#so i literally was just the ‘hike out there and take some measurements and tell me what you think’ guy & he had to make Actual conclusions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

libraryofgage · 1 year ago

Text

PJO Steddie Five

One | Two | Three | Four

Here it is! We learn El's parent in this one, and there's a wonderfully healthy dose of Steddie throughout the whole part.

There's a meme on this one, too lol

If you see any typos, no you didn't ^_^

-----

It should not have taken five days to drive from Athens, Tennessee, to Camp Half-Blood in Long Island. Eddie wouldn't be surprised if Chrissy and his bandmates thought he'd died some horrible death while on this retrieval. But Eddie would love to meet the person who can tell Steve and a gaggle of demigod children to hurry up and get to camp already. They spent two days at Hearth and Home just for the pool, and various stops along the way followed that same pattern.

It was, in all honesty, the most relaxed retrieval mission Eddie has ever fucking experienced. Only one monster ever gave them trouble (another harpy--go figure--that Steve dispatched with ease and no injury) while the rest would sniff around and eventually have their eyes glaze over like they'd lost interest or encountered something familiar. They'd then move on, leaving the group to continue their meal in relative peace.

But for as relaxed as Eddie and the kids are, Steve is ramped to the absolute limit. His shoulders remain tense, his leg bounces whenever he sits still too long, his eyes constantly survey their surroundings, and he seems to have placed a distance between himself and Eddie. It hurts to see, especially considering the literal spark between them, but Eddie tells himself it's just until they get to camp and Steve sees for himself that they're safe.

And that moment is getting closer as they hike up Half-Blood Hill, Steve's car left at the foot until Eddie can convince Chiron and Mr. D to let him park it in the camp itself. "That big tree there is where the protective barrier starts," Eddie explains, pointing at Thalia's tree. "It used to be a girl, but there was a whole thing with the Golden Fleece, and long story short, she's running around with Artemis now."

"Can I run around with Artemis?" Max asks, her voice eager as she falls back to keep pace with Steve and Eddie.

Steve snorts, and Eddie notices the way his hand tightens on his bat. His knuckles turn white and the muscles in his forearm straining slightly and Eddie has to look away before his mouth gets too dry. "Maybe when you're older," Steve says, "After you can beat me in a spar."

Max groans, stomping her way back to Lucas with hunched shoulders and a quiet mutter that she won't be winning anytime soon.

They reach the top of the hill then, and Eddie watches as the group slows down. El in particular falls back until she's next to Steve and can grip his hand tightly. Her beanie seems to be squirming, but the movement is so subtle that Eddie thinks he's probably seeing the air ripples from the heat. He hurries to the front of the group and grins at them. "Okay! You ready to enter Camp Half-Blood, AKA the best place ever?" he asks.

"Just get on with it already," Mike says, crossing his arms as Erica nods in agreement.

Eddie, in an incredibly mature move, sticks out his tongue, and he's rewarded with a quiet laugh from Steve. "As I was saying, once you pass by the tree, I'll introduce you to Chiron, the activities director here. After that, we'll get cabin arrangements, measure you for armor and swords, and give a full tour. Of course, I'll be the one showing you around, which means you'll be getting the best possible version of the tour."

He waits for applause, but it never comes, and Eddie pouts at them. "Can't you be more excited? This is, like, the first time I've managed to bring back kids who aren't terrified."

"Oh boy," Dustin says, his voice high and fake, "I can't wait for Eddie to show us around Camp Half-Blood."

"Joke all you like, Henderson, I'm taking it as a compliment," Eddie says, darting forward and pushing down the bill of Dustin's cap. He moves back easily and claps his hands. "Okay! Step on through, please."

The kids all glance back at Steve, and he smiles encouragingly. As a group, they move past the perimeter of the tree until only Steve and El are left standing on the edge. Eddie flashes a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, it's gonna be great. El and the kids can meet more demigods their age, and you, Stevie, can relax since you won't have any monsters coming after you."

Steve nods and looks at El. "You ready?" he asks. She holds his hand even tighter--and Eddie is starting to worry about Steve's bones here--but nods.

Together, they step over the threshold.

Or, well, Steve does. El is stuck on the other side, Steve's hand still in hers but unable to pull her through. Her shoulders drop, and despite Steve's best efforts, she can't get an inch over the barrier that ripples between them. Resigned, she looks down at their hands, her grip starting to loosen some.

Eddie stares at this scene with wide eyes, and a few things suddenly make sense. No wonder Steve wouldn't say who El's godly parent is. She technically doesn't have one. The odd protectiveness makes a lot of sense now, too. And so does the way monsters would apparently move on like the gaggle of demigods was uninteresting.

"Well," Steve says, breaking Eddie out of his epiphany, "we gave it a shot."

With that, he steps back through the barrier, the rest of the kids quickly follow suit, and Eddie can feel them slipping through his fingers. "Wait!" he shouts, relieved when Steve looks up at him.

He's about to give El permission, to say everything is gonna be fine, to beg on his fucking knees if that will keep Steve--and the kids, of course--from walking away.

This is, of course, when the fucking armored and armed barrier patrol (a tradition that never really faded despite the camp's renewed safety) decides to show up.

Eddie just can't get a fucking break, huh?

-------

The moment arrows, swords, and spears (among other weapons) are aimed at them, Steve shoves the kids behind him. El sticks the closest, practically hugging his back, but he knows she'll pull away if it comes down to a fight. Steve twirls his bat, his eyes narrowed as he takes stock of his potential opponents.

The barrier shimmers between the two groups, a slight haze in his vision, and Eddie stands in the middle, one foot on each side of the barrier, looking a little frazzled. That's when a girl comes forward, her blonde hair pulled in a ponytail, a bow in hand, and her quiver slung over her shoulder. She smiles at Eddie, bright like the sun, and Steve feels a familiar-but-not kind of buzzing under his skin.

"Eddie! You're okay!" she shouts, dashing forward and hugging him tightly.

Steve's throat feels tight as Eddie hugs her back, his grip on the bat straining until he hears the reinforced wood groan and forces himself to loosen up. "Eddie," he says, a huge part of him relieved when Eddie immediately looks at him.

The girl looks between the two of them, and her eyes widen, and she smiles excitedly, and Steve suddenly feels a little better.

"Hello, I'm Chrissy," she says, walking over to stand across the barrier from Steve. "We got an alert that a monster was trying to cross, so we came to offer help. Everything looks fine, though, so come on through."

Steve feels El tug on the back of his shirt as the kids shift nervously. "We're good, actually," Lucas blurts out, unable to handle the silence.

Chrissy blinks, her smile still present but her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You're...good?" she asks.

"Yeah," Steve says, licking his lips nervously, "I'm sure Camp Half-Blood is fun and all, but we can't stay."

"Why not? You'll be safer here."

Steve doesn't know how to answer that question, and El spares him the effort of trying to by saying, "I can't get through." He wants to spin around and grab her shoulders and ask what she's thinking, but it's El's choice to tell people, no matter how much Steve might disagree with her.

"Oh," Chrissy says, her smile dimming some before she brightens again. "Are you mortal? That's okay, we can just give you permission."

It's the perfect excuse, and Steve is ready to fucking run with it, but El shakes her head. "I'm not mortal," she says.

A heavy silence falls over the group on the other side of the barrier as the demigods understand what she means. "What kind of monster are you?" a boy asks, his hand twitching as though ready to reach for an arrow.

"Look, it doesn't matter," Steve says, a bad feeling forming in his gut. His nerves start buzzing on instinct, crackling and pulling at the clouds just a tiny bit. "We'll leave you alone and go our separate ways. You'll....you'll never see us again." And Steve can't help his voice softening, glancing at Eddie as he says that last part.

Because he wants to see Eddie again. He wants to learn about the literal spark they shared. He wants to know if Eddie's lips are soft or rough. But Steve always puts the kids first. Their safety comes before everything else, even himself.

"Wait! There's no need to go," Eddie says, holding his hands out to both sides but looking at Steve. "El isn't dangerous. We can still give her permission."

"Like Hades we are!" the same boy shouts.

"Jason!" Chrissy says, her tone hard as she whirls around.

Jason looks insulted and confused. "What are you yelling at me for? I'm not the one trying to bring a fucking monster into camp."

"She's not a monster! Stop saying that," Mike shouts, trying to push forward only for Steve to push him right back.

"Oh? Then what is she?" Jason asks.

"Her name is El," Steve says, his voice hard and unforgiving, "and she is my sister."

Several of the campers' eyes widen, and suddenly their bows are loaded and ready to shoot. "You brought two monsters to camp!" a girl shouts, glaring at Eddie.

Steve frowns, trying to control the building anger and wariness. Based on the slowly gathering clouds overhead, it's not working.

"Those things are dangerous," Jason says, his eyes narrowed. "I bet the rest are monsters in disguise, too."

"No!" Eddie shouts, "they got through the barrier."

"Oh? Prove it. Walk through right now."

The kids don't move an inch and neither does Steve. Chrissy turns back to them, an uncomfortable grimace tugging at her lips. "It would really help to diffuse things if you could just step over," she says softly.

"Not without El," Max says, glaring at the group.

"Or Steve," Lucas adds.

Despite everything, Steve can't help a wry smile and a joking, "Gee, thanks for thinking of me," thrown over his shoulder.

"Well, isn't that convenient," Jason sneers, "None of the monsters want to cross."

He pulls his bowstring back a little farther, and the clouds above them start to gather faster, tiny sparks jumping under Steve's hand on the bat. He grits his teeth, trying desperately to not get lost in anger, and takes a deep breath. "Listen, this obviously isn't going to work," he says, looking at Eddie. He smiles apologetically. "Thank you for trying, though. It was...a nice thought."

And then several things happen all at once.

Eddie's eyes widen, desperation seeps into them, and he shouts, "I give El permission to cross the barrier!"

El starts to move around Steve like she wants to talk to Chrissy herself, her beanie squirming obviously.

The rest of the kids behind Steve get caught up in El's movements and try to follow, pushing Steve forward a step and bumping El slightly to the side.

His annoyance flares, and dark clouds stretch above them with a quiet, nearly inaudible rumble of thunder.

Finally, an arrow is loosed from the group of demigods, and its path would have been true if not for the kids pushing Steve. Instead, it shoots El's beanie clear off her head and lands in the grass behind the kids, just barely missing Dustin and Will in the process.

Really, Steve can't be blamed for what happened next. Between El's snakes freaking out and the kids shouting and the arrow in the grass overpowering his vision, he really can't be blamed.

It's only understandable that he loses it, that his tenuous control fucking snaps.

A bellowing crack of thunder above them is the only warning the demigods get before a bolt of lightning strikes the ground right next to them. The sheer force of it creates a whole nearly two feet deep, knocking the demigods back a few feet as more bolts follow in its wake. Each one burns the ground where it strikes, and tiny fires feed on the grass.

Little arches of lightning jump across Steve's arms, his hair fluffing out slightly from the static. His chest is heaving from anger and electricity and the aftermath of so much tension finally breaking free as bolts corral the demigods into a tiny circle, striking all around them to prevent escape.

"Steve," El says, the sound of her grabbing his attention more than her words. But when Steve looks at her and sees the snakes on her head rubbing against each other and tasting the air and trying to stay as close to her scalp as possible, his anger flares again at the reminder of the arrow that could have killed his kids. Not only the arrow, but El's snakes could have hurt them, too. If not for the kids immediately squeezing their eyes shut, a few might be statues right now. Sure, it would wear off in a bit, and Steve is immune anyway since he's related to El, but it's fucking inconvenient and dangerous given the situation.

"Stay back," he growls, his words crackling with the lightning as he turns back to the demigods. They look scared shitless, and Steve hasn't even done anything yet. The only ones who haven't been corralled are Chrissy and Eddie, since neither of them actually did anything.

He steps forward, an arch of lightning stretching between his heel and the ground when he lifts his foot. The nails on his bat spark and glow red, looking nearly as angry as Steve feels. Steve crosses the barrier, feels it wash over him, and stops just on the other side. He smiles at the demigods, feral and unrestrained as a storm, and raises his hand to the sky.

Or he starts to only for his view to be blocked by brown hair in desperate need of a good shampoo and big brown eyes. Steve blinks, a tiny portion of his anger calming if only because he's looking at Eddie. "Move, Eds," he says.

"Stevie," Eddie whispers, his voice nearly drowned out by the rumbling thunder. So Steve pulls it back, forces it to quiet down so he can hear. "C’mon, sweetheart, there's no need to smite them. They've already peed themselves."

"They almost killed my kids," Steve says, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What would you do if you were me?"

"Well, I wouldn't look nearly as hot, for one," Eddie jokes, flashing a shaky smile.

"You're already plenty hot," Steve blurts, the shock of the words calming him down a tiny bit more. And, when he hears Lucas and Erica behind him complain as El thanks Will for retrieving her beanie, his anger finally soothes enough for lightning to stop striking the ground. The clouds are still hanging over them, though, and sparks still arch across his arms and through his hair.

Eddie's smile becomes a bit wider. "Seriously, sweetheart, there's no need," he promises. "I already gave El permission to enter. She can cross the barrier. Word will spread in camp that nobody can mess with her without getting their shit rocked by a very powerful son of Zeus. Don't you want to relax? Don't you want the kids to meet others like them? Don't you...don't you want to, you know, spend time together?"

Steve does want all of that. Especially that last one, because he's never been talked down from an unbridled, anger-fueled, lighting strike marathon this easily. Usually, the kids have to let him work through the anger and vent it all before he's back to normal.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus on calming down. When Eddie hesitantly takes his hand, Steve calms down even faster, and the sparks that pass between their palms are harmless. "That's it, Stevie," Eddie whispers as Steve's shoulders relax. "Besides, you can always beat Jason's ass at capture the flag later."

Steve can't help laughing at that, and he opens his eyes to see Eddie's smile. "Looking forward to it," he says, squeezing Eddie's hand. Then he looks over his shoulder at the kids. "Is everyone okay?" he asks.

The kids are all gathered around El, who has secured her beanie over her head. Unfortunately, the arrow made a larger hole than expected, and two of her snakes are poking their heads out, tongues flicking as they taste the air. They aren't strong enough on their own to actually turn anyone to stone, so none of the kids avoid looking at them.

"We are fine," El says with a tiny smile as she steps forward. Steve is about to tell her to be careful when she walks through the barrier without a problem.

The other kids follow, sticking close to El and then orbiting toward Steve and Eddie. "That was awesome!" Dustin shouts, his eyes bright as he looks at the scorch marks that create a circle around the demigods that haven't moved an inch.

"Yes, it was awesome," a voice says, old and wise and belonging to a centaur that has trotted over from the camp gates and comes to a stop before them. "Though, probably not in the way you mean, young one."

"Chiron, hey, how's it going?" Eddie asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he shifts to stand in front of Steve. "This, uh, was all a misunderstanding, really."

Chiron raises an eyebrow at Eddie, but Steve can see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I see. Is that so, Chrissy?" he asks.

"Yeah, it is," Chrissy says, nodding once as she glances at Jason, "because Jason was trigger-happy and wouldn't let anyone talk."

"I see," Chiron says again, looking back at Steve and the kids behind him. "Well, I look forward to hearing all about it and getting to know our potential campers at the Big House. Over some snacks, perhaps?"

He seems nice enough, and something about Chiron just makes Steve feel confident that nothing will happen to the kids. At least, not for the next hour or so, and that's good enough. Still, he can't help pushing just to see the extent of Chiron's patience. "Even if my sister's mother is a gorgon?" he asks, watching Chiron closely.

"Am I correct in assuming her mother is Medusa?" Chiron asks.

"Yes," El says, answering for Steve as the two snakes poking through rub their heads on Steve's arm. "She's very nice."

Chiron seems to be holding back an amused smile at that, and he nods. "I'm sure," he says, nodding once. "Yes, you are still welcome, my dear. After all, our very own Eddie Munson has vouched for you."

Steve can feel the kids behind him relaxing, and he glances at Eddie to see the relieved smile on his face. "Okay then," he says, looking back at Chiron, "lead the way."

----

Tag List

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer, @steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze, @melodymeddler

And now, the quality meme you've all been waiting for

#steddie #steddie fic #semi divine steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my writing

284 notes · View notes

cilantroodon · 2 years ago

Text

@girlpetrarca tagged me in this so here goes! (thanks <3)

1. Are you named after anyone?

sort of! my name has the same meaning as my favorite aunt's name, but in Latin because I come from a long line of total nerds

2. When was the last time you cried?

due to the wind and weird sleep my left eye has been randomly weeping out a long and dramatic tear every 40 minutes or so for the past three days. looking forward to that being over because it makes my mask wet (horrible texture) and every time I go to wipe it I smudge my glasses (I have suffered more than jesus)

3. Do you have kids?

not in a literal sense, but I do have some ambiguous form of dissociative multiplicity and in that context some of me is the kid of other parts of me. it's how I think of myself, and it does mean that I do some stereotypical young parent behaviors but directed at myself, on the other hand I materially do not have the ability to take care of another body right now, even if I think I'd be a great parent to an actual kid. I respect kids a lot but I don't get along with them easily, so I'm afraid that when I become a parent (with my qpps) I won't be preferred by my kids for anything! but that's okay as long as they know they are loved. it does give me pause about fostering, though. :(

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

yes, but not very much over text unless it's extremely clear, because I struggle with understanding it. honestly being sarcastic very often but barely able to figure out when other people are is perhaps my most annoying trait.

5. What's the first thing you notice about people?

depends on the context? if there are other people around the first thing I notice is how they are positioned in a group and how they talk to others. are they being left out? are they excluding someone else? are they comfortable? are they goofing off? are they earnestly trying to stop their friend from goofing off so they can be on task? it's usually the most relevant information about that person in the moment.

if I'm meeting someone for the first time and no one else is around (usually when hiking or in elevators) I notice their shoes first, then either the rest of their outfit or where they're looking at me.

6. What's your eye colour?

a grayish green-blue

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

as long as that choice has a reason for it and makes sense I think I like both equally. if I had to choose one for this exact moment, scary is my move.

8. Any special talents?

ask your mom um actual answer is I have a hard time delineating between a talent and just being better than average at something. and I hate saying "oh I'm a genius" or "oh I'm so good at writing" when both of those measures seem totally arbitrary, but gun to my head my talents are creative writing, comedy/wit, and understanding and applying the humanities. so... being a nerd? I feel that I lack talents in the way most of my friends have them, because for a variety of reasons I have trouble applying my ideas, but people tell me I have innovative ones, which could be a talent if it could be applied to anything!! tldr I have no talents outside of my own head

9. Where were you born?

a hospital in Oregon

10. What are your hobbies?

writing, exercising (does this even count as a hobby? for me it does), reading, stampmaking, canoeing and kayaking, ttrpgs (my favorites are homebrew by my friends, but I play monster hearts and d&d too), backpacking/camping, and going on expeditions (I give myself quests and go out exploring until I can achieve them, ex: ask 15 people and see for how many of them their coat is their favorite color, identify a new moss, fill a notebook page with overheard dialogue)

11. Do you have any pets?

not at school, but I have a cat named Kangarudy Purrfuzz a.k.a. Mr. Limousine Legs who is wonderful, and my grandparents live in town so I get to see their cat, Pienza, fairly often. she's fun to be around but should not be allowed outside and I hate how many birds she kills

^ two Rudys and a Pi, they are on opposite ends of the hedonism spectrum

12. What sports do you play/have you played?

I'm not in any sports right now, but I have played soccer and basketball, and been on a dragonboating and outrigger canoe team before. I miss paddling, but I have no way to travel to the practices of my city's team until I get a car. I do go to the gym pretty often and weightlift, which I know can be a sport.

13. How tall are you?

5'2"/158cm

14. Favourite subject in school?

paleontology and cartography; outside of my major it's literature hands down

15. Dream job?

museum curator at a natural history museum with good funding; my dream is to make connecting with the natural world more accessible for all, not just physically but also in terms of how information is shared and presented. I see a lot of issues with how curation is handled now in that many museums are very focused on explaining what we know, but not able to present how we know things about the world with any ease, and it does nothing to combat distrust of science! I also know for a fact that people of all ages learn best from play/practice and the trend of reserving that style of display for kids' sections is a waste of potential engagement. I could go on about specific exhibits I've drafted and other issues I see, but this is not the place for all that!

my very unrealistic dream jobs are poet laureate and stay-at-home foster parent

@ anyone who wants to answer these please tag me! bit tired to actually tag anyone I'm just a little guy in a huge sweater on a snowy night. drinking my little jasmine tea from my moomin mug. so don't expect me to do anything!!

#took a break in the middle of writing this to go play in the snow(!) for over an hour because I love being outside when it's still falling #it's the first snow of this year that's stuck!#tag game #in which thon speaks

3 notes · View notes

hookingminor · 4 years ago

Text

4 times his friends posted you on their instagram + 1 time he did - mat barzal

a/n: I wrote this literally back in july so lets just ignore how idealistic this is regarding quarantine but im a slut for some barzy this is all fluff

word count: 4,733

summary: like the title says, some friends (with benefits?) to lovers + a tyson cameo, fluffy summer quarantine fic

tagging @davidpastrsnack so kate can get on the barzy train

To say the whole quarantine thing was an inconvenience was an understatement. School had ended online, your summer internship was cancelled, and it seemed like your summer would turn into an uneventful couple of months stuck in your apartment in, probably, the worst place to be stuck in during a pandemic: New York City.

Or so you thought.

You’d planned on having the most boring summer ever until your friend, Mat, had invited you to hole up away with him and a few friends in a lake house back in Vancouver. Well, friend was a loose term. The two of you were friends… just ones that kissed occasionally… and sometimes more than kissed. You’d met him about a year ago at a bar while he was out with his teammates after a game. A cliche meeting, but you hit it off instantly. Instead of ending up in his bed at the end of the night (which you would eventually end up at after a couple months), it turned into an exchange of numbers and an invitation to hang out later in the week.

You hadn’t thought anything of it at first, just thinking he was being friendly and wanting to end the conversation, so you were surprised to get a text the next day from an unknown number asking if you’d wanted to go on a bike ride.

Flashforward a year later and the two of you still went on bike rides together. At least, up until the pandemic started.

When the text came telling you to pack your bags for a month or so, you thought he was joking. Surely he couldn’t have meant you to join him in Vancouver over the summer? You were proven wrong when he showed up at your apartment the next day, two coffees in his hand.

“Uh, hi, Mathew,” you said hesitantly, opening your door to reveal your disheveled state, having just woken up.

“Why are you dressed like that? We have a plane to catch in four hours,” he said, pushing himself through your door, uninvited, to set the coffees on the counter.

“What are you doing here? What plane? You’re not supposed to be going out,” you reprimanded him for showing up unannounced and in the middle of quarantine.

“I told you we’re going to Vancouver, I know you read my text. Now let’s hurry up and pack, we gotta get going,” Mat rushed, already on the way to your bedroom.

You followed him after a brief moment once you’d processed what was going on. Mat had already pulled out your suitcase and set it on top of your bed by the time you entered the door. He was in the middle of rifling through your drawers and grabbing random garments to throw into the suitcase when you’d spoken again.

“You’re actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am. What better things do you have to do in a city on lockdown for an entire summer? Honestly, I’m doing you a favor,” he explained easily, turning back to grab more items.

“Oh, you’re doing me a favor? Thank you, Mat, for saving me from a summer of suffering. It’s not like I had other plans to find different internships or focus on my summer classes,” you replied sarcastically.

Mat rolled his eyes. “I am doing you a favor, and you’re doing me a favor by going. I need a hot piece of ass to get me through this, or I will lose my mind.” You slugged him on the shoulder in offense, but all he did was chuckle.

“And anyways, you can still do your classes in Vancouver. Instead of doing them locked in this apartment, you can do them lounged out under the Canadian sun. Preferably in a bikini,” he finished. You slugged his arm again, harder this time.

“In fact, you should take the red bikini, it makes your tits look amazing,” he said, noticing you shuffling through your swimsuits. You rolled your eyes at him but grabbed the red one anyway along with a couple others.

With both of you folding and packing, your bags were ready to go in record time.

“Alright, baby, let’s go.” And so you were off.

A week had gone by in total bliss. As much as you hated to admit it, Mat was right. Vacationing in Vancouver in a secluded lake house was a lot better than being alone in your apartment, even if you did still have classes to do. Mat teased you about it, but he always left you alone for a few hours in the day for you to focus on your work. Unless he really wanted something… like right now.

Mat had joined you laying on the couch while you were in the middle of annotating a book for class. He wiggled his way between your arms, causing you to break your hold on your book. He rested his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your middle, and nuzzled his face into your neck. Joining your hands back to your book and bringing your highlighter to the page, you continued to underline phrases you’d come back to later. A couple minutes passed in silence before Mat started sighing. And then he sighed again.

“What do you want?” you huffed out, closing your book with the pen marking your page.

“Let’s go swimming,” he said, pushing up to his elbows to look at your face.

“I have to finish, like, three more chapters today,” you explained.

“You can do that later. I want to go swimming now,” Mat whined.

“You know you sound like a petulant child right now, right?” you asked, moving a hand to his head, pushing his hair back as he pouted.

“Stop using big words on me. Let’s swim,” he said, rolling his eyes.

You paused to think about it for a moment, “Hmm… okay, I guess,” you said with a smile. Mat returned your smile with one of his own before hopping up to drag you to your room to change. It didn’t take much to convince you to swim. It was a really nice day out, and you didn’t really care to finish reading about 17th century philosophy.

You changed into your red bikini, Mat swapped his shorts for a pair of swim trunks, and threw on a backwards baseball cap. You went out back to join the rest of his friend group, who were in the process of loading up the boat with supplies and equipment.

“Oh, look, if it isn’t Brainiac and the Beast. Are you two finally going to go boating with us?” Tyson shouted from the dock. You rolled your eyes at his nickname they created for you and Mat. It had only been a week in Vancouver, but the chirps about you and school were tired by now.

“Princess here wants to swim in the pool, maybe next time!” you shouted back, pointing to Mat.

They laughed at your response, turning their attention back to the boat and running supplies to and from the house. You turned your attention back to Mat, who was taking off his hat and was about two seconds away from jumping in the pool.

“Mathew, stop!” you yelled out, “Get your ass over here!”

“What is it?” he asked, stopping just short of the deep end. He grumbled before marching over to you.

“You need to put sunscreen on first, dumbass,” you reprimanded. As you turned your back to grab the bottle of sunscreen, he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Mat,” you said sharply, turning back to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

You ignored him, opening the cap and squeezing lotion onto your hands. You gestured him to turn around, and you spread the lotion over it, making sure to rub it into his shoulders.

“I don’t see why I have to put sunscreen on. It’s not even that hot outside,” he muttered.

“First of all, you’re a dumbass. Second of all, heat doesn’t automatically mean the UV rays aren’t strong. And lastly, you’re white, baby, you’ll burn like a sun-dried tomato and being in water only increases the amount of sun you’re exposed to,” you explained, reaching up to rub some on his face.

“Sorry, Miss Meteorologist,” he grumbled, clearly not happy he’d lost this argument.

“One of us has to have brains. We can’t all get by on our good looks and skating ability,” you replied, slapping his cheeks when you were done for good measure.

“Okay, well, if you’re finally done,” you nodded in confirmation, “Let’s go.” He picked you up from under your thighs and ran at full speed towards the pool before you could even process what was happening. You screamed his name in protest begging him to put you down, claiming you hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen yet. He ignored you as he jumped into the deep end, dragging you with him.

You emerged from the water clinging to Mat’s wet body, your hair sopping and hanging over your face like you had come straight out of the movie The Grudge. Mat was laughing at your chaotic look, knowing you were well pissed at him. You jumped higher in the water on top of him to dunk his head under and tried your best to drown him.

It wasn’t until you were relaxing on the couch later that night doing your routinely social media scroll that you saw one of the guys recorded your sunscreen interaction by the pool, you calling Mat a dumbass, and him throwing you in the pool onto their instagram story with a caption “all these two do is fight” with some laughing crying emojis added for effect.

After a long day or hiking, you’d immediately crashed on the couch once you’d gotten back to the house, not bothering to walk all the way to your room. It was only early in the afternoon but you’d been out since sunrise, and dealing with people for hours on end had drained you. The group laughed at you as you plopped your body down onto the couch, curling your head under your arm instead of grabbing the pillow two feet away from you. The rest of them gathered in the kitchen, refueling their bodies with assorted snacks as they started popping open bottles of beer, ready to start the night. It seemed that even an entire day on their feet had not emptied them of their, seemingly endless, energy.

“Jesus Christ, we hiked for, like, six hours and you’re all still bouncing off the walls,” you sighed deeply.

“We’re about to go hit the boat and go water skiing, too. I’m assuming you’re too tired to join us?” Tyson teased.

“I will not be joining you because unlike some people, I need a nap. Now get out of here, you’re all giving me a headache,” you said, pinching your fingers on the bridge of your nose to emphasize your point.

They all snickered but kept quiet as they shuffled around, packing up more food to take outside. You heard the sliding door shut and close a few times as they ran in and out before it was finally silent. You let out a sigh of relief as you took solace in the calm quiet.

That was until you felt a pair of arms shifting you closer to the edge of the couch. You peeked one eye open to see Mat rolling your body over to give him some space as he climbed over your body to nestle himself between you and the back cushions.

“Not going out on the boat?” You asked as he tucked a pillow under the both of your heads and pulled a blanket over your bodies.

“No. They’re exhausting. I need some time for myself,” Mat replied, wrapping his arm around your middle to pull you into his chest.

“No offense, but if you’re with me, you’re not by yourself,” you explained, closing your eyes again as you settled into a comfortable position.

“Yeah, but you’re you. You don’t exhaust me,” he said quietly. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t answer. Within a few seconds you heard Mat’s breathing even out, and you followed quickly behind him into a deep sleep.

A couple hours passed in a dreamless sleep when you heard the sliding of doors and laughter travel through the house. It stirred you from your sleep and you both shifted around, letting out displeased groans.

“Are they both still asleep?” You heard one of them ask from the kitchen. Neither of you wanted to answer in hopes they would leave you two to continue sleeping.

You were sadly mistaken.

“Hey! Sleeping beauties! Time to get up!” Tyson shouted from somewhere above you.

You both groaned out a ��Fuck off, Tyson,” without opening your eyes, both of you giving him the middle finger. Tyson laughed to himself and you expected him to keep bothering you, but you heard his footsteps lead away from the couch. You turned over on your other side, tucking your face into Mat’s neck before falling back asleep.

When you woke up later that evening, you checked instagram again to see Tyson posted a new story. It was the video of him bothering you two and flipping him off with a caption that said “I get no respect around here :(“

It had been raining all day. Which meant everyone was stuck inside watching movies and eating pizza. It didn’t take long for you to get bored of lounging on the couch, especially when all they wanted to do was watch Fast and Furious movies. You sat on the loveseat you were sharing with Mat, and you distracted yourself from the boring movie by tangling your hands in your hair, French braiding the strands into pigtails mindlessly. You unbraided and rebraided your hair into a fishtail after the pigtails, and then into a regular braided ponytail after that. You let yourself get caught up in daydreams as you stared blankly at the TV when Mat started tugging on your leg. Dropping your braid, you finished tying it off with a hair tie and turned to look at him.

“Let me practice on you,” Mat said quietly.

“Practice what?” You asked.

“Braiding,” he said, shuffling to sit upright. He tried to gently push you off the couch until you got the hint and moved to sit between his legs on the floor.

“You think you can do it?” You asked, ready to offer him a demonstration.

“I’ve been watching you for the past half hour, I got this,” he replied, pulling out your hair tie. You rolled your eyes at his confidence, but let him continue unraveling the strands.

Every few minutes Mat would sigh exasperatedly before pulling out the twists he’d made to start over. Eventually, he’d almost gotten all the way to the end of your hair before he sighed again, clearly fed up by how long this was taking him. You didn’t say anything as he restarted for a third time, going for a straight back braid instead of a French braid.

After another ten minutes, Mat had finally completed his simple braid, tying your hair off with the tie. He tapped your shoulder to indicate he was done, and you pulled the long tail over your shoulder to look at it.

It was a braid.

An extremely loose one where he mixed up the strand order in a couple places, but a braid nonetheless. You turned around to get back up on the couch, and you were met with his triumphant smile.

“Good job, bud,” you complimented, leaving the braid in as you resumed your previous position on the couch.

You checked your phone to find a notification of a new story tag. You opened the app to see a picture of you on the floor, staring at the TV while Mat had his hands twisted in your hair and a confused look on his face and tongue poking out of his mouth. Next to your instagram tag was “he’s been knotting her hair on purpose for 20 minutes now”

Your final exams for the summer classes you were taking were in a week. Finals stressed you out more than anything else in the world, and when you were stressed, you did a lot of baking. A lot of baking. After finishing your finals study schedule and nearly breaking down almost twice because of the amount you had to get done, you decided to start baking instead of going to sleep. So, at 3 in the morning when everyone was asleep, you’d turned on the oven and brought out the bowls.

It began with a few dozen cookies. You figured everyone could at least enjoy the cookies. Who didn’t like cookies?

Cookies turned into muffins, muffins into cupcakes, and then cupcakes into pies. By the time everyone was waking up, it was nearly eleven in the morning. You’d gone to the store twice and had taken a few twenty minute naps while you waited for your desserts baked in the oven. And right now, you were in the middle of finishing off some cinnamon rolls for breakfast

“Oh my god, what the hell happened here?” Mat had asked with a scared expression, taking note of the disastrous kitchen. You didn’t answer him as you were topping off the rolls with some icing.

A few more bodies had gathered in the kitchen and began to fill the seats at the countertop while they watched you with worried eyes.

“What?” You asked innocently, placing the plates of cinnamon rolls in front of all of them. Their eyes followed you carefully as you pulled more goods out of the oven where you were keeping them warm. Plate after plate you set on the counter, all the cookies and muffins and cakes.

“How long have you been up?” Tyson asked cautiously. You swear you’ve never heard him use a softer voice than right now.

“I’m not sure. I never went to sleep, I guess? What time is it now?” You asked, pulling out glasses for orange juice.

“Nearly noon. You seriously didn’t sleep?” Tyson asked. The others had delved into the confections, eyes bouncing between the two of you as they stuffed their faces.

“She’s stress baking,” Mat replied quietly, helping himself to a cinnamon roll.

“What the hell is tress baking?” One of the other guys asked.

“Yeah she does this when she’s stressed. Usually when finals are coming up,” Mat said, directing it more towards you than his friend. You gave him a sheepish look, deciding not to comment since he already answered for you.

Mat was used to your stress baking as it resulted in you showing up at his place in the middle of the night with bags full of pastries in the late hours of the evening. It was always against his diet and he frequently gave most of your desserts to his neighbor, but he could never tell you no when you arrived with gifts.

“Well, I’m all out of flour, so, I’m going to run to the store again to get some more supplies so I can make a chocolate cake later,” you said hurriedly.

You did a quick double check of the kitchen, flashing all the guys a bright smile before heading out the door with your purse in hand, all of them staring until the front door shut behind you.

When you came back, you found Mat in the kitchen doing the dishes and nearly all the sweets you’d baked earlier were eaten or wrapped and put away. Maybe there was a plus side to being in a home with five other people.

“Mat, you don’t have to do that,” you said, setting your groceries down and hip checking him away from the sink.

“You’re already stressed, I figured doing the dishes would take away some of that,” he said with a shrug. He continued rinsing out some bowls as you gave him a small smile.

The two of you continued to wash the dishes in silence, moving to clean the countertops when you were done. After half an hour, the mess you’d made was gone and any signs of a baking breakdown had been erased.

It was a shame you were about to tear up the kitchen all over again.

“How about this,” Mat said, noticing the frown on your face at the thought of making another mess, “Let’s have a competition.”

You quirked your eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

“You said you were making a chocolate cake, right? How about we see who can make the better cake,” Mat propositioned.

You raised both your eyebrows this time. You both knew you were the better baker by a long shot. You did have this same breakdown at least twice a year. You weren’t even sure Mat knew how to make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or included possible salmonella-inducing ingredients.

You knew what he was really trying to do. He was trying to distract you from all the stress, and he knew you couldn’t turn down a competition. You were just as bad as him when it came to winning. Thankfully, this was something you knew you’d win.

“Fine, but I hope you’re prepared to lose,” you agreed with a smile.

“I don’t know, I have been practicing my cooking skills lately,” he said, grabbing the bowls he’d just dried off.

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when I see it,” you replied with an eye roll and heavy sarcasm.

You joined him in gathering all the ingredients and materials on the counter, setting up your respective stations. Mat divided the workspace in half, drawing a line in flour which made you laugh. You split the bowls between the sides and set up the ingredients on the second counter just like an actual cooking show.

“Okay, ground rules first. Half an hour to make the cakes, we bake them at the same time, and then another half hour for decorating at the end,” you explained, tying your hair back in a ponytail. Mat nodded at your statement and set a timer on his phone for 30 minutes.

“Ready.”

“Set.”

“Go!”

After about two hours, your creations were done. Well, they were supposed to be. Mat’s cake looked more or less like a brown lump coated in frosting and stripes. You’d tried your best to decorate yours with small chocolate roses, but you could’ve turned out a plain cake and probably would have done better.

“I think I won,” you stated confidently.

“You’re not allowed to decide, you’re biased! I’ll make a poll on my story,” Mat said, going to grab his phone.

“You can’t do that, your followers are going to pick yours.”

“Fine, we’ll get someone else to do it— Josty! Come here,” Mat called to his friend passing through the kitchen. He hesitantly walked over to where you were, not wanting to come in the middle of whatever you two were shouting about.

“We need you to make an instagram poll to see who’s cake looks better. Oh, and you’re going to taste test them,” you said, picking up your cake to pose for a picture as Mat did the same. Tyson sighed before realizing you two were serious and he opened his app to take a picture.

He added the photo to his story with a poll asking “Which one is better?” With two options, Y/N’s or Mat’s.

After you set the cakes back down, Tyson picked up a fork before stabbing them to pick out a chunk from each. He ate yours first, nearly moaning at the taste.

“Holy shit, this is, like, the best cake I’ve ever eaten,” Tyson said, shoveling down another forkful. You gave Mat a shit-eating grin.

“Okay, okay, try mine now,” Mat said, displeased. Tyson rolled his eyes before forking out some of his.

“Uh,” he coughed, “it’s a little,” cough, “dry.”

“What? No, it’s not! Let me try,” Mat shouted, outraged, and grabbed Tyson’s fork to try for himself.

It took him two seconds before he was spitting the cake into a napkin.

“Fine. You win,” Mat conceded, throwing a dish towel against the counter in mock fury.

You gloated for another 5 minutes, pointing out Mat’s terrible baking skills as Tyson continued to eat your cake and laugh at Mat.

You won the instagram poll too.

+ 1

It was the last week before you and Mat were flying back to New York. The past month had passed quickly, and Mat needed to get back for the start of training camps. As the summer began to end, the whole crew thought they’d spend one last day on the boat before everyone started parting ways.

It’s not like you were opposed to being on boats, but when all the guys did was water sports and no one wanted to slow down to teach you, it wasn’t as fun.

Today, however, had been quite calm as you sat against the front of the boat, a seltzer in hand as you watched Tyson wakeboarding in the back. Mat was curled up behind you as you leaned back against his chest, tanned skin shining in the summer sun. You reached back to grab the baseball cap off his head, placing it on yours to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten to bring sunglasses, and you figured Mat could part with his hat since he had a pair.

The day passed peacefully as all the guys took turns until it was sunset. Mat had joined you back on the seat, skin wet from just getting out of the water. He wrapped you in his arms before pulling you onto his lap, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Hey, Tys, take a picture of us real quick,” Mat said, shoving his phone into Tyson’s chest.

You thought nothing of it, you and Mat had taken many pictures together, and this was no different. Mat rested his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapped around your stomach as you both gave your cheesiest smiles to the camera. A quick shutter indicated the picture was taken and Tyson gave Mat his phone back.

Mat called your name from your bed as you stood in the adjoined bathroom, finishing your nightly routine.

“Hey, do you mind if I post that picture of us on my instagram?” Mat called out.

“The one from the boat? Why?” You asked, drying off your face with a towel.

“It’s a cute picture,” he shrugged when you reentered the room.

“People are going to start talking if you do,” you warned with a cautious tone.

He paused for a second.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Mat asked quietly, looking up to meet your eyes.

You stayed silent as you climbed in under the covers.

“What are you trying to say, Mat?”

He took a deep breath, “I think you’re amazing, you know that. And we’ve been friends for so long, it kind of feels natural, doesn’t it?” His fingers began tapping against the sheets anxiously as he held his breath and waited for your response.

You gave him a small smile, moving your body around to fully face him.

“It does,” you agreed, “But if you want us to be something more, you’re going to have to ask me on a date first.”

“A date? After I’ve already gotten you into bed? What’s the point?” You knew he meant it as a joke since he could barely finish the sentence without laughing, but you gently slapped his head as he began to apologize.

“I’m kidding!” He said between chuckles, “Will you go on a date with me once we get back to New York and it’s safe to go out again?”

“I’d love to, Mat,” you replied, leaning in to give him a sweet kiss.

“I’m still going to post that photo tomorrow, though,” he said after a short pause, smiling against your lips.

The next day when Mat had gone on a fishing trip with the guys, you saw a notification pop up on your phone.

“@barzal97 tagged you in a photo”

You unlocked your phone.

“Isolation isn’t so bad when you have this girl to spend it with”

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #nhl fic #my writing #isles13

1K notes · View notes

plsimsuchasimp · 4 years ago

Text

i’m sorry (ft: sugawara).

by request: “Hi!!!! Okay im so glad your requests are open - could I please request some angst with Sugawara? Where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe the reader and Suga fight and then reader gets hurt or something (maybe a car accident) and when the Karasuno team finds out, Suga is devastated and goes to the hospital and tell the reader that he loves them?? Thank you!! ❤️” -anon

yes anon i’m happy to do this- i kinda changed up the prompt a lil bit so i’m sorry about that but i hope this measures up to your standards! (i’m ridiculously soft for suga so this makes sense)

genre: sadness (literal tears were shed in the process of making this)

ft: sugawara koushi x reader

warnings: car crash, fighting, cursing, hospitalization, death

wc: 2k

“Y/n, why are you so upset? I get that you’re concerned, and I’m grateful for that, but she’s genuinely a good person and I’m serious about her!” Suga walks away from you, his back turned, shoulders raised slightly in his sweater. You can sense his frustration, his confusion, but you don’t care. His face is pouty, lip sticking out ever so slightly, and you know you can’t look at him or you won’t be able to keep yourself from kissing him right then and there.

The thing is, you know she’s a good person. And that’s what hurts. See, you’ve been in love with Sugawara Koushi since the day you met him at the bus stop five years ago, on a hot summer day with a butterfly in his hair.

You can’t stop him from getting a new girlfriend, and you know it’s selfish of you to hope he likes you the way you like him, to hold on to him for all these years.

Sometimes when it’s late, you let yourself drift into your memories. The spring days when he would take you hiking, out into the mountains to show you his favorite spots, the times when your stomachs hurt from laughing at the dirty jokes he found off of random places on the internet, the rainy moments and baking cookies when it just seemed calm. With Suga, you felt at home like nowhere else.

Now, your eyes sting unfairly, and you turn away from him as he glares towards you, brow furrowed. Struggling to keep your voice even, you say, “I know, okay Kou? I just- I don’t know, she gives me bad vibes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to be rude, but when he scoffs, your heart squeezes just a bit and tears prick your eyes. “You’re telling me to call off a whole relationship because she gives you bad vibes? You did this with all of my exes, too!” Suga sighs, hands on his hips. “You know you’re my best friend, but honestly, y/n, this has to stop. You can’t control my life!”

He’s right. You know he’s right, and that’s the harsh thing about it. You want him all to yourself- everything about him is entrancing, intoxicating, familiar. Jealousy is a bitch.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

At this point, his jaw drops open at the sheer audacity of your remark. “I can’t do this with you today.” He throws up his hands and sits on the bed, making it clear he doesn’t really want to talk anymore.

Suga never really fights with you. He teases endlessly, but he always stops himself before he really hurts you, and the fights between the two of you are always calmer on his side. He’s usually the first to apologize, but it seems this is a sticking point for the two of you.

“Well? Go!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets it. You flinch backwards at his words, and he doesn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in your eyes as you walk out of the room.

“Fine, I guess I will!” As soon as you’re outside, you cover your mouth with your hand, your vision blurred from large drops threatening to spill from your eyelashes. You muffle your sobs with the sleeve of a sweatshirt Suga lent you, and it just makes you cry harder when you breathe in his slight cologne.

He wasn’t going to let her go this time. You missed your chance.

You’re running, but where to? As soon as your thoughts stop spinning, your feet freeze, and you glance around you. Shaky breaths escape you as you duck your head and attempt to cross the street, questioning looks from passerby making your cheeks heat up.

All of a sudden, you hear a car horn and freeze to see a car speeding towards you, out of control. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a child pointing at you, and you almost laugh at the incredulity of the situation. Then you black out on impact.

Back at Suga’s home, he sits in his bed, running his fingers through his silky hair. He curses under his breath, already hating the feeling.

He hates when the only person he’s ever truly loved is mad at him.

Honestly, Koushi can’t fathom why he keeps getting other people to date him, momentary distractions from his everlasting affection for you. You, the only person who’s there for him when he’s hurting, the only real friend to stay near him through everything, the only person he fell in love with on first sight. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t want to ruin this was.

Better to be certain friends with you and never get what he truly wanted than to try and lose you completely.

Suga picks up the phone to text you when he receives a call from an unfamiliar number, marked as the hospital of your district.

“Hello?"

“Is this Sugawara Koushi?” The female voice on the other end of the line asks.

“Yes, is everything okay?” He responds, curious as to why the hospital is calling him in the middle of the day.

“Well, we have Y/N L/N here, and you’re listed as one of their emergency contacts. Would you mind coming to the hospital to fill out some paperwork?”

Immediately, his world freezes. “W-what did you say?”

“I said, Y/N L/N is in the hospital and we need you to come in and see them.” She’s patient with him, voice even and calm, clearly used to people in shock from news of their loved ones. “They were involved in a car accident.”

He nods, momentarily forgetting she can’t see him. “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

The line clicks, and he sits there for only a minute before hurrying down to his car, grabbing the keys and starting the car. He seems to forget basic movements, mind consumed only with thoughts of you.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, edging above the speed limit on the road. He was tempted to honk at someone, but refrains from it, knowing it won’t help with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.

Then, it hit him. This was his fault. He almost stopped the car in the middle of the road, throat closing as guilt washed over him. Koushi didn’t know you’d take it so hard, didn’t mean for it to come off that harshly.

He arrived at the hospital, and as he walked in, the receptionist looked up at him.

“Sugawara Koushi?”

“Yes,” he said, and watched the smile slowly fade from her face. He noticed she tried to hide it, ducking her head, but it was too late. “Are they- are they going to be okay?” he gulped as she didn’t respond.

“Room 208,” she said curtly, “You should probably go in.”

The lights seemed to blur into each other as Suga practically ran to your room. Every footstep seemed to take forever, travel only a few centimeters forward. He couldn’t get there fast enough, accidentally bumping into the wall and muttering a hushed “sorry” to it.

He arrived. The door was almost too heavy, or maybe it was just the fear making his limbs heavy as lead.

There you lay, and it was worse than he thought. Tubes of all sorts trailed from your body to things around the bed, crowding and seeming to close you in. Scratches ran down your cheek and there was dried blood on your hairline, streaking down your face. The breath fell from his throat and he stood in the doorway, paralyzed.

This could not be happening.

One look and he could tell you weren’t going to be okay. An IV drip led into your left arm, and you were unconscious, so fragile, so angelic. It looked as if you were only sleeping, like the countless times you’d snuggled into Suga’s shoulder in the warm summer nights, staring at the blanket of glittering stars far above. The ones in your eyes, though, outshone them all.

When you slept, you always seemed so peaceful, so comforted, but now your brow was slightly furrowed, your lips drained of color and slightly parted. Even in this state, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

Shakily, he made his way to the chair and sat down in it. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and tears were dripping down his face before he could wipe them away. A choked sob escaped him as he reached out his hand, hovering over your limp one.

He took your hand, and he hunched over to feel how cold it was. Your hands were always colder than his, which made him a perfect match for you. Never before, though, had he felt this ice.

Suga’s shoulders began to shake, and he clutched your hand, silently begging you not to leave, please please please don’t leave me, i don’t know if i can survive without you. Of course, there was no response but the steady beep of the heart monitor, the only thing reassuring him that you were still there.

Shaking, he brought your hand to his lips, barely brushing them against your knuckles.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Whispered words fell gently from his lips, trying to stay composed for you. “Please stay with me. Please don’t leave.” His tone rises, voice breaking in desperation. “P-please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rocked back and forth, holding your hand as if it was the only thing tying him down. “I-I love you.”

There. He said it, those three words he’d wanted to say since the day he saw you smile for the first time. Hopelessly, madly, endlessly in love with you, only you.

When you didn’t respond, he let himself sob, let the pain overtake him. Hot, salty tears spilled onto your hand, and he silently wished for a sign, a movement, anything to show that you weren’t gone just yet.

In that moment, he whispered everything he wanted to say to you, a thousand words choking him and clogging his throat to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore.

The doctor came in, shutting the door silently behind him. “Sugawara-”

“Call me Suga.” His voice was quiet, reserved, threatening to break.

“I’m afraid y/n isn’t going to make it.” The doctor sighed, mercifully pretending not to notice Suga’s muffled cry. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’re joking, right?” Suga raised his head, puffy, red eyes desperate. “Please- tell me you’re joking.” The silence from the doctor told him otherwise, and Suga felt his heart shatter in that instant.

He squeezed your hand, and just as he did, the heart monitor stopped beeping, a flat tone emitting from it. He couldn’t stop the heartbroken cry from spilling from his mouth, his breath stolen by the endless constriction of guilt and grief in his chest.

He stayed there for another two hours, crying over your hand limp in his grasp. When Daichi arrived at the hospital to drive him home, he didn’t want to leave.

Suga stared out of the car window, numb. It was impossible- the world couldn’t be this cruel.

It’s your fault, your fault, your fault, the voice in his head whispered. The broken sobs that spilled out of him hurt, stabbed at his breathing, but he didn’t care. It was his fault that you were gone, forever.

The rest of the day passed in a haze, the sun setting with flared colors that you would have loved. The stars were brilliant, but Suga couldn’t look at them. His pillow smelled like you, and everywhere he looked had some imprint, some memory of you. You were the only person he’d ever love, and you had been stolen from the world in an instant.

In the months afterwards, nothing was the same. He saw you everywhere, expecting to see your texts pop up on his phone, accidentally ordered your drink at the boba place you would always go to.

At the funeral, his stiff black suit seemed awkward, but you always said he looked handsome in one. That was the last time he got to see your face besides pictures, the fading memory of the person who loved him for who he was.

the person who he would love for the rest of his life.

you’re an angel in my eyes.

a/n: tbh this is probably one of the most painful things i’ve written so far suga im so sorry also THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS ITS CRAZY i finished this at 2am i’m going to be so sad if it flops <\3

#sugawara koushi #suga x reader #sugawara x y/n #koushi sugawara #sugawara angst #sugawara sadness #i'm literally so sorry this is very sad #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #haikyuu sad #suga x y/n #suga x you #sugawara x reader

204 notes · View notes

princecharmingwinks · 3 years ago

Note

Another fail date! The last was very specific (and you made it so much better!) this one I’ll leave more wiggle room

I took him canoeing down a river in our back paddock that lead to a billabong. Specifically told him not to get in the water (because various reasons) He thought he’d be cool and jump in anyway, telling me it wasn’t deep water and therefore not dangerous. I told him it wasnt the water he needed to worry about.

(Billabong might be a bit too Aussie, so you can leave that out if you want 😉)

Hey again concussed-dragon! The last one was lots of fun! Oh I am so intrigued by your billabong 👀 While I love the Aussie billabong twist, I'm going to roll with a different body of water because I couldn't work out a reason for our boys to fly to Aus. Maybe for their honeymoon? ;) I've made Stiles the accident-prone one recently so let's switch it up, shall we?

---

Setting the scene: The Quintin Pack (an old friend and ally of Talia Hale) reaches out to the Hale Pack after sensing something has been amiss in their territory. The Quintin Pack's alpha and emissary are away on pack-alliance-duties so have requested the extra assistance for the remaining betas. Talia sends Derek, Stiles, Boyd and Erica on recon. The team of four have decided to divide into pairs to cover more grounding but all within howling range.

"Dude, how long have we been walking around for?" Stiles groans, trying to stretch out the knot beginning to form in his shoulder muscles. He may run with the supernatural but that doesn't mean Stiles actually likes hiking.

"You're ridiculous." Derek huffs but all Stiles can hear in the tone is fondness. The fact that Derek Hale is his mate will never get old. But somehow the fates had aligned and the two of them had worked out that they were just meant to be, sass, snark, huffs and all.

"But I'm your ridiculous." Stiles quips back.

Derek rolls his eyes but also kisses the spark on his template so Stiles calls that a win.

They walk on for a while until they reach a clearing and a large lake. It appears fairly shallow and genuinely nonthreatening.

Derek’s nose twitches as he scents the air, “There’s something in the water.”

Stiles doesn’t fully register the statement, too distracted by his spark waking up. There’s something supernatural around and his spark is giving a warning.

"Derek, hang on a sec-"

"Stiles, the water literally comes up to my ankles. I'll be fine." And with that, Derek is stepping into the murky depths that does in fact only just hit his ankles.

For a split-second Stiles is wondering if his spark had miscalculated. That is until he sees a twinkle of light to his left. He definitely didn't imagine that. It could only be one thing. He spins back to the werewolf walking towards the centre of the lake.

"Babe! Get out of the water!"

But it's too late. The water nymphs have already detected Derek. The water swirls around the werewolf's feet, faster and faster.

Derek tries to move but the pull of the water keeps his legs locked in place, “I can’t move.”

Stiles almost rolls his own eyes, this is why it was always important to listen to the spark, “Water nymphs. I gotta find their leader, hang on." He ducks off towards the light he had previously seen.

After some skilful negotiations (because Stiles is a Boss), the water nymphs reluctantly agree to release Derek. They mostly just wanted to cause some chaotic fun… with maybe the accidental death or two. By the time the water nymphs let Derek go, the water has risen to his neck. Stiles arranges for the water nymphs to move on to other pastures before the Quintin Pack have to take more permanent measures.

Derek is wringing out his shirt and shaking the water off himself like a cute drenched puppy when Stiles finds him after supernatural negotiations are complete.

“While I am very much admiring the view, I think you have something to say to me.” Stiles smirks, leaning against a tree.

Derek throws the shirt over his shoulder, accepting he’ll go shirtless for the trek back before coming to stand in front of Stiles.

“I think you’ve grown cockier since connecting with your spark.” Derek says.

Stiles feigns shock, “How dare you insult me. Your hero and savour. Next time I should just let the nymphs keep you locked in their watery prison forever.”

Derek rests a hand on the tree just above Stiles’ head and leans in. Stiles can feel the ghost of the werewolf’s breath on his lips.

“My hero.” Derek kisses him, pressing himself more fully against Stiles.

Stiles enjoys the kiss, considers it a worthy prize for saving the day. That is until Derek is smothering him in a cuddle for the sole purpose of getting Stiles covered in lake water too.

“Get off me, you wet dog!” Stiles laughs but there is no heat to his words.

“But I’m your wet dog.” Derek grins, dusting kisses all over Stiles’ face.

Driving back to the Quintin Pack’s house, Boyd sniffs the air from the backseat none too subtly, “Huh, you really do smell like wet dog.”

Erica and Stiles cackle with laughter. Derek is less impressed, shooting a glare at Boyd who throws back his shit-eating grin.

---

Ta da! Hope this one was ok! I know it didn’t really use your prompt super heavily (sorry!). I’ll try to work it in more next time. Also sorry it has taken me a while to get to this one haha but it was very fun to do. Now you must tell me the real reasons your billabong water is not a concern. I am so curious! As always, thanks for popping in!

#princecharminganswers #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #teen wolf #princecharmingwrites

33 notes · View notes

thosewickedlovelies · 4 years ago

Text

Into the Woods: chapter 1 | Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Frankie are expecting to run into anyone in the middle of the woods.

Tags: none!! all audiences!

Word Count: 3,054

Note: HE’S HERE!!! Please enjoy the official first installment of the outdoors insta frankie series 🌳📷😍 So much love to the wonderful @yoditorian for coming up with this concept and Frankie’s IG name, and also helping me brainstorm 💗💗💗

Backstory

---

Francisco Morales loves this shit. Walking for hours without seeing another soul, nothing to think about but where to place his feet on the path ahead of him. Assuming he’s following a path at all. These are his woods- the country surrounding the house he’s lived in for years, a place just shy of isolated from the nearest town. They’re not really his, legally. He’s not exactly sure what the rules of land designation entail, but it’s not a national park, and no one has ever chased him up about the occasional wood-chopping or campfire-building he does.

So he walks.

It’s a damn perfect day for it, too. Brilliantly sunny with a hint of breeze, rustling the greenery around him and carrying the scents of sun-warmed leaves and late summer flowers. The birds are in high spirits, their vibrant chirping filling the air with chatter. Screeches of alarm, sometimes, too- a side effect of hiking with a giant energetic dog. Frankie watches ruefully as Oso crashes off into the undergrowth again, doubtless chasing down some poor creature.

He slows his pace to wait for her, taking the opportunity for a water break. His heavy pack thuds to the ground. Frankie grunts as he stretches, rotating his shoulders and flapping his sweaty t-shirt away from his back. I should really hike along the river more often, he muses. He doesn’t mind working up a sweat (obviously), but a ready supply of cool water during a long hike does wonders for one’s well-being.

“Boof!” Oso’s deep bark as she returns brings Frankie’s attention to her.

“Yeah? Would you like that, too? A nice swim in the river to cool you down?” He crouches to ruffle her neck fur the way she likes. Oso only pants in answer, blinking at him adoringly.

She slurps thirstily as Frankie pours some water from his bottle into her mouth. He chuckles. “Don’t worry, Osita, we’ll be near some water soon.”

Their goal today is a small pond Frankie had only found earlier this year. It’s a good spot for his campfire cooking, as well as endlessly photogenic. This is marginally important to him, as he attempts to keep a regular diary of his wanderings through instagram. It’s mostly for fun, but like anyone else, he isn’t immune to the particular buzz from his posts unexpectedly getting a high number of likes.

But he had also discovered that he wasn’t the only one with this hobby. There were whole communities of people out there who found peace the same way he did, and they happily gave advice if ever he posted about a struggle.

Frankie pauses again a short way away from the pond to make sure he’s on course. Oso sniffs around excitedly, bounding off again while Frankie checks his GPS. “Huh.” Looking around, he laughs at himself a little when it tells him he’s almost walked past it. He rotates to his left and thinks he spots the telltale gap in the trees ahead. He tucks the GPS away.

Oso barks from somewhere ahead of him. A split second later, a human yelp sounds from the same direction. His eyes widen.

“Shit!” Frankie breaks into a run. In all the years he’s been out here, he rarely sees other people this far from the trails. “Oso!” he yells. “Here, girl!”

Oso isn’t aggressive (unless the situation warrants it), but whatever new friend she thinks she’s meeting won’t know that. Frankie races toward where he judges the noise came from, heart pounding. He bursts through some bushes and is almost knocked down by his beast jumping up to greet him.

“Hey, girl, who was- no!” Oso peels away again across a bit of clear ground, her collar slipping through Frankie’s fingers. He’s barreling toward where her tail wags from behind a bush, when you stand.

Frankie skids to a stop so abruptly his feet slide out from under him. His ass hits the ground with a thud, his rucksack taking only part of the fall. He scrambles upright gracelessly, clumsy with the weight on his back, never taking his eyes off of you.

You stare at each other.

Nothing about this moment feels real to Frankie- you could announce that you’re the dryad who rules this forest and he would believe you, that’s how unlikely your appearance is. Shifting sunbeams dapple your skin, and even from several feet away he can tell that you have the most striking eyes he’s ever seen.

For a second your gaze flicks down to the side. You lean slightly as if something has nudged you, and as you move your hand away from it Frankie realizes you’re holding something.

Shit. He returns to his senses. Is that a weapon?

He’s met people on the trails before, most of them harmless fellow hikers. But occasionally there are some with weird vibes, especially the farther away from the paths you got. He’s fully capable of defending himself, but that doesn’t mean he wants to have to.

“Oso! Here!” Frankie says sternly. Your expression doesn’t change as you watch the dog trot over to him. Jaw set, wide eyes tracking his every motion.

He supposes he can’t blame you for being wary. Or armed. It’s a perfectly reasonable response to running into a strange man in the middle of the woods. He knows he’s not exactly the picture of reassurance. Tall and broad, probably too sweaty to believably claim he’s on a casual hike. He decides to speak.

“Sorry to startle you.” Frankie keeps his hands by his sides where you can see them, resting one on Oso’s head. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

Your tense stance doesn’t relax. “Me either.”

His head tips to the side. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?” He tries to keep his voice slow and soothing.

He can see you assessing him, trying to measure how safe he is. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” Frankie pats the dog’s head in a more formal introduction. “I like to come out here and cook.” Your brow furrows at that, bemusement appearing amidst your guarded features. Before you can respond, he prompts “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

“Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” Disbelief is etched in every line of your face.

Well, when you say it like that.

Foraging. That makes perfect sense. Frankie follows a few of them on instagram. He’s always pleased when he notices the more obvious edible plants and berries, but it’s not usually his focus. His vegetable garden at home takes up most of his efforts. It’s managed to thrive in the years since he started it after leaving the army, and it’s become a source of pride for him to be able to wander out, pick some things for the day’s meal, and head right into the woods.

“Yeah,” he responds. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

Your eyebrows rise even higher at that.

Moving slowly and watching for your reaction, Frankie holds his hands up as he turns, keeping one in the air while the other makes a show of tugging his phone from a side pocket of his pack. He keeps the screen visible as he opens the app, then pulls his arm back in the beginning of an underhanded throw. Poised as such, he looks at you expectantly.

Now you’re almost frowning. Clearly still suspicious, but possibly fractionally less concerned about danger from a man willing to give his phone to a complete stranger in the woods. Hesitantly, you raise your hands to catch it.

Finally Frankie can make out that the thing in your hand in a canister of mace. The sight inexplicably relieves him. Pepper spray is a normal person’s defense, something that anyone might carry to help themselves feel safe. Far from the kind of weapon he would fear from someone angling for true violence.

All of this decided in the space of a second, Frankie gently tosses you his phone.

You’re so distracted by delighting in the prolific blackberry bushes which surround your pond that you don’t hear the approaching creature until it’s upon you.

You screech in shock at the massive fur-thing’s appearance, bowling you over from your crouch. It doesn’t seem bothered about wanting you to pet it, only wiggling and sniffing at you enthusiastically. You register the collar around its neck at the same you hear the shout.

“Oso!” That must be its name. “Here, girl!” The dog dashes away, then back, clearly torn about leaving her new friend so soon.

Icy adrenaline douses your system. That was a man’s voice, rough and cavernous. Who knows what kind of person he could be, no matter the earnestness of his dog? Your hands shake as you rip open your bag for the canister of mace you’ve never had to use.

There’s a pronounced rustle and then his voice sounds again, terrifyingly close. “Hey, girl, who was- no!”

Shit. The dog is back, looking at you eagerly, rear in the air and tail wagging like this is an exciting game. You have to choose a course of action quickly. Twisting the safety off the pepper spray, you rise to your feet.

His reaction is almost funny; you think you might have laughed if this was literally any other scenario. Like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel, the man wrenches himself to a stop with such force his feet fly up from the ground. The contents of his bulging pack crunch against the earth, but he barely seems to notice he’s fallen, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time he cycles back to his feet.

You stare at each other.

That’s a man all right. Towering even from this distance, with wide shoulders that help the impression. His eyes are round and stunned, the cap on his head knocked slightly askew and freeing sweat-dark curls to spring around his ears.

Your first thought is that he looks warm. Not temperature warm, although the gleam of sweat on his neck confirms that, too. But approachable warm. There’s a softness to his body that belies the muscle his motions highlight, creases around his eyes that wrinkle brown like tree bark in the sun.

Then his dog noses your thigh, reminding you that you have pepper spray in your hand because you’re in the middle of the damn woods with a potentially threating stranger. You risk a half-second glance down to move the canister away from her face.

You regard the man with stony distrust, fear flushing your face and neck with heat. Confrontation makes the blood roar in your ears, but it gradually quiets as he orders the creature away from you. For several more seconds the only sound is rustling leaves.

He clears his throat. “Sorry to startle you,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to see anyone this far from the trails.”

His voice doesn’t sound as harsh now that he’s not frantically shouting for his dog. Still you keep your answer short. “Me either.”

His head tilts inquisitively. “Do you come to this area regularly, then?”

That’s a fair question. He has a right to be curious too. “I have been recently. What about you?”

“All the time. Me and Oso take nice long walks.” The man pats her head, and the dog’s ears perk up. “I like to come out here and cook.” Wait, what? Before you have a chance to process that, he continues. “What are you doing this far off the main paths?”

You won’t be deterred. “Foraging. You come all the way out here to cook?” If this is some elaborate murder setup, that’s not a very plausible lie.

“Yeah,” he answers. “Here, I can show you. I keep an instagram.”

You’re slightly more skeptical than fearful now. You watch silently as the man turns in place, putting the side of his backpack in your line of sight so you can see him fish his phone out. He makes his actions slow and obvious. The white background of an instagram page glows on the screen as he retracts his arm in a throwing pose. Clear eyes meet yours.

What? This guy is just going to...give you his phone, no questions asked? Taken aback, you can feel the deep grooves of a frown between your eyebrows as you consider.

You’re hesitant to reveal the pepper spray, but if there’s still some possibility this is a trick, he might second-guess attacking you if he sees you’re armed. You ready yourself for a catch.

Which you accomplish, easily, his toss landing the phone right in your hands. The dog lurches forward, but this time man has a grip on her collar and she’s forced to halt with a whine.

“Sorry, girl. We’re not playing fetch right now, okay? Sit!” The man doesn’t even seem concerned with monitoring you, looking down seriously at his dog as he speaks.

You keep one eye on them as you turn your attention to the screen. Frankieintheforest, reads the username at the top of the page. Just a guy out in the woods, continues his bio. Well, that’s accurate, anyway. Frankie, huh? You spare him another glance, matching various features of him to the ones in his photos. A broad hand here, sturdy hiking boots there. Several glimpses of the same flannel that’s currently tied to the strap of his backpack. His face in a few group shots. You click on an image which shows Oso parading around a yard with a grinning toddler on her back. “Ferocious beast carries away yet another victim,” quips the caption. An involuntary smile tugs at the corner of your mouth.

There are too many photos going too far back for it to be fake. You turn the screen toward him. “Cute kid,” you comment. “Is she yours?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “No,” the man half laughs. “My buddy’s. I’m just the godfather.” A small smile softens his face as he takes in the picture.

Being named godfather was nothing to sneeze at. You study the man carefully, keeping your face neutral. He seems genuine, his dog keen and friendly. Dogs were a good judge of character, right? Indicative of the character of their owner? He hasn’t demanded anything from you, not done anything threatening beyond just being here.

You glance between him and the phone again. “Frankie?” you question.

He raises one hand in a wave, directing a crooked sort of smile at you. “That’s me,” Frankie confirms.

You offer him your name in return. “Uh, you can have this back now.” You gesture with the phone.

He brings his hands up to catch it, and you thank every deity you know of when your throw connects. You’re at a bit of a loss for what to do next, however. You suppose this means you’re at a truce. But you still don’t think you’d be able to let yourself focus on foraging while knowing there’s a stranger wandering so nearby.

Frankie seems to be thinking the same thing. One hand rubs over the back of his neck. “Well,” he begins. “My plans for today were to sit by this pond and cook over a fire.” He points his thumb to the right, where not far away the reflection of sunlight on water wavers against the tree trunks.

“You can join me if you want.” He shrugs awkwardly. “I’m just gonna collect some tinder and then park it, so you don’t have to worry about me interrupting your foraging or anything.”

Oso finally wriggles free of his grasp and surges forward, leaping across to you with a triumphant woof! “Oso, no!” Frankie stumbles after her, only to stop after two steps, clearly unwilling to make you uncomfortable by getting too close. He looks on helplessly, hands flexing.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. This time you offer her your free hand to sniff, which she does, before promptly shoving her head beneath it for pets. Amused, you comply. Her multi-hued fur is soft beneath your fingers.

“You’re alright, aren’t you, Oso?” You dart a self-conscious glance back up to her owner, but he appears content to let you coo at his dog.

“She’s a good judge of character,” Frankie says simply.

You swallow. Those deep brown eyes linger over you, and this is all just a bit...much. “Right. Well. I’m just going to…” you ease back, hoping to convey ‘continue going about your business.’

“Oh, sure!” He takes a little hop backward. “I’ll be...here.” His hand makes a small circling motion to indicate a limited nearby area. “You’ll hear me before you see me. Or Oso.”

Frankie frowns slightly as if something has occurred to him. “Uh, she might want to follow you around today though. I can tie her to a tree if that would bother you? I don’t usually watch her too closely,” he admits sheepishly.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You realize that you mean it as your thoughts continue to form. “She’ll make for good protection if I meet any more big scary strangers.” You aim the last words down to the dog herself, sending a wry a sidelong glance to said stranger.

He chuckles again, a rasp of a sound like creaking branches. “That’s fair. But I meant it when I said I’ve never seen anyone else in this particular area. You’re pretty safe.” He punctuates his statement with a nod to the canister still in your hand, soft understanding clear in his face.

Your head ducks slightly. “Well,” you say again. ”I’ll..see you around. I guess.” You don’t wait for a farewell, turning to foist your pack back onto your shoulder. You strain your ears for any noise behind you as you flee, but there’s no sound of pursuit.

“Go ahead. Have fun, Oso,” Frankie calls, already at a distance from your quick pace. There’s a distinctly animal scurrying, and then the dog bursts into being by your side.

Your arms wheel as you jump. “Jeez, you are enormous,” you mumble, pausing to pet her again. Discreetly you look over your shoulder in time to see Frankie turn away from you, heading for your pond.

Post note: I know pepper spray is like, super illegal in the UK and other places, but it’s not abnormal to carry around in the US so just pretend it’s fine.

Taglist: @thirstworldproblemss, @leonieb, @computeringturtle

#frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales x reader #triple frontier fic #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #outdoors insta frankie

82 notes · View notes

tatooedlaura-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Forgetting

Two in a row, I appear to be on a roll ... this is not for those under 17 and nsfw :)

Sometimes, you need to forget for a little while ...

@today-in-fic

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

It was a stupid retirement gathering at the end of the day, the best way *insert sarcasm here* to end Friday, in Mulder’s opinion. It became especially fun when the assistant director who was doing the retired pointed the pair out, commenting on the Amber Lynn LaPierre case, which he called the crowning achievement in his long and lauded career with the Bureau. Thanking them for their contribution to his legacy, both nodded, smiled, said their polite thank yous while inside, wishing they were literally anywhere but there.

Then came the inevitable discussion about the case, Scully plowing ahead, dealing with most of the comments until Mulder leaned into her, mouth to ear, “I’m going to head to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Nodding, she continued with her end of the present conversation, then two others before she realized he still wasn’t back. Excusing herself, she slipped quietly out the door. Wondering for a moment if he’d fled the building completely or just the room, she thought, then, for some unknown reason, decided to try the stairwell before heading to the basement. Opening the oft-used door at the end of the hall, a beautiful sunset greeted her as well as a lone Mulder sitting on the first step down, quietly contemplating the world while bathed in pink and purple hues.

Sitting carefully beside him, skirt causing minor issues, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gotten lost.”

Taking an impossibly deep breath before bumping shoulders with her, “do you think, maybe, this could be one of those nights where we get drunk and forget we work together?”

She’d asked him that exact question for the first and only time roughly four months earlier and with a moment’s hesitation to calculate where the nearest liquor store was, she returned the answered he’d been hoping for, “I think it needs to be one of those nights and you’ve got that liquor store on the corner so I vote your place.”

Bumping her a second time, he stood up, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs, “I think we’ve worked long enough today.”

She stood with just a little help from his hand, tugging her skirt straight, “agreed.”

&&&&&&&&&

She picked up the Long Island, the big pre-mix bottle, third shelf, second aisle, they shopped here a little too often, then headed to Mulder’s. Beating him there by ten minutes, she had time to clear the couch and coffee table of littered papers and hamburger wrappers, empty glasses and several pairs of socks. Smiling at the socks, she then filled the table with bottles of water, the Long Island (opened, aerator insert removed for ease of swilling) and a roll of paper towel because she knew he’d be stopping for Subway and they never sent him home with napkins.

Scully then had time to contemplate the first time they’d mentioned their question out loud. She honestly didn’t want to think about the string of events that led to her request but that night had been Rum and Coke and sitting on his couch, not sure how to start anything until Mulder said something so quiet she had to turn to hear him repeat his statement.

She ran into his mouth and from there, they’d spent a chaste 87 minutes alternating between drinking, making out, water interludes sporadic, straight rum by the end, coke chaser when they remembered until the week’s worth of tension left her shoulders, muscles warm and relaxed, lips swollen, hands never traveling below her neck except to turn her at the waist for a better angle.

Heads thoroughly spinning by the time the pair pulled apart in a mutually silent agreement that it was time, Scully went in for another kiss before looking at him blurrily, enjoying their warm, humid silence which Mulder only broke to ask, “couch or bed? I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Smiling at him, she stretched, much like a cat, limbs shaking, back curving, “couch is fine.”

Logistics figured a few minutes later, both were crashed in their respective beds, soundly asleep through the remainder of the night.

Mulder made it home a minute later, returning Scully to present day, and she took the bags of food from him, carrying them to the kitchen while he shed shoes, jacket, button down, leaving him in a crew-neck white t-shirt and mismatched socks. Following her into the kitchen, he grabbed the open bottle from the coffee table as he passed. Swigging deep, he handed it to her, “premix. I appreciate you more and more every day.”

“Why take the time to make it yourself when the Captain has done it for you already?” Seeing the forlorn expression still clear on his face, she turned to look at the counter, measuring up the height before glancing back at him, “help me up here, will you? I’d like to hug you face to face for once.”

Not about to question that request, he popped her up, allowing her time to adjust her skirt before handing her the bottle, “madam.”

Two gulps later, she angled the bottle in his direction, “for the win,” then waved her fingers at him, “come here.”

Obeying, he was in her arms, as close as possibly given counter and thigh restriction from skirt. Holding her had an instant effect on his blood pressure, his psyche, his heart rate and brain function, calm washing over him the longer he touched her. Not enough for him at the moment, however, he scooted her closer to the edge of the counter, skirt hiking up further, her thighs pressing his sides. About to do something about this, Scully did it for him, mouth on his neck, lips against pulse, tongue running lightly over skin. Kissing her way up his neck, across his jaw, she found his mouth, neck twisting for best access and without thought, legs locking around him, ankle hook completing the loop.

He would not be arguing.

Staying there another minute, he decided, given the course of the evening, to take creative license and wrapping arms around her waist, picked her up, moving her to the couch without breaking contact. She snagged the bottle as he moved them past it and knowing he had to set her down because sitting down with her like this would break her ankles and nobody needed that tonight, Scully grinned as she slid to the floor, her skirt staying stuck to her upper thighs. Another three deep swallows from the bottle, she handed it to Mulder, watching his perfectly sculpted throat down five, “next time we come up for air, water break.”

“Agreed.” Sitting right down on the couch, he expected her to drop beside him but instead, she wiggled the skirt a little higher and climbed onto his lap, “last time, I had a crick in my neck. I’m not dealing with that again.”

Hands firmly on her waist, he smiled, “I like your thinking.”

Mouth immediately back on his, he managed to keep his hands to himself until the liquor began buzzing his brain, separating thought from consequence but keeping intact decorum at its most rudimentary, his hands hesitantly shifting four inches above her waist, still above her shirt until Scully pulled back, whispering into his mouth, “I don’t mind.”

He didn’t take full advantage of the situation but the simple feeling of running his hands up and down her back made him feel like he’d just won the lottery, over silk blouse, ridge of bra back, imaginary outline of existing tattoo. Another few minutes and Scully moved away, lips red, cheeks pink, eyes bright as she reached behind her, breasts jutting into Mulder’s face, looking for water. Drinking down half a bottle, she handed the rest to Mulder, “it’s getting warm in here.”

Managing to keep his eyes mostly on hers, “that okay?”

Tossing the empty water bottle behind her, she then took up the Long Island, another two deep pulls before offering it to her partner, “very good.” After he drank, she deposited it back on the table and returned like a magnet to his mouth, her hands now in and through his hair, cradling his ears, thumbs running over temples, hips sliding forward until a minute later, she stood up, “I still have most of my faculties and I’m making a request.” She wavered once as the room tilted ever so slightly, “this skirt is irritating the hell out of me. Would you mind if I take it off?”

With a grin, he fell in love withher all over again, “no, that’s fine.”

“Thanks.” Skirt hitting the floor a moment later, her blouse hung low enough not to reveal anything of interesting importance and settling back on his lap, she nodded at him, “much better.”

“I’m glad.”

This time, when she re-settled, she re-settled closer to him, his obvious arousal at the whole situation not bothering her in the slightest, unknowingly grinding once against him before commencing with their previous activities.

Liquor working its magic, Mulder decided that given she was now in her underwear on his lap, that afforded him hands on ass, which elicited a tandem ‘hhmmmm’ from both and another inch hip-slide forward. Deciding what the hell, he then moved his hands up under her shirt, finding warm skin and bumping backbone, hands callous-rough as they danced over rib and ridge. Feeling her smile, he felt her leave his lips, moving down his chin to his Adam’s Apple, mouthing it several times before following down to his shirt collar, then sitting back, putting welcome pressure on particular parts, “it is only fair that since I have no skirt, you need no shirt.”

He loved that she lost her contractions when she drank. Apostrophes went out the window for some reason, all words spoken precisely and slurry but never contracted. Sitting up immediately, he pulled the offending garment off and dropped it to the couch beside them, “sounds fair indeed.”

Another two mouthfuls of Long Island for both, her hands ran immediately over his chest, her deep breath and stuttered sigh telling him more than words ever could, fingers playing over his nipples, tongue tracing his collarbone. It was when she gripped his sides and smashed herself down on him, favorite parts aligning, that he finally let out a moaning groan, “Scully.”

Whispering in his ear, “was that good?”

“If you’re trying to kill me, yes.”

Sitting back again, she wiggled a few more times, lighter yet oddly, more intense. Quick glance at the clock across the dimly lit room, she looked down at him, his gaze filled with unmistakable adoration, “it has been over an hour, need a break?”

“I will never need a break from you.”

Reaching back, she snagged another water, drinking half again and waiting until Mulder finished it to toss it the way of the first empty. Next, more liquor went down, bottle half gone at this point before, “would you mind if I took the blouse off? This thing holds heat like you would not believe.”

Words gone, head nodded, her shirt landed on the table, sweat glistening above and below white cotton bra but before he could process more than half a reverent look, he had her face pulled back to his, hands sliding down her slowly cooling back and right past the top of her underwear, bare hands on bare ass in under a second.

She did not complain, rocking a rhythm on him that was making him see stars.

Everything was logical to them up to this point. The logic of six years and half a bottle of Long Island Ice Tea but whatever and Mulder’s next suggestion followed their logical pursuit. It took a few minutes to form the idea, then the sentence, but pulling away from her mouth, whimpering either internally or for the world to hear, he had to share it with her, “um, so as much as I am loving this, there are parts of me that are dying because they are trapped, wonderfully so but still friction-ly, and are … shit, Scully, the zipper of my pants is about to cause some damage.”

“Hell. Okay.” She stood immediately and hips still moving in some sort of fluid motion which could very well hold Mulder’s attention until the end of time, he took advantage and lifting his butt, soon was sitting there in boxers, happy for relief and unembarrassed by his obvious reaction to her.

She admired for a moment, then settled right back on him, body pressed firmly against all available Mulder.

His hands moved to her hips, moving her against him, the rhythm of his mouth getting erratic as all attention moved elsewhere. Scully was having her own amount of trouble holding focus and when his hands moved to unclasp her bra, she could have sang the Halleluiah chorus had she thought to leave his lips.

Needing a final pull of liquor before anything else, she sat back on his thighs, three mouthful going down her throat first, then Mulder took four, capping the bottle and dropping it to the floor before his mouth moved not to hers again but to her breasts, taking in his dreamt of mouthful, other hand filled with other breast as Scully shut her eyes, shifting and sliding against him, parts finally making solid contact and she stood suddenly, swaying as she shed her last piece of clothing, then demanded Mulder’s boxers with a silent outstretched hand and begging eyes. Obliging, she was back on him, wetter than wet, rubbing hard head against aching clit, then, she slid back and forth against him, Mulder’s mouth latched back to her breast and his hands carrying her forward and back. Letting go of her, he told her, alcohol slur evident, “I am so close to that spot, Scully. Another inch and we could … just … we could.”

Leaning forward, she slipped her teeth around his earlobe, tugging lightly before sucking for a moment, then whispering, “there cannot be liquor involved when that happens. Sorry.”

There was absolutely no reason for her to apologize and he told her as such, “but can something else happen because unless you stop moving, it’s going to anyways and I’d rather have permission to do so.”

His strained voice made her grin and sitting back once again, she ran one hand down her belly and bracing with the other against his knee, she began rubbing her clit, “oh, I am good with everything else.”

Needing to ask one last time, “do you need any more Tea?”

“I have not got time for that now.” And she rubbed a little faster.

Wrapping his hand around himself, their knuckles kept bumping until they found a matched rhythm and as her muscles clenched and her head dropped back, he came as well, all over himself and her, not caring about anything in the moment but his Scully.

Then their combined mess along with the sweat generated by the last hour and a half suddenly got the better of his ass’s grip on the couch. She moved slightly, he shot forward, feet unable to catch him, and both, for a fleeting moment, wondered if there was an earthquake as they slid to the ground, Scully’s back sliding against the coffee table edge, Mulder’s bare butt landing on a crackling water bottle.

He managed to get an arm around her though, so she didn’t hit the floor at the worst angle ever and ‘sluggish but still there’ reflexes on her part had her move enough not to break his dick, softening but still hard enough to cause some trouble had it been bent sideways under her drunken weight.

Both then sat there in silence, until, of course, the giggles set in.

It took a good five minutes to get things under control and not set the other off with a simple look. Scully, now wrapped in one of Mulder’s many blankets, looked from the ¾ empty Long Island bottle to the water in her hand, “can I stay here tonight?”

Also in a blanket, and equally worried about the amount they’d consumed, he opened two more bottles of water for them, the world beginning to tilt again, “like I’d let you drive anywhere after that much Captain.”

Looking over at him, grin wide as she missed her mouth with the water bottle on the first try but making it the second, she swallowed half before speaking, “for a minute there, I actually did forget we worked together.”

“Me, too.”

Shifting up to give him a kiss on the cheek, she swayed into him, forgetting how to sit back upright momentarily, “now, if you would be so kind as to find me a pillow and another blanket, I am going to go clean up, then come back here and go to bed because if I do not lay down very soon, I am going to tip over even more than I am now.”

Contractions still gone, he knew she wasn’t kidding about the tipping thing, the alcohol coursing through her veins would have her asleep in seconds and sporting one hell of a headache tomorrow. Carefully standing, he got her up and to the bathroom, blanket firmly in place and then, collecting some pajama pants and a t-shirt for her, he handed them through the partially open door, ignoring the sounds of her peeing, then the water running.

Seriously, how many times could he fall in love in one evening?

Soon, she was back, curled on the couch, Oscar the Grouch shirt in place, blankets piled high, head deep in down pillow. Beckoning him to her level with her finger, he had to kneel, knowing if he leaned, he’d fall, “what’s up?”

“I love you, Mulder. You are my best friend and I love you.”

Kissing her forehead, he struggled to stand back up, “I love you and you are my best friend, too.” Pointing to the table, “I left you an empty pot so if you puke, do it in that, please, all right?”

“Do not forget one for yourself.”

Holding up his own, “got it. G’night.”

She was already asleep.

He would dream well tonight.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Since the curtains and blinds were closed, the light didn’t wake either of them until late afternoon. Scully was up before Mulder and after downing several glasses of water and what felt like a handful of aspirin, she opened her forgotten Subway, settling with it on the couch, remote in hand.

Mulde wandered out a few minutes later and stared at her for a moment, then retrieved his sandwich as well, grabbing the bottle of aspirin before sitting down beside her, tugging half her blanket over his knees, “hi.”

“Hi.”

“What are we watching?”

“The Flintstones.”

Giving her wild hair and dark hickey on her neck a good, long look, he aimed a grin at her, “mind if I join you?”

Taking in a matching bruise on Mulder’s neck and his dancing eyes, “your couch.”

Settling in a little better, he unwrapped his roast beef on white, “so, honest answer, please. Should we be embarrassed or anything about last night?”

Scully thought while she chewed, then smiling crookedly, “the only thing I’m embarrassed about is having ended up on the floor.” Looking at him critically, “what about you? Honest answer.”

“Mostly I’m unnerved by how much my ass was sweating, in all seriousness.” Taking his first bite, he felt calmer than he had in forever, “want to stay over again tonight?”

“Sure. I hadn’t planned on leaving this couch until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Mexican for dinner?”

“As long as they deliver.”

“They do.”

Mid-chew, she leaned over and kissed his t-shirted shoulder, “yay.”

#msr #nc-17 #a wee bit of smut #actually more than that #but whatever #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #MulderNScully #My writing

106 notes · View notes

nelllraiser · 3 years ago

Text

no good deed | luce & nell

LOCATION: nell’s greenhouse. PARTIES: @divineluce and @nelllraiser SUMMARY: luce asks for nell’s herb supplies to help with her phoenix cleansing. absolutely NO emotional talk or introspection follows. CONTENT: discussion of the lydia plot without specifics, very brief and vague sibling death allusion.

Luce washed her hands in the sink, wincing as the hot water and soap stung the healing wounds. She glanced at herself in the mirror-- she looked like she’d been through hell. Deep purple bruises had blossomed across her skin, but most were covered by winding bandages she’d wrapped over the jagged cuts that ran along the back of her legs. Her back was a mess and it made sleeping a nightmare, but she couldn’t do much about it. A crooked butterfly bandage kept the cut over her eyebrow shut, and the wound was purple at the edges. She looked like shit and she felt it too. But, she couldn’t stop now.

Leaving the bathroom, Luce returned to her room and sat back down at the books she’d borrowed from Rio. The ash had been collected, a piece of the cursed earth for good measure too. The Bloodroot sat in a vase next to the window, the stems dying the water a light pink. Which left… tears, from a phoenix and cleansing herbs. The tears wouldn’t be too difficult-- Leah had said she’d help her with this, so she’d probably be alright parting with a few tears. The cleansing herbs though. Luce couldn’t pretend to know which ones were best suited to a ritual like this. Plants had never been her thing and she didn’t have the coven’s knowledge at her disposal anymore. But… there was someone else who might know. Taking the book with her, Luce made her way out to the greenhouse. And, as she suspected, Nell was there.

Knocking lightly on the door, Luce spoke up, “Hey.”

It was no surprise that Nell was puttering about her greenhouse after everything that had happened over the past week or so. In reality, it wasn’t all that much in comparison to the things she’d weathered before. The mad rush to save someone she loved, the devastating blow of losing that same person merely days later— though it hadn’t been in the way she’d anticipated. Frank hadn’t been the one to fell the curtain between Nell and Bex by stealing her life, it’d been Bex herself that had made the severance. The witch wasn’t trying to throw herself a pity party, it was simply that the only way she could think to keep her storming thoughts at bay was to create something, and to care for the plants she nurtured with a gentle hand. The greenhouse had always been a sanctuary of her’s, a place of peace that was her’s and only her’s where she could be alone with herself. She never needed to find the strength to draw her armor within its walls because she didn’t need it’s defenses between the fragile glass panels lining the perimeter. Here she was free to be happy, or hurt, or whatever else she might be feeling at the moment.

But with the sound of a soft knock that changed, and Nell rolled the softness from her shoulders as she went to the door, setting them into their usual and proud position. “Hey-” she began thoughtlessly when she heard the sound of her sister’s voice. A moment later shock was flitting over her face, brows drawn together with concern as she took in the ugly picture Luce made with her collection of injuries. “Luce- what the fuck. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you? I could have closed whatever cuts you have instead of whatever shoddy job you made of your legs,” she chastised while she took in her sister’s bandages.

A grimace spread across Luce’s face as Nell stared at her, face shifting to an expression of surprise. Maybe she should have put on a jacket or something. Heatstroke would be preferable to getting a lecture. “Slipped and fell on a hike.” Luce said. It wasn’t entirely untrue. She’d been on a hike and she had fallen. Nell didn’t need to know that Morgan had helped with the fall. That Morgan had shoved her down, that she’d thought the other woman was going to kill her. “Yeah, you know me. I’m shit with first-aid.” She said offhandedly, glancing down at the haphazardly wound bandages. “It’s fine, though, I’ll be fine with some time.” Moments like this reminded her of how lucky she’d been all her life-- their mother had always been an option, even if they didn’t necessarily want her help. Now? Mixed messages aside, Luce was never stepping foot in her parents’ home again, not if she could help it. She didn’t need her mother’s help. She didn’t need her pity either. “I’ve got a question for you,” She held up the leather bound book and flipped it open to the page she’d been staring at. “Do you have any idea about what sort of herbs would be used for this sort of thing?”

Nell fixed Luce with a scrutinizing look, arms crossed over her chest as she decided whether or not she wanted to fight her sister on the lackluster answer she’d given. But for once in her life she decided that she was simply too tired, and Luce could give her the answer in due time. Nevertheless, that wouldn’t stop her from mildly calling the fire witch out. “Right. Slipped and fell.” Another disapproving glance flitted over her face before her chastisement continued. “Yeah, but you live with someone who has an entire greenhouse of healing herbs. I’m literally just upstairs in case you forgot. I could have at least scabbed the shit over and lessened the amount of ‘time’ needed.” The mention of a question and the book being presented was enough to spark Nell’s interest, if only for the sole reason that it could provide a distraction from the pity party she’d been throwing herself, wondering how she’d so spectacularly failed at teaching Bex. She should have known. Just because she wasn’t the girl she’d been a year ago didn’t mean she was suddenly equipped to take in a baby witch with her newfound emotional maturity. For a long moment, Nell scanned over the text, lips pursing further the longer she read. “This is about the phoenix that Adam told me he was helping you with? Loved finding out about that from him and not you, by the way.”

Luce wearily rubbed the heel of her hand against her eye, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot across her forehead. “It’s a long story.” She said lamely. She knew that answer wouldn’t be enough for her sister, but hopefully it would do for now. Later. She’d tell her the details later. Right now, she needed to focus. She had the flowers, she had the ashes, she had the dirt. She just needed the herbs and then the hard part-- the phoenix. And the fire. She didn’t have any idea how she was going to get that whole situation figured out, but… she had to try something. Hopefully the ritual wouldn’t be too affected by a couple cans of gasoline. “I mean, no time like the present? Care to help a sister out?” Luce joked weakly.

At the mention of Adam and the phoenix, Luce blinked. Ah. Yeah, that made sense. They were dating, Adam was a decent guy. Of course he would have told Nell about the situation they had on their hands. “Sorry. I’ve been caught up in trying to figure out how to fix shit. Spent a lot more time in the scribrary than I wanted to. Rio-- Winston’s ex? He’s lending a hand with it. Hence the book.” She said, holding the book up again.

A long story. Nell was growing increasingly tired of the ‘long stories’ that seemed to make up the majority of her life since she’d returned to White Crest. How many ‘long stories’ could someone fit over the span of a year and a half, anyway? “I’m sure it is,” she mumbled lamely, once again proving herself to be uncharacteristically not nosy for the time being. Luce had meant her words to be joking, but Nell failed to continue in that vein, unable to find the energy needed for sarcasm in the moment. “Of course I’ll help you,” she said a little too seriously, clutching onto one of the only constants in her life now that she’d lost yet another person in the form of Bex. It was beginning to look as if the only people she’d always have in her life and at her side would be her sisters, and that was a gift she couldn't afford not to treasure. Leading Luce towards a nearby chair, she began to gather the healing poultices she’d made, the ones their mother had taught her. “So you need lavender and sage.” It wasn’t a question as she took another look over the book. “That’s easy enough.” Squinting at the last plant, she was already beginning to search her brain for what the words could mean. “And a white flowered herb?” Of course a ritual wouldn’t be complete without a sufficiently vague ingredient.

“You know I could have helped ‘figure out how to fix shit’.” Nell had failed at making sure Bex didn’t feel alone, she wouldn’t do the same for her sister. “You mean the guy you punched, and then refused to apologize to?” Perhaps she was still a little bitter about the argument she and Luce had following the happening. “Yeah, that makes sense that he’d help. He’s a good guy.”

A wave of guilt washed over Luce at the defeated sound of her sister’s voice. Fuck. “It’s-- just don’t fucking… fly off the handle, alright?” She said before running a sloppily bandaged hand through her hair. She paused, not entirely surprised by how quickly Nell figured out what kind of purifying herbs they’d need. Sage and lavender. She should have known that. But she’d never paid attention to purifying rituals, she’d never really paid attention to the plants they used at the coven meetings. She’d just accepted the bundle of herbs and lit the ends, allowing the smoke to waft through the air and mingle with the combined power of the rest of the coven. How she’d taken it all for granted. “Cool, yeah. You’ve got that growing in here, right?” Luce said as she followed Nell to a chair, looking around at the greenhouse as she walked. She’d done enough lavender tattoos to be able to spot the tall sprigs of purple. But, she refocused on her sister and stared over at Nell. “The white flower-- it’s Bloodroot. It grows at Lyssa’s Peak and I needed the stuff that grew at the top. Lunar cycles, drawing power from the moonlight, you know.” She said. Rip the bandaid. Just tell her sister what happened. No more secrets.

“I went hiking up there to get to it the other day. And I ran into Morgan. She showed me a way up the mountain and we got to talking and I was in a… mood about shit. About… Lydia.” Luce said, wondering if Nell would understand why she was in a mood, if her sister would get just why the killing didn’t sit well with her. “And she kept trying to figure out what it was and I snapped at her. And then she snapped at me. Because she’d cared about Lydia. Even though she was a fucking…” Monster. Murderer. Torturer. “Even though she was what she was. Morgan lost her cool, I lost my footing, I took a tumble down the peak. But, it’s fine. She helped me down the mountain.” She didn’t need to. She could have kicked me off. She could have let the coyote finish me. She could have let me die up there.

Swallowing, Luce blinked at her sister’s words. Yeah. Nell could have helped her. Bea probably could have helped her too. But, again, she’d felt like she’d needed to do this on her own. And where had that landed her? Right fucking here, with no magic to speak of and just struggling to make things work. “Sorry. Old habits. And I’ve said that before, and I’m sorry. I just-- fucking, it’s hard to remember that I don’t have to do everything alone.”

“Me? Fly off the handle? Where would you get an idea like that?” There was the sarcasm Nell had been missing before, but it was short lived as she unwrapped the bandages from Luce’s legs, her frown renewed while she took in the extent of the scrapes and cuts. “Yeah, of course I’ve got those growing. They’re pretty good staples. So the sage is obviously for cleansing…” That made sense, she supposed. They had to rid the phoenix of whatever it was that had made them this way. “And the lavender...it’s for healing.” Healing couldn't take place without the cleansing. After all, you had to clean the wound before it could properly heal. Otherwise you risked it becoming infected, a festering thing that wouldn’t even get a chance to scar, let alone fade. “Sure- the moon. It makes sense.” The great glowing woman in the sky was like butter to a witch’s bread, always ready and willing to lend her strength to those who sought it.

But the mention of Lyssa’s Peak had Nell remembering her own time in the shadow of it, watching the yellow-eyed wolf and Layla attempting to murder Adam while she and Ariana did their best to prevent it. “Lydia?” That hadn’t been a name she expected to surface, and Nell hadn’t heard it since the brief conversation of guilt she and Luce had following her death. Besides, what did Morgan have to do with Lydia? The zombie had cared about the woman who kept innocent people in a basement? Nell wasn’t all that sure what to make of that— especially when paired with the recent revelation that Morgan had befriended Miriam as well. “Her losing her cool was related to you losing your footing or not?” There was a vagueness there that Nell wasn’t ready to let go of. Not when it concerned her sister, and her injuries. “You tumbled down the fucking peak,” Nell hissed, knowing that Luce was lucky to escape with her life, let alone her bones intact.

Nell sighed, knowing it was hypocritical of her to call Luce out for refusing help while she was guilty of the very same. She knew accepting assistance wasn’t so easy as flipping a switch. “I know.” Apparently Nell was in a forgiving mood, too tired to fight in the wake of the heaviness the past few weeks had held. “Why are you helping the phoenix, though?” Nell knew her sister had a decent heart beneath her barb-like exterior, but she’d never much gone out of the way to help an utter stranger. “Obviously I’m glad someone is- I just didn’t expect it.”

Settling into the chair, Luce cast Nell a wan smile as she listened to her sister speak. As she unwound the bandages, Luce could see just how sloppy a job she’d done. Nothing looking infected-- she wasn’t that stupid, she’d done enough tattoo aftercare to know how to wash wounds-- but it didn’t look great either. The roses on her legs were bleeding red angry cuts, the backs of her knuckles were scratched and raw, and she knew her back looked fucked to hell. None of them seemed too serious though, so with enough time, they’d fade away. “Sage for cleansing and lavender for healing.” Luce repeated, wincing as one of the bandages pulled at scabbed skin. “Good to know.”

“Hey. What did I say about handles and flying off them?” Luce reminded her sister. She’d had a brief vision of what would happen if Morgan had let her die up there, if Morgan had shoved her just a bit too hard. And it was that endless cycle of blood and vengeance, one that she didn’t want Nell to continue. It didn’t matter that she was hurt, it really fucking didn’t. “I’m alive, aren’t I? Didn’t even break anything.” She said with another grin, though the motion made the cut over her eye sting.

Why are you helping the phoenix, though? Luce looked down at her hands. The million dollar question. Why. Why was she doing this? Why was she helping them? Because it was the right thing to do? That had never mattered much to her before. “I don’t know. Because I can. Because I should.” But even those weren’t quite right. She’d never been more powerless in her life, she didn’t possess the flames to be able to really help them. She didn’t need to help them, they were nothing to her. “I just… I don’t want more people to burn. You see the news?” She gestured to the night sky through the glass of the greenhouse. “There are fires sprouting all over the forest, burning shit, running animals off their land, threatening people. Adam called me to help him deal with the situation. And I know more about fire than almost anyone in this town.” Except Mom. And Dad. And probably Bea. “And fuck, I have to try and do something.”

While Nell continued to work with Luce’s legs, she nodded in confirmation as her sister repeated the words. “Cleansing and healing- and lavender’s also about serenity, and the peace that comes about healing.” It was clear enough why these herbs had been chosen for a ritual such as this, used to drive out whatever had brought the phoenix to this point to begin with. Cleansing, healing, peace. It was a cycle she herself hadn’t yet mastered, not even sure whether she’d washed over the wounds of the past years. If Beltane was anything to judge by...Luce had taken better care of her spiritual wounds. But the problem with letting wounds heal was that you didn’t remember them as vividly once they were gone, no longer a thorn in your side as a reminder of how they’d come to be in the first place. Healed wounds could make for complacency, and make one forget to be cautious enough to avoid the same cuts and breaks a second time around. Her cuts made her stronger, more willing and ready to take care of the people she loved. More vigilant. Was it right to give that up?

A healthy eye roll later, and Nell was tugged from the stormy seas of her thoughts, all too ready to deny Luce’s words. “You know better than to think that’s flying off the handle,” she teased back. All three of them had more than healthy tempers, though all in their own ways. Nevertheless that didn’t stop them from burning bright and hot when the time called for it. Morgan losing her own temper was something of a surprise, but Nell knew Morgan would have never willingly hurt one of the Vurals— even in the case of Luce and her tendency to push away the kindest of people. Morgan was family as well, and she wouldn’t steal another sister from the Vurals.

Lydia, the phoenix, Morgan, and not wanting to burn others paired with the fact that Nell was more than familiar with the expression on Luce’s face had the younger witch’s sneaking suspicion reaching a boiling point. She knew the look- had seen it and felt it enough in her own features to recognize it in a face that was half her own with their family resemblance. She let loose a long sigh, shoulders deflating while she finished working with Luce’s legs. “I’m glad you wanna help. And you’re obviously right about knowing fire. But it...doesn’t fix it. It won’t fix that way you feel inside about things that already happened.” Bringing food and caring for the families whose loved ones she stole with a rampant shark demon hadn’t fixed it. Hadn’t made it any easier. “I want you to help with the phoenix I just...don’t want you to be disappointed. If it doesn’t do what you think it’ll do when it’s all over.”

The peace that comes with healing. As thought such a thing existed. And maybe it did, but it wasn’t something that Luce was familiar with. But, had she ever really healed from the wounds that she’d suffered this last year? She didn’t know. Maybe this was part of the healing process too. The pain and the anguish and the guilt. Everyone thought of grief as just being sad and healing as just recovering from pain. When her grief had never just sadness-- it had been deep-seated rage and helplessness, frustration and guilt. And so was healing. “Sounds like it’s just what this person will need.” She said with a nod. “I don’t know how much I’ll need but I think a lot? The more we have, the more potent?”

Luce arched her good eyebrow at Nell, nonplussed by the eyeroll. “And that’s not what I’m talking about. Seriously, Nell. I’m okay.” She said, reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand, to squeeze it tight. Her hand was still hot against Nell’s skin, still burning with the flames that refused to listen to her call. She was still here. And she didn’t want Nell to go off and do something that might change that.

Watching as Nell wound clean bandages over the wounds, freshly daubed with healing poultices, Luce reflected on how things had changed. A year ago, this would never have happened. A year ago, she would have licked her wounds back at the safe isolation of her cabin, maybe drowned her feelings away with more whiskey than she ought to have, and have pretended as though she was fine. But, she wasn’t pretending anymore. She was too tired to play those games, to pretend that the world was anything other than it was. But, as Nell’s words continued, Luce’s gaze snapped up, expression shifting. “What do you mean by that?” She asked abruptly. “I know that this doesn’t change anything I’ve done. And I’m not-- What do you think is going to happen? Nell, if this doesn’t work, I’m going to keep trying. I’m not letting this go.” I’m not letting them go.

Nell held Luce’s gaze for a long moment, feeling far too tired to actually address their shared trauma at the moment. They both knew what was on each other’s minds, and that was enough. She was so tired. They’d both been fighting for so long— all Nell had ever truly known how to do was fight. To refuse to give in, refuse to let the day win and simply allow herself a moment’s rest. She didn’t know who or what she would be without that fight, but occasionally she wondered what it was like for those who allowed themselves peace, whether they were truly happy with the battles they’d let lie, or if regrets haunted them as well. Maybe there was no actual winning. You just lived with the path you chose, and that was it. “Yep- sounds like just what the phoenix doctor ordered.” Not that she actually knew all that many details of the phoenix, but all anger stemmed from somewhere, and most often it was a product of hurt. “Sure, the more the merrier. It’s not really like you can over cleanse something when it comes to things like this.”

The feel of Luce’s hand against her was enough to melt a little more tension from Nell’s shoulders, and the distant memory of crawling into bed with her sisters as children to hoard their shared elemental warmth was brought to mind while she let herself feel the momentary salve of nostalgia. “I know,” she assured softly. “I’m glad you are.” Her overprotectiveness wasn’t subtle, and Luce understood the source of it better than anyone in tandem with Bea.

Nell straightened from her place before Luce, standing as she began to rifle through the greenhouse towards her sage plants. “I just mean...I don’t know if this is what you’re thinking or whatever but- helping people isn’t gonna make the past sit right. Not really. And also...saving someone from something you think you’ve gone through isn’t gonna fix you either.” Hadn’t she just finished learning that with Bex? Or maybe they’d just been too different. Maybe the feeling of loneliness wasn’t as universal as Nell had thought, and she couldn’t fix her own by putting love into another person who was caught in the throes of it. “It’s not that I don’t think it’s gonna work, and I know you’ll keep trying. I just don’t want you to expect something of it that’s not gonna come.”

Good to know that burning fuck tons of sage and lavender wasn’t going to create some kind of flower monster-- christ, Luce realized how fucking little she actually knew about magic outside of the flames. But, at least she had Nell here to help. Because she did, even if Luce didn’t often think about it that way. Her sisters were here. They were all here and, ever since they’d been excommunicated, they were all each other had to rely on. She had Nell, she had Bea, they were three and… in the past six months, she’d somehow forgotten about that. She’d drifted back to her old ways, of trying to handle things on her own. But she couldn’t now, it was impossible. She needed them, needed people. She couldn’t do this alone.

“Yeah. Same here.” Luce said, giving Nell’s hand another squeeze before slipping away, pulling the sloppy bandages from her hand to treat the wounds on her hands herself. The poultice stung a bit as she spread it over the open cuts. She kept her gaze trained on Nell as her sister moved away from her, aware of the distance that had just grown between them. “I’m not trying to make it sit right with me. And I’m not trying to fix me, either.” She said sharply. “I know that what I did was fucked. And maybe you don’t think it is, but I do and I’m making… some kinda peace with that.” She wound the bandages back around her hand, covering her raw skin once more.

Staring down at her hands, Luce could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the stress, maybe it was just the crushing weight of everything that she’d been going through that had finally pushed her to the breaking point. Luce cleared her throat. “I just want to do something good, Nellie. I want to be someone good again.” She said, though the words came out as broken and hollow as she felt.

“I didn’t say that,” Nell replied instintcively in a defensive tone, even if she thought Lydia was far better off dead from what she’d heard. Even though she’d shared her own surprisingly introspective conversation with the fae, there was no question of whether or not the woman was doing more harm than good in the world. But she knew Luce wasn’t as accustomed to life and death judgements as she was, not when she’d simply been an artist with a grumpy streak. She didn’t want her sister to become wrapped up in such things anyway, not when it most often led to a life of constant stress, or having a target on one’s back. “But if you want peace...then you deserve it,” she finished stubbornly, her tone not quite matching the well meaning nature of the words.

The hardness in Nell’s voice was washed away instantly as she looked over her shoulder back to her sister, recognizing the picture of a person desperately trying to keep themselves together at the seams. Had Nell been so wrapped up in her own world that she’d completely missed what was going on with Luce? She’d known her sister’s fire wasn’t in the best of straits, and that in itself was a flashing red sign in the direction of emotional turmoil. But she hadn’t thought— hadn’t realized it had gotten to such a point as this. Had Nell been too wrapped up in her own troubles and world to see it? A flash of guilt spread through her chest, and she went back to the other side of the greenhouse, moving to check over the bandages Luce had wrapped around her hands.

I just want to do something good. Nell could understand that— when one got to the place of wondering if they’d gone past the point of no return, and grasped at straws for a win. Nell needed a win, too. The feeling of being unclean after going too far...she’d felt it herself on more than one occasion though it was less centered on the suffering of her victim, and more about the shockwaves her actions had set into motion. Adam with August. Jared with the Ring. Bex with Frank. Dave and the shark demon. She’d made more than enough mistakes to know the feeling of desperately wanting to look for the light in oneself no matter how dim it might be- to know that you weren’t just darkness and sharp blades, as much a monster as the thing you’d killed. “I understand.” If this is what Luce needed to face the days coming, Nell would do anything in her power to make sure her sister got what she needed, that she crossed the finish line with arms raised, and a peaceful expression on her face. “So if that’s what you need...then that’s what you’ll get.”

Luce continued to stare at her hands, remembering the way that the blue flames had spread from them to consume the flesh from Lydia’s body, burning away the sinew and skin until there was nothing left. “Sure you didn’t.” Luce said, tone neutral. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to rationalize shit like… she would have hurt other people if I hadn’t killed her, she would have come back to kill us. But there’s no way of knowing if that’s true because I made a call that took away any chance she had to change her ways. I decided that I knew better. And I’m not… that’s not okay. It’s not fucking okay.” She said.

When Nell took her hands again, Luce let her sister fix the bandages wordlessly. For a year, it had seemed like everything she’d done had fallen into the same cycle of anger and rage and pain-- sometimes on the receiving end of that punishment, other times delivering it to others by her own hands. The anger and rage would burn wild and out of control until everything was dead and charred to dust. And it would lie low for some time, before flaring back to life because someone else was hurt, someone else was hurting her-- and endless fucking cycle. She just wanted to be free of it all. This phoenix situation, it was something... different. It was something that she could do and know, without a trace of doubt, that she had done something good. She just wanted to prove to herself that she was still capable of that. Of being more than just an instrument of death, bringing fire and ruin to the world around her. She just wanted to do one good thing. “Thanks Nell.” Luce said quietly. “Really. Thank you.”

Nell couldn’t rightly say she agreed with Luce— not when she’d been ready and poised to kill Frank in the middle of the Outskirts. He’d been a threat so she was going to eliminate him. It was as simple as that. Except it hadn’t turned out to be so simple as Bex had begged for his life, and Nell had withdrawn her knife. How many chances did people deserve when it came to changing? She’d given Kyle his chance in that basement with Morgan and Bex, even taken it upon herself to help him succeed. But Kyle wasn’t a woman keeping people in his basement. It was different...wasn’t it? “I didn’t know Lydia well enough to know whether or not she’d change.” That was the gamble you took with people, the not knowing. And there was always the chance they could change back if they decided their new route was too hard. Would Lydia have made a 180 turn back to where she’d started if she’d decided ethical eating wasn’t quite the same? What was the straw that would break the back of Miriam’s new life?

“I don’t know if it was wrong,” Nell finally admitted. “I don’t know if it being wrong would have kept me from doing it, too. Probably not. And I’d probably still do it if no one stopped me or you hadn’t already done it.” She was selfish with her wanting to protect the people she cared about. “But I...don’t think it’s fair to condemn yourself with it. Maybe rationalizing it isn’t the answer, but burning yourself at the stake isn’t either.” Nell swallowed briefly, still not all that accustomed to being so open and honest with her sister. “And...I think you deserve to forgive yourself instead of needing to use a phoenix to prove you’re worthy of it. I think you’re worth it on your own. Just because of who you are. I think you can be good without having something to point at as proof.”

But it wasn’t about that. Not really. Why did Nell want to summon the murderous selkie to her? For control. To have just one thing she knew she could do right. “But I think I get it. Sometimes you just...need one thing to go right. Just to know that...that you’re not a fuck up who ruins everything they touch.” Nell didn’t have fire like he sister’s, but she’d always been just as destructive. “There’s one thing you can do, and not burn a hole through. So...we’ll make this work.”

“Neither did I. But Morgan seems to think that she could have. And maybe she’s right, maybe she’s not. But we’ll never really know.” Luce said wearily. She’d spent so many nights mulling over that exact question. “I don’t want to make those calls, Nell. I don’t want to hold someone’s life in my hand and decide that I’m worth more than them. Because that’s exactly what happened to us and I’m… I’m fucking tired of it.” This town, this fucking town. She’d grown up here, been a part of this world but only now had she really learned the price that White Crest demanded of the people who lived here. This town was steeped in blood and suffering and senseless death. She didn’t want to contribute to that anymore than she already had.

“Maybe.” Luce shrugged, before regretting the action as a fresh wave of pain ran down the wounds on her back. “I also think you have to say that as my sister.” She said, a ghost of her old sarcastic grin flitting across her face. Luce stood up from the chair, collecting the herbs that Nell had gathered for her. Sage and lavender. Healing and cleansing. And the promise of her sister to help her see this through. Side by side, they’d be able to move forward. Luce didn’t know how Nell was holding up with all the grief and trauma they’d experienced in the last year and she wished that she did. Once this was all over, once the dust settled and she could finally rest… She’d try harder to be there for her sister. For both of them. Maybe Nell said that she didn’t need to prove herself, but Luce couldn’t believe that. If she couldn’t be a good person, at the very least, she could be a good sister.

Reaching out, Luce took hold of Nell’s hand again, looking at her sister intently. “We’ll make this work.”

#// sisters being siSTERS <3 #chatzy #ch:luce #wickedswriting #no good deed #sibling death tw

10 notes · View notes

brokenjardaantech · 3 years ago

Text

absorbance of the deep (chapter 4: that’s him?)

written for a mermay prompts challenge. my prompt is ‘monochromatic.’

previous chapter can be found here.

also on ao3

---

The next few hours passed in a confusing blur. When he came to, he was lying on one of the few foldable lounge chairs in the students’ support office. The lights had been turned down but he could still see clearly. There was no one in his direct line of sight, however he could hear the scratch of pen against paper and the low hum of electricity grinding in his ear, so he tried to sit up, not realising how sore his neck was until he attempted to move it and was punished with the greatest pain he had ever felt apart from that time when he had been ripped away from the ocean for a whole week because his father had insisted bringing them inland for a hiking trip. He hissed and lay back down because he didn’t want to aggravate the injury, and a hand snaked itself behind his head to guide him before he could identify who it was.

‘You shouldn’t be moving,’ it was North. ‘Do you remember what happened?’

She handed him a small dictionary. He would’ve preferred a full one under any other circumstances, the weight of the volume grounding him alongside the abundance of words available to him, but with how weak his entire body seemed to be, he was glad that his friend took that into consideration. Either that or she didn’t bother to find a big one, whichever came first. He didn’t have the capacity to care. What he did care about as he flipped the pages to construct his sentence, however, was the absurdity and danger of what he just experienced. [did - they - seriously - try - to - hang - me]

North inhaled deeply. ‘They did,’ she averted her gaze. ‘They’re still discussing the next course of action, I think. Josh is with them. So is your brother.’

The mention of his twin sent him back to the argument he experienced last night. Scrambling at the dictionary without breaking the pages, he asked, [what - did - he - do]

‘What we should’ve expected from an overprotective sibling,’ North shrugged. ‘Do you want to rest more, or do you want to talk to the teachers now?’

[what - for]

‘They tried to kill you, Simon!’ there was a tremble in the girl’s voice. Her eyes glistened in the low light of the office. ‘Do you have any idea how much trouble those bastards got themselves into? Police are involved! You have every right to press charges against them!’

[and - my - brother - question]

‘Oh for fuck’s sake -’

‘North…’

Both of them were so distracted that neither noticed Josh coming in. Simon didn’t quite jump, no, but for a split moment he felt like his heart had burst from shock, and he decided at that exact moment that he shouldn’t have woken up that early. He did not have the strength to deal with two near-death scenarios within a single day.

‘How are you feeling?’ Josh asked as he inhaled and folded his arms in front of his chest. The gesture made him look even taller, and Simon wondered if it was a new habit developed from talking to adults.

[tired]

North sighed and tore her gaze from the dictionary just to turn to Josh. ‘How’s it going?’

Since he didn’t need them to hear the conversation anyway, Simon closed his eyes so that there wasn’t as much information pouring into his brain, and his friends’ voices became clearer. Almost as clear as when Markus directly spoke in his mind, but he knew that nothing would surpass it. Then he frowned at Josh’s statement.

‘They don’t want anything to do with the students involved. Expulsion is the minimum.’

‘“Minimum?”’

‘Simon?’

He raised his hand and tapped his finger against his ear to indicate that he was listening.

‘The police are involved. Hope you don’t mind that I talked to them on your behalf because they probably don’t know your tells and how you talk anyway and… they said you are well within your rights to press charges against them. Take them to court, let the legal system decide how they should be punished and rehabilitated. It’ll take money and time but… if it makes you feel safer, we’ll help.’

It took more effort than Simon expected to open his eyes so that he could answer his friend. [what - if - i - do - not]

North muttered a ‘typical’ under her breath. Simon caught Josh glaring at her but he didn’t care about what happened next, because Josh was talking again. ‘At the least, they’ll be gone from here and, quite possibly, this village. Not forever for now because we’re still students, but for most of the year, you won’t even be able to see them. If their parents decide to induce more drastic measures… they won’t be our concern.’

‘Yeah, and when they come back for breaks?’ North’s voice was sharp enough to hurt his eardrums but he was too tired to throw the dictionary at her to tell her. ‘Who’s preventing them from getting back at us? At Simon? Who’s making sure that Daniel won’t end up in the same school as them?’

‘Restraining orders exist.’

‘It isn’t -’

Simon lost track of the conversation as soon as he smelt the sea and the earth, a unique mixture that only meant one thing: Markus was here. He then realised that he did not, in fact, lose track of the conversation, more like both his friends had stopped talking as well as a breeze entered the otherwise stale office and seemingly cooled down their wrath and worries, and it was the only thing he could hear and feel for a few long seconds before a familiar hand was holding his on top of the thin blanket covering him from his chest down and a pair of lips was pressing softly on his own. They won’t bother you anymore, Simon wasn’t sure if Markus was talking to him or it was just his imagination, but it didn’t matter to him because Markus was here with him and therefore he must make things better. I made sure of that.

Tell that to my friends.

He made himself comfortable on the lounge chair as the warm weight on top of him disappeared. The hand remained, though, and he was glad that Markus maintained some sort of physical contact; he was already missing the ocean’s attention.

‘Let me guess,’ North said after quite a while, ‘you’re the person Simon always waxed poetic about, aren’t you? Well, he was talking about the sea but he made it sound like it’s a person. Never thought there’s an actual person there though.’

‘North!’ Josh scolded.

‘This is Josh. Don’t mind him.’

‘Excuse me -’

‘How did you even get into the ventilation? I’ve climbed into some of them before and they aren’t big enough for a guy like you.’

Are they always like this? Markus asked through their bond.

Sometimes. They’re stressed.

Watch this.

Simon opened his eyes just in time to see Markus dissolve into a puddle of water. Then, against all laws of physics, it slid across the floor leaving no trails whatsoever and climbed up Simon’s lounge chair, spreading out behind Simon without staining his clothes or the chair itself and then suddenly puffing up back into a warm, familiar shape. He didn’t deny that it felt good sitting in the space between Markus’ legs, and it only got better when Markus wrapped an arm around his waist and another around his shoulder to pull him close, possessive and protective as usual. Only at that moment did Simon realise that Markus was shirtless. At the display, North threw her hands up and stormed out, and Josh watched her disappear before turning towards the two other boys in the office. ‘You can go now, actually. Back home, I mean,’ he said to Simon, and then to Markus. ‘I would ask you to escort the two of us but… I don’t think a stranger will escape their notice. We aren’t in a brawl anymore.’

A brawl? Did you fight as well, Josh? Simon wanted to ask, but his own bed at home or the soft sand of his cave sounded much better than the lounge chair he was occupying, so with Markus’ help, he managed to stand up and was transferred to Josh’s side before Markus literally dissolved in front of him and vanished into a cloud of steam. His questions could wait.

‘Was he always like this?’ his friend asked as they slowly but surely walked outside. The sunset was bright and stung his eyes which meant he must have slept for quite a long time considering that he was attacked in the morning, which also meant that he didn’t eat lunch, which meant he probably should eat when he got home, but he didn’t exactly feel hungry so maybe that could wait. He tried to shrug because Josh hadn’t specified what ‘this’ meant, but since one of his arms was swung across his friend’s shoulders and he was still disoriented from being thrust to the harsh brightness of the dusk, all it did was nearly causing him to lose his balance and faceplant on the pavement. Luckily Josh was there to hold him, and they stumbled through a nearly-empty campus until they hit the front gate of the school where North was waiting for them leaning against a car with their bags in her arms, the vehicle a big boxy thing that looked like it could carry a big family with no problem. Just one more city thing that North - or at least, North’s family - possessed.

‘Do I even want to know?’ Josh asked as he stopped by the gate.

‘You,’ she transferred all the bags onto one arm and pointed at Simon, ‘are not walking all the way back to that lighthouse and you,’ the finger was now directed at Josh, ‘are coming with us. I’m driving.’

‘Since when did you learn how to drive?’

‘I didn’t skip classes for fun.’

Josh turned towards Simon. ‘It’s up to you.’

He indicated the car wearily with his chin without any hesitation. He had never seen North drive before and therefore had no idea how skilful she was, but he was so tired and ready to go home that the prospect of just having to… sit there while others bring him home was more attractive than he had ever thought it would be. Car sickness might be a problem, though, because he rarely had to be on a moving vehicle, but Josh was already fastening his seatbelt for him when he came to, so it wasn’t like he could change his mind anymore. North climbed into the front seat and ignited the engine, the rumble reminding him of the argument that would no doubt take place at home, and suddenly he didn’t want to go back at all. There was another place he would much rather be. Blinking his heavy eyelids open, he flipped open his dictionary and told his friends, [do - not - take - me - home]

Josh might have frowned. Simon wasn’t sure. ‘Simon, I don’t think -’

‘Whatever you say,’ he couldn’t decipher the look North gave him before she turned around and placed her hands on the wheel. ‘Want me to take you to the beach?’

Markus?

I’ll be there.

He nodded, and that was the last thing he knew before the car accelerated and he was lulled into a shallow sleep.

o0o0o

When Simon came to, he discovered that he had been laid sideways on the back seat and was covered by a scratchy blanket. Disgusted by the texture, he swatted the thing away from his body and threw it to the front seat to get it away from his body as far as possible without outright abandoning it onto the ground, and then realised that the car doors on both sides were open to let in the soft, cool breeze of the ocean. North seemed to have parked the car on the beach directly, because on one side was a few metres of sand before it gave way to the road, and the other side was also sand, except he could also see the ocean lapping the shore. There were two chairs blocking his way, but when he leant forward to see if they were nailed into the ground or just placed there, North and Josh shifted their seats to give him the space to get out of the car. He carefully stepped out with both hands on the canvas chairs on each side and somehow managed to land on the sand without tripping on the big steps between the ground and the car’s floor. At this side of the beach, he couldn’t see the setting sun because it was in the wrong direction; it also meant that he wasn’t assaulted by the bright light, which he was grateful for after today’s incident. Losing control was the last thing he needed.

He took a few steps towards the sea before remembering Markus’ promise, and when he turned around, he saw Markus lounging with his legs crossed in yet another folding chair next to Josh further away from the car’s door, his upper body now (regretfully) covered by a black tank top, sipping a blue energy drink from a bottle dripping wet with condensation. Then he noticed that all of his friends (and one more than friend) were barefoot, so he took off his shoes and socks as well, glad that the constraints were gone and he could sink his toes into the soft sand.

‘Want some soup?’ North asked with a tilt of her head. ‘I’ve got some in the trunk. Canned, of course, and room temperature, but we’ve got water and a stove as well.’

In the distance was the lighthouse he called home, and in the dim light of the dusk, he could faintly make out the light spilling out of the windows but not the people living there. His twin brother hadn’t come to find him yet and it was long past the time where people would remain at school - regardless if they had gone into trouble that day - so he must be at home because there was nowhere to go, the meagre and dwindling number of shops in the village having been closed for the night. Josh had said something about how it was getting more and more expensive to operate a store with less and less revenue due to people leaving the village for big cities, but Simon hadn’t exactly been listening, and the fact that he remembered this much surprised him. So he nodded, stole Josh’s chair when he and North stood up to retrieve something from the back of the car, clumsily scooted both his body and the chair closer to Markus so that he could lay his head on his shoulder and force his leg across one of Markus’ so that he could half-sit on his lap. With Markus’ arm around his shoulders, it was surprisingly comfortable. The sea wordlessly held the bottle in front of Simon in an invitation to take a sip himself, but he declined, recalling the overwhelming sweetness of the energy drink and the sleepless night he had had after Daniel had persuaded him to try half a can, and Markus downed the last of the blue drink in a few seconds, the movements of his throat as mesmerising as it was distracting. Sweet, was Markus’ comment after he tossed the bottle to the backseat of the car. It’s not something we have in the ocean, but I don’t dislike it.

You won’t be able to sleep tonight, Simon warned.

I don’t need it.

North and Josh re-emerged from the back of the car with the things they needed for an impromptu dinner, and the latter only spared them a look before shaking his head and squatting a few metres in front of the car so that they had enough space to set up the stove and keep the food they would cook near themselves. Four large cans of ready-to-eat soup of different flavours - just enough for four teenagers’ dinner.

‘Which one do you want?’ Josh asked as he unpacked the utensils while North started setting up the stove. ‘And you too, uh -’

Markus cleared his throat. ‘Markus,’ he said slowly as if he wasn’t used to speaking. Then, as if finally realising that he could say his own name, he repeated, this time standing up, ‘My name is Markus.’

They tried to stay out of North and Josh’s way as they read the labels on the cans, , but they stopped once they realised that the other two were actually working around them and therefore needed no accommodations. The four soups were BBQ pork, broccoli cheese with potatoes, spicy beef, and chicken and corn. He could go for the broccoli or corn, but since he wanted Markus to have a choice, he turned his attention towards him. Which one would you like?

Markus picked up the can of spicy beef soup. I have little reference on what they taste like, but I would like to try this one. It looks… promising.

Only if you like spicy food. Does it have spicy food where you live?

We have everything.

Simon therefore tapped the top of the broccoli cheese to indicate his preference, knowing that he was the only one among them who actually liked the vegetable, and while he scrambled to return to his chair before his legs fell asleep from squatting, Markus stuck close to the two humans, helping them retrieve a pot of water from the sea before watching North start the fire and Josh open the can of broccoli cheese potato and placing the can into the pot so that they could heat the soup up. Then it was North, Josh, and Simon’s turn to watch in equal measures of horror and fascination as the can of soup nearly toppled over from the boiling water just to be held in place by Markus with his bare hands.

He didn’t even flinch from the heat.

‘Well that’s handy,’ North commented at last. ‘It isn’t hurting you or anything, is it?’

A shake of his head.

‘Then help me hold it, will you? I’ll stir the soup so that it heats up evenly.’

Markus’ grip on the can was steady as North did exactly as she said she would with a metal spoon with a plastic handle, and not long afterwards the soup was simmering and letting out a steady column of steam. Taking the can out of the pot, Markus placed it in the middle of the towel Josh was holding before the latter wrapped the fabric around it and secured the towel on the can with a rubber band as insulation, and then he handed it to Simon together with the spoon. ‘You first,’ he said. ‘You deserve it after today.’

Simon accepted the canned soup with a nod of thanks but couldn’t bring himself to eat it. With Markus now helping North and Josh heat up the rest of the soup at the same time, he was left alone to his own device, and suddenly the task of bringing the spoon to his mouth seemed too daunting right now, the warmth seeping into his cold palms through the towel not encouraging him to let go by one bit. He watched as Markus dipped both his hands into the boiling water to keep all three cans steady while North and Josh stirred the soup, kept the ones in the pot safe with one hand while taking out the BBQ pork for North, then the chicken and corn for Josh, and at last, the spicy beef for himself. They all picked their seat afterwards: Josh in the chair originally occupied by North, North between Josh and Simon on the step of the car, Markus back to his seat by Simon’s side. There must be something on Simon’s face, because when they turned around and took a look at him, expressions that he had learnt to associate with worry appeared on their faces, and Markus draped his arm around his shoulders once more, kissing his temple lightly and not pulling back. What’s wrong?

The desire to eat was suddenly back, and he raised a spoonful of soup to his mouth and gave it a few blows before putting it into his mouth. Guess I just don’t want to eat alone.

Although it didn’t feel entirely like the truth, he could think of no alternative to what he was feeling and therefore decided to push it aside for now, and for the next few minutes they ate quietly, the air filled with nothing but the clank (but never scrape) of metal spoons against the cans, the wet squelch of the ingredients when they dug their spoon into the soup, and the low but tolerable buzz of the lamp after North brought it out for more light because the sun had finally set. They drank from the same two-litre bottle of store-bought water so that there was a minimal amount of clutter.

Simon was barely through one-fourth of his soup when North was already finished with hers and she dug around the back of the car once more to retrieve a rubbish bag and tossing her can inside, but he was warier of her expression than anything else. He clutched his soup tighter.

‘So…’ North raised an eyebrow, ‘when did you meet?’

Simon shoved a scoop of soup into his mouth so that he didn’t have to respond. And to be fair, he didn’t know how to answer her question either; was she asking about the first time they made contact, which was way back before she even met him, or was it the first time he met Markus in his physical form, which was a few years back, on the day she gave him his first pair of noise-cancelling headphones? He hated unspecific questions because he usually couldn’t. Luckily Markus answered for him.

‘If you’re talking about our souls,’ it was the slow, steady tone again, one that Simon discovered that he could listen to all day and fall asleep to, ‘we have been intertwined since before the beginning; if you’re talking about our minds, it will be more than a decade ago when Simon -’ he gave Simon’s shoulder a squeeze - ‘offered me his first gift.’ He stared at Josh. ‘You were there, remember?’

Josh licked his spoon. Then his eyes widened. ‘That voice was you? You nearly drowned me!’

Markus’ smile was sheepish. ‘I… apologise,’ he placed his soup in the space between his legs and scratched the spot behind his ear. ‘My control on my powers wasn’t as good back then. I was… excited… to greet my other half.’

My other half, these three words echoed in Simon’s mind as he slowly finished the cooling soup, and he snuggled closer to Markus for warmth when the night chill started to pick up. Knowing that they were made for each other was one thing, but hearing him admit it in front of Simon’s best friends… he felt fuzzy despite the day he had had. Are they still interrogating you? he asked through their connection after he finally finished his soup.

They are very curious indeed, so yes, but right now their focus seems to be shifting towards our relationship. North seems to believe that we are married in ‘underwater’ terms even though I told her multiple times that it does not exist, and Josh only seems embarrassed and just wants to leave.

Simon looked at the water bottle laid with its cap hazardously close to the sand, then the stove which fire had been extinguished some time ago, then finally at the cold, empty can he was still holding with both hands and realised that the warmth was from Markus’ hand placed on top of his, and the weight of the day suddenly dropped on top of him, threatening to suffocate him, to drown him. Maybe we should.

Alright.

They packed up, Josh taking care of the stove, North making sure that they got all the rubbish in the rubbish bag, Simon folding up the cutlery in a towel and fastening it with a rubber band before handing it to North, and Markus folding up the chairs and loading them to the back of the car together with the lamp. And for a moment the four of them stood there unsure what to do next, and Josh realised the problem they had.

‘Are you going home?’ he asked. ‘I mean, we’re probably a few hundred metres away from your house, but it’s nighttime and I don’t think we have a torch to spare.’

Simon thought of the argument that was no doubt going on, of a tense atmosphere that only served to make him feel more trapped in his own home, of big changes and decisions being made without him. He shouldn’t go back, not when his family would only drag him down.

He shook his head.

‘So you’re going with Markus?’ it was North’s turn to ask.

He tilted his head upwards so that he could gaze at Markus’ face. Please?

Markus kisses his forehead. Of course.

Simon nodded at North, and she climbed into the car after giving his arm a pat that could mean anything from goodbye to good luck. Josh gave him a hug. ‘You know where I live if you need to find me,’ he said. Then he entered the car as well, but it wasn’t until it disappeared into the distance inland that Markus led him into the ocean, into the cave he carved out just for him, laying him on soft, warm sand and holding him from behind while he succumbed to the weight of the day in a dreamless slumber.

Everything else could wait.

#simarkus #dbh markus #dbh simon #dbh north #dbh josh #dbh #detroit become human #detroit: become human

6 notes · View notes

kbstories · 4 years ago

Text

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Protective Baku, Soft Baku, Stargazing

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Minor content warning for (discussions of) self-esteem issues. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

“Bakugou.”

With an absent hum, Bakugou turns the page, squints, scribbles down a line in his neat, tight handwriting. A piece of black fabric separates his hand from the paper, the same wrapped around his pen, too.

Kirishima leans forward, over his own book-and-notepad combination dotted with scrawled comments and colorful post-it notes. It’s been an hour since any of it has made sense to him.

“Bakuuu. C’mon.”

A sigh, annoyed. Another line is added. Then: “The fuck d’you want?”

It takes a few seconds until the silence has stretched enough for Bakugou to look up and into Kirishima’s pleading eyes. Bakugou’s expression barely changes beyond a raised brow, unimpressed. It’s the one reserved for when Kirishima’s being especially dense – slightly more severe than muttered curses and slightly less so than that God-help-me roll of his eyes he premiered during their last study session.

Which was yesterday. Kirishima would be proud of unlocking a new Angry Bakugou Face in record time… if U.A.’s grumpiest genius wasn’t the only thing standing between him and a frankly impressive row of failed grades.

Final’s Week is brutal, even for heroes-in-training. Especially for heroes-in-training. So: Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Slap me”, Kirishima tells Bakugou, hushed in their corner of the library. “As hard as you possibly can.”

The arch of Bakugou’s brow climbs higher, utterly devastating in its wordless criticism. He says, “What”, tone Aizawa-levels of flat, and it’s not a question. It’s a command: Explain or else.

Kirishima is in no state to resist. The confession bubbles out of him in a whiny rush.

“Dude, I slept like… zero hours last night ‘cause Kami got Pokémon Colosseum – y’know, the reboot? So cool – and we kinda lost track of time. I know, I know, it was a stupid idea, I swear it was an honest mistake!”

Bakugou continues to stare as he puts down his pen and wipes his palms on the edge of his shirt. Kirishima ducks his head, hiding behind the limp strands of his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that, man. I’m seriously about two minutes from passing out here and there’s like a hundred pages of this thing I haven’t read yet, let alone understood, and oh shit Mic will hand me my ass with words tomorr–”

It all happens so quickly: Kirishima catches a blur of motion headed his way and squeaks; his skin hardens about half-way before there’s sparks and his cheek smarts, and a hissed “Motherfucker” sounds right in front of him.

The sharp slap! noise registers only after the fact, when Kirishima holds his face and Bakugou holds his hand and they both stare at each other in mutual bafflement as their skin turns red with the impact.

That moment is like glue, clear and sticky as it extends past its natural limit – then Bakugou snorts and starts to laugh, a cackling hyena-laugh that Kirishima’s never heard in full and certainly not like this, loud and unrestrained, and all hopes of holding back his own laughter is lost as he cracks up, too.

They laugh and laugh, until Kirishima’s stomach starts to cramp up and there’s the sheen of tears in Bakugou’s eyes. “Your f-fucking face”, Bakugou wheezes at some point. “Fucking bastard, you almost broke my hand! With your fucking face!”

All it does is send them into another round of hysterics.

At some point, Kirishima glimpses some of their classmates poke their head around the bookshelves secluding their study corner from the rest of the library, faces ranging from exasperated to deeply disturbed. There’s Ashido, giggling at the sight of both of them bent over and struggling to get some sort of grip, and Kaminari, who just mumbles “What the hell, guys” while straddling the line between sleep-deprived and intensely fascinated by what he’s seeing.

And hey, at least Kirishima’s really freaking awake now. There’s the problem of trying and failing to breathe without dying, his face helplessly flushed and sweating, but the world’s colors are back to being bright and sharp. Across from him, Bakugou isn’t faring much better, shaking his head and the back of his hand covering the broad smile he can’t seem to get rid of.

“Fuck you, you stupid, moronic idiot. For fuck’s sake, Kirishima.”

Kirishima rubs at his chest, the ache in his lungs starting to lessen now that he’s marginally back in control. “I’m so sorry but like”, he waves at himself and he can’t help his grin despite the stinging protest coming from his cheek. “Thanks, dude!”

“Eat a dick.” There’s no bite whatsoever in Bakugou’s grumbling as he sits back down and digs his nose into his book once more, thoroughly ignoring their flabbergasted audience.

After a moment of pantomiming what amounts to I’ll tell you later to their friends, Kirishima joins him, ready to tackle the final boss that is the English language.

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥 )

yo nitro (sent 17:48)

where u at? (sent 17:48)

why (received 17:52)

why what 🤔 (sent 17:53)

OH uh to hang out? (sent 17:55)

dw dude it’s just me (sent 17:55)

[location] (received 18:10)

bakugou katsuki what are you doing in the middle of the woods??? (sending…)

NO WAY (sending…)

signal’s gone AGAIN i’m going feral (sending…)

screw it (sending…)

The GPS signal craps out twice more before Kirishima heaves himself onto the edge of a cliff and spots a familiar silhouette. Sheltered by a bend in the rock bed, the glow of a fire illuminates a backpack set aside, a pair of discarded hiking boots – and Bakugou, leaning against solid stone with his arms crossed behind his head.

“Took ya long enough”, he says, the lazy smirk on his lips cut in flickering shadows.

“Listen.” Kirishima wipes beads of perspiration off his temple; a spontaneous rock-climbing session by the last light of day is not what he had hoped for after hours of exhaustive quirk training. “We already have a perfectly good camp. There’s, like, leftover curry and hot springs and stuff down there.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Yeah. And a bunch of extras.”

There’s an exasperated reply on his tongue – They’re called classmates, genius. Y’know, friends? – but Kirishima knows it’s pointless to even start that debate. He snipes him with his sweaty headband instead, celebrating his own marksmanship when it hits Bakugou square in the chest with a wet thwap.

“Wha– Shitty Hair!”

“You made me climb this stupid cliff in the middle of the night. Deal with it.”

Bakugou just throws it back, the force of an explosion propelling the thing past Kirishima’s shoulder and off the mountain entirely. Kirishima watches singed white fabric disappear into the abyss, bidding it goodbye with a somber salute.

“Well, that’s lame.”

“You’re lame, fuckface.”

“Bro.”

Shaking his head, Kirishima laughs and joins him by the fire.

It’s quiet for a bit while he gets comfy and Bakugou throws a chunk of wood into the flames, sparks bursting into life immediately. This far up, the air feels… brittle, in a way, thin and cold enough Kirishima wouldn’t have been surprised to see his breath mist. The breeze ruffles the crowns of the trees around them, the rush of rustling leaves in the distance strangely soothing.

Bakugou’s gaze is lost in the night sky when he starts to speak. “Been thinking of borrowing my parents’ car and driving out here by myself. Y’know, once I got my license and shit. ‘s got some good trails, people were talking ‘bout it on those shitty hiking forums. Forums, like we’re in the fucking 2000s.”

His elbows on his knees and his head propped on his hands, Kirishima hums and looks up as well. The moon is a thin island of white in an ocean of indigo blue growing steadily darker, a myriad of stars coming out to keep her company. “Yeah?”

“Mh”, Bakugou makes around a soft breath. “Guess they’re all shit out of luck though ‘cause it’s the personal playground of pro heroes, apparently. It’s a miracle none of our idiots got fucking lost coming out here.”

‘Our idiots’, huh? Kirishima nudges his chin lower and into his palms to hide his smile. “Kinda far of a trip to make just for some hiking, isn’t it?”

A casual shrug, followed by a nod upwards. “Not for this. The lodge is the only structure for miles in any direction and even with us here, it’s got fuck all on an entire city. Get it?”

“Yeah! No light pollution, right?”

“Yup”, Bakugou confirms, popping the ‘p’. A small grin is shot Kirishima’s way, teasing rather than mocking. “What’s this, huh? Don’t tell me you paid attention in fucking physics after all.”

Kirishima breathes an offended huff, mock-hurt.

“Pshh, please. Y’know how everyone has that one niche thing they randomly obsessed over as a kid? That was me with astronomy. Back in Middle School I had like, a huge model of all the planets in my room and my favorite constellations mapped across the ceiling with those glow-in-the-dark stars. Years of useless knowledge, all stored right here.”

Kirishima’s thumb taps his forehead as he smiles at Bakugou; Bakugou’s lips pull into a smile of his own, small but there. When he turns back to the stars, Kirishima does the same, sighing wistfully.

“If Thirteen’s class were just about that I’d freaking ace it, dude. I get that I’m kinda dumb with literally anything else, but space is my jam. Did you know that–”

“You’re not.”

The train of thought Kirishima was about to gleefully jump onto screeches to a halt. “…huh?”

Bakugou frowns at him. “You’re not”, a vague wave in his general direction, “stupid or whatever.”

Perhaps the dumbfounded blinking Kirishima’s doing in response is already enough to prove Bakugou wrong on that. Still, Kirishima sits up a bit straighter, eyebrows pulling together tightly.

“Um. I appreciate you saying that, bro, but I’m only here ‘cause Aizawa decided to get in touch with his merciful side after all. Like, Cementoss totally wiped the floor with me back home. There’s no point in lying to myself about that.”

“So you’re calling me a fucking liar, is that it?”

“Huh?”

Kirishima can only watch as Bakugou’s mouth twists beyond the usual doom and gloom and into something… frustrated. Genuinely annoyed. An iron weight settles in Kirishima’s gut, heavy and hard to ignore. “I didn’t– Look, man, can we not fight over this? I’m just saying I wanna face my mistakes and do better, that’s all.”

“Then say it!”

There’s a severity to the words that catches Kirishima off guard. Bakugou is staring him down with eyes so intense they possess their own gravitational pull, closer to black than crimson in the fire’s light–

Kirishima likes to think he knows Bakugou, at least a little. What makes him tick, what makes him angry – because there is a reason and a rhyme to his anger, a pattern to the things that set him off that Kirishima has yet to properly figure out. It’s just that Kirishima isn’t usually one of those things, not anymore.

“You lost me, Baku”, he admits, quietly, after a beat or two of tense silence. “What do you mean?”

Bakugou sighs, a harsh noise between them. The deep breath afterwards is new, however, a sharp inhale followed by a calmer exhale before Bakugou points at him, a wordless listen up.

“Just– Okay. You fucked up and wanna learn from it? Cool, fucking say that then. Not some bullshit about being too dumb to do shit ‘cause you’re not. Fuck right off with that.”

Mouth opening, Kirishima is stopped by a flurry of firecracker sparks and a terse growl of “Shut the hell up, I’m not done.” Finally, Bakugou’s look snaps elsewhere, one sock-clad foot kicking at a loose rock in clear irritation.

“Studying isn’t your strength, who gives a fuck? You got into U.A. top-fucking-two, you’re one of the only capable fuckers around and if you seriously think you don’t deserve to be here because Cementoss got lucky one fucking time then you got another thing coming.”

Kirishima sits there in a state of mild shock until Bakugou huffs and glares at him again. The threat behind it is ridiculously empty considering the impromptu speech he just gave and holy shit, Bakugou Katsuki is praising him. Kirishima Eijirou.

He might actually cry.

“What? You’re competition, bitch, so don’t make me a fucking liar by pretending otherwise.”

Scratch that, tears are definitely part of the picture now.

Wet-rimmed eyes and a quiet sniff, that’s as far as Kirishima gets before Bakugou’s expression suddenly falls, crestfallen to an almost comical degree. Kirishima does laugh then, a watery little chuckle that doesn’t seem to make things much better, either.

“Sorry, just… Damn Nitro, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You really think so?”

And okay, yup, that’s a real glare, this time. Bakugou throws up his hands. “You’re so– Urgh. Did I fucking stutter?”

Kirishima rubs the moisture out of his eyes and smiles. “Nope.” Faint embarrassment heats his cheeks; he focuses on the warmth curling in his chest instead, glowing bright and comforting like the embers at their feet and the stars above.

“Good”, Bakugou mutters.

More wood is tossed into the fire and rekindled with red-hot palms. Scooting closer, Kirishima holds out his hands and hums happily as it chases away the ever-cooling temperatures. They can’t stay up here forever – Aizawa will have his hide for sure if he doesn’t show up to the remedial course tonight – yet Kirishima figures they have a few more minutes.

Bakugou goes right back to his earlier sprawl, unaffected by the cold: arms crossed, eyes on the sky like he can’t get enough of the sight. Kirishima thinks of glow-in-the-dark stickers, faded over time. Quietly, he wonders which constellation is Bakugou’s favorite.

“Kiri.”

“Hm? Yeah?”

Shoulders relaxed, voice even, Bakugou says: “Tell me something. About space, I mean.”

As complicated as being friends with Bakugou can get, it can be so, so easy, too. Just a while longer, Kirishima decides as he settles in next to his best friend and starts talking.

>>Chapter 4

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #kiribaku #bnha fanfiction #pre-kamino softness coming right up!#i'm just weak for these two interacting that's all #this fic is also on AO3!!#my stuff

41 notes · View notes

keiths3dart · 3 years ago

Text

Max in the Black Lodge: A Life is Strange / Twin Peaks Crossover.

Part 2

Chloe headed through a gap in the trees, panning her flashlight to either side rather than in front of her. It was this that led to her literally walking straight into the man she had completely failed to notice. Chloe's heart froze and her blood ran like ice. Who the fuck could she have run into in the middle of the woods at night other than Max?

Regaining some measure of composure, she pushed herself away from the man, and brought her flashlight to bear on him. The sharp weathered features of a well built, grey haired native american in a Sheriff's department uniform were illuminated.

The man winced as the beam from Chloe's flashlight dazzled him. He put his hand on Chloes and gently but inexorably lowered the light beam from his face. His companion approached, a younger man but still with hair peppered with gray. He too wore the uniform of the Twin Peaks Sheriff's department. It was he who spoke first;

"Hey Hawk, have we found them?".

"I think so Bobby, according to the descriptions i got from Margaret i think this is Chloe"

"What about the other one? Max?".

"We got seperated, have you seen her?" Chloe blurted out, her head swimming. What were the cops doing out here? Why were they looking for them in particular? and how had they managed to find each other in an enormous forest which stretched all the way into Canada?

The older man, deputy Hawk looked concerned. "when did you become separated?" he asked.

Chloe had to think, she and Max had stuck together for most of the hike up into the hills but as the darkness set in, they'd taken slightly different paths around obstacles and before they had known it, they were no longer in sight of each other. It had almost been like the forest itself had gently and insidiously prised them apart and set them on divergent paths.

"I don't know" she stammered, and it was true, when it came down to it she had no idea how long she and Max had been wandering the woods separately.

Hawk looked at her kindly, an experienced woodsman as well as having a lifelong experience of Twin Peaks and its surroundings gave him an understanding of how strange things could get out here in the woods, especially for the unprepared or unwary. He was just glad that he and Bobby had found the first of the two girls without any harm coming to them.

"Bobby, get onto base and let them know we've located Chloe and she's ok. We're gonna continue on to find Max. And Bobby, make sure Lucy gives Margaret a call".

"Right away Hawk" Deputy Bobby Briggs answered and thumbed the transmit key on his radio.

"We took a call from Margaret, the woman you met in the Diner earlier".

"The one with the Log?".

"Lucy, it's Bobby, are you receiving? over".

"Yes, she told us she'd relayed a message to you and that you'd run off into the woods".

"We've located one of the girls, Chloe".

"Later, her log felt that there was something seriously amiss so she called us at the Sheriff's department".

"Yes, that's the one".

"So me and Bobby came to find you, there are hidden darknesses to this place".

"Yeah, this forest has been giving me the creeps for hours".

"No Lucy, i don't think she's a natural blue".

Bobby had raised his eyes to the heavens in exasperation.

"Im worried about Max, what have we got ourselves into?".

"Lucy, just put it on the damn form as 'Dyed', Tell Harry we're proceeding onwards, and get poor Margaret on the horn and let her know what's going on".

"A lot of things happened here a few years ago Chloe, We need to press on but i'll explain as we go."

Deputy Hawk motioned for Chloe to follow him and he began to tell Chloe about the strange history of Twin Peaks. Bobby followed silently to the rear. He had been a high school senior through the entire episode and it had been a tumultuous and traumatic time for him which he didn't feel like contributing to. He was lost in his own thoughts, heading he knew for the very place his own father Air Force Major Garland Briggs had disappeared from never to be seen again.

So Chloe learned that night about this strange town, about Laura Palmer's murder by her father Leland, Leland's own death, the investigations by FBI Agent Dale Cooper, Dale Cooper's own disappearance, reappearance, disappearance again. About Wyndam Earle, about The Black Lodge and "Bob".

Christ and she'd thought Arcadia Bay was fucked up. Why had Rachel and Frank come to this place? (Apart from Norma Jennings' heavenly Cherry Pie) and why had Rachel disappeared again? On top of it all, where was Max? Please God let her be safe, Chloe couldn't even bear to picture being alone again.

The room was neither cold nor warm, and the sounds of soft Jazz permeated the air, the hypnotic shuffle beat having an almost soporific effect on Max. She looked around to take in her surroundings. A second ago she'd been in the woods at night freezing her nipples off in the autumnal chill of North Washington State and now she was.... Well now she was sure she was tripping, she was in a room. The tiled floor was an eye bending zigzag pattern of black and white and the entire space was ringed with heavy crimson drapes. There were few furnishings. 4 easy chairs, a statue and a small table with a bowl in it.

If it had just been the surroundings and the circumstances, then Max might have been able to not freak out. But it was the fact that the room was not empty that made her wonder why she felt so fucking calm. Why everything seemed to happen slowly and calmly and in silence. An almost cloying serenity when her very soul should be clawing at the back of her head before making a bolt for the nearest exit.

Sitting in the chair in front of her, in a dapper red velvet suit was the oddest little man Max had ever seen, his head swaying in time to the music. To his right sat Rachel Amber, silent and unreacting to Max's presence. She simply sat, a benignly neutral expression on her face, looking over at the occupant of the chair opposite to her, on the dwarf's left.

Mark Jefferson.

Similarly oblivious to Max's arrival, he sat looking over at Rachel and Max's stomach churned with hatred for that despicable man, what he'd done to her in the dark room, what he'd done to Kate and those other poor girls he'd groomed then drugged. And how he'd manipulated Nathan into trying the same thing with Rachel with (Prior to Max's temporal intervention) fatal consequences for them both. How he'd killed Chloe, and Nathan, and Victoria and driven Kate to take her own life. But still Max felt like a puppet in somebody else's show. she still stood there just taking this bizarre scene in. The little man began rubbing his hands.

And laughed, the sound strangely distorted, almost reversed in sound, like the backing to one of The Beatles' more psychedelic studio explorations.

"S'TEL KCOR" The little man clapped his hands once.

"I EVAH DOOG SWEN! TAHT MUG UOY EKIL SI GNIOG OT EMOC KCAB NI ELYTS". He motioned his head towards Rachel.

"S'EHS YM NISUOC, TUB T'NSEOD EHS KOOL TSOMLA YLTCAXE EKIL LEHCAR REBMA?".

Max spoke for the first time since her arrival.

"But it is Rachel Amber. Are you Rachel Amber?"

"I LEEF EKIL I WONK REH, TUB SEMITEMOS YM SMRA DNEB KCAB". Rachel appeared pained as she said this.

"S'EHS DELLIF HTIW STERCES, EREHW ER'EW MORF EHT SDRIB GNIS A YTTERP GNOS, DNA S'EREHT SYAWLA CISUM NI EHT RIA".

The little man sprang from his chair as the music in the room began to not so much get louder but simply permeate Max's consciousness more and began to dance. Backwards. Max became lost and hypnotised by the scene, losing all track of time or reality.

Chloe's chest felt like it was on fire, the two policemen were setting a brisk pace through the woods, Hawk darting his eyes this way and that before deciding on a course. Like a hunter on the scent. Bobby had taken up station towards the rear.

"Christ, i'm hella unfit, i really should quit smoking".

"Just a little further Chloe, i think we are close. can you feel it in the air? like static electricity".

"Hawk" Bobby called out sharply, "is that a light off to the left?".

"Max!" Chloe called out as Hawk veered off to the left to investigate the light. No answer. Not even the hooting of the owls. Their damned racket had been driving Chloe nuts but now she missed their reassuringly natural presence. The watchful, expectant silence of the woods worked on her anxiety like a violent catalyst causing it to well up inside her like a tsunami choking, smothering, cloying and overwhelming. She staggered, her head reeling with every conceivable fear her subconscious could throw in front of her eyes. The strong arms of Officer Briggs caught her before she could topple over completely and Chloe allowed herself to be gently guided forward into the little sycamore ringed clearing Hawk had led them to.

The little clearing with the smouldering campfire. Max's discarded flashlight, still on. Max's bag.

But no Max.

#llifeisstrange #life is strange #chloe price #lis #max caulfield #pricefield #rachel amber #life is strange fanfiction #twin peaks #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

foreverlogical · 4 years ago

Link

A recent rush hour morning at one of New York’s busiest stations looked nothing like the pre-pandemic days. The chaotic energy at the heart of America’s biggest city is muted — now just a handful of mask-clad workers tunnel their way through the dingy underground corridors.

As economies of major cities crawl out of the Covid-19 abyss, transit systems that keep them running are in for an uneven recovery — and as the disease threatens a resurgence in winter months, mass transit systems around the globe are facing potential financial ruin without bailouts from governments that are also in deep fiscal holes.

European capitals have collectively recovered half of their usual riders, while major North American cities have seen a much slower return to public transit. But none are close to full ridership after nearly a year, and the dearth is laying siege to transit coffers from New York to Berlin.

With spot resurgences of Covid in the U.S. and Europe, the return to transit has stubbornly plateaued at low levels once unfathomable to city leaders. The world may not experience pre-pandemic “normalcy” for at least another year, leaving systems starved for fare revenue as government coffers dry up.

For transit authorities, the multi-pronged attack that will have cascading effects in the biggest cities in the world: Economies can’t fully recover without transit and transit can’t fully recover without the return of economies. The dilemma worries transit officials here and abroad over what the Covid-19 pandemic will mean for the future of transit, which even in the best of times depends on taxpayer support to keep operating.

“It does feel as though that commuting arrangement where millions of people went in five days a week from nine to five — those days, I think, are gone,” said Alex Williams, director of city planning at the Transport for London. “I think more people will want to work in a flexible way where they are coming into the office a few days a week rather than five days a week. And we need to reflect on that and think, ‘what is the public transport service we provide?’”

New York’s Metropolitan Transit Authority has warned it may have to cut service up to 50 percent and gut its $54.8 billion capital plan to improve its aging system without federal assistance to see it through the crisis. It’s facing a $10.3 billion deficit through this fiscal year and next.

The state of New York has allowed the MTA to borrow $10 billion for operating purposes because of the pandemic, a move that would bring its debt service to $675 million annually starting in 2023. But borrowing could be more expensive than in the past as interest rates on MTA bonds have risen since the public health crisis began. Moody’s and Standard & Poor’s have downgraded MTA’s transportation revenue bonds twice since March with a continued negative outlook.

Throughout the U.S., transit systems have called for $36 billion in federal aid to make up pandemic-related shortfalls, on top of the $25 billion in collective aid they received in late March.

The MTA alone is losing close to $200 million a week to keep its current level of already-reduced service during the coronavirus pandemic.

The International Association of Public Transport, based in Brussels, estimates that European mass transit agencies will collectively face $45 billion in farebox revenue losses by the end of this year, leaving local transport systems “literally fighting to survive,” according to a group of European transit CEO’s who have been urging their governments to help fund the losses.

Why transit in certain cities has recovered faster than others is down to a variety of factors. The reopening of schools, offices and restaurants and gyms all boost ridership, which is largely determined by the success of public health measures in lowering the rate of Covid-19 infection.

Cultural attitudes are also at play. Americans are typically more car-centric than their European cousins. Local officials have varied in their response to increases in vehicle traffic — with some, like New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio taking a hands off approach, and others actively trying to find alternatives. Public health messaging around Covid-19 and the risk of mass transit has varied, potentially influencing public perception of using subways and buses. And governments have generally been more willing to subsidize transit losses in Europe than in the U.S. (A Joe Biden presidency might change that dynamic as the Democratic candidate has shown support for rail.)

But transit officials and experts interviewed by POLITICO said the formula for a return to transit is relatively simple: ridership has returned in places where more of the economy has restarted. But with scattered outbreaks returning in Europe and the U.S., those numbers could become increasingly volatile.

After a robust economic return in Paris, for example, the government recently enacted a strict curfew as cases there surge. In New York there’s been a slow return to indoor dining and in-person schooling, but neighborhood outbreaks are threatening that progress, to say nothing of office workers who may not fully return for another year.

“Transit ridership is a health and economic indicator,” said Janette Sadik-Khan, the former commissioner of New York City’s Department of Transportation. “One of the biggest determinants of ridership isn’t how safe transit feels in itself, but the economy as a whole.”

And transit agencies are grappling with what a protracted recovery in ridership will mean for the services they provide.

Transit companies will need bailouts to make sure services can persist. Transport for London, which is the operator and regulator for the U.K.’s network, is calling for an additional £2 billion (or roughly $2.5 billion) in aid through December to avoid a “doomsday scenario,” but Prime Minister Boris Johnson has been reluctant. Berlin’s local authority owned metro operator BVG could raise ticket prices to cover some of its losses. The MTA is considering fare hikes as well, but with ridership cratering there’s only so much it can raise prices without driving straphangers further away.

Washington D.C.’s Metropolitan Area Transit Authority has warned it may have to make $200 million worth of cuts without additional federal aid, including cutting rail and bus service and closing the rail system earlier in the day.

In the U.S., negotiations between the Trump administration and Senate Democrats over a new Covid-19 stimulus package have been at a stalemate — leaving transit operators in the lurch.

“Transport authorities all around the world are needing central government support to see them through this unprecedented crisis,” said Williams, of the Transport for London.

In the U.S. it’s unclear when or if that will happen.

By the numbers

Fewer than 20 percent of riders have returned to Washington D.C.’s rail system. Transit agencies in New York, Toronto and Chicago are still only reporting roughly one-third of their usual ridership on subways, while metro systems from Milan and Berlin are seeing between 50 percent and 65 percent of their usual ridership. Cities rapidly approaching their pre-pandemic ridership levels include Paris and Vienna — which have recovered at least 70 percent of riders on their metro systems.

Each of those cities took similar response measures to the Covid-19 outbreak — shutting down businesses and telling large portions of the workforce to remain at home in the months of March and April. But they have operated on different timelines for recovery.

New York has offered outdoor dining but only allowed restaurants to offer indoor dining a few weeks ago — while cities like Berlin and Paris (until recently) have offered it for several months. Fans are trekking to championship games for soccer in some parts of Europe while stadium seats for baseball and football games in most of the U.S. remain empty. Concert halls and theaters in New York City are similarly dark.

The rate of workers returning to the office and the start of school has also varied.

Transit experts have traced the surge in metro riders in Paris to the start of school on Sept. 1. New York didn’t fully reopen its schools to in-person learning until late September, and more than half of students have opted for all remote schooling.

London has also seen a slow return of its workforce and is similarly reporting transit ridership numbers more in line with North American cities, as opposed to its mainland European counterparts where workers returned much faster.

A second wave

While some cities have seen a resurgence in cases as they’ve restarted their local economies, studies out of Tokyo, Paris and Austria have not traced cluster outbreaks to mass transit. Hitoshi Oshitani, a professor of virology at Tohoku University Graduate School of Medicine, along with other experts, has said riding buses and subways is safe as long as masks are worn, the systems are well-ventilated and people refrain from talking.

And while some cities have retroactively restricted economic activities like restaurant hours in response to a second wave of Covid-19, transit experts said they so far aren’t seeing the same impact on ridership as they did during the first set of Covid-19 restrictions.

“That’s the main difference with the first time — now we see the ridership with public transport is growing despite the second wave,” said Mohamed Mezghani, secretary general of the International Association of Public Transport. “People are using public transport and [are] maybe not as concerned as they used to be as they were four or five months ago.”

Information and misinformation

Outside of the economic recovery, there are also perceptions unique to particular areas that are driving transit habits.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention told U.S. commuters in June they should drive alone instead of taking public transit to work. Following a wave of criticism, the agency updated the guidance to advise driving alone “if feasible” and recommended alternatives like biking.

“These kinds of messages are of course confusing to people,” Mezghani said. “I think in the U.S., in general, people are really afraid of using public transport.”

An MIT report in April claiming that New York subways “seeded the massive coronavirus epidemic” also left a sour taste in many residents’ mouths about the prospect of taking mass transit. The study itself has been widely panned.

Transit safety is a major factor influencing the return of office workers in New York, with 28 percent of 150 major New York City employers ranking it as a primary concern influencing the pace of workers returning to the office, according to an August survey by the Partnership for New York City. Forty-six percent ranked it as their second concern after the status of Covid-19.

The European Commission did recommend loosening restrictions on “individualised transport” in the early days of the pandemic, but also advised that cities ramp up the availability of “collective transport options” and communicate in a way that “helps to restore the trust and confidence of passengers regarding the safe use of collective transport.”

Most public transit authorities have taken similar measures to limit the risk of Covid-19 exposure and ease riders’ concerns, such as requiring commuters to wear masks and increasing cleaning regimens. Some took those precautions even when the CDC and World Health Organization were still not recommending widespread mask usage.

But some were more proactive than others in their messaging.

Vienna — which has seen the one of the highest rider return rates — launched a concerted campaign in May to convince riders that mass transit is safe to take.

Transit leaders in London and Belgium have also launched campaigns to get commuters back on mass transit. Following criticism about metro crowding as the city faces a rise in Covid-19 cases, Paris’ Delegated Minister for Transport Jean-Baptiste Djebbari defended the safety protocol for public transport and insisted it isn’t a particularly strong vector for spread.

While the New York MTA requires passengers wear masks and has increased its cleaning regimen, it faced criticism for being slow to do things like mandate masks for its workers and fine riders who don’t wear masks. Messaging was also sometimes confused where transit officials encouraged returning to the system but Mayor Bill de Blasio at first said it was reasonable for people to use cars instead.

Similar patterns emerge

While there are variations in recovery among cities, there are some common trends throughout the pandemic.

Generally speaking, buses have seen a higher rate of recovery than subways or trains. Many cities — including New York, Toronto and London — boast at least half of bus riders have returned since the height of the pandemic.

“The buses far and away are moving a lot of people,” said Stuart Green, a spokesperson for the Toronto Transit Commission, adding the agency has since redeployed more buses because of the surge in riders.

Commuter rail lines that stretch into more suburban areas have suffered the most.

New York’s MetroNorth rail line is reporting only a 21 percent return of riders on weekdays. In Toronto, only 18 percent of riders have returned to the MetroLinx system that runs seven commuter rail lines and regional buses — while 40 percent of commuters have returned to its subway and streetcar systems.

“If I had to pick one mode that appears to be at risk — and this is true not just in New York — it’s commuter rails and the recovery in ridership there,” Pat Foye, chair and CEO of the MTA, said in September.

And transit leaders collectively fear what the displacement from mass transit will mean for the environment.

Car usage has increased at a much faster rate than mass transit ridership, even in cities like Paris that have rapidly expanded bike lanes to discourage car use. Transit advocates have criticized New York for moving slowly on the rollout of bus and bike lanes, particularly after de Blasio advised New Yorkers to “improvise” their commutes. Traffic in New York has largely reached pre-pandemic levels.

“It is a pandemic crisis, but behind this crisis is a much bigger crisis — and it’s the climate crisis and don’t forget that,” said Alexandra Reinagl, managing director of Vienna’s Wiener Linien.

Hanne Cokelaere and Joshua Posaner contributed to this report.

VISIT WEBSITE

7 notes · View notes

revasserium · 5 years ago

Text

nekoma #1 - morning

kuroo.

when he first told you that he was a morning person, you looked him dead in the eye and called him liar. it would not be the last time you call him on his bullshit, but ever since then his smiles have gotten just a little bit wider. and sometimes you find him leaning against the doorway to your class, casually scrolling through his phone, a bit too posed, hair a bit too ruffled, shoulders tense as a tightrope, insisting that he’d not been waiting for you, that he’d just happened to be hanging around and oh, would you look at that, you’d come walking down the hallway. it’s a misty, wednesday morning when he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, a thoughtless gesture, almost like second nature before he catches himself and realizes what he’s done. his eyes go wide and his cheeks go red and his usual low drawl of a voice hikes up four pitches as he fumbles for words and explanations. you reach up to tug on a lock of his hair too as you shrug and say, “there, now we’re even, though you could probably use a bit less gel. how do you even wash that shit out?” to which he’d sputtered indignantly, insisting that his hair was nothing short of artwork. it takes him another week to buck up enough courage to ask you out, but when he does, it’s the first time you don’t call his bluff. you say yes, you say only if you quit using so much damn hairgel; to which he grins, and turns with a melodramatic sigh and tells you that he’ll finally have time to sleep in in the mornings.

kenma.

there is nothing good about mornings, so he insists, and so you agree. but waking up next to you just might count as a good thing -- no, it definitely does. see, kenma is not known for being particularly active, or fond of physical movement (the contradictions therein about him being on the volleyball team shall be addressed at a later date, when he’s got more energy), and thus the transitioning from static to not so static as is ritual most mornings just isn’t on his list of favorite things. but you -- somehow, when he opens his eyes to find you there, curled up next to him just as you’d been the night before, he can’t find it in himself to be upset, not even at the foggy chill that had settled against his window overnight, or the cool, bleak sun peaking over the horizon-line, signaling the start to another doubtlessly tiresome day. you turn, lashes fluttering as you open your eyes, a sleepy smile stretching your lips and kenma can’t help the way his chest fills with butterflies. “g’morning”, you say, your voice still thick with the honey of dreams, and he just sighs, crinkling his nose as he snuggles in against you, grumbling through his chest, “yeah, i guess so.” you laugh, the sound ringing like bluebells along his skin, “i thought you hated mornings.” kenma huffs, his breath warm against your forehead as he pulls you close, “i do, but... you’re here. so, this one’s not that bad, i guess.”

kai.

for the most part, he’s quite ambivalent about mornings, just as he’s ambivalent about friday afternoons and sunday nights. they’re just mere times of day and he cannot, for the love of all that’s holy, figure out the obsession (or counter-obsession in the form of disgust) with mornings. a day has to begin somewhere, hasn’t it? and the morning’s done nothing wrong except to mark that; so, he accepts the morning, and goes about his usual morning routine of a well-balanced breakfast, before stretches and a subway ride to morning practice. it’s here that he meets you for the first time, the new manager, still a little shy then, but with eyes bright enough to light up an entire gymnasium, he’s sure. and suddenly, mornings are no longer just a time of day, but the times of days he looks forward to the most, because it means he’ll get to see you at school, cheeks flushed from the cold outside, bangs sometimes sticking to your forehead if you’re working on tossing for them, lips sometimes parted, your tongue peaking through the side if you’re concentrating on jotting down notes for their next training regime. and suddenly, he understands the mass attraction and aversions to times of day, because they could mean so much more than just the markings of time he’d taken them to be -- they could be earned towards and looked forward to, for the possibilities they contain, or the inevitability of their endings. and he finally understands that morning is no longer simply a pocket of time between a and b, but a measure of what might happen, if he just took one step closer, reached out and grabbed your hand, if he squeezed it, and never let it go -- what would you do? so he decides that maybe, just maybe, one of these mornings, he’s going to reach out, and try it.

yaku.

he’s always up at the first ring of his alarm, because there are always so many things to do -- brush his teeth, wash his face, iron his uniform, make sure his hair doesn’t look too nuts, text you good morning and ask how you slept, and mornings are just the perfect time for all those things, like the great start to a long race, it’s when he sets the tone for the rest of the day. you once teased you could publish a book with all the good morning texts he’d sent you over the years -- “how’d you think of so many? do you google them or something?” to which he’d squawked and said that he’d never plagiarize his morning texts... although sometimes, he does take a peak on the internet for some good inspiration. but he insists that the words are his own, and you believe him. “good morning! today’s gonna be a great day, i can just feel it in the air!” “morning sunshine! it’s chilly out so don’t forget to bring a jacket!” “good morning! did you have good dreams last night? tell me about them.” “morning~ i missed you.” “morning sunshine, let’s get coffee on the way to school. the vending machine on the corner restocked!” “gmorning, couldn’t sleep last night but i hope you did.” “gmorning. remember to put on sunscreen!” “gmorning! smile!” “gmorning. i love you.” “morning, i love you.” “good morning! i love you!” and just “hey, i love you.”

tora.

you’d asked him if he collected alarm clocks; he’d said they’re just to make sure he gets out of bed on time. you’d wondered what kind of sleeper he might be to need eight alarm clocks to get him out of bed every single morning -- the answer is a deep one. when he jogs by your front door for the third time that week, you ask him on the way to school what he’s doing, to which he answers “training, there’s a really good team in miyagi we gotta beat! and i can’t let myself go, yknow?” you wonder if it’s possible for anyone to let themselves go any more than he usually does (restraint is not one of his defining characteristics), but decide against bringing it to his attention. the fifth time he jogs by, you ask him why you’re house -- surely there are better streets suited for jogging? ones that aren’t next to a major intersection, a good 30 minutes away from his house, perhaps not in the opposite direction of school. he goes red and his usual loud, declaratives falter until they’re half-formed thoughts, cut off and tangled as he tries to iron out his tongue enough to force a proper sentence out. you decide to drop the issue, but from then on, he jogs by your house every morning, and on his way back, he finds you waiting for him, a bottle of water in hand, and a smile on your face. it takes him a solid half-year to ask you out. but when you say yes, he decides that the only way to celebrate is to take a dozen laps around your house.

inuoka.

he’s always up at the crack of dawn, somehow, someway -- sometimes you wonder if he’s solar-powered for all the endless energy he has, because photosynthesis is the only explanation left. he chatters during morning homeroom, filling you (and everyone within earshot) about his previous night, how the homework sucked, because they’d had practice till super late, and then on the way home, he got sidetracked by this litter of stray kittens that he just had to take to the shelter first, so by the time he got home, it was already hella late (which, mind you, is an exact measure of time in his world), so doing 14 pages of traditional literature reading and then having to write a short answer to be turned in by midnight was really really not the business. “what would have been the business then?” you ask one day, out of sheer curiousity as to how he’d answer. he blinks, quirking his head in a movement not unlike a slightly confused puppy dog, before grinning wide and saying, “well, that’s easy! not having homework, eating a ton of whatever i wanted for dinner, and spending all the rest of my time with you!” you let out a laugh and remind him that you literally have very single class together, to which he says, without missing a single beat, “yeah, but that’s not enough time. i wanna be with you from the second i wake up, to the second i fall asleep, and not a moment less!”

lev.

they see his eyes and call him lion, but none of them knows how much more cub he is lion than in the spare light of a dawning morning. curled up beneath his sheets, his usually giant body looks almost normal-sized, small even, spine bent like if he just tried hard enough, he could bend himself into a question, or perhaps an answer -- the answer to every question he’s ever asked of himself only to find that he can’t find a satisfactory answer lying in his own body. but that doesn’t stop him from trying. he tells you about the nightmares, and you promise him that they’re nothing more than the shadows of dreams, and don’t we all have shadows that follow us? even when the day is in full bloom? he holds you to him at night, his entire body wrapping around you, as if he were trying to soak you in, tether himself to something so as to make sure he’ll still have somewhere to wake up in the morning and find his own reflection; you shake him awake with a gentle smile, a kiss, a reminder that he’s going to miss breakfast again if he keeps on sleeping but he just whines and buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck. “not yet. it’s not light outside yet.” you smile, “but you don’t even like the dark.” “i don’t, but you’re always here, so i like that.” “i’ll still be here once we get up, lev.” “i know, but what it’s this is a dream? all dreams end when you get up.” you pause, stroking a palm down his spine, “maybe not this one,” you say, and somehow convince him to get up out of bed and cart him towards the bathroom. “maybe this one, you get to keep on dreaming forever.” he grins as he hop up onto the counter to watch him groggily brush his teeth and wash his face. after a moment, he looks up, seemingly much more awake than before. and then he smiles, “well if that’s the case, then maybe morning never, ever come again.”

68 notes · View notes

minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years ago

Text

Half Of You: Jimin One Shot

Request: fluff: Friend group travelling (wherever inspires you most! I'm thinking someplace like Hawai where they visit secret beaches and stuff! Site-seeing in the city could also be interesting!). Jimin and and OC know eachother through friends. OC is independent and not TOO into the whole adventuring deal but does it to enjoy some quality time with her friends. Jimin is flirty and playful and makes the trip all the more interesting for her. (I don't know how you want to set it up but maybe two friends are dating and they invite their two seperate friend groups on this trip to meet. Or maybe it's a wedding and OC is a bridesmaid? Anything works honestly!) - @silviasgotyourback

Description: You’re not too keen on...you know...risk-taking. In fact, it scares you to your core. But when your close friend Kim Namjoon gets in your head, you agree to a crazy trip to Fiji with him and his pals. But what happens when one of those pals -- specifically Park Jimin -- sweeps you off your feet not only figuratively, but literally?

Word Count: 15.8k

Pairing: Jimin x (gender neutral) Reader

Tags: Office Worker!Reader, Choreographer!Jungkook, Producer!Namjoon, Non-Idol!Au, Kinda Enemies to Lovers?? Haha idk

Genre: Fluff and angst, fluffy ending

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Wow what a long break I’ve taken haha! But I’m back (kinda) to post some one shots (slowly)! I’ve been working really hard on my graduate school writing sample and auto statements, and I’ve just started my senior year of college AND started a new job so I’ve been incredibly busy! I apologize nonetheless for my absence. It’s felt horrible being away. Very guilty lol. Anyway, thank you my dear for requesting and for being so so so SO patient with me. I hope you like the result!

Also, if you want to follow me on Twitter please do so! My handle is @/nirvana_namu. I would post a link, but rumor has it Tumblr killed links and I’m not taking any chances.

- Mercury

You’re not sure why you agreed to this.

Standing at the tippy top of a mountain, looking out over the entire surf as it roils in the golden island sun, you watch your best friend get strapped into a harness with a laugh that echoes through the humid air. His gaze is focused downward, along the slope of treetops leading to the water. A zipline. A really steep, really fast one. One of the longest in the world! Namjoon had proclaimed with no small measure of wonder in his round eyes before you’d boarded the plane side by side only a day prior. If you weren’t so scared, you’d want to paint it.

You really don’t know why you agreed to do any of this.

The vested employee adjusts the straps secured around Namjoon’s hips, tugs them once or twice — not nearly enough by your standards — and mumbles something unintelligible into the receiver of a walkie-talkie. Enveloped in greenery, Namjoon pauses to turn and look at you and, upon snagging your eyes, offers a big, stupid, dimpled grin. He waves one hand over his head at you as you wait to be loaded into the next harness. And it looks like his eyes are squinted against the sun, but really they’re squinted from the sheer force of his joy. A joy too big to be contained in a smile alone.

That’s exactly why, you think to yourself with a grimace as you shamble forward along the worn footpath, second-to-last in line, arms crossed over your torso as if they can protect you from whatever fresh hell Namjoon’s planned out.

The employee pats Namjoon’s bare shoulder before releasing him and sending him speeding down the swaying cable with a scream so loud it pierces your ears. His body falls out of sight for a frozen millisecond before the cable gives a mighty bounce and his head reappears, bobbing up and down as he slides toward the bottom. You wince, more out of fear than discomfort, and pause to peek over the edge of the loading platform, following the line of the cable all the way to the bottom. Your heart races as your eyes trace the dense tree line, seemingly endless, and the sheer drop that had claimed Namjoon just seconds before.

And that’s when, as you sweep your twitching gaze out behind you, you lock eyes with Park Jimin. Standing behind you, the very last of the group to depart down the cliffside, his lips are quirked into a smirk that reads cocky and his brows are raised, unyielding eyes stuck on you like tree sap. Of all people to be stuck with on the top of a mountain…

Your face goes hot and your spine stiffens by a few degrees. You stare back at him, trying to discern any measure of fear in his smiling expression, his half-exposed teeth, his rosy cheeks, his teasing brown eyes. But instead all you see is, as usual, a perfect facade of composure.

Well, that and a sinfully handsome face.

He saunters up beside you, scans you from head to toe, and hums a little. “Nervous?” he asks, as if he doesn’t already know.

You clear your throat, fan yourself with your hand as a futile defense against the jungle heat, and nod your head once. “Mm.”

Upon hearing your response, Jimin’s demeanor shifts a little. He uncrosses his arms and his smirk slips, brows raising. He leans closer to examine your face and you avert your gaze, heart hammering. “Whoa, you’re actually spooked, huh,” he remarks before glancing around the platform. “Shit, I don’t think the guide’s gonna let you turn back now.”

You’d expected him to make fun of you, perhaps laugh at your weak constitution. But this…

This is new.

Though well-meaning, Jimin’s words serve only to set your palms sweating and your heart racing faster. Your throat feels a little funny, tight like asthma. You shift your weight from foot to foot. “I-It’s fine,” you mumble, sliding past him as the employee beckons you forward with a lazy wave. “I’ll just…do it.”

Jimin hangs close behind you as the employee begins strapping you in, not sparing even a single word for you. “Hey, uh, my friend’s a little nervous,” Jimin says lowly to the young man working on hooking the harness around your hip. He glances up to meet your eyes before looking toward Jimin. “Any way you can, like, go gentle or something?” Jimin offers a convincing smile, the kind of grin that could get anyone to do anything.

The employee surprises you by releasing a puffy laugh and straightening to his full height, pausing to pat the dust off the backs of his legs. He chuckles and pats your back. “I can’t control the cable,” he says, then pauses for a moment to think. “But…,” he continues as Jimin turns pleading eyes his way, “if you’re feeling really nervous, I’ve heard it helps to shut your eyes and count to ten. Like, tell yourself you’re definitely gonna do it once you reach ten and just…go.”

You swallow hard and inhale sharply through your nose. “Alright,” you say, but his words have fled from your brain as soon as they’d been uttered. Your voice is shaky. Almost as shaky as your hands as you raise them to grip the straps of your harness.

Have you always had such a strong grip?

Your brain goes a little fuzzy, looking out over the precipice on which you stand, unsteady feet and rushing pulse. It’s dizzying. Like the world is spinning, but you’re not spinning with it. Or perhaps you’re spinning and it’s the world that’s gone still. Either way, the stretch of trees extending far beyond the tips of your hiking boots looks like it’s swaying on an axis, and each blink tilts the view some different way. You wonder if you’re breathing enough, or maybe too much, because your head is spinning. Like when you stand up too quickly after sitting for a while. You wonder if you’ll pass out before you reach the bottom.

If you reach the bottom.

Jesus, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of this stupid cable snapping. It doesn’t look too stable, upon closer inspection. Bouncing in the breeze. And as the employee finishes strapping you in, you pause for a moment to move your legs about and find, to your horror, that the straps are slightly loose.

Oh God.

You’re gonna throw up.

“Hey,” says a soft voice from beside you.

You feel a warm hand slide along the skin of your upper back, resting to cup your shoulder. Slowly, you turn your toward Jimin, standing with one arm wrapped around you and the other braced on his own knee so he can level his eyes with yours. He’s smiling a little. A different one this time, a soft one. The wind blows his dark hair from his eyes and carries the scent of his cologne. Somehow, you feel yourself relax a little against his side.

“It’s gonna be okay, alright?” he asks gently, and this is an entirely new Park Jimin to you. A tender young man with kind eyes. He smiles again and gives your shoulder a squeeze. “I’m right behind you.”

And for some reason, that comforts you. You don’t have time to dissect it however, as the employee takes up your other side and raises his brows, asking silently if you’re ready to go. Of course, you aren’t. How can you be? But again, Jimin squeezes your shoulder and seizes your attention with another smile, this one turning his eyes to crescents as he nods his head.

“Um…yeah,” you say, taking a moment to focus on your breath.

“Remember,” says Jimin as he steps away from you. “Count to ten, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, shutting your eyes.

One.

You’re gonna do it.

Two.

On ten, you’re just gonna go.

Three.

It’ll be fine.

Four.

Joon did it, and he’s fine.

Five.

And Tae before him, and that guy Jimin brought.

Six.

Nobody’s died yet.

Seven.

You can do it too.

Eight.

And even if I’m scared, at least you’re not alone up here.

Nine.

Jimin’s right behind you.

Ten.

Your scream rips through the valley below.

And, seconds later, so does your unfettered laughter.

You met Park Jimin on the worst day of your life a month ago. Freshly laid off from your job as a financial analyst — a job which Namjoon disliked from the start —, and disappointed by a string of bad dates after a catastrophic breakup, you’d agreed to meet up with a few college friends for a drink at your local stomping ground. You’d found Jimin sitting in the middle of a smoky bar with a girl on one arm and a guy on the other. Gross, was all you’d thought in passing. You’d paid him little mind, too busy wallowing in your own self pity to think too hard about any one thing, but it seemed he was incessant on grabbing your attention by any means necessary.

You’d sidled up to the bar, awaiting Namjoon’s I’m here text, and had only just ordered your drink when the strange young man with the unusually bright smile took up the space beside you. Now alone, he offered you a grin and his hand for you to shake. For a few seconds, you only stared at his outstretched palm. At the lines cutting across it. What was that long line called? The life line?

Eventually, however, you realized he wasn’t going anywhere, planted firmly in the wobbly barstool to your right, and you relented with a handshake. But that wasn’t what this stranger was after. He yanked you just a little once your hands connected.

“Hey, honey!” he said as he pulled you in toward his chest, sweeping you up in a tight, firm hug that knocked the wind from your lungs.

You were neither playful enough nor drunk enough to reciprocate and instead sat there stiffly, arms pressed against your sides as the stranger with the cute face hugged you close. Over his shoulder, you locked eyes with the girl who’d previously ornamented his left arm, watching you keenly, and it didn’t take you long to understand what was going on.

“Dodging an ex?” you whispered without moving your lips too much.

You felt a wave of shivers trace up your spine and it only took you a few seconds to realize why. It was just the sort of thing you imagined Hanseul doing if he ever bumped into you…

He chuckled. “Two, actually,” he responded as the young man he’d been entertaining also lifted his eyes from his drink to give you a once-over.

You sighed. “You’d better be buying my drink,” was all you said as the two of you broke away.

He’d laughed — that melodic sort of laugh that made you feel a little floaty — and rubbed your shoulder with a grin. “I’ll buy you twenty,” he joked, sliding the bartender a bill as he returned with your cocktail.

“So how’d you manage to get caught up with two exes at once?” you asked, nursing your glass.

He rubbed his jaw and shook his head, smiling at the bar table before him. “They were friends to begin with,” he said. And when you said nothing, only recoiled slightly, he met your eyes with a bright laugh. “C’mon don’t give me that look!”

You cleared your throat, turned away, and worked your straw between your teeth. “I dunno, sounds like maybe you brought it on yourself then,” you said, taking a healthy sip.

The stranger laughed again — more like a disbelieving scoff — and adjusted one of the several rings on his slender fingers. “Well I didn’t ask the two of them to come out tonight,” he said with a shrug. “And besides, neither of them looked unhappy to see me.”

“Ugh,” you mumbled, eyeing him sidelong as he chuckled.

He smirked and leaned across the bar toward you. “What?” he asked, and something about the heavy-lidded look he gave you, the simmering something in his eyes, made your pulse quicken. He rested his cheek in his hand and cocked his head to the side, now close enough to smell a whiff of his cologne. “You think I’m a bad guy?”

You swallowed hard before downing the rest of your drink and slamming the glass back on the bar. You waved the bartender over and pointed to the empty glass. Wordlessly, he began fixing you a replacement. You peeked back at the guy to find him smiling at you, musing perhaps, with the strangest mix of curiosity and pity in his expression.

You were definitely going to need another drink.

“Do good guys usually do stuff like that?” you asked, watching the bartender as he shook your drink around his metal tumbler.

He chuckled. “Can goodness be quantified by things like who we date?” he asked.

You stiffened. “Not by who you date,” you continued, shaking your head as memories of your own ex resurfaced. “But who you hurt, sure.”

He rolled his eyes, swiveling in his barstool to look at you head on. “Why’s it my fault who gets hurt?” he asked.

You cocked a brow. “You…can’t be serious…” But from the expression he wore you were certain that he was indeed quite serious.

He shrugged. “It’s not my intention to hurt someone, so why do I have to take responsibility if they get hurt?” he asked, then smirked and gave your thigh a nudge with his knee. “The way I see it, if you get hurt you’re the one whose expectations were too high.”

“That’s gross,” you said, inching away. You were inclined to simply leave, abandon this conversation and the bar at large and call it a night. But the bartender wasn’t finished with your drink and you weren’t about to piss him off. Not on a day like today. “If you’re dating someone, you’re committing to them.”

“What about polyamorous people?” he countered with a smug grin.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not talking about polyamorous people. I’m talking about monogamy.”

“But why does everyone expect monogamy?” asked Jimin, tossing his hands up in the air with a breathy laugh. “Anyway, I always make it clear from the start that I’m not the kind of person who wants to be…well, you know…,” he started, then furrowed his brow and waved his hand. “Like, in a relationship.”

You sighed, nodded your thanks to the bartender as he slid you your drink, and watched as Jimin again offered cash in return. “And that’s fine, but you can’t expect someone to stick around and be okay with that.” You rubbed your temples as memories swirled together. “Be okay with half of you.”

If you really loved me, you’d understand that I could have any person in the world and you’d still be my number one!

Scumbag.

This gave him pause and, slowly, he shifted his eyes your way once more, scanning you. “Half of me?”

You nodded and downed a gulp of your drink with a wince. “Giving half is fine if the other person is giving half too. If you both only expect half,” you began, then ran your hands along your neck. Your skin was feverish, alcohol making your head light. “But if one person wants more, it’s not fair to string them along.”

He stared at you gravely, eyes hard and jaw set, and furrowed his brow. “That’s too old-school,” he said.

You huffed and crossed your arms. “It’s not old-school!” you said, wagging a finger at him. “It’s about respecting the other person enough to let them go when you realize you can’t be what they need.”

He pouted a little and rolled his eyes. “You sound ancient,” he said, then paused to give you a knowing smirk. “Wait, don’t tell me,” he began, scooting closer with a conspiratorial look. “You were scorned by your ex. Like…I dunno, like they cheated or something. Broke your heart, ruined your trust, blah, blah, blah. And now you’ve got this vendetta or something because you got hurt.” He grinned and wiggled his brows.

You stiffened, eyes wide, and stared at him. “I…,” you began.

He laughed from his gut and nodded. “Ah, nailed it, didn’t I?” he asked.

There was a cruel edge to his teasing, an ill-intentioned bite that felt like it was made to injure. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but you knew you felt it in that hazy bar, surrounded by throngs of people gathered here and there, enveloped in smoke and conversation. But like a heat-seeking missile, it seemed his words were engineered to uncover the softest parts of you and destroy them.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was something else, but your eyes welled with tears and your throat constricted. You stared at him, this stranger who had pegged you without err, and felt the weight of your frustrations pressing down on the tops of your shoulders like sandbags. And as he perceived the shift in your expression, his own face changed from a cold sort of scrutiny to a round-eyed concern that washed away all evidence of his previous behavior.

“Oh shit,” he said, standing up and blocking your face from view. You felt a few hot tears spilling over and were quick to wipe them, but the humiliation was there on display whether you cried or not.

He’d gotten you.

Luckily for you, Namjoon’s timing had been particularly impeccable that day and he’d barreled into the bar with a lopsided grin and clapped both you and the stranger on the backs, Taehyung and Yoongi sauntering behind him. You’d startled a bit, jumping slightly at his approach, but once again luckily — or perhaps unluckily — Namjoon seemed to have little regard for the poor mood he’d stepped into and didn’t seem to notice your glassy eyes as you buried your nose in your drink.

“Well jeez, look at you two already getting acquainted!” Namjoon exclaimed with a big laugh.

You paused your sipping for a moment to slide only your eyes up toward your friend. “Huh?”

He blinked down at you, one hand still clamped onto the stranger’s shoulder, and raised his brows. “Didn’t I tell you I was inviting some work friends?”

You spat your drink, sending droplets of sweet alcohol splattering across the bar. Quick to right yourself, you faced Namjoon properly and, sputtering, replied, “Him?”

Namjoon laughed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you guys didn’t introduce yourselves,” he said, adding theatrics to his heavy sigh. “This is Park Jimin. That choreographer I’ve been telling you about? He’s coming with us to Fiji.”

Still coughing up the remains of your rum and Coke, you pat your chest. This was the kind-hearted dance major wunderkind who dazzled everyone at Namjoon’s entertainment company? This was the kid who, at the age of twenty-four, had more accolades than both his predecessors combined? This was the guy who befriended all the trainees and brought them sports drinks during long days of practice?

This was the guy you were going to spend two weeks with on an island in the middle of the Pacific?

Namjoon, standing between the two of you, moved to taste your drink and as he leaned forward you locked eyes with the acclaimed young choreographer over the plane of his back. Park Jimin stared at you with wide eyes and lips parted as if to speak. But even after Namjoon had straightened up and begun complaining about your drink order, Park Jimin, still with mouth agape, said nothing.

And so, as you go ripping through the jungle on a wobbling cable, screaming and laughing and crying just a little, you wonder how exactly that very same Park Jimin is the one who comforted you into taking this leap of faith. Below your dangling feet is a patchwork of different greens, all bleeding into a motion blur as your body is propelled down toward the bottom platform. As you slide along, you can just see Namjoon’s figure, reduced to a small silhouette amongst the trees, as he stands waving like mad at the edge of the platform. Laughing, you shoot both hands above your head and wave them around, causing you to sway on the cable. Startled, you quickly return your hands to gripping the straps near your chest.

You feel like a bullet whizzing through humid air and then, all at once, friction takes hold once more and you seize, eyes squeezing shut from the whiplash, head throbbing just a little, suspended over the platform. You are greeted by a chorus of applause and hollers of encouragement as the employee begins the process of disconnecting you from your harness and, as your feet land stiffly on the concrete slab, you lift wild eyes to meet Namjoon’s. You find him still with that grin plastered across his face, hair windswept, shirt askew.

“Wow!” is all you can say as the group laughs.

Namjoon smiles and claps your shoulder. “Right?” he asks and you can only nod and turn your eyes back up toward the cliff from which you’d descended.

Now far too distant to discern amongst the foliage, the loading platform sits somewhere lost in green. And, without meaning to, your mind wanders back to Park Jimin and you wonder idly if he’s counting to ten.

Sunset drenches the island as you lounge on the warm sand, leaning back on your elbows with eyes half-shut as you gaze out at the glittering ocean touching the horizon line. The sky is darkening by degrees, with vibrant reds and oranges spreading like watercolor into the navy blue edges. And for a blissful moment, you’re alone with it. Alone with the profound. And you’re not thinking about the new job you’d taken, or the text messages Hanseul left you this morning, or the bills you know you’ve got to pay soon. You’re not thinking about anything.

It’s beautiful.

Of course, it’d be more beautiful with a pina colada, but you don’t let your mind linger there too long. After all, Namjoon said this trip was supposed to be about adventure and ‘finding yourself’. You aren’t sure how much of yourself you can really find at the bottom of a fruity drink.

Namjoon invited you on this trip a year ago. He’d done it in typical Namjoon fashion: calling you up at two in the morning and rambling incoherently for a while before eventually getting to the point. You’d become so used to his pipe dreams that you’d half expected this plan to fall through like the others. The second the words left his lips, you’d rolled your eyes.

“What I’m saying is,” he began, breathless over the phone, as you push yourself up onto your bottom, bed sinking beneath you, “let’s go to Fiji.”

“Joon…,” you groaned. “Please, I have work tomorrow-,”

“Listen, fuck your job,” he said and you could practically see him waving his hands like a man gone mad. “This is important. Like…might be the most important thing we’ve ever done together, you know?”

“Where is this even coming from?” you asked, stifling a yawn. You glanced out your window and saw the city painted black, pinpricks of yellow office building lights.

He sighed. “I was looking up tropical music for this new song I’m working on for the trainees and I stumbled upon this incredible video about Fiji.”

“Like a generic white girl vlog?” you asked with a laugh, but Namjoon seemed deathly serious as he remained silent. You paused a moment. “Wait, you’re like…for real with this, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, of course.” He was quiet. “I just…I dunno…I guess, while we’re still young enough to do it, I wanna experience something incredible. While we still can. While things are still like this.”

“What do you mean?” You raised a hand to open your window, let in some cool night air, but as you jammed your hand along the pane, the thing only rattled dumbly in response. You huffed, focused.

“I mean life is transient and nothing’s guaranteed,” he said. “Who knows who we’ll be tomorrow, you know? Who knows how long these moments will last?”

You stilled for a moment, staring out your closed window, hand still poised to force it open. You glanced over your shoulder at your tiny apartment — clothes strewn over every piece of furniture, easel gathering dust in the corner of your living room, unused for the better part of a year, paintings still unhung propped against walls on the floor — and couldn’t help but sigh. As silver moonlight filtered in through your curtains, you felt an unfamiliar tug in your chest. A longing that didn’t make sense.

You had the job, the boyfriend, the social life…

You had it all.

But why did Namjoon’s words make you feel so hollow?

And before you even realized what you were doing, you replied, “How much is it gonna cost?”

“What’re you thinking about?” asks a soft voice from beside you.

Startled, you scramble slightly, sending a spray of sand flying through the air. You sputter a little, having inhaled too quickly for your lungs to handle, and squint against the golden sun. But as you settle enough to face the person beside you, you’re surprised to see it’s Jimin. Sunset drenches the expanse of shoreline, catches in the ends of his black hair, outlines the side of his rosy cheek as he gives you an easy smile.

You raise your brows. “Hm?”

He chuckles, rubs the back of his neck, and shrugs as he digs the heels of his hands into the sand, leans back on them. “Just...looked pensive.”

“Pensive…,” you repeat, mulling it over. You purse your lips. “I guess just...thinking about this trip.”

“What about it?”

“Just...why I even bothered coming,” you begin, then chuckled and eyed him sidelong. “You saw how I was today. The whole...adventure thing isn’t really my scene.”

He smiles, revealing on closer inspection one charming crooked tooth, and tilts his head to the side. “What do you mean? You looked like you were having the time of your life!” he says, nudging you with his elbow.

You smile at your knees, now pulled toward your chest, and sigh. “Thanks for saying that, but you know I was a mess.”

He pouts a little. “You weren’t.”

Glancing his way, you find him with furrowed brows staring distantly at the ocean. “Mm…,” you mumble in response.

He sighs. “You were scared,” he begins, then shrugs. “But you did it anyway. What’s so bad about that?”

You sense that he’s perhaps talking about something else while talking about you. Like he’s saying two things at once. But you don’t bother prying. Instead, you simply sigh and join him staring at the surf.

“It’s beautiful, huh?” you remark as the two of you sit side by side. And there’s a gentle sort of quiet between you, one you never expected to share with someone like Jimin.

But somehow, here he is. And looking at him as he watches the waves splash forward and recede, you can’t help but feel a little guilty for your attitude towards him. Guilty for the dread you’d felt as you boarded the plane behind him. Guilty for the scowl you’d worn as he walked beside you on the trail up to the zipline today. Guilty for the complaints you’d aired to Namjoon about him.

“Yeah,” he says with a pleasant, lazy smile.

Birdsongs welcome you to the fresh island morning. Lazily, you roll onto your side and peel your eyes open, straining against the sunlight pouring in through your ocean-facing windows. You yawn, pushing yourself up onto your bottom to stretch sore arms above your head. You twist your torso this way and that, crack your knuckles, point your toes as you extend your legs before you. The room is filled with bright morning light, all hardwood floors and tapestries on the walls. You glance around your bedroom -- one of eight private rooms in this massive Airbnb -- and realize with a start that this is the first morning in years that you haven’t immediately grabbed for your phone to check for work emails.

You expect, perhaps, to be unnerved by this. This lack of structure, lack of organization.

But, perhaps more unsettlingly, you are…

Surprisingly calm.

You shake your head and pad on bare feet into the bathroom beside your room. As you brush your teeth, you lock sleepy eyes with your reflection and can’t help but crack a little smile. For the first time in a long time, you look like you’ve had a proper night’s sleep.

You emerge in the living room a few moments later to find Taehyung -- Namjoon’s stylist friend -- and Seokjin -- Namjoon’s actor friend -- still sleeping on the couch, the TV still droning on as they’d likely forgotten to turn it off. And, standing in the kitchen by himself nursing a cup of coffee and a calm smile, is Namjoon. He’s caught a bit of a tan, glowing in the gentle sunlight, and his eyes are warm and fond as he looks out across the living room at his friends.

As quietly as you can manage, you maneuver around the sleeping boys and take a place beside Namjoon, resting a hip against the marble counter. “Morning,” he says softly.

You nod once. “Morning,” you repeat, and hold your hand out for his mug of coffee, wiggling your eager fingers. He chuckles and relents without much fight, offering the handle to you carefully. You take a warm, welcome sip and sigh. “How’d you sleep?” you ask.

He hums a little and adjusts the sleeve of his loose tee. “So tired I didn’t even dream,” he says with a laugh.

Smiling you reply, “Me either.”

He eyes you with a knowing smile and squints a little. Like he’s teasing you. “You like it here, don’t you?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and give his shoulder a healthy shove. He laughs in response, but says nothing more as you sweep your gaze out toward the wall of windows leading down to the beach. It’s immaculate in the morning time. Not a single silhouette dots the shoreline, only fishing boats just beyond the surf. Tourists are still asleep, you reckon, and you feel a little proud to not be one of them sleeping away the most beautiful hours of the day. You can see faint traces of clouds ringing the horizon, and the pastel yellows of sunrise giving way to the azure blue sky.

“It’s...really nice,” you admit with a nod, sipping the coffee once more. And, without meaning to, you think of Jimin yesterday. His hand on your shoulder, his comforting words reminding you to ground yourself before you floated away. “Yeah…,” you add, concealing an unintended smile.

Namjoon, however, has always been the smarter one out of the two of you and, predictably, he catches this shift in your expression and turns to you head on with raised brows. “Whoa!” he remarks with a grin. He points to your face with his index finger. “Look at that!”

You swat his hand away with a laugh and roll your eyes. “Lay off, alright? I’m having a good time. Isn’t that the whole point?”

He chuckles and sighs as he rests once more beside you. Gently, he lifts a hand to softly pat the top of your head. You’re certain your shock registers plainly on your face as he pats again. “I’m proud of you,” he says.

And in the simplest of phrases, he’s managed to pluck something profound from inside of you. You don’t need to ask to know precisely what he means.

Why does it make you want to cry?

“Morning,” says a quiet voice from behind Namjoon and, leaning slightly so you can see around your friend’s broad chest, you notice Jimin standing there and can’t help but smile.

He glances between Namjoon and you for a few seconds, brows lifted as if in question, before Namjoon clears his throat and wordlessly excuses himself, snatching his coffee on his way back into the living room where he begins rallying the boys awake.

You sigh, running a finger along the countertop’s perfect edge. “What’s on the agenda for today?” asks Jimin as he settles beside you.

You pause to think. “Um…,” you begin, tapping your lips with your fingers. “I think…,” you continue, musing as you begin to work your lower lip between your index finger and thumb. “Something about ATVs.”

But before you’ve even finished your sentence, Jimin has seized your hand in his and is now standing so close you can smell the scent of his detergent wafting up from his pajama shirt. He stares down at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a smirk, gaze flashing around your face before landing on your lips as he pulls both your hands down toward your shoulder. Your heart begins to race, eyes wide, skin hot where his fingers touch yours, and you swallow hard as he chuckles a few times, his breath fanning out across your warm face.

“Sorry,” he says, voice low and breathy. “It was distracting.” He then drops your hand and swivels on his heel, back toward the hallway from which he’d come. He pauses, however, to shoot you a wink over his shoulder. “Hard to focus when you do that,” he says, tapping his own plump lower lip with his fingertip before offering a wave and meandering down the hall.

And you stand there dumb, heart pounding so loud you can’t hear the crashing waves just outside the window.

You were shocked when you found out Hanseul had been messing around behind your back. Gutted, really. If it hadn’t been for Hanseul leaving his Instagram logged on to your phone, you’d probably never have found out to begin with. He’d always been that sort of guy, though.

Reckless.

And how very cliche, you’d thought as you read through months of exchanged messages, that he’d exchanged you like a used car for a newer model once he’d gotten tired of you. You dragged your finger almost lazily across the screen, brows raised as you rested on your couch, reruns of The Office blending into background noise. And where perhaps you’d expected hurt and resentment, you found only a grim acceptance.

Of course, you thought to yourself with a strange chuckle as you read the most recent message. A sappy sort of love IM that made your stomach churn. Riddled with sentimentality and grand platitudes, the messages reminded you of the ones you’d exchanged with Hanseul in the beginning. The ones that made you hopeful. Of course.

Somewhere amongst that grim acceptance, however, was something you didn’t expect. Something primal. A sort of fear that had no name.

Fear, perhaps, of the implications.

Fear of all the things that would have to change, all the comforts you’d known for years chipping away like old paint left on the wall too long.

And so, like a house of cards, your world shook and crumbled mightily down to its very foundation.

You’re slack-jawed as you stare at the row of ATVs standing equidistant before you. Eight identical machines pointed down the rolling hills behind you. An instructor standing with a grin and hands on her hips as she watches you scan the locomotives with your eyes wide and round. Beside you is Namjoon, smiling too broadly for his face to accommodate, with Seokjin and Taehyung drowsily fighting yawns. Jimin stands on your other side, arms crossed as he smirks at the ATVs like he’s done it all and seen it all before. His friend Jungkook is practically vibrating with anticipation, and Hoseok -- another choreographer from the company -- stands whispering in low tones with Yoongi, the young PD Namjoon never stops talking about.

The imposing green trees sway in the breeze around you: all potential threats as your group nears the line of ATVs. You wonder just how long you can manage on one of the things before hitting one of those tall waving trees. Anxiously, you glance over your shoulder at the hills extending as far as you can see. More possibilities for horrific injury.

As you tromp through the yielding sand underfoot, you feel someone step closer to you and you don’t need to lift your eyes from your boots to know who it is.

“You know, if you’re scared-,” Namjoon begins, but you silence him with a look, gaze severe.

He raises his hands in surrender before chuckling and patting your shoulder. He says nothing more as he swerves around you to hook his elbow around Taehyung’s neck. The two, laughing, continue toward the row of ATVs. Taking a moment to manage your breath, you press your palm against the rubber handle. You shut your eyes.

One.

You’re getting on this fucking ATV.

Two.

You’ve come this far, you can’t chicken out now.

Three.

You always chicken out.

Four.

When was the last time you did something that scared you this much?

Five.

Well...yesterday.

Six.

Before that though.

Seven.

When was the last time you took a risk?

Eight.

When was the last time you did something you wanted to do?

Nine.

Something you really wanted…

Ten.

You take a long inhale, nod once, and swing your leg over the side of the ATV. With both shaking hands gripping the handlebars, you glance to the side to see everyone else has mounted their vehicles, except for one. Jimin stands at the end of the line, talking with the guide too quietly to hear, but the way he’s waving his hands makes it seem like there’s a problem. The guide glances around, brows knit, before shrugging his shoulders and cupping a hand around the side of his mouth to shout.

“Hey guys! Looks like we’re one ATV short! Someone’s gonna have to share!” he calls, and grumbles resound around the group.

Beside you, Namjoon and Taehyung complain about having to share, both clearly not too keen on offering Jimin a spot on their ATV. You briefly feel bad for him, standing on the edge without a place to go to. You wonder if he feels left out, or if perhaps he’s considering staying back so the guide can show you the way. Without meaning to, you turn your head and lock eyes with Jimin and the instant you to you wish you hadn’t. Because now his eyes have lit up and his face is splitting in a small, hopeful smile.

And you know you’re cooked.

With a sigh, you raise your hand and wave it like mad, beckoning Jimin over. After all that, the breathing exercises and everything, after finding your courage, here you are handing over the reins.

“You can ride with me,” you say with a sigh as Jimin emerges at your side, smiling bright.

“Thank you,” he says with a laugh before hoisting himself up behind you.

“Oh!” you exclaim as Jimin rests his hands on his knees, right beside your thighs. He leans around your side and eyes you with wide brows. “I figured you’d wanna drive…,” you say, face going hot.

He blinks at you for a moment longer than normal before splitting into a grin and nudging your hip with his knee. “Well why would I do that?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “You looked really determined.”

Just like that, he understands exactly how you feel.

Startled, you turn to face him halfway, twisting your torso awkwardly as you lock eyes. He’s still smiling, still bright. The apples of his cheeks are redder than yesterday, and the bridge of his nose. A sunburn. He looks peaceful. As if he trusts you to drive this massive machine. As if it’s not even a thought that’s crossed his mind.

As if he never even considered taking this ATV from you.

“You guys ready?” shouts the guide with a hoot.

The boys around you holler their responses but you stay silent, still just staring at Jimin as he shields his face from the sun with one hand, still smiling, still peaceful.

You grip the handlebars and kick the ATV to life.

You first met Namjoon when you were in high school. He was a grade above you, so you’d never had reason to speak with him. Aside from passing him in the halls every now and again, you didn’t really interact with him at all. But things changed when he approached you after class as you finished cleaning off the blackboards. You’d stayed behind not because you wanted to, but because your classmate had pawned their classroom duties on you after a miserable game of Gin Rummy at lunch. You hadn’t protested much once the responsibility had fallen on your shoulders.

Another excuse to avoid going home.

Bony knuckles rapped against the blackboard beside your head and you jumped out of your skin, releasing a scream several octaves higher than you anticipated. But as the moment of panic passed, you realized with a start that the one who’d roused your attention was indeed upperclassman Kim Namjoon. And there he stood with a small dimpled smile and gentle eyes scanning you. You weren’t sure what he was looking for when he looked at you, but the way he tilted his head to the side made you think that perhaps he’d found it.

“Hey,” he said, face outlined by the last golden rays of autumn daylight.

You swallowed hard and took half a step back toward the podium. “Uh...hi…?”

“This yours?” he asked, dangling a sketchbook before you with one hand.

It took you several moments of squinting at the Strathmore sketchbook to realize that, in fact, it was yours. Your name was right there in the right corner where you’d scribbled it a month ago. And there was the tear in the cover from when your mother had tried to rip the thing from your hands -- unsuccessfully.

A rush of fear swelled through you and you snatched the pad from his outstretched hands like you were a prisoner and he was offering you food. Scared he’d rescind his offer if given even a moment to think it over. And as you clutched the thing to your chest, you scanned him with narrowed eyes.

“Where did you get this?” you asked. You were certain you had kept it safely in your bookbag since lunch. But glancing at the bookbag again, you found it surprisingly empty.

Namjoon raised his brows and raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, then chuckled with a shrug. “What kind of thief would return the thing they stole anyway?”

You paused for a moment, brows furrowed, before sighing and nodding. “I guess that’s true,” you admitted before gently guiding the sketchbook back into the mouth of your backpack. “Um…,” you hedged as you turned back to the guy. You held out your hand to him and he rolled up the long sleeve of his uniform cardigan to take it in his own. “Thanks,” you finished with a shake.

He shook his head. “Don’t mention it,” he said, laughing a little. “Had to ask around to find out which class you were in though.”

You felt a warm bloom of embarrassment and pulled your hand away, shoving it back into your pocket and averting your eyes. “I don’t have a job or anything,” you said.

He blinked at you. “Hm? What’re you talking about?”

You rubbed the side of your arm and shrugged. “My family’s kinda poor too. Like, we do fine, but my parents are really serious about money so…,”

“What’s your point?” asked Namjoon with wide, curious brown eyes.

You stared at him for a moment, puzzled, before continuing. “Aren’t you gonna ask for, like, reward money or something?”

He released a booming, chesty laugh before waving his arms like mad and shaking his head. “No! God, do I look like a thug to you?”

You eyed him from top to bottom and shrugged. “I don’t really know what a thug is supposed to look like.”

He sighed and gripped the bridge of his nose between his fingertips. “Forget the money,” he said, pausing to give you a warm smile. “I just wanted to meet the person who made those drawings.”

You went stiffer than a board. For a moment, time stood still. Namjoon froze before you, the gently falling leaves outside the classroom window froze, and you froze too. Like your feet were rooted to the ground.

“You...did you look through it?” you asked softly, too horrified to raise your voice above a bare whisper.

He nodded. “Of course,” he said. “I was looking for a phone number or something on the inside flap, but then I got distracted by the art.”

“You…”

“You’re really talented,” he said, offering another big smile. “Like, you could go pro if you wanted to.”

You swallowed hard, your throat constricting, and chucked the dirty blackboard eraser on the podium with a puff of fine dust. Without another word, you zipped up your backpack and slung it over your shoulders. You walked past him quickly, not even sparing him a glance, and walked faster when he followed you, calling after you and begging you to turn around.

Namjoon followed you around for a month after that: waiting outside your classroom after school, catching you off guard as you sketched in the courtyard during your lunch break, walking his bike behind you as you led the way to the bus stop, cheering for you at the sports festival and causing you to miss the volleyball coming straight for you. Every time he’d come around, you’d turn grey with horror and you wouldn’t say a word. But luckily for you, Namjoon said plenty enough for both of you. It was always, When are you gonna join the drawing club? or, You should start working on a portfolio, or, If you love art so much, why aren’t you applying to an arts college?

You didn’t bother asking how he knew where you were applying. As you’d gotten to know him, you’d begun to understand his uncanny ability to secure sensitive information from teachers. It seemed they all loved him about as much as you despised him. Not long after that comment, you finally began responding when he spoke to you. And you even began bickering like real friends.

After a while, you grew accustomed to him being around all the time. To the point that, when he graduated a year before you and went on to pursue a degree in music, you’d felt almost lonesome without him. And to the point that, when you texted him about your choice to pursue a degree in business, you were almost relieved when he caught the late bus out to your house to scold you.

One day you’re gonna snap, he’d said that night in a moment of calm. You’re gonna finally have enough of living for them. And it’s gonna hurt when it happens. Bad.

But the scolding had never been enough.

Because, in the end, that persistent fear ran like still waters through your body.

You’re realizing more and more that it’s the same fear. That it’s always been the same fear. Back then when you were so scared of losing Hanseul that you considered not even telling him you’d found the messages. In high school when you were too scared to show anyone your sketchbook. Even now, as you straddle the vibrating ATV, Jimin’s arms wrapped lazily around your middle as he giggles behind you, you’re scared to make a single sound for fear of messing up your focus on the hills before you.

If you really think about it, it’s all the same.

When you boil it down to its core, it’s always been the same.

Fear of fucking up.

Like you’ve been walking a tightrope from the start, and any small misstep will result in you plummeting, face first, into the ground below.

Your knuckles go white against your skin as you clutch the handlebars. Stiff, you follow the guide as he vaults over a hill, having no choice but to do the same. You launch your ATV over the sandy bump, sending both you and Jimin flying through the air. And even though a part of you expects to go splat in the dirt, after a few weightless seconds of flight, the two of you return to earth in one piece. This time, it isn’t Jimin’s laughter that startles you.

It’s your own.

“Holy shit!” Namjoon shouts as he runs toward you, face covered in fine dust. He grins at you like you’re his child, and as you slide off the side of the ATV, he sweeps you up in a big hug, laughing. “You did so good!”

You laugh too, patting his flexed bicep, and lean away slightly to get a better look at his dirty face. “God,” you say with a laugh, running the pad of your fingertip along his cheek, leaving behind a stripe of clean skin. “You need a shower, Joon.”

He nods and peels himself away, turning his attention to Jimin behind you. “You don’t look so good,” he remarks with raised brows.

And as you turn to see for yourself, you notice that in fact Jimin doesn’t look so good. Up until then it had been all laughter and smiles and playful squeezes, but now that he was standing in the dirt, arms crossed, leaning back against the ATV with his helmet in his hand, he looked...less than pleased. He watches you and Namjoon with narrowed eyes.

Oh God, you think in a moment of blind panic, I bet he wanted to drive the ATV after all...

But the moment Namjoon approaches and claps his hand against Jimin’s shoulder, the latter perks up and his eyes go bright once more. He turns a grin towards you and offers a big thumbs up. The sky above his waving hair is a perfect blue, and the sun is unrelenting, but somehow his smile is brighter. Carefully, you join the duo and pat the ATV with a sigh. Looking at it now, it doesn’t seem so scary at all. And after all the tips your guide had given throughout the course, you feel ready to do it all again if you get the chance.

Jimin eyes you with a fond smile. “How’d you like it?” he asks.

You hum. “It was...really exhilarating,” you say with a grin. Gently, you reach out your hand for Jimin to shake and without missing a beat he laughs and takes it.

But instead of shaking it, he gives a sharp yank and you go tumbling into his chest. Heart hammering, you struggle to regain your footing, but before you can process what’s going on, Jimin wraps both arms around your back and holds you tight. You’re sure your face reveals your chagrin, so you’re careful to keep it buried in his chest. And although it’s muffled through the fabric of his shirt, you can hear Jimin’s heart thumping quick.

“Thanks for letting me ride with you,” he says quietly against your hair.

You swallow hard, nerves making your hands sweat, and nod once. “Um...yeah, of course.” You can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes your parted lips and, hesitantly, you reach around to pat Jimin’s back with one hand. “It was fun.”

He backs up with a smile, but keeps one hand on your shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s do it again when we get home.”

You laugh again, eyes wide. “Are there ATV courses at home?”

Jimin pauses, purses his lips, and shrugs. “Let’s find out.”

Namjoon snaps his fingers. “Shoot! What time is it?” he asks, brows knitting.

You check the watch around your wrist and squint at it, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Jimin still touching you. “Um...half past two,” you say, brain foggy as Jimin steps closer.

He glances over your shoulder to stare intently at your wristwatch. Easily, he slides his hand along your shoulder blades before letting it rest at the small of your back. You can feel the ends of his hair tickling your hot cheek. He hums a little beside you and nods once, as if he is simply verifying the time. Perhaps he is simply doing that.

“Shoot!” Namjoon exclaims again. “If we don’t leave, like, now we’re gonna be late for snorkeling!”

Without meaning to, you slide your eyes toward Jimin and raise your brows only to find him staring at you with the same expression. The two of you share a knowing look before breaking into small smiles.

“Wouldn’t wanna be late for snorkeling,” Jimin says under his breath as Namjoon jogs back toward the guide, all the while frantically miming with his hands.

You grin. “God forbid.”

Hanseul said something once that really stuck with you. Not the sort of sentimental thing that you thought might’ve stuck with you, but something entirely mundane. Something trivial, something said in passing.

It was a Sunday afternoon. Neither of you had work, so you’d decided to take a nice long drive through the city. The sky was endlessly blue and beautiful, and even though you were just one car in the infinite stream of vehicles on the highway, you felt somehow free. With the windows rolled down all the way and music bumping softly through Hanseul’s car’s speaker, you remember shutting your eyes and just...breathing for a minute. And that was enough.

“Jesus Christ!” Hanseul shouted with a belabored sigh, and your eyes snapped open once more. You were quick to locate the source of his frustration and found, merging into your lane from the right, a massive freight truck. “I will never understand the hubris of semi drivers who think it’s a good idea to pass other semi drivers.”

Settling your racing heart, you sighed and breathed a laugh. “Impatience I guess,” you remarked, but he was prickly beside you and you knew he wasn’t finished.

He scoffed. “As if passing that guy is gonna get him there any faster,” he said, then rolled his eyes and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Everyone should just go their own pace.”

And with that, he stopped talking. And you returned to leaning your head against the passenger doorframe, gazing out at the line of cars entering the highway.

The sun is white hot on your bare skin as you tread water, face bobbing just below the ocean’s surface. Floating like a buoy, you squint into the endless blue to catch a glimpse of some wildlife. It’s not as easy as it looks on Instagram, that much is clear to you now. The waves waves are gentle but restless as they rock you around and the plastic of the snorkel pushes uncomfortably against the sensitive skin of your lips. Your arms and legs are still sore from the previous day’s hike, and now your thighs ache from gripping the ATV. But somehow, despite the hardiness of it all, as you float parallel to the ocean floor, you can’t help but stare with wide-eyed wonder every time a flash of red fin or plume of underwater dust catches your eye. And so, mystified, you swim onward.

You feel someone swim up beside you, but it’s too much labor to look and you can’t tear your eyes away from a particularly beautiful fish cresting over the top of some coral beyond your fingertips. It’s only when that someone taps your shoulder that you finally snap from your daze and, blinking quickly, burst out from beneath the water and shove your snorkel to the side. Fearing catastrophe, you turn gasping toward Jimin as he wades beside you with a grin.

And your heart settles down.

You pat your chest a little and sigh. “Jesus,” you mumble.

“Scared you?” he asks, and from this close it’s hard not to get caught up in the brown of his eyes, in the wet ends of his dark hair as they dangle just above his eyebrows.

With the saltwater and the sunlight kissing his skin, he’s practically glowing.

You shake your head. “What’s up?” you ask.

He points with one finger toward the water below and wiggles his brows. “You wanna go down with me? The instructor said it’s really awesome.”

You stare at him for a long moment, trying to discern any malintent or ulterior motive and, upon gleaning none, settle for a nervous, breathy laugh. “Ah, I dunno…,” you say, rubbing your nose with the side of your finger. You look away, toward Jungkook’s fins as they flap violently against the glassy surface of the water. “I’m happy just looking from up here.”

Jimin hums a little. “You sure?” he asks, eyeing you like he knows something you don’t. “You seemed really into it when I came over.”

You swallow hard and your mouth tastes like seawater and anxiety. “No, I’m…,” you start, but it’s weak. The sentence trails into nothing.

He smiles bright enough to blind and you almost have to shield your eyes. “Come on,” he says, offering his hand toward you. “We’ll go down together and come back up together. I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

You stare at his outstretched fingers, pruny and slightly sunkissed, and ponder for a moment. Were you always so tepid? So lukewarm? Wasn’t there ever a time in your life when you did things just because they sounded fun? Thinking back, it’s hard to pinpoint the precise moment you became so pragmatic, so afraid. Perhaps when your parents told you a career in art wouldn’t work out for you. That you didn’t have the stuff. Perhaps even before that.

But deep down, buried deeper than you’d like you admit, there’s a part of you that’s always wanted to zipline through the jungle. To ride ATVs. To see the coral up close.

That slumbering part of you is beginning to awaken.

And you wonder as you take Jimin’s hand with an uncertain smile if this has been your pace all along.

He giggles and the two of you dive in unison. You follow the instructions the snorkeling teachers gave you on the boat, and you hold your breath just the way you’re supposed to. Nonetheless, the deeper you swim, the cooler the water becomes and the more your nerves begin to rattle.

Only this time, you don’t find it unpleasant. Not at all, actually.

Because Jimin’s hand is warm.

The two of you coast to a stop in front of the vibrant red coral as a school of orange fish rushes by in a wave. You both reel back for only a moment and then, catching each other’s eyes, exchange the biggest smiles your snorkels allow. And boy is Jimin right. It is awesome. You swear you’ve never seen colors like this. Juxtaposed against the perfect blue all around, the coral reef stands like a mountain underwater, fish flying like birds around the jagged pink peaks, hiding in the deep purple. Anemones wave so close you’re tempted to touch them, and as you lean closer for a better look, you see a red seahorse nestled beside a green sea plant. As if sensing you there, the tiny fish scoots out from its cover and makes its way toward you. Eagerly, you extend your index finger and the creature nudges you just slightly before continuing on its way to the other side of the coral barrier.

Your heart is pounding, racing like a sports car and loud like one too. You turn toward Jimin with eyes blown wide and he’s grinning at you, so fond. He gives your hand a squeeze and you can’t help but squeeze back. Wordlessly, he jerks his head toward the surface, and the way the water plays with his hair makes it look like silk. You’re distracted for a moment by how beautiful it is, how beautiful he is, but he squeezes your hand again and once more jerks his chin upward. Ah! You need air!

You only realize it as Jimin makes a motion toward the surface, but now that you’re conscious of it it’s all you can think of. Quickly, the two of you begin kicking in unison toward where the water breaks way and, as you pop out from below, the two of you gasp a little while catching your breath. Wasting not a single second, you rip your snorkel off and shove your goggles up against your hairline. Grinning so wide it hurts, you smack Jimin’s shoulder.

“That was--!! It was--!!” you begin, but you can’t even finish your sentence.

Jimin laughs, that one laugh that sounds like bells, and his eyes nearly vanish as he smiles. “Right?” he asks.

You nod, clapping your hand against your cheek. “God! Did you see that seahorse?!”

“I did!”

“Wasn’t it--?!”

“It was!”

You laugh, exhilarated, and stare down at the distorted coral reef below your feet, warped by the shifting water. Your heart is a hammer in your chest. “Jimin!” you exclaim, not knowing quite what else to say.

He laughs. “Yeah!”

You turn to him, sincerely this time as the adrenaline slowly drains from your body, and meet his half-shut eyes. You realize with a start that you’re still holding his hand quite tight. And he’s making no move to change that. Gently, you squeeze.

“Thank you,” you say, and it’s all you can say really.

Drifting together in the middle of the ocean, two dots floating in the blue expanse, there’s something both completely insignificant and totally profound about it all. You can’t name it, but the sensation in your chest feels like when you finally get the water out of your ear after a day at the pool. Like something got dislodged.

And as Jimin looks at you with that bright smile, you smile back. “I’m glad you came,” he says gently.

And it’s honest.

Almost honest enough to make you forget the things he said when you first met.

“Why’d you say all that stuff at the bar back home?” you manage to ask over the sound of Hoseok laughing nearby.

You glance over to where Hoseok and Jungkook swim chatting away, much like you and Jimin.

Only they aren’t holding hands.

Jimin’s hand goes a little tight and he clears his throat. “Uh...well,” he begins, but before he can continue, Namjoon pops up from below the water right beside you.

You scream in surprise and smack the top of his head with your snorkel, but Namjoon only laughs and gives you a splash. “What’re you guys doing? There’s a whole ocean down there!” he asks, but when his eyes travel sideways toward Jimin, his expression changes. Like a nervous dog.

You look too and see Jimin looks...well, pretty mad. You can’t put your finger on it, but it’s like there’s some tension between Jimin and Namjoon today. A sense of competition perhaps? It’s hard to say. But as you stare at Jimin now, his brow is low and his jaw is clenched and he quietly slips his hand from yours.

You’re not expecting to be sitting beside legendary producer Min Yoongi on a rattling motor boat in the middle of the ocean, but here you are. Life is funny that way, you suppose as the two of you jostle against one another. Shoulder-to-shoulder you sit like students on a field trip, neither one saying much of anything at all. As the sun begins its lazy descent across the sky, you’re stranded, sunburnt, returning to shore after a long afternoon with the fish.

You glance around for someone to save you, to perhaps sweep you up in one of the several shouting conversations being held around you on all sides, but your eyes can’t seem to snag anyone else’s. Well, besides Namjoon who eagerly widens his own and gives you that big dumb smile that somehow has become bigger and dumber since arriving on the island. Even Jimin won’t look at you and is, in fact, sulking at the end of the rows of benches, gazing out at the trail of sunset leaking out across the water like a golden road. Perhaps he’s wondering, like you, what it might be like to walk on it.

Or perhaps he’s mad at you.

Your heart sinks.

You can’t place it, but he doesn’t seem himself. After sliding his hand from inside yours, he’d swum away from you and Namjoon to begin chatting with Yoongi. It’s not easy to make a show of being mad when you’re treading water in the middle of the sea, but he managed. As goofy as it was to watch him doggie-paddle away in a huff, part of you worried that you’d somehow set him off. Like you’d activated that part of him from the night you met, the angry, bitter part that he’s been holding in the entire trip so far.

But what could you have done?

Nothing, as far as you’re concerned. He’s neither a friend nor a lover. He’s just…someone you know through Namjoon. Just a cursory orbiter in your solar system. You barely think about him when you’re apart.

Well…you used to.

Now, as you watch him watching the water, it’s all you can do not to stand up on wobbly sea legs and stumble over to him with crossed arms and demand he tell you what’s wrong. And, more disturbingly, now as you watch him watching the water, there’s a strange, sickly sweet part of you that wants to sit beside him and press the bare skin of your thigh against his.

“He’s just moody,” Yoongi says from beside you, the first words he’s spoken to you during the entirety of this trip.

Your eyes go wide and you turn only your head — it’s the only part of you that’s not squished between him and the inside of the boat — to look at him. Pale and pretty, Yoongi is watching Jimin too. But with a considerably less troubled expression than your own. He slides his eyes toward you and offers a small, barely there smile.

“You’re worried, right?” he continues.

You think for a moment, think about lying, but the motor on this boat is far too loud for anyone else to hear your conversation and besides…it sounds like Yoongi’s got some information on Jimin that you want to know.

Not that you like him or anything.

You nod. “Yeah, a little. Things were really cool all day today, but…,” you begin, then sigh and shrug. “Seems like maybe he doesn’t like me much.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Doubt that,” he says, then rolls his eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, whatever he’s thinking.

Only it’s not obvious. You have no idea what’s going on in that genius brain of his, and the way he eyes you sidelong let’s you know he’s not going to tell you. Not easily anyway.

So you sigh and rest your cheek in your hand. “I just think he hates me,” you continue, doubling down, hoping that circumnavigation will get you to the treasure.

Yoongi cocks a brow. “He definitely doesn’t hate you,” he says, and there’s something in the word ‘definitely’ that sounds like he’s hiding something inside it.

“We were having such a nice time,” you go on, feigning a heavy sigh, “but then poof. Like nothing even happened. I think I made him mad.”

“If you’re trying to get me to gossip about my friend, I’ll tell you right now,” Yoongi begins, then leans toward you with a conspiratorial smirk, “all you had to do was ask.”

Your eyes alight and you grin. “Really?”

“Jimin’s scoping you out,” Yoongi says, nodding once like again it’s obvious. “He’s testing the waters.”

“Why?”

“Duh,” he says with a laugh. “He’s interested in you. Has been since we all met at the bar.”

You stiffen. Interested? You can’t really fathom it. Someone like him, a bona fide and self admitted heart breaker, is interested in you? Perhaps you’ve been dating too many Hanseuls but the thought of a Jimin being interested in you is inconceivable.

“How’d you know?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

He smiles and shakes his head. “We’ve been friends for ages now. I know when he’s interested in someone,” he says. He pauses, glances at Jimin only to find him now staring with wide eyes at the two of you. Like you’re sharing secrets. Which…you suppose now that you are. “He doesn’t always know though.”

“Really?” you ask, meeting Jimin’s worried eyes from across the boat. You offer a smile, almost like a white flag, which he doesn’t reciprocate.

“He’s been through bad relationships in the past. You know how that goes, from what Namjoon says,” Yoongi pauses to laugh.

You go hot. You didn't known Namjoon had made your relationship information public domain. You’ll have to have a word with him soon. “From the way he talked at the bar, sounds like he’s the one who puts other people through bad relationships.”

“No, that’s a recent development,” says Yoongi, nodding. “He wasn’t always like that. Used to be a really attentive guy, but…I dunno. You get burned one too many times and you start doing the burning I guess.”

You cock a brow. “Is that right?” you ask, and plead with your unreasonable heart to stop pounding like mad in your chest. Why are you so excited to learn about him? “Seems like a real player.”

“Who still uses that word?” Yoongi teases with a laugh and you’re surprised by just how often he laughs. “Anyway, no. He only seems that way. He’s actually, like…really possessive and jealous. Kinda what self destructed his last real relationship.”

“No way,” you say, recalling what he’d said that night.

If you get hurt you’re the one whose expectations were too high.

Was that advice for me or for himself? I turn to look at Jimin only to find him with that same nervousness etched into his features. He swipes his tongue along his bottom lip and knits his brows. You don’t know what exactly he’s so afraid of, don’t know what sort of relationship has warped him so badly, but you’re certain that this anxious, worried Jimin is the real one.

And so is the one who helped you at the zipline on the first day.

And so is the one who held your hand underwater.

And so is the one who is still giving you the silent treatment.

You understand better than anyone that emotional trauma manifests in many ways. For you, it was burning your first easel and giving your paints away to your cousin back in high school. For you, it was getting a boring office job to make your parents proud. For you it was dating Hanseul after Hanseul expecting it to be different.

It’s never different.

But there’s one thing you know for sure: Park Jimin is very, very different.

The Fijian bar is packed to the nines with tourists from all walks of life. Some tall, burly men in Hawaiian shirts — somehow simultaneously on brand and horrendously off brand for Fiji —, a few couples kissing and toughing over margaritas, a bachelorette party — who can afford a bachelorette party to Fiji? — and a whole hosts of other guests flood the scene. It doesn’t seem like Namjoon’s cup of tea, however, and it isn’t yours either. Not really. You prefer lively dive bars with questionable clientele and cheap drinks over tourist traps like this. But as they hand you your cocktail in a plastic tiki mug, you decide perhaps the campiness isn’t that bad. Especially as you take your first sip and realize they pour as heavy here as they do back home.

Jimin’s still boycotting you, and you don’t even bother wondering why. Different is alluring, it’s enchanting, it’s intriguing…

But it’s still dangerous.

And besides, once you leave this island and the magic spell breaks, you’ll see everything more clearly. Jimin included.

And so you’re boycotting him too.

Eagerly, you stand smushed between Yoongi and Jungkook as the fire dancers — is fire dancing even Fijian? — take the floor with an artistic flair. The crowd is electric, excited, and extremely drunk as you all chant for the dancers to take the stage. (Really, is fire dancing Fijian at all?) Jungkook grabs your shoulder and shakes it, causing you to both jump and laugh at the same time, and the three of you stand under the glow of the lanterns hanging on strings overhead. If you look up, you almost mistake them for stars.

As the dancers begin their performance, you cheer with all your chest, and you feel someone press close behind you. You can tell from the firmness of his chest that it’s Namjoon, staring over your shoulder at the stage. It’s hard to get a good view, especially with everyone so drunk, so you lean back and tilt your head out of his way. One hand drapes over your other shoulder as the other nurses his drink and you chat easily with Namjoon despite the physical proximity.

You two may as well have been siblings, anyway.

Had Jimin been that close to you…

Well, you try not to think of that as you work your swirly straw between your teeth.

“Pretty cool,” Namjoon says, but you catch the way his voice sounds just a little listless.

You turn slightly to face him with a grin and, poking his cheek where his dimple would be if he smiled, you giggle. Oh boy, you’re drunk. “I know you’d rather be dancing in caves or fishing for eels, but this can be fun too!”

Namjoon relents with a smile and swats your hand away. “You’re right,” he says easily, sighing as he rests close behind you. “Although fishing for eels sounds really cool.”

You smack his leg with the back of your hand and he responds with laughter. “You know, eels are actually-,”

“Hey,” says a voice you hardly recognize, a voice belonging to Jimin. Only when he speaks now it’s so low and deep in his chest it doesn’t sound like him at all.

You didn’t notice, but he’s taken up Jungkook’s spot at your left and he’s staring at you, all wrapped up in Namjoon, like you’ve committed a horrible crime. For all you know, you have. Nonetheless, you’re too drunk to be too worried and you give him a bright smile and a wave with your drink-less hand.

He edges closer, skin electric as he presses against your side. “You’re smashed,” he remarks, like it’s news.

You laugh. “Mhm!”

He furrows his brow. “You sure you’re good to stay out here?”

“I’m watching, don’t worry,” Namjoon offers with a well-meaning smile.

But this only serves to make Jimin bristle further. He stares at you two like you’re a disfigured monster, two conjoined bodies linked from chest to back, a horrible science experiment gone wrong. And you can’t decide what mixture of emotions is dancing in his dark, heavy eyes but you know it’s no good.

“Alright then,” Jimin says with a sharp nod. “I won’t worry anymore.”

Only you want him to worry. If you’re being honest with yourself — which you are now because he’s right, you’re smashed — you want him to do more than worry. You want him to take your hand and hold it tight. You want him to press his lips against yours in the hallway by the bathrooms. You want his hands on your hips, then on your legs, then—

Well…

Jimin turns around to skulk back to the bar and you let him. Things are spinning and they’re getting too intense too fast. That’s the difference between A Jimin and A Hanseul. That’s the devastating difference. Where Hanseul adds stability, constancy, a bland sort of expectation, Jimin adds…

Excitement.

Perhaps it’s the old artist in you, the one you push down so fervently you often wonder if it’s died in there, but the idea both entrances you and terrifies you in equal measure. So you stay leaning back against Namjoon’s chest, swaying as you watch the fire dancers dazzle and delight, and watch out the corner of your eye as Jimin begins chatting with a particularly attractive blond tourist at the bar.

You pretend not to notice Jimin’s hand on the stranger’s thigh.

The next morning the stranger’s in your Airbnb. You’re the first one awake, having had a wicked headache as soon as you opened your eyes, and as you stare blankly into your coffee mug you hear footsteps coming almost bashfully from down the hallway. Nobody else is around in the living room. Just you, your coffee, and the footsteps. Squinting, you watch as the stranger, not even registering your presence, tiptoes down toward the kitchen and rifles through the fridge. Watching carefully, you almost laugh at the way the stranger picks up each fruit, inspects it, and puts it back before settling for a yogurt.

“Sleeping over and stealing food?” you remark, and you mean for the comment to sound teasing and playful. But it comes out bitter. Sincere.

The stranger lets out a particularly sharp scream before turning to you and dropping the yogurt onto the countertop. “Oh! Uh…shit…I’m…sorry I’ll just…go…now, uh…”

You can feel the awkwardness rising in the room, the sense of intimate dislike coming from both of you — mostly you. And before you can say another word, the stranger is gone, having shuffled like a raccoon caught mid-trash-heist out the front door with a click. You sigh, grip your nose bridge, and shake your head.

“Wow,” says Jimin from the hallway, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a frown. “Very mature.”

You roll your eyes. “You know it’s not that kind of trip and you still brought a stranger over,” you say, then look at him square. You’re both fuming. “At least vet the people you sleep with to make sure they’re not thieves.”

“It was breakfast,” he says. “Jesus Christ, you’re so stiff.”

Your body goes cold. Who is this new person in Jimin’s skin? Gone is the warm, comforting man who’d helped you day in and day out. In his place was someone new, someone off-putting. You clench your jaw. “Yeah well at least I don’t invite randos over to a shared Airbnb.”

“God,” he groans, lolling his head back like you exhaust him. “Do you ever get tired of being such a fucking stick in the mud?”

You feel your spine stiffen and set your mug of coffee aside. “Pardon me?”

“Like, does it ever get tiring?” he repeats, rolling his beautiful eyes, giving a cruel smirk. You hate that those beautiful lips can curve so wickedly. “Oh, I can’t do it! Oh, I’ll just stay back! Oh, I don’t even like painting,” he says with a dramatic mimicry of your own voice.

How does he know about the painting?

Namjoon…

Your throat constricts. “I’m trying, Jimin,” you say, but your voice comes out thick, labored. Because it’s not true. Because you’re not trying. Not in the real world. Not when you leave this island.

If you keep talking to him, you’ll cry for sure.

Just like before.

He laughs. “Trying?”

“At least I give enough of a shit to try at all!” you snap, and you expect regret to seep into your chest immediately, but it doesn’t come.

Jimin seems taken aback. He cocks a brow. “What’re you saying?”

“At least I’m still brave enough to care,” you continue, standing to your feet and brushing past him. You pause beside him and fix him with a hard glare. “Don’t talk to me again,” you say, and you spit the final word, “ever.”

And he doesn’t. Not as the pack travels through town and picks up little trinkets. Not while you stick practically glued to Namjoon’s side through alleyways and along crowded streets. Not during the night hike or the cave exploring or the picnic on the cliff. Not for days.

Not at all.

And you’re relieved, you think, that he’s respecting your request at least.

But you’re also burdened so heavily it’s like weights on your chest all the time. Because when you happen to meet his eyes, in the instant before you both look away, you see a fresh sort of hurt and you know it’s you who inflicted it this time. You know you touched on something too sensitive. And just because he poked at your open wound doesn’t mean you had a right to poke at his. There’s a vulnerable sort of awareness between you two, awareness of each other. So as you avoid touching the exposed skin of his shoulder with your hand while reaching for a necklace at a street vendor, or as you sweep a hand out in the darkness of the cave, seeking purchase, and nearly grab his forearm, the two of you are quick to repel like magnets.

You sit on a surfboard now, and the moon makes a road of light along the water just as the sun had. It’s the middle of the night, and you’re straddling both sides of the board as the waves rock you back and forth. And you tilt and you sway and you shut your eyes. A few weeks ago you’d have winced at the idea of floating out in the water at night, feet dangling over the expanse of ocean nothing below that extends who knows how far. You’d have called yourself crazy.

Maybe you are crazy.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

You open your eyes and see that road of light. Namjoon told you once that the Swedes have a word for it. Mångata. He told you that last night as the two of you sat on the beach. You’d been doing that lately, too uncomfortable to spend much time in the Airbnb with Jimin lurking about in the shadows and the walls and the scent of the pillows. He’s practically everywhere in there, even when he’s gone.

Namjoon also told you he thinks something’s wrong with Jimin. Something’s shaken him up.

You told him you didn’t care.

And he didn’t tell you anything more.

You kind of wish he would have.

Jimin hasn’t brought home any more strays, not since you and him had your monumental blowout. And while you’re glad he’s respecting you and the others more, you’re also worried. More worried than that day on the boat. More worried than that night at the bar.

Because you see it too. What Namjoon sees. Something is wrong.

Jimin floats several feet away, breaking the mångata into shards of displaced moonlight. He’s a silhouette, small and dark, but outlined by glowing silver. He’s beautiful, even from so far away. Especially from so far away. Ethereal. His head bobs a little and he smiles as he chats with Jungkook and Hoseok. But the smile isn’t all the way there. Even so, it’s lovely. Perhaps because he’s the only one in the road of moonlight, or perhaps because even a halfway ghost of a smile is beautiful if it’s Jimin.

For a painful, blissful moment, almost too short to note, almost too fleeting to feel, you have the irresistible urge to paint it. The road of moonlight, the mångata, leading right from the heavens to Jimin. Shattering like glass, the moonlight breaks behind his board. But he’s suspended in it.

You might cry again just looking at it.

You’re sure you’re all choked up. Night surfing shouldn’t make you cry. But you can’t help it. It’s like your art teacher said, like glimpsing sublimity. It’s torment, staring at it, knowing you can’t paint it and even if you could…you wouldn’t do it. You know your face reveals it all. It always does. And you know that if Namjoon so much as peeks at you, he’ll know you’re about to cry.

Not that he did the night you first met Jimin at the bar. In fact, the only person who seemed to realize you were near to tears that night was-

Jimin seizes your wandering, teary eyes. They lock on hard, like a vice grip, and hold tight. The moonlight’s on you, at least from where Jimin sits on his board, and you’re close enough to make out his features so you know he can make out yours. His eyes go wide like he knows and you know he knows for sure now because he’s paddling with his hands for rudders toward you which makes you panic for real and spin wildly around toward the shore.

You paddle and paddle like mad until your toes touch sand and you abandon your surfboard in the crashing waves forgetting it’s attached to you by your ankle. So you drag the surfboard behind you as the surf tries to drag it back. You know you can easily remove the ankle band and carry the surfboard like a normal person, but God you can’t seem to manage actually doing it because your heart is racing and you feel as if Jimin has unwittingly seen an extremely, horribly, heat-achingly intimate moment.

“Wait!” he calls, breathless, mere yards behind you despite you head start.

You’re crying in earnest now, sobbing as you fight with the cord tethering you to your board, tethering you to that moment on the waves. It’s like you and the surfboard are becoming one thing; you’re completely helpless to the whims of the ocean as it tears you back and spits you out. The tip of the foam board keeps rocking against the sand before the whole thing gets yanked out again and, frustrated, you finally bend down too late to disconnect yourself. But by the time you and the surfboard are once again separate entities, Jimin has run up behind you and is standing, panting, with his surfboard against his hip.

Your tears fall right off your chin and into the water around your ankles before they disappear on the receding wave. An ocean of stars is splayed out overhead, but you can’t even lift your eyes to see it, hands braced on both your knees, sobbing.

And this is the moment.

The moment you finally snap.

And when it happens, it does hurt. Bad.

Because Jimin was never really just Jimin, not really. He was more than that to you, represented more than that. He was the easel you burned. He was the art college brochure you hid from your parents. He was the job listing you saw as an apprentice painter three weeks before going on this trip. He was every missed opportunity, every chance you rejected. He was all of it wrapped into one pretty package.

And he’s staring at you.

You manage to wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, but it’s not enough to stop the tears. It’s as if a valve has broken in you that can’t be fixed until everything’s been spilled out of it. An old valve too. As old as you.

“Shit,” he says, like it’s a catchphrase.

You sniffle. “You said that before too,” you choke out through sobs. “At the bar back home.”

He looks at you horrified for a moment before shaking his head. “I know, I…I just…sometimes I do and say things that just fucking suck, you know? Like they just…,” he says, tormented, as he rakes his fingers through his sea slick hair. “Like I can’t help it. It just comes out.”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say, still crying, nearly incoherent.

And his eyes snap back to your splotchy face with the kind of intensity that sets things on fire. “Huh?”

You nod. “That’s why you like me, right?” you ask, sniffling as you struggle to stand upright. “Because I’m hurt too. Hurt people find each other.”

Jimin is still and silent as stone before slowly, he touches a hand to his cheek and keeps it there. “I…it’s not like I’m hurt,” he says. “Just…that my first real relationship ended badly.”

“Yoongi told me,” you say, finally in control of your rapid breathing. “A little.”

Jimin stiffens before, like a rock, collapsing on the ground with his feet halfway in the waves’ path. Not knowing what else to do, you join him. “I thought we’d be together for life, you know? Like…I really believed that.”

You think back to Hanseul. Did you ever feel that way about him? “Mhm,” is all you can choke out.

“But…you know, things fall apart. I guess I was…I was expecting too much without giving all of myself,” he begins, nodding once as he wiped the space beneath his eyes. “Like you said. Half of me.”

“Did your ex say that to you?” you ask carefully, minding each syllable as you forced them out.

He nods. “Just like that too. You’re only giving me half of you and expecting all of me in return,” he repeats, sighing. “That’s why I did it!” he imitates.

“Did what?”

He’s quiet, and you know now why he was so hard on you at the bar. Why he’d known exactly where your weak points were. Because they were his weak points too.

“Why are you crying?” he asks finally, the elephant on the beach.

You swallow hard, the tears having slowed enough to see properly. Enough to see all your friends enjoying the surf and the moonlight. “Because it just…hit me,” you say slowly. “All at once, with no warning at all. It…hit me for real.”

“Is it because we’re leaving soon?”

You shake your head. “That’s not what I mean.” He’s quiet and you know he’s waiting for you to continue. You’re waiting too, if you’re being honest. To find the words. To understand it. “I mean…all of it. The entire crushing culmination of everything I’ve ever not accomplished.” You pause, watch your hands as they lace and unlace. “I think I get why Joon wanted us to come out here.”

“I was jealous,” Jimin admits. More like blurts, because the way he looks now once you meet his eyes is like he didn’t mean to say it. He’s blushing like crazy and he’s got a feral look in his eye. You await his next admission. “Of you and Namjoon. Even though it’s stupid. Even though we…you and me…we aren’t…”

You blink at him. “We aren’t what?”

“We aren’t anything.”

“Who says?”

He stares at you for a long moment. “Then you and Namjoon?”

You shake your head. “Good friends.”

“I…well shit,” he says again, a mantra. He rubs his forehead. “I’m stupid.”

“Yeah.”

“Just…you kinda reminded me what it was like to, like…,” he begins, tossing the words around in his mouth like they still aren’t right, “like feel butterflies, you know?” He shrugs. “To wanna show up for someone. To wanna try.”

You stiffen. It seems the two of you had a propensity for finding each other’s Achilles heel. You’d pinned him as well as he’d pinned you. “I…,” you begin, but there’s nothing you can say. Nothing you can do.

Well…

There is one thing.

But that one thing would change everything. Not just between you and Jimin, but between you and you. Between who you try to be and who you are. Between the life you’ve told yourself to be happy with and the life you want, the life you need.

This one thing…

It’s going to take more than a little courage.

If you’re feeling really nervous, I’ve heard it helps to shut your eyes and count to ten. Like, tell yourself you’re definitely gonna do it once you reach ten and just…go.

One.

He’s staring at you with stars reflected in his eyes.

Two.

Your heart is racing.

Three.

Your palms are itchy in the sand.

Four.

But he’s looking at you, looking like he really sees you.

Five.

Hanseul never looked at you like that.

Six.

Nobody ever looked at you like that.

Seven.

He’s red, his whole face.

Eight.

You’re shaking.

Nine.

Don’t you want to paint it?

Ten.

You lean forward on your hip and, without a word, press your lips agains his. They’re soft, every bit as soft as you imagined and softer, and his skin yields against your light touch. You shuffle closer and so does he, hand snaking around your waist to rest on your lower back, head tilting to deepen the kiss. There’s no teeth-clashing, no cataclysm. There’s a tenderness that only comes from understanding, and it’s warm pressed against him. He draws you closer, holds you by the waist now, you arms around his neck and hands lacing through his saltwater hair. He tastes like ocean, like coconut and sunscreen and salt. And his skin it hot beneath your fingertips, flaming practically. You can’t stop inching closer and closer until—

He pulls away for a breath, eyes wide and so close your noses touch. “Shit,” he exhales, only this time the word feels nice.

And you don’t know what this means or what you’ll do when you get home, but you know you’ve got to quit your job. And you know you’ve got to dust off your easel. And you know, most definitely, that you’ve got to kiss Park Jimin again.

And so you do.

Again.

And again.

And one more time for good measure.

And as you pull away, breathless, your eyes lock and he smiles just a little. “Does this mean I can talk to you again?” he asks.

You shove him lightly by the chest only for him to pull the two of you back together again like magnets, only this time you don’t repel. He smiles so bright it eclipses the moon and, without moving, without breathing, you ask, “Can I paint you?”

153 notes · View notes