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unbridgeabledistances · 4 years ago

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okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

#i wrote this so fast bc it is midterms szn and i am a busy bee! but simply needed to get this out of my brain #i love y’all and hope u enjoy the softness!!#also @ the anon asked me for more drunk happy husbands here u go<3 #gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian x mickey #ixm #ian and mickey #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich fanfiction

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yoondoze · 4 years ago

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make a wish | jjk - 2

jeongguk didn’t know it, but his wish came true. as the best things in life do, it comes back around.

alternatively: a compilation of scenes in the after of “make a wish” and how they pile up and weigh you down until it’s too much to handle.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 6.4k

genre: angst, fluff, romance, best friend!au, mutual pining... shh

warnings: language. besides that, this is pretty tame! only slightly edited bc its 2 in the morning and i just want to get this up lol

a/n: didn’t mean for this to be so long but i got a little carried away. this wraps up make a wish, so i hope you guys like it! also, feedback is always appreciated in any way shape or form <3 muah!

It’s just as you’re leaving when Jeongguk’s phone rings. His eyes widen in disquiet as he stares at the number displayed at the top of his phone. In preparation, he shakes out his limbs dramatically and takes a deep, exaggerated breath. Considering it’s for your entertainment, you roll your eyes and wave him on.

He picks up.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end is muffled as you try your best to listen in. Your heart pounds in anticipation, gripping onto the straps of your purse with white knuckles.

“Yeah. Okay. Okay, great.”

He paces around the room aimlessly. His fingers fiddle with a loose thread on his sweatpants as he listens closely. You’re sure he’s already sweating, more nervous than you could imagine despite the playful act he put on before answering.

“Yeah. That’s fine! Okay, thank you so much. Alright, bye.”

He’s facing away from you as he clicks the end call button. Just as you’re about to ask, he spins on his heel, lips pursed as he holds back a grin.

“Guess who got the job?”

A toothy grin spreads across his face as he singsongs. Jeongguk’s expression of pure excitement is a privilege to see. It’s impossible to deny how it lights up your own.

“Oh my god, you got the job?”

“I got the job!”

His bangs bounce as he jumps with both fists raised in glory. You squeal, going in for a tight hug and swaying back and forth as you congratulate him.

“I’m proud of you, Gguk,” you say into his shoulder. “Really, I am.”

And when you say it, you mean it. After so many months of struggling at his old company, he took the leap and applied for a position at a more well-known film studio. The late night introduction practices with you, which included him reciting prepared resume-esque lines and weeks of tiring interviews had paid off like you knew he deserved it to.

“Okay. I should get home,” you try, voice strained as his arms crush your diaphragm like walls in a deadly escape room. Upon hearing your winded sentence, he loosens his grip.

You don’t even think about what it might mean before you place a departing kiss to Jeongguk’s cheek, fueled by the elation running through you at the upward turn of events. It’s an accident, it just happens naturally as if it was something you’ve done a thousand times. It only hits you that you shouldn’t have after it’s already done.

Sure, you make out and kiss all the time, but the difference is that’s only when you’re taking advantage of the benefits you worked out. That kissing is all attraction, nothing chaste or romantic like this. So when you pull away from the hug, you expect to see his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and giving you a look of disgust.

“Uh-” you sputter, ever a wordsmith, trying to think of some rational explanation to excuse why you might have kissed him like that. The previous bouts of joy sparking in your heart fly out the window.

However, his eyes only show a mild, innocent surprise. At his silence, it doesn’t seem like he’s going to address it, and you assume he’ll assume it was just congratulatory. You can work with that.

“Bye. I’ll text you when I get home,” you blurt as untroubled as it can come, spinning on your heel and hurrying out the door. After closing it behind you, you slump back against it for a breath.

God, what were you thinking? Were you fucking stupid? Your fingers find your forehead finds as you try to convince yourself it wasn’t that bad. You’re prone to over analyzing, anyway. Jeongguk’s too occupied to think about it like that. He just got his new job, he has a thousand new things to worry about. He won’t read into it. If he does, he’ll think of it as a heat of the moment sort of thing.

Right?

Inside, Jeongguk pauses, staring at where you were standing just a second ago and scratches the back of his neck. The corners of his mouth turn up slowly.

He finds himself checking his phone every five minutes for a text from you, which never comes.

☆☆☆

At the end of the day, it was your fault.

It was your thoughtless action that made Jeongguk think that incorporating romantic gestures like that into your relationship could still be platonic. You rocked the boat with that one, but it wasn’t enough to completely capsize your vessel, and for that you were grateful.

Still, your heart now tore itself into smaller and smaller pieces every time he kissed you goodbye or grabbed your hand to swing it back and forth or wrapped his arm around you after cleaning up.

“By the way,” he says, tossing you one of his shirts from his place in front of his dresser. He pulls on a clean pair of boxers as you cover up. “There’s this work dinner I have to go to next week for networking and stuff, and it’s a buffet-type thing so they charge you for a spot. But, I found out that there is a couple’s discount and was wondering if maybe… you’d want to come with me?”

The hopeful sparkle in his eyes is one you just can’t ignore. Doing so would feel like a one-way ticket to hell, the only valid consequence for such a rotten crime.

“Yeah, sure.”

His smile at your compliance takes away all the apprehension you might have had, at least for a second. He wears it like a medal.

“Okay, good. I have to talk to a lot of people so I’d just feel better if you were there.”

Your brows draw together as you watch him get dressed. “But Gguk, you’re good at talking to people,” you say, going as far as to admit teasingly, “You’re fairly charming.”

He laughs, hopping into his slacks. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t freak out inside. It’s scary!” The dark brown mop of hair atop his head jostles into his eyes as he adds, “There’s gonna be a lot of well-known people there so it’s my chance to make some connections.”

Despite that, you’re sure he’ll be just fine. By nature, Jeongguk is inviting and easy to talk to. That is one of the reasons why you became such fast friends, and probably why you lasted so long. Along with his agreeable presence, his captivating looks probably wouldn’t hurt in striking up a deal either, though you’d never say that to his face.

“What’s the dress code?”

“Semi-formal I think?” He says, looking out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t know what that constitutes in terms of dresses but…”

A certain memory tugs at the back of his head. He considers just leaving it there, maybe slightly sentimental for his usual image, but what’s the harm in bringing it up?

“Do you remember the dress you wore for my brother’s graduation dinner? The blue one?”

You, on the other hand, are just surprised he remembers something like that. It must have been years ago by now. Still, it’s a good memory. It was a breezy evening by the shore to celebrate his brother’s graduation from college. The dinner was nice, but the best part was when you and Jeongguk ended up sneaking off to go sit on the beach later on in the night.

Jeongguk is intertwined into nearly every lasting memory you make. It’s hard to imagine a world where he isn’t a part of each story you retell or each thought that crosses your mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course. It’s probably buried in my closet somewhere.”

He’s relieved you don’t question him.

You might have to do some digging when you get home to find it, but you definitely still have it. It’s not like you have the money to be purchasing new semi-formal dresses for every occasion.

“That would be good. Or something like it, I don’t know.” He finishes buttoning up his shirt and tugs on the cuffs to straighten them out. His reflection in the mirror sends you a beaming smile, at this point accepting how his heart rate seems to spike every time he sees you in one of his shirts nowadays. He’s gotten very good at lending them to you casually.

He continues after a glance at the clock tells him he’s been letting his time with you slip on for more time than he can afford even though he wishes he could stay. “Anyway, I have to get going so make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.” And then he’s padding out the door, car keys jingling in his hand as he picks them up from the dish on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, and Y/N?” He pokes his head around the hallway entrance to see you. “There’s coffee out here for you when you want it.”

He dashes off before you have the chance to react or even say thank you, a sheepish grin tugging at his features as he walks to his car. When you go out to see, it’s already made with cream and sugar, just the way you like.

☆☆☆

“You look really pretty tonight, Y/N,” Jeongguk says, voice soft as ever, eyeing your dress as you step out of the car. “Seriously, I mean it.” The heels you wear click evenly like a metronome’s beat on the pavement as you walk around to join him at his side.

You ignore the heat in your cheeks, rather offering an endearing grin as you grip the clutch in your hand. “You too, Gguk. You’ll do great tonight. I wouldn’t be surprised if you made everyone here fall for you while you’re at it.”

His initial thought is to ask if that includes you, but his better judgment tells him it’s too bold. Instead, he just laughs and hands his car keys to the valet.

The dinner is a week later at a stunning three-floor, dimly lit fine dining restaurant decorated with dark hardwood and intricate chandeliers that make the soreness in your neck seem worth it while observing them.

Jeongguk cleans up nice, and even though you’ve already known this for a long time, you consider it a treat since this attire rarely, if ever, sees the light of day.

He props out his elbow and nudges for you to take it, which you so graciously do. Together you walk to the glass doors, through which you can see the party has just started. You can already hear the muffled music and chatter in the background.

“By the way,” he says, leaning down to your ear, like what he’s about to tell you is no big deal. “I… might have told my coworkers that we’re engaged-”

“Engaged!?” you whisper, eyes wide and staring at him incredulously.

So maybe he should have told you earlier. In his defense, he needed the extra time to produce an irrefutable excuse. In the end, it was only sort of reasonable, but he was hoping you would just roll with it. Isn’t that what the two of you always did?

“I know, I know! But listen. It just makes more sense in terms of you being my plus one and it also makes me seem like I have my shit together. And it’s always good for me to seem like I have my shit together, right?”

You sigh, narrowing your line of sight at him. “Okay. What do I do if someone asks why I’m not wearing my ring then?”

He mutters, “Oh, yeah.” Then he’s fishing through his side pocket and out comes a shiny silver ring with a small diamond placed into the center, held so flippant between his fingertips. “It’s my grandma’s. Borrowed it from home for this weekend.”

His heart pounds. Was that smooth enough? He has a lot of talents, but he isn’t sure if this was one of them just yet. Jeongguk tenses as he waits for your reaction. Best case scenario, his carefree attitude about it will rub off onto you.

“I figured it’d fit you,” he adds.

When it slides on perfectly, you know there’s no going back. Yet somehow, it is completely in character of him. You should have expected something like this because Jeongguk always has and always will be a man of spontaneity.

You’ll have to ask him how he knows your ring size sometime.

Inside, he introduces you to his coworkers. There are too many to remember but you catch a few here and there that you recall him talking about before, like Namjoon, the diligent Production Assistant and Taehyung, another member of the crew who he often eats lunch with. It’s an initial blur of faces and few-worded exchanges before you can take a breather off to the side.

“Not bad?” he asks, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. The way it makes your heart flutter is addictive. He has you in his palm and he doesn’t even know it. Unfortunately, you don’t know if it’s something you can give up yet, not without it being messy.

There’s a short line behind a board that displays the seating arrangement, and though it’s moving quickly, it allows you a moment of space from the other guests.

A tired smile pulls at your lips. “Not bad.” You squeeze his hand in yours.

The people in front of you move from the board into the dining hall so both of you can inch up. Jeongguk’s eyes trace the small handwriting, eventually spotting the two of you in the far corner of the room.

Dinner goes well, and Jeongguk does the most of the talking. It’s nice to see him so bright as he laughs with his coworkers. It’s that part of him that he’s had since he was a kid, the part that made him fit in so naturally and charm every person around him. Seeing it out in the open and no longer repressed from emotional baggage is heartwarming. Compared to a few months ago, you might not recognize him at all.

After a while, Jeongguk wipes his mouth with his napkin and pushes his chair out from the table. “Alright, I’m gonna head to the bar lounge for a little while and see who I can talk to. Are you gonna be fine on your own?”

He’s nervous, you can tell. By the way his eyes dart around the room, the way he’s biting the inside of his bottom lip.

“Yeah, go ahead,” you nod, taking a sip of water. “I’ll just stick around here.”

He gives himself a once over and wipes his palms on his slacks.

You tap his shoulder, bringing him down so you can whisper to him a small, “You’ll do great.”

He pulls back with a shy, one-sided smile. “Thank you. I hope so. Text me if you need anything.” Effortlessly, he plants a chaste kiss to your cheekbone that has your face ablaze and excuses himself from the table. The feeling of his lips on your skin sticks well after he’s gone.

Ryujin, the script supervisor, puts down her drink with a roll of her eyes. “Finally, all the boys are gone. I’ve been trying to talk to you the entire time but he’s always butting in!”

It pulls a laugh from you. “No, no, he’s just trying to help,” you explain, “I’m new to everyone here so he just doesn’t want me to feel awkward.”

“Yada yada,” says a bubbly Chaeryoung, a PA, waving it off with her hand. “I expected him to be protective with how much he talks about you, but wow. It’s cute though. Sometimes I wish I had someone like that.”

“Yeah, I’m really lucky,” you nod, reminded that you’re just pretending. You’re lucky, but not that lucky. “But… wait, what kind of stuff does he say about me?”

Ryujin chortles at your worry. “Oh, only good things. Just stuff you do together, jokes, those kinds of things. You’re involved in a lot of stories in some way or another.”

“Like, “This one time in high school, Y/N and I got in a fight...” or “Last week, we went to this new brunch spot and Y/N got this sandwich…’” Chaeryoung clarifies, but it only makes you want to pry further.

As she says it, both of the memories come floating back clear as day. You can’t remember what exactly you argued over, but it had been when you were paired as partners in a history class. The sandwich, you recall, was heaven on earth. The images are picture-perfect despite how they’d been buried.

The fact that Chaeryoung remembered things you didn’t is mildly startling, but you’re more surprised that Jeongguk shared so much. Not that it’s an issue, you just didn’t think you’d find yourself being perceived by so many people you had no prior knowledge of. The idea of him spilling your high school gossip fits like a puzzle to his persona, but the thought never occurred to you that he might think about you when you’re not there.

But you won’t let yourself become too optimistic.

“Yeah,” you laugh, “I think it’s different since we grew up together as family friends. He’s in a lot of my stories, too.”

“Ugh, that’s cute,” Ryujin sighs. If only. “So when did you start liking each other? Or start dating?”

You take a deep breath as if you’re looking back on the day when in reality you’re just trying to come up with the most believable love story you can manage. It’s also your most ideal. Maybe if your current situation went the way you wanted.

“I think we liked each other at different times over the years. Y’know, I liked him when we were kids, he liked me when we were teenagers, kind of on and off like that. But sometime after college, I think the cycle lined up once and for all and…“

Do you think you could manifest it by speaking it into existence?

“...here we are.”

That thought was stupid. You make yourself forget about it. Stop with the hope, remember?

When you finish your spiel, you think you’ve finally made it in the clear. Until another question comes.

“So what was your first date like? Was it weird?”

You know they’re just trying to make conversation, but god, you’re not ready for this. You’re preoccupied with other problems. If only they knew how your brain was short-circuiting in an effort to think up an explanation that will make you sound versed and most importantly, convincing. You go with what you wish had happened.

“Um, a little bit, but since we had been close friends for such a long time, I think we had that mutual understanding of how things were so we could laugh about it. We just…” you say, shaking your head along, lips pursing as your train of thought rolls through the detailed daydream you know so well. “...went out to dinner one night... and it was sort of a process to transition to something more romantic, I guess, but it just kind of happened.”

But it feels nice to be Jeongguk’s girl. Even if you’re just playing a part. If you sink yourself into the atmosphere, tune into the clinking of the glasses, and the relaxing jazz in the background, you can pretend you’re really engaged and sharing your love story to whoever will listen.

Would it hurt too much to hold out on it one day become reality?

“I’m always so happy when the company hosts these events,” Chaeryoung comments, leaning back in her chair to take in the room. “It’s the only time I can come to a place like this since you know I can’t afford it with my own money.” A small talk sort of laugh bubbles up from her as she says it. There is an inkling of confusion that strikes you at her words, but you think you’ll just brush it off for the sake of being casual.

Ryujin looks to you as she adds, “And they even let you bring a plus one for free! You know, I was thinking of bringing my boyfriend, but I just felt like it might have been too soon…”

Your brows furrow as you recall the conversation with Jeongguk. Didn’t he say that it was a pay per guest scenario?

“So the company pays for these dinners?” you ask out of pure curiosity and with no hint of suspicion weaved in your tone.

“Yeah!” says Chaeryoung. “It’s all from the company’s budget since this is technically a networking event. Usually, people swap ideas or come up with deals that turn into projects a couple of weeks down the line.”

You nod along as she explains eagerly, but all you can hear is that there never was a price to pay to begin with, and more importantly meaning that there never was a discount. Not one that Jeongguk needed you around for.

But why would he lie?

Maybe Jeongguk was embarrassed asking for your company or didn’t want his ego bruised by telling you it was free and he wouldn’t have to pay for you. It’s the benefit of the doubt for your best friend (and love of your life, but that’s a separate issue) that makes it your first thought. In reality, thinking about the boy you know, it doesn’t make sense. At this point, he shouldn’t have to feel like that when it comes to you.

Whatever the case may be, you hope that he knows he’d never need an excuse to invite you somewhere. It’s not like you’d ever refuse. You’d never refuse him, not in any life.

☆☆☆

It’s the middle of the night when another bad dream jolts you awake with a pounding heartbeat. Your eyes flutter open, brimmed with tears, to reveal that the moon is still high in the sky above the towering buildings, and a shift to the side facing the nightstand lets you know you have another three hours before you have to start your day and leave Jeongguk’s apartment.

The last few weeks, the dreams have been growing more and more common. Not enough for you to dread going to sleep just yet, but definitely something you’re quickly getting sick of. At this point, you’re tired of going to sleep just to wake up freaked out in a cold sweat. You chalk it up to the stress piling on you, not only that of regular adult life but that of your messy relationship with your best friend.

How ironic that must be, considering the whole reason it started was to relieve stress when now it’s your main source.

You empty your lungs with a shaky sigh and slide to the edge of the bed, intending to fetch a glass of water to calm yourself down. Before you can reach your feet, Jeongguk’s arm catches you at your waist, and then you’re being reeled back under the covers.

“Easy,” he mumbles, his voice grainy and low from sleep, “You’re fine. Talk to me.”

You swallow thickly, the scenes from your subconscious flashing back to you. “Um, that’s alright. Not a big deal.”

You wish he’ll just leave it at that and fall back asleep like he usually does. When his breathing steadies, you think you’re in the clear, but you are horribly mistaken when he yawns and adds, “You’ve been having a lot of nightmares recently.”

Is it another prompt for you to talk? You’re not sure what to say.

In fact, you’re never sure what to say anymore. Never sure what’s too much, what’s too little, what the difference is between what you say and what you mean. The line blurred months ago and now you’re wandering blind.

You’d enjoy moments like this if it wasn’t for the stark fact that the person you’re with doesn’t love you like you love him.

“Yeah…” you agree. Right now, your chest is heavy and not strong enough to support a conversation. You hope that he’s not too drowsy to take the hint.

A small sound from him makes it seem like another sleepy sentence is in the works, but fortunately, the tension in your chest begins to fade when nothing comes out. His hair shuffles against the pillow and he presses a featherlight kiss to the back of your neck, lips lingering there for a second too long before he sinks back into his position.

When you’re sure he’s slipped under the veil of slumber again, you carefully slide out of his grasp and squeeze into your own space at the edge of the bed. You don’t know how much longer you can last like this.

☆☆☆

“She texted me.”

The sentence makes you stop chewing. Your movements stop aside from an absent blinking, gears spinning overtime to process it.

“She uh, she wants to meet up,” he tacks on. “I think I should go.”

“Why would you do that?”

Jeongguk slowly twists the pasta around his fork, taking a blatant newfound interest in his dinner. He takes a deep breath, but when he opens his mouth, the words catch in his throat.

“I don’t know. I think we need to talk about what happened.”

You scoff, and he takes an immediate offense to it. His eyebrows knit together as a wounded expression takes form on his features.

“What happened? Gguk, she dumped you because you were going through a hard time and she didn’t want to ‘deal’ with it.”

It’s not just you playing the protective best friend role and trying to talk sense into him. It’s not jealousy, either. And sure, maybe you never liked her to begin with, but for good reason. She ended up doing exactly what you thought she would - shattering his heart into a million pieces and leaving it for someone else to pick up the pieces. And considering that’s been you on a multitude of occasions, you think your point of view is valid.

“Listen, I don’t blame her… That can be really hard on someone.”

“So it’s okay for them to just pop in out of the blue, say they can’t handle your emotional issues and bounce? Someone who they claimed to love for over a year and a half? Someone who they were thinking about marrying?”

Jeongguk purses his lips as you speak, a hefty exhale coming through his nose in frustration.

“I just miss her sometimes!”

And you really wish Jeongguk would love you back, but we can’t all get our way, can we?

Not to throw yourself a pity party, though. It’s not like he owes you anything for what you do because you brought it on yourself. He doesn’t control your feelings, even when you want to blame the nerve he has for smiling because it makes you get all jittery.

“She doesn’t even give a shit about me anymore! She’s out with other guys, doing all this shit, posting it everywhere. I… I loved her so bad and she acts like she has no clue.”

You give him pep talks when he’s about to go out with someone else. You comfort him when he’s distraught over someone else. You love him when he loves someone else.

And then-

“You don’t know what that’s like.”

You freeze. Your heart leaps to your throat, closing the gate on your lungs until you forcibly open them again as subtle as possible. A stinging feeling you know all too well burns in your eyes as you try to hold back. Jeongguk doesn’t notice in the slightest as his gaze is still fixated on his food.

Your initial reaction is anger. All you want to do is yell, tell him wrong, tell him that you know it all too well because you love him and he’s pathetically oblivious whether by his nature or by choice. Everything you want to say, shouts and confessions, float across your mind and bounce around the walls as each one brings you further to opening your mouth and letting them spill. Then you just want to cry.

But you won’t do any of that. Your situation won’t allow it, not if you want to risk losing him. It’s not a risk you’re willing to take, even if it means suffering in it by yourself and letting the irony of his words go unrealized.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh, the fork gripped by your white knuckles tapping mindlessly against the side of the bowl as you swallow the feeling back down. Your hand comes up to scratch at the corner of your eye, wiping away the wetness beginning to pool composedly so he won’t notice.

“I don’t.”

☆☆☆

It’s on a Tuesday evening a couple of weeks in the future when you next see him.

Maybe more than a couple. Maybe a few. Maybe too many. Just enough for his tone to turn to something more confrontational than just casual when he sends you a text saying that he wants to see you again. Particularly when he specified that no, he needed to see you again.

He suggests the park by the river. You’ve been there a few times with him for lunches and to hang out, but the energy is different this time around. Both of you know why you’re here, even though you never thought you’d have to be.

For a while, you didn’t want to make things weird, so you’d come over when he’d ask and leave as soon as you could in an attempt to curb the damage on your heart. It wasn’t until three weeks ago that you actively started flaking on him. You’d let his calls ring until he hung up or left a message and say you were busy when there was absolutely nothing going on.

He stopped by your apartment at one point, too. You were freaking out after he texted you he’d be visiting, pacing around and wondering what to do, what to respond, if to respond at all. The knock at your door came sooner than you expected. Before you were about to pull it open and face what you’d been so casual about denying for so long, it occurred to you: You could simply not open the door.

So you waited. He knocked a few more times, sighing so loud you could hear through the door. He called out your name softly, as if he knew you were right on the other side. He stayed for a few more minutes. Then came the sound of his footsteps padding away. You were safe for another day, but the awful feeling stuck in your chest for days.

It stuck in his, too. He knew he should have never gone that far, never said anything that night, but he also wondered if he could have done it any other way. Standing at your door and having to face the fact that you were undeniably steering clear of him, because of him, was a nightmare. It was stupid of him, but you’d see past it - wouldn’t you?

And now you’re seeing him live and in person for the first time in god knows how long. It’s a foreign feeling you’ve never felt with Jeongguk before, and you hate it. It’s been long enough for the sense of familiarity to fade, or at least be buried by time.

Is this how a comet feels when it passes earth again after so many years apart? Does it feel new every time seeing how things have changed, or are they old friends who pick up where they left off?

“ So… what’s been going on with you?” Jeongguk asks nonchalantly, leaning back on his elbows and shaking the hair out of his eyes. “It’s been a while.”

“Uhh, I don’t know,” you shrug, vision focused on the calm waters in front of you. You tug at the grass under your fingertips, loosely hugging your knees to your chest as you sit beside him. “Not much I guess. Just work as usual, you know.”

“Yeah, but how are you?” he presses, trying to find your eyes as you avoid his.

He knew something was wrong from the evident distance and your attitude, but he didn’t think it’d be this bad. He didn’t think he’d fucked up this bad.

Your laugh is awkward and forced. “I’ve been fine. Been good.”

Thinking about the past few weeks, it’s not hard to remember but incredibly hard to grasp. It’s the same moments over and over, sourced from a lonely routine. Day by day spending time with yourself, missing Jeongguk, thinking about texting him but never doing it. Wash, rinse, repeat.

His face turns from you and you miss it the second you can’t see it. The feeling is off and both of you know it. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, biting at it as he thinks of what to say. If the wrong thing comes out, he’s worried he’ll chase you even further away. It took so much to even get you here.

“Listen, can I be honest with you?” he says.

Honesty is the best policy, isn’t it? He’s tired of beating around the bush. The two of you know so much more than bland small talk.

“Sure.”

He takes a deep breath. “I always thought that nothing could ever be uncomfortable with you and me. Like we could be straightforward and blunt without it being weird. But things right now are really weird and I don’t know what happened. You’re avoiding me and you don’t want to see me. It’s not like it used to be.”

Your nails scrape beneath each other, entangled in your lap. Clearly things aren’t the same, but you don’t have the energy to be snarky. There are so many things to address and you’re ignorant on where to start.

“I know there wasn’t a discount for the work dinner.”

He nods, looking out over the river. “Yeah, figured.”

“So why’d you lie?”

It’s his turn to shrug. “I just wanted you there and I didn’t know how to ask you. I… was starting to feel the shift and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Saying that just gave me an excuse to take any of the weight off.”

He adds quietly, “Your turn.”

“Gguk,” you start, shaking your head as you try to find the right words. You think of the kiss, the dinner, the ring, the argument.

“We act like a couple. We do things couples do. We pretend we’re a couple. But... we aren’t a couple.”

He’s silent. He knows where you’re going. He knew it before you even got here because if you didn’t bring it up first, he would have.

“I think you already know what’s going on, but if you need it spelled out for you, I kinda caught feelings for you. And then you give me your grandmother’s wedding ring and tell me you love me and it hurts so fucking bad because I know you don’t mean it like that. Not the way I wish you did.”

The words dissipate into the fresh evening air, soon filled by delicate chirps and birdsongs. Distant laughter floats around the park, with muffled ferry horns layered behind it all.

“How do you know?”

Your hand pauses, chlorophyll green blades pulled taut between your fingers. No fucking way.

“What?”

He scratches the back of his neck before locking his eyes with yours. “How do you know... that I don’t mean it like that?”

He’s not playing with you, is he? No, he wouldn’t. You respond slightly confused, hesitant to lean into his words just yet.

“Are you saying that you do?”

He laughs and it makes your chest feel like it might burst open. “You’re kidding, right? I’ve been saying it. I mean, I thought I was being obvious.”

You suppress the excitement bubbling in your stomach for a second longer to throw him a questionable expression with an extended palm for emphasis. “You told me you wanted to go see your ex-girlfriend and were talking about how you loved her.”

He exhales through his teeth as he squints at you. “Yeah, that went a little far...”

“Only a little?”

“I’m apologizing, so let me, please?” He says, eyes wide with a small smile tweaking up at his lips. “It was stupid. I wanted to see what you would say or if you would get jealous. ‘Cause I thought you might have felt the same and at the time that was the only thing I could think of doing.”

Your expression falls.

“Wait, so did you actually meet up with her?”

“No, no!” He exclaims, rushing to refute such a bizarre idea. “Yes, she texted me, but I said no. Everything you said was right, so… it wasn’t worth it.”

He thinks he’s done, until he sees your stare still lingering on him. What’d he miss? He flops over on his stomach, elbows in the grass as his chin rests on his palms to look at you.

“You also said I didn’t know what it was like to love someone who didn’t love me back.”

A cheeky grin grows on him. “Okay... but technically you don’t because I loved you back the whole time.” One of his arms lowers to the ground, his fingers finding your own. He weaves them together with an affectionate squeeze. “You just didn’t know.”

The way your heart flutters is different this time. Gone are the tiring nerves and teary eyes and the weight of stress on your shoulders. It’s a comfortable sort of excitement, one that you’re in love with almost as much as you are with the boy himself.

“Since when?” you ask shyly, feeling the tingle in your cheeks.

It’s a relief to have Jeongguk back. A life without him wouldn’t be one you could ever get used to.

He was there at the start, he’s here now, and he will be here for as long as he possibly can. When it comes to you, there’s no doubt. He’s yours every time.

His deep brown eyes sparkle under the setting sun, golden and glowing, as he makes a point to find your own. Tone dulcet and tender, he says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Since always.”

#jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #btsguild #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook x reader #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #bts fanfic #bts angst #bts x reader #yoondoze

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jpegjade · 4 years ago

Text

Writer’s Block - Spencer

IT HAS BEEN A LIL BIT SINCE I ACTUALLY COMPLETED SOMETHING. literally i’m jumping from job to job. i barely found time to write this lmao.

this is for the lovely anon who requested this: can we have a fic where the reader has writer’s block and spencer is helpful?

here you go anon, HELPFUL SPENCER

warnings: all fluff and a lil bit of a reference talking about weight but it’s all fluff and nothing seriously deep.

_____________

“Ugh.” You yelled, throwing your hands in the air. “This is pointless.”

Spencer was sitting at his desk when he looked up to see you having a partial meltdown on your shared apartment couch.

“Please tell me why I decided to do this. I can’t think of a single reason why anyone would go through this torture willingly.” You groaned to Spencer, who just smiled in response.

You were glad he found this so amusing because you surely didn’t think any of it was cute in the slightest.

“You’ve got a psychological inability to produce a substantial amount of content to satisfy your drive to create.” Spencer continued smiling at you.

“Cliff Notes version, please. I’m mentally spent.” You said, looking over at him.

“Writer’s block.” He said, as if he couldn’t just say that in the beginning.

“At the worst time possible.” You said, groaning again.

As an author, you were used to the words coming to you easily. There were so many ways to describe a single feeling that you just knew how to craft the language most of the time. It’s one of the many things that made Spencer fall in love with you: You crafted a world of your own through imagination and you were able to pull other people in to experience it with you. It was something special about you that set you apart from so many other writers in your genre.

Getting up from his chair, Spencer walked over to your spot on the couch to sit next to you. He put his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him.

“How far have you gotten on your story?” Spencer said, leaning over to see your laptop screen. You turned it away from him so he couldn’t see anything.

“Baby, you know I don’t like you to see my works in progress. I only want you to see things when they’re complete.” You said.

“Baby, I want to see every stage of your creativity no matter how rough.” Spencer smiled. “Maybe I can offer some advice and corrections.”

“I don’t want you to see everything bc plot holes and such. And I don’t want you to know the plot until it’s complete.” You closed your computer screen so he couldn’t see anything.

You turned to stare at him as he pulled his arm back, leaving on the back of the couch. The two of you stared at each other, both holding your own secrets.

Your secret was that you secured a book deal for a Young Adult book. While the signatures were still needed for paycheck negotiations to close, you were holding out on telling Spencer until your manager confirmed everything was official. The call could come at any minute so you were checking your phone every few minutes. You weren’t superstitious but you didn’t want to tell Spencer something before it was completely confirmed. You didn’t want to get your hopes up but more importantly, you didn’t want to disappoint Spencer. He was so proud of you for your constant writing and he loved to read your stories after you sent them to your editor for content when your story was chosen for different magazines, contests, and blogs. If you secure this book deal, it will be huge for you and Spencer, making your dream come true.

Spencer’s secret was that he was off for a month. He just got back from a case that lasted 3 weeks and before that, he was gone for the larger part of 2 months. There were a lot of back to back cases that ran right behind each other. The two of you made a sarcastic joke that it was serial killer season because it was like clockwork that these cases would come in. It was sad that so many people were hurt and killed in the process but there were countless lives saved by the team and their constant, tiring work. They needed some time off, especially with the last case draining them so greatly.

“I won’t push you but just know, I’m excited about everything you do. I’m so proud of you for being so persistent in everything. You know, the word persistent is a great word to describe you because it’s more than just the determination to accomplish a task, although many people use it in conjunction with the word. Based on the definition by the Miriam-Webster dictionary, the word persistent means to exist for a long or longer than usual time continuously. You’ve been determined to continue your writing but it’s more than that. You’ve evolved from only writing for whoever will read your work to writing for yourself. You connect with...” Spencer wanted to go on before he noticed your phone vibrating.

“Hold on, Spence. I’m so sorry.” You said, pulling out your phone.

It was a text message from your agent.

“Closed and complete. Sealed the deal. Mucho bueno mi amor.” Your agent followed that text with celebration emojis and you couldn’t look away. By calling you her love, your agent meant nothing by it any more than you called your friends your girlfriends. Your agent knew you well so she was very friendly.

Your heart was beating a mile a minute, your breathing strained. You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry, or both at the same time. It was real. It was really real. It was entirely real. A tear ended up slipping through the floodgates, quickly followed by another. Spencer immediately saw the shift in your body language before you were able to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer said, worry crossing his face. He didn’t understand how such a happy moment could go south so quickly.

“It’s not you.” You said, trying to hold back the fact that you were ready to start sobbing. You wiped the tears away and put your hands back in your lap. Fresh tears were right behind those and you weren’t going to stop them this time. You hung your head, chin barely touching your chest, watching the tears fall on your hands.

“What is it? You can tell me, lovely.” Spencer grabbed your hands from resting in your lap. His thumb immediately began gently rubbing your hands, which only made you cry harder.

Readjusting how he sat so he could pull you into his lap, Spencer was so confused and so hurt because he didn’t know how to fix it. He couldn’t fix it when he didn’t know what was wrong. He just wanted you to be okay and you seemed far from it. You fought him a little bit.

“I’m going to flatten you.” You said, finally calming down.

“Then I will be the happiest flat man alive. You won’t flatten me, lovely. You’ll put your cute butt in my lap, swing your arms around my shoulders, and hang onto me for dear life as you let go of whatever just happened. You don’t have to feel alone if you’re sad.” Spencer said.

You got up, sat on the couch next to him, and put your legs over his. It was much more comfortable that way and made you less self-conscious. He was staring at you with his puppy eyes and it melted your heart all over again.

“I have something to tell you.” You said, taking a deep breath.

“Okay…” Spencer looked concerned, stoic even. He was even a little bit scared.

“I’ve been hiding something from you and I feel so bad about it.” Tears sprang to your eyes again.

“Lovie, whatever it is, we can work through it. There are very few things in this world you can tell me that I would be upset about. I”ve seen the worst of the worst. Working out a minor bump won’t break me.” Spencer slightly smiled.

“No, no. It’s not bad. I promise it’s not.” You let out a sigh you didn’t know you were holding. “I got a book deal.”

Spencer was silent for a second before he broke out in the biggest smile you had seen from him in a while. He obviously didn’t have a problem being happy as his emotion. Joy overcame him and he gently put your legs on the ground and stood up just to kneel in front of you to cover you in kisses. He kissed every major part of your face before kissing you. A slow, gentle kiss but it still took your breath away.

“You know you’re amazing, right? You deserve this out of anyone.” Spencer held your face gently in his hands, his thumb slowly rubbing your cheek.

“I’m stuck, Spence. How am I supposed to finish the book when I can’t even finish the short story I’m writing.” You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Maybe I can help. What’s it about?” Spencer stood up, sitting back on the couch next to you.

“It’s the story of this brilliant teacher who moonlights as a spy. Not the most original idea but it’s not supposed to be original. It’s just a short story that someone requested on my blog.” You grabbed your computer and put it back on your lap.

“So you’re writing about me.” Spencer smiled.

“You’re not a spy. You moonlight as a teacher.” You said, opening your computer. You couldn’t bear to look at Spencer’s face right now as he thought about how you were basically writing about him.

You always took character inspiration from him. He was such a big part of your life that all of your writing had hints of Spencer in them, no matter how hard you tried to leave him out of things. So it was a big deal for him to even figure out that he was largely related to this story.

“What if…” Spencer started, “You wrote about his dashing butt?” Spencer said, beaming at you.

You choked on your spit.

“What?” You said, in between coughs.

“His fabulous behind in pants. You’re always telling me how amazing I look in my black slacks. So why not write about that for fun? I’m sure your blog readers would be quite amused.” Spencer was so hilariously serious that you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Okay, fine. You win. I will put in something about your butt.” You said, turning your computer on.

“And insert something about his beautifully flowing hair.” Spencer said.

“Baby, your hair is short right now.” You said. He allowed you to cut his hair a few days ago and he missed his longer hair but he really liked when you gave him haircuts.

“I know but if he’s a badass super spy and a teacher, he needs to have versatile looks.” Spencer ran his hand through his hair, a new habit he started when you cut his hair.

“Baby, you’re going to overwhelm me with ideas.” You said, chuckling. You felt a little better about the writer’s block and the book deal the more Spencer made you laugh.

“Good. Maybe we should go on a walk and figure out more ideas. Exercise is good for ideas because your blood flow to your brain is increased. You also get mental clarity. Over the next 6 weeks, we can do that more.” Spencer quickly walked to the door to grab both of your running shoes.

Sitting down next to you, what he said finally hit you.

“Next six weeks?” You asked, putting your computer on the coffee table.

You didn’t care that all you were wearing were some cozy shorts and an old t-shirt that was way too big for you.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you.” Spencer got his right shoe on after a little bit of struggle. “I’m off for 6 weeks after the last case. We all need the break…” He said, his eyes going to a dark place for a moment. You gently touched his arm and came back to life, in the moment with you.

“So… You can help me?” Your mood got significantly better as you realized he was all yours for 6 weeks.

“Every step of the way, y/n.” Spencer said, popping up from the couch in his shoes, ready to go.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine

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broodingmuscle · 5 years ago

Text

Lil Bro Muscles Up, Finale added

Eighteen year old Jimmy looked in the mirror. Damn he looked good, he thought. Broad shoulders, nice muscles, damn handsome, if he said so himself. “Those Boston College girls won’t know what hit ‘em,” he growled. His beat up Corolla was all packed, all that was left to do was say goodbye to his lil bro, Roy. He felt a bit guilty leaving town for college. Nerdy Roy, only fifteen but going into his junior year since he skipped Grade Four, couldn’t count on the protection of his big bro anymore. He felt worse about leaving Roy to fend for himself than he felt about leaving Cindy, his girlfriend. She was hot, but he was going to be playing the field with college girls, he couldn’t stay attached to a high school senior.

“RoyBoy!” he yelled at his little bro as he stood at the front door. “Gonna miss you, bro! You gonna be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, Jimmy,” his lil bro smiled. “I’m gonna use your weights in the basement to get big and strong, like you!”

Jimmy looked at the scrawny limbs of his shrimpy lil bro. He grabbed his upper arm, which was so thin, Jimmy’s fingers touched when he closed his hand. Those little dumbbells in the basement might not be up to the task. “Alright, RoyBoy, I wanna feel some muscle here when I come back for Columbus Day weekend.”

Roy winced. “You know they’re calling it Indigenous People’s Day on college campuses now, right, bro? Maybe it’s me that needs to worry about you, dummy!”

Jimmy laughed and picked his lil bro up and threw him over his shoulder, then spun in place like a helicopter. Roy giggled and yelled. “Put me down you big goof!”

Jimmy dumped him on floor and towered over him, flexing his biceps. “That’ll teach you to call your big bro a dummy.” Roy grinned and stood up, losing his balance. Jimmy righted him by putting his hand on his skinny shoulder. So thin, he thought.

“Okay, RoyBoy, I’m outta here. You do your workouts and make sure Mom feeds your skinny ass.”

He stuck out his hand to his bro, and Roy looked at it funny, but then shook it. They’d never shook hands before, and Jimmy noted that weirdly, his hand was only slightly bigger than Roy’s.

“You hear me?” Jimmy warned with a grin.

Roy squeezed Jimmy’s hand and cocked an eyebrow. “I’ll make you proud, big bro.”

Jimmy pulled up into the driveway at 11 PM after a five hour drive had turned into an eight hour drive due to an accident on the interstate. He was irritable that he missed dinner with the fam. He’d been more homesick than he expected going to college. He was looking forward to hanging out with his lil bro and folks, and maybe even calling up Cindy. With his good looks, he’d scored a lot of sex in his first month on campus at BC, but it all felt kind of empty. He realized that he’d had more of a connection with his high school girlfriend than he thought. He hadn’t texted her though, he thought they should talk in person.

Jimmy opened the front door with his key and all was dark and quiet inside. He walked into the kitchen where his mother had left a plate of food and a note:

“Welcome home honey! Too tired to wait up. Reheat this 2 min on high. Guest bedroom all made up for you. Sleep well and see you in the morning! xoxo”

Jimmy put the plate of food in the microwave and then looked at the note again. Guest bedroom? Is that what they were calling his bedroom now? Geez, he’d only been gone six weeks. The microwave dinged and he tested the food but it was only lukewarm, so he put it in another two minutes and then picked up his duffel bag and went upstairs to drop it in his room.

As he opened the door he practically gagged at the smell. The room reeked. Jimmy covered his mouth and nose with his hand. He looked around and saw that the furniture and posters on the walls were those of his lil bro Roy. “What the hell?” he thought.

There were dirty clothes strewn everywhere, as well as wadded up balls of tissue paper. Gross! He picked his way across the cluttered room to open the window. At least now there was some flow of air.

“Jimmy, you’re home!”

He turned to see his lil bro Roy at the door. Before he could say anything Roy had crossed the room in an instant and hugged his big bro tight.

“RoyBoy! It’s good to see you!”

Roy’s hug was so touching, Jimmy couldn’t be mad at him for taking his old room. Roy’s head was plastered against Jimmy’s t-shirt and his sweaty arms wrapped around his chest.

“But, man, lil bro. You stink!”

Roy let go of his tight hug and looked up into his big bro’s eyes. His face was sweaty and his brown hair was soaked.

“Ugh, I know, sorry Jimmy. I just ran all the way from Cindy’s.”

Cindy’s place was at least six miles from here. “What were you doing there?”

“We’re doing a school project together.”

Jimmy frowned. “But she’s a senior.”

“Oh yeah, I guess you wouldn’t have heard. I’m skipping Grade 11. That shit was just too easy for me.”

“Language, RoyBoy!” Jimmy was amazed and proud of his lil bro’s news, but he’d never known him to swear.

“Haha Jimmy you’re funny. You look good, big bro, you still working out?”

Jimmy laughed. “Of course, kiddo, it’s a lifestyle y’know.”

“Show me, big bro!” Roy gripped Jimmy’s right upper arm and squeezed.

“Oww, quit it!”

“Sorry big bro, did that hurt?”

Jimmy pulled his arm way. “Of course not, smelly! I just wasn’t flexing.” Jimmy put his hand around his lil bro’s arm. He could still make his fingers touch. “And I thought you were going to put on some muscle yourself while I was gone. You slacking, lil bro?”

“As if, big bro. It’s just that...”

In a flash, Roy pulled off his red t-shirt.

“...I wasn’t flexing!”

Jimmy stepped back and looked at his lil bro. He still looked skinny, but it almost looked like he had abs now. Then Roy flexed his arms and the muscles popped out.

Jimmy smiled. “Good for you, bro, you got little biceps!”

Roy grinned. He relaxed his arms and then flexed his right biceps right in Jimmy’s face. Was it Jimmy’s imagination or did it peak a little higher? “Feel it bro.” Roy said, excited.

Jimmy hesitated. The stench from Roy’s armpit, which had a tangle of dark hair in it now, was overpowering. “Nah, man.”

Roy suddenly looked angry. “I said feel it!” His voice this time was deeper, and insistent.

Jimmy immediately put his hand to his lil bro’s arm.

“What the fuck.”

Roy smirked. “Language, Jimmy.”

“Dude that is solid as a rock.” Jimmy couldn’t believe what he was feeling. Though it was small, Roy’s arm was all hard muscle. He couldn’t so much as dent the peak of the little biceps with his fingers.

Roy raised at eyebrow at Jimmy’s efforts. “Try both your hands.”

“Smartass!” Jimmy brought his other hand up, and pushed both his thumbs into the top of the muscle, while gripping the rest of his arm with his fingers. But Roy didn’t cry out as Jimmy expected. He just grunted and flexed harder, his face reddening. Jimmy started to sweat from the effort of trying to crush his lil bro’s muscle with both hands. Finally he felt a cramp in his hand and stopped.

Roy beamed while Jimmy shook out his hand. “I told you I was gonna make you proud, big bro!”

“That’s pretty great, bro.“ Jimmy said weakly. “You know, I’m beat after that long drive, let’s catch up more in the morning.”

Roy’s face broke out into a grin. “Sure thing, Jimmy! Let me take your bag to the guest room.” Roy dropped his t-shirt amid the smelly detritus on the floor and picked up Jimmy’s big duffel bag with one arm. He hauled it over his shoulder, and turned back to his brother. Now Jimmy could see he had triceps and well as biceps, and his dark pit hair was shiny with sweat from his six mile run. From my ex’s place. Jimmy remembered.

Jimmy gulped. “Thanks bro.”

Roy crossed the hall and opened the door to his old room, which their mother had done up as the guest room. Jimmy stepped in and frowned. The whole bedroom was pink. “Are we getting a little sister, or something, bro?”

Roy laughed. “Naw big bro, Mom just went a little overboard with the re-decorating.” He tossed Jimmy’s duffel bag on the taffeta bedspread. “See you in the morning big bro, sweet dreams.”

“Thanks bro, it’s good to be home.”

The door closed and Jimmy looked around the utterly unfamiliar room.

He took off his t-shirt and sniffed at the pits. Despite eight hours sweating in the car all he could smell was his deodorant. Then he put his nose lower down the side of the shirt where Roy had hugged him with his sweaty arms. The stench was awful.

Jimmy looked up and and said out loud:

“What the fuck is happening?”

Jimmy insisted to his family that he was “too busy” to make it home for his lil bro Roy’s sixteen birthday, and made the same excuses for Thanksgiving. It was only on the long drive home for Christmas break that he really thought about the Columbus Day weekend visit and what it meant to him. He had always been the Golden Child in the family. First born, a good-looking athletic blond kid who grew up to be a handsome leader and Prom King in high school. Then to find coming home after only six weeks away to see his lil bro had taken over his old bedroom, and was spending time with his ex-girlfriend. Even if it was just for a school project, that seemed awkward, and Cindy had completely brushed him off when he’d tried to contact her. Admittedly, Jimmy had dumped her, so he had no right to expect she come running when he called. But, Jimmy had never begged a girl for sex in his life; he had sex thrown at him almost daily by horny undergraduates.

And then there was that weird thing with Roy’s hard little biceps. Jimmy had gone around to all his gym buddies after he got back to campus and made bets that he could crush their biceps. Most of them he could make cry out in pain with just one hand, let alone two hands, and none of their muscle felt as diamond hard as Roy’s had felt. The whole thing still weirded him out two months after the fact.

As he pulled into his suburban neighborhood, off the main road, his car died. Damn, Jimmy thought, this visit is off to a great start. After the long drive, he didn’t want to have to deal with tow-trucks and mechanics tonight. He phoned his Dad and asked him to come down the road and help him push the car the half-mile or so to the driveway.

“I’ll send Roy,” his Dad said.

“Well, I don’t think Roy’s going to be able...” Jimmy started to reply, but his Dad had already hung up.

Jimmy sat in the car as the temperature within started to drop, with no heater to keep the cold at bay. He began to shiver. Tired, he closed his eyes briefly as he thought. What’s taking him so long?

He was woken up by a rap on the window. Jimmy rolled the window down and his lil bro Roy’s face appeared, with a big smile. Wearing a Santa hat and a ski jacket, he leaned his arms onto the window sill.

“Merry Christmas, Jimmy! What’s up bro? Car trouble?”

“RoyBoy! It’s so good to see you!” Jimmy felt his irritation melting away as he stared at his lil bro. His smile seemed to light up the inside of the car, and Jimmy realized that he’d missed him despite all the weirdness of the last visit. “Yeah, this damn Corolla is on its last legs.”

“What a coincidence, today is leg day!” Roy said, and Jimmy looked puzzled. “Put her in neutral.” Jimmy did so and then reached for the door handle. But Roy put his hand on the sill. “No need, I got this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’ll take the two of us to push.”

“But there’s a turn before we get home, you’ll have to steer.”

“Well then you get in and steer.” Jimmy said, he pulled on the door handle, but the door didn’t budge.

Roy stared at him, smirking. “Bro, I said I got this.”

Jimmy figured the door must be frozen shut. He sat back. “Okay,” he said, “I’ll steer, lil bro.”

Roy went to the rear of the car and Jimmy rolled up the window. He could tell that Roy had grown a little taller since he last saw him, and his face was leaner and more handsome. But even if he’d been working out (”Leg day” he’d said.) he’d never be able to push the car on his own. What was he thinking? Jimmy pulled out his phone to call his Dad again, but stopped dialing when the car started to move.

“I’ll be damned.” he said.

At first the car moved quite slowly, but it began to pick up speed. Jimmy looked behind him but all he could see was the red of the Santa hat. What a goofball, Jimmy smiled. He looked back to the front just in time to see the first turn coming up. He cranked hard on the steering wheel. With no power steering, it took some muscle. Took some muscle, he thought, mentally comparing the task of turning a steering wheel with his brother pushing a ton of steel and glass down a snowy road.

The snowy road. Oh shit. Jimmy realized, there was a stop sign coming up, and there were no power ABS brakes. Roy had got the car going at a good clip, and the brakes would no doubt lock. He tried the brakes, pushing down hard on the pedal, and that was exactly what happened. Jimmy panicked as the stop sign approached fast, and he saw a speeding truck coming from the left. If they couldn’t stop they’d be t-boned. Jimmy threw himself into the back seat and pounded on the rear windshield to get Roy’s attention. He saw Roy’s face pop up under the Santa hat and then suddenly disappear. In what he thought were his last moments alive, Jimmy was glad that Roy had saved himself.

Then the car stopped dead and the truck roared past.

Jimmy looked out the front windshield and gasped. He opened the car door and jumped out, not sure what he was seeing. Roy was at the front of the car, arms outstretched, hands on the hood, legs bent. He stood up, breathing hard. Jimmy realized with a shock that they were now the same height.

“That was close, huh? Good thing I wore my good boots.” Roy grinned.

Jimmy was stunned speechless. Roy had- had run to the front of the car and stopped it with his bare hands with a truck bearing down on them? How was that possible?

Roy guided Jimmy back into the front seat. “You’re in shock. Just get in, bro, I’ll take it from here.” Jimmy sat dumbly in the front seat as Roy pushed the car the rest of the way. When they got to their house, Roy opened the door. “Home sweet home, bro. Does your garage opener still work?” Jimmy nodded silently. Roy reached in his arm and pressed the device clipped to Jimmy’s sunvisor. Jimmy felt like he was sitting in a room in the back in his head and observing what was happening on a TV screen. Roy’s right arm turned the steering wheel and Jimmy was sure he could see the muscles of his arm working under the padding of the ski jacket, but he didn’t see how that was possible. Roy guided the car into the garage of the family home and then offered a hand to his brother.

Jimmy got out and stood in one spot looking around the garage. There was barely room for his car because the rest of the garage was filled with gym equipment. A weight bench, a squat rack, barbells and dumbbells, and lots and lots of iron plates. Roy closed the door and saw his brothers look. “Pretty sweet, huh, bro? Can’t wait until we can get a workout in together.” He slapped his brother on the back and guffawed. “Hey I guess we just did, right bro? I’m sweating like a pig.”

Jimmy huffed his breath, which formed a small cloud in the sub-zero chill. He started to feel a rush of blood to his ears as his brother zipped open his ski jacket and shrugged it off. He was shirtless beneath, and was so perfectly proportioned and shredded that Jimmy didn’t know where to look first. At his broad shoulders with their rounded delts? His pecs, two slabs of muscle like armour plating that were dusted with black chest hair. At his abs, which looked carved from steel?

Then, Jimmy saw it... The sweat from Roy’s exertion pushing the care was evaporating off his astonishing physique, visible in the chilly air of the garage.

His lil bro was so hot, he was literally steaming.

Roy stood there smiling for a minute until he saw Jimmy’s face, then he reached toward him. “You okay bro?” The motion caused his pectoral muscles to bounce.

“Oh God...” Jimmy said. Then everything went black and he fainted.

Jimmy had reached that point; he had brought his personal trainer Orlando to tears.

“I don’t know what you want! I’ve trained you for four months and there’s only so much I can do!”

“It’s not enough! It won’t be enough; I can feel it!” Jimmy raged.

“You’re more jacked than me! You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met! I jack myself raw every night thinking about your golden perfection! What do you want? The angels to weep in envy?”

Jimmy spat in Orlando’s face and walked away. “Waste of my fucking time and money.”

But as Jimmy rode in the cab from the airport, he wondered. He felt up the heft of his pecs and the hard roundness of his delts. Would it be enough? He had certainly sacrificed enough. He’d focused so much on working out he’d failed his courses. With all his extra dough gone to supplements and Orlando’s useless personal training fees, he couldn’t afford to re-take his year and had to transfer to the state university and move back home. Meanwhile his brother Roy, and his ex Cindy, had gotten into MIT. He laughed bitterly. Guess I’ll get my room back.

As the cab pulled up to the family home, Jimmy got out, pulling out his bags. The garage door was open, and he stepped up to edge, but couldn’t bring himself to enter. The man in the garage was repping the bench press with one and a half times Jimmy’s personal best on the squat. Plus there were heavy link chains added to each side of the bar that clinked in the spring air. Jimmy allowed himself to wonder, for a tantalizing few seconds, whether this was a new bodybuilding neighbor, maybe his Mom’s new lover, anybody but the man he knew it exactly to be. Man. Jesus fuck he’s only 16! He watched those pecs, covered in black hair, inflate from thick plates into rounded boulders at the top of the rep. He observed those deep armpits, each with more hair in them than he had on his chest. Yes, a man.

He turned away from the garage and went in the front door. He dropped his bags, keeping only his laptop bag and went up to the emasculating pink guest room, ignoring his mother’s question: “Jimmy is that you?”

He opened his laptop and logged into the wifi. He needed answers. Why? He suddenly remembered Abigail, that British chick who constantly talked about literature, and called out his name as she rode his cock. What was it she had said that time after they’d fucked? Something about names? “Names tell you all. Your name it your destiny.” Huh.

He typed into Google: “Meaning of name Jimmy”

He squinted at the answer: “Diminutive of James.”

He typed into Wiktionary: “Diminutive”

Answer: “Extremely small, tiny.” Fuck.

He typed again: “Meaning of name James”

“English version of Hebrew Jacob. Examples from history: James the Lesser.”

He stared blankly at the screen. Eventually he typed:

“Meaning of name Hebrew Jacob.”

Answer: “Envious of hairy brother. Heel grabber.”

Jimmy nodded feeling a sense of relief. He felt his hands tremble as he typed, finally:

“Meaning of name Roy.”

***

Jimmy stepped into the garage. He stood calmly while his brother Roy rose from the bench. His body unfurled itself in its majesty until he was several inches taller, a foot wider and utterly superior in every possible way. Roy raised his arm to rub his neck as he greeted his bro, now clearly the “lil bro”.

“Hey bro.”

Jimmy leaned in slightly and sniffed, absorbing some of his brother’s testosterone funk.

Then he bent the knee.

“My king.”

The End.

[Inspired by @theobromic‘s amazing commission!]

#musclestories #bigbrovslilbro #ultimatelilbro #lilbromusclesup #art #commission

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threeletterslife · 4 years ago

Text

For Everland

→ [2/7] of the Society Series

→ summary: Yoongi is supposed to be your patient. He's not supposed to threaten your so-called relationship with your lifetime partner, Jeon Jungkook. You're not supposed to love him—you shouldn't be able to.

→ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader | PG-15

→ genre: 97% angst, 3% fluff | dystopian!au

→ warnings: profanity, making out, implied sex, infidelity (kind of?), blood, death, hyperventilation, depictions of a seizure (oc works at a hospital so), mentions of the afterlife, descriptions of getting shots/needles, a character has a missing leg (poor bby)

→ wordcount: 17.7k

→ a/n: this is loosely inspired by the great lois lowry’s the giver. i grew up reading that book omg 😭😭🥺and writing this fic was sO fun bc if i had to choose a dystopian society to live in for the rest of my life, it would HANDS DOWN be this one

cr.

It's over.

Thank goodness, it's over.

It's easily the worst part of the job. The transport room is painfully white and frighteningly silent. The only comfort you have is your ocean linen hand soap that sits loyally on the side of the sink. You pull off your latex gloves slowly, tossing them in the trash and turning on the warm water to wash your hands. The familiar, sea breeze scent punctures the room, soothing your jittery nerves. It seems to warmly congratulate you for orchestrating another successful transport.

Thank god. You won't have to do the procedure for another few weeks.

You make a bee-line toward the hospital closet, quickly shrugging off your spotless lab coat and pulling on your worn-out, fuzzy sweater. Already, you're feeling a bit better just being in your normal clothes. Professional attire makes you feel solemn and serious. You hate it.

But other than having to do the procedure in the transport room quite often, you enjoy your assigned career.

The procedure is only inevitable, you suppose, as you start to walk home from your career unit. Jungkook, your assigned partner, isn't waiting for you today, so he must be at home, making dinner. You begin to fast-walk before you accidentally break curfew a second time—the first time was embarrassing enough.

But to keep your mind busy and away from shutting down due to boredom, you reflect back on the day's work.

It's definitely not easy being a nurse, but you take the job with immense pride. Because without you, no one would be able to get to Everland. When you'd first received your career assignment, the Council had proudly told you that you were the very bridge between the society—Tagna—and Everland. They told you that you should take your assigned career with pride.

Everland. How do you even begin to explain that place? It's a paradise, they say. The Council tells every citizen of Tagna the general idea, but only you're gifted with the details. They told you that the skies are blue and the sun shines brightly but never too much. It is spring all year round in Everland. The land boasts serene nature and lakes that stretch across the grassy lawns. The homes are built from cedar wood and are sturdy against the whispering breezes at night.

Of course, you've never seen Everland for yourself. In fact, the Council makes it very clear that no one who has been to Everland has come back to Tagna. You suppose if you lived in paradise too, you wouldn't want to leave.

Some are transported to Everland earlier in their lives; you've worked with a handful of newborn babies, young children and even teenagers. Others are transported later, after thoroughly experiencing the structured and well-disciplined society of Tagna; there were more adults, grandmothers and grandfathers who you transported to Everland. But in the end, every person in Tagna—yourself included—would earn a chance to visit Everland themselves. It's just a matter of time... and luck.

As a nurse, it's up to you to take care of the patients. You're supposed to talk to them, keep them company, comfort them, be their closest friend—until it's time for them to be transported. The transportation is also part of your job, but the least favorite part for you.

Maybe you hate the procedure and going through with the transport because you get quite attached to your patients—you don't want them to leave. But maybe... and deeper inside you, you hate the procedure because you're jealous.

You can't deny that you want to experience this Everland. You've come close to the paradisiacal land more times than any other citizen of Tagna. But the Council seems to be intent on keeping you in society so you can serve those in need.

Goddamn. Every time you step into that small, white room, every time you put on your latex gloves, you wish it were you, sitting in the hospital bed, instead of your patient.

When your assistant rolls in the medical cart with supplies, you can't help but spend an extra few seconds gazing longingly at the clear serum in the syringe. The sharp, pointed needle glints in the white light, which brings a small, sad smile to your face. That's the serum that puts your patient to sleep—well, physically. Their minds are already flying through dimensions, zipping past other worlds to land in Everland. Their bodies will follow suit later.

It's unsettling though. You hate how the clear liquid disappears through the skin the more you press the pad of your finger on the plunger of the syringe. There is also an unspoken agreement with all the people in the room to stay absolutely silent. The silence is unsettling to you.

Very rarely, your patient has to be strapped into their seat. But it becomes quite obvious when you're tending your patient before the transport whether they'll need a strap. You assume the shot isn't too painful, judging from the majority of the reactions of your patients. But you're not really sure. And it's not your job to know. The Council is extremely strict about assigned careers.

Sometimes, it's unsettling to watch your patient fall asleep. Their eyes begin to flutter rapidly and their limbs become limp, their head lolling to the side. As a tradition, you have to walk towards your patient, your shoes clacking against the white floor. You hold their hand and speak your last goodbyes.

"Remember the lines we rehearsed? The ones we went over every day, honey?" you say every time.

There's always a mixed response from the patients. Sometimes they nod, sometimes they shake their heads. Other times, they don't even answer you—when the serum works too quickly and they're already halfway crossing dimensions in their minds. It usually doesn't matter. You recite the rehearsed line yourself.

"For us and for Everland."

On good days, your patient says the line with you; it's their very last words before they would leave Tagna forever and enter Everland. When their body goes slack and their eyes close, you have to double-check their pulse—for the transportation to Everland is not possible with a beating heart. The injected serum is merely a catalyst that will help your patient transport to Everland. And once the patient's mind is already at Everland, their body will follow, and they will wake up in paradise.

The unsettling feeling does not leave until some of your assistants enter the room to roll your patient's hospital bed away. You always give them a nod of acknowledgment but you never speak to them—just in case any loud noise might disrupt your patient's safe travels.

Every transport procedure drains you. But Jungkook's always waiting for you somewhere, waiting to replenish your energy and shower you with attention. He's always insisting that you take a rest, which, in his language, means to go on a lunch coffee date with him. But you're usually too busy to accept.

You manage to reach your house unit before curfew, opening your door and nearly collapsing on the living room couch.

"Sweetie?" you hear Jungkook calling you from the kitchen. It takes you a moment to realize he's cooking spaghetti, which makes you lift your head gratefully.

"Yeah?" you say.

"Are you tired?" he calls. "I made spaghetti, but I can wrap it up for you so you can have it for breakfast tomorrow if you want to sleep."

"No, no, it's fine," you say, heaving yourself up from the couch and stumbling into the kitchen. "I want to eat dinner with you."

Jungkook smiles brightly. Normally, you leave him to eat his meals by himself. "Did something good happen today?" he asks as he pulls out the chair for you and places two still-hot bowls of spaghetti on the table.

"Not really," you shrug, sitting down and grabbing your fork. "It was normal as work goes."

"How was the transport, then?"

"Routinely," you say, stuffing a forkful of spaghetti in your mouth. "Mm, this is good, Jungkook," you hum, swallowing. Jungkook beams at your compliment. "The patient was a grandmother, and she recited the lasting line with me, so that was good."

"For us and for Everland?"

"Yeah." You nod.

You like it when Jungkook discusses work with you. Because in your opinion, your career units are the only thing the two of you have in common. Which was the whole point of assigned partners, anyway—to match people up according to their career units. The Council says it makes couples more compatible. You're indifferent.

It's silent for the rest of dinner. Jungkook knows you don't like to come home to small talk after doing it for work all day. And you don't find it interesting when Jungkook starts to go off in tangents about the new baseball lineups the Council approved of. You do the dishes while Jungkook clears off the table and cleans the kitchen floor.

The chores are habitual, making you feel almost like a robot as you complete them every day. When the last dish is in the dishwater, you turn to Jungkook, who just came back from taking out the trash. "Jungkook?"

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"Listen, I've been meaning to ask you..." you trail off. Your partner smiles hopefully at you. "Where do you roll my patients off before their bodies are transported? I mean... I guess what I'm asking is, do you get to see Everland? Is there a portal or something that leads there?"

Jungkook sniffles, scrunching his eyebrows in thought. You can tell by the slight crease on his forehead that he's disappointed there's going to be another work-related conversation.

"We're just told to put them in a white sack. Maybe that's the portal you're talking about? I'm not sure where they go, sweetie," he says. "We just do these extra check-ups so we know they're in good condition to transport. Then we set them in another room. I guess someone else does the rest." He pauses. "But I don't think I was supposed to tell you all that. Y/N, you know the details of our assigned careers have to be kept confidential."

You sigh. "Yeah, I know... Still, though. What does it matter? We work in the same career unit. There should be no secrets!"

"I think the Council would have something to say to that," Jungkook says. "I just think you want to see what Everland is like because you've been asking me an awful lot of questions about work," he sulks. "We're partners, Y/N... Can we please act like it? Look at Hoseok next door with his partner. And Namjoon too. They always go on dates, and they're already thinking of signing up for kids from the clinic."

You flinch. Assigned partners, you want to remind Jungkook. But you don't. It's not that you hate Jungkook or despise his presence altogether. It's just that you don't love him. Not as much as he loves you, anyway.

But he's loyal and one of your only friends. And he's not too bad of a company.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," you say, reaching out to place a friendly hand on his. "I just... I've been selfish, I know."

Jungkook takes your hand in his, tugging you into his arms.

"I always feel guilty, you know?" you whisper against his chest. "I make Everland seem like this fairytale place. But I don't even know what it's like."

"It's best to trust what the Council says," Jungkook reassures you. "You're better off trusting them than anyone else, right?"

"You're right."

"It's okay," Jungkook whispers, kissing your forehead before letting you go. "Sooner or later, we'll be transported too. Sometimes in moments that we least expect it."

You hum, detecting the melancholy tinge to his silvery voice. "It's your brother, isn't it? How do you think he's faring in Everland?"

"Junghyun?" Jungkook sighs. "He's probably having the time of his life there... It was just so sudden. I didn't even get to say goodbye to him."

"They leave us in the most mysterious ways," you say. "Too bad we lose contact after their transport. I would've loved to see what it's like there."

"Yeah, me too," Jungkook says. "But I want us to leave for Everland together."

Unlikely, you think. "Me too," you say. "Come on, let's get to bed. I have to stay late tomorrow at work. They're giving me another patient on top of Jimin."

Jungkook groans, his hand searching for yours as the two of you make your way into the bedroom. When he finds your hand, he holds it tightly, almost as if he was afraid you'd fade out of sight at any second. "The Council's overworking you, sweetie."

"Or they just think I'm doing a great job," you say, squeezing his hand. "It's okay. I swear I don't mind. He's a good guy, you know, this Jimin. Deserves to be in Everland. He just needs some emotional boost as they all do. And as for the new patient... I don't know what to expect."

"Well, then," Jungkook says. "Tell this Jimin to say hi to my brother for me when he's there."

"Sure thing."

"Sweetie?"

"Hm?"

"Don't work too hard," Jungkook says. "You need some time to relax."

You giggle. "My career is my relaxation! It's fun to meet these people, to talk to them, you know? Granted, half of them don't understand me, but I dunno... I like the process way more than the procedure itself."

"Yeah, yeah," Jungkook laughs, shaking his head, his hand slipping out of yours. "We should wash up," he says, "before the suppressant makes me drop to the floor snoring."

You laugh along with him, tugging your assigned partner into the bathroom. The nighttime routine in there is as practiced as any other routine in your life. Soon, you and Jungkook are lying in bed, side by side. Just like always.

"Sweetie?" Jungkook murmurs, the suppressant taking a toll on him already. He seems to be barely awake.

"Yeah?"

"Try to get home much before curfew, okay?"

Jungkook had freaked out when the patrollers had found you crossing the streets after curfew. He'd been reminding you about getting home earlier for months now. But you never listen to him. Still: "Of course," you say. "I'm sorry for always making you worry."

When Jungkook doesn't answer, you realize he's already knocked out. You let out a deep sigh, turning over to face the small window in the bedroom. It's dark out tonight, with no moon to light up the bedroom even the slightest bit.

Sometimes, you wonder what it would be like if the suppressant worked on you normally as it did for everyone else.

Out of the thousands of citizens of Tagna, it had to be you to be the victim of immunity to the suppressant.

"Jimin! How are you?" you exclaim, closing the hospital room door behind you as you shake a bag of his favorite chips in your hand. "Look what I got you! I might've been late because of that." You laugh apologetically as Jimin giggles, immobilized on his bed.

"I'm fine, Y/N, thank you. No need to worry." But the man shifts uncomfortably, then lifts the bed covers off of the lower half of his body. "Can you help me up?" He nods towards his missing right leg, giving you a rather frustrated look.

"Yes, of course," you quickly say, taking big steps to help Jimin out of his bed and onto his wheelchair. Though the amputation had been successful—the infection didn't spread to the rest of the body—a missing leg left Jimin often irritated and frustrated. "Where do you want to go today?" you ask him, rubbing his shoulders to comfort him.

The man places a hand on top of yours, looking at you pleadingly. "Outside the hospital...?" he says hopefully.

"Aw, Jimin..." you say, crouching down in front of him to take his hands. "You know we can't do that." He knows, but he asks every day, just in case—as if one day, you'll be waiting for him with a different answer other than no.

"I know," Jimin says, squeezing your hands. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you tell him. "Do you want your blanket, Jimin? You know, to cover—"

"Yes, please." Nodding, you help the man drape a white cotton blanket over his leg. "I want another look around the hospital before I'm transported."

"Sure!" You adjust Jimin's blanket, securing it so it falls over his missing leg. You and Jimin have a wordless agreement not to talk much about it, and you know how much he likes to have it covered up. Jimin's insecure, embarrassed about a missing limb. Especially when before the amputation, he had been a fit, robust figure, always running around and training. "We'll just roam around the hospital and talk."

Jimin smiles. "That sounds good to me. Let's bring the chips too."

You hand the snack to Jimin, carefully checking the room one last time before rolling the man out into the hospital corridor. It's silent as you wheel Jimin in the direction of the left-wing, where there are full-length windows replacing the usual bland white walls, allowing bright sunlight to flood the corridor. It's the only place that gives the otherwise spotlessly white hospital a golden glow. Jimin likes that spot the best; honestly, so do you.

Once you situate Jimin in front of the windows, making sure he isn't completely in the sun, you sit down next to him. (He doesn't like it when you tower over him.) Jimin looks comfortable in his wheelchair, clutching his now open bag of chips and staring out the window with deep admiration.

"Tell me about Everland, again," he whispers, gazing thoughtfully out of the windows. "Please, Y/N."

The sunlight bounces perfectly off the bridge of Jimin's sloped nose, giving his face of beautiful features a sort of rare radiance.

"Everland?" you hum. "What do you want to hear about it?"

"I don't know... If people like me are welcomed there, I guess," Jimin sighs. His gaze flickers to you. "No one I know and admire knows about my amputation—except you. They won't let me contact my friends or family... They're sending me to paradise early because I'm an embarrassment to Tagna."

"Don't be like that." Sure, you've noticed society's outcasts are usually the ones that are transported—the ones with physical or mental disabilities, or just those older in age. But, of course, that just means that everyone should be transported sooner or later. Or maybe these people are the only people that Everland accepts.

Jimin is going at it as if Everland only accepted those rejected from Tagna. You're not so keen on that idea. The Council works hard to protect every single citizen. That would be impossible.

The seated man inhales sharply. "How can I not be like this, Y/N? I feel so useless here, like this, in a fucking hospital of all places. The only way I can even moderately feel like I'm back in society is here, in front of these damned windows where I can actually see the sunlight. Otherwise, I'm stuck in these white-walled rooms with no one to talk to but you. Then I'm forced to run through these health checkups with doctors that never speak to me, even when I ask them questions! At this point, anything is better than this stupid hospital."

"Oh, Jimin..." you say, immediately taking his hand in yours. You can't bring yourself to tell him 'don't be like that,' again. Pure sorrow is held deep in his brown eyes when he looks at you; your heart aches. "Hey..." you whisper, softly squeezing his warm hand. "Remember that thing I always tell you?"

"What thing?" he huffs. You can tell he's a little bit irritated, and you struggle to keep a straight face.

Placing another comforting hand on his remaining knee, you say, "Remember? For us and—"

"For Everland," Jimin finishes for you. "Oh, that thing," he mumbles. "Of course I remember."

You nod, smiling when Jimin grips your hand tighter. "Have you ever stopped to think about what that meant?"

"No, not really, Y/N." Though he's still frowning, he doesn't look as forlorn anymore.

"Well," you say, "we, as a society, will always miss any patient after their successful transport. I remember everyone I've helped to cross the dimensions and go to Everland, so I'm sure your friends and family unit will always remember you as well. You'll be the man who was worthy of being transported into paradise. Think of it like you're doing it for Tagna, to represent our society in a new land. For us."

"And for Everland?"

"It's nice to say that out of respect, you know?" you smile. "I mean, you'll be staying there for the rest of your life, Jimin. Besides, no one ever said anything about you being an embarrassment, Jimin. You're nothing but a hero, a veteran."

The corners of Jimin's lips turn up just slightly as he looks out the windows once more. "For us and for Everland, huh?"

Though he can't see you, you nod. "Everland is the happiest place on what's left of planet earth," you say, causing Jimin's head to whip toward you. "Yeah," you say. "It's a place even better than our advanced society right here. Everyone is equal in Everland too, but you get many more benefits. The skies are this rich, azure blue and the clouds are so fluffy, they say they emulate the sweetest cotton candy. The people there are veterans like you. I can guarantee you that everyone is respected and well-understood. Every home unit has enormous windows that let the sunlight warm up the buildings. The food there is fresh, nurtured straight out of the soil and hand-picked by the dwellers. It's beautiful there because it's spring, all year long..." you trail off.

Jimin stares at you, lips parted and eyes glossy, no doubt daydreaming about this Utopian place just like you are. "Beautiful..." he mutters under his breath. It's like he wants to ingrain this wonderful scene he had painted of Everland in his head, to recite it to himself every so often before his transport.

You sit back, hand still intertwined in his as you let Jimin lose himself in his reverie. It's several minutes later when Jimin finally jolts from his seat, turning to you with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm sorry," he says. "I zoned out."

"No worries," you tell him. "We all do when we think of Everland."

Jimin hums, squeezing your hand, turning to you with the best of his ability (which was how well his chair would let him). "Do you have a partner, Y/N?"

The rather personal question makes you raise your eyebrows in shock, but you quickly make up for it with a small, stifled laugh. Normally, your patients like it when you tell them fantasy stories or when you listen to them talk about their whole life. They very rarely ask about you.

"Uh, yeah, Jimin," you say. "I have an assigned partner."

"What's he like? When were you assigned to him? Do you love him?"

When you raise another shocked eyebrow, Jimin squirms in his seat, releasing your hand. "Sorry... I-I wasn't trying to be... um, invasive. I'm just... I'm being transported before I get my partner. Having one was one of my dreams since I was little. You know, having my very own family unit to come home to after work..." he trails off. "Please, tell me everything about it."

How can you say no to that?

"Don't worry," you smile warmly. "You can ask all the questions you want—I can't guarantee a good answer, though."

"That's fine, Y/N."

"Well then, hmm..." you say. "Um, his name is Jungkook. I'll start with that. Tall, handsome, ungodly fit... Kind, too." You pause, searching for the look of approval on Jimin's face; he looks like he's in bliss, so you continue. "Sometimes, he acts like my assigned mother, you know, nagging at me to take care of myself and being concerned about everything I do... But, at the end of the day, he's my best friend. He tells me not to overwork myself and he tries to take me on dates when they're due. Then he always makes sure I'm back home before curfew. He knows how I let time fly past me at work," you laugh. "Jungkook's a beautiful soul. I'm really lucky to have been assigned to him. It's been about three years, and I can't say I have any complaints, really."

"Do you love him?"

The question catches you off guard. You look at Jimin, who looks so hopeful, so attached to your assigned relationship—as if it were as precious as his own. With that look on his face, you don't know what kind of monster you would have to be to tear that fantasy apart. Your assigned partner is the last relationship Jimin will hear of, the one that will be embedded in his memories when he is transported. It's your job to take care of Jimin. And it's your job to support him emotionally.

You know the answer to that question. You've known it for a while, and for the longest time, you always thought (or hoped) it would change. It never did.

You're not even completely sure what love is, at this point, though the Council had drilled the definition of it in you since you were a little girl. You're supposed to love your assigned partner, so in a way, you feel like you've failed them.

But you let out a shaky breath, catching Jimin's eyes as you beam. "Yes, I love him."

It's a lie.

Usually, you're given one patient to work with at a time; the Council knows to give you some well-deserved lax time. But never have you gotten two patients. Jimin's transport wasn't scheduled for another two weeks, yet they're taking you to meet a second patient today.

You're not that bothered by the news—not as bothered as Jungkook, anyway. You know he's always wanted to lounge around in bed, watching authorized movies and cooking homemade breakfast together. But you insist that you need to take your assigned career seriously.

He can't argue much after that.

You've said your goodbyes to Jimin earlier that day, had a quick snack and waited. And waited. and waited.

The first meeting with a new patient always makes you feel so jittery. You don't know this person at all—you're to never have any personal connections with them. So you always have to figure out their conditions yourself. It's always one of three things: mentally disabled, physically disabled or older in age. At first glance, it's always easy to tell which the patient is.

The patient is always nervous too, glancing at you anxiously, wondering if you would take good care of them as the Council had promised. There's some pressure to make the best impression. Your white lab coat tends to make your patients uneasy, so one day you 'lost' it in the laundry and never wore it again. A fuzzy sweater or a modest t-shirt with jeans usually does the trick.

You straighten out your t-shirt for the hundredth time, checking to see if it was tucked in your jeans correctly and fixing your hair too. Sometimes, you think you probably feel more nervous to meet your new patient than the patient. After all, you'll have to spend as much as time (or more) with this person as with your assigned partner.

When the door to the hospital room opens, you stand up immediately, ready to greet your patient and assistant, Taehyung, who always introduces you to your new patients. But you're greeted with something you're not quite ready for.

"Don't fucking touch me," a menacing voice snarls. The owner of this voice is a rather lean man with messy blonde hair. He practically slaps Taehyung for holding onto his elbow, and even the always-happy Taehyung looks miserable.

You quickly scan the patient with your eyes. Normally, your discernment is quick, but this time, it's hard. Immediately, you're able to rule out old age. If there was a physical disability, it wasn't obvious. You're leaning towards mental disability, though you also get a feeling that it's really not. You're stumped, but you try not to show it.

Besides, your patient already sounds really irritated.

"Hey, Taehyung," you say, offering your assistant a smile. "Who's our lovely patient?"

The patient dramatically rolls his eyes, aggressively pulling away from Taehyung's grip. "Min Yoongi."

"Yoongi!" you say with a happy smile, though you're very much aware that this Min Yoongi is anything but happy. "Come on into your new room! Nice to meet you. I'm Y/N. I'll be your nurse until your transport in several weeks. You turn to Taehyung, nodding. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem. Good luck," Taehyung says before hurrying away.

It's possible that Taehyung's busy and that's the reason behind his sprint away from you and the new patient, but something tells you that it's something else. And that 'good luck' sounded more like a warning than a cheerful goodbye.

Your eyes meet with Yoongi's. They're hard, black and cold. Almost like they can pierce through your soul.

"So, Yoongi," you say, "are you excited about going to Everland?"

It's the best way to start off the first conversation with any patient. They enjoy talking about Everland—and if they don't know much about it, they beg for you to tell. It works every time.

Except not today.

Yoongi scoffs, collapsing on his hospital bed as he turns to face you, cocking his head haughtily. "Why would I be excited?" He sounds like he's accusing you of spreading false lies.

But you don't back down. "Oh, I'm sorry. Maybe excited isn't the right word. I guess I meant you're looking forward to it?"

"No, I'm dreading it. Terrified. Fucking disgusted and filled to the brim with overflowing trepidation."

"W-What?"

"Whatever. Just leave, Y/N. Come back when it's time for me to be 'transported' or whatever the shit the Council calls this."

Never have you dealt with a rude patient. They're all usually very understanding and kind and most of all, respectful. You're taken aback, but you're not one to say no to a challenge.

"Yoongi, do you need someone to talk to?" you ask in your softest voice. "Hey, I'll listen to anything. Really. If you're that 'filled to the brim with overflowing trepidation,' then you can tell me. I'll listen."

"What makes you think I trust you?" It's another challenge, the way he utters it. Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest and raises a daring eyebrow at you.

You swallow your pride, keeping an unfazed, neutral look on your face. "Everything you tell me here, stays in here, Yoongi. You have my word."

"You could be lying through your teeth right now," Yoongi snorts. "Could you be any more artificial? You're giving me a headache, all right? If you're going to be so ersatz with your emotions, I reckon you leave."

Me? Give him a headache?? And not the other way around???

You've had enough.

"I don't think you want me to leave," you say slowly and firmly, crossing your arms and staying rooted to your spot.

"And why would you think that?" Yoongi cocks his head, his bangs falling over his eyes as he does so. He makes no effort to sweep it away. For some reason, that ticks you off even more.

"Loneliness," you say. "You'll get sick of being cramped up and alone in this white-walled room. The only artificial thing here would be the lights—and trust me when I say if you stay here alone, you can say goodbye to natural sunlight until your transport. If you claim that you don't find loneliness even in the tiniest bit of solitude, then I think I might have to ask you to leave for being... what was it again? Ersatz with your emotions."

You haven't left eye contact with the patient.

And you start to become jittery again when complete silence follows after your passive-aggressive speech.

Until: "Damn. Didn't think you had that in you."

"What?"

"I have to give you credit for that," Yoongi shrugs. "Maybe you won't be completely annoying after all. Maybe you'll be bearable."

You let out air through your nose. "Thanks?" You shake your head in disbelief as you sit next to him on his bed.

"You're welcome, I guess."

A small giggle escapes from your lips, then a louder laugh.

Yoongi looks at you as if you sprouted devil horns on your head.

"Sorry—" you manage to say in between giggles—"if the Council saw me being this mean, I'd have to say goodbye to my job."

"You call that being mean?" It's Yoongi who laughs this time. "You're going to have a hell of a time with me, then."

You leave your home unit early for the first time—without Jungkook having to shake you awake—to buy some snacks for your patients. (Though you know Jimin's favorite foods, you end up having to take a wild guess for Yoongi.)

Jimin had made you promise to meet you as early as your schedule allowed it. You don't mind. Hanging out with Jimin is relaxing, especially because he lets you blabber on and on about your personal life. Today, he wants to hear about your assigned career.

"The Council assigned me as a patroller, you know," Jimin says, leaning back proudly in his wheelchair. "I would've been a hell of a good one too... If it weren't for the infection." He sighs, staring at his foot with scrutiny. "It's okay," he shrugs. "What about your career?"

"Hm," you say, looking outside the window where the morning sunshine catches your eye. "Well..." you hum, voice soft and eyes glazed over. "I'm a nurse." Jimin waits for you to continue. "But I have to admit, I didn't really like my assigned career at first. Why be a nurse when you can be a doctor, a surgeon, perhaps?" You give Jimin a small smile. "As a little girl, I always wanted to be in that operating room, you know, operating and saving lives."

"That's honorable, Y/N." Jimin gives you an approving nod, placing his hand on yours to tell you to proceed.

"But I guess the Council thought I'd be a better nurse," you say. "And now, I think they're right. I mean, they always are. Besides, I wouldn't last two seconds in a cold, quiet operation room. I need to talk to people, you know? Take care of them, tell them stories, help them transport. I think I value the presence of people, along with their happiness." You shrug. "I dunno. I do dare say that I'm pretty good at making people happy."

Jimin laughs softly. "There's no other career that would've fit you better." He turns his body fully so that he's facing you. "Y/N, I really don't say this often, but I'm glad you're my nurse. Thank you." Jimin looks deeply into your eyes, something he only does when he's extremely serious. "Hey," he whispers, "I just want you to know that I'm not scared. Everland will be as wonderful as you've always told me. I trust you. And I know I'm in great hands."

He squeezes your interlocked hands for emphasis. "For us and for Everland, yeah?"

"Have you obtained a serious eye infection?"

"N-No," you stutter, wiping your red eyes with the back of your sweater. You quickly set down some snacks on Yoongi's bed and avert your eyes away from him. "I just..."

"Oh," Yoongi says, clapping his hands together. "You've been crying!" he accuses, pointing at your face with a smug smirk. He looks like he could care less, yet he asks, "What happened?"

"It's really nothing," you sniff, sitting down on Yoongi's bed. "They're not sad tears, necessarily."

To your surprise, Yoongi laughs. You look at him with disapproval. "I'm sorry!" he snorts between giggles, "but you wouldn't know 'sadness' if it socked you in the face!" Upon seeing your puzzled expression, he sighs. "Whatever."

Yoongi doesn't push the topic, which is very much like him. You don't mind. It's not like you want to explain crying in front of Jimin, your patient. Jimin has a strange way of making you feel special. And special's a word no one's allowed to be in Tagna—because specialness is the cause of discrimination. But you think specialness makes you feel valuable.

"So," Yoongi starts, tilting his head to look at your curiously, "why are you here?"

This time, you're the one to laugh. "I'm your nurse! I'm supposed to look after you before your transport. You know, talk to you, answer your questions, tell you about Everland."

"Doesn't sound very crucial to me."

Yoongi has a habit of being very, very candid. You tend to mistake his honesty for rudeness, but after a while, you've come to appreciate the truthfulness. He brings out a fun, slightly meaner side of you that nobody else but Yoongi would approve of. You hate to admit it, but you like it.

"Fine then," you say. "What do you suggest we do?"

"I don't know. What do you do with people you know? Not including those in your career unit."

"We..." you trail off, a frown settling on your face. "I don't know any people outside my career unit," you admit. "I mean, unless you count my assigned partner. But then again, I always talk about work with him too." You gasp. "I don't think I have actual friends!"

"Good," he says, which makes you look at him with incredulity. He laughs at your expression, a genuine laugh in which his eyes sparkle with mirth and his lips are tugged into a rather snarky smile. But it's a smile nevertheless. "It's fine, Y/N. 'Cause me too. We can be each other's friends."

"Really? But wouldn't you technically be a career-related friend?"

"But are we going to talk about career-related things?" He gives you a look. "I believe I told you I'm not the least bit interested in Everland. Nor do I care even the tiniest bit how to get there. I surely don't have any inquiries regarding the transport. I'm pretty sure you won't have to worry about being a nurse around me... Though I'll probably appreciate the snacks." Yoongi pauses to rip open a bag of gummy bears. He grins. "My favorite. How'd you guess?"

"I had a hunch." You smile proudly, taking a mental note to buy some more gummy bears for Yoongi in the future. "But wait a minute," you say. "You really want me to be your friend?"

"Definitely not a nurse," Yoongi says. "I can take care of myself, thank you. But you were right. I'd die of boredom if I'm alone. That's where you can step in as a friend." He winks, sorting out the green gummy bears from the other variegated colors and popping one in his mouth. He offers you a red gummy bear.

How'd he guess? You smile, shaking your head as you take his offer. My favorite.

Jimin and Yoongi are polar opposites. If one man is gentle, sensitive and kind, the other is brash, rather presumptuous and most of all, pedantic. It's obvious who is who.

But you're not one to pick favorites. A patient is a patient no matter who they are—at least you try to think so. Your end goal is to make sure you're there for them before they're transported to the all-so-magical Everland. Granted, one acts like your friend and the other, your patient.

Jimin likes to ask you a lot of questions, whether it's an inquiry about Everland or questions about your personal life. He's made you repeat the details of Everland so many times, you're sure he already has everything memorized. But he still asks.

On the other hand, Yoongi doesn't bother to ask questions at all. As a man of his word, he proved from early on that he had no interest whatsoever in Everland or assigned partners or assigned careers or assigned anything. You're starting to wonder if he has any interests at all. In fact, come to think of it, you're not even sure if he's ever left his hospital room.

"Oh, this place reeks," you tease, waving your hand in front of your nose. You toss Yoongi a bag of gummy bears and plop down on the bed next to him. "Do you ever leave the room?"

The man laughs, reaching for the snack. "I don't leave the bed."

You scrunch your nose. "Ew." Yoongi shoves four green gummy bears into his mouth, and you watch with a mixture of disgust and pity. "We need to get you out of here."

"Out of the hospital?" Yoongi asks with a mouthful of gummy bears.

"No, just out of this room," you say. "I mean, you might die from a kidney disease before being transported. Imagine that, the first man in decades to die in Tagna—in this day and age with advanced medicine and technology!"

Yoongi scoffs. "Whatever. Fine, let's get out of here. Not like there's anything better to do outside, though."

"We can get ice cream in the cafeteria," you offer. "And argue about the right way to cut up a sandwich again."

"You monster, you're supposed to cut it in triangles!"

"Yeah, says the one who puts the milk first, then the cereal!"

The bickering continues until you're seated in the hospital cafeteria. By that time, both of you are too tired to carry on with the arguing. So there's a bit of silence as you and Yoongi feast on your ice cream scooped onto large sugar cones. You went for plain vanilla, but Yoongi opted for the most sugary flavor: butterscotch dutch fudge nut with diced marshmallows and a caramel drizzle.

You swear he might get diabetes before his transport if he keeps this up. Maybe you should bring him some healthy snacks next time—kale, avocados, spinach. They're green, just like how he likes his gummy bears, so maybe he'll listen to you and finally have a salutary diet.

But instead of being able to convince Yoongi to start the habit of healthy eating, it all spirals down into another debate.

"It's CAR-amel," you insist.

"CARE-amel," Yoongi retorts, shaking his head. "We've been quarreling for the past hour, Y/N. Aren't you getting tired of it? I've never argued this much in my entire life!"

"But what if that's how this 'friend' thing works?" you say. "Actual friends care so much they disagree on every little detail."

"Then it's very tiring to have friends," Yoongi sighs, taking a depressing lick of the lump of sugar on a cone.

"I agree." A pause. "Did you ever have friends, though?"

Yoongi snorts. "Actually, contrary to popular belief, I did. But that was before I got myself into this mess."

"Mess??"

He shrugs the question off, countering it with another question of his own. "Did you have any friends?"

You tilt your head, but figure it's best to let Yoongi have some space. "Um, yeah. I guess I was pretty well-known in my year. Now I don't really have time for that. Work," you sigh. "But I still enjoy what I do."

"I know you do. You're a good friend, and though I wouldn't know, an amazing nurse," Yoongi grins, shrugging so nonchalantly that you almost miss the complimenting tone of his voice.

You grin back. It had taken you a bit to coax the sweetness out of his cold and collected demeanor, but once revealed, Yoongi could almost parallel Jimin's amenity. "What about you? Did you like what you did before you were chosen to be transported?"

Yoongi's smile disappears in the blink of an eye, a sour frown replacing it. "Not exactly." His stone-cold voice is a sign for you to change the topic, but he continues to speak. "I was good at my career. Liked it at first, too. But I'm a rare mistake, I suppose. Maybe I had some traits within me that the Council didn't catch, or maybe I changed as an adult. The Council deemed my career as a mismatch."

A mismatch... You always thought that was a myth—assigned careers never failed. The Council never made mistakes. You can't even fathom the amount of disappointment that Yoongi probably had felt when realizing his assigned career was a mismatch. "I'm so sorry," you say. "Do you mind if I ask what career unit you were in?"

Yoongi hesitates for so long, you start to think you've crossed the line. But then: "Unit 38. I was in unit 38." He clears his throat and watches carefully for your reaction.

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. "38?? That's my unit!" you say. "How come I've never seen you before?"

He crosses his legs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I suppose I was in the more secluded area of the hospital."

Though you want him to elaborate, Yoongi's uneasy fidgeting sets you off. You're here to make him feel safe, comfortable. As much as you're insanely curious now that Yoongi's avoiding the subject, you shrug. "Oh, that's interesting... Wanna talk about something else?"

When Yoongi shoots you a grateful look, you actually feel glad for changing the topic. It was the right thing to do. As to sate your curiosity...

I'll just ask Jungkook about him later.

"Hey, Jungkook?" you whisper, testing the waters, trying to tell if the suppressant already brought your assigned partner to a deep slumber. You turn around on the bed to face him, and you're glad when he turns around as well.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you know anyone of the name Min Yoongi?" you ask hopefully.

Jungkook crinkles his brows in thought. "Min Yoongi?" he mutters to himself. "Min Yoongi..." He gives you an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, the name doesn't ring a bell."

"It's fine," you sigh, lying fully on your back now and staring up at the dark ceiling. "I just think it's strange the Council would assign me a patient who worked in the same unit as me."

"Really?" Jungkook murmurs. "Unit 38? Why don't we know him?" he asks, tiredness laced into his tone. "Are you sure you heard him right, sweetie?"

"I'm sure," you say. "He did say he worked in the more secluded part of the hospital... And I thought we were in the most secluded area."

Jungkook laughs softly, moving to place his hand on top of yours. "Why don't you just ask him about the details?"

"I didn't want to push him into explaining something he's uncomfortable with," you say. "I'm sorry... I'm keeping you up with all of this, aren't I? You're tired. It's past curfew." You glance over at the digital clock you keep beside the bed. The red, glowing light flashes 2245 hours. It's pretty late.

"It's okay," Jungkook says. "You don't have to be sorry, Y/N," he laughs, but it comes out dry and forced. You can practically feel the worried look on his face. "You took the suppressant today, right?"

"Never gone a day without one," you reply. "You know they don't work on me as well as they work on others..."

"Sweetie, you should tell the Council. I don't want you to get in trouble for acting out of line," Jungkook sighs but it morphs into a wide yawn. "See?" he murmurs sleepily. "Mine works fine."

You stay silent, watching blankly as your assigned partner's eyes flutter shut. Soon, his breathing becomes even, his chest rising and falling steadily. He's asleep, just like that.

The suppressant does a number of things—or, at least, it's supposed to. The Council keeps the full effects of it private, and the only citizens who are aware of the details are the specialists who designed it. It's uniquely engineered to help the average citizen fall asleep an hour after curfew only to wake him up at 0700 hours every morning. Except on Sundays, it's 0800. Every citizen must take one suppressant—a small, white, tasteless pill—every day before he leaves his home unit at precisely 0845 to get to his career or school by 0900 hours.

Untimeliness is definitely not tolerated.

Which is a proven hassle for you. The suppressant doesn't affect you in the same way it does others. You're always waking up and sleeping later than others. Back when you were in school, you'd always be late for your classes. The Council generously took that into account before they assigned your career, though—but not before they scolded you for being tardy to the career ceremony.

Compared to other careers, nurses have a more lenient call time. It works out in your favor because if it weren't for Jungkook, you'd show up to work three hours late daily.

The clock flashes an angry 2300, but you're still not tired.

At least tomorrow is Sunday. Usually, it's the day off for every citizen in Tagna. Jungkook probably wants you to spend the day with him...

But it won't hurt to visit the hospital. Just for a few hours. To meet your new friend. Jungkook won't mind, right?

You smile to yourself. The thought makes you so excited, you aren't able to sleep until 0300.

It's routinely to visit Jimin before Yoongi.

Jimin is becoming increasingly nervous as the days of his departure to Everland are decreasing. He doesn't talk too often when you visit, but you know he finds your presence soothing.

But today, it's eerily silent.

"You okay?" you whisper.

He nods but offers you no words.

"You're worried, Jimin. Trust me, it'll calm your nerves to talk to me. What's got you anxious?"

He looks down at his foot, avoiding eye contact. You let him stall as he collects his thoughts. Then, in the smallest voice: "I... I don't like injections," he squeaks.

"Hey, hey, it doesn't hurt one bit," you say, wrapping a comforting arm around him. "I would know, Jimin. Trust me."

"I don't know," he sighs, fidgeting his hands. "The needle just—" he chokes over his words, shaking his head in shame. "The last time I got an injection, they took away my leg. I'm scared, Y/N. What if I get to Everland without my good leg too? What if they take away all of my limbs?"

Once in a while, you get a patient who's slightly nervous about the injection, but never have you dealt with something as serious as this. "Jimin... The transport isn't a surgery," you say softly. "It puts you to a peaceful sleep so you can be transported safely. It won't hurt one bit. And you definitely won't lose any limbs. You're in safe hands."

Jimin nods, but he looks fragile, back hunched and eyes shaking. It's hard for you to see him in this state. You wish you can do more for him—more than telling him tales of Everland and bringing him snacks and giving him intangible support.

You want to show him Everland.

But how can you? You don't even know where it is.

"You look like you ate dog shit."

You've been waiting for this moment the whole day—you missed the grouchy man and his candid words.

"Hello to you too," you say, wearily plopping down on Yoongi's bed as he shifts to make space.

"Where's your chipper smile today, Y/N?" Yoongi says. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he's worried about you. But he covers it up well with a: "Your frown is very hideous, by the way."

"Thank you."

"No, I mean, I meant to ask, what happened? You look completely miserable."

"It's confidential," you sigh. "You know, about my other patient..."

"What are the fucktards going to do about it when you tell me?" Yoongi snorts. At your appalled face he clarifies, "By fucktards, I mean the members of the Council."

"Yoongi!"

"It's not like they're going to find out," Yoongi shrugs. "Is this other patient giving you a hard time?"

"They could take away my job," you protest.

"Yeah, only if they find out."

"That's true..."

"So?" Yoongi says. "Are you going to elaborate?"

You pretend to think. "Okay, maybe..." You nod. "Yeah, okay. But I have nothing against Jimin, you know, the patient. He's an absolute sweetheart," you say. "Which is the whole problem. He has such big hopes for Everland. And I keep feeding him all of this paradisiacal information, but it's not enough! I want to help him, I want to tell him what Everland's really like, but how can I? How can I speak about something so highly when I've only lived through it vicariously? Oh god, I tell him things he wants to hear, but technically, I'm lying to his face." You pause for breath. "I'm a liar! But he listens to me! He trusts me! I can't bear the thought of him coming face to face with Everland and realizing it's nothing like what I told him it would be! He'd be broken!"

You can't lie, it feels good to let out everything that had stacked up over the past several days.

"Everland is wonderful. I don't want to doubt that. But what if it's not wonderful enough for Jimin? He's different from my other patients, you know? He needs so much more reassuring and love and care... Sometimes I don't think I can give him the best. Should I resign? I can't keep doing this to him. I'll practically die of guilt! Imagine that—in our day and time—a citizen passing away from something incurable! Bullshit!"

"It is bullshit," Yoongi agrees with you right away. "But I think it'll be fine, Y/N. You don't need to resign. And you definitely don't have to worry. You really don't have to." He stares at the floor with a frown etched deeply on his face. "It'll be fine."

"Really?"

The man nods slowly but surely. You can tell he's choosing his next words wisely, which is something he normally doesn't do. Yoongi is a man of rapid-fire and quick reactions. He's prone to blurt out whatever's on his mind. This is the first time you see him be so attuned to your emotions. Maybe he's trying to think of words that'll help you calm down.

"Everland will be unimaginably peaceful," he says, finally looking at you. His dark eyes show no flicker nor hint of playful teasing. He's serious. "Jimin will like it there."

Something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

Mondays are days when you always end up behind schedule. Your body likes to throw away its natural alarm clock out the window Sunday night, so you tend to accidentally sleep in the next day.

Jungkook usually tries to wake you up for work, but half of the time, you don't budge, so he leaves a kiss on your cheek and leaves for his job. The sequence is always vague in your memories.

Curse your immunity to the suppressant.

It's really no surprise when you show up to your job an hour late. You might've also made a little stop to the convenience store for some snacks. Of course, not for you, but for your patients.

Jimin's already waiting for you patiently on his bed. He thankfully doesn't ask any questions when you walk in a bit breathlessly, handing him a bag of his favorite chips.

You plop down on his bed, wiping away the beads of sweat that had accumulated on your forehead. "I'm so sorry, Jimin," you wheeze. "You must've been up for hours. I apologize for making you wait."

Jimin giggles, shaking his head. "What are you talking about, Y/N? I woke up a few minutes ago. Around 1005 hours? You're right on time!"

If he's lying to make you feel better, he's doing a good job at it.

"I don't get a daily suppressant anymore," Jimin confesses. "I'm awake when everyone's asleep and sometimes, I'm asleep when everyone is awake. Sometimes I can't sleep." He sighs, fingers wrapping around the chip bag. "That never used to happen when I took the suppressant."

He sounds lonely. As if the whole world was excluding him from vibrant, festive affairs.

You're supposed to be his solace, but you can't help but say, "Why don't they give you the suppressant?"

"I've asked," Jimin says. "But of course they don't answer. Just some grunts and mumbles that I can barely comprehend."

"That's not very nice of them," you say. "How about this? I promise I'll visit you more often if you're lonely. And to make you feel better, how about I talk about Everland again?"

Jimin nods hopefully, his eyes lighting. You want the best for him, but sometimes, there's not much you can offer him—except your words.

Yoongi is different. He doesn't want your buttered up, sugar-coated words. He doesn't live behind the curtain of fantasy. He lives in reality. Maybe even a bit more than you do.

"The suppressant tends to mess up the injection. Makes the process longer," Yoongi says casually. He rips open the bag of gummy bears. "Which is exactly why they're not given to patients. Why do you ask?"

"No, it's just..." How does he know that? "Jimin wants to take it again."

"Why would he?" Yoongi scoffs. "I always hated waking up early. Now I can sleep through the whole day and night."

"He's lonely."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. He was well-known before he was moved to the hospital. He misses the social life, I think."

Yoongi doesn't answer for a long time after that. When you finally look over at him, you find him staring into his hands with a conflicted look on his face.

"You okay?" you ask, reaching out and putting a hand on his by habit.

The contact makes Yoongi flinch, but he nods. "I'm always okay, Y/N. Why bothering asking?" He grins. His hand feels warm under yours and you make a move to hold it. But he jerks away. "Anyways, you should be going now, right? Time to get my beauty sleep, you know."

You're shocked, leaving his room feeling utterly rejected.

He'd never even told you goodbye.

If the Council finds out you're pulling a disobedient stunt like this, they might just shove you in the jailhouse for eternity. Then you'll be stripped from your career, home unit and assigned partner.

All your life, though, you've been known as the obedient one. If the Council told you to end your service as a nurse by jumping off a bridge, you'd do it.

But sometimes, you suppose you need to take drastic measures.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest and your palms feel irritatingly clammy in your jacket pocket where a ziplock bag stays stowed away from sight. Every step towards the hospital fills you with dread—it's another step you've survived without having a Council member catch you in the act.

Maybe this is a bad idea. What if they can check your vitals? That would give away the fact that you had neglected to take your suppressant this morning. The white pill sits snugly in the ziplock bag in your jacket pocket.

The plan is simple. You will walk into the hospital like nothing is wrong. You will walk straight into Jimin's room and hand him the suppressant. He will take the pill. It can't be that hard.

Both of you had developed this plan over the course of a week. It would've taken less time to execute it too if you hadn't chickened out three days in a row.

It mostly terrified you that once started, this little illicit project would last until Jimin's transport. It freaked you out even more that the whole thing was a secret between you and Jimin.

You can't credit this idea to yourself, but it wasn't exactly Jimin's either. Both of you had hinted at it, and in the end, it had been officially addressed. So, you can't blame anyone if it fails drastically.

The suppressant has been around for decades. No one in Tagna has lived without taking them for a very, very long time. The Council likes to hint that before the suppressant entered the human body system, humans were fickle, sexual and undeserving beings. You don't think you'll revert back to that, per se.

But you're wary of the possible side effects.

You always told yourself you'd never show favoritism among your patients. But here you are. Sacrificing your suppressant for Jimin. In your defense, he's something else. Someone that will forever be ingrained in your memories. He's the only person who deserves more than what Everland has to offer. Because Everland surely doesn't restore back missing limbs. And that's what Jimin deserves.

Come to think of it, there's a crazy synergy between you and your patients for some reason. Even Yoongi... He understands you in a way no one else has before. Talking to him feels natural, effortlessly easy and fun, too. Maybe it's because he had worked in your career unit—as the Council says, compatibility rates skyrockets amongst those in the same career unit. Or maybe, just maybe, he should've been your assigned partner. Maybe you're a mismatch with Jungkook.

And judging by the way you feel around your assigned partner, you think it might be true. Doesn't easy communication and having fun around someone mean you love them? Isn't that what love is? Isn't that what defines a deep attraction?

But then again, the last time you'd tried to hold Yoongi's hand—which hadn't been a romantic gesture at all—he had tugged away. Ever since that incident, you've been refraining yourself from lightly touching his shoulder or reassuringly holding his hand. Yet if Yoongi had felt awkward from that encounter, he didn't show it.

Now it's been five days since you've stopped taking your suppressant. Ever since the third day, you haven't felt guilty about it anymore. It almost feels natural not to take the pill at this point.

Jimin's been noticeably happier these days as a result. He has two days before his transport, but he's showing no symptoms of intense nervousness. The suppressant seems to be doing wonders for his condition.

That finally puts you at peace.

And regarding the little warning that Yoongi had given you? The one about how taking the suppressant would make Jimin's transport take longer? Jimin didn't mind.

He told you he'd rather be happy, that he didn't mind the wait. It was all it took for you to authorize the plan.

And now look where things are. It's going great.

This is peculiar.

You have no idea when it started, or how it started, or why it started, but you've been noticing the smallest details about Yoongi. The way he eats, the manner in which he talks, the slightly sarcastic tone to his voice when he argues with you... You may not have noticed them before, but you see them now. And it's endearing.

He's endearing.

Every time he smiles at you, your heart beats a little faster and you feel the heat rushing through your face. You can't quite say it's a good feeling per se, but you know it's special. When his hair falls over his eyes, you always have the urge to reach out and fix it for him. You can't even get him out of your head.

You've never experienced anything like this before. You can't exactly say you hate it, but you're not sure if you like it either.

"Hey, Yoongs?" you whisper. Yoongi glances up from reading his latest book you provided him. It's a cheesy romance story and Yoongi openly made a ten-minute rant on why he hates romance, but you just think he's in denial that a little romance is actually really addicting.

"Hm?" he hums.

You're silent, admiring his face before the words tumble out of your mouth. "Did you ever have an assigned partner?"

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. "Oh?" He smirks. "Why are you interested?"

You flush bright pink. "Why can't I just ask a question without having to deal with a deflected inquiry?"

"Because I like being difficult."

"Clearly."

"But to answer your rather invasive question, yes, I had an assigned partner," Yoongi says. "But it was a mismatch. Lovely."

You gape at him. "The Council mismatched your partner and career??"

"Technically, they mismatched my home unit too," Yoongi scoffs. "They failed me, you know. Don't trust those fucktards."

"Maybe you changed drastically during your transition to adulthood?" you reason. "The Council just doesn't make mistakes!"

Yoongi laughs out loud. "Oh, they make a lot of mistakes. Trust me."

Trust me. It's a lot coming from someone you've known for less than a month. You grew up with the Council supporting you, watching you grow, nurturing you and treating you like you were their own daughter. You can't just throw away your trust in the Council because someone you're fond of says so.

"Mistakes? What other errors could there possibly be?" you say doubtfully.

"They should've made their system foolproof," Yoongi laughs. "They should've put a chip in everyone's arm to check their vitals. Now there's no way of finding out who's not taking their suppressant."

You freeze.

Did he know??

"You mean there's barely a difference in action between those who take the suppressant and those who don't?" you ask.

"No, there are a few differences," Yoongi shrugs. "Only a suppressant developer would know, though. Say, Y/N," he smiles, shutting his book and showing you the cover. "Do you know what love is?"

"Love?" you say, raising your eyebrows. "What do you mean? Of course I know."

"You mean you trust the definition of love that the Council gave you."

"Yes? Why wouldn't I? Love. Noun or verb. A deep attraction. Or to feel a romantic connection with someone." The definition slips off your lips easily after years and years of repeating in your head and out loud.

"And," Yoongi drags on, "how do you know you feel a deep attraction to or a romantic connection with someone?"

"If you communicate naturally together? And uh, have fun together?" you say, but it sounds more like a question than a sure statement. You sigh, "Maybe I don't know what love is."

It feels horrible admitting it out loud.

"Maybe because I don't know what it is, I can't seem to love my assigned partner," you say. "That makes sense, right?"

Yoongi laughs. "Love isn't something anyone can control. That includes the Council." He laughs again, casually tossing his book across the room. You gasp when it lands in the trash can. "Every single fucking 'romance' book here is fake—ersatz, if you will."

"What the hell do you mean?" you say, frowning as you try to stand up to retrieve the book.

But Yoongi grabs your arm and you freeze once more. You turn your face the other way as your cheeks start to feel warm.

"Love is something you find for yourself," he says. "Arranged partnerships, forced partnerships, assigned partnerships—whatever the books say—it's not supposed to work. You're supposed to feel something when you're in love. You're supposed to feel bothered. And sometimes, you'll feel a little too warm for your liking. Your stomach will feel weird. Kinda like there are butterflies flying about inside it. You're supposed to care for the person you love, be their friend, their listener. Sometimes, you'll feel like you want to touch them—sexual attraction. You love them so much, you want to know every inch of them—physically and mentally..." Yoongi trails off. "Of course, the suppressant suppresses all of those feelings."

"Oh." It's the only thing you can manage to mutter. How can you say anything else when Yoongi just described almost everything you felt about him?

It explains so much too.

Why so suddenly you'd been feeling so heated around Yoongi. It's most likely you loved him before you stopped taking the suppressant. But it was only revealed after.

"Oh?" Yoongi says.

"I-I don't know," you say, flustered. "All my life... All my life I thought I was supposed to love my assigned partner. But I don't now... And I... I think I love someone else."

Yoongi smiles, cocking his head so that a bit of his bangs fall over his eyes. "Are you sure?"

You mirror his smile. "Yeah," you murmur, taking a deep breath before using all of your willpower to lean in and sweep Yoongi's bangs off to the side. "I'm sure."

"Good," Yoongi says. "So, do tell. Why have you stopped taking the suppressant?"

He's extremely close to you. So much so, when he speaks, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your cheeks. You barely have the capacity to be surprised.

"I... um, I thought I was immune to it," you answer back in a hushed whisper. "So I didn't think it would change anything if I uh, stopped taking it," you lie. "But it was suppressing me and I didn't even know it."

"Still, you feel it now, right?" Yoongi says. "The butterflies in your stomach?"

Butterflies. What a weird way to describe the fluttering sensation rising up your middle to your chest. But you like it.

"Right now?" you say, raising an eyebrow.

Yoongi grins. "I don't know why, but we're attracted to each other, Y/N. Love has a strange way of connecting the people most far away."

"Wait, Yoongi—"

"Blushed cheeks, shy glances, playful touching... Y/N, I think I found out you love me before you did," Yoongi laughs, lying back on the bed triumphantly. "And then when I thought about it, I supposed you weren't too bad. That's when you started to plague my mind—in kind of a good way, too. It wasn't long until I realized I loved you back." Yoongi glances your way. "Am I going too fast? Do you need time to understand?"

"Um, yes!" you say. "Are you proposing that we love each other? But in an unconventional way? A way that the Council doesn't approve of?"

"The Council isn't the law, you know."

"You're right. They're higher than the law."

Yoongi snorts. "They tell you they are," he says. "I like to think that they're control freaks. It'll be fine. I get to escape to Everland or whatever the shit they call 'paradise' anyway."

"I don't even know what to say!"

"Yeah, me neither."

"What am I supposed to do? Believe you? Challenge the Council questions? Start taking the suppressant again?"

"Do whatever you want," Yoongi smiles. "That's how I ended up getting chosen to go to Everland."

"What do you mean?"

Yoongi suddenly leans in, making your breath hitch and the butterflies in your stomach spread their wings in rapid succession. A rippling motion undertakes your inner stomach. Instinctively, you reach out to the man in front of you, softly wrapping your hand around his wrist. He smiles, tugging you close—so close that your noses are almost touching.

"You'll find out if you want," Yoongi whispers. You can feel his warm breath on your lips. The sensation is new, foreign, but the intimacy pulls you in.

His lips finally meet yours in a quick, fleeting kiss so soft that if your whole face wasn't burning, you would've convinced yourself it hadn't happened. Yoongi leans away, looking confident in himself as he glances at you through the bangs that had fallen over his eyes again.

Your heart beats dangerously fast in your chest when your eyes meet his, goosebumps dotting your skin and your lips feeling unusually tingly.

"Do you believe me now?" Yoongi asks.

It's a hard question disguised with easy words. You find yourself struggling to answer, cheeks tinging pink as you look down at your feet.

Of course you want to believe Yoongi. But you can't throw away your belief in the Council and that was that.

Yoongi senses your hesitation and breaks the silence. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"How about this," he says. "Why don't you go back home to that mismatched assigned partner of yours and see for yourself?"

You hum. Maybe that is a good idea.

You suppose you'll have to see for yourself.

"Jungkook?" you whisper.

"Yes?" he answers in a similar, quiet tone. He grabs your hand from under the bed covers, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "What do you want to ask this time?" There's a small, teasing lilt to his voice that almost makes you feel bad for planning on dropping such a difficult question on him. But you persist.

"Why do you love me?"

Jungkook momentarily pauses. "We're partners! Of course I love you!"

"No, no," you sigh, shaking your head. "But why. If we weren't assigned partners, would you still love me?"

There's a sudden shift in the covers as Jungkook turns to his side to face you. Judging by the frown etched on his face, he isn't a big fan of your question.

"The Council picked us to be partners, sweetie," he says. "I love you because we have easy communication and we have fun together."

"Is that all love is to you?"

"Do you want me to go ahead and define it, sweetie?" Jungkook asks. "I'm getting worried, Y/N. Why the sudden questions about love?"

"I-I'm sorry..." you say. "But just... don't you feel something? Love makes you feel something."

"Feel?" Jungkook shakes his head. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you constantly think of me throughout your day? Don't you feel the butterflies in your stomach? Don't you start blushing if I ever say something nice to you? Don't you want to touch me?"

Jungkook's frown deepens. "Why would I have butterflies in my stomach?" he says. "I don't think that would be healthy at all, sweetie. And I'm already touching you, see?" He holds up your intertwined hands.

He doesn't understand.

"Never mind..." you sigh, pulling your hand away from his. "I'll stop bothering you."

"No, explain, sweetie," Jungkook says. "You're not bothering me. I promise."

He will never understand. Not like Yoongi does, anyway. You stay silent, wishing that the suppressant will put Jungkook to sleep. It's better for people like him to stay ignorant.

But just as you thought the long silence indicated that Jungkook was asleep:

"Well, do you love me?" He sounds hopeful, but also so sure you're going to give him the answer he wants.

The question catches you off guard. You desperately want to say yes—to preserve a partnership and prevent Jungkook from pain and sorrow. But maybe it's better for you to tell him the truth. You can't continue what you have with Yoongi when you have an assigned partner. It pains you to say but—

"I don't love you."

"W-What?"

"We're a mismatch, Jungkook. Let's go to the Council tomorrow and file a split."

This is possibly the worst day to proceed with the procedure.

Things have been hectic with the Council pulling you out of your home unit to separate you and Jungkook. Things have been awkward. Jungkook probably doesn't want to speak to you ever again. He's convinced that you broke his heart.

You're convinced that he never truly loved you to begin with.

Yoongi helps you explore a new kind of relationship. The one that sets fire to your insides and seals it with searing kisses. The one that's pretty distracting for your other daily activities.

Jimin sits patiently on the hospital bed with a blanket draped over his missing leg. "I'm excited, Y/N," he says. "Just think! In a few hours, I'll be there! In Everland..."

You nod, silently pulling on your latex gloves.

"I'm so happy, Y/N," Jimin says. "I've never been this happy in my whole life."

"You'll be happier in Everland," you reply, smiling. "You deserve it, Jimin."

"It's all thanks to you," he says. He suddenly sits up, looking at you solemnly. "But I'll miss you, you know that?"

"Oh, Jimin... I'll miss you too."

"Thank you," he says. "Really. For everything."

He's talking about the little suppressant plan. "No, thank you," you say. Jimin was the catalyst to you finally coming to your feelings, after all. "I wish you a safe transport."

When your assistant rolls in the familiar cart with your needed supplies, you can hear Jimin take a deep breath. He must've seen the syringe.

"It won't hurt," you promise, walking over to the cart and holding the syringe carefully. The needle glints in the air.

Jimin gulps. "F-For us and for Everland, right?"

"Right. Now, lie down, please," you say in your most soothing voice. "This is going to put you to sleep. Your mind will start to travel between dimensions to eventually reach Everland. If you want, you can close your eyes too."

You lean in to whisper in his ear, "The process might take longer... as you may know, but the delay won't be hours long, I hope."

Jimin nods. His eyes flutter close and you can tell he's trying to relax his body.

"That's it," you say. "Relax..."

You let Jimin take a few deep breaths. Then you hold out his arm. "Clench your fist for me, please."

Jimin does as you say. Once you can spot a vein on the upper forearm, you tell Jimin the needle will go in. He nods and does not respond, squeezing his eyes shut. Thankfully, his body stays relaxed as you begin to slowly push down on the plunger. You're almost done when Jimin starts to whimper.

He must be scared.

"Just a few more seconds, Jimin," you say. "You'll be fine..."

But his whimpering doesn't cease even after the needle is out of him. You wipe away excess blood with an alcohol swab quickly, pressing a clean cotton ball on his skin and using medical tape to secure it.

Jimin's still squeezing his eyes shut and you notice sweat accumulating on his forehead.

"Jimin?" you say. "It's over, Jimin. Are you okay?"

"I-It h-hurts," he whimpers. "P-Please, make it stop."

"Hurts?" you say. It's not supposed to hurt. No one ever said it hurt after. You don't want to panic; not when your patient is close to a panic attack.

"Please, Y/N," Jimin groans. His body starts to shake and his eyes open in the process. "I-It's hard to b-breathe—"

Your darkest nightmare unfolds before your eyes.

"He's hyperventilating!" you yell, no doubt frightening your assistants. "Jimin, do you hear me? Purse your lips, take a deep breath through your nose and let it out slowly through your lips, okay?? Do you hear me? Jimin??"

Jimin's leg jerks, nearly kicking you. His whole body begins to twitch; you watch in horror as foam starts to gather in his mouth. "Fuck, he's having a seizure! Get me a cushion!"

"Jimin, hang on!"

You turn his head to the side, guarding the edges of the hospital bed so he doesn't fall off. When your assistant hands you a cushion, you carefully place it under his head. "Oh, Jimin..."

All sorts of bad thoughts fly past you. What if he can't get to Everland because he took the suppressant? What if he will never find happiness again? What will happen when the Council finds out? Will they declare my career as a mismatch too?

Right now, all you can do is wait the seizure out. If he's unconscious afterward, it'll be one of two things: he's somehow transporting himself to Everland or he's in need of urgent care.

It's all your fault, it seems. If you hadn't agreed to such a fickle plan, you would never be in this state of agony. A minute flies by and Jimin falls asleep, limp and sweaty. His face is red and there's a puddle of spit with a mixture of vomit by his lips. You have to look away.

I'm so sorry, Jimin.

A new batch of assistants burst through the door and they start to roll the hospital bed away.

"Wait, where is he going?"

They don't answer you. Apparently, they're not your assistants.

"Is he going to Everland??" you try again.

They're silent.

"Is Jimin okay?"

One of them turns around to look at you. Her eyes are cold but she forges a small smile on her thin lips. "He is okay. The transport was successful. The Council has permitted you to go home early."

There is a relief that floods through you. But it feels cold.

You didn't even get to say your proper goodbyes to Jimin. And now he's off to Everland, but only after leaving Tagna feeling intense pain and undergoing great suffering. The last memory you have of him is him unconscious, legless and distressed.

I don't want to go home.

There is no one waiting for you there, now. So you walk solemnly down the unsettlingly white hospital hallway and knock on the door of a familiar room.

"Come in," says an all too familiar voice.

You already feel comforted.

You tell Yoongi everything that happened in Jimin's procedure. His hyperventilating, his seizure and then his successful transport. Yoongi listens quietly to your story but you can tell his mind is someplace else.

When you finish talking, he continues to stare at you, offering no comments or reactions to Jimin's hectic transport. He looks a lot like he's thinking with his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted.

"Yoongi?"

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Do you want me to be brutally honest?" he asks. You nod, though you're a bit wary of his candid thoughts. "Don't get mad," he warns you. "But I pity you."

You frown. "Pity me?"

"Yes. You, your job, your... life."

"Just because I had a mismatched assigned partner doesn't signal the end of the world," you say. "You don't have to pity me, Yoongi."

"Jimin's gone, Y/N," he replies without skipping a beat. "I do pity you. Jungkook's gone because you never loved him. And I'll be gone too. What are you going to do?"

"This is my job," you say. "I guess we can't all have perfect assigned partners and careers and home units and everything. Besides, Jimin's in a great place now. And you will be too. I'm just helping you get there."

Yoongi's silent. He stares at his hands then he stares back up at you. Then, he sighs.

"Do you want to know why I'm here?"

You frown. "What do you mean?"

"You've been wondering, right? Why I'm not physically nor mentally disabled. Why I'm not an elderly man, either. I'm a strange case, aren't I? You weren't supposed to get another patient for a while longer, but you ended up having to take care of me and Jimin. Don't you want to know why?"

"I mean, of course I do. It's just very sudden that you're—"

"I'm a criminal."

Your heart drops in your chest.

"You're a what?"

"A criminal."

"W-What...? Why aren't you in a jailhouse? A-Are you sure you're a criminal? Why would they allow you to go to Everland?"

Yoongi nods, laughing bitterly. "It's all a part of the Council's masterplan."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"The Council likes order. They like normal. They can't accept people who are different. They can't possibly house the citizens who would disobey their orders," Yoongi says. "So they ship the different ones off to Everland."

"Because Everland accepts and loves everyone for who they are!"

"No, so they won't be a disgrace to Tagna," Yoongi snorts. "My brother had Aspergers," he continues. "But they didn't find out until way later. He liked the routinely ways of the Council and tried to conform. But he was still different. Social interactions were hard for him—so hard that the Council found out that he's different. The next thing you know, he's shipped off to the hospital so they could 'treat' him and I never saw him again."

"They took him to Everland," you say.

"I know they did. I didn't find out until later," Yoongi says. "Because I invented the drug."

"What??"

"The syringe you use for every patient, right? I invented the serum inside it."

"H-How?"

"What do you mean, how?" Yoongi says. "It made it easier for the Council. Less chaos."

It makes sense. When you were training to be a nurse, everything had been a pilot-run because the transport system had been revamped.

"I didn't think they would use the drug that way..." Yoongi says. "I thought they'd use it on the criminals in the jailhouse..."

"Why would they give that to the criminals in the jailhouse??"

"You and I, Y/N..." Yoongi trails off. He looks into your eyes, almost as if he was pleading you to believe him. "We're murderers."

You stand up from his bed. "What did you say?"

When Yoongi stands up and takes a step towards you, you step backward, nearly stumbling over doing so. "Listen to me very carefully, Y/N," he pleads. "That drug... it stops your vitals."

"No! It puts you to sleep! Then your mind starts to travel across dimensions!"

"Don't you understand?" Yoongi says. He grabs your arm. "Everland is death."

You fall to the floor.

"They burn the bodies in the basement of the hospital," he continues. "You thought Tagna was such an advanced society there was no such thing as death?" He laughs scornfully. "Y/N, the Council believes Tagna is so advanced, it's permitted to kill their own citizens to preserve equality and likeness. And when the neighboring societies attack, they'll release the gas-version of the drug and kill everyone—even the citizens of Tagna if they have to."

"That can't be true..." you whisper. "Yoongi, I can't do this." You bury your face in your hands. "Neighboring societies? A cemetery under the hospital? I've been living under a rock."

"The only society we know the name of is Atna. They're curating a selection of their best and most intelligent citizens to destroy us," Yoongi says. "That's all I know. I helped design the gas serum that would make them drop dead like flies. Until I threatened to quit and release the gas in the Council's chambers."

"You quit because you knew they killed your brother."

"Exactly that," Yoongi says. "See, it isn't so hard to understand. And now I'm here, a threat to society, apparently. After everything I've done for them, too. Even fixed up the suppressant by request..." He pauses, watching you tremble on the floor. He kneels down next to you, patting your back. "Hey... do you believe me?"

"I killed him..." you breathe shakily. "I killed Jimin... And I made it worse by letting him take the suppressant... A-And it reacted badly with the serum... I killed seventy-eight people... Oh, fuck! And I have to kill you!" A broken sob leaves your lips as your huddle into a ball. "You're right, Yoongi. I'm a murderer..."

"You were forced to do it. And you didn't know," Yoongi soothes. "The Council are a bunch of vile fucktards, Y/N. They're the real murderers. Not us."

"What am I going to do?" you sob. "I can't continue on, Yoongi. I want to resign."

"If you resign, they'll kill you too."

"Maybe death... maybe Everland will be better than this," you whisper. "What's the point anymore, Yoongi? When I'm old, they're gonna kill me too."

"Let them. There's no use fighting it. Either way, you'll end up dead. Like me."

"I can help the other citizens of Tagna," you say, wiping away your tears and gritting your teeth. "I can free them from the Council's restraints. Maybe we can leave Tagna altogether and see if there are other societies to live in. You can tell me where they keep the gas! That could be really helpful."

"No, Y/N," Yoongi firmly says. "Let the others live in bliss."

"What?? Why?"

"I don't want to be a hero. Think about how complicated things will be if you were to go against the Council," Yoongi says. "It's not worth it because you'll lose."

"So you're going to let me kill you?"

"Everland is better than Tagna, don't you agree?"

There he goes again, answering your question with another one of his.

"You've accepted your fate."

"I have. You should accept yours too."

"I have no fate," you scoff. "I'm someone the Council chose to become a licensed murderer."

"Your service helps those poor people escape their suffering."

"Yeah, without their permission."

"You shouldn't have declared your assigned partner as a mismatch to the Council," Yoongi sighs. He rubs his forehead in a conflicted way and gives you a sideways look. "I'm leaving in five days, you know. I don't want you to be alone. Mismatched or not, he was your friend."

"Five days..." You run your fingers through your hair. "That's such little time."

"We'll spend it together."

"How?" you challenge. "How would I? I'm not supposed to feel love, Yoongi. They'll notice something suspicious if I'm always here with you."

"They'll think you're being a good nurse," he answers. "Come on, Y/N," he says, taking your hands in his. "As your patient, I demand you stay over with me tonight. The other days... you can do whatever you want. I just... I want your company today."

After everything you learned now, you need Yoongi's presence too.

So you nod, crawling into bed with him. He tells you light-hearted stories of fictional societies that might exist in the barren world until you fall asleep.

You confess.

This morning, when you woke up, you swiftly got out of the hospital bed, swept away Yoongi's bangs from his face and gave him a silent goodbye (you didn't want to wake him) before walking out of the hospital. You go straight to the Council. And you admit you haven't been taking the suppressant. You admit that Jungkook isn't a mismatch as you had thought he was—you were without your suppressant and you weren't thinking straight. You tell them that you deserve whatever consequence they will bestow upon you. That you're sorry (though you aren't). And you regret messing up Jimin's procedure (which is the truth).

They are generous to you. Only because they love you like their daughter. Only because you have such a highly held job.

The Council doubles your suppressant intake and declares your curfew will be stricter. But they will move you back to your original home unit and reassign you to Jungkook. They lie to you. They say he loves you very much. You lie right back to them. You say you love him too.

Then, you bargain with them. You ask if your current patient may have an extension date until their transport, explaining that it's hard for you to convince him that Everland is a paradise. You tell them that he repeatedly tells you that he is afraid of Everland. It's a lie. But the Council will make something of it because they don't know you know the truth. In the end, you manage to convince them to authorize a three-day extension.

Now you have a week left with Yoongi. Less time than you'd like, especially with your stricter curfew. But it's more than what you had before.

Your next step is to apologize to Jungkook, hoping he doesn't take your declaration that you were a mismatch too personally. He is nothing but a victim to you, at this point, you realize. You would never know if he truly loves you or not—only ditching the suppressant altogether would tell. And it's not his fault that you don't love him back.

But the Council must've told Jungkook that you weren't in your right mind when you filed a split with him because he welcomes you back with open arms.

"I missed you," he whispers, tugging you into a tight hug.

"Me too," you say, hugging him tighter. It isn't a lie either. "I'm sorry," you say. "I'm really, really sorry, Jungkook." That's the truth.

"The Council told me what happened. I'm sorry about Jimin's transport, sweetie," he says. "Please don't make me worry again, though." He pulls you back and looks at your face, studying your features with what reflects on his eyes as admiration and care. "Please take your suppressants."

"I will," you tell him.

"They're making me monitor you," Jungkook says. "But just promise me, that you'll take the suppressant."

"I promise."

It's a lie.

Every day, you leave your home unit for work just like any other day in your life. But every day, you pretend to take your two suppressants in front of Jungkook, but when he isn't looking, you crush them, dissolve what's left of them in water and flush the solution down the toilet. And then you spend the rest of the day—up until your curfew—with Yoongi.

The two of you try to pretend everything is normal. When, of course, everything is not. But it helps to imagine everything is all right.

"What if Everland exists?" you whisper, poking at Yoongi's chest as he reads his mystery novel. "And when you die, you actually go to Everland?"

"I'll find out in a couple days for you," Yoongi says, setting down his book and quirking a teasing eyebrow at you.

So much for ignoring his impending death.

"I'm more worried about you after I leave," he says. "Don't you ever wish I never told you about what Everland really was?"

You hum thoughtfully. "I don't know. Haven't thought about it much... I guess I'm a bit peeved you forced all this information on me," you tease. "But I think I like knowing the truth, overall."

"Well, that's a relief," Yoongi grins. "Don't wanna piss off the person who's dealing with my transport."

You shouldn't have, but you laugh. "We're really getting into the dark humor, aren't we?"

"We are," Yoongi agrees. "And we'll continue while it lasts."

"How long do you think it'll be until I meet you in Everland—if it exists?"

"Maybe like what, fifteen? Twenty years later? You're still young, Y/N," Yoongi tells you, poking at your cheeks. "You still have baby fat, love."

"I-I do not!" You flush a brilliant shade of red. Something about Yoongi calling you love... You wish you could cherish this feeling forever. Lock it up somewhere and go back to relive it over and over again.

"It's okay. I like the way you look," he says proudly. "Even if you were ugly—which you aren't—I would still love you. Because—" he pauses dramatically—"love makes you see past physicalities."

"Clearly," you joke, gesturing at Yoongi's face and subsequently earning a playful shove from him.

"Do you think we're doing the right thing, though?" Yoongi suddenly asks. "What if we just... run away?" He hums, grabbing your hand and tugging you to his chest, earning a little yelp from you.

"Run away?" you say in a hushed whisper. "That's preposterous!"

Yoongi laughs. "I know, I'm just joking. Imagine if we ran away only to find a post-apocalyptic world outside of Tagna. What if one of us dies? Then what about the other? Or what if we meet the crazy Atnatians? I was totally joking. To run away would be akin to a death wish. Only more drawn out and torturous."

"Yeah, I figured," you huff, turning your body towards Yoongi to frown at him disapprovingly.

He just snorts. "You didn't sound like you had it figured."

"You are very, very difficult."

"I know," he says. "But sometimes, you are too."

"Hey! You—"

You're cut off when Yoongi pulls you in by the waist for a kiss. It's one of those searing ones, where your whole body tingles at the feeling of his warm lips moving against yours. Your hands helplessly splay against his chest as his free hand caresses your cheek. When he carefully flips you over, your legs sandwiched between his thighs, he pulls away from your lips, a bit breathless and winded. And the moment his softened eyes meet yours, you realize this is more than what it seems—the road to passionate lovemaking. In reality, it is a desperate goodbye.

Before tears can well in your eyes, you tug Yoongi in by gripping the collar of his shirt, crashing your lips on his. You want to forget, but everything becomes a reminder that he will leave you in two days. The way he grips at your thighs, the way he spares extra time to memorize every inch, explore every crevice of your body—it's all painful to digest that this might be the last time... Everything he does to you might be the last. You hate it.

But you have to live in the moment.

There's something about Yoongi's movements tonight that reveals his true feelings. You can feel how much he loves you tonight—not from the butterflies in your stomach, but from Yoongi, himself. It's like he's cherishing the moment, so it can last well in your memories.

The Council likes to preach that equality is what drives society to succeed. Everyone must be equal, dress equally, live equally, even die equally (though that's disguised as a simple transport to Everland)—all to ensure that everyone is satisfied with the justness of the system. You disagree. It is unfair.

You feel wronged. Stripped away from the greatness of the life you could've had. But there is a small part of you that is grateful. If things hadn't turned out the way they had, maybe you would've never felt love. Maybe you would've been stuck in your career unit, working as a slave to the Council as they brain-washed you without knowing the truth. You wouldn't have met Yoongi.

In comparison to the truths you've unveiled and the pure bliss you've felt with Yoongi, it's a small price to pay. In the end, you'll have to transport Yoongi to Everland. And then you will go back on with living your life as a citizen of Tagna. Jungkook will do everything in his power to make you fall in love with him. Maybe you will; maybe you won't. The far future is hazy and thinking of it hurts your head.

You'll figure something out, though. You always do.

Finally, you've accepted your fate.

The procedure room is unbearably cold.

Your hands shake as you pull on your latex gloves, and you have to take deep breaths to steady yourself, to convince your assistants that this is like any other normal transport. Except it's not.

"Why are you more nervous than I am?" Yoongi laughs, sitting up on his elbows on the all too familiar hospital bed.

You turn around and shoot him an ungrateful look. "Stop it," you hiss. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"Yes, nurse," he says sarcastically, saluting to you.

You bite your lip so you won't break out in a grin in front of the assistants. Shaking slightly, you turn to the medical cart where the syringe lies, the needle gleaming at you dangerously. You've touched seventy-eight shots, but you can't seem to grab this one, no matter how hard you try.

Finally, you let out a big sigh. "Can all of you leave, please?" you say. "Sorry, not feeling well today."

Thankfully, your assistants are obedient. There's shuffling as they move out of the room, and soon, it's only you and Yoongi left.

"Alone at last," he says, smiling.

"Not so happy you invented that horrible serum, now are you?" you say, frowning.

Yoongi shrugs. "Depends on the wielder of the serum. In this case, I'm satisfied."

With a huff, you snatch up the syringe and hold it out in front of you. "So this is it, then?"

"I suppose it is, love."

Your heart sinks. "I don't know if I can do this, Yoongi."

"Sure you can," he urges you. He grabs your wrist, pulling you close under the upper half of your thighs hits the edge of the medical bed. "Find the vein, insert the needle and you'll be done."

"It's not as easy as it sounds," you say. You stare at the man, a frown etched on your forehead. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Yoongi replies. "Come here," he says, pulling you in to plant a sweet kiss on your lips. Something tells you it will be the last one.

"Okay. Okay," you whisper to yourself. "Lemme just find the vein and—" you nearly choke on the heavy feeling at the back of your throat. "I-I just have to insert the needle... press the plunger... Fuck," you curse.

"You can do it. I'll be here, watching you," Yoongi says, giving you a shit-eating grin.

"Thanks. That helps."

"Aren't you going to ask me for my last words, love?"

"No," you say, taking a deep breath and inserting the needle into Yoongi's upper forearm. He doesn't even flinch.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Because," you say in your trembling voice as you begin to press on the plunger, slowly and carefully. "Because," you repeat, "I don't want you to say the lasting line. It's bullshit."

"I had another line in mind."

"Really?" you say. When the plunger doesn't move further, you close your eyes in shock, even disbelief. You fumble to stop the blood from seeping out, quickly cleaning the mess with an alcohol swab and taping a cotton ball to the small wound. There is care laced in your actions, and your fingers linger on his arm.

"Yeah," Yoongi answers, his voice softening. His eyes begin to droop as the serum begins to work on his body. "I love you, Y/N."

"Oh, Yoongs..." you let out a choked sob, grabbing his hand. "Please don't—"

"I'm not done yet," he manages to breathe. He tries to look into your eyes, attempting to grin at you, but his lips don't move at his will. "F-For you and for me..." he trails off. "Because..." he takes a short pause to swallow, "E-Everland is bullshit a-and 'us' should only c-consist of... of y-you and... me."

"Yoongi..." you whisper, squeezing his hand. "I love you too. For you and for me... Yoongi?"

And when there is no sarcastic response, you know he is gone.

Except he's not traveling through dimensions to get to Everland. He's dead. And you don't know what happens when you die.

You can't bear to look at him. So you let go of his hand, turning your back to his body. On cue, your assistants flood into the room. You duck your head to wipe your tears and let them roll his unconscious body out of the room. When you get a short glimpse of his face, you find that there's a faint smile on his lips. You exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding.

As long as he was happy...

And with the way he was cracking jokes just seconds before his death proved a lot. If Yoongi is—was—okay with it, then so are you.

You bid him a final goodbye in your head.

Something switches inside you. A boiling, bubbling feeling. You can’t quite describe it, but it’s intense, making your body tingle from head to toe.

With vehement steps, you walk out of the hospital and straight into the Council. Standing before the Council members, you smile at them angelically.

"Good afternoon, Y/N," they chorus.

"Good afternoon, Council," you say.

"What are you here for today?" one of them inquires.

You look at him, "With all due respect, sir, I just want to have a little wish granted."

"A wish?" another member says incredulously.

"Yoongi. Formerly held a career in unit 38. Deceased. Don't burn his body in the basement under the hospital. Bury him, please. Properly. Give him a coffin and a tombstone and everything. He's done a lot to advance Tagna hasn't he? It's the least you can do."

And before any of the Council members can react, you march away, down the streets and into your home unit.

Confronting the Council and demanding justice from them felt refreshing. Your suggestion might actually be taken, or you might be taken to the jailhouse. You're not sure which. But whatever it is, it won't matter. All you can do now is wait until your time of death comes.

"Y/N? Sweetie?"

Jungkook.

"How was the transport?" your assigned partner says, rushing to greet you with a hopeful smile on his face. "The Council told me they gave him an extension for his transport date because he was so nervous. Did it go well?"

You smile. "Yeah... It was... good. Peaceful. Eye-opening, too."

"That's great!" Jungkook exclaims. "Did he say the lasting line?"

I love you, Y/N. For you and for me. Because Everland is bullshit and 'us' should only consist of you and me.

The saddest... but most content part of your life in just three sentences. Tears begin to well up in your eyes, but a small smile stretches across your lips from the memory. "No, he didn't say it."

"O-Oh," Jungkook says. He awkwardly stares at you in blatant confusion, wondering why you are crying profusely while smiling. He wonders if starting to take the suppressant again messed with your sanity. Jungkook's brows furrow as he begins to worry again. "Y/N..."

"No," you say, shaking your head adamantly. "He said something better than that."

Something true. Not some bullshit line like for us and for Everland.

It feels good to admit to something so genuine. Your grin grows wider.

Yoongi would be proud of you for not being so... so, ersatz. And he's up there somewhere—maybe in your head—nagging at you, teasing you. You'll count down the days until you'll be able to follow him there.

But for now, it's for you and for me, Yoongi.

—masterpost

—masterlist

#ficswithluv #btswritersnet #btswriterscollective #bangtanfairygarden #btswritingcafe #yoongi #min yoongi #yoongi imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #bts #bts fanfiction #for everland #THIS ONE GOES OUT TO THE ANGST LOVERS #and the ones who love bickering couples lmfao

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