But over time -even when those hazy moments possessed her- did they grow to know each other. Finding more similarities in the other than it was ever believed of a guard and a princess to have. Her sisters however were blind to the obvious trust between the guard and their sister and kept the engagement to the other man. It was when she first saw the male, so in contrast to the guard who had her trust, that this demon overtook her. Not just her eyes, but also her mouth. Speaking of a riddle which was to occupy the entire Kingdome of the princess for years: ‘The one with the deepest of values, shall be able to set her free – the one of the greatest of powers. The one having fate at her hand, a two-sided blade -one old and one new- wielding at her will. A mist of grey laying ahead of her eyes, whilst the path behind her, shall be paved forever more. The stone to rest, one which she can’t move.’ “

Her eyes glazed over at that – when her voice talked almost sacredly about those prophecies – as if she were in a memory only months away. Absently starting to trace Amels ash black curls with a tentative finger. His deep snore vibrating through the Shadowsingers chest as both watched in trance the rise of his little body. When she realized that Amel had long gone into the depths of sleep, she withdrew her hand, closing her eyes for the rest of slumber. That was until the Shadowsinger asked, a careful edge lacing his voice, “Could you please continue? I wanna know the answer to the riddle.”

Her eyes snapped woken at that, a shy smile stretching her lips, before she used the hand to cradle the felty matt of Amels hair, to caress his lightly stubbled cheek “I assume you already know the answer, Shadowsinger.” “Still. Please.” He wanted to hear her voice just for a little longer. Wanted to enjoy her embrace as long as he could – savouring every searing fingerprint of her on his skin.

Elain did not argue father than that, simply letting her words lull him in again; “Her sisters believed, that the one who had the deepest of value, was the betrothed of their beloved sister. Claiming that her love was his. But to their disappointment had he no clue, no answer with could free the lovely princess from her haze. And so, she stayed locked up, in the tower and murky depths of grey, her hand free to take – as the sisters saw that the man they chose, was a choice for another princess. The riddle, which was spoken, carried near and far. Surprisingly, luring a lot of man into the trance of the cursed princess, so it was said. “

“Her beauty had man forget the oddity ,this curse seemed to be, and made them simply wish to take her hand with the freeing of her haze. And yet, determined they all were, no one had the ability to free her from those murky grey depths. The only soul loyal by her side -unafraid- was the devoted guard by her side. Watching and protecting her like the human she was before. “

“Year went by, beforethe guard got fed up with presenting the princess constantly as if she were an animal in the zoo. A mere attraction, not a living being. The guard had heard the riddle so many times, he himself was able to recite it as if it were his own words, yet it took time too, for him to realize the meanings of the words.”

Elains brown orbs gazed deep into his then, a bright smile seemingly lightening each freckle and trace of colour in her eyes, when she recited the words he once declared “A seer. That was what the guard had told. Freeing the princess from the grey murky depths of future and past with two simple words. Spoken as if they weighed nothing. But the world rose at that day, colour, smells and feelings returning to the princess. The cry of happiness was roaring through the entire castle, as the two sisters wanted to hug their beloved sister, though had she heard nothing of that. Running past her extended arms and down the pedestal on which they kept her. Jumping right into the guards’ arms and clinging to him, as if he were her air.”

“Is that what you would have liked to do?” grinned the Shadowsinger. The tenseness of his shoulders -of his entire being- seemingly vanished into thin air within this stolen moment. Elain blushed a little, but nodded nonetheless – snuggling a bit closer to his warmth and body – whilst his wings drew in tighter and tighter around the three. As if they were the boundary between the world and their peace. “If Lucien wouldn’t have been there -as well as my sisters- I would have done so. I would have weeped into your arms out of joy.” Admitted Elain with crimson cheeks. But Azriel merely pulled her tighter with the hand around her hip.

A silent understanding that he, too, would have liked to change this moment now. But the past is paved and set in stone – no matter how many mistakes one might have done, they could only change the future. And Azriel knew the moment a loud snore left Amels lungs, that he wanted a future where this was not a stolen moment – where this was their life. And one in which this would not be a ruin, but their home.

Their home.

How he liked that sound. Making him feel all fuzzy and warms as he imagined it, not even the cold reality of the story able to catch up to him. He was with Elain in her embrace he could dream – he always did. It should have been a warning- that his mentality had went from cautious and professional to this cotton candy sprinkled mind of happiness and without boundaries – but he would take the consequences for that on another day, in another setting.

“Where did you even know from where I was?” whispered Elain into the dimming light. “I didn’t. The shadows had guided me.” And as if on queue flickered a whisper of darkness over her cheek, caressing her, as if they were a ribbon of silk. Fluttering briefly over the snoring Illyrian between them too.

“They seem to like you and him.” “I like them too.” Smiled the seer. “They are you after all.”

Azriels heart nearly burst at this as blinked away the prickling sensation in his eyes. Never, not in 500 years, had one spoken of him and his shadows like this. Never had he felt those words more than now as he was on an emotionl edge. Torn between his High Lords command and the calming presence of this beloved female. But as she hugged him impossibly closer, he knew that he no longer was torn – that he no longer had to fight against a wish he wanted fulfilled.

Azriel was sure that he wanted Elain, courts and everything be damned, as he only hugged her closer too. She and Amel, right now the only ones which counted to him. And he was ready to die for them – if Lucien or Beron insisted on the blood duel.

“I am sorry I haven’t gotten you a Birthday gift, El.” Exclaimed his strained voice suddenly, when he noticed the seers eyes glaze over with tiredness – believing that she could not answer him anymore.

“It’s alright Az, your company is gift enough.”

And it was in that moment, when silence and sleep rested on the wind’s breath, that he didn’t know if it was the seers Birthday or his. As this was the greatest present he ever received.

The wind sored loudly around them, as a curtain of honey whipped in front of his face -the seer having once again not listened into braiding her hair- clouding his vision on the small hut. “We are almost home!” yelled Amels voice next to the two. His yet delicate wings carrying him carefully on the gusts of wind, as if they were lifting him up into the arms.

Azriel and Elain merely smiled, once they saw the little hut. Hidden away into a garden of wildflowers and trees, as Elain had planted them there. Around their home. Around their secret.

It was yet a story to be told to their family, of how the crow -how Azriel translated Amels name to her- had connected death and the fawn. Letting them soar high into the sky in the arms of each other. Away from responsibilitys and fate.

They knew it would all come to an end eventually -spilling the secret – but until then they had this.

A life full of sunshine, yet covered in the shadows, as they flew further and further to the wooden hut. The sun guiding them their path with a shining smile.

Whilst the Seer and the Shadowsinger could only smile as bright as the rise of a new day, “Yes, Amel, we are almost home!”

__________________________________

Taglist (contact me if you want to be added or removed):

@gracie-rosee

@heirofthrnightcourt004

@galenamineralsbismuth

32 notes · View notes