#so coming up (like a flower) inspires him to start writing/recording again and he names the album after a flower

[get-back-homeward]

I've gone through several stages of processing this Double Fantasy as a flower story and trying to verify it has turned into its own rabbit hole with no easy answer. So sharing some links from my journey.

Someone named Rob (Sheffield is that you??) asked about this on the UBS Botantical Forum in 2007 and got this answer:

RHS Plant Finder does list Freesia 'Fantasy' and mentioned the flower in their publication The Garden; page 333, May, 2002. It appears to be in the News section, so I don't know how much info it gives about the plant. Many of their articles are available online, but that article is not, so you would have to find a print copy. (We don't have it. I don't know what the article says.

So a double freesia named Fantasy is known. In a 2005 Royal Gazette article, Bermuda Botanical Gardens seems to support this:

We have not been able to get the exact Double Fantasy freesia since the 1980s. It used to come from a Dutch bulb seller and then the Department of Agriculture stopped the importation of bulbs from Amsterdam, she said. We now get Dutch bulbs via the US and were trying to get the original freesia, which was a double cream colour. The Double Fantasy freesia is the number one question that is asked by people coming to the gardens on bus tours.

The difference between single and double freesias:

Freesias come in both single and double flowered forms. The single flowered freesias have a more simple and elegant look, with one set of petals surrounding the center of the flower. The petals can come in a variety of colors, including red, pink, yellow, blue, and white. On the other hand, double flowered freesias have an extra set of petals, which gives them a more full and fancy appearance. This makes the double freesias look more abundant and showy compared to the single freesias.

Closest match I can find for a double cream freesia is something between these two (left being a double white, right being a single cream):

Which is surprising as it's not all that showy for a flower. I'm not familiar with it myself but gardening blogs tell me the novelty of growing freesias is their fragrance, a striking citrus-y scent.

Fred Seaman's account does not mention a color for the freesia, although colorful irises surrounding it are named. Instead, it focuses on the sign that grabbed John's attention:

However, some people in Bermuda have called into question whether the flower John saw could have been a freesia given the time of year he visited and when freesias normally bloom. Here's an updated article in Royal Gazette from 2011:

Masterworks plans to erect a statue designed by local artist Graham Foster next June to commemorate Mr Lennon’s visit complete with a picture of the flower on it. But Mary Lodge, principal of St George’s Preparatory School in St George’s, has her doubts that Mr Lennon ever saw a freesia at the Botanical Gardens. She lives near the Botanical Gardens and walks there frequently. “I have several points that make me think it wasn’t a freesia,” Ms Lodge said. “In the early mid 1980s there was one of the little black signs in the park that clearly labelled a hibiscus bush as ‘Double Fantasy’. “Lennon was here in June and July and freesias don’t flower at that time.” This variety of freesia, would have been cultivated, rather than wild. “The only way it would be there is if they planted it,” said Ms Lodge.

The Royal Gazette contacted former director of Agriculture and Fisheries, Edward Manuel, who worked with the department for more than 40 years before retiring two decades ago. He said he had no recollection of seeing a Double Fantasy freesia at the Botanical Gardens. But he couldn’t remember seeing a Double Fantasy hibiscus there either. “June and July would have been too late for freesias to bloom,” said Mr Manuel. Ms Lodge said if the flower Mr Lennon saw was in fact, a hibiscus, it would only be to Masterworks’ benefit. “The Double Fantasy hibiscus is gorgeous,” she said. “It is as big as a dinner plate.”

If there ever were Double Fantasy freesias at the Botanical Gardens, chances are, they weren’t there for very long. Double Fantasy freesias were first grown in Holland. Unfortunately, double freesias, in general, are notorious for having fertility problems, and it is probably for this reason that the Double Fantasy freesia is extremely rare today. In 1971, two scientists, J Baer and O Kho, wrote a paper about freesias called ‘An Investigation into the Cause of Sterility in Double-Flowering Freesia Varieties and the Possibility of Restoring Fertility’. They found that this flower tended to produce single flowers rather than doubles when grown in conditions exceeding 20C (68F). The average temperature in Bermuda in June is 27.2C (81F). Even in the winter, the temperature in Bermuda is at the limit for the flower with average temperatures being between 15.5C (60F) and 20.5C (69F) in January, February and April. However, if a mistake was made, it was made by John Lennon himself. Perhaps, to speculate, he saw the label left over from when the flowers bloomed there in the spring, and imagined the flower that went with the label.

This theory is based on average temperature. But was June 1980 an average June for Bermuda?

It looks like 1980 did have a cooler June than normal, but it still was not cool enough to be in that optimal 60-69 degrees for freesias. Could there have been a hardy plant that lasted into early June? Perhaps, if that was when they visited the garden, but according to Seaman's timeline, it was later in the month.

If the flower John saw was a hibiscus, it's not clear what color it would have been. But here's a white-based double hibiscus to compare:

Which flower is more likely to inspire an album title?

In the end, the sign designating the name was probably more important than the flower itself. For the sake of details, it's too bad there's little agreement about the type of flower that had the sign Double Fantasy in the garden. As it is, the most we can say is that the album title is inspired by a flower and that's probably all that mattered to John.

"One day, John took Sean to the Bermuda Botanical Gardens where, under a cedar tree, he came across some delicate white-and-yellow flowers called a Double Fantasy. "It's a type of freesia," John explained, "but what it means to us is that if two people picture the same image at the same time, that is the secret." And then one night he wandered into Hamilton and, curious to find out what kind of music people were listening to, he went club-hopping — something he hadn't done since the mid-1970s in Los Angeles — and ended up at a spot called Disco 40. "Upstairs, they were playing disco," John would later tell me, "but downstairs I suddenly heard 'Rock Lobster' by the B-52s for the first time. Do you know it? It sounds just like Yoko's music, so I said to meself, 'It's time to get out the old ax and wake the wife up!'"

ㅡ From Jonathan Cott's book "Days That I Will Remember: Spending Time With John Lennon And Yoko Ono", 2013.

[kumememe]

Hi if you have time could you do a Felix x male reader who works at a flower shop. Maybe the cattons use the store for all flower needs but maybe it’s lasso because Felix like to see the reader who works there. I read your fics today and they are amazing!!

fleur de lis (felix catton x m!reader [requested])

note: you are so sweet! thank you for being my first every request and i hope you enjoyed this story. i wrote it all in one go as i got inspired, so please be wary of any spelling mistakes. thank you! also ps: i chose that title because i wanted it to be fancy lol warnings: none, just felix being a soft simp for the reader. ______________________________________________________________

the wind chimes attached to the door of a quiet little flower shop do a little dance as it opens, their gentle melody greeting those who go inside. the enchanting smell of freshly cut stems and florals wafting through the air as felix made his way towards a certain aisle of white flowers. orchids, daffodils, tulips, and gardenia flowers stand up daintily in their pot, dripping with water as it seemed it was recently irrigated. at the back of the store, a variety of freshly wiped brown pots were scattered, and types of rocks, seeds, and dirt in small packets were nearby as well. as the six-foot-five male observed the type of flowers the store was selling, a tap on his shoulder startles him. he turns to see a shorter (skin color) male with beautiful (eye color) eyes, a green apron with a name tag reading 'y/n' covering his collared up shirt and fitted khaki pants.

y/n clears his throat, "nice to see you again, felix! may i help you with anything?" he asks with a small smile, hands behind his back as he looks up at him slightly.

felix felt his heart flutter a little at the sight of the shorter male, smiling as he nodded. "hello y/n, yes, i do need help." he said as he looked around at the array of flowers, "elspeth wants a bunch of flower arrangements for this fancy dinner we're having, and i'm not really good at picking so..." he trails off, hoping y/n got the gist. y/n chuckles as he pats him on the shoulder. the gentle touch sends shivers to felix's body as y/n spoke.

"don't worry, i can help." he reassures the taller male. "for starters, what kind of theme is the party?"

as felix started going through all the details, he couldn't help but feel his chest tighten as he watched the male talk about flowers, clearly showing his expertise and his interest in the topic as he suggested different bouquet types and sets. the tall male had always gone to this flower shop in particular for his family's flower needs, and whenever he needed help, y/n would always be there for him. the way y/n's soft short fluffy (color) hair swayed as he moved, his eyes blinking softly which showed off his long lashes, and his red lips stretching as he smiled, took the breath out of felix's mouth. for the record, felix wasn't the type to fall so easily, especially for someone as average as the small flower shop clerk. but there was just something about the way the latter would greet him with the brightest smile, his soft honey-like voice that made felix's skin get goosebumps as he spoke, and his bright personality drew felix in like bees to pollen. it was addicting. just to see that gorgeous smile come his way, his day would be left with replaying the moment in his mind.

"...lix? felix? hello, sir?" y/n gently shakes felix out of his trance.

"hm? oh sorry, i spaced out. can you repeat what you said?" felix cleared his throat, his face turning red slightly as he tried to maintain his cool. he was just caught dozing off, so he tried to mainatain his cool attitude.

y/n nods, "it's okay. so to summarize, the theme is great gatsby, and mrs. catton wants soft colored florals in big and small arrangements. did i get that right?" he asks, to which felix nods. "must be a really big party then, right?" y/n says as he writes it all down. felix finds the chuckling cute as he nods, leaning over a bit to see what y/n had written. "yes, that is right. oh! and the party will happen on friday, next week."

"i see, i see. will you pay it straight, cash or?" he asks, trailing off as felix nods. "i can do straight payment, yes." he says softly to the smaller male.

"got it, follow me this way." y/n said as he made his way to the counter, getting the card reader machine up and running as felix followed him. felix watched as y/n worked, the latter's head bobbing softly to the jazz music that played in the background. "cute." felix said without much thought, making the small male perk his head up to him with a small surprised expression. "hm?"

felix realized his mistake and cleared his throat, deciding to be bold and repeat what he said. he thought he might as well shoot his shot. "i said you're cute, y/n."

y/n's cheeks turn a pinkish hue as he nods shyly, "ah, thank you." he says quietly as he places the receipt down on the counter, asking felix to sign it. y/n watches felix sign the paper as he bit his lip, hesitating before he spoke. "the feeling's mutual, felix. you're pretty cute too." he flirted subtly, which makes felix grin as the tall male gave back the pen.

felix's gaze meets y/n's for a bit as he lets out a playful huff at the flirting. "the flowers will be most likely ready within two hours before the party, so you can come by and pick them up." y/n says, and felix nods. "cool, ill see you then." felix said as he was turning away. as he was about to make his exit out of the flower shop, he stopped. he knew he had an opportunity to ask the clerk out, and if he had run away from it, he wouldn't stop thinking about it.

felix turns back to the clerk, who was busying himself by cleaning up some of the papers on the desk. "y/n, I want to ask you something."

y/n's ears perk up in intrigue, "yes?" he asks with a slightly eager tone.

felix leans against the counter, biting his lip as bit as he whispers to y/n. "i was wondering you know, since i'm already here, if... we can go out sometime?"

y/n's face turn red as his mouth opens and closes, taken off guard by the sudden question. felix tries to remedy this as he starts to spill out words, a little flustered though he tries to act as nonchalant and cool as possible. "i've admired the way you work, and you're always so kind to me and my family. think of it as a 'thank you' gift from me- er, the family." felix said as he hoped y/n wouldn't catch up on his slip-up.

"n-no, i mean- i'd love to, felix." y/n said as he held onto felix's arm to stop him from rambling, which eases felix's lightly tense demeanor. "i just didn't expect it, that's all," he said timidly.

felix chuckles at the bashful reaction as y/n looks away. "good, i mean, i could pick you up after work if you want? we can get some coffee together."

"yes, that would be nice. my shift ends at three pm- i can text you if it ends earlier? you have my number." y/n said and felix nodded, grinning. "yes, yes, i do. i'll see you later then?" felix asked as he opened the door of the flower shop, looking back at the blushing male who nodded.

"mhm, see you, felix." ______________________________________________________________ hope you enjoyed this, even though it is a bit shorter than usual. i personally loved the idea, i feel like it would be a nice story for an actual book. rich guy meets quiet flower shop clerk, what a cliche. a good one, at that

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

One Word Fic Title (2) Masterlist

part one

Amnesia (ao3) - kat_badwi G, 433

Summary: short lashton sadness

Cry (ao3) - SinisterMind michael/ashton T, 3k

Summary: The one where Ashton never cries until he reaches the breaking point

Cuddles? (ao3) - nine_rainbows michael/luke M, 586

Summary: A day when Muke staying in the house together.

Daydreams - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) michael/luke, luke/calum T, 6k

Summary: It's not Michael's fault the owner of Fletcher's Flowers is so good-looking. And no one—Luke—should be able to blame him for wanting to come to the shop and admire the pretty buff man with large delicate hands as he assembles bouquets or pets his cat.

Eighteen (ao3) - boomercal luke/ashton E, 56k

Summary: Eighteen-year-old Luke is done putting up with his father and brothers so he takes his father's Corvette and credit card to track down Ashton Irwin. Who graduated a few years ahead of him and has a reputation for smoking, drinking and sleeping around; surely he'll be enough to make his dad meet his demands... right?

Fireproof (ao3) - felixandtae michael/calum N/R, 2k

Summary: Michael's hair caught on fire during the London concert and Calum, being his worried boyfriend, becomes more overprotective now than ever.

Injection (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance michael/luke E, 4k

Summary: For two days, Michael had been sick, grumpy and moody and to make him feel better, Luke had been googling ways because everything Calum and Ashton had tried had failed. He was quite happy that his plan was more effective and he was totally not expecting a reward in the end.

Or the one where Luke tried to sweat Michael's fever out when everything else failed.

KawaiiCalPal (ao3) - TheLarryDiaries michael/calum, luke/ashton M, 25k

Summary: Calum is an adorable YouTuber known as KawaiiCalPal. He's most known for his oversized sweaters and matching flower crowns. Also, he's in love with the world famous punk rock band, Swallow the Goldfish. But more accurately, the lead guitarist, Michael Clifford.

Luke, Ashton, and Michael are the three band members of Swallow the Goldfish. They all happen to be jelly beans, Calum's name for his subscribers. It's also quite obvious that Michael believes Calum is his 'soulmate'. It's also remarkable as Calum is very open with his homosexuality, and love for Michael.

It really started when Calum had the opportunity to interview the band for a video.

littlething (ao3) - paperxvalentines (kiwikihyuk) luke/calum T, 3k

Summary: Calum was too oblivious and Luke was too subtle.

Lily (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance michael/luke E, 49k

Summary: Luke and Michael, they used to be boyfriends, lovers and each other’s world. Michael did not know whether those things really existed but he used to think Luke was his soulmate and that they completed each other; that was until Luke left without saying anything. After many years, Luke had decided to come back home but he did not come alone; he brought along a cute little girl, named Lily. When he suddenly came across Michael, the feelings that he had forgotten started to come back. Will he be able to ignore them? Or let his heart decide for him? Although many years passed, Michael had never really been able to be with anyone else because his heart has always beat for Luke. Meeting Luke again was like a second chance to save what had been lost; he wanted to get close to Luke. Will Luke allow him into his world again? Or was it just him and Lily?

Lyrics (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke T, 4k

Summary: Michael writes Jet Black Heart for Luke.

Moisturizer (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance luke/ashton E, 3k

Summary: The first time it happened, it was in a bathroom. Since Luke was horny again, he decided why not make it a second time. They were busy writing and recording but Luke had found a way to squeeze that in their schedule and this time, he was better prepared. Basically, it was inspired by Luke's moisturizer tweet.

Popstar (ao3) - L4sht0n luke/ashton, michael/calum T, 54k (WIP)

Summary: Luke didn't need a fake boyfriend. He had some problems, every celebrity had some problems. Drug, sex and alcohol was Luke's getaway, but there was nothing wrong with it. A bit problematic yes, but he did nothing wrong. Luke was losing fans because of his bad behaviour, and he was kind of an asshole. Luke could admit this. But he didn't need a fake boyfriend. He didn't need Ashton Irwin to play his fake boyfriend and clean up his mess. If Luke's management wanted to clean up Luke so badly they should just hire a cleaning lady. Luke didn't need a fake boyfriend, didn't want it. Then why did the fake relationship feel so real?

Pretty (ao3) - princesscalum (orphan_account) michael/calum T, 1k

Summary: A story in which Calum appears to be the epitome of punk rock but surreptitiously wears pretty things out of enjoyment and Michael will do anything to find out Calum's secret.

Rabbits (ao3) - im_just_a_sucker_for_bromance michael/luke E, 3k

Summary: Luke was grumpy because of some things he saw online and to add to it, Ashton has made some new rules. That was not all, Luke blamed it all on Michael. On the other hand, Michael knew exactly what Luke's problem was; lack of attention. Michael had his own ways of giving Luke attention, ways he knew Luke would never refuse.

Sick - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) ot4 E, 3k

Summary: Luke (5:06 pm): calum wont fuck me 🥺

Softer (ao3) - ashton_cuddles94 M, 1k

Summary: @/twitteruser: "I'm not really into 5sos, but the pudgy drummer is so cute".

"Pudgy?", Ashton thought to himself, putting his phone down in his bunk.

He placed a hand on his stomach, not expecting his fingers to sink in as much as they did. His eyebrows shot up in concern.

"Have I really gotten that soft?"

Sweetheart (ao3) - sorryuser michael/calum M, 1k

Summary: Calum loves wearing lace and Michael can't believe that he loves it too.

trouvaille (ao3) - mlnsung luke/calum T, 1k

Summary: trouvaille /'tru:vʌi/ (n.) a lucky find

Luke thinks that they're best when they're both naked, and Calum is so pretty when he rolls around in the sheets.

Webcams (ao3) - gardener luke/ashton, michael/calum M, 3k

Summary: Luke Hemmings is an eighteen years old Photography major at the City College of San Francisco, who works as a camboy on the side. His now calm life changes when he walks into Ashton Irwin, who just happens to watch his cam sessions nearly always he goes online. While the elder one had no idea this guy went to the same university as he did, Luke doesn't even realize Ashton is his favorite subscriber.

[startanewdream]

#15 from kissing prompts please😂😂😂 with sirius interupting them?

Hello! This prompt fit so well with Shirtless (Braless?) Lily June, that I just had to write it, so thank you so much for providing me the inspiration.

And because #15 was rather steamy, this is rated M ;)

‘You are gonna be the death of me, Evans,’ declares James, voice heavy and strangled, all of his attention occupied with kissing her neck, his hands sliding over the curve of her waist unable to decide where to focus.

Lily lets out a snort, amused (unlike him, her hands are purposefully feeling his chest under the opened buttons of his shirt, because Lily knows exactly what she wants).

‘Am I back to Evans, now?’

James could answer, something about how he only slips into her last name when he isn’t thinking clearly because he very much enjoys calling her Lily, but words are overrated. And he has much better use for his mouth, now busy with finding that particular spot under her ear that always makes her let out a soft moan.

Two weeks. They’ve been dating for a fortnight and James already knows one particular spot in Lily Evans and, by Merlin, he wants to know so many more; there are so many things he wants to share with her.

Like that night, for instance. Slug’s Club traditional Christmas party. It’s an event, and it's a big one as far as James is concerned; it’s their first formal date for all purposes, and he was intent on doing everything right, being the perfect boyfriend.

Things had been according to his plan — he’d given her flowers to celebrate it, nice winter flowers of the colour of her outfit (which he had goaded Mary into telling him); he’d trained dancing to waltz with her (Sirius had helped him as his best friend, under the chuckles of their friends); he had even managed to comb his hair so it looked moderately tamed for once.

Then everything had gone south the moment Lily had taken off her cloak when they reached Slug’s office, to reveal a sparkling blue dress that matched less the cold night and more of James’ dreams of her.

It was not that it wasn’t obvious that James was quite attracted to her; it wasn’t like it was a secret that he found her beautiful, and particularly tonight with the careful make-up on her face, that strawberry red on her lips and the smokey effect around her eyes that made the green glint dangerously.

But his attraction for her became corporeally obvious the moment she revealed her dress, a light blue, sleeveless satin dress with a v-neck, that hung loosely above the waist and clung to her hips.

He should be able to drift his eyes from her cleavage, he should ignore the swell of her breasts that the dress made sure to highlight, if not for the fact that when his gaze met hers, Lily was smirking.

Not any smirk.

That I-know-I-am-driving-you-crazy smile that James himself had used on her before they began dating.

He can respect her for choosing carefully the moment to make him prove his own poison. Merlin, he loves her for that.

A better man might resist, might pull off a fight for his pride and refuse to let her tempt him so easily, but James was never proud when it came to Lily. So he endured all the party, still relenting in the idea of being the perfect date, and the moment dessert started being served, James figured it was enough.

Lily didn’t bat an eye when he asked her if they could go back. That smirk had not left her face all party, and she didn’t even look surprised when at the moment the portrait closed behind them in the Common Room, James pushed her against the wall, his lips crashing over hers with a desperation that suggested he hadn’t seen her in weeks.

Not in those clothes, that he hadn’t seen her ever, but it’s a sight he can get used to as far as he knows.

They are alone in the Common Room, only the embers of the fireplace illuminating the room, with no expectation of anyone coming to find them. So it’s easy, embarrassingly easy, for his hand to slide the strap of her dress until the middle of her arm, only her breast holding it in place.

His lips are still over her neck, now arched to give him the best access she can, and his gaze falls to her cleavage that the dress reveals so nicely. She’s not wearing any bra and somehow this realization — though he should already know it — presses more his desire for her. He let his mouth follow the trail of the freckles she has on the shoulder until he’s kissing the top of her breast. She shudders but does not reprimand him.

He places small kisses over any exposed flesh he has access to, then he raises his hand on her waist, just enough to hold her under her breast. His thumb moves carefully, feeling the swell of her breast, and her sharp intake of breath makes him pause.

His eyes meet hers when he raises his head.

‘James,’ she calls him, breathless; her green eyes are a black pool as she stares at him, unblinking. ‘Don’t stop.’

It seems both a request and an order, but whatever it is, James will fulfill it. His hand moves away from her breast enough to finish sliding the dress strap off her arms, and then the sight of her left breast greets him, the nipple hard, up and down with her heavy breathing.

Merlin, he could stare at it forever.

But it would not be enough, so he lets his hand touch it again, feeling it, thumb over her nipple in a way that makes her moan (particular spot number two, he thinks, recording it dutifully), and then his lips replace his thumb. Her hands react immediately, burying themselves in his hair, messing it in a much more spectacular way than James could do it, and giving him a very clear instruction.

She doesn’t want him to move away.

Which suits him just fine, because he feels he won’t ever want to move away either, not with the sounds that escape from her lips as he slides his tongue over her breast, desperate to kiss everything, to taste the flavour of her skin, to immerge into the scent of her body.

A hand searches her other breast, over her dress, urging him to find some balance after all, and the other hand holds her back, dangerously close to her bum, and by Merlin he doesn’t want to stop. He frees both of his hands, trying to lift her dress, but the skirt is too tight.

‘James,’ she calls him once more, his name feeling eternal on her lips, a siren call he can’t refuse. He stops kissing her just enough to lookat her. ‘We can go upstairs.’

That made him hesitate, not because he is unsure, but because he wants it very much; his body is making it obvious how much, and by the way Lily rocks her hips carefully against the front of his body, she knows it too. He takes in her figure, lips swollen from the precious minutes they spent kissing each other, face pinkened with the heat of their movements, and then her dress, strapless on one side to reveal her breast, so tantalizing.

And still…

‘Are you sure?’

‘We don’t —’ she pauses, a flush heavier than before arising in her cheeks. ‘We can just —’

‘We’ll see,’ he agrees, his mouth covering hers while his hand helps her put the dress strap back in place.

Then she holds his hand and follows him upstairs, pausing only to take down her heels so she can walk quietly. The door of his dorm room opens without any sound; the entire room is silent, all curtains down in the beds, and James was never more grateful for this fact.

He guides Lily to his bed, careful to push the curtains around them, letting only a tiny gap for the moonlight to illuminate the bed; it’s not a full moon but it’s more than enough for him to see Lily’s face and that’s all he wants. She looks both defiant and nervous.

She lays in the bed, her gorgeous hair now out of the braid she had used for the party, all curls spreading out over his pillow. It’s a gorgeous sight and he lays on top of her, careful to sustain his weight on his arms as he bends down to kiss her again. Her hands work expertly in his shirt, finishing to open the buttons there, her nails sinking into his back. He muffles his moan into her mouth.

Now his hands can work into both of the straps of her dress, sliding them out of their arms so she is laying in the bed naked from above the waist; he feels her breasts touching his chest and this notion (Lily is his bed half-naked) sends a wave of pleasure and desire down his body, inhumanly stronger than before. He breaks their kiss desperate to feel again the taste of her skin, to let his tongue glide against her nipple, to hear the pure purr in her throat.

‘Lily,’ he moans, and she stops him, so close to her breast, that it’s almost painful.

‘Shhh,’ she remembers, a finger over his lips in warning; he answers by kissing her finger, then her wrist, raising her hand above her head. She offers him her other arm, allowing him to trap them together as he moves his free hand over her chest. Her heart is beating so fast that he can see the vein of her neck pulsing. ‘Please,’ she mouths.

He complies at once, lips covering her breast, enjoying how she arches her back as if she needs to be even more close to him. That’s a feeling he certainly shares, moving his body just enough to centre with hers, a soft groan escaping from his mouth as her hips move to match his movement.

And then he needs to stop kissing her at all, biting his lips with enough force to draw blood, because Lily’s hand are working now over his pant, one hand opening the belt and the other feeling the length of him, the one undeniable evidence of how much he wants her —

‘James?’

Sirius’ voice breaks the silence of the room, sounding louder than a bell, a call to reality in a dream James really doesn’t want to wake from at the moment.

Lily’s hands stop suddenly, still around him, her eyes open widely as they stare at each other, both wishing that Sirius was just dreaming (and James won’t even tease Padfoot for calling his name in his sleep).

‘I know you are there,’ Sirius says, voice dangerously close. ‘I heard you coming.’

No, you didn’t, James thinks.

‘Is everything okay? You came back early.’

James forces his voice out. ‘Everything’s fine, Padfoot, go back to sleep.’

‘Are you sure? Is everything all right between you and Lily?’

In another moment James would appreciate Sirius’ concern for his relationship — that he roots for more than anyone else, he knows. But now, as her hands leave his body to redress herself, embarrassment all over her face, James feels only flustered.

‘Yeah, yeah. Just let me rest.’

There is a pause. ‘Fine,’ Sirius says, evidently upset, walking back to his bed. ‘Forget that I asked.’

Now James sighs guiltily, and Lily throws him a sympathetic look. James moves, coming to rest at her side, their moment painfully broken.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers, as low as he can.

She turns to him, her hand supporting her head. ‘It’s fine. We shouldn’t really…’

He refrains from sighing unhappily. He knows Lily is right. They’ve been only dating for two weeks after all, and there is no rush for anything. They can enjoy just each other’s company, taking this slow — Merlin, he’s so stupid for not being able to control his feelings — no, his lust, so unchivalrous —

‘I mean, your friends are there,’ she adds, oblivious to his thoughts. ‘In the holidays we can find a room just for us.’

He blinks, eyes widening, heart racing desperate in his chest.

‘So you mean —’

‘Only if you want.’

In answer, he looks down, to the place where his body still makes evident how much he wants her. She lets out a giggle, that he muffles kissing her longly.

‘Holidays,’ he agrees later, breaking apart with difficulty. She watches him with fondess before sighing.

‘I should go.’

‘No, stay, please.’ He offers her his arms, which Lily accepts with a soft smile, sinking into his embrace. He caresses her back. ‘Very innocent.’

‘Hmmm. Just a while. Until Sirius sleeps.’

He agrees with his head, placing a kiss on her forehead.

‘I think he’s already sleeping, Lily,’ comes a voice from the other bed.

‘Yeah, he sleeps quick,’ adds Peter.

This time James doesn’t bother muffling Lily’s nervous giggle, joining her. Holidays, he thinks. A room just for the two of them. No noisy friends.

[sombreboy]

Daffodil dreams✾yandere!kth

| RP with 🍁anon | Header by:🍁anon ♡ | CLICK ME FOR PART TWO ✾ 18+ ✾ xtremity; 7 ✾ pairing: Murder suspect!Yandere!Taehyung x Therapist!F ✾ word count: 16.8k ✾ warnings: mental illness, mentions of murder, hand fetish, oral, forceful facefucking, dubcon themes, sadistic/manipulative/possessive!Tae, masochistic!therapist, mentions of medication for mental illness, cursing, degrading dirtytalk, rough smut, unprotected sex.

‘’Taehyung, you didn't lose control. You chose to control me instead..." And he damn well took sick pleasure from the crazed look in his eyes.

“I’m not bad.” He convinced himself of this. He wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t the person in the case files. That was somebody else inside of him.

Flashing her access card to open the door of the secured interrogation room, the doctor nods at the guard outside before stepping in. If things were to turn sour at any point, he'd step in as intervention.

Once the door closes, she takes a moment to assess her latest patient— accused of double murder, yet to be proven guilty even if circumstantial evidences were against him, Kim Taehyung. Her report on his mental state will be the determinant in his case at this rate. Moving closer towards him, she greets him by introducing herself. "Hello, Taehyung!"

Taehyung sat with his hands clasped together, eyes in his lap as someone walks in. As soon as he hears their greeting though, he slowly gazes up at her, a cautious look on his face. ‘‘Hello.’‘

Placing her tiny folder of contents and her notepad on the table, she takes the chair across from him with a formal smile. "I'll be your therapist till the case gets resolved in the court which can be anywhere between a few days to many months! We're together in this until then." She tells him in an honest voice. It would be better to ease him into the sessions and gain his trust before she could delve deeper into his mind. Deciding to keep it simple, "How are you feeling today? Did you sleep well?"

Taehyung fiddled with his fingers, avoiding eye contact, but he’s responsive enough, “I’m good.. I slept okay.” He nodded, as if confirming his own words.

"I'm glad you're feeling good. We'll see what we can do about the sleep issues you have..." She says, observing how he avoided her eyes and takes her note to record it in. But before she does, "You don't mind if I take notes, do you?" She asks to confirm. Some of her patients hated it when she paid more attention to her notebook than them. She'd switch to a taping device in that case. "Have you seen any other therapists before me, Taehyung— it's okay if I called you by your name, right?"

It took Taehyung a long moment before he responded, eyes moving back up to look at her, this time more observing, “You’re my first...” he keeps his eyes on her, an unreadable expression on his face as he nods, confirming the usage of his name.

She flashes him a genuine smile when she finds his eyes upon her. That was rather a very quick improvement in her books. Nodding her head at him, she notes it all down, from his words to his gestures— everything. So no one even suspected he might have been mentally disturbed until the incident itself. Interesting. "In that case, I'm going to make sure I'm helping you the best way I can!" She promises him with a look before going for her next question. "Tell me more about yourself, Taehyung... It can be anything?" She'd get to know him from his own point of view before making her judgement.

Taehyung looked around the room, as if in thought, leaning back in his chair as his eyes finally land on the painting hanging behind her. He stares at it for a long moment, zoning out as he’s looking at it.

She patiently waits for him to speak up, silently taking in his features. He looked rather young, just about her age or even younger. Lucious curls, sharp jaws, almond eyes framed by full lashes— he was nothing short of gorgeous. And then there was this innocence in his eyes that makes her pause. Could he have really murdered two people in cold blood? Noticing his attention elsewhere, she turns behind her to see the painting on the wall. "So... You like art? Do you paint often?" If he wouldn't talk, then she just had to ask more questions to keep him speaking.

Taehyung rocked back and forth, a very vague movement, barely noticeable unless anyone paid attention. He nodded, his eyes flickering to her before focusing on the painting once more, a short but clear response rolling off his lips, “Sometimes..”

Her eyes keenly track each of his movements, including how he seemed to not stay as still as he had when their session began. She hums at his words. Maybe she could bring some art supplies to one of their future sessions? But for now, "I'm a fan of surrealism. It feels like there's something about the unexpectedness it brings to everyday subjects... Dali is one of my favourite artists!" She comments, her eyes lighting up brightly as she speaks about something she likes. "Do you prefer someone's art works in particular?"

Taehyung kept rocking back and forth, he was slowly starting to become a little bit more responsive, taking a few seconds less to answer this time, “Van Gogh.” His lips twitched ever so slightly at the thought of his art, his gaze focusing back down at his lap.

"Van Gogh?" There's a flare of recognition in her gaze, that is more than just knowing the famous artist's name. She was well versed in his life history too— especially his mental illness that made him take his own life. Taehyung taking less time than before to respond with his name was mildly alarming. But she keeps her cool, and her smile intact. "I have a copy of his Almond Blossom in my home." She mentions as she makes more notes, "What is it about Gogh that impresses you, Taehyung?"

Taehyungs eyebrows raise vaguely when she mentions that she owns such a piece of art. His eyes now travells down to focus on the notepad in her lap. But this time he didn’t respond.

She gives him a whole minute before looking up at him, only to find his gaze focused on her lap. "Would you like to write... Or maybe sketch instead?" She tears off the page she had been writing in and passes the notepad to him with another pen. "Is there a particular painting of Van Gogh that you like so much?" She tries again hoping he'd feel motivated enough to answer her or even write it down.

He moved slowly when he grabbed the pen and notepad, putting it in his lap as he quietly scribbled something down. When he finished, he put it back on the table along with the pen, pushing it over the table towards her so she could take a look at what he had written down. “Through his pain, came beauty. His art.” Along with a smaller note, “irises," which was a painting by the artist. It was a painting of Irises that suggests cautious optimism. The bouquet of blue irises, shadowed in violet in an ocher vase against a yellow background, reveals his continuing pursuit of what he called 'the color question'  and nature always offered the true revelation.

When he leaves the pad back on the table, she peeks over to see what he had written. "Irises?" She whispers under her breath. There were two paintings of Gogh's with the said flowers. One, speaking of a life without tragedies and the other, a still life painting of the flowers in a vase he used for studying colours, both of them he did in the asylum. Tracing his words about the artist himself with her eyes she asks in a softer tone, "Did you know there's two different paintings of irises?"

Taehyung nods, however not clarifying his answer. His mind seemed to drift away after the mention of the paintings, but his body seemed slightly more relaxed as he was no longer rocking himself back and forth.

She leans back on her chair and keeps talking when he doesn't respond more than a nod. "I prefer the first one, the painting with the irises he did in the garden. There is this sense of hope about it..." As if he had hoped to get better in the hospital. Taking one more look at his note, she presses an elbow to the table and props her chin upon her palm as she tries to get his attention back on her. "Does his pain inspire you, Taehyung?"

His lips part as if he’s about to speak, but he closes his mouth again, one hand moving up to brush his curls away from his eyes, that were now back on the doctor. He made eye contact, and gave her a vague nod, a quiet whisper rolling off his lips as he quoted the artist, “Art is to console those who are broken.”

She blinks, the motion of his hand breaking her transfixed gaze upon him. But soon he reels her back with his eyes, that now rested upon hers with a sense of ease. She leans a little further across the table to catch his whisper, which gives her a pause. As much as she wanted to go on track and ask more about the artist he seemed to idolise, she chooses a personal question instead. "Do you consider yourself broken then?" It comes out equally quiet, her eyes focused unblinkingly upon him.

Taehyung shrugged, then broke into a soft smile before countering her question with one of his own, “Aren’t we all broken in one way or another?”

Her eyes soften at the first sign of his smile, her own lips quirking up to mirror it. Moving back with a mellowed laughter at his question, "True, we all are! You got me there." She admits, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. "So, what is your story then? Why do you think you're broken?" With her head tilted to the side, she might resemble a curious cat. There's an urge to get to know him more now that goes beyond the need for this case. But she brushes it off to analyse it later when she wasn't on the clock.

Taehyung observes her for a moment, he’s starting to feel a little more comfortable with his therapist. Her smile made him feel something, but he couldn’t quite place it as of yet. For the first time in a long time, he’s enjoyed somebody’s company. He didn’t want the session to end. “My story... isn’t very unique. I had a happy life... simple.” He presses his lips together as he nodded, confirming his own words before looking at her again, hands clasped together in his lap, “What about you?”

"Had?" She notes the past tense of his words before blinking back in surprise when he asks her about her story. "I'm... still writing my story. Everyday, as it goes. My story is about finding a purpose for your life to be happy again!" She reiterates gently, her notes laying long forgotten on her lap with her attention completely on him now and their conversation. "Everyone's story is different from each other, Taehyung. But why would you think your happy life ended? What about your life now?"

Taehyung stares at her as he takes in her words. Her purpose was for him to find happiness? That sounded crazy... it sounded almost... like she cared about him. He leaned forward, as if he's trying to get a closer look at her. "Well, I am held in custody... and will be for a while it seems. Wouldn't you feel unhappy in my situation?" Once again, he counters her questions with his own, as if it was a little game. But it was obvious that he was starting to enjoy this, becoming more responsive to her, whether it gives her clear answers or not.

"Which is 'where' I come in." She air quotes in response to his question. "Anyone would he unhappy in this situation. You'll be held here until they can find a solution to this case. Don't you want to be happy again, Taehyung?" Her tone is beseeching as she hides her surprise at how easy it was to get him to talk when his previous interrogators claimed otherwise. "I can help you with that! But you'll have to help me in return. I want you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?"

Taehyung leaned back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes still fixed on the woman as if he's observing her. He doesnt answer, but he nods.

Even without his verbal confirmation, she still considers it a minor victory when he agrees to be truthful. Giving him another one of her genuine smiles as if in reward, "We can take this one step at a time. And if you're uncomfortable with anything I say or ask, feel free to stop me immediately, okay?" She bends her head slightly, looking up at him through her lashes to see if he understood her before proceeding. "You're aware that you're kept in custody. But do you know why you're here?"

Taehyung's gaze travels to look down once again, a soft sigh escaping his lips. However another nod was the only response she got. He wasn't feeling very verbally responsive for this topic, knowing all words can and would be used against him, whether he was guilty or not.

When he breaks their eye contact, she withdraws back with a deep exhale. She knew she was pushing him beyond his comfort zone. But from every information she gathered from him so far, her gut feeling told her he was innocent. Even the devil was an angel before he fell though. "Taehyung," She calls his name out softly. "We're almost at the end of our session today. I have one last question for you before I leave. Do you think you deserve to be kept here for whatever the reason you're in here for?"

His gaze slowly moved to look at her hands, keeping his arms wrapped over his chest as if he's hugging himself. It takes a long minute before he shrugs. He knows he's been vague, but he wasn't sure. And he felt a little disappointed that the session was over already, he was beginning to enjoy her company. She was the first person since he was taken in to actually talk to him as a person, and not simply pinpoint him as a murderer.

Clicking her tongue quietly at his shrug, she slumps back into her chair when he gives her no clear answer once again. There was a prompt knock on the metal door, signaling the end of their session.

"You did so good, Taehyung." She tells him with a soft smile as she stands up to gather her things, including the notepad. "I'll be back tomorrow. And I'll see if I can request for an additional hour. If we work well together like today, I'll soon be able to help you find your happiness again, hm?"

He feels his chest flutter at the doctor's praise, another foreign feeling to him. As she stand up, his eyes follow her with the utmost observation of her every movement and word. His lips curl up in a small smile as he nods, "Okay." He didn't want the session to end, but he was already looking forward to tomorrow. Now, as soon as he was no longer alone with her, his expressions fade back into being a blank canvas— no expression at all.

Now more than ever, she believes he was being framed for the murders. And even if he was guilty, she'd help him get his Not Criminally Responsible verdict if it ever came to that, she decides. He definitely had underlying mental health issues for certain, she just needed more medical proof. Sending an email out to his defence attorney and the institution, she rests easy that night when they approve her request for extended sessions.

Taehyung had barely slept that night, staring at the ceiling of his isolated room as he processes everything she said. She'd asked him questions about art, and the way her knowledge surprised him made him curious about her. The way she told him that her purpose was to find his happiness, made him happy... no one's ever said that to him before, and he started to feel a small infatuation with his therapist.

He reminded himself to be cautious, however, it had only been one session after all. But his heart fluttered at the thought of seeing her again. Would her hair look different? Would she wear something pretty? All these things whirled through his mind until he managed to get a fractured amount of sleep before the guards woke him up for his next session. He slowly sauntered over, hair a curly mess, bags under his eyes.

The next day, she's back in the room before him for their new session. She had forgone her coat, favouring a simple blouse and skirt as it was summer. The door opens and she stands up with a bright smile. "Hello, Taehyung!" One look at his cuffed arms and she sends a pointed glare at the guard who takes it off with a roll of his eyes. Once the guard leaves, she takes a step towards Taehyung, almost as if to push his hair back, but drops her hands halfway and goes back to the table. "Did you sleep well last night?" She asks him, her smile simmered down as he takes his seat.

Taehyung rubs his wrists when the cuffs are removed, nodding uncomittedly at her question as he slowly strolls over to his seat, ‘’Somewhat,’’ He didn’t lie, but also didn’t want to tell her he barely slept, but the doctor's eyes were sharp, and the dark circles under his eyes were prominent even if they were half hidden underneath his bangs. He ran his hands through his hair as if to calm down the bedhead he was rocking, lifting up his grey hoodie over his curls.

Nodding at his reply, "Well, I have news for you. Our sessions are going to be two hours long from now. So hopefully we can solve this case quicker!" She says with a smile, looking up from her notes only for her lips to turn down in a frown at his red eyes and visible dark circles beneath them despite his attempt to hide it all behind his bangs. "Is there a particular reason you didn't sleep well last night?" She asks him in a crisp tone, giving no room for anymore vague answers. "If something's bothering you, you can tell me, you know?"

Taehyung felt a rush of joy, reminding him of butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the mention of longer sessions. Does that mean she wants to spend more time with him? That’s how he interpreted it, a small smile pulling on his lips. It made him more responsive, more open to answer her questions. However, it didn’t mean he couldn’t ask some back, ‘’I had a lot on my mind after we spoke,’’ He confesses, tilting his head to the side as his eyes landed on her skirt, slowly roaming up your outfit. She looked so pretty, ‘’I like your clothes.’’ He squinted, observing the small floral patterns adorning her blouse. He was curious about the brand, he did enjoy fashion.

"Oh?" She glances down at herself, giving him another smile at his compliment. "Thank you! It's getting warmer out there. Had to give up my winter clothing." Subtly noting the spark of interest in his eyes at her clothing style, she decides to dig into it later. They had something important to discuss before that. "You said you had lot in your mind last night. May I ask what?" She pulls up a fresh page on her notepad, beginning to write down everything she noticed about him today.

He smiled, arms going back to his default position across his chest, “You.” His eyes moved back to her face, observing her reaction. This could’ve been a bad idea, maybe he should’ve stayed quiet, closed down. But he had to say it. She was special, not just his therapist.

Her writing comes to a sharp halt, and she glances up at him to find him watching her already. Dropping her pen between the pages, she closes the notepad and leaves it on the table before focusing all her attention on him with an unsure smile curling on her lips. "Me? Do you mean you were thinking about the things we spoke about yesterday, Taehyung?" Getting involved with a patient at any emotional level was frowned upon. She hopes he means the latter, for both of their sakes.

Taehyung hesitates, considering whether he should answer with honesty. Will the truth scare her away? Will she stop seeing him? He didn’t want to take the chance, not until he was sure. He internally scolded himself for even telling her, but if he plays his cards right, he could deflect this quickly, continuing with the normal questions. He squints his eyes in a smile, nodding once more as he straightens his posture, ‘’Of course, that’s what I meant.’’

There's a faint sagging of her shoulders in relief despite the niggling feeling of uneasiness pricking at the back of her head. "That's great! But please don't let out conversations disturb your sleep patterns. I like seeing you in better health." She smiles,  purposefully adding the last part to see if it'd change his behaviour that night. Sitting a little more relaxed in her chair, "What is it about yesterday that left you sleepless, Taehyung?" Technically, she should begin from where they left off but this could work too.

Taehyung considers her words carefully, and how she kept saying things that seemed so earnest. She would like to see him in better health. Not because a script told her so, but because she cared. He started to believe it, and he couldn’t control the way his feelings slowly grew for her. He crossed one leg over the other, leaning back as he put his hands in his pockets into a more relaxed position, eyes staring at the table as he chewed on his lower lip in a moment of thought, ‘’I thought a lot about... Art.. It was a refreshing conversation compared to all the surface level interrogations they’ve put me through so far. I felt like I was talking to an actual person, and it was... Nice.’’ This was the longest sentence he’s ever given her, even if it didn’t conclude much other than his appreciation for her knowledge.

"I'm glad our talk was thought provoking for you. And I want you to feel normal. I know interrogations here can get bitter. But I'm here to help you find and face the truth, no matter what it is!" Placing both her hands on the table, she presses on it to lean forward and let him see the honesty of her words reflected in her eyes. "We can talk about art again, if you want? Or anything else of your interest? I'm sure we can spare some time before beginning from where we left off yesterday."

Taehyung’s eyes lit up, he finally had an opportunity to know more about her, rather than talk about himself. That’s all he’s done, and he would, for her. But first, he wanted something back, something new to learn. He fiddled with his fingers before clasping them together, ‘’What’s your favourite type of flower?’’ It was an odd question to some, but to him, it mattered. He always loved flowers, and the meanings behind them.

She doesn't miss out on any reactions of his, including how his entire face lights up when she says they could talk about anything other than the case. Little sacrifices, she tells herself with a smile as she leans back in her chair only to pause at his question. "My favourite flower?" She asks again with surprise in her tone to confirm if she heard it right. As he continues to gaze at her with that little excited look of his, she gives in. "Lily of the valley. I love those little bells!"

‘‘Return to happiness.’‘ He states, eyes still fixed on her. Everything really pointed back towards the one thing you keep telling him, to find happiness. To be happy. That she wanted him to be happy. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? If it was, it surely was fate. ‘‘The flower is beautiful, attractive... But poisonous.’‘ He continued, as if his statement could have an underlying meaning to it. He stretches his back a little, before returning to a comfortable position, his hands delicately placed in his lap, ‘‘I like daffodils.’‘

"When something is too beautiful to behold, it always comes with a way of protecting itself, doesn't it? Like how roses have thorns, the lilies are poisonous. I only think it's fair." She shrugs, not really worried about how he'd interpret that. By now, she's made up her mind to enjoy the unexpectedness of their conversations until it lasts. "Daffodils? What do they mean?" She might have a little knowledge about art, but not so much about flowers.

Taehyung hums, nodding as he speaks, ‘’Rebirth... New beginnings...’’ He tilts his head to the side, keeping his eyes in his lap as if he’s in thought, ‘’They are the first flower to bloom when the cold, dark winter has passed, as a sign of spring.’’ He pauses to lick his lips, looking up at her with a small smile, ‘’And they smell nice.’’

She nods her head slowly, taking in the meaning of his favourite flowers a little deeper than she should. "New beginnings..." Letting the word roll around her tongue for a moment, she glances up to meet his eyes with an understanding smile. "Is that what you crave right now? A new beginning once this darkness," her gaze flickers to his case file on the table before meeting his again, "—passes, Taehyung? Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong. I tend to overthink sometimes."

He felt butterflies burst in his gut when she said his first name so casually, as if they were already close. He enjoyed it, feeling a warmth simmer over him. Taehyung shrugs, ‘’I guess you could say that.’’

"Hm..." She hums, moving forward once again to lean over the table. These chairs weren't exactly comfy, she was sure to get a back pain if she were to sit in it much longer. "And how do you envision this new beginning? Is it going to be similar to the life you lived before? Or maybe you want to move away to a new place and start afresh? I'd do that if I were you, to be honest..." Letting her eyes trace his features carefully, "How different do you want your new life to be from your old?"

Her words seemed to have hit a small trigger, his eyes squinting in thought, the corner of his mouth twitching once, twice. He stared to his left, at nothing, just staring, as if he’s deep within himself for the moment, and his leg starts to bounce restlessly, ‘’It’s already different... But, I don’t know..’’

It was the first time she catches him struggling to express his thoughts that day, immediately knowing his answers would be as vague as their previous session. No, that wouldn't do. "Different because of any thing in particular?" Maybe his guilt? He was yet to answer her last question from yesterday. Seeing how his attention seemed to be elsewhere, she opens her palm on the table. "You can hold my hand if you need something to ground yourself, Taehyung!" She offers without thinking twice.

His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion at her words, until he looks down at her open palm on the table. He didn’t hear everything she said, he only caught when she called his name, and then suddenly, her hand was offered to him. What is this? She wanted him to hold her hand? Was this a test?... Did she like him? Taehyung’s fingers twitched, he slowly raised his hand as if considering to actually hold hers, but he hesitates, looking up at her, ‘‘I can...?’‘

She looks at him with her head slightly bent, urging him on silently with her eyes. "Yes, of course! I want you to hold my hand so you can ground yourself..." She states calmly, curling her fingers in a come hither motion as she smiles at him. It was clear he was lost in his head and if this would help, she was willing to do it for him. "We'll continue our conversation only when you're certain you're back here with me, okay?" Her voice is soft, as if soothing him back into reality.

He shuffles closer to sit on the edge, his large hand slowly wrapping around hers. She felt so delicate in his hand, and his heart skipped a beat. He exhaled through his nose, eyes fixed on the way his long fingers gently closed around her hand.

Carefully, she watches him place his hand upon hers before wrapping it around her dainty one, her gaze flashing up to his face to note his reaction. He seemed... content, for the lack of accurate words to explain the emotion in his eyes. She sits there in silence with his hand in hers, for how long, neither of them care. Smiling again, she softly squeezes the reassuring weight of his hand upon hers. "Feeling better, Taehyung?" She asks him once his eyes move back to rest upon her.

His eyes softened when he felt her squeeze his palm, and he wished this moment could last forever, not ready to ever let go of her. ‘’Can I look at your hand? Closer, I mean...’’

She flexes her fingers in his, knowing what she was doing wasn't exactly ethical in her practice. But he seemed like he needed someone to hold him, and all she could offer was her hand for now. Blinking back at the unexpectedness of his question, she hesitates a brief moment before nodding. "Sure you can... as long as you promise not to bite!" She jests in good nature, even if a part of her wonders why he was asking to look closer.

Taehyung smiles playfully, an eyebrow crooked up at her words. ‘’Deal,’’ he leans forward a little further, both of his hands holding hers. He treats her hands like they are fragile, delicately examining her flat palm facing him before the pads of his fingers trace the lines in her hand, his eyes focused on how soft her skin feels in his hand. To some, it might look like he’s doing some kind of palm reading, but in reality he just... really likes hands. And hers, they were an exquisite sight, and they felt even better.

She laughs faintly at his playfulness, brushing off the little voice in her head questioning her sanity in that very situation. He was only being curious, she told herself— almost like a child. Indulging him would cause no harm! Unless he really was guilty… Sighing at her own internal monologue, she wriggles her fingers again as she smiles up at him. "What are you looking for in my hand, Taehyung? Did you lose something there?"

He doesn’t look up at her, eyes still observing as he grabs her fingers between his index finger and thumb, bending it delicately back and forth, as if he’s fascinated with the way her flesh moves and bends beneath the skin. But to others, it looks like he’s just playing around. He nods before grabbing her hand inbetween both of his large palms, ‘’I just liked how fragile- I mean... I like the way your hand feels. It’s soft.’’

Her eyes still locked on all of his movements, she thinks he might not have heard her from the way he looks lost in examining the workings of her fingers. When he begins speaking again, the word fragile stands out, reminding her of his case file. A cold shiver passes down her spine, but she manages to school her expression before it shows. "It feels so soft because I don't do any of my household chores." Turning one of his hand over, she runs her fingers over it. "See, even yours is soft!"

Her touch ignites a fire beneath his skin, that travels further like a domino effect throughout his entire body. He recognized this feeling, and he wondered whether he should stop this. Stop, and not let this feeling grow. But then, the way her fingers smooth over his skin was almost erotic to him, and he didn’t want her to stop. His mouth parted slightly, a quiet exhale pushing through his lips at the feeling, nodding, ‘’Again.’’

She looks up at him with a stricken expression when he asks to be touched again. But the intensity behind his eyes reels her in without her even being aware of it and she begins tracing his palm longer this time, her touch nothing more than feather soft. "Like this?" Even as she asks, she runs the tip of her nails over each of the lines that crisscross along his palms with little pressure. At the feel of him shuddering, she slowly glances up at him with her lower lip caught between her teeth. "More, Taehyung?"

Taehyung closes his eyes, his chest heaving up and down slowly, but heavily. He licks his lips, focusing so hard on the feeling of your nails across his skin, this fire that he knew too well already taking over his body, as his next words just slip out like a sultry growl, ‘’I want more, you drive me mad...’’

Her breathing is equally hard, the sight of him coming undone at her mere touch all too sensual for her to handle. The entire purpose of her presence there slips from her mind somewhere between them getting lost in each other's hands. She gulps at the sound of raw need behind his growl and slowly loops her fingers through his while her other hand is still mindlessly drawing patterns over the sensitive skin of his palm. "How do you want me, Taehyung?" She dares to ask at last in a softer tone.

His eyes open, an intense gaze meeting hers as he drags his lower lip between his teeth, “I want you... on your knees, right here...” His eyes look down between his now spread apart legs, the obvious bulge leaving little to the imagination through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, “I want your soft hands on me.”

Trapped within his gaze and nowhere to run in the room that was locked from outside, she slowly stands up on trembling feet, throwing a cautious look over her shoulders at the door. This was wrong. So wrong. She keeps thinking despite sinking to her knees between his spread legs. Moving one of her hands to the prominent bulge in his pants, she squeezes it softly while looking up at him through her thick lashes. "Like this?" She squeezes harder again and then rubs over it, repeating her motions.

He gazes down at her with heavy eyes, a small smirk playing on his face as he crooks an eyebrow, licking his teeth, “Yes, just like that,” he nods, keeping his hands on his thighs, curling up his fists as he grasps the fabric of his pants, trying to keep his fingers to himself. He knows once he starts touching her , it could go any direction. It was too early. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge in the pleasures of having her willingly touch him, “More...” he repeats the same word once more, his possessive affection for her blooming faster than ever.

The situation had escalated way too quickly for her to even grasp it, but she pushes it to the back of her mind. For now, his heavy gaze upon her as she palmed him through his pants was enough to make her shirt stick to her skin from the raising heat around them. She pops a button open on her blouse before sneaking her hand into his pants at his needy demand, feeling his velvety length between her fingers. Her gaze moves up to hold his as she runs a nail from his base to the tip, to catch his reaction.

His burning gaze followed the movements of her unbuttoning her blouse just enough for him to let out a long exhale through his nose. He then focused his attention back down, feeling her nail scrape delicately across the skin of his length, his thighs almost vibrate underneath her, his cock twitches in anticipation, “Take it out...” It sounded more like a demand rather than begging, but it was laced with need.

Looking into his eyes that seemed like it wanted to devour her whole, she drags his throbbing length out of his pants at his needy whine. Even from the feel of him, she knows she'll be able to feel his curved tip all the way into her womb if she were ever to sink down on his pretty length. Shuddering at that thought, she runs her nail over his slit, gathering his precum as she goes before smearing it down his cock, slowly beginning to pump him between her soft hands. "Want more, Taehyung?"

Taehyung struggles to keep his hands to himself, but he’s mustering all his strength, clawing at his thighs as he moans quietly beneath her touch, ‘’Please,’’ His eyes are beginning to have a slightly crazed look to them as he watches how pretty and small her hands look compared to the size of his generous length, ‘’Put it in your mouth, please..’’

As much as she wants to tease and edge him on until he was writhing for her with nothing but her name on his lips, she knew they didn't have enough time. His pleas will have to do for today. Giving his throbbing length a few more drawn out pumps, she kisses the slit, moaning softly at his taste as she lets the tip of her tongue graze it. Opening her mouth wider, she locks her gaze with his while lowering her mouth to swallow him in painfully slow, swirling her tongue as she went along.

Taehyung’s jaw fell open, breathing out heavy, low vibrating groans as he watches his cock disappear between her lips, ‘’So pretty... Prettier than anybody-y ah..’’ His sentence broke into a whimper. He’s had his cock sucked before, but with her, it felt new and foreign, his hyper responsive senses causing his hips to twitch. He wanted to fuck her mouth so badly, but the torture of holding himself back from grasping her hair was another turn on in itself. If you are patient, and wait for something good, the wait will always be worth it.

A part of her feels smug as he is reduced to broken whimpers from her mere touch, such a breathtaking mess to watch despite his immense self control. She wanted to see him lose it though, and touch her the same way she was worshipping him. Stopping when she feels his cock hit the back of her throat, she gives herself a minute to breathe through her nose. Pulling him out halfway, she pushes the skin around his head down until she could suck on it sharply and repeats it till she feels him twitch.

Taehyung was struggling to keep himself collected, his hips starting to buck into her mouth, hands moving an inch closer to her body, but he harshly grips his pants too hard he almost rips through the fabric, ‘’I want to touch you so badly....’’ He breathes out darkly, ‘’But if I do, I can’t control--’’ He breaks into another moan and throws his head back, continuing to move his hips.

When he begins to buck into her mouth, she sucks him in until her cheeks hollow out making obscene noise. At his stuttering words, she unwillingly pulls him out of her mouth. "What if..." She pants deeply, trying to form the right words as her hands pump him steadily. "I want to see you lose it Tae— your carefully constructed control. Don't hold back!" Diving back instantly, she swallows him once again, her other hand moving to toy with his balls as she waits to see if he'd follow her words.

Taehyung screws his eyes shut for a moment, gritting his teeth to muffle the curses that slip through his lips. She wanted it, she wanted it... Could he really give in to his true self? Last time he did, it put him in here. With her as his therapist. Maybe it was fate, he was always supposed to find her, who actually wanted him to show himself for who he was. She cared. He felt like he could trust her, and he really didn’t want to hurt her... Not that much.

‘‘You’re so— shit..’‘ His eyes fly open, his pupils dilated with lust until they were almost blackened, his stare that of a possessive man as he gives in to his desires. His hands travelling to caress her hair, the hair he’s been admiring, and it felt just the way he imagined it, so silky and soft between his fingers. ‘‘You’re everything.’‘ He inhales deeply, his grasp in her hair tightening, pulling at her scalp until it almost burns as he forces her to take his cock deeper.

At his muffled mewls, she rubs her thighs together feeling her own arousal swell. But she ignores it in favour of watching his lust blown eyes focus solely upon her, as if she was the only thing he needed to exist and ruin in the same breath. His reverent touches does nothing to fool her, she knows a madman's eyes when she sees one. Bracing herself on his thighs, she sucks in deeply before he painfully tugs at her hair, thrusting himself back in all the way until her eyes tear up from the stretch.

‘‘Choke on it,’‘ He growls quietly. He didn’t want to be too loud, knowing there were guards outside of the room. His fingers curled around her hair as he starts to control her movements, using her mouth like a toy to fuck his cock into as he wishes. He takes notice of the tears welling up in her eyes, a tint of red in the whites of them from the lack of oxygen, and it sends him one step closer into his madness. He fucking loves the submissive look on her face.

An instant flush travels down her body from his growl, making her core clench. But that wasn't where her trained mind was. When she had asked him to lose it, he had merely found an object, her instead, to control, which begins a series of alarm bells in her head. As she loses her ability to breathe, she suddenly knows why those victims of his ended up dead. In her desperation, she sinks her nails into his thighs, hoping he'd let her go before she faints or worse, add on to his list.

Her nails digging into his thighs only adds to his pleasure, his grip in her hair like iron as he forces her back down on his cock, tears and spit everywhere. His gaze was like ice, eyebrows tightly drawn together as he feels his orgasm creep up on him quickly. ‘’Just— a little more. A little more...Your nose, breathe through your nose.’’ He reminds her while a voice in the back of his mind tells him to stop. It was too much, she was going to pass out if he didn’t stop, or worse, kill her, but it felt too good.

At the feel of his cock twitching inside her mouth, she knows he's deriving pleasure from both his and her pain, making her tears flow freely seeing no escape. A hand claws it's way up, digging itself into his hand as she struggles to breathe through her nose like he instructs. Little more... she fights to hold on to her slipping conscious, sensing his muscles go taut beneath her touch, she instantly moves her other hand to seize his balls. The sooner he got his release, the better for her.

A low, guttural moan vibrated in Taehyung’s chest as the familiar heat pooling in his lower abdomen reaches him, his hips stilling beneath her as he cums, ‘’F-fuck, ye-ees...’’ He growls, his cock pulsating in her mouth as the sticky warmth shoots down her throat. His grip in her hair almost instantly loosens, his body relaxing against the couch as he slouches, chest heaving up and down heavily.

If she could sigh in relief, she would. As soon as she feels his cum shooting down her throat, she greedily swallows it all along with a few desperate inhales of air through her nose. The moment his grip goes lax, she pushes herself off his thighs and falls back on the floor, gasping loudly as her cheeks slowly regain their colour. Her throat feels raw and her chest hurts badly every time she breathes in, but she forces her way up from the floor carefully turned away from his panting form.

As if a switch flipped, Taehyung came back to reality. He pulled his pants back up as he got off his seat, taking one step closer to her form on the ground. “Hey,” he whispers, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Guilt. He didn’t want to lose control, but she asked him to... begged him to.

Hearing the chair squeak as he stands up, she quickly scrambles to her feet to put more distance between them. Wiping her face with the back of her hands, she slowly begins inching towards her bag that was resting next to the table. Raising a hand at his whisper though, she stops him in his tracks. "Don't—" She croaks through her abused throat. "Don't you dare... come any closer!" Her eyes stay on the ground, not willing to meet his after seeing him go insane as she stumbles towards the table.

Taehyung stops, his hand falling down to his side, still keeping his eyes on her, ‘’I... I--’’ He grew frustrated, ‘’You asked me to do it...I shouldn’t  have.’’

Grabbing her bag, she pulls her bottle out of it before desperately chugging half of it down to soothe her throat. Once done, she braces herself against the chair still wheezing as her eyes snap up to meet his, forgetting her earlier woes. "I asked you to fuck yourself. Not fucking kill me!" Her words were crude and harsh, but she feels little to no care. Her eyes flicker down to his case file still laying untouched on the table. "Is that— is this what happened to them, Taehyung? Is this why they're dead?"

Taehyung’s expression was sombre, eyes following her gaze to look at the casefile. He sits back down in the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped together. The very same position he was in the first time they met, ‘’It’s...’’ The way she threw her words at him made him flinch, ‘’I didn’t want to hurt you.’’

Her eyes follow each of his movements, not understanding why her heart aches when he collapses down on the chair after what he did to her. As much as the sane part of her tells her to run while she still can, her medically trained brain fails to see its rationality. He was still her patient who needs her help. Right now, he wasn't the man who tried to hurt her. Sighing miserably, she steps closer to him. "Hey... I know you didn't mean to— it's... okay!" It wasn't. But that was not what he needed to hear right now.

Taehyung looks up at her, keeping his hands tightly clasped together, as if he’s holding his own hand to keep himself grounded. ‘’Did you... want to do it? Why did you ask me to lose control?’’

Her gaze swivels between his clasped hands to hers, remembering how they'd started it all innocently. Pressing a palm to the table, she slumps down into the chair still keeping her distance from him. "I did... Of course, I wanted to do it!" She pauses briefly before glancing up at him with her puffy eyes. "I didn't know you'd... Taehyung, you didn't lose control. You chose to control me instead..." And he damn well took sick pleasure from the crazed look in his eyes. "There's a difference!"

Taehyung started rocking back and forth again, eyes flickering between hers, “I’m not bad.” He convinced himself of this. He wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t the person in the case files. That was somebody else inside of him.

Right there, her first real evidence of his mental illness— his split personality. Without breaking their eye contact, she stands up on unsteady feet taking slow steps towards him, as if approaching a caged animal. "No, you're not bad..." She repeats after him in as much a soothing voice she could manage despite her tender throat. "That wasn't you." She hesitates to kneel before him, fearing it'd be a trigger. "Remember? This is just a dark cloud. It will pass soon and the daffodils will bloom!"

Taehyung intertwines his fingers, as if holding himself tightly, eyes following her every movement. He didnt want to startle her, but oh did he want to hold her. "Are you going to tell them? Are you gonna... stop seeing me?" He didnt care whether or not he was gonna end up free or caged. He just wanted to see her. He didnt want her to leave.

Her heart constricts at the distress in his tone and she moves even closer, letting her shaky fingers reach his hair to soothe it down in reassurance. "I'll tell them in my own way..." She couldn't write down what happened in her report, but she could always omit it out now that she had a diagnosis. Pushing his messy locks out of his eyes, her other hand goes to tilt his chin up to face her. "And who will treat you if I stop coming here? I'm not going anywhere until those flowers of yours bloom."

He genuinely smiles at her words, his hands relaxed in his lap. He dared to let his fingers reach up to gently caress the back of her hand that held his chin, “Thank you.” A knock on the door insinuated that time was up for today’s session, and Taehyungs smile fell. He didn’t want her to leave. She was his daffodil. And not knowing what she was going to do about what happened today made him feel anxious. Maybe she'd keep seeing him, maybe she was just lying to keep him satisfied, then telling them he’s guilty? Or would she deem him as mentally insane, and throw him away to the doctors? The next step was in her hands.

She returns his smile with an unsettled one of her own, that disappears the moment there's another loud knock on the metal door. Shuffling back from him, she smoothes her hair down and runs a hand over her face, looking down at Taehyung. "Do I look okay?" She cannot step out there looking like a mess, making anyone question what happened in there or even suspect a thing. Buttoning her blouse back up as she keeps her eyes on him, "Tae— no one can know what happened here today. Promise me?"

‘‘I promise, if you promise to come back.’‘ Taehyung ran his hand through his hair, a small smile on his lips as he eyes her up and down, ‘‘You look beautiful.’‘

Tsking her tongue at his need to bargain, "I won't be allowed to come back ever if you tell them the truth." She turns to grab her bag, realizing a second later how blunt her words might have sounded. He didn't need that right now, especially not from her. Forcing a smile upon her lips, "Thank you! I promise I'll be back. I might have a way to help you, but I need to discuss the legalities of it with your lawyer. I'll see you tomorrow." She casts one last look at him before leaving promptly.

Taehyung didn’t answer, and quietly observed as she left. Shortly after, the guards came in and cuffed him before leading him to his cell.

That night, Taehyung couldn’t stop thinking about her, even moreso difficult than the previous night. He now knew what she felt like, what she smelled like... The way her tears streamed down her face mixed with drool, struggling for air while choking on his cock— ‘‘Fuck,’‘ He hissed through gritted teeth, one arm placed over his eyes as he laid on his back in the bed, the other occupied with touching himself, thinking of his doctor.

Paraphilia. There was no other easy way to put this down on his report. It wasn't just his split personality, but his sadistic approach to intercourse that bordered on getting off from his partner's pain which led to the murders— she felt sick to even type it down. She can only imagine how he must've felt. The police had found him at the scene of the crime after all. After a long winded discussion with his lawyer, it was decided they'd plead guilty without any criminal charges.

She'd suggest a combined treatment of drugs and behavioural therapy at the facility she worked at so she'd be able to treat him herself for however long they sentenced him into rehabilitation. Content with her work, she found herself making her way back to the prison the next day to share the news with Taehyung. Seeing how the guard was already at his post outside, looking bored, she knew he'd be waiting for her. It was time to keep her promise. She steps in with a smile, "Hi Taehyung!"

Taehyung was anxiously waiting for her to arrive, biting the skin of his fingers. As she finally walks in through the door, chiming his name out with a smile, he straightens up his posture, unable to stop the boxy smile of his own to curl on his lips, ‘‘You came!’‘

"Of course, I did." Leaving her bag on the floor, she turns to him still standing. "I don't break my promises, and I might have found a way to help you!" She finishes, with her gaze intently watching every emotion flickering across his eyes while edging into her chair sideways as she continues. "But before that, I need to know how you're feeling after uh— yesterday?" It was the first time she refuses to meet his eyes in all of their interactions, her eyes lowered as if in shyness but not quite.

Taehyung takes a deep breath, leaning back against the couch as he tries to meet her eyes, but she was purposefully averting them. However he felt a small sense of pride in this, feeling like he’s got a small amount of power of her since yesterday, ‘‘I’m okay. Hm... what about you?’‘

Busying herself with pulling the report and her faithful notepad out, she hums evasively. "Been good... Any problems with sleeping again?" It wasn't fear or any need to be submissive. But seeing his eyes spark with life on many occasions, she'd gotten so used to them that it truly shook her when she witnessed their lifeless dark depths rivetted upon her during whatever it was that happened between them. This was her own way stopping herself before it gets any worse. He was just her patient.

Taehyung shrugged, he wasn’t sure if he ever slept well these days, maybe he was just used to it, so he just didn’t know. ‘’I guess so... I don’t sleep much in general.’’

As much as she wanted to continue on with the trajectory he provided, there was an elephant in the room that she needed to address first. Letting her eyes trail over his form, she finally meets his gaze with regret filling hers. "Taehyung, about yesterday, I owe you an apology for behaving so... unprofessionally and compelling you to do something you clearly didn't want to. I don't know what got into me. I've never— I just wanted you to know I'm genuinely sorry and it'll never happen again!"

Taehyung crossed his arms over his chest, the default position of holding himself, eyes flickering between hers as his head tilted vaguely, ‘’It won’t..?’’ In this case, he meant the situation at all. Did she regret getting down on him? Or did she regret triggering him? He wasn’t sure, and at this point he didn’t want to dig too deeply into it, anxious that he’d scare her off. He couldn’t afford to, especially not when there’s news of him possibly getting out of prison.

When she catches him crossing his arms, she sighs knowing the tell tale signs of suppressing ones true emotions. "It won't." She repeats firmly as if looking down upon a petulant child, her frustrations growing from the amount of whiplash this one man was giving her. "In your own best interest and mine, it's only proper that I remain as your therapist and nothing more, ever." Pushing a new file towards him, "It contains my diagnosis on you. You're welcome to read it if you want or I could summarize it for you."

Taehyung squinted, his gaze lingering on her as if he’s trying to find the lie. No, she was serious. She meant it. He hummed noncomittedly as he grabbed the file, flipping through the pages with his eyebrows drawn together. He didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes on the words on the paper, that apparently were about him,‘‘Yeah, if you could... summarize, that’d be great.’‘

Leaning back in her chair at his request, she hides her surprise at his nonchalance about the nature of their relationship. Wasn't this exactly what she wanted though? "You've been diagnosed with split personality and paraphilia, which is something like sexual sadism but to the extreme. Your lawyer, Jim—Mr. Park," she corrects herself, "—thinks this report would be enough to plead guilty without any criminal charges. I have detailed your treatment in there too. You'll be under my care in the hospital."

Taehyung’s eyebrow twitches when she almost mentions his lawyer by first name. Were they two close? He didn’t like that at all. But that was for another time ‘‘Hospital...?’‘ He squints at the words on his paper, looking at the treatment section, ‘‘That’s a lot of medication... Do I have to take it? Isn’t therapy enough?’‘

Wondering if the flash of anger on his face was due to the mention of hospital, she quickly seeks to appease him. "Yes, its the facility I work at. They're not going to completely release you until I find the underlying reason for your illness and treat you back to sound mental health..." Peeking over at the long list of medication he was looking at, she winces apologetically. "We treat certain cases with a combination of drugs and behavioural therapy. I'd reduce the dosage as time goes on. But for now, I'm afraid you need it, Taehyung!"

Taehyung puts the file back on the table, his eyes now back on her as he leans forward with his hands clasped together, ‘’Okay. I’ll do it.’’ He figured this was the best way for now, better than prison. He had to be there for himself to be able to plan out what he has to do, but he’s sure he can reduce the time there quickly, if he’s on his best behavior, and if the nurses were not as strict as he expects them to be... Skipping those meds would be a piece of cake.

Casting him a mildly suspicious look at his all too quick acceptance, she leans forward in his chair. "It's not a matter of your willingness, but the court's verdict in your next hearing. Until then, we continue with our therapy here." As much as she was positive it'd all work out in the end, she didn't want to feed him too much hope. "And Taehyung, I'll be your doctor there! Don't even think you can trick me or my assistants when you're under our care." She warns, taking the file back from him.

‘‘Of course... You can trust me, doctor.’‘ He smiled, but in the back of his head he was cursing. He’d have to figure this out as time went on. But for now, he had to lay low and cooperate. He remained silent leaning back to get comfortable, hands neatly clasped in his lap.

"I dearly hope I can." She mutters under her breath with a slight curve of her lips. Stacking the papers together, she clips it all back in the file as she speaks. "I'll leave it to Jimin to fill you in on the rest of the details about your next hearing. I'll be there before, to give my word as well." Putting everything away, she finally faces him ready to begin their session. "So, we can start from where we left off yesterday. Wh—" She realizes a minute too late, what that'd imply, her face instantly flushing at the memory.

Taehyung's eye twitches at the first name basis she calls his lawyer by once more. This time she didn’t even tries to stop herself. His jaw clenches, but he wills himself to relax once more. He crooked an eyebrow at her last words, and her reaction only made him feel a stir in his lower abdomen at the memory. Behave, Taehyung. “Let’s... where did we leave this at? Remind me.” He wanted to pressure her a bit. It’s the least he could do to get rid of his slowly building jealousy of Jimin.

Her gaze snaps up to meet his at the not so subtle demand, only to find the familiar darkness swirling around its depths. This weird affliction of hers with Taehyung will be the death of her, she decides. Sliding forward in her seat, she speaks in a softer tone, her earlier embarrassment forgotten. "Oh? You'd like that wouldn't you? For me to remind you..." Her voice turns into a whisper with her eyes tracing over his features. "Then how about a reminder of today morning when I told you it's never happening again, Taehyung?"

His lips curl up in a wolfish grin, he was trying so hard to behave. He was going to mess this up again if she kept spurring him on like this. First, she calls his lawyer by his first name. Second, she dares to whisper to him in that manner and within the same moment, reject him? Behave, Taehyung. “I don’t believe you.” Fuck, shut up, he told himself. But the darker part of him didn’t give a rats ass.

Wrong move. At the sight of his predatory grin, she admonishes herself for feeding into his desires when she's supposed to be doing the opposite as his therapist. She's about to pull away and apologize again, but his words bring her to a standstill. Blinking at the obvious challenge in his gaze, she resists the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Fine. What should I do to prove it to you?" She just had to show it to him she wasn't as affected by him as she really was, and then they can put this entire thing behind them.

His devilish smile grew, the boxy shape of his lips more prominent now. Taehyung slumped down on the couch more comfortably, resting his head back, his eyes were growing colder, piercing through her as his gaze drank her in like she was a fine meal. ‘’Watch me,’’ He smirked, licking his upper teeth in a teasing manner, his hand slowly trailing down his chest towards the hem of his pants, ‘’If you watch me touch myself, and you remain unaffected throughout... If you don’t want me at all while watching me, I'll believe you.’’

The satisfaction in his eyes makes it clear that he had her exactly where he wanted her, slyly caught in his web. Furrowing her brows in confusion, she's about to demand what he meant when she sees his hand inch towards his pant. Her eyes flicker between his hand and his burning gaze, nodding once firmly at his words. She'd just have to pretend to be unaffected. Sighing deeply, she drives her own bargain. "Okay. And if I remain unaffected, swear to me you'll never bring this up again?"

Taehyung chuckles breathily, his hand sneaking beneath his pants to directly touch himself, “Promise. And, if you really want me to stop, just say the word...” He moaned lowly, getting harder underneath the fabrics.

Her mouth parts slightly at his breathy words, his moan affecting her almost instantly making some wetness trickle against her underwear. "No. Go ahead!" She replies in a calm voice, her eyes fixed on him and each of his actions, appearing nonchalant despite the havoc he was beginning to cause in her body.

He sees the way she looks at him, even if her words speak differently. And this way, he could engage with her in the way he so much craved, but didn’t want to risk anything by actually touching her. Not yet. So, this will do. Her eyes will be enough for his inner exhibitionist to thrive off of the audience. All he needs is to get her hot and bothered, without laying a single finger on her.

She can feel the heat raise between her legs, but she resolutely keeps them apart, denying herself any kind of friction by crossing them and giving him the gratification of seeing her lose.

Taehyung lets a breathy moan push through his lips once more, using his other hand to pull his pants down further, taking his length out for her to see. He ran his thumb over his slit, spreading his clear juices down his tip before slowly stroking his cock for her, eyes never once leaving hers. “I love feeling your eyes on me, doctor.” His voice was growing needy, teeth clamping down on his lower lip to put on a show.

Her breath almost seizes when he pulls his rock hard length out. She can still feel the phantom weight of it between her fingers; still remember how deep he went when he used her throat so carelessly. Her core clenches around nothing at the mere memory, a muted gasp leaving her lips when he drawls her name out in his deep voice, causing more slick to pool between her thighs. Her fingers clasp on to the edge of her chair trying not to show how affected she was, despite knowing she has already lost.

“See what you to do me?” Taehyung squeezes his shaft firmly within his grasp. His red, swollen tip leaking with precum, he smooths his hand over his thick length, gathering the juices to spread it down his cock until it was glistening with a layer of his arousal. “Fuck, what I’d do to have you sit on it...” He was slow, but deliberate with his motions, aiming to tease her with visuals that’ll be burned into her memory.

She visibly gulps at his question, no longer worried about hiding how the fire in his gaze burns in her own while he was edging her on without even a single touch or graze of skin. Grinding her teeth together, she bites into the insides of her cheek as he strokes his swollen length when she wants nothing but to sink down on it instead and clinch hard until he can barely move inside her. Her breath leaves her in a whoosh and she opens her mouth before she can stop herself. "Ask for it... beg."

Taehyung groans lowly at her words, his hips gently bucking up into his hand. This felt too fucking good. He knows she was entranced by him, he fucking knows that she wants nothing else than to do as he says. But she was holding back, the sexual tension in the room making it hard to breathe, “Please, doctor,” his pleas were interrupted by a moan escaping his lips when he squeezed his shaft, “I want you... please, sit on my cock, fuck me.”

Some semblance of clarity returns to her at his pleading voice. It might not seem like it, but she knew she had a significant amount of power over him—at least in that instance. Shaking her head without taking her eyes off him, she slides off her chair and moves closer, toying with the hem of her skirt tauntingly but still staying out of his grasping range. "Three more strides and I could be on your lap, fucking you deep and hard. But why should I, Taehyung? Why should I after what happened yesterday?"

Taehyung almost whines at her words, his eyes never once wavering from the way she was playing with the hem of her skirt. He keeps stroking himself to the view, his eyebrows drawn together in sexual frustration. If she wouldn’t give in to him soon, he would almost consider whether or not he cares if he ends up in prison for simply taking her right then and there. And it was all too tempting. ‘‘I didn’t mean to... please fuck me, you’re driving me crazy...’‘

Physically feeling it when the darkness begins creeping into the molten heat of his eyes, she hastens to remedy the situation. Taking a step closer to Taehyung, "You cannot touch me unless I ask you to." Another step, "You don't get to come until I say you can." One last step, she tilts his head up with a finger beneath his chin. "Promise me you won't hurt me again and I'll fuck you?" Her gaze alternates between his scorching eyes and throbbing length, anticipating his reply with bated breath.

Taehyung licks his lips, ceasing to touch himself to let his hands fall limp to his sides, ‘’Yes, yes, I promise,’’ He felt desperate for her, his entire body burning with need to feel her slick heat. Her mouth was already his favourite thing, so he couldn’t even begin to imagine how good her cunt would feel. Now, he promised her he'd not to hurt her. But the little voice in the back of his mind laughed, fingers crossed. He wanted to be good, to show her he’s good. This was a true battle within his mind.

Feeling satisfied with his vocal promise, she reaches beneath her skirt giving him a full view of what lay there, and tugs her ruined underwear off her legs before climbing over his lap. Bracing her knees on either side of his thighs, she picks his hot length in her hand and rubs his swollen head against her dripping folds. "Feel that? See how wet you make me without even touching me, Taehyung?" She breathes against his mouth, her other hand tracing his cheek as she pins him with her eyes.

He’s speechless, his eyes dimmed with lust as they are completely fixated on hers. He nods once, to confirm that she was indeed so fucking wet for him. The familiar fire that spreads throughout his body is ignited, and he curls his fists tightly as he grasps the couch. Do not touch her, Taehyung. Do not touch her.. Touch her, touch... No, she’s in control.

"Use your words!" She reminds him in a whisper, with her lips grazing his and her breathing labored as her eyes roam over his features this close for the first time ever. He looked exquisite with his scorching gaze transfixed upon her. Her thumb traces his lower lip teasingly, wondering how different his mouth would taste from his cock. Giving in to the temptation, she presses her lips against his and sinks down on him at the same time, the sudden stretch making her gasp aloud into his mouth.

Taehyung’s lips part, mirroring her gasp, ‘’Oh my God...’’ He groaned out lowly, a quiet growl vibrating in his chest. This was overwhelming for his senses, how deeply she affected him and awoke every single fibre of his being. It felt like he was on fire beneath his skin, desperately clawing at the fabric of the couch, knuckles turning white. He wanted to flip her over and fuck her dumb with her face pressed down against the couch so so badly... But he promised her. Just fuck her raw, you know you want to.  He shook his head, his eyes screwing shut, ‘’I’m good. I’m good.’’ He wasn’t talking to her, but to the voice in his head.

Trailing her lips across his cheek and down to his neck, she whimpers burying her face in there. She was right. She could feel his length easily hit her crevix in this angle, stretching her slick walls more than anyone ever had before. It felt like she was made just for him.

Once the initial pain subsides, she raises herself on her knees and sinks down again, welcoming the delicious burn with a throaty moan. "Yes... God! You're good. You're so good to me, Taehyung." She mumbles into his neck, slowly rocking her hips over his, getting used to being filled to the brim.

Threading her fingers into his messy hair, she tugs it back to expose his neck to her greedy lips, nipping and licking along the skin until she reaches his parted mouth. Backing away to look down at him, she hides her disappointment at his closed eyes, choosing to test his restraint instead. "Taehyung... Kiss me."

His eyes slowly open, and the expression on her face was something he could only dream of. Taehyung's head was screaming at him once more, to just fucking take over, and it was probably the most restraint he's ever held against the temptations. As long as she didn't push him further, he would be fine. He wouldn't hurt her... but God, did he want to? He obliged to her wishes, craning his neck to chase her lips with his own, the soft warmth of her lips drawing groans and moans from him, mixed with the feeling of her moving up and down his fat length.

Normally, he would be the one to dirty talk a whole lot more, but he kept his mouth busy with hers, focusing his entire self on keeping himself restrained, his nails almost digging holes into the couch at this point.

She moans against his lips, licking into his mouth as she deepens their kiss, groaning as his taste floods her senses. She could feel his potent hunger for her, so intense bordering on insanity and the masochist in her found it all too tempting to just give in.

Increasing her pace, she bounces on his lap in a wild frenzy, clenching down on his girth hard every time she plunged down on his cock. She could almost feel her high. Almost. Yet, not quite.

Something was missing. Whining in frustration, she pulls away from his mouth and cups his cheeks to make him look at her. She needed his touch to cum even if she knew it was a dangerous thing to even think about. "God... I want your touch so badly. You want it too, don't you?" Laying open mouthed kisses on his jaw, she whispers into his skin. "Make me cum, Tae... Please."

Right there and then, it was like the switch inside of him flipped, the little strength he had left to resist his greedy desires completely washed away from her words. She asked for it, she truly did.

The voice in the back of his head suddenly grew louder, needier. ''Yeah? You need me to make you cum, huh?'' His low, vibrating voice growled out, his hands wasting no time in grabbing her ass, and squeezing the flesh between his fingers so hard, his blunt nails would definitely leave marks,

''Shit, I've wanted you to say that since the very second you came in that door,'' He moaned out in pleasure, using his strength to lift her from his cock just to roughly slam her back down, his hips bucking up to meet her hips, the impact so hard that his bulbous tip is kissing her cervix with every snap.

''Fuck! You feel so fucking good, so fucking gooood...'' His eyes were dimmed in lust and his growing craze for her, the lifeless yet lustful stare blackened out. He wasn't gonna stop, whether she was too sensitive or not, whether she came several times or not. No, he wouldn't stop until he was satisfied.

Her body shudders violently at the sound of his growl, a terrified squeak leaving her lips regardless of the excitement she feels at the brutal press of his fingers against her flesh. "Yes, God... yes!" She whimpers, her pleasure edging on pain once he begins pounding up into her in his relentless pursuit of bliss— more his than hers, she realizes as her eyes tear up from his harsh pace.

Loosening her legs around him, she completely surrenders into his unforgiving touch, mewling lowly when he hits so deep that she could feel him in her womb. "Don't... don't stop please... Fuck!" She bends forward, burrowing her face into his neck, nipping at the soft skin before latching on to it with her teeth, determined to give him equal pain as her fingers work through his shirt buttons to feel his hot skin beneath her palms. One more ruthless thrust of his hips against hers, his pelvis digging hard into her swollen clit and she cums, her body almost seizing at the intensity of her orgasm as she begins almost sobbing his name aloud when he doesn't stop.

“Came already?” He smiles wickedly, but quickly that smile morphs into gritted teeth as he keeps grunting and growling, her fleshy walls spasming around his fat length so perfectly. He had stamina for days, he could fuck her forever if he had the ability to choose, but he knows that with the way she whimpers and sobs his name, he wouldn’t last much longer either. He roughly throws her body down against the couch head first, one hand on the back of her neck pushing her pretty face against the fabrics of the cushion and the other lifting her ass up for him as he gets on his knees behind her, mercilessly advancing his hips back into her clenching hole, skin slapping skin loudly.

She removes her teeth from his neck, her breasts heaving harshly, trying to get some air into her lungs when he unexpectedly pushes her onto the couch. She knew she'd awakened the beast when she asked to be touched, but this— he thrusts back into her without warning, making her sob loudly at the unwelcome intrusion

“You’re a fucking whore for my fat cock, aren’t you?!” His voice was low, almost mocking yet laced with his animalistic greed for her body, utterly lost in his madness, pistoning his cock into her like it was his mission to tear her cunt apart, “You wanted this, you begged for this, fuck— it feels so good, Shit!”.

Her core, still ultra sensitive from her previous orgasm, aches painfully when his still hard as rock length rips through her insides. She digs her nails into the couch, her jaws wide open in a silent scream as he rams his cock in over and over again, taking her like a savage. He was right. She was a whore for his cock. A masochist, addicted to this dark side of him— her own personal piece of hell for the sins she was committing. Soon, a trickle of pleasure begins winding its way from her wrecked womb even through the agony and she grips her walls harder against his cock, hoping he'd spill inside her before actually tearing her apart.

Taehyung kept up a brutal phase, relishing in the choked sobs and silent screams. If a soul could be on fire, his was melting inside of him, the heat pooling in his lower abdomen in the form of an upcoming orgasm. He was gonna cum so fucking hard, all because of her. In his own mind, it feels like he’s claiming her body as his own,

“You are mine, you hear that?!” He snarls as he grew bored of the current position, desperate to see her face. With a swift movement of his strong hands, he once more flips her over like a ragdoll until she was laying on her back, pressing her legs up so far that her knees are adjacent to her head, still plunging his cock into her cunt. This new angle feels even better, abusing her tight insides like his life depended on it,

Right when she believed there would be relief, Taehyung once again proves her wrong by tossing her around and forcing himself inside her violated cunt without any mercy. She feels him go even deeper in this angle, as if it were even possible. She presses the back of her hand to her lips, to keep from sobbing aloud and drawing attention from anyone outside.

“Tell me, doctor”, he moans out with a voice just as strained, his eyes heavy as he stares down at her fucked out state, rocking his hips back and forth with long, firm strokes, “Tell me you’re mine!”

Each time he slams into her, it's as if he wants to infuse himself within her; as if he wants to ruin her for anyone else— her other hand digs painfully onto his arms that holds her down, her toes curling as she feels another orgasm approaching. "Y—yes Taehyung, yes..." She gives into his demand immediately, her voice unwavering. "All yours! I'm yours... only yours." She mumbles over and over again, pushing the side of her face against the couch when it all gets too much to hold back and she cums again, which hurts more than the pleasure she feels as her abused insides grip him tight.

''Y/N,'' Taehyung moans out her name, his hips rocketing into her, phase quickening as he feels like he's gonna go fucking crazy at the wet, squelching noises he draws from her cunt with every stroke driving him insane with how good it feels. When she cums once more on his cock with the squeezing spasms of her walls, the orgasm he's been dying to reach finally reaches him, ''I'm gonna cum! Fuck yes—'' He thrusts into her rapidly clenching pussy a few more times before he grunts, falling forward on top of her body with his elbows placed on each side of her head, letting her legs fall freely to his sides. He hovers with his face above hers, sweat causing his overgrown fringe to stick to his face, eyes closed as he holds their spasming bodies tightly together, savouring the feeling of his throbbing cock spilling his cum deep inside of her.

At the first spurt of his thick cum into her tortured core, a wave of relief washes over her knowing he was done with her for now. Her limbs fall lifelessly on to the couch, despite wanting to push him off her and tell him not to cum inside her. Knowing him, he might not react well to it and she didn't wish to stoke the beast when it seemed satiated at long last. She was probably going to be sore for days, and maybe that had been his plan along.

Finally, she pries open her eyes and blinks up at him through her tears, her body still shaking with occasional tremors every time his warm seed squirts into her womb as if he hasn't filled her up enough. As much as she was upset with him for reducing her to this sobbing mess, she knew she had it coming from the very moment she allowed him to touch her, well aware that she was feeding into his obsession with her.

Taehyung felt himself come back down to reality, in a sense, when the loud monster within him seemed to retreat back into the corners of his soul, satiated for the moment. His gaze traces her features, a glorious mess, knowing he did this to her. But only because she begged him to, she taunted him to. He had absolutely loved it, her submissive sounds, her small body underneath his own, all for him to use. He loved her.

Lifting her slightly trembling hands up to his face, she pushes his sweaty locks off his eyes, content to see the life shining in there once again as opposed to the darkness they were shrouded with not minutes ago. Tracing a thumb under his eyes, "Are you happy?" She breathes out, still struggling to get proper air flow into her lungs. "I lied… I want you just as much as you want me, Tae."

His eyes flickered between hers at her words, as if trying to find the lie. But he couldn’t see it. He wasn’t sure. So he chose to believe her, and a small smile inched his lips upwards, he took the opportunity to kiss her softly on her lips, this one so gentle and affectionate in contrast to what he’d just done to her. “I love you.” He slipped out, merely a raspy whisper, but it was his truth. He slowly got off her body, pulling her along with him as he sat down, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, gently stroking her hair, “You’re my flower, my Daffodil!"

She observes him carefully in this quiet between them, his eyes gliding down her exhausted form still pinned beneath under his body. The wickedness was long gone from his gaze, replaced with uncertainty at her words which soon morphs into undeniable trust weakening her own resolve against giving in to him.

And so, she lets him kiss her, the soft caress of his smiling lips against hers a complete contradiction of his treatment earlier, making her heart tighten in an unnamed emotion. It is only when he utters those three little words, the very last thing she ever expected to hear from him, her entire body freezes up with a muted gasp slipping past her lips.

She lets him pick her off the couch, embrace her lovingly, and even go as far as calling her his flower while the panic slowly sets in her tensed form. It was only his obsession that he was mistaking for love, she was convinced. But how to explain it to him after everything she let him do to her.

Squirming in his hold, she pulls back slightly to look up at him with her bewildered eyes. "Taehyung... No! You— you barely know me for three days. This is not love..." It was merely their carnal desires, making them indulge in each other. "And I'm just your therapist. Not your flower... no..." She whispers softly as if to a wounded animal that could strike her at any moment if she made one wrong move.

His smile faded, eyebrows drawn together at her words, as if hes trying to process the meaning behind them, "You're not just my therapist." He sits up properly, helping her to do the same next to him, "You're mine. You said it yourself.. " he leaned closer to her face, eyes squinting, "I dont understand you...." his jaw clenched, as if trying to stay calm, but he feels the small frustration building inside.

He couldnt understand why she would keep giving in to him physically, but withdraw when he brings his emotions into the picture. He loved her, so what? He had already made his decision. And there's nothing that could change his mind.

She winces when he moves her upright, her skirt rubbing uncomfortably against her swollen cunt. Taking a deep breath and willing the pain away, she glances up to see his unhappy face. "Taehyung..." She tries again in the same placating tone she used before. "I said that in the heat of the moment." Because that's exactly what he wanted to hear from her even if she didn't mean it. Although, she decides not to say it outloud and incense him further.

"This thing between us is not love. We had needs. You wanted me. I did too, I wanted you. But that's just it! Consider this like uh... a kind of behavioural therapy to help you." She tries not to cringe at her own words. None of what she's saying makes sense to her either. She was usually better than this at explaining things, emotions or the lack of it to people. But her brain struggles to cooperate as she trails her eyes over his tense form in concern. Maybe she should've just let him say it without saying anything back— only, that would be akin to leading him on which would've been worse. Sighing heavily, she tries to pull away from him completely. "There's nothing left here to understand. I shouldn't have let any of this happen from the start! It's all my fault..."

Taehyung grabs her wrist as she pulls away, his rich stare growing more frustrated with her, “You’re lying.” He scoffed, “I know what I’m feeling, don’t tell me what is real and what isn’t!”

"I have no reason to lie to you about this!" She cryes, struggling to pry her wrist away from his grip, her voice no longer gentle when he seems to not hear her reasons. "Look... I'm not trying to call your feelings fake. But be realistic about this, Taehyung. You know me for less than two hours in the past three days. Maybe it's infatuation... or lust— let's not label it fancifully as love because it's not!" Placing her other hand over his, she doubles her efforts to wrest his fingers off her arm as she looks at him pleadingly.

Taehyung sighs, but he lets go of her wrist, fumbling to button up his shirt and pull his pants on properly, ''Let's call it lust, then.'' He runs his fingers through his hair, his face stoic as he's in thought. His brain was swirling once more, she was right. They had only known eachother for a mere few hours... But, he knows this feeling. This must be love. Right?

''Question....'' He looks at her while straightening the collar of his shirt, ''Do you seek to trigger my, so called...para...'' He hums as he tries to recall the diagnosis.

She rolls away with a barely concealed grimace once he frees her from his grasp, glad he was finally seeing things clearly. Rubbing a hand over where he held her wrist, she tries to guage how many bruises she might wake up with in the morning and will have to cover up in order not raise anyone's suspicion when his question leaves her shaken.

"What—" Her face falls as she presses her lips together, and hurriedly shakes her head. "God, no! Never, Taehyung. I'd never..." She begins reaching for him with her hand, but thinks against it at the last minute and drops it to her lap. "I want to cure you off your Paraphilia. Not trigger it..." A small part of her might have taken advantage of his weakness for her to try stopping him from doing anything extreme. But he didn't have to know that. "I told you, I only want to help you get better."

“Okay,” he nods, eyes suddenly averting from hers to look at the casefile on the table. He sits back down, looking as if he didn’t just fuck her with all his strength. Well, apart from the marks she left on his arms with her nails, which he didn’t seem to even notice. He rubbed his nape as he kept staring at the file on the table, lips falling open as if he wants to say something, but they close back together just as fast.

He had a lot on his mind to process, from his feelings, to everything they both just did, the way she suddenly rejected him, and now the future. Then once more, the voice smirking in the back of his mind wasn’t worried, it knew exactly what it wanted, and it was her. Nothing else mattered, everything else can be thrown to the side. Fuck the short amount of time together, it was enough. And she wanted him, he’s sure of it. She was just saying this because he was her patient. And one day, he won’t be— and they can be together. Yes... that’s what he believes.

She stands up on unsteady feet, her insides still quivering, and smoothens down her wrinkled skirt. But it turns out to be a mistake when she feels his cum dribble out of her abused cunt, prompting her to quickly tug on her underwear before she dripped everywhere. And that's when she notices Taehyung's eyes fixed on his file on the table but his gaze far away, his mouth opening and closing as if he had questions but didn't want to hear any replies from her.

Calmly, she shuffles back towards him, her mind already formulating a proposition that he might not approve of. "Taehyung, if you don't trust me anymore, I understand. I have been anything but professional to you..." She drums her fingers against the table when he doesn't look up at her or even appears to have acknowledged her. "I can ask someone else to replace me as your therapist. They'll take care of you from now on... You don't have to see me ever again if this all makes you feel awkward?"

His lip quivered at the very mention of her being replaced, eyes darting over to her form. “No. I don’t want anyone else.” He responded coldly. He truly didn’t. If it wasn’t her, he wouldn’t say shit. He wouldn’t cooperate. And by now, he knows she had grown attached too; whether it be out of lust or out of pity. It should be enough to keep her around, he hoped.

“It has to be you.” His eyes softened, glossing over with a layer of tears. He did feel sad, however, this was also gaslighting. He didn’t need to cry. He just wanted to squeeze her heart a little bit for him.

His reaction to her suggestion, just like she expected, didn't phase her much. Every single behaviour of his validating her earlier claim of how she was just his new obsession that he fantasized as love.

Normally, this is when she should throw the towel and withdraw completely from him before either of them posed a real threat to the other. But she genuinely wanted to be the one that cures him. And despite knowing how his glazed eyes were nothing but a device of manipulation, she moves even closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder and rubs it down, cooing at him softly. "Alright... I won't leave you. But then, you need to genuinely cooperate with me and work towards getting better. Promise me, Taehyung?" Her profound need to fix anything broken very well might be the death of her one of these days.

He melts under he touch, feeling accomplished. She wouldn't leave, and that's all he needed. "Okay, I promise," he nodded, and as if he wasnt about to cry in the first place, his eyes were dried up, a small smile on his lips. He glanced over at the clock, completely unaware of how much time had passed. "How much time is left for today?"

As doubtful as she was about his promise, she didn't let it show on her face choosing to return his smile. Glancing down at her watch, "We have about less than twenty minutes left." She contemplates whether to sit down, but chooses not to knowing it'd be harder to get up and out of the chair again. "I won't be seeing you until after your hearing tomorrow, if I can manage. Or it's gonna be only the day after..."

Moving her hand down his arm, she wraps it around his hand and squeezes it comfortingly. It might not have been very sensible to touch him again, but the line between them was so blurry by now that she didn't mind it. "Are you nervous about the hearing?"

Taehyung gently wraps his long fingers around hers, squeezing back as a response, a small sigh pushing through his lips, "Yeah, kind of." She wouldn't be there, so he would feel empty. But for her sake, he'd do well. And hope that things go the way she tells him it would.

She strokes the back of his hand softly with her thumb taking one more step closer and wraps her other hand around his shoulders before bringing him to rest against her body. A hug won't hurt when they've done much more than that. "Don't let it rob you off your sleep tonight. Whichever way it goes, let's hope for the best. And please listen well to Jimin, okay?" Her fingers move into his hair to stroke it gently while she stands holding him close.

Taehyung melts into her hug, sinking his face into the crook of her neck by instinct. He sighed softly, until she mentions Jimin's name. She kept addressing him by his first name so casually, and it was kind of stepping on his nerves. Maybe, he was overthinking it though, but... He still felt jealous. He wanted to be the only one with a casual first name basis. Then again, he has to be nice. Jimin is his lawyer after all.

Taehyung stands still, savouring her embrace for a long as she'd will let him, a soft whisper pushing through his lips, ''Okay. I'll do well.''

She had to raise herself on to her toes and tilt her head all the way back due to their difference in height when he decides to burrow himself into their hug. Despite knowing well how her actions could be considered as her bring irresponsible again and showing her fondness for him openly, especially after his confession, she brushes it all off and holds him close while running her fingers through his hair constantly. He needed her, for now. Just until he got better.

"That's good! Hopefully I'll get to see you at the facility next time and not here." She whispers back, trying not to shiver from his words spoken into her neck. Reluctantly, she tries pulling away only to meet with some resistance from him. "Taehyung, I should be going soon..."

“Just a little longer...” he murmurs into her neck, his arms dare to snake around her waist to hold her tighter, urging her to stay. His heart was beating hard in his chest, the quiet sound of the way he inhales her scent, the only sound heard for the moment. She truly smelled like a flower. If he could choose, he wouldn’t ever let go of her soft body, so small in his embrace. She was like a drug to his senses, both easing his mind & driving him mad.

She lets him hold her for a few extra minutes at his request, her senses hyper aware of how snugly he was embracing her and her heart thumping equally hard in her chest that was flushed against his. Her fingers begin drawing senseless patterns on the back of his neck, on the little exposed skin over the collar of his shirt as she keeps her eyes open and fixed on the ceiling, knowing very well she couldn't afford to get lost in the way he held her. Because she knew his arms weren't always this tender. The strength in them, as cherishing as they may feel right then, could easily snap her in two if he lost his mind to the beast again.

One more look at the clock on the wall and she sighs seeing their time was almost up. "Tae..." Her fingers sink into his hair and tug them back, trying to move his head away from her sensitive neck. "They're gonna come in here if I don't step out now."

Taehyung sighs deeply, a quiet groan rumbling in annoyance vibrates in his throat when she tugs at his hair. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he releases his grip around her, letting his hands fall to his sides, ''I just... I'll miss you.''

She moves away, breathing in relief when his arms finally stop caging her in his hold. Something small tugs her heart at his genuine voice, but she stomps it down harshly before looking up at him again. "You'll see me in two days at the facility... keep holding on to that thought, hm?" Slowly, she collects her stuff up trying not to limp too much as she moves around him.

Right before she's about to open the door though, she turns to cast him a longing look unintentionally. "I..." She begins, her eyes tracing over his features and a little lost in whatever she was about to say, until she decides not to. "—take care, Tae!" She leaves him with a smile. Between her statement and Jimin's tenacity, she was quite confident she'll see him at her facility soon.

 And when he was there, nothing could stop her from trying to get him better.

CLICK ME FOR PART TWO

This is the roleplay with  🍁anon turned into part one of this fiction! I hope you love it as much as I do. A big thank you to  🍁 for creating the amazing header, saving the rp, hence why I was even able to repost this in the first place. AND for helping me edit this, I am so so grateful for this. Now, I even think it is even better than the previous version! 

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[jtsfavslut]

Falling [G.D]

Description: Just when Y/N thought she was over Grayson, he pops back into her life, making her wonder if you could fall for the same person twice. Inspired by ‘Falling’ - Harry Styles. 

Warnings: None, Just sad stuff lmao!!!

Word Count: 4K+

Also a special thanks to cole [ @blazedgraysons​] for keeping up with my annoying ass questions while I wrote this, and for helping me and giving me advice I love you <333

   Her small feet carried her body down the familiar street, cars zooming past her as her body softly bumped into the others around her. The loud sounds from the environment being blocked away by the soft, yet loud music that was coming out of an old pair of Airpods she had gotten for Christmas back in High School.

This was Y/N's daily routine. Get up early in the morning, do her business in the bathroom, get dressed, and walk over to her favorite cafe. The Beachwood cafe had become Y/N's second home ever since she moved to L.A, spending most of her time there, before and after class.

A smile lit up her face as the familiar blue door came into her view, a content sigh falling past her lips as she got closer to the door.

The strong smell of coffee hit her nostrils as she walked inside, music being paused as she walked fully inside, giving her attention to the cashier that greeted her every morning, "Hi Y/N, your stuff is on your table," she smiled up at Y/N before pointing towards her usual table.

It was the one by the window in the corner of the shop, the bright yellow and blue floor illuminated her small journey to the table, where her coffee and breakfast sandwich happily waited for her to approach. She sat down, hand reaching into her Yellow Kanken backpack, another Christmas gift from high school that she dearly took care of, she pulled out a brown journal and a pen.

A journal filled with memories and random thoughts that popped in her head. Y/N thought writing things down was good for the mind and body. She believed that writing things down would help you keep your thoughts safely, and lock memories into place without overworking your mind. A pen that has been through many journeys on the same yet different page.

All pages were the same until the pen went over it, recording things until the end of time. They were all the same until she wrote down her thoughts for the day.

Her small hand gripped onto the pen as she wrote down her thoughts from the previous night, coffee cup in the other hand as she slowly sipped the liquid.

Last night I thought of him again, just until I drifted off. I don't know why. It hasn't happened in months. Nothing bad, just a memoir of all of our memories together. Like the time we broke into the school's pool one night. Where he pushed me in with all my clothes on, then he jumped in and we made out by the stairs. Funny how we never got caught since cameras were around us. Or when we had our senior trips to the mountains in Colorado, and how he kept sneaking into the girls' room just to be with me. We were lucky we didn't get caught again. I tried to not keep thinking about him. I know it's time to finally drop it and move on, but how? How do I erase all those memories from my brain? How am I supposed to just drop it and move along? Just how? I don't need or want to know why just how.

She softly slammed the notebook closed, right before she could feel a slight burning in her eyes and a rock starting to form in her throat. The subject of her and a past lover that she was still holding onto, still being a deep wound to her.

She thought about and remembered Grayson every day. After all, he was her everything during her entire High School life, and he still was…...sort of.  Grayson and Y/N started dating in the 9th grade, right about in the middle of the year. He asked her out behind the school's bleachers during lunchtime, a mixture of flowers from his mom's garden that she shyly accepted from him after she said yes. That was followed by their date to the movie theater, where he held her close to him every time she faked being a little scared, not that he could tell, and three dates after he officially asked her out where she said yes again, and that was followed by an accidental kiss, he was leaning towards her cheek when she accidentally moved her head to the side, causing his lips to land on hers. Neither of them complained, just smiled at each other and carried on.

They went on for 6 years, all of high school and two college years, where he decided to break it off because of distance. He went off on how being across the country from one another was hard, and the fact that the time difference from New York to California was 3 and 4. She didn't complain. Didn't give a reason as to why not, even if she had trillions of them. She didn't try to change his mind. She simply said okay, and wished him the best. She still loved him though.

The words that her grandpa had spoken replayed in her brain every time she questioned why she still thought about him; "You never stop loving anyone sugar, you just kinda love someone stronger. If you stop loving them, then you never loved them to begin with" She thought about that, and that made her feel better. Maybe there was someone out there who she would love more than she loved Grayson.

With a quiet sigh, she put her journal away, switching it with a book she picked up at the library a few days prior, yet read a million times.

To Kill A Mockingbird is a book she read many times in school, mostly everyone has. It's the one book from school she actually enjoyed, so she picked it up from the book shop down the street from her apartment before work one day, and didn't get to read it until now.

She opened the book with a small smile, the sensation of the book against her finger bringing nothing but happiness to her, and took her mind off whatever was bothering her. She lost herself in the book, almost done with half of the book before her alarm rang, signaling it was time for work. She left a 20 on the table after putting all her stuff away in her backpack and walking out of the shop and towards her job which was a paid internship at a local hospital downtown, all she did was watch and help out with minor cases like cuts, sprains, X Ray's and the occasional stuff like questioning. She entered the hospital, sanitizing herself and changing into her uniform, walking over to her area, that being the Pediatrics Emergency room where her boss, mentor, whatever you might want to call him, Dr. Reyez, and the rest of the team were waiting for her.

"Morning everyone," she chirped at the tired yet awake health care workers, who all had smiles on their faces. "Morning Y/N, you're going to be practicing by yourself today, can you handle it?" Dr. Reyez asked her, which she just nodded her head with a smile. There wasn't a single ounce of doubt in her brain.

"I'm pretty sure yes! And I can just reach out to you guys if anything, right?"

"Yeah, just page us if anything. Your first patient should be here soon, just go wait by the desk," Reyez instructed her and that's exactly what she did. She sat on the desk for over 20 minutes until someone came in with a toddler covered in rashes.

"Hi baby, I just need to ask you and mommy a few questions, yeah?" She sweetly and patiently asked the 5 year old as his mom was filling out some papers, to which he just nodded his head.

"Okay, Xavion, did you eat something new today? Maybe something you've never eaten?" She asked and both the mom and son nodded their heads.

"Do you think he was allergic to something?" The mom asked, causing Y/N to shrug.

"Well, it depends. We need to get an allergy test for him. It doesn't hurt or anything, we just scratch and pour a drop of the allergen over it and see how they react. Mom, do you happen to remember what he ate today for the first time?" She replied by recording some notes down on her clipboard before telling a nurse to get an Allergy Antibody Test ready.

"He ate everything that he usually does except for some broccoli I gave him," the mom replied and Y/N nodded her head before writing it down on her clipboard and walking them to the testing room.

Once the results came back around half an hour later, Xavion was, in fact, allergic to broccoli, and other things that Y/N had to explain to the mother. She got about 15 minutes of break time before Reyez called her another minor emergency.

"It's an 11 year old, possible breakage or sprain to the leg, you can handle this one right?" He asked and she nodded her head, "Good, they're in room 217, good luck," he added before sending her off to the room.

She quickly made her way over to it, grabbing her clipboard on the way, "Hi, I'm Dr.Y/LN, I'm going to be taking care of you guys today! May I have the child's name and date of birth please?" She nicely asked as she walked inside the room, quickly walking over to the desk area that was in the corner and placing her stuff down.

"Uhhh, Caleb Dolan, August 17, 2008," a deep voice that she could recognize from anywhere spoke as she turned around. Her heart dropped at the sight of Grayson in front of her. She tried to reassemble herself, after all, she couldn't make any mistakes right now, Reyez was trusting her and she couldn't afford to mess the opportunity up.

"Caleb, August 17, 2008," she mumbled as she wrote it down on her piece of paper, "Caleb, do you mind telling me what happened, babe?" She asked with a smile on her face. Her smile turned into a small frown as she looked up at the boy who happened to be in pain.

"Me and uncle Gray were practicing for the soccer game that's next and I fell on the mud and hit my leg really hard," he explained as she walked towards him nodding her head.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, One being okay while 10 being the worst, how would you rate the pain?" She asked, walking over to the walk to grab a pair of gloves, putting them on, and walking back towards him.

"Uhh a seven," he replied and she nodded her head.

"Okay Caleb, just know this might hurt a little okay? It's just protocol to check if it's dislocated, broken, or sprained okay?" She asked and he nodded his head, a few tears falling down his face from fear. Grayson quickly leaned down to wipe off his face whispering a quiet 'you'll be okay' as Caleb grabbed his hand.

"Can you try and move your ankle for me? Just try and move it," she explained and he muttered at quiet yes before moving his foot in a slow circle, she nodded her head before placing both hands over his ankle checking for any bumps, which there were none to find, "Luckily for you Caleb, it's just sprained! There are no bumps meaning it's not dislocated, and you can move it meaning it's not fractured! Just to make sure, we're going to need an X Ray' just to make sure there are no hidden surprises yeah? Dr. Lindsey will do those with you, and I'll be right here when you come back," she smiled up at the boy before Dr. Lindey moved him to a wheelchair and took him to the X Ray room, leaving Y/N and Grayson alone in painful silence.

"So this is what you do? This is where you work?" Grayson was the first to speak after a couple of quiet seconds,

She cleared her throat and nodded her head, placing her hands inside her white jacket, "Yeah. It's a paid internship so it's basically a job, what about you? What are you doing here?" She asked to make direct eye contact with him.

"Moved here after me and E graduated, looking for some roles and an agent," he spoke, his voice not as deep yet shakier than when he first spoke.

"Any luck with that?"

"Yeah. We've landed a few small roles here and there," he answered and she just nodded her head.

"That's good! I'm glad everything's working out for you," She gave him a genuine smile before continuing to fill out Caleb's paperwork.

"Listen, I know it's been 2 years but-," Grayson began to speak before Y/N cut him off. "-Grayson just don't. I'm at work right now, and it's enough seeing you after 2 years, but I don't really need this right now. I'm sorry," She apologized before leaving the room to get some papers before walking back in, thankfully Caleb was already in the room when she walked in.

"I'm going to wrap your ankle up with this and then you're good to go, buddy. Make sure you don't apply pressure on it for two weeks. And carefully when you're playing any sport, I don't want you back here," she said while wrapping his ankle up carefully. She gave Grayson the discharge papers, their hands touching each other for a split second before she pulled away waving them off before walking to where her team was.

"That guy was looking at you intensely," Reyez pointed out, earning a glare from her.

"Don't even start," she rolled her eyes before taking a sip from her water bottle that was on her desk.

"Wait is that the?" Jacob, one of the nurses, asked and she nodded her head.

"Yeah, that's him," she sighed, shaking her head.

"Holly shit Y/N, I knew you said he was hot, but girl? That man is hotter than-,"

"Mackenzie, don't you dare," Y/N joked towards her other co-worker, "God why do you do this to me? I was almost over him and then you put him on my path again? The universe hates me,"

"I'd go for it again if I were you," Mackenzie encouraged earning a glare from her.

"Alright, leave her alone before she starts to crumble, Mackenzie go fill out reports, Y/N go take a breather," Reyez ordered them around and they all nodded their heads, going on their way to do what they were told.

. . .

Soft snores began to quietly run past her lips as she drifted off to sleep, all before a feeling of suddenly falling down an empty whole woke her up. She shook her head letting out a quiet 'fuck' before turning to look towards the clocks on her nightstand, 3:30 AM being brightly displayed on it. Y/N let out a loud sigh, knowing she wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon.

Her mind suddenly clouded with knotted thoughts and notions, too many of them just to focus on a single one. She pushed her body up, just enough for her to reach over and grab the small yellow backpack that she lazily threw on the floor, pulling her journal and pen out before throwing it back on the floor.

She clicked the pen and opened the journal, blank pages waiting to be filled up, her hand delicately moved along the paper as she scribbled letters and words on the empty pages, thoughts clearing out of her head, one by one.

I saw him today. He looked different. He's grown. After it all, it has been two years. His voice is deeper too. He wanted to talk, but I said no. Maybe if I did, I would fall for him again, or something. I'm doing just fine, so why did he have to move here. Anyway, Reyez finally allowed me to take care of patients by myself today. It was fun, I liked it, I guess. Luckily I'm free tomorrow because I can't sleep at all now. Maybe it's the repeating thoughts of him running through my mind, or just simply the lack of melatonin in my body right now. I'll probably go to the park tomorrow, stop at the cafe first then make my way there, but anyway, I'm going to try and sleep now.

It was a quick entry, nothing special, just her major thoughts being written down, just enough for her to feel better. She got up from the bed walking over to the kitchen grabbing a water bottle before leaning against the counter and sipping it. She crossed her bare legs over each other, looking out of the big window in her living room. Her favorite part about the apartment? It was the window that looked down on bright LA city. Y/N could sit there for hours and not notice the time pass by, she knows this because it happened before. She left the kitchen and walked towards the window, propping her body down on the small couch she had in front of the window. She laid her head on her hand, watching the few cars that sped down the street, the small yet bright red lights disappearing into the distance as her eyes followed them until they could.

Her eyes softly closed as she laid down on the couch, drifting off into another universe. The next morning she woke up at around 8 AM, doing her daily routine, except she stopped at the Cafe, picked her things up, and made her way to the park. It was an old park, there was an old playground that seemed like it hadn't been used in years. She sat down on an old bench drinking her coffee as she watched the scenery.

She didn't take her notebook out, her mind not having any thoughts, or at least no thoughts relevant enough for her to write down. She just took her time to take her surroundings in. She admired how the wind moved the trees, yet they were so strong they didn't crack. The way the birds lifted off whatever surface they were, and drifted off into the sky. She admired the rare butterflies that randomly appeared just to disappear once again. She simply admired the earth, something that she didn't do quite often; Always being too deep in her thoughts to actually study the things around her.

"They're beautiful aren't they?" Grayson's voice spoke out of nowhere, making Y/N do a slight jump in her seat as her heart raced.

She brought her hand up to her chest, a sigh falling past her lips as she glared at Grayson who was chuckling, "You fucking scared me,"

"Sorry," he sighed, sitting down next to her.

They both let out sighs. Both knowing that there was no escaping the conversation that was about to happen, a conversation that was long due.

"You could, hmm, you could go first," she spoke after a few moments of silence, throat dried making her clear it in the middle of some of her words.

"I'm sorry about yesterday. You were working, and Ummm, it wasn't the right place or time to talk about things. I'm also sorry because I never gave you an explanation as to why we should've broken up. After all, you didn't ask anyway," He softly spoke. He thought every word through, studied each meaning before letting them run past his lips.

"I didn't ask because it's what you wanted. Your decision was clearly made. I mean, I don't think breaking up with someone is a spontaneous thought is it? Your decision was made, and if you felt like I was holding you back, then I had to let you go, if I loved you, then I think I did the right thing." Her words were careful too. And quiet, so quiet feeling that if she spoke too loud the things around her would break.

"I didn't want to break up. I felt like it was the right thing to do, you know? We were always so busy, and we made time for each other, but it was exhausting. And when you were out with friends, I felt like I was annoying you or something," he sighed and she shook her head, the thought of her ever getting annoyed at Grayson's presence being absurd.

"Oh God absolutely not," she chuckled, "I thought I was annoying you. Like I wondered if you talked about me, or not. I wanted to know if I annoyed you because I felt like I did,"

It was true. In her journal, multiple pages were filled out with her question herself on whether Grayson talked about her or not. Even after the breakup, she wondered if he'll ever need her. Most pages were about him, all of her thoughts revolved around him, always.

"I did. All the time, to the point where I said your name subconsciously," he smiled, remembering the conversations he had with his friends about her, and how great she was.

"I did too, well not say but write," she sighed, leaning her back on the bench.

"You wrote about me?"

"Grayson you know I did, that's a dumb question," She shook her head, taking a sip of the coffee that was somehow still warm.

"Do you still write about me?" He asked and she stayed quiet, not knowing whether she should answer truthfully or not.

"Honestly speaking, I do. I write about everything that comes to mind, so sometimes? Yeah," she sighed, knowing that it would be easier if they just told the truth.

Maybe this was the closure that they both needed, yet never got. Maybe this was going to help her fully move on from him, and have thoughts that don't include her.

Or maybe not. Maybe this would help them reconnect. Y/N left it all up to the universe. She was a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and that you can't change your future since it's already written about. When she got home after a couple of hours she took a shower, lit on her favorite candles, and did the expected. She took out her notebook and wrote.

We spoke today. He told me the reason why we broke up. It wasn't an intentional meeting though, I was just admiring nature. I was looking at the butterflies I think. He randomly spoke. And I know it was long due and needed so I just told him to say it. It's better to just get it over with than to just keep pushing it back, I think. He told me why he wanted to break up, which right now, sounds like a valid reason. I just wonder why he didn't just say it back then. It would've saved me a lot of nights, don't you think? He now knows I write about him, and where I go to write about him. Maybe I shouldn't go there anymore. It sounds out of this world I know. But maybe, just maybe, I should just close that chapter in my life.

There are just too many memories of him at Beachwood. That's where he surprised me the first time he came to visit. And it's where I write about him the most. I could find another cafe near here, there's plenty.

I just wonder if we're ever going to see each other again. If I'll ever fall for him again, if that is even possible. Because I don't think you could fall for the same person twice, right?

That was the last page in her journal. All the pages filled with her delicate letters, her writing being eternal. Filled with on-going words until the end, where an unanswered question laid. The weight that was once on her shoulders began to fade, and for once in her life, the thought of her future no longer made her afraid.

 This is the first time I’m proud of a something I wrote, so if this flops, I will deactivate! Just kidding, sort of. Anyways, yeah, I feel like my writing has improved, and as always, if you have any tips, and/or constructive critism, please, please, please drop them in my inbox, and don’t worry, I won’t say your hurting my feelings lmfao!! 

Tag List:   @guiltydols @evergreendolan @ydolanssss @rhyrhy462 @resilientdolan @simplyxdolxstyles @simplyxdolxstyles​ {If you wanna be added to my Tag List, just let me know :) lol}

[haravath0t]

His Valentine

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x 40s!Reader

Warnings: long word count, angst (if you squint), and fluff!

Word Count: 2.3K 

Summary: Bucky gets stood up while going on a date and the reader goes and rescues him. Not wanting his night to end on a bad note, she takes him on a date, resulting in Bucky realizing by the end of it that it was her all along. 

Hello guys! I hope your weekend is going well! Despite it being quite late to the Valentine’s Day holiday, I truly wanted to get this one out so bad when I got the chance! Who doesn’t want to be swooned by Bucky? I dedicate this work to my wonderful Bucket, @world-of-aus​ as she is the one who did inspire me with writing, so this is a little something for her and you guys! You have to forgive me for getting so carried away with this one! Enjoy!

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello?” You ask into the phone? 

“U-Ummm… Y/N?” you hear a familiar voice question. Your eyes shoot wide open.

“B-Bucky?” You gasp, holding the telephone firmer in your palm. You were not expecting him to call at all. “What is happening, Buck? Need an extra tie? A thicker coat? You should be have dinner with that dame you know-” 

“Y/N…”

“Dolores, right? That redhead that you’ve been into. You have to be ther-”

“Y/N, she’s not coming.” He sighs in disappointment, frustration and sadness evident in his tone, making your eyes widen even more than they originally were. “Oh my goodness, Buck, you’re kiddin’. On Valentine’s Day?! After all you two did? Maybe it took her a while to get ready?” You question in disbelief, trying your hardest to not get your hopes up. 

“Oh no that’s not what it is, doll.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“She came with another man… Richard Jones.” 

“Oh my gosh, that’s terrible. You’re at the Stork Club, right?” 

“Yes-” 

“Alright, wait outside. Be there in about 10 minutes. Give me a second. And don’t you dare go anywhere.” Is the last thing you say before you hang up, immediately telling your mom that you’ll head out and bring your best friend home for the night. You waste no time changing into a decent evening dress and a coat, hat, and gloves before you head to the Stork Club, determined to make your best friend get the Valentine’s Day evening he deserves. 

“God, Y/N… I don’t know what I did wrong. I genuinely tried. Even spent money in Coney Island for her. She said yes to this, only for me to find out she comes in with a richer bachelor in Brooklyn.” He grunts as follows you into your house. You thank him under your breath as he continues. “What does he have that I don’t? I thought I made it clear I wanted this to work.” You stop in the middle of the living room to turn around and cup his cheeks, having enough of his moping. “James Buchanan Barnes, are you listening to yourself?” You start off, eyes looking straight up at his ocean blues. You continue on when he silently stares at you, surprise apparent in his eyes. 

“Listen, I don’t care which dame you decide to take on a date, I don’t care who it is, I don’t like how they bypass someone like you! Listen, to all the girls, you are the most eligible and handsome bachelor in Brooklyn. Aside from that reputation, they are missing out on the Bucky I know. The Bucky I know is witty, kind, giving, selfless, loving, humorous, smart, curious. You are more than a handsome face. You are Bucky. If those dames you wanna date or dance with cannot see that? That’s their loss! They have missed out on a great guy.” 

Bucky’s eyes had widened at your statement, he had soon realized he didn’t expect this talk from you. “Listen, Dolores was wrong for this. Especially on Valentine’s Day. You did nothing wrong. Do not degrade yourself because of someone who has done you wrong, you hear? We are going to make it better, I promise. Why don’t we have a hangout instead? Maybe we can eat some dinner here, and maybe go watch a movie, or something you’d like to do.” You say softly, in a more calming tone than last time. 

Bucky only could nod, a small, yet hopeful smile now forming on his face. “I… I think I’d appreciate that, Y/N.” He responds, making you reciprocate his smile back, giving him a nice and warm hug before heading into the kitchen. “Good… I’ll make some roast beef, salad, and mash. You stay put at the table.” You call out, prepping the food. Bucky did the total opposite, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you cook and prepare the ingredients. He smiled at the fact you turned on the gramophone to hear your favorite record play throughout the home, humming along and bouncing slightly as you concentrated on your work. 

His eyes widened at how he felt. Why was he getting tingly feelings in his stomach? Why was his heart racing? Why did he feel like he was going to faint when he heard you giggle at your own shenanigans? Why did this feeling always come back when he was around you? He shook it off, as he always did. However, within minutes, he wanted to face palm himself. You didn’t have a guy to greet you tonight. You must be uncomfortable hearing all of the Valentine’s Day talk since last week, and now he’s bringing it up again. 

“Oh no. Hey Buck? Do you mind if you do a quick run to the grocery store and get some sour cream? I realized I don’t have anymore.” You call out to him. Perfect, he thinks. He doesn’t hesitate to go on ahead. Maybe he can come back with a surprise for you, his selfless best friend. 

It didn’t take long for him to come back, handing you the sour cream and heading back to wait at the table at his seat. He smiled when he saw the way you arranged it, as it was notably organized, the way you always wanted it. He couldn’t contain the excitement, fidgeting as he waited for you. “Alright! Dinner time!” You giggle, setting down the roast beef before you set down the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Bon appetit! Happy Valentine’s Day!” You squeal, clapping your hands together as you look at the dinner with satisfaction. “It looks so delicious,” Bucky compliments with a beaming smile, looking up at you with a gleam in his eyes. “This is always our favorite whenever you, Steve, and I celebrated somethin’ over here, like our birthdays.” He recalls, making you smile even more at the memories that begin to fill your head. 

“Well, dig in, Buck!” You giggle, serving him with a good amount of salad, beef, and mashed potatoes before helping yourself. “Had to learn the recipe from momma, it’s probably the most delicious dish for a formal setting.” You remark, pouring water in your cup and his. “You’re right! We haven’t had this in a while!” Bucky exclaims before taking a bite. “Oh goodness, Y/N, this is so delicious.” He says, groaning in satisfaction before continuing his dinner. 

Dinner went about just fine. It was freeing for you both, for when you two were around with each other, all reservations would be thrown at the window, resulting in you two behaving as if you were still children teasing and making jokes. All thoughts and heartaches about Dolores were also out the window, for you two were completely fine and happy in each other’s company.

You washed the dishes and finished them promptly, excited to come back to Bucky’s company that awaited you in the living room. Your excitement had only risen when you heard the familiar record that you both loved to hear as well as Bucky calling your name. “Yes?” you ask as you make your way to the living room, eyebrows furrowing when you noticed that the lights were dimmed, the room only lit by the candles that had formerly been placed on the dining. However, your audible confusion turned quickly into a gasp as you saw him stand up with your favorite assortment of sweets in one hand and a bouquet of red roses on the other. There was no way this man was real.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” He says with that ever charming smile of his. 

“Oh, Buck! This is so lovely! Thank you so much!” You exclaim in disbelief, gently and carefully taking the flowers and sweets from him to set on the coffee table. Your eyes meet his, your smile matching his before you engulf him in a tight and warm embrace. “H-How?” You ask, trying hard to not let those tears that were threatening to fall succeed. Your heart fluttered when you heard him whisper in your ear soothingly as he rubs your back, “I think my most giving and kind best friend deserves some form of kindness and giving back this Valentine’s Day.” You must be dreaming. Never would you think you’d somehow be in the receiving end of Bucky Barnes’ charm. Never did you think that you’d be experiencing gestures like these from him. Although this was just two best friends trying to make each other feel better, you were willing to take it and imagine that he was here to make you swoon like he did with any other dame. 

“Y/N, sweetheart,” He whispers in your ear, causing you both to gaze into each other’s eyes once again, you two experiencing the dizziness, tingling, and racing heart once again tonight. However, you heard his breathing become more shaky than a few minutes ago. “You… you had treated me through a wonderful dinner and your kind words. Can I repay you with my flowers and sweets and a dance?” He asks softly, trying his hardest to hide the nervousness that was dying to become known. He didn’t know what made him offer this to you. You two were never this close and intimate before. However, his desire to be sure of himself overruled any fear he had in his head. 

He only smiled when you nodded, his hand holding yours as the other placed itself on the small of your back, guiding you into a small and slow dance. You sighed happily as you both started to dance cheek to cheek, swaying effortlessly across the room. Smiling as Bucky expertly spun you and brought you back to his form before he once again sweeped you across the floor. This made Bucky calm down. No longer nervous, no longer scared, no longer doubtful. He was now sure. He was now sure that you and him had something much more than what him and Dolores, let alone the other dames had. He never found any comfort, any peace, any transparency with any of them as he does with you. With you, he never needed to hold back. With you, everything seems to be calm. He enjoyed watching you smile, watching you laugh, cook, sing, sleep, exist. 

That’s when he realized. 

He loves you. He always has. 

That explains the tingles, for they were butterflies. That explains the racing heart, the dizziness. He was in love with you. He has denied his feelings for so long. He denied them when he saw you being approached by other boys. Then other teens. Then other men. It was not hard to see how beautiful you were and are. However, no one saw how you would skip when you were happy. No one saw how your eyes lit up at the sight of ice cream. No one saw how your eyes lit up when your tiny feet kicked as you played in the swings. No one took notice of your eyebrows furrowing when you studied arithmetic. No one took notice of how critical you were of yourself so that you may be as perfect as you can. Bucky, however, had fallen in love with all of this. 

He loved you from the moment he watched your five year old self eat your ice cream happily at the drugstore with soda pop alongside you.  He loved you even if you two argued about a broken wagon. He loved you even if it pained him to watch you laugh with another man. He loved you when you came to check up on him the day after his dates. He still loves you, as you sway in front of him, in that beautiful periwinkle evening dress. 

“Y/N,” he whispers once again, causing you to smile. “Mm?” “What kind of night are we going through?” He whispers with a smile, causing you to giggle and shake your head. “Hey… we are dancing in my living room, after a simple dinner, which happened after you were stood up.” You remark, causing you both to giggle. Here it goes. 

“What if I told you I prefer this over any of the dates I’ve gone to with the other dames in town?” You were now looking up at him confused. “What?” “What if I told you, that… this dance of ours… makes me want something more?” You were now breathing heavily, heart racing more than ever as you shook your head in denial. “James… you’re not leading me on, are you?” You ask meekly, hoping that you were not making this up. “I’m not,” he whispers, “I’m saying this because now I know.” 

“You now know what?” 

A smile kisses his lips. 

“A dame worth all the diamonds in the world. A dame that gives me all the happiness that I’ve been wanting for so long. It’s been here. It’s you.”

The tears had come back again, threatening to fall once again. “Oh, Buck… Buck…” You whisper, overjoyed with what you were hearing. Bucky was as overjoyed as you are, cupping your cheeks as his thumbs wiped your tears. “Oh, Y/N, sweetheart. What do you say? This isn’t the type of date I’d give. God, it’s a messy one tonight. But I promise, if you say yes, I’ll try to sweep you off your feet with each date we go on. Would you be my Valentine? Starting tonig- mmm.” He was quickly cut off as your lips gently sealed itself onto his, feeling himself burst with joy over and over again as his lips began to move against yours. They both danced harmoniously with one another, slowly and softly before you both pulled away to gasp for air. 

“I hope that gave you the answer that you needed,” you whisper softly into his lips, beaming as you run your hands softly through his hair. 

“That told me everything that I needed to know, my Valentine.” 

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[defdaily]

KNIGHT Magazine March 2021 Issue featuring JAY B

Translated by defdaily

JAY B: Back to the starting point, to set off again

At first sight, Jay B does not seem to have the looks of a popular “Flower Boy”; he has single eyelids typical in Korean boys, and the corners of his eyes crescent up with warmth and pureness as he smiles, drawing people close to him. “Sexy”, “Steady”, “Introverted”，“Warm”，“Sharp” and “Domineering” are all words fans use to describe him. These seemingly unrelated characteristics come together in Jay B and sparks a charisma that is unique to him.

9 years on since debut, he is an all-rounder who sings, dances and composes and his vibrant abilities are obvious to all. However, the entertainment industry is a place that is never short of talent and worthy competitors. Being GOT7’s leader and facing the responsibilities and stress, he did not go down an easy path. Through the endurance, he figured out his own direction of growth and pace - one that is neither nervous or rushed but instead calm and steady. The start of 2021 ushered in the end of his artistic contract and signing new companies, but that did not affect his pace; he made a comeback with his members, writing songs and preparing for his solo album, continuing to do what he is good at, facing the odds calmly and confidently, “2021 to me is a brand new start; I will return to the starting point and start anew.”

Embracing the essence, upholding greatness

Looking through Jay B’s portfolio, he went through many profile changes in the early years. From being an aspiring B-boy, to debuting as an actor, as a boy group duo JJ Project, and 2 years later debuting as GOT7 leader. At every stage, he did his best in whatever he wanted to do. Grabbing every opportunity and going forward earnestly. For dance, he once gave up on his studies and joined a professional dance group very early on. After debuting as a leader, in order to shoulder the responsibilities, he reigned in on his youthful flippance and impetuousness and learned to be tolerant. Through several details, he is managing well. When appearing on variety shows as a group, he made efforts to ensure that every member had the chance to showcase their talents. Before showcases, he is obviously nervous himself but would never forget to remind the others to drink up. He even prioritized group activities over his own, concertedly rejecting solo activities arranged by the company. Till date, he is still the one with the least solo activities. “Instead of myself, it would be better for the other members to begin their solo activities first.”

He is clear-cut and is never trapped between choosing one thing over the other. As a trainee, he also experienced a rebellious phase where he wanted to give up. When he did not know what he wanted, he would follow his heart. He once wrote on SNS “Do whatever you want. If you really love something, then follow your heart and do it.” His motivation sets him on a simple path; start off with love, and put in all his effort into it, working hard to hand in his best submission. He assigned the name Def. to his solo writing, which holds the meaning of “the best, the greatest of all”. Years ago, he had said in a variety show, “When I grow a little older, I must become a truly cool celebrity, and a multi-talented artist.” At that time, when faced with many fresh opportunities, he eagerly leapt forward to try them out, to bloom from all corners. Later, interviewers asked him what his future plans are for the next 5 years, and he said, “Definitely to continue my music-related work, and if my body allows me to, I will continue dancing.” And now, his dreams have more definitively settled on the area of creative music composing, hence, when asked whether he would consider moving into acting again, he said, “Now I can’t fully embody and express a character, but I think I should learn and understand deeply before going into acting. Learning to have restraint and storing one’s potential will help with a better start.

I will open up my heart

Some say the creative must embrace change at all times and maintain a keenness for observation; similarly, Jay B’s awareness of the world is astute and meticulous. He observes life through film lenses, and reflects upon his own feelings in the process. “Through the photos I take, I discovered that my photos are people-centric, and I often am curious about what they are thinking, how they are feeling at that very moment.” The happiness and sorrows of people often differ from one another, but they always leave marks. He likes to record down his surroundings, the people around him and the banalities of everyday life, and incorporate them into his creative works. For example, when writing the song “Rainy”, he laid out photos that he took on a rainy day on the floor of his studio, began arranging and rearranging them, and pondering over the sequences. Thus led to the birth of a rainy love story.

Whether it is on stage or composing music, the ever-changing styles he expresses are undoubtedly based on thoughts and experiences in life. In addition to photography, reading books, watching movies and having conversations with people who have experienced life are all some ways in which he draws inspiration from. “In the future I would like to ponder over everything that I experience genuinely in my life, and describe my true thoughts and feelings. It may not necessarily have to be positive; sometimes it can also be a form of relief by expressing the negativity in a straightforward manner.”

Having been in the spotlight of the entertainment industry for many years, he is no stranger to receiving criticisms, yet he always digests it quietly. His warm, honest aura, along with his sensitivity and sympathetic nature, creates a juxtaposition in his personality. On the performing stage, he is cool and powerful, as if he has an unlimited source energy waiting to be released. In everyday life, the same Jay B he stores that energy and softens up, creating an entirely different image. He is used to treating others with kindness, and knows how to live as himself: “Instead of paying attention to the criticism and living like someone else, I would rather be myself and accept the criticism.” He loves life, and likes to play with his three cats. He remembers a funny incident, “One of my cats likes to lick the carpet, so there was one time I accidentally stepped on the carpet and almost fell.” Like many young folks, during his leisure time, he reads and sleeps to relieve stress. When his schedule is packed, he would take a stroll at the working site, sometimes taking photos and videos and sharing them along the way. He has his own world, but it is not locked up at all; it is wide open and welcome for everyone to visit. There was once where he read a word in a book that reminded him of b-boying, so he simply left the house and b-boyed along the streets, posting a clip of it on SNS. He thinks that the name that Chinese fans call themselves sounds nice, but he also likes calling everyone “best friend”. Realizing he might sound impolite, he carefully added that it does not mean he does not like the former, just like an old friend with no filter who says what they want but never fails to consider your feelings.

Tackling the unknown is full of delight

“Unknown challenges, to me, are very interesting. I find tackling new things to be a really great thing.” In this new year, with a new company and new plans, Lim Jaebeom has started on his journey of transformation. Taking on a path that he has to take alone, even though he may still be adapting to this new identity and role, “I am really alone now, it feels fascinating yet a little awkward.” He understands to cherish, and wishes to continue making even greater music for the group. He also looks forward dearly for his music to find a place of its own in the music sphere. Being faced with the challenges that await him, he is eager to create a world of his own. At a certain program where he was asked by his members, “Are you happy?”, he hesitated and replied: “I don’t know.” In fact, he is just like the music that he writes - it does not shock or excite but you will never get bored of it after repeated listens; the kind of music he pursues is not one with intricate formal design or various showy techniques, but one that expresses of real and honest emotions triggered by real and honest events.

As he faces the ebb and flow of the tide calmly and inches closer to his dreams with each step, he is still the young boy he was before, fiery passion in his gaze, sincerely embracing change, maturing and growing through it. Perhaps he might not know when his personal happiness will arrive, but he has never stopped looking for it. For his era is imminent.

[your-lips-are-very-red]

St. Vincent x Emma Madden Interview

This is the text from the St. Vincent interview that Emma Madden was asked to not use. Since Miss Madden has decided to take it down, I wanted it to be available somewhere online - in case she manages to get all the cached versions taken down, too. 

SOURCE: https://archive.is/wFkLN

About a fortnight ago I was commissioned to interview St. Vincent, an artist I have been inspired by, impressed by, turned on by, compelled by, curious of, in awe of, occasionally suspicious of—for the better half of a decade. I try not to think about other journalists too much, but St. Vincent has developed a reputation for intimidating us. For her last press cycle, she made her interviewers crawl into a pink box; she would play a pre-recorded message on a tape recorder if a question bored or irked her. I found that quite funny—irresistibly imperious—but I considered it an act of degradation rather than an interesting switch of power. I love famous people but I also find them quite silly, like a Schnauzer wearing a bowtie.

  I didn’t know why, but for around two hours after our call ended, I was reeling with nervous energy. I was vocalising it and trying to get to the other side of it, the way I sing songs when I’m walking through a haunted house. I woke up the next morning with a voice message from the editor who assigned this piece. I am fond of this person and I will not name them. MBC, the team in charge of St. Vincent’s publicity (which is helmed by Barbara Charone, who also works for Madonna, and is considered one of the more powerful and intimidating publicists in the industry) had been on the phone to this editor, demanding the piece be pulled. My editor’s words: “They said she’s terrified of this interview coming out.” The publication didn’t have a leg to stand on.

"Terrified"? That word didn't seem to square. I thought I had done a not-so-good job the night before. I ended the call thinking I hadn’t asked the right questions. St. Vincent and I didn’t feel like a good match in conversation (or at least not in this conversational setup set-up, for which I was given thirty minutes, and continual reminders from the person on St. Vincent’s team, who remained on the call with us, that we’d need to wrap up well in time for St. Vincent’s Instagram Live session with Paul McCartney, which directly followed our interview.) St. Vincent tended to interpret my questions in bad faith. I assumed she believed me to be a Bad Reader; presumptuous, judgemental, simple, anti-curious—all qualities that her latest album ‘Daddy’s Home’, which I’ve interpreted as a counter to the folly, inadequacy and meretriciousness of moral purity—counters. Anyway, she read me wrong. I love Lana Del Rey.

  I got a call from MBC later that morning by a man who sounded quite nervous. I told him I was confused, I asked him what the matter seemed to be. He wasn't totally sure, he said, "she found the interview aggressive." Aggressive? I complimented her and cowed to her and laughed at her jokes. "Well, the message has been passed down a line of many messengers, she might not have actually said that." The man on the phone said that this—one of his artists demanding an interview to be pulled—had never happened to him before. It hadn't happened to me either. I felt annoyed by how easy it was for St. Vincent to kill something I had researched and expected money for. But the interview started to seem valuable to me after I was told that she didn't want it out in the world. "Can we draw a line under this and just kill the piece here?" said the man on the phone.

Below is the full transcript of my interview with St. Vincent (save for a short and-forth about Tool which didn’t make sense when turned into text). My questions are in bold, her responses are in italics.

**for the sake of this post, Madden’s questions are bold and Annie’s answers are not** Hi, how are you? Good how’s it going?

Not too bad. What’s your mood for today? My mood for today, well it’s good, I’m getting on an Instagram Live chat with Paul McCartney in a couple minutes so my mood is a little bit nervous but good.

I’m excited to talk about this album, I think it has a sick sense of humor that I appreciate a lot. I’ve had a really fun time listening to it.

Oh I’m glad, thank you.

I’m sensing there’s kind of a 70s trend at the moment in terms of fashion and the ways some other bands are presenting themselves. Is that something you were anticipating, is that something you feel you belong to, or was it just kind of accidental?

Accidental.

Do you feel bummed about that? No I don’t, I always just kind of do my own thing.

Do you think there’s a reason why people might be inspired by the 70s today? Do you see an analog with our world today and with the 70s? I guess this album is based in 1973, right?

Between ‘71 and ‘76, so post flower children idealism, post the Summer of Love hangover, but pre escapism of gay disco and pre nihilism of punk. Life was bad but music was good, kind of vibe.

Kind of when the trash aesthetic was taking hold, especially by Andy Warhol. Does trash inspire you? Um like literal rubbish?

No like the trash aesthetic, I guess in the PR you call it sleazy, grimy. Yeah but the difference with sleazy is that sleazy tries to present as glamorous but there’s something off, trash is just trash. I don’t know if trash pretends to be anything other.

  Can you have glamour without sleaze? Sure, absolutely. I mean, like the 20s Greta Garbo way, I would say Golden Era Hollywood, I mean behind the scenes it was probably a nightmare but you look at it and it is very genuinely shiny and beautiful.

I love the sitar on this album especially on ‘Down’, the riff is so sick. How did you get to the sitar? Well it’s not a sitar per se, it’s a choral electric sitar guitar and so it was I think George Harrison made them kind of popular in the ‘60s, I think the one I have is from ’67 and it plays like a guitar but it has a resonating body on it so it sounds sitar-esque. It was made very famous in the Steely Dan Do it Again solo.

  I guess the main PR bulletin point of this album is about your dad coming out of jail. Why did you want that to be the main way that people might read this album? More like an entry point, the title Daddy’s Home to me I mean one, it is literal but also it’s funny and cringy and pervy and also I think more than anything kind of refers to my own transformation into Daddy as it were. Yeah it’s probably not anything I would’ve really thrown out there except that it was made public without my consent but I didn’t really get to tell that side of the story and I don’t bring it up for sympathy. It simply is my story, it’s not intended to be indicative of necessarily anything, it’s just my story and I was gonna tell it with humor and compassion, all of that.

Did you anticipate a lack of sympathy for your dad’s crimes and the subject matter of this album and did that factor into how you shaped this record? That’s the tail wagging the dog my dear. No, no. A lack of sympathy, well, which crime would be the most sympathetic? I didn’t do anything, I’m simply writing about something that I think on some level everyone who’s ever had a parent can understand in the sense of you’re often going “How much of you am I?” and we kind of do identity projection through all these things so no, it’s again, it’s not really there for anything other than my own anecdotal story.

At what point did you transform into this daddy character? For how much of your adult life have you been the daddy? Oh I would just say over the past few years, I’ve just been quite a bit more leaned back and shoulder shrug and say let’s just sit down in the old beat up leather armchair and have a tequila and chat it out you know. Life is complicated, human beings are complicated and I wanted to just write stories about flawed people. There’s a whole lot of judgement going around and not a whole lot of understanding. And judgement is anti-curious. There are some people, perhaps the more sanctimonious and morally pure, who might not be interested in an artist’s reflection on their father’s white collar crimes. Do you have much sympathy for those kinds of people? I mean I think I can get sympathy for all people. If that is the reason why they decide not to spend 46 minutes with my work then I’m sure there’s plenty of other work out there for them that they can enjoy that is morally pure. They should find pure work from pure people and enjoy it.

I guess last year’s riots brought abolition towards the mainstream, during the time you were making this record, which is partially about your father’s time in prison. How did that square with your thoughts on prison and the US carceral system? Well I have plenty of thoughts on it, I’m not totally sure how it’s relevant to this.

Well I was wondering if you have a standpoint on it or if you’d rather just be ambiguous? I have so many thoughts and opinions, I don’t presume that my thoughts and opinions are relevant on every subject though. I don’t have that much hubris.

I understand. I was wondering about the Candy Darling inspiration, how does she come into the fold? Oh I just, Candy Darling to me is such a beautiful heroine in that she came from Queens and went not geographically far but worlds away to Manhattan and became her true self and in that particular kind of combination of glamour and toughness, where you feel like her name should be on the marquee and yet she could stick you with a shiv if you said the wrong thing. And I just find her inspiring and really beautiful, and I didn’t know but I found out a friend of mine was close with her and was at her bedside when she died so I was just picturing Candy Darling’s ascent to heaven as taking the final uptown train.

Wow. Did you feel like you were embodying her on this album or presenting as her? No not as such, but definitely taking inspiration from some of her energy for sure. I do hear a bit of her voice on the title track, I was wondering if you were kind of modeling your voice after her? On Daddy’s Home? Oh, no.

I love the sultriness of that song, even though it’s just about signing autographs in prison. I found it really funny. Yeah it’s definitely again, I’m writing about my own story with humor and compassion and self-effacement, all that.

Do you see this album as a movement, does it have a narrative? Yeah. It’s a full story, it’s a full collection of short stories. It has a shape and everything.

That’s just how I listened to this album, as a series of short stories. I was wondering how they interlink in your mind? I guess you have the person on Broadway, you have your dad, you have the person who’s maybe thinking of having a baby or not having a baby. I just could write stories of flawed people doing their best to get by because I’ve been most of the people on this album at one point of my life or another. And again I could write about them without condemnation and judgement just, here we are.

Are you a nostalgic person? No not generally.

Not even during the creation of this album? I’m thinking of the humming tracks, your mum cooking in the kitchen. Not exactly, I think that this particular kind of music with its sophistication and some of the jazz language in the harmony and its sense of time, it was a kind of music that I’d loved for so long but never really dipped into myself, and I think we kind of learn things a lot of times when we’re ready to, and I think I was kind of ready to learn some of the lessons that this kind of music had to teach me.

Do you think about shame a lot? Um, I think that shame is the reason why most people do the violence that they do. I think violence is an expression of impotence.

What was it about the post-idealist era in particular that you were drawn to, why not go through the flower power utopia sort of 60s route? I think that there’s an intellectual orthodoxy that is involved in utopian thinking and a lot of times it doesn’t allow for either a complex set of incentives or it doesn’t allow for the totality of human nature in its equation, and then it fails and because the structure of any kind of power is really complicated so I think in general the desire… and I understand that we’re living in, in some ways, I think just with the internet part of it, in some ways unprecedented times. And I understand people’s desire for certainty in times economic strife, cultural upheaval, all this stuff. I completely understand the desire for certainty. But I don’t think it’s as simple as demanding moral purity and punishing anyone who doesn’t fix the orthodox criteria. I understand the desire but I’m not sure it’s gonna get to where I think we want to be, which is just general more equality, whether it’s wealth equality, wealth disparity, all that kind of stuff I just think the matrices of power are really complicated.

You were saying earlier about Daddy and how you were thinking about your dad and the overlap between you two and how we all possibly become our parents. I was wondering how you consolidate the influences of your parents? I don’t know anything about them obviously but I know that your mum was a social worker, your dad was an entrepreneur, and those seem like two totally opposing worlds. Yes, my mother is a social worker and she instilled in all of us I think the idea that the work we do should be meaningful and she’s definitely really humanistic and that kind of thinking I think, that had an impression on me. My dad wasn’t an entrepreneur, my dad was a stock broker I think? But I grew up with my mom and my stepdad and my stepdad was a very different kind of guy, just was an army brat and grew up really poor, and was just coming from a different mindset and they’re just very different kinds of people. Not a judgement thing, just very different. Yeah my mom definitely errs on the very humble side. And yeah, my dad is a complicated, charismatic person who’s also very intelligent, and who went down a path that was full of consequence. Yeah they’re really, really different people so it’s funny to kind of square who was who.

What does your dad think of this album? Oh he loves it!

Yay, that’s good to know. Did you ever rebel against your dad’s lifestyle growing up as a teenager? I didn’t grow up with him, and he was in Tulsa Oklahoma. I don’t know what lifestyle you’re necessarily presuming but..

No I’m not presuming, just wanted a little background on your relationship with him I guess. So he wasn’t in your life that much where you were younger? I would go and we would spend summers there and Christmas, but I grew up in Dallas for the most part with my mom and my stepdad.

Was this album in any way an opportunity to get closer to your dad? Not in any way consciously, no.

  But are you finding with age and with time you’re getting closer to him? Well him being out of prison helps in terms of just proximity. Yeah, here’s what I’m finding. I’m finding that we live by the stories that we tell ourselves and that sometimes we realize that the story we’ve been telling ourselves for a long time was either wrong or lacked a certain amount of information, and then we have the choice of whether to reject the new information because it’s too painful to rethink the story that we’ve been telling ourselves, or assimilate the new information and go, wow life is complicated, this is an interesting wrinkle. I choose to do the latter.

  Yeah, it’s very easy to bullshit yourself, right? Yeah, it's true in all kind of ways you know?

This story, the story of your dad, it almost seems redemptive. I mean I would say so, and that’s not in any way what I intended and you know, a lot of times when you’re making something, I mean you’re a writer you know, you have the compulsion to make it but you’re not necessarily sure where it’s coming from or why or any of those kind of questions, but I think there is the possibility of redemption, I do, I think there is the possibility of people to change and I think there is a possibility of things like forgiveness and growth. And if I didn’t think that there was a possibility for human beings to change, to grow, to take in new information and then continue to write their story, then I don’t know what we’d really be doing, you know? And that’s not really the world I want to live in, we’re a moving picture we’re not a still photograph.

Do you want to try and change the world, do you feel like you have that power, do you feel hopeful that there can be a better future? Sorry for the cheesy language. No, I mean I don’t think that many people would accuse me of being an optimist in a lot of ways, and I don’t think in terms of my “power to change the world” I mean I think all I can do is try to study the human condition and write about the human condition in some way that resonates and then maybe people will hear that and that will resonate with them and I think that ultimately the best case scenario for music is empathy because it’s like psychologically this is why we like to listen to stories or this is why we like to watch movies is so we can go down the empathy exercise and you can see yourself as that person in the film, see someone who isn’t like you in any way, shape or form from a just box ticking kind of way, but then realize oh, we’re very similar in some ways or what would I do if I was in that situation, we do all these things and we live by these stories and I think those stories well-told can encourage empathy and empathy can go out into the world and have a kind of transformative experience. I don’t really think about, I mean I think once I make a thing and then it’s out in the world and it’s for other people to assimilate or enjoy or not, whatever, however they take it, is absolutely fine by me. But it’s for them, it’s not my place in any way to say how people should or should not enjoy it or assimilate it.

Yeah the reason I brought up prison abolition earlier is because that might be how some people contextualize this album. I would say that that’s one lens. That to me would not be the main lens.

[I’m told to wrap it up]

Yeah let’s wrap up. So Tool cover album next? No, I wish.

Someday I’m hoping. I love Tool.

I feel your Paul McCartney nerves Yeah, I’m gonna go shower.

That’s always a good idea. Okay take care, thank you again for you time Thanks, bye.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @allauraleigh​ ​@deakydeacy @bluutac​ @johndeaconshands​ @nyxaura​

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: ��Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”  

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.  

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

[themangolorian]

the book

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (Narcos TV show)

Tiny ficlet. One shot. Javi’s POV. Inspired by this post.

Summary: When Javi finds an old book in an empty office, he cannot get his mind off the woman who poured her heart into the spaces between the words. The only problem is he has no idea who she is.

Javi had found the book in an empty office. He’d gone in to clear his head. To get away from the ruckus and noise of the space he had to share with everyone else. The office had been blessedly quiet. He’d been sitting with his head between his hands, and when he’d finally lifted his gaze, it had been there. Haphazardly laying on the corner of the desk as if waiting for him. Brown leather bound. The corners were worn, the pages yellowed with use and time. 

Warily and needing something to clear his mind, he’d reached over casually to flip it open, unaware that action would unforeseeably change his life. Cien años de soledad. Not out of the ordinary, though its casing was. Javi had read it once, before moving to Colombia. He shuffled through the pages. It was a good book, but he had so little time left in his life for fiction. 

Just as he was about to shut the cover of the book, something handwritten within the pages caught his eye. But he’d lost the page. He began leafing through the pages to see what someone had thought important enough to write in a book. Javi had never understood the point of doing something like that when one’s thoughts while reading could easily be kept in one’s head. But he was curious anyway. 

As he thumbed through the pages, he realized there were handwritten notes in several places throughout the book. In a cramped but neat script. He had to squint to read them.

this is not how I would react to a ghost - next to what he supposed was a crude drawing of a smiling apparition. The corner of his mouth turned up. He flipped the page almost carefully now.

well...i dream of peace. everywhere in colombia. but mostly on this mess of a base. Javi smiled fully now.

Flipping through the pages, he found various personal and funny tidbits, commentaries on the story. So many phrases in the book were underlined. And drawings. Yellow butterflies. A calf-like beast. Flowers. So many flowers, some described within the book, some clearly made up in someone’s imagination. He began to wonder who on base could possibly be funny enough to talk like this. Based on the handwriting itself, and a few of the more telling comments, he knew it was a woman. But he scoured the pages between each flap of the book and could not find a name. Every thought imaginable seemed caught in the neat handwriting. Everything but her name. 

Javi sighed and let the cover fall shut. He contemplated. Looked around the office. Noted the dust on every surface. He stood and tucked the book under his arm before thinking too hard about it.

In the weeks that followed, Javi began to find solace in the worn, obviously well-loved pages of the novel. Whoever had written these words was obviously snarky, maybe sassy, but she loved the story all the same. It was clear in her notes. Javi never actually re-read the book itself. Only the passages that would help him understand the noteleaver’s quips.

“What’re you reading there?” Steve called his way from the bunk as Javi traced the words of another note he’d only just found. He’d been sure he’d read them all, but this one was new to him, hidden between the many pages of the novel. 

this is why we shouldn’t let tourists in

He’d been pleasantly surprised to find a note he’d not yet read and had accidentally chuckled out loud. But he closed the book with an air of having been caught when Steve spoke.

“Nothing,” he had to clear his throat, voice hoarse from disuse. The ambassador had forbade them from leaving the grounds, and they were growing listless in their boredom.

Steve glanced over. “Doesn’t look like nothing.” But he went back to cleaning his gun all the same, leaving Javi to wonder.

Javi stared at the book. He wondered who it had belonged to and why it had been abandoned in the middle of a dusty office. Briefly he wondered if its owner had died, and the thought panged his heart, though he could not say why. He shook his head at himself and tucked the book under his bunk so he could nap.

Because there was so little to do for the time being, Javi began carrying the book around. Both to read it...well, its previous owner’s notes. And to, if he was being honest with himself, maybe run into the person it belonged to. Though, at this point, he thought he’d be loath to part with it.

But...he’d begun to start thinking too hard about the writer of the handwritten notes which, by now, he’d come to memorize. He didn’t know what it was about her words that seemed to captivate him so. She was funny. Thoughtful. Romantic, at least in the sense of the book. Maybe practical. He felt like he’d gotten to know someone deeply, someone he couldn’t put a face to. And for Javi, that was endlessly frustrating.

As he sat in the mess next to Steve to eat lunch, he placed the book on the table just across from them. Steve had finally stopped asking about the book when Javier had shown him the first page, clearly stating its title. 

“Can’t get your nose out of that,” he’d noted in his plainly straightforward way. But he hadn’t brought it up again, though sometimes Javi saw the way Steve’s brow would arch his way when he’d open it yet again.

Now, Javi perused the surrounding tables and the others milling about, wondering if any of them might be the person he was looking for. There weren’t many women on base other than the ambassador. There was her secretary, an older prudish type. He didn’t think it could be her considering she seemed to have no sense of humor. There were a handful of others and though Javi’s eyes lingered on them, he didn’t think it could be any one of them either. For one wild moment, he wondered if it could be the ambassador’s. But he shook his head at the thought, smiling.

“What?” Steve wondered through a mouthful of lechona.

But before Javi could respond, a hand was reaching out and picking up the book. Javi had to stop himself from reaching over automatically to stop-

Her. Javi had forgotten all about her.

“Here it is,” she was saying, sounding breathless with relief.

Her eyelashes were lowered against her cheeks in a lovely way as she gazed at the book with clear affection. She still had not seemed to have noticed Javi and Steve sitting there.

She was a researcher the ambassador had hired to help the DEA in their years-long mission to capture Escobar. Javi hadn’t realized she’d been staying on base. He’d only ever seen her once here. And that had been before everything had gone to shit. He’d never spoken to her long enough to get to know her, but she was pretty. Beautiful, really. And he remembered her laugh. He’d done something silly, accidentally tripped or something, and her laugh had been infectious. Had anyone else laughed, Steve maybe, Javi might have gotten irritated. But her laugh had brought a smile to his face.

“Con cuidado” she’d lilted at him before going the opposite way, her eyes still laughing.

“I’ve been looking for this,” she finally caught Javi’s eyes. She must’ve been wondering why he’d been staring at her. Smiling. How did she do that with her eyes? Always smiling.

When Javi didn’t respond, the corners of her mouth turned up now into an uncertain smile without diminishing the bright one remaining in her eyes. Maybe she thought they thought she’d interrupted them. “Well, enjoy your lunch.” She turned to walk towards the food counter, tucking her long lost, now found, book under her arm.

Javi only hesitated for a second, his mind racing, before he stood up and followed after her, rushing to find the right words to express that he’d read every single note she’d left in a decade-old novel he’d found in an empty office, and now he was sure he was in love with her.

Steve’s eyes narrowed as he watched his partner’s retreating back. “What in Sam Hill was that about?” He drawled before reaching over and picking the lone buñeulo off Javi’s tray.

A/N: For the record, I’m one of those people who writes in their books and underlines incessantly. I know some ppl consider that sacrilege but it’s how I show my love! 🥰

Forever Tag List (please let me know if you’d like to be removed!): @lesqui​ @murdermewithbooks​ @beskars @rosetophighlander @dyn-djarin @keeper0fthestars @mrsparknuts @hiscyarika @watsonwise @lavenderl3mons @scarlettwitcher @adlerorzel-blog​ @tiffdawg​

masterlist

[gb-fics]

Dressed in Confidence

Fanfiction:

Kiryuuin Shou x Kyan Yutaka (Golden Bomber)

Note: So, you might have seen the self-cover Shou shared yesterday and it inspired me to write a fic right away. For the context: The character originally performing the song has a magic suit that makes him confident and popular with women. Please, don’t question how it works, we’ll just pretend a suit can magically change Shou’s appearance and personality in this fic ^-^ Also, if you haven’t seen the video, please check it out, because he is gorgeous in it and maybe it will make the story seem a little less random ... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lgzL_Ccmr1Y

„Just go over and talk to her already”, Yutaka urged quietly.

He didn’t know whom of the girls Shou had set his eyes on, but the glances he kept sneaking at the group of women opposite to their booth at the bar were more than obvious. Yutaka had waited to speak up until Jun and Kenji had went over to the counter to secure new drinks for themselves though. Shou was naturally self-conscious and Yutaka hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable in front of the others. But his silent longing was becoming hard to bear.

“I can’t just do that”, Shou protested. Obviously, he knew what Yutaka was talking about immediately. He didn’t even seem surprised that Yutaka had noticed. “I’m not some kind of gigolo.”

Yutaka frowned. Although he was pretty good at seeing Shou through, he sometimes didn’t understand his reasoning anyway.

“Chatting up girls in bars and being a gigolo are two totally different things.”

Next to him Shou squirmed on the bench seat.

“I just don’t have that kind of confidence”, he whined.

“You are handsome, famous and you have money. Women have every reason to be interested in you. So, pull yourself together.”

Yutaka had lost count of how often he had given Shou similar pep talks already.

“I’m not”, Shou said right away. He cleared his throat. “I mean, I’m famous. And I do have money. But I’m not handsome.”

It was difficult to come up with the right reply to that. Yutaka never found the right words to talk about Shou’s looks.

“You should let them decide for themselves”, he pointed out.

Shou shifted his weight again. He reached down to check for the bag he kept on the floor between his legs. He had kept checking for it all evening, as if he was scared it might suddenly disappear.

“Please, if I go over there, I won’t even be able to look them in the eyes.” Shou winced.

Yutaka hoped that Jun and Kenji would hurry. The conversation was starting to make him uneasy. He didn’t know how to cheer Shou up without praising him, and he didn’t know how to praise him without making him uncomfortable. Being Shou’s friend could be difficult.

“What’s in the bag anyway?”, he changed the topic. Not the best solution, but at least a way to distract Shou from his self-pity.

“Ah, I wrote Party wo Tomenaide for that franchise, remember? They’re currently working on this magic suit and they gave me a prototype when I recorded the video for the self-cover. It’s supposed to make you cool and confident and popular with women.”

“And you brought it to the bar?” Yutaka hadn’t meant to let disdain sneak into his voice, but Shou pulled up his shoulders instinctively as if he wanted to shield himself from potential judgement.

“Just in case”, he said defensively. “We sometimes end up talking to women, when we’re in a group and I thought it might be a good chance to try it out. See if it even works. In case there is ever something I’ll need a lot of confidence for.”

Yutaka felt soothed to think Shou had only eyed the women as test objects to sate his curiosity about the suit and that he had not fallen in love from across the room. His tendencies in that regard were sometimes worrisome.

“Well then, give it a try”, he suggested. He had heard about the suit but hadn’t known Shou actually owned a prototype. He was curious, if it would work. Shou’s confidence could surely use an occasional boost and it would be great to no longer be the one responsible for it.

“If you insist”, Shou mumbled, but he was already fumbling with his bag. It was obvious he had only waited for some sort of permission.

He pulled out a suit coat and inhaled soundly before he got up. For a moment, he just stood there with the piece of clothing in his hands indecisively. Then he slipped it on in a surprisingly smooth motion.

All Yutaka did was blink and the next second, a completely changed person stood in front of him. Shou’s traditional Tamiya shirt had miraculously transformed into a silky, black suit. It even came with matching dress shoes. But it wasn’t just that. His hair had changed, too. It was styled in perfect shape and showed green streaks that made his look seem edgy and interesting. He was even wearing makeup that differed his usual style. A bright yellow flower stuck in his buttonhole.

Shou had transformed into someone so conventionally attractive, he might indeed start working at a host club.

Absent-mindedly he straightened his suit coat and turned towards the group of women.

He looked dazzling, but almost like a stranger.

Yutaka was surprised that he hesitated for so long before approaching the women anyway. He followed him with his eyes, curious how this would turn out.

Shou’s posture seemed straighter than usually as he walked through the room, yet he still managed to look awkward. He looked like a person who was arguing with himself about every step.

Finally, he stopped right behind a cute girl with bangs. Yutaka should have been able to guess it was her whom Shou had been watching. He would have chatted up her more light-haired friend, but when it came to Shou, she was just his type.

The girl didn’t notice him, though.

Shou just stood for a moment, although her friends had already noticed him. Seemingly, Shou had no idea how to draw attention to himself. He hesitated for far too long, before he reached out and tapped the girl on the shoulder. She flinched, which caused Shou to jolt in return and the whole situation was so awkward to watch, that Yutaka winced under his breath. The good looks and the confidence to approach women had done nothing for Shou’s coolness.

The girl turned around and even from across the room, Yutaka could tell that she seemed startled at Shou’s appearance. Her expression wasn’t annoyed but spoke of pleasant surprise. If a girl looked at you like that at first sight, it was very difficult to blow it.

Even from across the room Yutaka could tell that Shou would blow it.

Instead of looking at the girl while talking, he kept his eyes on the ground and his posture shifted, making it seem as if he wanted to curl back up into himself. He looked exactly as miserable and self-conscious talking to women as he had as a teenager. Everything about his body language radiated insecurity.

Yutaka sighed.

The woman shook her head. Instead of taking it with dignity, Shou managed to look even more miserable. Knowing him, Yutaka assumed he was probably blushing. He still didn’t make eye-contact.

After a very painful minute, Shou turned around and shuffled back to their table. He no longer seemed confident at all. His outward handsomeness remained, but it didn’t match with the way he carried himself at all.

“Sorry”, Yutaka said. “At least now you know.”

Shou sat down on the bench next to him again. Yutaka noticed that he wasn’t slumping down as usual, though, but sat surprisingly straight. It made him look taller and more self-assured.

“Too bad the suit is not working.”

“Oh, I don’t mind”, Shou said and turned towards him. His voice wasn’t as quiet and gloomy as Yutaka had expected. He spoke smugly. “I’d rather spend my time with you anyway.”

Yutaka eyed him suspiciously. The makeup suited him; his features looked more contoured and his skin smooth. His lips were always wide, but tonight they glistened invitingly. It was still Shou’s face, but the makeup brought out all its good qualities more strongly.

“What?”, he asked.

“Why would I waste my time with these women, when I can spend the night with a pretty guy like you?”, Shou asked. He was meeting Yutaka’s eyes head on. That was rare for him already, but tonight his gaze was challenging rather than stubborn.

Yutaka was so irritated by his unnaturally confident tone, that it took him a moment to realize what was going on.

“Oh, ha ha, very funny”, he said dryly.

“I mean it”, Shou insisted and placed his hand on Yutaka’s shoulder. He often did that, especially when he got tipsy and he had already had a couple of beers tonight, though by no means enough to justify him acting so out of character. His touch right now felt different, however. He wasn’t just seeking out body contact, he was using the gesture as an excuse to lean in, bringing them closer together. Suddenly, Yutaka was very aware of how close Shou was sitting.

“Let me buy you a drink”, he said, before turning around. Shou usually hated calling over the waiter and when they went to a restaurant together, he normally left it to the others. He was too shy and polite to raise his voice at strangers.

Now, he raised his arm and called out loudly: “Excuse me?” to make the young waitress turn around. “A bottle of champagne, please. Your most expensive one.”

The waitress nodded and headed off.

Shou turned back to Yutaka.

“Champagne? The expensive one? What’s gotten into you?”, Yutaka asked, still irritated. Before this, he could have written it off as a joke, but Shou would never waste money just to prank him. “You never order anything high-end.”

He still felt like he was talking to a stranger.

“Nothing but the best for my kitten”, Shou said.

Yutaka chocked.

“What?! What did you just call me?”

“Kitten”, Shou repeated. He sounded hoarse. His eyes trailed down Yutaka’s body and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he was shamelessly checking him out. It made Yutaka feel unexpectedly hot.

“Unless you prefer another pet name?”

And then Shou smiled.

It wasn’t a smug, cocky smile. His smile was warm and genuine and it looked just a little bit insecure as if he worried that he had crossed a line. It made Shou look shy and kind and charming. His teeth weren’t showing, but his lips seemed even wider and absolutely gorgeous and the small dimple on his left cheek didn’t seem as misplaced as usual, but it fit in perfectly with his handsome face. The smile turned him from a stranger into nothing but Shou, but the best version of Shou that he could possibly be. It was Shou the way he would look if he were no longer worried and self-deprecating; still shy but no longer scared.

Yutaka’s knees grew weak. But it wasn’t just his knees. It was his shoulders that suddenly held no tension anymore and his arms, that turned into butter and his whole body felt like it might just melt away when Shou smiled at him like this and called him cute names.

“Uhm”, he said.

“Your champagne”, the waitress interrupted them and Yutaka turned hastily, glad for the interruption that allowed him to clear his head. Something about this suit seemed to be working at least.

The waitress placed a bucket filled with ice on the table, that held a bottle of champagne. Steam was rising from the bottleneck, indicating that it had just been opened. Yutaka hadn’t expected it to be done for them already, but it was probably better that way. They would surely have created a mess otherwise.

The bottle came with four glasses and only their sight made Yutaka realize he had completely forgotten about Jun and Kenji. He wondered what was taking them so long.

“Let me get that for you”, Shou offered, although Yutaka hadn’t moved to fix himself a glass at all.

Shou placed his fingers on Yutaka’s wrist as if he wanted to physically stop him from helping himself. Once again, the gesture wasn’t untypical for Shou. He often touched people while talking to them, but this time, it had a different quality. Usually, his touches were distracted as if he didn’t really notice what his body was doing at all. But right now, he looked down on his hand resting on Yutaka’s bare wrist, and then he looked up, meeting his eyes, as if he wanted to make absolutely sure, that Yutaka became aware of the contact. His touch was fully intentional this time and Yutaka sensed heat creeping up his neck.

The touch lasted just long enough to not feel accidental, then Shou pulled back and reached for the bottle of champagne instead. He closed his long, slender fingers around the bottleneck firmly and took up a glass. His movements were secure and controlled. Yutaka had always admired Shou’s hands, that seemed too elegant and coordinated for someone who moved the way he did. But when it came to his hands, Shou always seemed to know what he was doing.

He poured a glass of champagne without spilling a drop and held it out to Yutaka.

Yutaka thought that with all the things that had changed, Shou’s hands had stayed exactly the same.

He took the glass and Shou held his gaze for a moment. It was Yutaka, who looked away first. Shou was wearing coloured lenses and his eyes were bright and intriguing. He didn’t seem in a hurry as he poured himself a glass as well.

Yutaka watched his movements closely. He could still recognize Shou’s way of moving, but he seemed less stressed and therefore less awkward. The only real difference seemed to be, that he was relaxed for a change and Yutaka wondered, if Shou would always look this sexy, if only he managed to put him at ease more.

Shou placed the bottle back into the bucket and held up his glass to Yutaka while meeting his eyes again.

“To a night full of fun”, he said. He said it like he was thinking of something dirty.

“To a fun night”, Yutaka agreed and clinked his glass to Shou’s. He did his best to make it sound less suggestive.

He emptied half of the glass in large gulps. The champagne made him feel bubbly inside, but he doubted it was because of the alcohol. This version of Shou made him nervous.

“Tastes expensive”, he observed lamely, although he couldn’t tell one champagne from the other.

Shou smiled again and once more, Yutaka thought that his lips looked stunning tonight.

“Oh, you guys ordered champagne!”, Kenji’s voice chimed in unexpectedly.

“When did you change, Shou? Is that the magic suit?”, Jun asked and pulled up his chair to sit down opposite to them.

Although Yutaka had hoped to be rescued from this weird tension, he still felt mad at them for interrupting.

Kenji placed himself on the bench next to Shou.

“He brought the suit to the bar to pick up girls, but it doesn’t work”, Yutaka declared maliciously. He was no longer sure if he was annoyed with Jun and Kenji for showing up, or for staying away for so long, or with Shou for acting so weird in the first place.

Shou patted the bench next to himself.

“Here, Kenji, come closer”, he said.

Kenji shuffled closer.

“Why?”, he asked. It was very much like Kenji to comply first and ask questions later.

Shou raised his hand and ran his forefinger across Kenji’s sharp jawline.

“So I can get a better look at your handsome face.”

Something inside of Yutaka constricted uncomfortably. He didn’t know why he felt so upset, but he couldn’t deny that he felt jealous of Kenji. Since the suit hadn’t worked on the girls, he had assumed it was only him having this effect on Shou.

“Oh god, what’s up with you?”, Jun asked, sounding seriously worried.

Kenji gave an embarrassed sound, but started pouring champagne for him and Jun as well without waiting for an invitation.

“The suit is turning him gay”, Yutaka explained nonchalantly and emptied his own glass.

“What’s turning me gay is sitting here with such cute guys”, Shou said lightly. He didn’t sound embarrassed at all. Rather than joking, he seemed flirting.

“That’s disturbing”, Jun said somewhat too loudly. “Someone get him out of this suit!”

Shou batted his eyelashes before looking right at Jun at the other side of the table.

“Please, Jun”, he said. “If you want to undress me, all you have to do is ask.”

Jun made a startled noise that turned into a mixture between a nervous laugh and a cough.

Yutaka placed his glass on the table too soundly.

Shou turned towards him. He leaned in closely.

“Don’t be jealous, kitten”, he said lowly. “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

Yutaka wondered how Shou had noticed his feelings without even looking at him, when Yutaka had troubles naming them himself. He felt oddly happy when he heard the pet name again. Shou hadn’t used it for Jun and Kenji. Maybe that meant something.

“I’m not jealous”, he lied and reached for the bottle of champagne. “I just need more alcohol, if you’re going to stay like this.”

He poured himself the rest of the champagne until his glass was so full, it nearly overflowed, before he put the empty bottle back onto the table.

Shou pulled the flower from his buttonhole. Up close, Yutaka could tell that it was a yellow rose.

“Here”, Shou said. When his voice was so low and deep, Yutaka’s body turned into butter again. He wondered, if Shou had the same effect on Jun and Kenji while wearing the suit.

“What are you doing? Get that thing out of my face!”

“Take it”, Shou insisted. “This one is only for you. To remind you, that you’re special to me.”

Yutaka hesitated. He wished Shou would sound joking, because a joking Shou was something he knew how to deal with. He still had the feeling that he was getting pranked, but he didn’t know how to avoid it.

He took the rose gingerly and placed it on the table plate demonstratively instead of keeping it in his hands. Shou’s facial expression was impossible to read. Yutaka could not tell, if he had offended him.

“It’s empty already?!”, Kenji complained. He had taken up the champagne bottle and studied it in disbelief.

“I can order another round!”, Shou offered right away and already raised his hand, but luckily, Kenji stopped him.

“It’s fine”, he said quickly. He seemed to be a little uncomfortable around this new version of Shou as well.

“Yes, I think it’s time we all go home”, Jun confirmed.

“No!”, Shou protested. “No, no! This party can’t stop! We have to keep drinking! Let’s celebrate all night.”

“It’s late”, Kenji pointed out.

“And you seem to need rest the most”, Jun agreed.

“You should take off this suit”, Kenji added. He spoke very gently, not like he was soothing Shou, but as if he was seriously worried about him.

“They’re right”, Yutaka said softly. He realized that he was worried about Shou, too. Tonight, he seemed unpredictable and possibly reckless. “Let’s pay the bill and then I’ll take you home.”

Shou turned and looked at him cheekily.

“I see, so you want to continue the party elsewhere.” His tone left no room for wondering what kind of party he had in mind.

“What? No!”

“I’ll take you to a fancy hotel”, Shou suggested and this time, he leaned in so far that Yutaka involuntarily pulled back. “Just give me a chance. If you let me, I’ll make you feel things that no woman has ever made you feel before.”

Yutaka’s neck felt hot again and now his face started to heat as well. He thought of everything that entailed. He thought of feeling Shou inside of him.

“Just let me try”, Shou coaxed, but he no longer sounded flirtatious. He sounded like he was begging. The despair in Shou’s voice scared him. He didn’t know what to do with it.

“Shou”, he said as sternly as possible and grabbed him by the shoulder to push him back. It felt like dealing with someone, who was very, very drunk. “It’s really time you take off that suit and get some sleep.”

Shou pulled back from his touch and wrinkles were showing around the root of his nose. The lines made his face look so characteristically himself, that Yutaka felt almost relieved.

“I don’t want to”, Shou said and finally, he sounded like his stubborn self again. “I don’t want this party to end.” He seemed to be repeating the words like a spell now and gestured towards the table as if he wanted to include everything. “I don’t want this night to end. I want to stay with you all night.” He gestured towards himself. “Like this.”

Yutaka didn’t fully understand what Shou meant, but his emotions seemed so raw and honest, it pained him anyway.

“You can’t, Shou. You are not yourself.”

Shou hung his head.

“I am”, he said. “I am.”

“Hey”, Yutaka said gently and touched his arm. Jun and Kenji stayed out of the conversation like they always did, when Shou turned difficult. It was only ever Yutaka, who managed to soothe him. “You need some rest.”

“Fine”, Shou agreed reluctantly. “But you have to take me. And I’m keeping on the suit.”

“Okay.” Yutaka sighed. He figured they could argue over the details later. He looked up at their bandmates. “Why don’t you guys go pay? We’ll pay you back later. I’ll make sure Shou gets home safely. Maybe the fresh air will help.”

“Alright”, Jun agreed. The fact, that neither of them argued about splitting the bill immediately although it contained the expensive bottle of champagne proved they were all irritated by Shou.

“Come here”, Yutaka said as gently as possible and took Shou’s arm to pull him up from the bench. “Let’s get you home.”

Shou followed without resistance. He picked up his bag, that was now empty and allowed Yutaka to guide him over to the front door of the bar.

It was colder outside, although the temperatures were warm enough that they didn’t need a jacket. The cold air cleared Yutaka’s mind a little, but finally getting some distance to Shou certainly helped as well. Inside the bar, he had started to feel dizzy.

Yutaka pulled out his phone and opened an app.

“I think I’m going to call us a cab, alright? We can’t take the train with you looking like this. Also, you might try to pick up random guys, if we don’t get you home straight away.”

“You’re jealous again”, Shou observed and this time, he sounded gleeful.

“I’m not”, Yutaka muttered and requested a ride before putting the phone back into his pocket.

When he looked up, he realized Shou was standing awfully close again. The suit seemed to be making him taller as well, because Yutaka had to look up to him slightly. Maybe it was just his straight posture in combination with the heel of the dress shoes though.

“Have you heard of personal space before?”, he complained and took a step backwards.

Shou took a step forward immediately. If anything, he was standing even closer than before.

“Sorry, that my handsomeness is making you nervous”, he said with a sleek grin. Yutaka had not thought that to be sentence he would ever hear from Shou unironically.

“Uh”, Yutaka said. He had been meaning to deny it, but Shou’s face was so close now, that he forgot how to say words.

“Shh, kitten”, Shou said quietly. He reached up and cupped Yutaka’s face with both hands. His touch was gentle but very secure. Yutaka could sense how bony and strong his fingers felt. They were surprisingly cool.

He knew that he was supposed to pull back, but he stood frozen, and he felt guilty for that. He knew that Shou was not himself and it was up to him to keep the situation from getting weird. But truth was, that he liked the way Shou touched him and he liked it when he held his gaze for so long and he liked it, when he called him kitten.

“Don’t”, he forced out softly anyway. “You can’t just do something like that in public.”

They were the only ones out on the street, but someone might walk out of the bar any moment. Anyone could see them.

“I don’t care”, Shou said. “I don’t want to worry about who could possibly see us. I’m tired of always worrying. I just want to kiss you.” He paused. “May I?”

Yutaka knew exactly what the answer was supposed to be. Under no circumstances could he allow this to happen, because it was reckless and dumb and moreover immoral.

“Yes”, he whispered.

Shou leaned in and kissed him with astonishing force. His kiss wasn’t hesitant at all. He kissed like he knew what he wanted. His lips were soft and his hold on Yutaka was firm. It made him feel very safe and oddly frail. He parted his lips and allowed Shou to kiss him like no one had ever kissed him in a public space before. Their teeth clicked together and Shou’s nose brushed his cheek and when he pulled back eventually, Yutaka was out of breath.

Shou looked at him and he broke into that sweet, bashful smile again, that looked so much like him, except lighter and happier than Yutaka had ever seen him before.

For a moment, he thought that he might just give in. He considered going back to a hotel with this new version of Shou, who would hold him in his strong arms and whisper sweet nothings into his ear and kiss him full of confidence. Yutaka would grow weak in his arms, because he was handsome and cool and self-assured.

But it wasn’t real.

“Stop it”, he said as gently as possible as Shou moved to lean in once again. “This is no good.”

“We can go somewhere more private”, Shou offered immediately.

Yutaka shook his head.

“It’s this suit. There is something wrong with it. It obviously works on men instead of women. It’s making you weird. You need to take it off.”

“No, no, please”, Shou said and he reached up instinctively, clawing his hand into the lapel of the suit coat as if he was scared Yutaka might try to tear it off. “This suit is not changing me. It’s just making me more confident. It’s … This is me. This is the version of me that’s in my head. It’s who I want to be. All the time. I don’t want to … I can’t let this end. I want to stay this version. I don’t want this party to end.” Vaguely he gestured back to the bar.

“So, you want to be someone, who promiscuously hits on all of his bandmates?” It had been meant as a joke, but it came out bitter. The way Shou had touched Kenji’s face made their kiss just now meaningless – regardless of whenever it was the suit or something Shou repressed violently.

“I want to be someone who is at terms with and open about his sexuality”, Shou blurted out.

Yutaka was pretty sure that the surprised was written all over his face. Before tonight, Shou had never indicated liking men at all.

“I want to be able to joke about it”, Shou said. “I don’t want to hide from the people closest to me. But most importantly, I want to show you how I feel. You’re the person I …”

He finally let go of his suit coat and his arm dropped down by his side as if he no longer had the energy to gesture at all.

“I wanted to try if the suit worked. I thought, if it does, I’d one day wear it to tell you. I wasn’t meaning to do it right away. Things got out of hand. I was scared of this night ending, because … I don’t know what will come afterwards.”

Yutaka licked his lips.

“So, you …?”, he started, but didn’t know how to finish the question.

“Yeah”, Shou confirmed. “I love you. And when I’m wearing this suit … when I’m wearing it, I’m cool and handsome. I’ll keep wearing it. And if you give me a chance, I think I can make you like me a little too. You allowed me to kiss you like this. You are at least somewhat attracted to me in this suit. I can be this version of myself for you. I’ll keep being it.”

Yutaka shook his head slightly.

“What are you going to do?” He wasn’t mocking Shou. He was sad, because Shou sounded so desperate. “Keep wearing the suit in your sleep?”

Shou shrugged and smiled helplessly.

“I hope they’ll design magic pyjamas soon”, he said.

Yutaka looked at Shou and all he saw was a handsome host. He had no idea where the despair in his voice was coming from. It was as if he couldn’t see below the pretty surface at all.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”, Shou plead. “I confessed to you. Don’t I deserve an answer?”

“Please, take off the suit”, Yutaka said. He suddenly felt exhausted. He was tired of dealing with this person in front of him. He just wanted to talk to his friend. “I want to give you a proper reply, but I can’t when you are wearing this suit.”

“It makes me better”, Shou insisted.

“This …” Yutaka gestured towards Shou and the green streaks in his hair. “I feel like I’m talking to a stranger. I need to make sure it’s really you.”

Shou looked at him for a long time and Yutaka was convinced he would decline. But then he nodded and slowly took off the suit coat.

He blinked and then Shou was already different.

He was back in his Tamiya shirt, his arms bare and pale and awkwardly holding on to the suit coat. His hair was blonde again and looked uncombed because he had run his hands through it early this evening. His face was flushed and bare and his eyes were tiny, but dark and so much warmer than when he was wearing coloured lenses. He kept his eyes cast down and yet Yutaka had the feeling he was seeing them for the first time tonight. He seemed small, hunched over once again and his head too large for his shoulders, making him look frail and in need of protection.

Yutaka felt a giant wave of affection rushing through him and he had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around Shou.

He had missed him. He had missed him so much more than he had ever expected. And he thought that this awkward little guy with the small eyes and the messy hair was the most beautiful version of a human being possible.

“Hey”, he said quietly.

Shou looked up briefly, but he didn’t manage to hold his gaze for too long, just as it had always been.

“Hey”, he replied.

“Do you …?” Yutaka broke off. For a moment, he considered that Shou might have forgotten about everything that had happened tonight. “Do you still feel the same? Without the suit?”

“Yeah”, Shou confirmed. “The same. Plus, an awful lot of regret for saying it out loud.”

Yutaka chuckled.

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Shou looked down onto the suit coat in his hands. His hands still looked the same. “I behaved awful tonight. Sorry for putting you into a position like this. Let’s just forget I ever said anything. In fact, let’s just forget about this entire night.”

Worried lines were showing everywhere on Shou’s face. His face looked all weird and wrinkly. He looked like his old gloomy, over-thinking self again.

“I should probably burn this thing to make sure I never do anything this stupid again.”

“You probably should”, Yutaka agreed.

Shou had looked happier when wearing the suit, more relaxed. Yutaka wanted him to look this happy always, but he knew they’d have to find a different way for that.

“Sorry”, Shou mumbled again.

Yutaka paused for a moment.

“Though, if I’m honest, I’m going to miss you calling me your kitten”, he confessed jokingly.

Shou looked irritated. Yutaka let him suffer for just a few seconds more.

“I’m also going to miss you kissing me”, he added.

Shou looked up and sucked in his lower lip. His teeth were showing visibly. He looked by no means conventionally attractive and Yutaka loved him for that.

“Really?”, Shou asked insecurely.

“Really”, Yutaka assured him without hesitation.

Shou started smiling and it was the same smile as before. The warm one with the cute dimple, that made his lips look gorgeous and that was shy and hesitant, but finally happy without a trace of worry. And Yutaka thought, that they were going to get there and that they wouldn’t need a magic suit for it at all.

“We can always work on that”, Shou said. “Right, kitten?”

[sisterkosho]

Modern!AU Headcanons | Geto Family

Credits: Y'all know the drill. Ayume art in the header by @hiikkups on Instagram. Go follow her. 🔫👁👄👁

Warnings: None today. Just some modern shenanigans for your reading pleasure.

Notes: Y'all also know the other drill. I procrastinate and don't write Ayume's bio, and y'all get some random fic/HC post because I gotta keep y'all fed somehow. With that being said, here's some modern HCs for the SuguYume fam while I work on the Discord, because we were talking about it again last night and it's honestly one of my favorites + another coping mechanism so yEET--

It all started when Ayume Nejireta Geto moved in next door with her husband and two children.

What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out, their elderly neighbor, Rui, was none to thrilled about their house having been built on top of one of her flower gardens. Despite it happening decades before they even arrived there.

Grandma holds a grudge ok.

Thankfully, she didn't scare them off like she did any of the previous families who had lived there.

You get used to her after awhile.

The one person she happened to take a liking to was Satoru of all people, who she met during one of the family's backyard BBQs. Which are always a mess btw, needless to say.

She even made cookies for him.

Ayume and Suguru were extremely confused because of this. How did he manage to get on her good side?

"She never gives us cookies, wth."

Turns out he had been flirting with her. Big surprise.

Though in his own defense, you'd never guess Rui was a grandma just by looking at her. The neighborhood is convinced she's immortal and doesn't age.

Ever since that day, Satoru made it a point to stop by Rui's whenever he's visiting. Just because he knows flattery will get him free food.

He's rarely allowed to visit specifically for that reason. Well, that and the fact that he's just a bad influence on the girls and everyone knows it.

Then again, the family friend, Juno, isn't much better.

He somehow got ahold of the spare key, and will randomly just let himself in.

They once woke up at 3 A.M because they heard rummaging around coming from the kitchen.

Suguru instinctively grabbed a bat and went to go switch on the lights.

Only to find Juno eating out of their trash like a raccoon.

This lead to the girls new favorite excuse.

"Juno ate my homework."

We don't talk about the time he brought a rock over claiming it was his son.

Sometimes they question why they still associate with him, but still let him stick around for whatever reason.

At the very least, he's intimidated by Ayume. So he doesn't cause too much trouble.

The family has a wide array of strange decorations in their home. Most of which they don't even recall buying.

Such as the weird plant in their dining room that sorta looks like it has a face...

There's also the model volcano the girls made for a school project.

For some reason, they had stuck one singular googly eye on it and named it "Jogo".

Ayume and Suguru were understandably a bit concerned, but It's fine as long as you don't make eye contact with it.

Ayume runs a little Etsy shop where she sells stickers she made. Along with some other little aesthetic items like pins.

For designs inspired by various curses, they're surprisingly cute.

The girls like to help her make some of the designs from time to time.

Since it's more of a hobby than an actual job, she always makes sure the money earned from the things they helped with are spent on them.

Shopping trips tend to be the most chaotic.

And that's not even considering the encounters they have with Mahito. The hobo that tends to hang around the entrance.

We don't talk about him.

Somehow, the trips always lead to Ayume running around while pushing the girls on the shopping cart.

Suguru always ends up having to chase after them because plz they're gonna get hurt--

Heaven forbid they run into Rui somewhere along the line, because it only gets 10x worse. She offers to push the cart and ends up almost knocking down every shelf and person in sight.

There was one instance where she ran right over Satoru.

After all that, Ayume and the girls end up making Suguru push them around in one of those carts with the seats on them for the rest of the trip because their legs got tired from running around.

They eventually end up getting kicked out.

Suguru sometimes has to wonder what he's doing here.

"How? How do you get us kicked out of WALMART?"

"Beats me. Hey, let's go to Ikea next!"

They are currently banned from 3 different Walmarts, two Ikeas and a McDonald's.

The McDonald's was from the time Satoru had come to visit and got stuck in the play place.

Suguru had to climb up there to try and get him out, but also got stuck.

Turns out, Rui had gotten stuck before they even got there. Which they only learned after hearing a faint "So. You too huh?" from the the next tunnel over.

In the end, they ended up having to call the fire department to get these two grown men and one grandma out of the play place.

It was on the local news and everything.

The footage had been provided by Nanako, who had recorded the entire incident while Ayume and Mimiko giggled hysterically.

You better believe they were never able to live it down.

After that nightmare, Suguru had tried to make dinner but ended up setting off the smoke alarm.

All he was trying to do was put a frozen pizza in the oven...

Needless to say, it was a rough day for everyone.

Date nights for the couple are rare and reserved for special occasions. Mainly because they hardly trust anyone to babysit.

Rui doesn't seem to understand the concept of children, and it would be a cold day in hell before they'd ever ask Satoru.

But sometimes, they manage to convince Kento.

He's the only one they find trustworthy enough for the job. Because although the girls find him a little boring and strict at times, he's the only responsible person they know.

At least with him, they can rest assured that the house will still be standing by the time they get back.

And on the plus side, the girls love Yu. Because let's face it, he's the fun uncle. So when Kento makes it a point to bring him along, there's always plenty of fun to be had.

Even if it feels like he's stuck babysitting 3 kids instead of 2 at times...

In case it wasn't already obvious, they're one of the most chaotic families in the whole neighborhood.

But that's what makes them interesting, so they somehow manage remain on good terms with everyone.

If one thing is for certain, it's that there's never a dull moment when it comes to the Geto family.

[suhfleur]

dear, my dear • jaebeom (4/4)

• pairing: soulmate!jaebeom x reader

• genre: romance, angst, smut

• warnings: cursing, smut, smut, smuuuut

• word count: 4.3k

summary: in a world where a touch can lock the doors of the heart, his voice opened the doors to your soul as he filled it with joy.

a/n: there is going to be an extra chapter, probably by the end of the week i’m gonna post it! and honestly idk what to say, just want to thank all of you who sent me sweet words about this fic and everything. thank you. hope you guys enjoy.

• • •

Nothing. 

That was how Jaebeom felt about his life, at that time.

His days were gloomy. Sometimes, meaningless.

He didn’t have a lot of things that he appreciated that much anymore. 

Jaebeom loved his cats, loved his cozy apartment and how it was the best place ever when he was watching his favorites animes and series, he loved to wake up every day and drink his coffee in peace, but even though he loved being alone, he didn’t like feeling lonely anymore. It was something difficult to understand, maybe if you ask him he wouldn’t be able to explain it in exact words, so he started making beats and writing songs. Developing art was the best way he could express himself.

Music was everything to him, he loved doing it and dedicating his life towards this specific thing. Music was everything that he had left, the only thing that brought something else to his life, and when the only thing he truly liked started to feel like everything else, he knew that his battle was almost lost. Doing music without a real meaning felt wrong and distorted, and that feeling burned the things left on his heart.

He was tired of pretending, every single comment about his songs felt hollow, it didn’t felt like he was changing somebody’s life with it, Jaebeom didn’t feel like he was doing a good job. He couldn’t even change his life with his own music, what else he expected? That was something he thought about a hundred times, at midnight. He couldn’t sleep that much, sometimes he didn’t even sleep. Those nights where his mind was too full with darkness and he couldn’t sleep, he would sit down on his living room floor and watch the stars, his cats by his side and the silence. Jaebeom missed his parents, living alone was not that great anymore, maybe he should give up and go back to his old life.

But then, life showed him that she was a tricky thing and you showed up to make him rethink a lot of things. 

Your first words to him lighted up a fire that he thought was dead and gone. At least, at the end of the day, he changed your life with his music and he was happy about it. That happiness brought excitement, that excitement brought ideas and his mind didn’t stop crafting new lyrics, composing new songs. Inspiration showed up again. 

Saying that you saved his life was something that he didn’t know if it was the right thing to say, but he could say that your faith in him made his own faith shine again. It all depended on him but yes, he could say that you saved his life too. You started him again, as a musician, then as a person.

Jaebeom never had intentions of knowing more about you because he wanted something, that didn’t even cross his mind back then, being friends with you didn’t even cross his mind either. But he felt like he could trust you, musically speaking so, of course, he would reach out for you when he felt doubts about the songs, you were good to give advice for these things. And after that phase, everything else came naturally, he didn’t even saw it coming.

For years, Jaebeom had walls too thin and too big inside him, protecting himself. He came from a broken home, broken childhood, he was too broken in every sense of the word but you came and broke each one of these walls and he had no idea of who were you.

Messages that once was just about his songs, started to be something else.

Just wrote this on my way to work, what do you think about it?

I’m not working as a teacher anymore, I received a proposal to work as a producer, isn’t that nice? I’m finishing that song, also.

I had a meeting with some people from a record label, and guess what? They offered me a deal as a solo artist, like, officially. I’m signed up! They want me to drop my album in 5 months!!!

oh, do you like animes? I just saw a really good one, you should watch it too. 

just ate the best food in my life, do you know that red restaurant at itaewon? best pancakes ever

it’s so cold today, are you wearing warm clothes? don’t you get sick, ok?

how was work today?

At first, those things terrified him, a lot. The fast heartbeats every time he received a text from you, with your sweet or funny words, the way you took care of him even from a distance, brought an inexplicable sense of peace; made him feel so good that he knew it was over. He fought a lot of battles, every day, but against you… he could never win. With time, Jaebeom’s only wish was that he could see you, at least one time while he was breathing. He just wanted you to show up, wanted you to forget about your crazy deal and say “hey, let’s see each other?”. He was wrapped around your finger. 

Jaebeom realized that his heart was yours. 

Even when the girl from the subway made him feel kind of weird every Thursday, even though she was a hell of a beautiful girl, even when he touched her and his whole body wanted to run towards her.

His heart was still yours. And Jaebeom had no intentions in giving it to nobody else. 

He could feel everything coming back to life with you, like a blooming flower, he could see the true colors of life once again. It was a slow process, but thanks to your push, he tried again and here he was. Destiny could give up, he wasn’t going to accept nobody else but you, that was what he imagined.

But then, just like it happened to you, nothing prepared him for reality. 

Life and destiny had plans for both of you, an unreal reality.

Especially, this specific reality where your sleepy face is resting against his shoulder, with your eyes closed, lips touching his neck giving gentle kisses along his exposed skin, your arms wrapped around his waist, holding him dearly, he felt loved. He felt safe. He felt vivid.

Both of you were meant to be, and thinking about this he couldn’t feel more relieved. Soulmates. He didn’t have to worry anymore.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you broke the silence as you felt Jaebeom's fingers over the back of your neck, tangling in the strands of your hair. Both of you ran away from Jaehyun’s apartment and Mark’s confused face, you decided that you could explain everything later because your mind was off with so much information and plot twists. And right now, as your body is pressed against Jaebeom’s toned chest, laid on your bed, legs tangled in one another, nothing could feel more peaceful than this.

“What doesn’t make sense, baby?” Jaebeom asked with his lips brushing slightly your forehead. In the last thirty minutes, the word ‘baby’ became the thing you loved the most to hear, that word was never that powerful in your life before.

“The first time that we bumped into each other, it was early in the morning,” you reminded, putting your hand in his chest and resting your chin there, dangerously close to his face but you liked the way you could see every single detail of his sculpted pretty face and appreciate the brown galaxies on his eyes. “When you told me that you had found your soulmate, it was late at night. Around 9 pm. It doesn’t make sense.”

Jaebeom frowned, tilting his head a little bit to the side, like a confused dog.

“What you talking about? I sent that message to you right after I touched you at the station.” He said smirking. Now you were the one confused. “You seriously received the message late night?” You nodded. “Wow...” He laughed, slapping his forehead. “We could’ve figured out that we were soulmates way sooner. Jesus… Nothing helped with us, not even your phone service.” Jaebeom closed his eyes and laughed.

“I can say that it was kind of my fault too, right? I mean… The whole ‘please, don’t tell me your real name I don’t want us to get attached’ was king of stupid because I was already attached to you, but I was also scared. Like a lot… I didn’t like the idea of falling in love with you but being the ‘love’ of somebody else, you know? If we weren’t meant to be together then I couldn’t let those feelings flood my heart. It was a silly decision.”

“It’s okay, baby. I was scared too. I was in love with somebody I didn’t know, how messed up was that? How could I feel something for somebody like that, through texts?” He gave you a fond smile, tracing circles on your cheeks with his thumb. “I tried to hide it for months, but every day it was torture. I wanted to see you, to hug and kiss you, comfort you when you were stressed, I wanted everything with you but I had to respect your decision, I had to put myself aside and think about you. I loved you in silence because I didn’t want to cross a line and end our friendship, I didn’t know if you felt the same way but I wished that, a lot. It’s okay, baby. It was always okay. Today I am more in love with you more than I was yesterday... We lost a little bit of time but it’s fine, we still have time now. We will make up for the time we lost.” Jaebeom said brightly, hugging you even tighter, pressing several kisses on your face, making you giggle like a child. 

Both of you kept talking through the night, while all the city lights got out and only the darkness embraced the midnight. 

The intimacy that you two had through the phone, spread through the moment, both of you felt comfortable enough to take off your shirts and you felt comfortable enough not feeling ashamed of it, still laying down with him, pulling one leg around his waist, getting yourself more comfortable around him. His fingertips tracing a path across the skin of your thigh around his waist, running his palms in circles, back and forth, slightly squeezing your skin each time. Your lips touching his collarbone, while your hands ran through his neck, scratching your nails in his nape to his broad shoulder. 

His hands on your body were taking away all of your self-control, and he was barely doing anything. But the fact that he was this close to you, was enough to make your body shiver and the sleepy feeling was away.

Leaving aside the rest of your sanity, you took the leg that was on his waist a little further, supporting your body weight on your knees on top of his waist, taking your two hands to both sides of his face, kissing him hard while feeling his hands travel a path from your thighs to the end of your spine, pulling your body closer, raising both hands to the back of your neck while his forearms kept you attached to his body. Your teeth bit his lower lip, pulling it lightly, while tugging hard the soft hair at the end of Jaebeom's nape, just enough to make him sigh deeply.

“We can slow down, baby… I told you. We have time. There’s no need to hurry.” He said with eyes closed, chest heavily going up and down.

“There’s nothing to slow down here, Jaebeom. I know we have time, but I don’t want to slow anything down, not anymore.” Your voice expressed so much determination that it made him growl and throw his head back like you were tearing down each string of his sanity away. You took the chance and brought your lips towards his exposed neck, touching his skin with your tongue and teeth, gently sucking and biting the skin. You could feel the shiver through his warm body, running your hands through his chest until his hips, digging your nails into his abdomen. He surprised you when his rough hands squeezed both sides of your ass, harshly, making you moan and distract yourself. He changed the position, throwing you on the bed, getting on top of your, taking both of your legs and wrapping them around his waist while he supported himself on his elbows, both of them on each side of your face, his lips sucking your earlobe, then his teeth biting your jaw a bit, running his teeth until the connecting of your neck and shoulder, biting there even harder, making you whimper and dig your nails on his neck. 

“Let me take care of you, baby…” He whispered on your ear, in a husky and dark voice, pulling away from your skin just enough to look at your blushing face, running his thumb on your bottom lip, getting closer and sucking your lip between his, pressing his hips on yours, making you feel that specific hard part. “So beautiful… It’s so unfair that you can have so much power on me.” 

His lips and tongue traced a path through the top of your breasts until you could feel his sinful tongue was underneath the fabric of your bra while his indicator finger hooked in the middles of your bra, pushing it down, enough to show your erect nipples, making easier for Jaebeom’s tongue do what it wanted to do. You sighed feeling his lips wrap around your left nipple, with his tongue circling it precisely, making your hips move unwittingly. His right touched the top of your clothed center, pressing his middle finger precisely on your clit. The moan that came out of your lips was probably the most sinful thing he ever heard, it was extremely pleasing to hear and know that he was the one causing it. 

While his lips did the work on your upper body, his fingers pushed your wet panties aside and when he touched you there, he moaned on your nipple feeling the soaked situation down there. He sat on his heels, pulling away from you until he had a privileged view of his fingers on your pussy like he was mesmerized by that. His gaze on that part of you made your whole body hot, seeing his kind of lost face, appreciating every part of this, made you desperate. 

His index and middle finger dragged your lubrication to your clitoris, massaging him in slow circles, making your legs shake and your waist lift for more friction, digging your nails into the bedsheet. Jaebeom added more pressure on your clit, sliding them towards your wet entrance, slowly pushing then inside, receiving another of your moan*.

“That’s right, baby. Be vocal…” He laid down a bit kissing your lips while pumping fingers inside of you. “Can I eat you out?” He asked in a whisper, making you roll your eyes and moan at the thought of it.

“Why would you even ask me that? Do you think I can be capable of saying no?” You whined, rolling your hips towards his fingers that were working slowly on you.

“Just wanted to make sure,” he said laughing and giving a peck on your lips, before going down on you. “Gonna make you come now, baby.” He promised with his head between your legs, eyes locked on yours while licking a long, hot stripe from your entrance to your clit, still moving his fingers in and out. The image makes you shudder. That devilish gaze was something that would burn on your mind for ages and centuries, the slightest quirk in his eyebrow implying that he knows that he will tear you apart with his tongue. You threw your head back, putting your hands on your forehead, ‘cause that sight was the hottest thing you ever saw on your life. His large hands wrapped around your legs, keeping you steady and his tongue stroke against your clit, his hand gripping your hip harder, suing his tongue mercilessly on you, core clenching around his two fingers that kept coming in and out of you, curving them deep inside you. 

Jaebeom kept that same pace, driving you insane each time. His tongue twirling around your clitoris and his lips sucking it took you over the edge, and your walls tightened around his fingers, nonstop. Eventually, he lets you ride his tongue, rolling your hips back and forth as he buries his face further into you and sucks your clit gently, feeling your hands flown to fist his hair in your palms. He moans an appreciative, greedy sound as you cry out, sending the vibrations straight to your core. And Jaebeom works harder and faster until you are a sobbing mess. Your vision goes white as your thighs quake, short gasps coming out of your mouth, breathless, as you came around his fingers with your hips jerking into his face.

Even with a clouded mind for a few moments, you could still feel Jaebeom's fingers pulling your panties gently off your legs. His lips tracing a path back to your lips

“You good, baby?” He whispered with his left hand at the back of your neck, kissing you softly

“Wonderful.” You whispered back, opening your eyes and wrapping his waist with your legs again. “Wanna me ride you. Thought about that so many times, just listening to your voice...” You looked right inside his eyes, loving to see him roll his eyes.

“Don’t say something like that like this,” he growled, tugging your hair a bit. “Thought about that too. Even though you had no face in my fantasies, I thought about a lot of naughty things with you. Wrote many songs about it, the things I wanted to do with you. You gon’ ride me next time, but now, I want you like this. Under me.”

Did you feel his hand between you two, opening and pulling his pants and underwear enough to release his member, you felt his hard dick brushing against your wet core and moaned at the little friction. Jaebeom made sure to rub it on you several times, while his thick hands tightly gripped your ass, pulling you upwards, making the friction stronger and more needy for both of you.

“I want you like this every day,” Jaebeom whispered against your lips, positioning the tip of his dick on your entrance, entering in you slowly. “I want to make you feel good like this every day,” he gasped feeling your walls tighten around him as he moved slowly inside you, in and out. “Want to love you every day.” The head of his cock alone causes a burning stretch as it spreads you open for him, and his quiet moans making you shiver. He lets his forehead rest against yours whenever feeling you clenching hard around him with a particularly deep thrust, making you rake your nails down his chest in return. 

You cling to him as you wrap your legs around his torso, the change in angle allowing him to hit deeper inside you, both of you panting, you feel him nip at your earlobe. You clench hard around him and he moans directly into your ear, and then you feel him throbbing inside you. Picking up the pace, his thrusts become harder and quicker, more precise as he lifted himself up a little more to look at you, admiring how your eyes would roll back every time. Jaebeom crashes his lips to yours, growling into your mouth as your walls clamp down around his cock, his hand going down on you to firm circles against your clit until you can’t take it no more. You come first, moaning against his lips, Jaebeom comes next, letting tiny whines out of his mouth, and praises at you.

You both stay like that for long minutes, as you come down from your respective highs, sharing lazy kisses as Jaebeom keeps himself laid at the top of your body while you hug him, giving a little peck in his neck. When he rolls to your side his arms wrap around your waist and once again your head is on top of his chest.

“Ok, now we really need to slow down. I have no stamina anymore.” Jaebeom said pinching your ass. “Big spoon or little spoon?” He asks muffled against your skin, with his face stuck in your neck.

“You want to sleep already?” You ask making him look at you with a pout.

“What do you have in mind to keep me awake? It’s past midnight, baby. You need to rest.”

“I thought about show off my cooking skills to you, making that pasta that I know you love,” you received a long and positive ‘hum’ in response as if maybe he was not that sleepy anymore. “And after that, I’ll ride you on my couch.” The nasty words coming out of your mouth make Jaebeom whine.

“Oh god, since when you are such a pervert?” He asked, turning on his stomach on the bed, his face hidden in his pillows, while his broad back exposed. “I love you so much, but I’m starting to think that you don’t really love me.” He lifts his face to the side and looks at you. “Not even three hours of real contact with you and you already have plans about killing me. Don’t know if I can take that, where’s my almost pure Lily?” 

“So, you telling me you don’t want it?” You ask raising your left eyebrows.

“Never said that. I’m a hundred percent down, just let me pick the pieces of my soul and you can call me Khan, Mulan.” He answers quickly. “Yeehaw!”

“Oh god, don’t ruin Mulan with your dirty mind and lame jokes, Jaebeom!” You yell slapping his arm, laughing out loud.

“You are the one to blame, cowgirl.” He laughs too, showering you with kisses everywhere, as both of you roll between the sheets.

The following weeks went by radiantly for both of you. 

Being close to each other, face to face every day made even more difference in your lives, even when you thought it was impossible to him more, day after day being in love was something that continued to be reframed in your life. 

Both of you took small habits from each other. You now spent more time taking care of Jaebeom's five cats than he did himself, Jaebeom now had a habit of actually shopping and cooking, not just eating ramen because he was too lazy to move his own muscles.

You learned from each other daily, you learned more about each other, daily. 

Now, you know how Jaebeom has the habit of getting up early and reading on the floor because it’s cooler there, you know how he scratched his face when he is irritated by some mistake in the song he is working on, you also know that he is fascinated with taking pictures, especially pictures of you. 

You see and give him love in small gestures. You inspire him every day, to be a better and more grateful man. The support you give him is what keeps him going. He already lost count of how many times you stayed nights after nights sleeping on the sofa of his studio because he was worried about the release of his album that was going to be in 3 weeks. He would always tell you to go to bed and you would complain and tell him to shut up that you want to sleep, and he loved that you were even more stubborn than in the messages. He loved how you loved your friends, loved how you loved flowers and lived filling your apartment with jars and jars of it, especially of lily of the valley. He loved you and the way you made him appreciate life and its little details. Jaebeom loved you a little more, every single day.

So, when he asked you to live with him in his apartment, he never regretted it or thought he was going too fast. Now, seeing you carrying your stuff into his house, wearing one of his sweatshirts, he knew it was that. He wanted that for the rest of his life.

"Mark, watch out for my EXO cups! They're limited edition, if you knock them over I'll rip your lungs out!" He saw you yelling at your friend, pointing a finger at the red-haired guy and passing your finger on your throat right after.

"I'm helping you and you yell at me? Yell at Sunny too, equal rights." Mark defended himself, pointing to Sunny who was now placing several small boxes on Jaehyun's arm.

"Shut up, Mark! I'm listening!" Sunny responded by pulling her head out of the car.

"Everyone hates me around here!" Mark said placing the box on the pavement floor and placing both hands on his hips.

"I love you very much, but if you don't go up with this right now, I promise you that Yaya will be a widow even before she gets married." You threatened him one last time, throwing your sandals at Mark, who quickly grabbed the box and ran out to Jaebeom's apartment. Then, you turned towards Jaebeom, with the softest expression and a gentle smile on your face. "What is it, baby?"

He loved you even more now.

[thepencilnerd]

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide? 

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone. 

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to...  This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase. 

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.” 

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in. 

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to. 

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving. 

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...” 

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought. 

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.” 

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call. 

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver. 

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.” 

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling. 

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?” 

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end. 

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought. 

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”   

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully. 

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped. 

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.  

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between. 

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself. 

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face. 

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more? 

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful. 

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today. 

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works. 

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe. 

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart. 

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance. 

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food... 

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop. 

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp. 

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center. 

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?” 

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters. 

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face? 

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin. 

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think. 

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.” 

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.” 

He was taken aback. “But—” 

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.” 

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that. 

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.” 

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman. 

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!” 

Sure, the pessimist in him spat. 

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in. 

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window. 

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts. 

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary. 

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself. 

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for. 

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home. 

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago. 

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head. 

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio. 

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit. 

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back. 

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job. 

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language. 

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.” 

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?” 

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?” 

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.” 

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes. 

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer. 

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add. 

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start. 

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.” 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.” 

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!” 

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off. 

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe. 

 “Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?” 

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent? 

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.” 

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist. 

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly. 

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.  

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way. 

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile. 

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were. 

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors. 

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!” 

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent. 

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of. 

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila. 

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you. 

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash. 

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early. 

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes. 

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow. 

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute. 

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times. 

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf. 

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response. 

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”  

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation. 

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down. 

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?” 

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes. 

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.” 

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?” 

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog. 

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot. 

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?” 

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?” 

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.” 

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it. 

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into. 

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.” 

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings. 

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people. 

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand. 

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders. 

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders. 

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing. 

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.” 

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here. 

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating. 

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide. 

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all? 

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out. 

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered. 

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.  

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.” 

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out. 

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home. 

“It’s fine,” he grunted. 

“When was the last time you watered it?” Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits. 

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat. 

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain. 

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song. 

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook. 

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger. 

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”  

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out. 

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side. 

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again. 

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him? 

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles. 

I’ll get out of it. 

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day. 

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides. 

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin. 

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job. 

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile. 

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside. 

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?” 

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated. 

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well. 

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?” 

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves? 

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming. 

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving. 

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?” 

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.” 

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?” 

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?” 

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.” 

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case. 

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks. 

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?” 

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo. 

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing. 

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around. 

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it. 

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table. 

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.” 

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words. 

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice. 

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.” 

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving. 

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming. 

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary. 

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier. 

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated. 

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!” 

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.” 

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something. 

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.” 

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered. 

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange? 

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence. 

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth. 

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—” 

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face. 

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!” 

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears. 

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.” 

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation. 

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did. 

He needed to cry but he couldn’t. 

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.” 

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup. 

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand. 

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath. 

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little. 

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing. 

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier. 

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself.  All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!” 

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.” 

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan. 

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush? 

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.  

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator. 

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?” 

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice. 

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife. 

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison. 

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy. 

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth. 

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.” 

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts. 

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.] 

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

                                                                                         You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.] 

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.] 

                                                                             You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.] 

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

                                                                   You: I deleted all of my apps                                                                               and never got back to                                                                                        reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on. 

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.” 

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along. 

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her. 

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease. 

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning. 

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone. 

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop. 

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper. 

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.” 

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student. 

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious. 

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.” 

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off. 

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?” 

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.” 

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips. 

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort. 

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model. 

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message. 

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.” 

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.” 

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them. 

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.” 

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.” 

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud. 

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum. 

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine. 

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior. 

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.” 

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.” 

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.  

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage. 

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain. 

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.” 

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage. 

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously. 

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you. 

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort. 

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you? 

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question. 

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.” 

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?” 

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent. 

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.” 

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after. 

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better. 

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences. 

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you. 

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time? 

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker. 

Maybe he’s changed. 

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once. 

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed. 

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them. 

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast. 

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost. 

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago. 

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable. 

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares. 

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back. 

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking? 

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you. 

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two. 

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple. 

Until he started breaking the rules. 

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?” 

 Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel. 

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what? 

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole? 

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside. 

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken? 

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring. 

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape. 

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light. 

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.  

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch. 

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze. 

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating. 

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars. 

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained. 

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering. 

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth. 

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again. 

Definitely crying. 

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears. 

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get. 

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet. 

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building. 

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse. 

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering. 

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now... 

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. 

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you. 

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. 

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible. 

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze. 

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.” 

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same. 

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...” 

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.” 

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?” 

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection. 

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.” 

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!” 

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?” 

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love. 

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you. 

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials. 

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face. 

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—” 

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers. 

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass. 

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?  

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment. 

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

[goldeneyedgirl]

JALICEWEEK20 DAY 6

The Way of Things

JaliceWeek20 Day 6: Reincarnation

Notes: I... don’t know. It just sort of happened? This wrote itself. There were a few more lifetimes I thought about including (there was a Jessamine and Alice ‘life’ that I really wanted to include but it’ll be a standalone fic once I’ve done a bunch of research) but I think I’m happy with it? 

This was absolutely inspired by a gorgeous Thor fic I read a few years ago based in Norse mythology and the creation of Yggdrasil; if I can find it, I will absolutely link it because it was an incredible piece of writing. 

Also go me! I’m kind of getting a hang of writing sex adjacent scenes! I remember not being able to look directly at my cursor when I implied a blow job in Shadow to Light, I’m oddly proud!

Now, just the second part to Against a Wall. 

Word Count: 4,322

NSFW - not graphic but yeah. 

--

Soulmates are funny things. They do not start out existence together; they must find each other - it might take one life time, it might take ten. It is important they undergo this struggle; some souls are not meant for regeneration - they shine and burn out within a lifetime or two. But others get stronger, more powerful, during those early searching years.

And one they find one another, they are forever more entangled. The oldest and strongest eventually fuse, unable to be separated in life or death.

Of course, eventually they burn out. But not in a tragic way; more like in a way that is last page of a very good book; the wilting of a final flower in autumn; the way snow melts in early spring, with sense of peace and satisfaction, and utter tranquility. And as they dissolve into starlight and dust, they begin the cycle anew. It is neither good nor bad or anything in between.

It is simply the way of things.

—

When they meet the first time they are vampires in Dacia - the land that will become Romania. It is an era of indulgence for vampires in that region, and if any records had been kept, it would have declared nearly dangerous levels of changes.

She is Alis, a peasant girl changed by a careless vampire who fed and left her in a ditch. She’s a gentle beauty, with long dark hair, sharp and cunning eyes, and even after the change, her skin maintains a slightly golden tint of someone who spent their life in the sun.

He is Jesper, who mentions nothing of where he came from or what he was before he arrived to hover at the fringes of the Romanian court. He has a reputation in the court, with the ladies and the men both, and Alis is entirely aware and slightly amused by that. She catches his eye more than once, but is illusive like a quicksilver, unbent and unbowed.

Until she isn’t.

It’s been a good hunt, blood soaked through their clothes to their skin that they lick off each other in their frenzy, and she learns exactly how he developed such a reputation. He learns exactly what he was looking for as he finds himself skin to skin with the spirited girl that has always seen him coming before he could catch her. But he has her now, and he’s not letting go.

She doesn’t seem to mind. They become a common sight, as a pair, their hands constantly entangled. They are not at court to curry favour or power or anything more than their next meal, but their relationship is magnetic, and more than one jealous or yearning gaze falls upon them as he presses hot kisses to her neck as he ties a choker of sapphires or diamonds around her pale throat.

The Volturi attack a century or so later, and they stand with the Romanians, their leaders and their friends. He remembers thinking they cannot possibly fail; they are the side of the kings, of the angels. He remembers admiring her as they lined up; the way she had pinned her hair with the silver clasp he’d given her, the way her dress fit her and the smirk on her lips that promised something to look forward to in their personal victory celebrations.

They don’t survive. In the chaos of the battle, it is hard to say how they each fell - the Volturi take no prisoners anyway, so a quick death in battle is preferable to an execution. But they fall and they are burnt, and their ashes mingle in the purple-grey smoke that fills the field.

When Lord Aro finds a silver hair clasp discarded on the battlefield, still clinging to a clump of dark hair, he pockets it and later presents it to Sulpicia, polished to shine and on a bed of velvet. It is a curious and beautiful piece, the shape of a raven’s wing, and it quickly joins the Volturi’s treasury without a single thought given to its origins.

—

In whatever counts as the afterlife for souls and spirits, they reunite. It will take more than one life to work out their powers, the boundaries, of this resting place - how to shape it to their preferences, how to give themselves form. For now, it is just a long horizon of contrasting light, and they are little more than sentient energy, mingling and expressing regret and pain at the demise of the other, of relief of being reunited, of contentedness being once again with the other.

Time is not something that exists on this plane, and soon they learn how to change what is around them; a swathe of sandy beach that meets perfectly clear water, expansive grassy plains that fit between quiet, looming forests that are quiet and cool. They are no more fixed than any other aspect of this space, but it remains unexpectedly consistent.

Sometimes, there is a house. It’s immediate form never changes, but the outside facade does, as the lifetimes pass them by. Somethings a log cabin, other times an English cottage, or a farmhouse, or a bamboo hut. It is their every-changing, ever-evolving desires, a nod to their shared past and their hopes for the future. It is their reward, their sanctuary.  

They learn how to shape themselves as well. She fluctuates a little more than him, but she is always small, always naturally dark-haired, always cunning but sweet. He is always tall and always blonde and too charming for his own good, and sometimes not he is she, blonde and tall and could charm birds from the trees. It doesn’t matter either way; the small one greets them just the same, with enthusiasm and passion and sweet sadness at their demise but always joy at their return.

And that is where they are together until the next life.

—

The next life is simpler; a part of a nomadic tribe. She is married, in their customs, to him when she is little more than a child and he just barely a man. And despite how they were raised, he is kind and gentle to her and has no interest in her as a wife before she becomes a woman.

It is a hard year, a bad year, as they travel the mountains and ridges, the snow sharp against their faces. Few of the tribe have born children that year, and less still have lived through the winter; when food is so scarce, the dying are calmly let go so that the rest might survive. There is an undercurrent of resentment when he hoists his child-bride onto his back so that she might make the climb; that he, young and strong and likely to live long and hardy, gives his share of food and water to the bony waif he is bound to.

But she lives through that year, and the next. She lives enough years that they are both ready for her to become a wife, and everyone who scorned her frailness, her smallness, the waste of a strong husband on such a girl, is shocked when she conceives and carries his child so easily. First a son, then two daughters, all born close enough together that the old women of the tribe mutter.

The tribe becomes stronger, settles in one place for longer and longer periods of time - where food and water are plentiful and they are safe from predators and other threats.

She dies during her fourth pregnancy, slipping away in an ocean of blood no one could have prevented. Her eyes are wild and frightened, and he promises that he’ll watch over their children and see them safe, and weeps openly over her body and that of his second son.

He dies after his second daughter is married to a neighbouring tribe, to a boy who looks at her like she is a miracle, and he knows his job is done. The death is quiet, in the still of the night, in the shelter that he once shared with her. As he passes from the world, he remembers the nights when it was him and her amongst the furs, and then their children pressed between them, and then the  firm bulge of the child who would ultimately kill her. He holds no resentment for the cause of her death, just a faint and worn sadness, and as he drifts away, he is certain he can hear her laughing.

—

He is a soldier, to protect his family, for a cause he finds entirely repulsive. But he mouths the words and holds the gun, and does not recognise her when he is ordered to shoot. Why would he? They’ve never met. She dies in the mud, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because they end up naming him a traitor and he dies in prison heavy with regrets.

In their sanctuary, they reunite in silence, with sad eyes and gentle embraces. Whatever powers above govern creation, they still send the souls and soulmates to earth, to be swallowed up and spat back out by human machinations, human fears and flaws and greed.

It is simply the way of things.

—

She is a barefoot thief in the streets of Paris, dangerously fast, and subtle of hand. She tells no one her story, or at least, no one her truth. Ragged and smirking, people mistake her for a child, and so there is little trouble to be had - if she’s caught at all.

She runs into him, lounging in an alleyway, tricking lords and ladies out of coins wiht sleight of hand, and is delighted with their potential. She’s old enough to be charmed by sharp green eyes and a lazy grin, and young enough to contemplate the sheer levels of chaos they can cause.

They live like kings those next few years, pinching pearls and purses, watches and rubies, and living in an icy dormer room wearing stolen rings to convince others of things they’ll get around to eventually. It’s really not much - a narrow bed with wafer thin blankets and a shared pillow; water that runs cold and brown into a bucket; pigeons that nest in the rafters and shit all over their clothing.

Doesn’t seem to matter, though, when she welcomes his kiss and sleepily encourages him when he rolls on top of her during the late night hours, frost forming on the weave and weft of their clothes. When their work is good, he brings her flowers from the seller on the corner, and she tucks her pockets full of cakes for them to share, and really, neither could imagine a finer life than together in their little tower.

But time marches on, and soon they recognise that the tricks that have gotten them this far in life aren’t going to be overlooked forever. There are less nobles on the street, less coin and jewellery to be fleeced, and so they decide to leave for the country - he’s not afraid of dirty work, and she’s not afraid of anything.

The journey will be long, and she steals a book for him on their way - he’s determined to teach her to read. It’s a neat little Bible with a smart green cover with the name ‘C-a-r-l-i-s-l-e C-u-l-l-e-n’ written in neat script on the front page.

They settle in a village, where she becomes a laundress, then a seamstress, and he finds work with horses. They marry in the village parish, where the kind priest is happy to absolve them of the sin of living as man and wife before their vows, and keep their secret. They exchange stolen rings for ones of brass, from a jar the priest keeps for that purpose.

There’s a tiny two-room cottage they occupy; those early years of hunger and neglect have left their mark on them both, and so there are no children in this life. But there is an endless parade of animals that he brings home tucked under his jacket; wounded or lost or discarded, and she finds that she doesn’t so much mind waking up to a blind duck on their bed or a sickly fox on the pillow next to her, when he is always so pleased with their progress, with their improving health. He saves more than he loses, and he takes pride in that. Some are set free and returned to the wild, but others linger until they are something of a spectacle in town - the house with all the animals.

They live a long life, a good one, and it ends peacefully. They are buried side by side in the village cemetery, with wooden crosses that bare their names, and prayers muttered in their honour.

But one Carlisle Cullen never gets his Bible back.

—

The good lives give them less time together in the in-between, if such a thing could be accurately measured. They wade, knee-deep into that perfect ocean that stretches out to their infinite horizon, hand-in-hand, and then they both feel it; that fizzing, tingling feeling as whatever oversees them pulls them back; back into bodies and minds, back into lives and places, and they once again have to go through the push and pull of finding the other and crossing their fingers it’ll happen sooner rather than later.

As he becomes nothing again, he holds her smile tight in his mind with a prayer that this will be the time, this will be the life, that he’ll recognise her for who she is to him as soon as he sees her.

She hopes its a long life, a good one, with his hand in hers always.

—

He’s reborn in Texas in 1863 and dies nineteen years later, only to rise again.

She’s born in Mississippi in 1901 and dies nineteen years later, only to rise again.

They meet in 1948, and if he knew any better, he’d tease her about keeping him waiting for thirty-seven years, six months, and three weeks. But it will be a while more before they both remember things like that, so he can’t. Instead, he falls completely and utterly in love with her, in a way that echoes right back through to that very first meeting in Dacia.

He wonders if its possible to miss someone he’d never met before, when he takes her hand. She wonders if he’s going to disappear, to startle and panic about the future that lies before them and leave her behind.

He kisses her like a starving man, and she almost immediately drags him - a willing supplicant - into her bed because it doesn’t matter what life they’re living, she’s never been particularly subtle. He knows exactly what to do to make her scream indecently, and she puts her mouth to every single one of his scars, and he wishes he could weep - with relief and guilt and a million other things that are knotted up inside his head.

And she will untangle each and every single one with enough time.

They unknowingly draw from each of the lives that have come before - they are nomadic for more than two years, criss-crossing across the country. He is no less fixated on animals - as a human, it was the training of them; as a vampire, they are his salvation. Their hands are always entangled, their gazes always on the other.

This time, they find a family, and some quiet, subconscious little corner of her mind decides she likes that they aren’t alone this time. There’s a small joy in the memory of a ‘family’, and a warm feeling - one that she doesn’t know originated from a long-ago life where they were the ones welcoming new children into their heart and home, one she doesn’t quite recognise. But families are shaped so many different ways, and the Cullens are just another way to fit together, and so they stay.

It’s a good life, an untroubled life - at least until Edward gets tangled up with a human girl and the cursed Volturi. Somewhere, the great puppet master jerks the strings and decides that if history is so desperate to repeat itself, well, it might as well put on a show.

They escape the Volturi once (a flight to Italy to save an idiot brother), and twice (Renesmee shall live, Joham shall die, and Aro leaves without any new amusements and deeply, infinitely disappointed in his beloved Carlisle).

Third time’s a charm.

—

Aro’s great error shall go down in history as underestimating the damage he has done assembling his collection, the rage and resentment that boils like an undercurrent in the vampire world. He is not a beloved leader, but a feared one.

In truth, which will be lost to both time and the fact that the powers above don’t keep written or oral histories as humans comprehend them, his undoing is two things: the fact that in all things there must be balance.

And an ancient silver hair clasp shaped like a raven’s wing, that his Sulpicia wears in her hair as they arrive at the battlefield, cloaked and over-confident.

The battle is ugly and fatal and messy and all those things wars usually are, and there is no certainty in their victory, not with the wolves involved, with the shifters and the cryptids that have crawled out of every shadow and space to be done with Aro and Caius forever.

(Stefan and Vladimir are naive if they think they will fill the vacuum left behind in Aro’s wake; Jasper takes them both out quietly on the battlefield, when neither of them can call out the betrayal or identify their killer. Sometimes ugly things need to be done, and he’s not above getting his hands dirty.)

The battleground is smokey and even her supernatural eyes struggle to see through the gloam; her dead heart heavy as she looks for him. Voices call for help; for missing limbs, for injuries, for protection and she ignores each and every one.

She doesn’t know why she stops at the sight of a silver hair clasp, ancient and lost in the mud. Or why she reaches for her own hair, cut short.

Or why she picks it up and unlocks something inside her own mind. It is not an explosion of information, a supernova of memory. It is simply an intense awareness of who she is and who she was and who she will be. It is a confidence in her stride as she moves through the battlefield with a sense of self she has not known since before her home was known as ‘Romania’.

Jasper is bent and twisted, Rosalie limp on the ground, and those vicious, hideous twins hold them captive, like fish twitching on the line. Their deaths are not imminent, because who could take down the little vipers and stop their little game?

Jane’s head is off her body, and Alec’s too, before Jasper has shaken off the pain, expecting Peter or Maria or Emmett to have gotten a lucky shot and dismembered Aro’s little favourites.

Instead, it is his mud-streaked wife with a strange look in her eyes and emotions skittering over her skin like static. A battlefield is no place for a lover’s reunion, but she still bestows a kiss on his kneeling form (so ready for his own execution) that is so positively lascivious that it takes him a minute to remember himself.

And then he remembers himself.

The scales have been rebalanced, and the fight is won by a toss of a coin that finds Aro, Caius, and Marcus on their knees in the mud, waiting for their own trial. The oldest of the gathered line up - Carlisle, Amun, Maria, the Chinese coven - to pass their judgement, but the memories that press on both of them demand their pound of flesh, and Edward eyes them both uneasily.

Instead of violence, of sliding down a slope that turns them back into the monsters of old, into the truest of nightmares, Alice crouches in front of Aro with her wide dark gold eyes, and pulls the hair clasp from her pocket.

Aro’s rage is cold, at the few strands of Sulpicia’s hair that are still trapped in the metal, and if he could, he’d shred her to pieces in that moment, gift be damn. But she smiles sweetly, and strokes the etched feathers.

“Did you know?” she asks quietly, only loud enough for the fallen Volturi kings to hear, and Edward who hovers in case this spirals into a cataclysm, “When he gave me this, I mean?”

Aro stares at her, straining to touch her and understand, but his guard holds him tight and all he can do is sneer at her.

“The night before you brought your army,” Alice plucks the strawberry-blonde hairs from the fixture and tosses them into the mud. “He pinned this in my hair and we danced; we thought we’d win. And I suppose we did.”

Aro gapes at her, Caius is spitting curses, and Marcus is just pleading for his peaceful death - and how many lifetimes has he lived without Didyme, has he wanted to return to that in-between space?

She sees the scar on Esme’s face and finds it hard to care.

Edward is backing away in horror from whatever he sees in her mind, and Jasper is helping her stand, returning to their place amongst the very confused witnesses - what could the diminutive vampire say to the Lords of Volterra that would inspire such a response. The three are summarily executed without ceremony, and they are scattered over the fire without reverence.

Alice tosses the hair clasp in, too. It is better to be burnt to nothing, to be forgotten and buried by dirt and ash. It is too close to becoming a cursed object, one that will follow them, if they place too much belief and trust and hope into it. It has witnessed two downfalls, and it will never witness another.

He holds her tight in the aftermath, as they count their dead and make their plans. Edward is already whispering warnings into Carlisle’s ear, of the shape their thoughts and memories take. But they are family, and that comes before everything else.

(It’s not exactly their fault that Edward is a shiny new soul, and it’s going to take him a few lifetimes to understand what he’s seeing and hearing. Harder especially for him, with his gift so strong so early in the cycle. But everything happens for a reason.)

Despite the curiosity wafting off everyone, they say nothing and they go… well, not home, but to the closest residence, the headquarters of this war. A sprawling property with enough beds for the wounded, the wolves, and the lovers.

That’s where she makes good on her unspoken promises from eons again, of their private victory celebration. She sits astride him, her hips rolling hard against his, drawing out his groans and growls as he grips her thighs almost tight enough to crack. Their gazes are locked the entire time, her tongue skimming over her lips, as she lets her emotions tell him everything that she wants and everything she plans to take.

He remembers fucking her in the dirt in Dacia; his mouth between her legs as she hollered obscenities in a Paris attic; and the urgent, passionate loving-making of a marriage finally consummated.

She remembers bloody emeralds looped around her throat and resting between her breasts as she gets down on her knees and takes him into her mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair; the delicious weight of him on top of her, their sweat mingling and cooling in the frozen night as their flimsy bed creaked against the wall; and his soft encouragement in her ear as he grasps her around the waist, their hands resting together on the gentle swell of her stomach.

It is times like this that their talents are burdens and gifts both because it is so much, so very much, and in all that passion and true love, there is also loss and regret.

But they have each other, and they will weather this new storm together.

—

They are hardly the only couple to spend the night tumbling together, but they must be the loudest, because when they reappear the next morning with darkened eyes and clean clothes, Jacob and Emmett are looking at Jasper with a new and very specific kind of respect, and if she flips both of them off behind Esme’s back, no one has any proof.

They don’t talk about what they’ve learnt, because it probably wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. It doesn’t make sense, doesn’t matter, until the mantle of it settles upon you. And then it is everything.

Instead, they hunt. They have won the battle, won the war, and whilst rebuilding will take time, they can take this small moment to feast with their family and relish freedom from fear.

She truly doesn’t know what comes next. He truly doesn’t know if it will be good or bad. They will live this life for as long as it lasts, long may it last, surrounded by the people they love and trust.

And then they will die.

And then they will live again. Maybe they will live another ten lives, maybe another one hundred. Maybe one day they will cross paths with their family again, or they will choose to have children again. Maybe they will be long lives full of joy and laughter, maybe they will burn out fast and hard, but full of feeling.

But the thing they are now both and utterly certain of, above all else, is that they will walk each step hand-in-hand.

It is simply the way of things.