#so kind of a. warm up sketch I guess. anyway I hope to draw more characters but Cody's something of a personal fav (also frankie)

[arlo192]

i could not live in griffin rock there's just too much going on. idk how cody survived. he needed a nap episode

[diana-bluewolf]

For @lil-grem-draws ↓↓↓

Chris and Misha sat on a carpet of fallen leaves at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It was a perfect autumn day, warm and sunny. Chris’s mood wasn’t so bright, though. He looked down to a piece of parchment in his hands, then leaned back on Misha.

“Today is Elland’s birthday,” he said gloomily.

Misha perked up his ears. 

“What’s a birthday? To be honest, I don’t fully understand it, but it’s the day when a person was born. Humans often celebrate it. Some kind of tradition, people love those meaningless things.”

Misha yawned.

"Exactly! Anyway, they give that person presents. Don't ask why - I don't know. Maybe so that they don't feel depressed about being a year closer to death," Chris shrugged and looked at the parchment again. 

"I hope he never knows how many attempts it took me, but I sketched something. I don't even know what for; he doesn't look like the kind of person who enjoys staring at themselves," Chris paused, absentmindedly scratching behind Misha's ear, his gaze fixed on the dance of shadows cast by the leaves on the ground.

Then he suddenly flipped the parchment over and scribbled something on the back. "There, I fixed it. But there's another problem I can't solve."

He wrinkled his nose.

“The last time we talked… I think I might have offended him. You see, he had always been so,” Chris waved his hand as if shooing away an annoying fly, “kind. So generous and always ready to help. Of course, I thought he needed something from me. So I finally asked him about it directly.”

Misha rested his head on his paws and didn’t look intrigued.

“All normal people would have already told me what’s the deal, but he…Well, I know, it’s stupid, but what if he…What if there was really nothing hidden behind his kindness? What if he is just like that? Just recently, I thought unicorns were a fairytale, so what if he is, you know, a unicorn?” 

Misha snorted.

"Look, I know it's hard to believe, but I have no more theories left; he's just that weird," Chris tiredly rubbed his forehead. "There's that new book about that clever bloke in a hat. He said, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." 

They kept silent for a while, listening to the forest’s soothing sounds. 

"He once met me drunk at Hogsmeade," Chris finally continued. "Don't look at me like this! I had never tried alcohol before, and I had no idea that even a small amount of it would impact me that much, alright? Still can't forgive myself for being that vulnerable in public. Anyway, my point is, even though I don't remember much, he looked…worried? Besides, wouldn't you try to use this opportunity to your advantage if you need something from someone?” 

Misha sneezed.

"Yes! I would for sure, too! But he didn't."

Chris held the parchment out in front of Misha's nose. 

“So what do you think? Should I give it to him?” 

Misha looked at the parchment, tilting his head as if pondering about a wise response to the situation, and then slapped his paw on it, leaving a big dirty footprint. 

“Oh, thank you very much,” Chris mumbled sarcastically, pulling the parchment out from under the paw, “I guess it’s a no since it's spoiled anyway. Fine, that makes things easier.” He sighed, crumpled the parchment and carelessly shoved it into his pocket. 

They had sat in silence for several minutes before Chris attempted to stand up, but Misha hastily grabbed the boy’s sleeve with his teeth. 

"Sorry buddy, I don't want to come back, too,” Chris gently petted Misha's ear, smiling guiltily, “but people think I'm one of them, so I have to follow their rules and school schedule. Well, sometimes. I'll visit you as soon as I can, deal?"

***

Elland was sitting in the Great Hall during dinner when a crumpled piece of parchment hit the back of his head. He looked around, but there weren't any signs of someone who could throw it.

[sugar-omi]

Hope you don't mind another prompt from me, since my first one when you mentioned the hangman moment 'Growing', I thought it would be a very fun thought experiment to reverse the scene and it's gn!mc who writes the phrase down, and Cove is the one to guess it. I take hangman very seriously (bc it's my favorite pass-time activity) so I'm very quick with it but I could imagine Cove taking some more rounds to guess until he finally gets the full result. :D

tags : fluff, step 2, re-imagined "growing" moment

synopsis : you flirt with cove in a game of hangman

maybe its the heat that makes you so bold, or maybe its mistake number 5,796 that only 13 year olds can make at this time; but with cove's suggestion to play hangman, you decide to share one of your many thoughts on cove, your neighbor and crush...

you sit back down with a paper and pen in hand. "mind if i go first? since you picked the game..."

cove nods.

you hum and think for a minute, tossing back and forth ideas before you finally settle on it.

it's a bit embarrassing, and you feel a wave of heat wash over you, but you just blame it on the weather.

sketching out the lines for the hangman and your quote, you turn it around for cove to start guessing.

your heart pounds as cove starts guessing, although his first guess makes you laugh.

"z?"

you laugh for a bit, leaning on your bed as you take in cove's answer. wiping away tears you look at him with a grin. "z? wha- *laughs* what makes you guess z?"

cove smiles lazily, happy to make you laugh. he shrugs. "gotta take out the hard options."

you shake your head, drawing a shaky circle for the hangman's head. "you're silly. consider starting with vowels instead."

you pause for a moment, wondering if you're giving yourself away.

you didn't exactly think about how cove would react to the compliment once he guessed it.. would it be okay if he didn't guess it?

he'd probably ask what it was if he failed... would you tell him?

you chew your lip, startling when cove catches your attention.

"y/n?" cove tilts his body to the side, looking at you.

you smile weakly. "nevermind, just dying in this heat."

cove blinks but plays along with you, grinning as he makes a comment. "me too. i think i'm stuck to the floor now."

you throw your stuffed cat plushie at him. it didn't hurt him, the cat is the size of his hand at best. he just laughs and fluffs it into shape.

"imma have to charge you rent then." you grin wolfishly when cove asks how much. "twenty."

cove rolls his eyes, his cheeks a bit flushed as he thinks about it. "still can't believe my dad did that..."

cove looks down at the paper, telling you his answer again before you get too distracted.

you lick your lips, adding "O" to the line.

you smile at him, continuing where you left off. "yeah, it was kinda weird.." you twiddle your fingers, looking at your lap as cove takes a bite of his sandwich, thinking about his next guess as he waits for you to continue or not.

mumbling a bit, realizing the heat must have some kind of bug in it since you're so... sentimental today.

"i'm glad he did it anyway. you're not bad for twenty dollars." you smirk, trying to ignore your racing heart and covering up your fluster with jokes.

cove rolls his eyes and laughs. there's still a blush on his cheeks, your words still warmed his heart.

"good. there's no refunds." he plays along, looking at you through his lashes.

"damn. i missed the return window, huh." you curse to which cove laughs, telling you his next guess.

"p!"

you bite your lip, drawing the letter.

as you go on playing, joking and laughing as well as focusing occasionally when cove contemplates his next move.

he's... close. although not without sacrifice.

he lost the first and second round, with only 3 letters correctly guessed on the board in the first round and somehow finished the second round with 2. now it's you're third round, and his hangman is close to his end, unfortunate for him.

the hangman only has 2 legs and an arm left, and cove has finally decided to take your game seriously instead of laughing and joking with you.

you're really nervous now, since he's getting really close..

YOU A_E CU_E

cove looks confused at what it could be, but taking his former experience into account he guesses the next few letters.

"r?" cove phrases it like a question, tilting his head like a puppy.

you draw it, twisting the pencil as he takes the final guess.

"t..."

you swallow, drawing a shaky letter 'T'.

'YOU ARE CUTE'

the silence stretches between you two, and you look up from the paper to greet cove's flushed face.

he's covering his face with his hands and you look down at his lap to see his glasses are hanging off the plush cat's head.

you try to think of the plushie with glasses that actually fit, its a way to distract you as you wait for cove to respond but it just makes you blush when you realize it'd just look like cove that way...

jesus fucking christ... you drag your hand over your face. cove takes up so much of your thoughts...

you look up at him, still covering your mouth with your hand, and you mumble loudly enough for him to hear. "...a penny for your thoughts?"

cove squeaks, clearly lost in his thoughts.

it makes you happy though, since he hasn't run away it must be a good sign right?

he peaks at you from the gaps of his fingers. the shadow casted over his face makes his eyes pop, cove's brilliant blue irises making your stomach flutter with the way he looks so flustered by your written compliment.

you startle, almost missing his question.

"you mean it?..."

you blink, swallowing. suddenly your mouth feels dry... in the end you nod, and muster up a couple words.

"yeah. i do." cove squeaks at your answer.

you can't really see it, but cove's hands part in a way that allow you to see the smile forming on his face.

it makes you smile too. this is good right? you're suppose to start feelings... things. at this age, so this is okay. especially if its cove.

cove finally comes out of hiding, trading covering his face for twisting the arms of the cat plush in his lap. he must have braced himself enough to give his own compliment without hiding, at least if tilting his head down and glancing away didn't count.

"i uh... i think you're cute too..."

you're blushing, and you bite your lip to stop the elated grin from taking over your face.

yeah, this is definitely okay.

[smolcinnamonchipmunk]

86). "If you do that, you'll be small forever!"

(Not the Belphie one, lol. This one was difficult to go through. I think I’m in a writing slump right now, whereas I feel like I can draw things?? If that makes sense. I’ve also been kind of struggling at my computer this week anyways, so I think I just need to get out of the house more, haha. Anyways, hope you enjoy!)

Count: 2662

“If you do that, you’ll be small forever,” Levi didn’t even look up from whatever new MMO had just dropped with a title a page long that I’d forgotten.

���No, I won’t,” I set my drawing stuff aside and stood up from the beanbag I’d dragged into his room for me to sit on. The floor was only so comfortable, after all. Stretching and feeling some joints pop, I walked up to his door and added, “He’s gonna be gone for the rest of the evening, and I just want to take a quick picture so I can send it to my laptop.”

Levi gave me the barest of glances from his spot, quickly turning his attention back to beating up a high level slime. “Alright, but when Lucifer finds out you stole your phone back for a second, don’t blame me when he eats you.”

“Wasn’t going to,” I replied, opening the door. Stepping out into the hall, I added mockingly, “See you in five, kisses!”

My reward was an embarrassed noise from the demon as I closed the door and shoved my hands in my pockets, making me chuckle in amusement. Levi was the only one of the brothers I could really fluster reliably, something I occasionally took advantage of given that the others managed to embarrass me constantly. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes not.

Given that Asmo and Mammon went shopping, Satan went on a Black Friday book store sale (Though, Black Friday down here just meant for Black Magic), Beel dragged Belphie to some new restaurant to share the experience with his twin, and Lucifer was at a supposedly super important meeting with Diavolo, I was able to stroll to Lucifer’s office without any interruption. As long as Levi wasn’t a little snitch, Lucifer would have no reason to even suspect that I stole my phone for a couple minutes to take a picture of a sketch.

Entering Lucifer’s office, the pristine and organized interior was always pleasant to look at with the magic fires in the fireplace and lanterns giving it its warm glow. The only mess was the papers and books on Lucifer’s desk, but that was normal.

“Alright,” I glanced around the room, taking stock of potential hiding spots. “Where would he hide my phone?”

I started with the bookshelves on the balconies in the room, checking the top shelves to see if he thought the height would discourage me given that he was about a foot taller. However, I was a gremlin not above carefully climbing up in my search. But, it wasn’t on any of the bookshelves. And, continuing my search on the main office floor, it wasn’t on the mantle of the fireplace or top shelves of Lucifer’s alcohol walls.

“He wouldn’t keep it on himself, would he,” I murmured to myself, hopping down to the floor from standing on a shelf and wiped it down with a sleeve. My gaze fell onto his desk, the only place in the room I hadn’t checked yet. Unless Lucifer did have my phone on him, it was the only place I could think of it being. Other than his room, I guess, but I wasn’t exactly the type to break into people's bedrooms despite Mammon’s ‘encouragements’.

Walking over to the desk, I opened the drawers one by one, but each one just had office supplies and papers. Until I came across a locked one on the bottom right side.

“Oh? Hello,” I said absentmindedly, crouching in front of the closed drawer. There was a lock etched into the solid wood, mostly hidden, but I saw the keyhole and looked over the lock. I pulled out my keychain from my pocket and unclipped the small lockpick set Mammon had gotten me a while ago for ‘emergencies’. A touching sentiment if his actual reason wasn’t trying to get me to break into one of Diavolo’s safes once.

Before I started lockpicking though, I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t going to be cursed to Hell (figuratively) and back, waving a hand over the lock and whispering a detection spell. No curses or hexes were on the lock from what I could tell.

“Perfect,” I smiled in pleasant surprise to myself, starting to try and lockpick the drawer. But, there must have been something on the lock because one minute ticked into two with no progress, making me furrow my brow in confusion and focus. This was getting frustrating very quickly.

“Looking for this?”

I jolted in surprise, hitting my head on the edge of the desk. Yelping in pained panic, I popped up from behind the desk, rubbing the top of my head and quickly exclaiming, “L-Lucifer! I was, uh, uh, just looking for you!”

Smooth.

“From under the desk?” Lucifer raised an eyebrow. He was leaned on the desk with his elbows, my phone held up in one of his hands.

“Yeah, realized how weak it sounded as I said it,” I sighed and rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. Trying to hopefully distract him from what I was doing in his office, I asked, “I-I thought you were supposed to be at Diavolo’s until later tonight.”

“Yes, well, Diavolo lied about the meeting to try and convince me to relax more with a cup of tea and some conversation,” the demon rolled his eyes and straightened up. “Said I ‘deserved a break now and again’.”

“Did it help?”

“If you mean, ‘Am I going to let you get away with trying to steal your phone back and lockpicking my desk?’, the answer is no,” Lucifer gave me a wry smile, flicking my phone into the air for a moment before snapping and causing it to dematerialize in a burst of red and black flame.

“Wha-?!” doing a remarkable impression of an angry shocked Pikachu, I stared at the spot in shock and exclaimed, “What’d you do to my phone?!”

“I just sent it to my room,” the Avatar of Pride replied casually, walking around the desk and immediately making me feel nervous. He definitely seemed amused when I took an instinctive step back. “Ah, ah, ah, Kat. I’m sure you knew the risks when you decided to try and get your phone back.”

“I mean, yeah, but I was just going to use it to take a picture of a sketch,” I said, the space behind Lucifer’s desk not offering much space for me to try and slip past the demon, but I did try to keep the desk between us which led to a sort of Merry-Go-Round around it with Lucifer and I. “Can’t we just, like, let it slide? Also, can’t I just not have my phone taken? I’m not a child.”

“You might not be a child, but you’re technically the youngest in this household. Given how little I dole out punishment for you, if I turn a blind eye at you attempting to get your phone back, the others will think that unfair. You know how Mammon is. Besides, I’m sure Levi knows about you coming in here since you were hanging out.”

“Well, yeah, but-.”

“The more you draw this out, the more I’ll draw out your punishment,” Lucifer said, stopping behind the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sure one night is preferable to, say, a week shrunk around the manor? I’m sure Asmo would love to hold another miniature fashion show with you.”

“That’s fucking blackmail,” I stuck my tongue out in distaste at the thought of a mini fashion show, a bit of dread creeping in at the thought of a whole week at a tiny size. “I never thought you’d stoop so low.”

“Well, it’s either that or I try to chase you down, and I’m hoping this is the more effective of the two,” he gave me a small smile.

After a few seconds struggling with my spite and stubbornness, I sighed and reluctantly walked around the desk with crossed arms. I had many thoughts going through my head that I mostly kept inside, but at his triumphant look I grumbled and growled out, “Yeah, yeah, you’ve won, you pompous fucking dickhead…”

“For someone adamant on establishing themself as not a child, you sure are pouting like one,” Lucifer snorted a little, holding a gloved hand out. My insults did nothing, but he knew it was just me blowing off steam and not meant to actually get under his skin.

“Don’t act like you and the rest of your brothers are above being petty and grumpy,” I retorted, taking his hand. “Or do I have to remind you that I have to occasionally yank on the pact I have with y’all like a leash to keep you from tearing places apart while arguing sometimes?”

“Point taken,” he said, pulling me a bit closer. “Now, let’s start your punishment, hmm?”

“Man, you sure know how to say some comforting words,” I mumbled sarcastically as Lucifer began to whisper the shrinking spell beneath his breath. It took only a second before I felt the spell's effects make me dizzy, slowly shrinking over the span of several seconds until I was about three inches tall on the patterned floor. While I shook off the disorientation from changing size, I was scooped up by Lucifer and lifted upwards carefully. My heartrate picked up a bit at the vertigo and my situation.

"Now, should we play a bit of a game before I eat you," Lucifer asked, holding me in one hand as he shifted his desk chair to be closer to the desk and sat down. Placing me on the top of the desk, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the surface, propping his head up with his other hand.

"I'd say no, but I'm pretty sure you're going to make me play a game anyways," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. As demons, all of the brothers had a bit of a sadistic side that relished in living prey, but it was most noticeable with Belphie, Satan, and Lucifer.

The demon in question tonight though just hummed in thought for a second before saying, “Lucky for you, I’m feeling charitable tonight. We’ll just get down to it.”

“Mmm, I see Diavolo’s tea break worked won-ders!” I yelped the last part of my snarky comment as Lucifer shifted off the desk and leaned back against the leather of his chair. My hands instinctively held onto the fabric of his gloves from the curled fingers around me, looking down with renewed nervousness when I was lifted more towards his eye level. No matter how many times I was picked up, the way my stomach dropped at the shift of altitude was always jarring.

“You enjoy testing your boundaries, don’t you,” Lucifer asked in amusement, a small smile curled at his lips.

“What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment,” I sighed sarcastically, eyes wandering to his other hand as it reached up and tugged the knot of his tie to loosen it slightly.

“Mm, I think that description fits Mammon more given that he never seems to learn. You on the other hand just struggle with a filter,” the demon chuckled, lowering his free hand back down and jolting my attention to his mouth as he lifted me up slightly higher, tilting his head back a little. I felt my heart skip a beat as he licked his lips in anticipation, adding, “However, that just opens plenty of opportunities for light punishment.”

“Ooooh, goodie.”

My huff was ignored as Lucifer began to murmur the protection spell beneath his breath, an extra precaution despite my protection charm bracelet, before parting his lips once more. His tongue extended slightly over his bottom teeth as he started to lower me down past his fangs.

I instinctively tucked my legs beneath me a bit despite no longer feeling actual fear about being eaten, it was just an automatic reaction. I felt his breath against my legs and soon my shoes were on the surface of his tongue. Almost immediately, the tongue shifted minutely under my weight and I yelped as the fingers around me released. His tongue curled behind my back as I fell the couple inches into his jaws, pressing me to the roof of his mouth as his teeth clicked together behind me and left me engulfed in darkness.

Already, I could hear and feel Lucifer purr, a sound that only intensified as I went from being pinned to the roof of his mouth to the tongue moving beneath me as he tasted me for several seconds. Both to soak my clothes with saliva to make it easier for me to be swallowed, and just to savor me.

I wriggled a bit instinctively as I was tasted, pressing against the tongue with my hands as I tried to push it away a bit. It didn’t work, but thankfully Lucifer didn’t really feel like tormenting me like a hard candy tonight and I felt everything shift as he tilted his head back.

“Oof, here we go,” I mumbled to myself, bracing for the tight confines of the demons throat. Being swallowed probably felt like the worst thing about being eaten, finding it the most claustrophobic part of the entire experience. And, as I slipped to the back of his mouth and felt the tongue press against me in a rippling motion as he swallowed, I found it about as constricting as usual.

Wincing as the esophagus pressed against me on all sides, I heard Lucifer let out a pleased sigh over his purring, the demon teasing, “Nothing like tea and snacks at the end of a long day.”

“Oh, fuck off, you prick,” I exclaimed, elbowing the throat around me even as I slipped down past his heart and lungs. It wasn’t long before I found myself spilling into his stomach, which had a puddle at the bottom and the scent of… Earl Grey? I think. I wasn’t one for drinking anything other than peppermint or sweet iced tea, so my knowledge of leafy beverages was limited. Beyond that, it was too dark to see anything, but I knew if I summoned a light wisp that I’d be greeted with the sight of undulating crimson walls around me. A far more natural color compared to Mammons gold or Levi’s blue, but it was also a rather intimidating color given the instinctive connection to blood.

“Mmm, you know my brothers and I always love your spicy attitude, even if it contrasts your sweet flavor,” Lucifer hummed. There was a rhythmic thumping from the front of the stomach that I could only assume was him drumming his fingers against his chest in contentment.

“Yeah, yeah. Still don’t know how a person can be sweet, but whatever,” I leaned back against the stomach wall and crossed my arms, rolling my eyes at the weird compliment. Giving the wall in front of me a gentle kick, I asked, “Are you going to bed?”

“No. Unfortunately, despite Diavolo’s assurances that I need a break every now and then, paperwork needs to be filled. A night of signing reports may have led to a rather selfish bias in determining your punishment.”

“Got it.” So, he was using me to tide himself through the night without needing to get up and eat. Not the first time this has happened but it was usually a deal and not a punishment. Still, I relaxed further against the stomach wall, yawning for a moment and adding, “Well, I’m gonna try to catch some Z’s then. Can’t really do much and I guess my drawings will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“Yes, unfortunately they will. But, enjoy your sleep, Kat.”

I felt Lucifer straighten up in his seat and lean forward, hearing the faint shuffling of papers. Stretching a bit, the action elicited a few more purrs as I settled and began to doze.

[bvccy]

Hi!!! Hope you're doing great

Can I please have a mix between number 2 from the soft and 8 from the dark one

Thanks, lost of love ❤❤❤

Thank you so much, nonnie! I am so sorry this took so long, I meant to post yesterday but it wasn’t done. Also, the 8th dark prompt was requested just before you sent in this one, so that is filled separately here.

I tried to do the mix you asked for, and I took the liberty of writing this with Bucky (specifically 40s!BB), and I hope that it’s ok. It’s a bit of a more specific story, actually, that I’d wanted to write for a while. I also did a kind of first for me, because it involves Steve x reader as a backdrop 😂 Anyway.

Lots of love to you too, my dear! 💗💗💗

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Bucky x Reader • preserum!Steve x Reader — PROMPT: Asteria - gazing at one’s object of affection, from afar + Prassius - an impossible desire, and unclean love — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

It had taken long enough, and sometimes it seemed like it would never happen, but he finally found Steve a girlfriend — or rather, his girlfriend found him one. Dottie had exhausted several of her close friends and most acquaintances, but she knew how tired Bucky was of seeing his friend mope around, feeling like a third wheel, getting into trouble to pass the time. And honestly she liked Steve too, just not like that — but, wonder-worker that she was, Dottie found a girl that did.

She agreed to come on a double-date one night, and she and Stevie hit it right off. It was the first time Bucky met her too, and he didn't think much of the girl. Small, shy, not quite sickly-looking but not far from it, shoes a bit scuffed, clothes a bit too big for her and smelling of plain soap — in a word: perfect. She was perfect for his sickly, skinny friend who nobody else wanted, and by the looks of things, nobody had wanted her either because she seemed to have no idea what to do around a dance hall. As they were returning home that night, he even heard her confess to Steve that she had never been to one before.

They went out on two more dates, all four of them, within as many weeks. Bucky loved to dance, and Dottie too, but Steve and his girl weren't so fond of tripping over their feet and being laughed at. So they sat together at the table like a pair of broken toys, sharing an ice cream sundae, swinging shoulder-to-shoulder with the music when they liked the tune. Bucky waved at them when their eyes met, and they waved back and cheered at his dancefloor performance, but that happened less and less as they got caught up in each other. Steve would start to sketch things on the napkins while they chatted: the band, the sea of dancers, the fancy chandeliers, and eventually her.

"She said nobody's ever drawn her picture before," his friend said dreamily as they walked back, after they wished a good night to the girls. "Can you believe that?"

"Sure can…"

"She almost didn't let me do it. But she's so pretty, Buck."

"Mhm, nice girl."

"I mean yeah, she's no Dottie, but… I don't know, there's just somethin' I like so much about her… I guess her eyes, the way they look when she's smiling, or how her hair looks when the sun shines on it…"

"Get a load a' you," he grinned, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulder in a playful grip that moved his friend's whole body. "One dame's sweet on you, and all of a sudden you're Romeo."

"At least I'm not a punk like you," Steve teased, slipping from his grasp.

"You know what I like best about her?"

"What?" he asked, with a hint of jealousy.

But Bucky smirked without a care. "How she keeps you out of trouble."

It had, indeed, been a while since Steve got in an alley brawl, and by their fifth date his last few bruises healed. He'd almost gotten into one by a cotton candy stand at Coney Island, but his girl was there to pull him back.

"Stevie, leave him alone…"

"You heard what he said?!"

"Who cares," she sighed, clinging to his arm and throwing the other man a hateful look. "Come on, didn't you want to win me that stuffed teddy bear?"

"Better listen to your girl, pal."

"Oh go find a sty to wallow in," she hissed.

"I ought'a smack some manners into you, you two-bit broad!"

"I'd worry about my own manners if I were you, buddy." Bucky slipped between them, coming from behind, standing now close enough to punch the guy if things got heated. But, seeing himself outnumbered, the other man cursed them and left. Just then, Dottie finally caught up.

"What's going on?" she asked, a little out of breath.

Bucky turned around, and was met by the heart-melting sight of Steve and his girl holding each other, her hands on his cheeks as she quietly chastised him, but loving enough that it made him smile and giggle. She closed it with a kiss to his cheek that made the boy blush, and a kittenish rub of their noses together.

"Nothing, everything's fine."

It was around the time they went to see a movie together that Bucky's joy for Steve turned into something else. They sat in the back while some musical played, and through the flashing lights and the corner of his eye, he could see his friend with his sweetheart holding hands on top of her lap throughout the whole performance. Meanwhile Dottie kept rubbing up against him, sometimes leaning her head on his shoulder, daring in the darker scenes to kiss his neck, but when she tried to get more of his attention —

"Buckyyy, what's wrong?"

— he shook her off. Hearing his name spoken by her voice suddenly felt disappointing.

He caught himself staring more and more, and not just when they went out together. Sometimes, the girl came by and spent some time with Steve, looking at his newer sketches, trying her hand too — oh and how disgusting they looked, Steve taking advantage of the situation to sit behind, and wrap his arms around her, and whisper in her ear. The pair greeted him cheerfully when he stepped through the living room and caught them, and he grinned back at them as he took a glass of milk, but all his appetite was gone.

And when they walked together through the park, and he saw them holding hands again… When Steve dug for some change to get her an ice cream, and they giggled stupidly as they made a mess of sharing it… When she fell asleep by his side one night at the dance hall, and Stevie woke her up with a tickle down her cheek, and she shivered and murmured like a bird and hid her face in his unworthy shoulder…

"Why don't you ever wanna dance, doll?" he asked as they were fetching drinks.

"Not much good at it, I guess," she shrugged. "The fast ones make me dizzy and I always trip."

"I can teach you. It'll work out great! Stevie teaches you to draw, I teach you how to dance… What do you say?"

The girl seemed to think, but shook her head. "Hmmm… No, not right now. Thanks," she smiled politely. "Besides, what would Stevie do meanwhile?"

She told him no just for the sake of keeping his scrawny little friend company, and Bucky had never felt more insulted — not that she wouldn't dance with him, although that hurt enough, but that he couldn't remember the last dame that gave something up just to stick with him, or got into fights for him, or kissed his wounds away, or held his hand in hers with no ulterior motive, and he'd found a girl that did that, and he wasted her on Steve.

So what if she was a little on the smaller side? So what if her dresses didn't fit right? So what if she came down with the cold at every change of season? He put up with it for Steve and he wasn't half as charming. The girl, instead, looked very delicate, more feminine in her own way, like when she braced her fingers on a table as she talked and mindlessly swung back and forth, animated in whatever she was saying, and her digits bent in such a childish way he feared they'd break, and it only made him want to kiss them. Or when she took her shoes off when she came to their apartment and he could catch a hint of shapely ankle, just perfect for his grip, or a peachy pink instep small enough to fit his palm. And when she fell asleep on their couch that one time and Bucky saw her all curled up, and noticed the arch of her hips and the cinch of her waist and pictured how good it would feel to hold them, and angle them upward, and…

Slowly, he started to appreciate some of what his friend had said that night, because she did have lovely eyes, and hair that looked so soft and warm, and her scent, unburdened by perfume, was sweet and girlish, and her lips looked kissable, and her wrists and knees and ankles too…

"Going out again, tonight?" he asked as the blond boy fixed himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, she wants to try this new place we —"

"Alright, alright…" sighed Bucky, already sick of hearing more. "So, that's all you're gonna do?"

"Well… yeah."

And then he voiced an evil thought. "Don't you ever want to… you know?"

"Y-you think we should?" Steve asked, turning away from his pallid reflection.

Bucky sat sprawled across the couch, and shrugged. "If she really likes you, she'd be up for it, don't you think?"

"I don't know about that, Buck."

"No? Ok," he nodded. "After all, what do I know?"

The aftermath of this particular advice was a draught of dates for poor ol' Steve, because just like Bucky had expected, the girl shrinked at the suggestion and couldn't stand to see him. For a while.

"Can you believe it, Buck?!"

"Yeah…"

"She'll see me again!"

"That's great, Stevie."

"What's wrong? You're lookin' real dour today."

Bucky knew he shouldn't. "I just…" He knew that it was wrong. "Look, it's great that she's forgiven you, but you gotta be realistic about this, pal." He had been happy for Steve at one point, long ago.

"What do you mean?"

But that was before he saw just how much love a girl could give, and realised he'd never felt it.

"Just don't delude yourself this is anything more than what it looks like, ok? She's only forgiven you because she knows nobody else will have her."

"That's mean, Buck."

"Yeah, well… I'm just looking out for you. You're my best friend, you know that. I don't want you getting hurt." It stuck in his throat to say it, but the bitterness stuck more.

And after Steve went to bed that night, Bucky took out the box of candy and the pricey perfume he had bought for her, threw them in the trash, and firmly promised to himself to never wait too long again.

But as he learned a bit later on, when they went back to double-dates, he might not have had a chance at all, because there was an unwitting element of truth to this cruel tirade.

"I can't exactly blame you, honey," Dottie consoled her as they stood in line for the ladies room, not knowing Bucky was just behind the thin divider leading to the men's. "If he does something like that again, I know this other fella —"

"Oh no, Dot, please… We're fine now. He explained things and… he's really sweet, I think he just had a moment of —"

"But just let me introduce you to Jim, see if you don't like him better."

"I… I don't know."

"He's a real charmer," Dottie grinned, "and he has these big, broad hands, jaw like an anvil. He just broke it off with Marcie cause she was a flirt."

He didn't hear anything next, but the girl must've shook her head cause Dottie asked, "You're sure?" and "Really? Well, if you change your mind…"

"Thanks, Dot," she lightly laughed.

"I don't know why you're so stubborn though, it's not like he's that far out your league. You just need to fix your hair a little bit and get a better brand of powder."

"It's not that easy."

"It's all it took me to get Bucky on my arm. That, and a better set of heels," she laughed.

"Yeah but you've always been pretty, Dot. Like, really pretty, and you know it. I guess some girls are for the James Barnes of this world, and some are the for the Steves."

She giggled as she said it, with not a hint of anger or resentment, and that's what stung the worst.

Bucky arranged to go see a late night movie with Dottie after that, while Steve and his girl went back to the apartment to listen to a boxing match on the radio and have some cherry sodas. Dottie went ahead to buy the tickets while Bucky walked them home, and after wishing him good night, she went upstairs to set things up. Steve was meant to go to the store and buy the drinks, but he stayed to chat with his friend a while.

"I can get some eggs and milk as well while I'm at it," he offered, swinging on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

"Sure."

"Or do we have enough for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Go ahead and buy them, pal," Bucky smiled, pretending to be less tired than he felt.

"Ok. And what about — darn!"

"What is it?"

"I just realized, I forgot to give her the keys," he said, taking a hand out of his pocket and holding them out. "I gotta get to the store, can you go up and give them to her?"

"Er, why don't —"

"You know I always trip on the stairs when I'm in hurry, Buck, they haven't changed the lightbulb yet. Don't make me do it."

"Fine, I'll go."

"I owe you big."

"You always do," he grinned, and took the keys from him.

Steve made off for the corner store, while Bucky started the long slow climb upstairs. It was completely dark inside at that hour, and the few candles some neighbours left to light the way had all gone out.

"Stevie, is that you?" he heard her call, standing right outside their door.

He kept one hand against the wall and walked his way toward her, stopping as he heard her whisper, "I think I lost the keys."

Blindly, she moved her hand forward, coming right across his chest. He felt her jolt at the unexpected contact, then burst into a giggle. Bucky could already feel the fanning of her breath right at the level of his chin. With an unseen smile, he took her hand, and placed the keys within it.

"Oh," she laughed. "You had them."

As her hand closed around them his own moved up her shoulder, fingers threading around her hair, and as he touched her jaw he felt her tilting slightly upward, shivering under the feeling.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

He felt the warming tickle of her breath as he leaned close until, through the pitch black, he touched his lips to hers. Bucky did it lightly, just a little, just enough to taste and sip a kind of love he'd never really had. She stood surprised but took his kiss, and he felt her smiling into it, even beginning to kiss back just as he was parting from her.

"Your lips are softer than before," she giggled, in a sweet but altogether crushing way that made Bucky's heart beat stronger. "Stevie?"

Her hand moved through the air to touch him but felt nothing anymore, and down the stairs the heavy steps echoed, moving downward and away.

[gukyi]

into the wilderness | pjm

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was... disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

{camp counselor!au, unrequited love!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: park jimin x female reader genre: angst, fluff, comedy word count: 27k warnings: unrequited love, camp shenanigans, awkwardness, secondhand embarrassment/hurt, ot7 cameos a/n: hello and welcome to the one thing that guyi has wanted to write for literal years now but never go around to! finally i can cross camp counselor au off my list. anyway, it’s been over a year since i wrote for jimin so i hope that this monster 27k fic can make up for that !!! i swear the ending is happy. i swear. i promise.

Something about last summer sucked. 

Maybe it was the record six wasps’ nests you found around the cabin, leaving you with more bee stings than mosquito bites by the end of camp. Maybe it was that weird murky green color of the water in the showers and the sinks that didn’t go away until three weeks in, when you were already positive you had contracted some sort of pond disease from brushing your teeth. Maybe it was the lack of Namjoon, who had an internship and couldn’t come, therefore removing all sense of order and leaving you and the rest of the counselors in a state of chaos.

Or maybe it was the fact that, on the very last night, at the very last counselor campfire, you told Jimin that you loved him. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure how badly it would go. But telling him was so much easier than keeping it hidden, than letting it drag on and on, this boulder sitting on your chest for the rest of time. You had spent the whole eight weeks of camp rationalizing it to yourself, so much so that by the time the last counselor campfire rolled around, you were convinced that it wouldn’t be that disastrous. 

There was no part of you that thought Jimin would reciprocate your feelings. No part of you that secretly hoped that maybe he felt the same, and that you could end the summer with more money in your bank account and a boyfriend on your arm. You knew he didn’t. Jimin was sweet, and thoughtful, and gentle, which is exactly why you fell in love with him, but he was like that to everyone. You didn’t think that telling him would suddenly make him fall in love with you.

You told him because people like Jimin deserve to know that somebody loves them. 

You told him because you thought that nothing would change. 

What you didn’t really expect to happen was this:

Your marshmallow is burnt beyond recognition, poking off of the edge of a stick like a sad piece of coal rather than a sweet treat. At this point, it’s even darker than the chocolate sitting on the graham cracker in your lap, waiting to be smushed together into the sugar-fest known as a s’more, so eloquently named because you will apparently always want some more. 

“Uh, hello? Earth to Y/N?”

Taehyung’s hand waves furiously in front of your face as he leans forward to make eye contact with you.

“Huh?” You ask, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. Your mind has been awfully cloudy these days, overcast like the weather around here. It’s a wonder you’re able to make your way through. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, an eyebrow raised. “Your marshmallow looks like what happens when I try to make scrambled eggs.”

“Your scrambled eggs look like that?” Seokjin interrupts, pointing accusingly at your charred marshmallow. You’ve seen Taehyung in the kitchen. It’s not that bad, is it? “Next year you should sign up for some of Yoongi’s cooking classes. The six-year-olds can cook better than you.”

“You’d have to pay me way more than the shit they’re giving us to get me to teach Taehyung how to cook,” grumbles Yoongi. 

“I’m fine,” you promise Taehyung as Yoongi and Seokjin launch into a tirade about raising minimum wage. “I just—” You glance at your marshmallow. You don’t even think the fish monster at the bottom of the pond would eat it. And he apparently eats people whose hearts have turned to stone. Like Seokjin, who swears that it had eaten the tip of his pinky finger. “—like my marshmallows really cooked.”

Taehyung looks skeptical but drops the subject nonetheless, turning back around so he can find a different conversation to barge his way into. You’re willing to put money on him finding some way to annoy Jungkook. 

Insecure about your apparent lack of marshmallow-roasting skills, you pull your stick away from the campfire, blowing on it until you decide that you’re willing to risk burning the tips of your fingers. You pluck the marshmallow from the skewer, hissing to yourself as you quickly plop it onto the graham cracker, squishing the whole thing together. 

The marshmallow is so burnt that it barely gives underneath the press of your fingers, bouncing back up like rubber. You frown at your s’more, which clearly should be renamed to something else because nothing about the thing in your hands makes you want some more. 

Next to you, Jimin laughs at your pitiful attempt at a classic campfire treat. 

“You want mine?” He asks with a smile, holding out a flawless s’more, the kind that they make in movies to perpetuate the illusion of perfection. You look up at him and in the light of the fire he glows, like a spark from the flames had created him right then and there, like he had been born with light in his eyes, a halo surrounding his body. 

You wonder if Jimin knows how beautiful he is. How beautiful he has always been, radiating kindness and joy and laughter. He must know, right? It must be impossible for him to notice how everyone falls in love with him. You certainly aren’t an exception. 

He holds out the s’more in his hands, laughing as he looks at you because there must be something endearing about being a shitty s’more maker, and you think, what’s the worst that can happen?

“I’m in love with you.”

The s’more drops to the ground, hitting the grass with a thud. 

Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for once, they are unreadable. This tragic sort of confusion, like he can’t believe the words you’re saying to him. Like his mind refuses to accept them as true. 

He opens his mouth, but you answer for him. 

“It’s okay,” you assure quickly, reaching a hand out to rest on his own. The touch makes him look away, like your fingers are the flames of the campfire, burning him where they touch his skin. “I—I know you don’t feel the same.”

It’s not a secret. Not to him, and not to you. Jimin purses his lips because he feels guilty for not loving you back. Because he is so good, so kind, that he feels as though he has wronged you because he doesn’t love you the way you love him. Like it’s his fault. 

“Y/N—” He starts, but he does not finish. 

“You…” you interrupt, looking down at your feet. You can’t look at Jimin because looking at him hurts, and you can’t look anywhere else because Jimin is all you think about. All you ever think about. “You don’t have to say anything.”

He speaks, and it’s as if the words don’t belong to him. Don’t belong to anyone. 

“What are we supposed to do?” He asks. 

You shrug, resigning yourself to this. You knew that he wouldn’t feel the same. You didn’t know how terrible he would feel because of it. “Nothing,” you tell him. “I just thought you should know.

He nods, because he knows, and he nods, because he can’t do anything else. 

The fire crackles beside you, s’mores forgotten on the ground as your friends laugh and cheer, distant sounds that echo in your head like white noise. Jimin is all you can think of and right now you’re thinking about what happens next.

“I’m sorry.”

Maybe telling him wasn’t such a good idea after all. 

“Me too.”

Your busted-up sedan revs angrily as you rally up the mountain, shaking your head in an attempt to rid the memories of the campfire from your mind. Unfortunately, the nasty thing about memories is that the more you try to forget them, the more you seem to remember.

You sigh. Something about last summer sucked. 

Nothing about this summer makes you feel like it’ll suck any less.

The good thing about being thirty minutes late is that you’re still thirty minutes earlier than Taehyung, who does not have a single punctual bone in his body. You can count on one hand the amount of instances where he’s actually been on time, all of which are because you and the other counselors conspire to tell him that events are an hour earlier than they actually are just to make sure he doesn’t stroll in an hour late and improperly dressed. 

The bad thing about being thirty minutes late is that everyone besides Taehyung is already here, waiting for you. 

Your sedan crawls to the clearing at the top of the mountain, fighting against gravity and itself as it chugs up the last few feet, coming to a rough stop in the dirt, sunken in from countless tires tracking across it. 

Through your windshield, you can make out two figures with two clipboards, only one of which has something genuinely useful on it. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok cries out excitedly, splaying his arms out as if to hug the entire front of your car only to reveal the near-blank clipboard in his hand. All that’s on it is a neon green Post-it note with a caricature drawing of who you assume to be Yoongi, if the grouchy expression and chef’s hat are anything to go by. There’s no signature or name, but Hoseok’s art skills are on par with those of the campers you work with and Jungkook has a fun and quirky habit of vandalizing all drawable surfaces with pencil sketches of the counselors, so you take a wild guess as to who the artist is. 

You pop the door of your car open and step out into the sticky weather, warm and muggy despite the clouds above. It’s the same as when you step into your bathroom after your two roommates have showered, using up all the hot water and leaving a layer of fog on the mirrors for you to all play hangman on. Only, this steam never goes away. 

“Hoseok!” You cheer, letting the man wrap you up in a sweltering hug, your hands gently patting the top of his back so as not to come in contact with the dampness soaking through his thin cotton t-shirt. You haven’t seen each other for nearly a year, though, so you give in more than you usually would and relax into his hold. “You look good, I like the hair,” you compliment, two fingers coming up to twirl at his bright red locks, deep and vibrant like the cherries you pick. 

“Dyed it just so I could tell the kids I’m a superhero!” Hoseok grins. He’s already heading over to the back of your car to pop the trunk and pull out your duffel bags so that he can park your car in the garage at the other end of the campsite.

“Then who’s the villain?” You call, tossing him your keys.

“I guess that would be me.”

You whip around to find a platinum-blonde Namjoon standing happily before you, looking at least a little bit resigned as he grins at you. His hair is longer this year, like growing it out would somehow compensate for frying it with layer after layer of bleach. And with his silver-white hair and the fact that he is the only counselor any of the kids are genuinely afraid of disobeying, you suppose he would be the antagonist after all. 

“Namjoon, nice to see you again.” You go in for a hug even though Namjoon clearly had no plans on instigating one himself, because someone as hardworking and patient as Namjoon deserves a little platonic affection every one in a while. What, with everyone else constantly conspiring with the campers to oust him every summer. 

The truth is that all of you know that without Namjoon, this camp would be nothing but chaos in its purest form, with the counselors unable to wrangle the kids and the kids using that knowledge to their fullest advantage. Take last year, where everything seemed to go wrong because Namjoon had his stupid internship with a business firm and spent the entire summer drilling finances into his head instead of losing brain cells watching kids eat sand.  

If you had any dignity left you’d blame your rotten confession to Jimin on Namjoon’s absence as well. 

“Nice to see you, too, Y/N,” Namjoon says when you part, checking your name off of the list on his clipboard. “I feel like it’s been ages since I was here.” You can see red marks all over the page, blank only where the name Taehyung is written. 

Some things never change, you suppose. 

“Well, we definitely missed you last year,” You say with a chuckle, trying not to immediately associate your personal misjudgements with the lack of Namjoon, who you can hopefully keep from ever finding out what happened at last year’s end-of-camp counselor campfire. The problem is that Namjoon picks up on social cues and body language like a sociologist, so your only hope is pretending that the campfire never even happened. “Camp was pretty much a mess without you.” In more ways than one.

“Namjoon!” Someone calls. You and him both jerk around to the source of the sound when you see a figure barreling towards the both of you, face obscured in shadow. 

You almost don’t recognize him, with his pitch black hair and thick voice, like he has somehow become a new person in the nine months you’ve gone without seeing him. But the moment he comes into view, you know, and you can’t even pretend to not know, not with the way your heart freezes in place, mid-beat, like the sight of him has turned you to stone. Not with the way that Namjoon is right beside you, and how you don’t think you can bear explaining to him why you and Jimin aren’t as close as you used to be. Not with the way that Jimin looks as beautiful as he always has and always will be, no matter how many summers pass, this timeless portrait, this piece of art that’s come to life. 

There’s a part of you that’s shocked still at seeing him, like you had almost thought that after last summer at least one of you would bail on this shitty summer job, filled with mosquitoes and mud and wifi that only works in the room that doubles as the gymnasium and the mess hall. It’s the same part of you that wants to go back to pretending that nothing ever happened last summer. 

But Jimin is here, in front of you, eyes wide and out of breath and gorgeous, and pretending that last summer never happened is the same as pretending that you never fell in love with him at all.

“The water in the boys’ cabins sinks is green,” he says with a tense smile, making Namjoon nearly smack his clipboard into his forehead. 

“Ugh, seriously?” He asks, and you can’t tell if you’re thankful or hurt that Jimin’s failed to acknowledge you. “Fine,” he scribbles something down on the clipboard, this handwriting scrawl that only he can read, “I’ll figure out what to do with that later. In the meantime, just don’t drink it.”

“Seokjin’s already made lemonade with it, though—”

“Great,” Namjoon says, exasperated as he takes off towards the main cabin, where Seokjin is sitting on the balcony with his feet up on the railing with a glass of suspiciously murky lemonade in his hand, one that he’s offering up to Yoongi with a devilish grin on his face. 

His disappearance leaves only you and Jimin left standing at the entrance, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet in the hopes that one of you will either leave or spare the other the torture of a conversation. 

“Hey,” Jimin says quietly, trying to meet your eyes. 

You look away, pretending to smack an imaginary mosquito on your arm while an actual one bites your leg. “Hey, yourself.”

“It’s been a while.” The last time we saw each other you told me you loved me. 

“Yeah, it has.” I know.

“How are you doing?” Do you still love me, or was the distance and time enough?

“I’m alright. Same old, same old.” I never stopped. “How are you?” What about you? Did you stop seeing us as just friends?

“Doing well, thanks.” No. You’ll always be just a friend to me. Jimin sighs, looking up at the overcast sky with his hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, taking in the scenery before him. He exhales, long and heavy, before turning to you with a soft little smile, the kind of grin that almost makes you feel like forgetting might not be the best thing to do after all. “I just feel like this summer is a fresh start, you know? Like, I feel like there’s something different about being here this year.”

Maybe this summer, you can learn to move on from me, too. Because something’s gotta give. 

“I hope you’re right about that,” you tell him, because being around him hurts and being away from him makes you replay that night over and over, wondering what would have happened if you had just kept your stupid mouth shut. You open your mouth to say something, anything else, anything to break the ice that didn’t used to be there before, cut between the tension that has settled between the two of you, but your tongue is dry and your heart is sore just looking at him. 

Defeated, you walk over to where Hoseok’s left your duffel bags, hiking them onto your shoulders and heading towards the girls’ cabins, ready to end this conversation before it tears you in two. 

Jimin seems to flounder, standing awkwardly for a few moments as he watches you walk towards the cabins, skirting around him a few feet away because brushing by his side seemed too close for comfort. But then he says, “Hey, Y/N?” 

And it makes you stop dead in your tracks, unable to deny him an answer. 

You turn around to look at him, and he offers you a grin. 

“Are we good?”

Your love for me, will it affect our friendship?

You swallow.

It already has. It always has. From the very beginning, loving you was part of our friendship. I don’t know how to be friends with you without it. Even when you didn’t know it, I loved you. In a way, it was easier back then. Telling you was the one thing I shouldn’t have done. 

“Yeah, Jimin,” you tell him. “We’re good.”

The trek to your cabin from the main buildings of the camp is nothing if not familiar. Familiar in the way that the ground curves beneath your feet, leading you up to the top of a small hill where the building sits, looking out over the rest of the clearing. Familiar in how the scent of the woods that surround you fills up your senses, this fresh, airy feeling, like the very oxygen is smothering you. Familiar in how this place reeks of the memories of summers gone by, summers spent beneath the stars and by the campfire. 

Summer memories that make your heart burst with fondness and summer memories that… don’t. 

The fact is that it has always started and ended here. 

When you kick open the door to the cabin, there is only one other occupied bed. It belongs to Hazel, a counselor in her sophomore year in college who joined the crew last year and assumed that the Namjoon-less pandemonium that was camp last summer was just the norm. Hopefully she can take a much-needed break this year now that Namjoon’s back and she’s not the only one fruitlessly trying to cajole the campers into behaving. 

You beeline towards the bunk bed that has been your summer home for the past three years, the one shoved right up against the back right corner, giving you a perfect view of the entire cabin. The downside is that it’s the same corner that spiders seem to prefer as their location of choice for their webs, but better you, a stone-cold college student, than a terrified six-year-old. 

Plopping your duffel bags on top of the mattress, you let out another sigh. You wonder what it is about this summer that is so damn tiring, so exhausting that you can’t help but outwardly exhale every ten seconds, like merely being here is wearing you out, bit by bit. 

You’re looking forward to when the campers arrive tomorrow. Sleeping alone (well, nearly alone) in a cabin feels uncomfortably empty. Plus, you’re hoping that they’ll provide you with some sort of distraction so you don’t have any free time left to spend dwelling on the what-ifs and the should-have-dones. When there’s only a dozen of you, it’s much easier to run into him. 

The moment you collapse on your bed, a messy brown head of hair comes bounding out from the shared bathrooms in the center of the cabin. 

“Y/N!” Hazel cries out, launching herself across the room and into your arms for the tightest hug you’ve had in a long while. 

“Hey, Haze,” you greet in return, offering her a squeeze back. You didn’t often mix in your camp activities, with Hazel in charge of the nature walks and animal conservation activities while you hide in your air-conditioned arts and crafts room, but living together brought upon you a closeness you otherwise don’t share with anyone else. Plus, Hazel keeps a family-sized pack of Oreos and a gigantic jar of smooth peanut butter by her bunk at all times for emergencies. 

“I feel like it’s been so long!” She laments when she finally releases you, looking positively thrilled to be here right now. 

Not long enough, you think to yourself, though you don’t suppose any more time apart from Jimin would make seeing him again any easier. “Yeah, but the year goes by so quickly,” you agree half-heartedly. Too quickly. 

“I’m so excited for this year.” Hazel grins, clapping her hands together. “I have so much planned for all the nature walks and everything. I spent all of last week reading up on edible plants and berries found in this part of the country. I’m gonna teach all of the kids what they can eat in case they get stranded in the forest!”

“Fun,” you say with a hesitant nod. It’s not that you don’t trust Hazel to have done her research, it’s more that, knowing the campers and knowing the counselors, someone’s going to try and get lost in the woods around the camp, eating everything they can. Not to mention the fact that Hazel’s so innocent she’d probably reveal to someone like Seokjin or Jungkook which plants were poisonous without even realizing it. 

Camp last year was a mess, but at least nobody died. 

“Hey, aren’t you excited, too?” She asks, a hand on your shoulder as she notices your reluctance. “Apparently Namjoon’s a great leader so this year isn’t going to be as bad as last year.”

“Last year wasn’t bad just because Namjoon wasn’t here,” you comment vaguely. Hazel doesn’t need to know about all of the drama that goes down between the counselors. Hopefully she can get out of here without being dragged into something by one of you. 

“Well, this year is supposed to be better!” She cheers you on, determined to get you to feel as enthusiastic as she is. “No matter what did or did not happen last summer. Plus, you know that if anything bad happens I always have my secret stash, counselors only.” She winks. 

“Thanks, Haze,” you say, sighing again like it’s your job to be worn out by life. “I think I just need a bit of time to get back into the swing of things.”

“That’s the spirit!” She rallies. “I’m gonna head back to the main camp and see if there’s anything good to drink. I’m thirsty.”

“Stick to soda,” you advise, eyes wide at the thought of her downing anything that Seokjin’s had a sneaky hand in making. 

She doesn’t seem to notice your worry, already bounding towards the door, light on her feet. “I was feeling a Fanta anyway. See you at the camp counselor meeting if I don’t see you around beforehand!” She pulls open the heavy wooden door, half outside when she stops to turn back at you, wagging a finger in the air. “Remember, Y/N, leaves of three, let them be!” 

The door slams shut behind her, creating a cloud of dust in its wake. You watch helplessly as the particles dissipate into the air, as the silence that was once so comforting begins to terrorize you once more. 

You collapse back onto your bunk. If only last summer’s murky green water had poisoned you. Then maybe you’d finally have a good enough excuse for your utter lapse in judgement, and you wouldn’t be sighing so much.

There were no camp counselor meetings last year. There were only haphazard caucuses, irregular get-togethers where no one knew quite what was going on and there were no real announcements to be said, no real orders to be given. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have someone with genuine leadership skills working here. 

The problem last year was not getting everyone into the same room for thirty minutes. It was keeping everyone focused in that same room for thirty minutes, which was essentially impossible because, at your age, submitting to someone of authority is the very last thing you want to do. Especially when the consequences pretty much only amount to having to drink Seokjin’s murky green lemonade.

But like with everything else, Namjoon has, somehow, made the impossible possible. 

“Guys, guys, can we stop drawing on the board, please? I need that,” Namjoon begs as he walks into the room to find Jungkook and Taehyung with chalk in their hands and a chalkboard at their disposal. What they’ve accomplished so far is an expert drawing of Spongebob and Patrick with their faces missing, waiting to be filled in by one of the unlucky people in this room. 

“Okay, so who’s Patrick?” Taehyung asks the audience. 

“Hoseok!” shouts Seokjin.

“You!” shouts Hoseok. 

“Seokjin!” shouts Hazel, too, just because she likes being involved in things. 

Jungkook lets out a cackle at that. “Are you kidding?” He asks. “If anything…” He does a quick sketch on the board, hand flying across it so quickly you’re actually a little bit impressed, “Seokjin would be Plankton.” 

He steps away from the board to reveal a scarily-realistic drawing of Seokjin’s angry face on Plankton’s tiny, antennaed body, making everyone—even Namjoon, who usually tries to keep the roasting between counselors to a minimum—laugh. 

Seokjin scowls, and normally you would feel bad for him always being the butt of Jungkook’s endless jokes, but you can see a half-empty glass of green lemonade by Jungkook’s side, and you decide that he can hold his own just fine. 

“I think you guys would be Spongebob and Patrick,” Jimin pipes up from the back. You freeze, turning your head slightly just to see him sitting on the table pushed up against the wall. You hadn’t even noticed him. Or maybe you had, and your brain just decided to pretend that you hadn’t. 

Nevertheless, hearing his voice doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Jimin’s right,” Jungkook agrees, already beginning to fill in the blank space where Spongebob’s face would normally go with a caricature of his own. “I’d be Spongebob because I have a wider face than you, Tae.”

Taehyung doesn’t object, instead moving his hand to an empty spot on the board. “Yeah. Oh, and Namjoon’s Mr. Krabs, obviously,” Taehyung says, adding his own drawing of Mr. Krabs with Namjoon’s camp get-up on—cargo shorts, a short-sleeved flannel shirt, a baseball cap, and high-tops.

“I would not be—hey, give me that!” Namjoon shouts, indignant, before ripping the chalk from Jungkook’s hands as he cackles wickedly, clearly pleased with himself. Namjoon shoos the both of them away from the board before wiping it with the eraser, which has very obviously not been cleaned since last year, leaving a trail of pale yellow dust in its wake wherever Namjoon drags it across the chalkboard. “Chalkboard for official matters only.” He glares at Jungkook and Taehyung, who high-five each other. 

The chatter soon subsides as Namjoon writes down the meeting to-do list on the board in his same old scratchy handwriting. Namjoon’s one of those people that writes exclusively in capital letters, simply enlarging any letters that actually need to be capitalized. You’re almost one-hundred percent positive it’s to establish written dominance over the rest of the counselors. 

“Okay, first order of business,” Namjoon begins after coughing to get everyone’s attention. “It’s come to my attention that the entire cabin water system is green.”

“Hasn’t it always been—?” Hazel asks, innocent eyes wide in confusion. 

“I called the utilities people and they’re coming tomorrow to fix it, so in the meantime, do not drink the water. Showering and using the bathroom is fine. I would use water bottles for brushing your teeth, though,” Namjoon says, crossing off something on his clipboard as the rest of the counselors murmur in approval. 

“See, this is what happens when Namjoon’s here,” deadpans Yoongi, motioning up to him where he stands at the front of the room. “Shit gets done.”

“Okay, secondly, no swearing in front of the kids,” Namjoon says, adding that onto the board as a final reminder. “The fact that I have to tell you guys this multiple times every year is ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, I can do what I want!” Taehyung shouts, earning a chorus of fuck yeah’s. 

“You guys do know that I have the power to fire you, right?” Namjoon says pointedly, making Taehyung shut his trap. “Okay, moving on. Everyone’s been assigned to the same things that they were assigned to do last year, and if you weren’t here last year, then the year before that.” Namjoon receives some cheers and some groans in response to this, the former mostly from people who work indoors, and the latter mostly from people who don’t. 

“Seriously?” Seokjin whines. “I don’t think Yoongi has stepped foot out of the kitchens in literal years.”

“And I would like to keep it that way, thank you very much!” Yoongi counters. 

“Oh, shut up, at least you get to spend some time indoors teaching all of the kids how to play Hot Cross Buns on their guitars,” Taehyung counters. “I got more mosquito bites than freckles last summer.”

“My students have long advanced from Hot Cross Buns,” Seokjin says proudly and a little bit devilishly. “We’re working on something more technical now.”

“Like what?” Jungkook challenges.

“Okay, continuing…” Namjoon says loudly, eyeing Seokjin suspiciously. “If you’re new, you should have already received notification as to what activities you’re in charge of, but if you’re not sure, come and talk to me.”

“Oh, so Jimin’s still on first aid, then?” Taehyung asks, wiggling his eyebrows. “What do you think Y/N’s gonna do to get herself sent down to his tent? Glue her fingers together? Burn herself with a glue gun?”

“Shut up,” You mumble tensely, embarrassed that somehow you and Jimin’s relationship has turned into a counselor affair. 

Last summer, you had accidentally given yourself a palm full of splinters from the birdhouses that you had the campers paint to bring home with them, and the first aid tent is the only place that has bandages. Jimin was there, as he always is, and the two of you spent the evening plucking out all of the pieces of wood from your hand and patching it up with Band-aids that had Spiderman and Moana on them. Contrary to apparently popular belief, it was not on purpose, even though the hour of hand-holding was rather nice. 

“Or Jimin can just find some excuse to visit Y/N in the arts and crafts room,” Seokjin tacks on unhelpfully. “You know, last summer I don’t think I saw them eat lunch in the counselor room at all. They were always finding secret places in the woods.”

“Maybe we were just busy during lunch?” Jimin suggests, clearly equally uncomfortable. 

“Busy fucking, probably,” Taehyung mutters. 

“It’s none of your business,” you snap, because the last thing you want to be talking about right now is how wonderful your relationship with Jimin used to be, when all that’s left this summer are the burned remnants of it, the ashes of something that could have been. You don’t need a reminder of why you thought that you and Jimin would be alright, of why you thought that telling him wouldn’t be that bad. It was terrible, and now all you can do is pick up the pieces, patch together a friendship whose thread has come loose. 

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Namjoon says, picking up the weirdly tense atmosphere and doing his best to bring the attention back to him and the meeting at hand. “You guys should know that this year, Hoseok is thinking of adding in a counselor dance to the end-of-camp show…”

You look over at Jimin, who immediately turns away when he spots your gaze, making to pick at the rips in his jeans, doing anything and everything he can to avoid eye contact with you, and your shoulders sink. 

Jimin had asked you, “Are we good?”

And you had responded, “Yeah, Jimin, we are.”

And the two of you must have both known that was a lie. 

You turn back to face the front, focusing on how Hazel is rubbing your forearm and not asking questions, and you try to feel a little bit better. 

After the meeting, you and Hazel decide to spend the night holed up in your cabin eating from her Oreo stash instead of eating dinner with everyone else, half because it’s only the first day and already being around all of the other counselors is tiring, and half because you don’t think you can handle seeing Jimin any more today, but not before Namjoon stops you on the way out of the door. 

“Y/N,” he says, making you pause in your tracks. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” You ask, hoping to God that it’s not about everyone thinking you purposely injure yourself just so you can see Jimin at the first aid tent. 

“Just quickly, you and me,” Namjoon says casually, pulling you to the corner of the room, away from any windows so no one can see you two talking. “Did today’s meeting make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you lie like a liar. “What are you talking about?”

Namjoon’s too observant for his own good, you decide, when he frowns at you, clearly not buying whatever it is you’re trying to sell him. “You don’t have to tell me everything,” he says quietly. “But I know that something happened between you and Jimin.”

You open your mouth to object and tell him that you and Jimin are fine, but Namjoon raises his eyebrows at you, like he’s challenging you to tell him another lie. 

“Well…” you begin, resigning yourself to the truth. “Yeah. Last summer.”

Namjoon purses his lips, nodding in understanding. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“You’re not my mom, Namjoon,” you say with a smile, even though maybe telling someone about it might not be a half-bad idea after all. Plus, Namjoon’s your friend and the only one around here who’s any good at keeping secrets, so getting the words off of your chest could be good.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he reminds you, because he’s wonderful like that. 

“No, it’s alright…” you sigh. “I guess someone else has to know.” You close your eyes, willing the words to come up from your throat, willing them to not hurt you as they leave your lips. “Last summer at the campfire I told Jimin that I loved him.”

Namjoon doesn’t say a word. 

“And he doesn’t love me back, which is not the problem because he shouldn’t change how he feels about me just to make me feel better. It’s not his fault, and I’m not angry at him or anything. I knew that he didn’t love me back when I told him,” the words come up like bile, slowly and carefully before spilling out in front of you. “But I was an idiot, and I thought telling him would make me feel better, or something. And it didn’t, because now Jimin and I don’t know how to act around each other anymore, and everything sucks.”

Namjoon offers you a careful, hesitant smile. 

“So yeah. That’s what happened.”

“Sounds like you and Jimin should talk about it,” Namjoon suggests, and maybe he’s smart, and a good leader, and attends a prestigious college along the coast, and studies business and sociology, but that is the worst idea he has ever had. 

“No,” you immediately say, shaking your head. “It’s no big deal. Jimin and I are still friends.”

“Are you, though?” Namjoon asks. 

You sigh, reaching up to rub at your forehead. “Yeah, we are,” you insist, perhaps more to yourself than to Namjoon. He looks skeptical, but doesn’t ask any questions. “It doesn’t even matter. I made a mistake and now I’m gonna deal with the consequences.”

“I can try to get the rest of the boys to stop teasing you and Jimin. I know it must be weird for you both right now,” Namjoon offers, always wanting to help. You scoff. Weird would be the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Jimin and I can handle it,” you say, not wanting to disrupt the rest of the counselor dynamic just because you and Jimin are dealing with things right now. Besides, the teasing has always been in good fun, and you know the boys well enough to know that they aren’t doing it out of malicious intent. “But I appreciate your concern.”

“Just doing my job,” Namjoon says proudly. You stand there in silence for a few more seconds until he coughs awkwardly to fill up the space. “You can go now, by the way, Y/N. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” you promise, silently hoping that one day, when you talk to Namjoon, you won’t have to lie to him anymore. “Thanks for checking in.”

“I’ll always be here for you,” he says in that comforting way, that warm way that wraps around you like a mug of hot cocoa on a cold winter night. 

You crack open the door to find Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook tossing around a frisbee on the open lawn as Seokjin and Yoongi watch from a picnic bench, soda cans sitting next to them. Someone must have mentioned the green lemonade. Jungkook purposely tosses the frisbee too high for Jimin to reach, making him jump wildly in a fruitless attempt to grab it. He falls backwards onto the soft grass, laughing alongside Taehyung and Jungkook as Taehyung pulls him back up to his feet. 

You smile to yourself, the longing and the pain and the love settling deep within your heart, finding a home amongst the wishes and the dreams. Seeing him there, the widest smile on his face as he tosses around a frisbee with some of his best friends, letting the rays from the setting sun fill him up with joy, it reminds you why you fell in love with him. It reminds you why you’re still in love with him.

Something seizes up at your heart, clenching it between its fingers. That used to be you, the thing whispers. You used to make him laugh like that. 

You did. From the moment you met him, you let his laughter fill your senses, burned the sound of it into your brain. You used to be so close. You used to think that maybe, just maybe, Jimin might love you back. 

You should have never told him, it murmurs, grip growing tighter. Look at where it got you.

If I could turn back time and redo that night, I would, you fight back. 

But you can’t.

The wicked thing releases your heart, lets it drop to the floor. You don’t pick it up. 

Every year, you and the other counselors keep a scorecard on the chalkboard in the meeting room to see how quickly someone gets sent to the first aid tent, whether it be from stumbling over a twig or contracting poison ivy or drinking the green water. Last year, it took two hours and thirteen minutes. 

This summer, it happens barely an hour after all of the campers have arrived. 

You make a mental note to write down the time on the scorecard as you run over to help the poor boy off of the ground after slamming into a spruce tree while playing an early game of tag with his friends. The side of his cheek is imprinted with the texture of the tree bark, and he has some scrapes on his hands and knees from the fall. 

“Whoa, hey, you alright?” You ask, leaning down to help him up. “You gotta watch where you’re looking, okay? Don’t want you to get hurt.” 

The beauty about young children is that very little actually causes them great pain. If it weren’t for all of the overprotective counselors, the kids would probably run themselves into the cabin walls and trees for the entire duration of camp.

“I’m not hurt,” the young boy says, standing up proudly. “I’m fine. My mom says I have thick skin.”

“What’s your name?”

“Eli,” the boy tells you matter-of-factly. “That’s my cabin.” He points to the one to the west of the camp that Taehyung and Jungkook are in charge of. Why Namjoon continuously assigns them to the same cabin year after year is beyond you. Once, they convinced everybody in their cabin that Seokjin and Yoongi’s cabin was haunted, and the only solution was to out-scare the ghosts by yelling and screaming right outside. 

“Is this your first year at camp?”

“Yup,” Eli says, rocking back and forth on his feet. He is not at all fazed by the blood and broken skin on his hands and knees, nor the pieces of wood and bark sticking out of the side of his face. 

“Alright, Eli, even though you have thick skin, I have to take you to the first aid tent. Really quickly, okay? Just to make sure you aren’t gonna get an infection. Then you can go and tell all of your friends how thick your skin,” you say, already beginning to usher Eli towards the first aid tent.  

“I think I have the thickest skin out of everyone here,” Eli says, as if goading you on. 

“You know what? I have to agree with you,” you say. “I get hurt really easily. My mom always says that I need to be extra careful here.”

“I’m sick of listening to my mom,” Eli pouts, stomping on the ground as you lead him towards the first-aid tent. 

“Me too,” you agree. No point in telling him that he needs to yield to his parents when he probably won’t even remember this conversation by the time he wakes up tomorrow. Besides, it’s never too early to begin teaching kids about rebelling against authority figures. “But you won’t have to listen to everything I say, okay? We’re just gonna be really good friends.”

“Like with my babysitter,” Eli says. 

“Exactly,” you say, stopping right outside of the first-aid tent. You’re not even positive that anyone’s inside, especially since it’s barely been an hour since camp officially started. Hopefully, Jimin’s somewhere else so you can just patch Eli up yourself. 

The first aid tent is not so much a tent as it is a shed with a fabric entrance, two curtains attached to a rod above the entryway to provide some semblance of privacy since nobody in the camp is handy enough to actually install a working door. But calling it the first aid tent is better than calling it the first aid shack, which, in the wise words of Yoongi, makes it sound like “a hospital where people go to die.”

When you push open the curtain, the first thing you notice is Jungkook and Seokjin in the far left corner, each with ice packs and suspiciously identical markings on them. They’re both making desperate attempts to patch each other up, fighting with the gauze and bandages that are laid out on the table beside them, as if in a competition to see who can better take care of the other. 

Besides that, Jimin is lounging along the wall, leaning back against it as he gazes into nothing, deeply lost in thought. His eyes trace the lines of the shed, foot tapping to an imaginary beat, brows furrowed. You wonder what the hell it is that Jimin could possibly be thinking about so intently, what it is that is making him not even pay attention to the two overgrown children in the corner of his tent, attacking each other with first-aid materials. 

Watching him, you almost don’t want to disturb him. Almost want to grab one of the kits on the shelf by the doorway and pull Eli outside, partly because you don’t think Jimin absolutely needs to be present for you to clean Eli’s wounds and give him some Spiderman Band-aids, and partly because you don’t think you can bear having to say hello to him. 

Eventually, and only because Eli would start thinking it was weird you weren’t talking to each other (and not because a part of you just wants to hear his voice again), you take another step forward, coughing. 

“Wha— oh, hi,” Jimin says, the sound of your arrival breaking him out of his trance. He rubs at the nape of his neck, clearly trying to brush off any awkwardness. “How can I help you guys?” His voice is unrecognizable. 

“Eli here crashed into a tree while playing tag,” you say tensely, doing your best to look around the room, anywhere else, literally anywhere else, just so you don’t have to look at him. “I just brought him here to make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m fine,” Eli insists. 

“Well, Eli, we just have to double check that,” Jimin says comfortingly, reaching down to bring Eli over to one of the benches. He sits him down and kneels so that he can be at eye-level with him, and says, “Sometimes our bodies say that they’re alright even when they really aren’t.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jimin meets your gaze, looking at you like there’s nothing left that you can do, looking at you like there is so much that he wants to say but no way to tell you. 

You open your mouth, willing for the words to come out, but your throat is dry and your heart is pounding in your ears, a painful thud with every breath that you take. He must have known that what you said was a lie. He must have known what you were going to say when he asked, but he asked anyway, not to get the truth but to see where your relationship stands. 

As it seems, your relationship doesn’t seem to be standing at all. 

It lies in front of you, shattered into a million pieces like a broken mirror, cursed but still doing its job, still showing you this fragmented reflection of yourself. Mixed together like this, you can’t see where your friendship ends and your love began. Mixed together like this, it is impossible to repair. 

“Y/N—” Jimin begins. 

“I should go,” you say at the same time, making the two of you stop in your tracks once again. “Thanks for, uh, patching Eli up. Just make sure he gets to the mess hall in time for dinner.”

“I will,” Jimin says with a nod. There is so much that he wants to say but you don’t think you can bear listening to another word come out of his mouth, to another apology for not loving you back when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with. 

You ruined your friendship but Jimin seems to think that he is the one to blame. 

“I’ll see you at dinner?” Jimin asks. 

You look back at him, wanting so desperately to say yes, to pretend that everything is back to normal, to act like this is the beginning of last summer instead of this one, where you loved him and he didn’t know and everything was alright. But you can’t, because it’s not last summer. It’s this one, and you still love him but he knows now. He fucking knows and just thinking about it makes your heart shake in its cage, holding itself together but unable to stop itself from cracking from within.

Jimin must have known you wouldn’t have agreed. Why did he ask?

“Wait, Y/N, hold up!” 

You’re already halfway out of the makeshift door when you turn around to see Jungkook barrelling after you, leaving Seokjin in the dust as he joins you outside, pulling you away from the entrance instinctively. No one has ever been particularly good at keeping secrets here. 

“Can I help you, Jungkook?” You ask, blinking at him, trying to act as normal as possible. 

“Are you alright?” He leans in close, looking into your eyes, concern washed over his features. 

“Everybody seems to be asking me this,” you say, acting like you don’t know why. “I’m fine.”

Jungkook, for all of his wide-eyed innocence, for the way that he views the world as perfectly imperfect, doesn’t buy it. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” he says. “I don’t know what went down between you and Jimin.”

“Nothing happened,” you say, forcing a laugh just so you don’t sound miserable. 

“Whatever it is, I just want you to know that it doesn’t always have to be like this,” he says, reaching out to take your hand in his own, his calloused thumb rubbing soothingly against your skin. “But you should be honest with your feelings, don’t you think?”

“You and Namjoon both think that I don’t have a handle on this, when I do.” You don’t. And being honest with your feelings is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

“Come on, Y/N, you don’t think we haven’t noticed, have you?” He asks, soft and sad and desperate to get through to you. 

“It’s no big deal,” you insist. “Jimin and I are alright. We’ve always been alright.”

“If you say so…” says Jungkook, no less skeptical than he was when he initiated this conversation. 

“Are we done here?” You ask, already pulling your hand from his grasp so you can go back to your cabin and pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, resigned as he lets you go. “But you know I’ll always be here for you, right?”

“I know, Jungkook,” you promise, because he always has and he always will be. “Thanks for looking out for me.” You begin to scurry away from the first aid tent, praying that Jimin didn’t hear you and Jungkook and wishing that everything was the way that it used to be.

“Be honest!” Jungkook shouts when you’re a hundred feet away, rushing back towards your cabin. 

Jungkook wants you to be honest?

Telling Jimin that you love him ruined your life. It ruined camp, it ruined your friendship, and it ruined your future. Seeing him now makes your heart ache and your brain dizzy. Every night you replay that conversation in your head, over and over, wondering if there was something that you could have done differently, something that you could have changed so you wouldn’t have ended up like this. Jimin wants to be friends again but you don’t know how to do that without him feeling guilty for not loving you back. 

You want to be honest?

Jimin makes you feel like there is a fire beneath your skin that you can’t extinguish, the flames creeping towards your heart. 

The only solution, it seems, is to smother them. 

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is that he’s impossible to avoid. 

You peer into the mess hall to see if lunch that day is any good and you see him laughing at a table surrounded by elementary schoolers munching on hot dogs and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You go hunting in the storage shed for some extra packs of popsicle sticks and find him cleaning out the old flower pots to use in the greenhouse. You lead your group of campers from the arts room to the lake and see him and Taehyung setting up the net for some friendly water polo, laughing as they try to tie each other up in the rope. 

It feels like you’re watching a movie unfold in real time, one where he is the star and you are nothing but a background character, the desperate loser who confessed to him in the beginning of the film just to develop his character arc, make him seem personable and relatable, then forgotten about until the end when you spot each other on the street and nod silently to each other, as if to say you’ve both inexplicably reached a peace between the two of you. 

Is that what the future holds for you? A wordless camp, an empty conversation? Will you simply go the rest of the summer without speaking, then nod to each other right before you leave? Will this be the last time you ever see each other?

The worst part about being in love with Jimin is knowing that just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they will be. Just because you want Jimin to love you back doesn’t mean he will. Just because you want everything to go back to normal doesn’t mean they will. 

As it turns out, love confessions don’t always end in fireworks.

Park Jimin is impossible to avoid not only because he’s everywhere but also because he is everybody’s best friend, the campers’ favorite counselor and the counselors’ favorite companion. He is kind and thoughtful and electric. He is magnetic. He makes others laugh without even trying, he names the plants in the greenhouse after the people he loves, he stays behind after activities to clean up when no one else will. 

Falling in love with Jimin wasn’t you picking out your favorite traits of his, wasn’t you seeing him do one selfless thing and deciding that he could do no wrong. It was submerging yourself in the lake, little by little before you dive in headfirst. It was catching glimpses of his goodness until you were consumed by it. It was knowing that you prefer yourself when you’re around him.

Falling in love with Jimin was like the heat in summer—endless. 

If only falling out of love with him would be just as easy. 

The weather has been unusually nice today. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the sun beats down on you, rays peeking through the tall branches and leaves of the spruce and oak trees that surround you, casting hazy shadows on the grass beneath your feet. It isn’t too muggy, isn’t too sticky and sweaty, this perfect medium between warm and hot, between dry and humid. It’s the sort of day that you romanticize every day of summer being, only to realize that summer actually consists of sweating through three different t-shirts and needing to eat your ice cream in ten seconds before it melts into a puddle on the concrete. 

Nonetheless, camp policy has always been that when it’s a beautiful day, the campers are going to spend every hour they’re awake outside, going on nature walks and playing capture the flag and eating watermelon on the splinter-y picnic benches. It’s nice, because it gives you a break from having to tell the kids not to touch the tips of the glue guns, but it also stinks, because it forces you to leave your sweet, air-conditioned paradise in favor of a mosquito-infested summer hell. 

Luckily, the kids have been washing off the summer heat in the cool water of the lake with the counselors that actually prefer being outside, playing volleyball in the shallows or canoeing out where it’s deeper. Sometimes, you wonder why Namjoon will let so few counselors supervise so many campers, and sometimes, you decide that it’s better them than you. 

You take a seat on the picnic bench by Yoongi, who is drinking notably clearer lemonade than in days past, so you assume that Namjoon got the water problem fixed like he promised. The two of you have never been outdoorsy people. Why you’ve been working at a summer camp for the last three years escapes you both. You and him lean back against the edge of the built-in table. From here, you have a perfect view of the lake, clear and blue and filled to the brim with rambunctious children, keeping at least somewhat of a watch over them so that Namjoon can’t shout at either of you for slacking off. 

“You know that Seokjin gave you murky water lemonade earlier, right?” You ask, just to make conversation. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, wholly unfazed. He takes another sip and sighs, feeling refreshed. Without batting an eyelash, he deadpans, “You know that you and Jimin aren’t going to get any better if you don’t talk to each other, right?”

“What are you talking about?” You scoff, playing dumb. 

“Just because all of those other idiots didn’t hear what went down between you and Jimin last summer doesn’t mean I didn’t,” Yoongi mutters monotonously. 

You jerk up, stick straight at his words, eyes wide as you glare at him. He heard you?

Yoongi laughs at your reaction, reclining back impossibly farther. “Relax, I haven’t told anyone. You know it’s none of my business.”

“Well,” you sputter out, “if it’s none of your business then why are you talking to me about it?”

Yoongi frowns. “Because you’re my friend, Y/N. And I hate seeing you like this,” he says, that soft lilt to his voice peeking through the rigid words spilling from his lips. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are anymore. A lot of the other counselors do.”

You purse your lips together, guilty. 

“Especially Jimin.”

“I just need time,” you say, trying to be honest for once in your life. Loving Jimin was never going to go away without a fight. 

“You need to talk to each other,” corrects Yoongi. 

“Talking is what got us into this mess,” you huff out, dejected. Yoongi heard it himself—your confession sent you and Jimin’s relationship down the garbage chute. 

“And talking is what’s going to get you out of it,” Yoongi tells you pointedly, truthfully, in that horrible way where you know that he’s right but refuse to accept it. “Promise me you’ll try?” He reaches out to place a hand atop yours, looking into your eyes with hopeful promise. “We want you back.”

“I’ll try,” you sigh out, because it’s never been worth fighting with Yoongi. Not when he cares so deeply. 

“Try what?”

You and Yoongi whip your heads around to find Jimin standing on the opposite side of the picnic bench, helping himself to a piece of sliced watermelon. 

“Try enjoying the outdoors more,” Yoongi covers for you instantly, making you breathe out a little sigh of relief. “We both hate when Namjoon makes it an outside day.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jimin says with a smile. The only reason Jimin doesn’t mind it is because he gets the best of both worlds—half the day spent inside the first-aid tent, the other spent inside the greenhouse by the woods. “There’s beauty in everything.”

Yoongi scrunches up his nose. “Like that?”

In the distance, you spot three things: Jungkook and Taehyung, laughing evilly as they run down along the rocky beach. The clothes clutched in their hands, crumpled up in their grasps while they hoot and holler. And Seokjin, hair sopping wet and half-naked, with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and ugly lime green water shoes on, chasing after them. 

“I’m out,” Yoongi says without missing a beat, grabbing his lemonade and dashing off to safety. Yoongi’s exit leaves you and Jimin standing there, stranded, frozen in place, as Jungkook and Taehyung rush by you, each grabbing a piece of watermelon on their way. Something falls from Jungkook’s hold as they pass you, and Jimin reaches down to pick it up. It’s one of Seokjin’s socks. 

“Give that back, Park Jimin!” Seokjin’s banshee screech rings in your ears. 

“Run,” Jimin says, and you don’t get another say in the matter before Jimin is grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him, Seokjin’s angry caws echoing throughout the clearing. 

Even though Jimin didn’t even actually steal his clothes from the locker room by the lake, Seokjin has determined that anyone who runs from him is automatically guilty, thus lumping both you and him into a wild goose chase alongside Jungkook and Taehyung, who are almost always the guilty parties when it comes to practical jokes like this. For a few moments, it’s the four of you running across the open field with Seokjin hot on all of your heels, desperate to catch up to at least one of you despite being severely out-matched, both in athletic ability and footwear, and then suddenly Jimin is pulling you behind the shed as Jungkook and Taehyung make a sharp right, headed in the opposite direction. 

Crouched behind the shed, you and Jimin stop for a minute to catch your breath, chests heaving after doing more exercise in the last thirty seconds than you have in the last week alone. You’re pressed up against the back siding, and only after your heart rates finally slow down do you become faintly aware of Jimin’s hand still gripping your wrist, like he’s simply forgotten to let go. 

“You think we lost them?” He asks with a wicked grin, and it’s impossible to avoid his gaze when he’s so close like this, when there’s barely a foot of space between your bodies, when his fingertips still press against your skin. 

“I think so,” you heave out in response. 

“Better stay here for a bit longer just in case,” Jimin says, and it’s the flirty sort of thing that he would say if it were last year, the flirty sort of thing that he would say if you two were friends like you used to be, but you aren’t anymore, and now it feels like Jimin is trying too hard and you aren’t trying hard enough. 

“I… I mean,” you say, pulling your wrist out of his grasp, rubbing at where your skin sizzles from his touch. “We’re probably fine.”

“Are we?” He asks, and this is exactly why you shouldn’t try to talk to him, exactly why talking won’t erase the tension that has settled between you two, repair the cracks in what you are. You’re not fine, because everything changed when you told Jimin that you loved him, and you’ve never been good at adjusting. You’re not fine, because for the first time in your years-long relationship, loving him is getting in the way. 

“I hope we are,” you admit, more to yourself than anyone else. Oh, how you so desperately wish that things were back to normal. Oh, how it would be so easy if only things were just a little bit different. 

“Me too,” Jimin says, and he smiles and, oh, how it makes you feel real and true and whole. He stands back up and reaches an arm out to help you do the same. For once, it doesn’t feel like a Band-aid on top of a stab wound. It feels like a lifeline. 

You let Jimin help you back to your feet, and for some reason your heart feels just a little bit lighter. 

“You think we’re alright?” Jimin asks. 

“Yeah,” You respond with a nod. “I think we will be.”

One thing that Namjoon is big on is interdisciplinary recreation. This is half due to the fact that he attends a private liberal arts school on the east coast and half due to the fact that he doesn’t always trust some of the counselors when it comes to chaperoning a whole group of kids on their own. You aren’t going to name names, but they’re the same people that steal clothes for fun. 

He’s got a list up on one of those massive sheets of lined paper filled with suggestions for all sorts of things that combine two or more of the basic activities the camp offers, ranging from making handmade bird seed treats in the kitchen to put out on nature walks to dodgeball in canoes. Some of Namjoon’s ideas are a lot more feasible than others. 

Namjoon’s never been a pushy person. He’s repeatedly said that he purposely avoids telling people what to do within their activity sectors because he doesn’t want the counselors to think that he’s stepping all over them or doesn’t trust them to come up with their own entertainment. The list in the counselor meeting room is titled: ACTIVITY SUGGESTIONS, bolded and circled, just so everyone knows that he isn’t forcing you to do anything (if you’re being honest, the emphasis on suggestions somewhat works against his whole niche). But sometimes, especially for someone whose greatest fear is stripping away others’ creative freedom, he can be rather insistent. 

Take, for example, the two stacks of plain flower pots left anonymously inside the arts and crafts room when you walk in to set up the activity for the day. You were originally going to have the younger kids color in their own guitars to hang up in the music room—an activity that was not on the activity suggestions list—and give the older ones some clay and let them go to town, but you suppose that decorating flower pots will be just as entertaining. At least you didn’t have to go hunting for the materials. 

The only problem with decorating flower pots is that, once the campers have painted streaks and polka dots and glued charms all over them, the flower pots have a rather specific place to go. A place that is part of a notable Park Jimin’s domain. 

A sneaky little feeling beneath your skin suspects that someone may have let it slip to Namjoon that you and Jimin could do with a bit of relationship repair. And Namjoon and Yoongi have been bunking in the same cabin for as long as you can remember. 

Sighing to yourself as you begin to set up the flowerpots on old newspapers spread out on the wooden tables, you decide that spending an hour with Jimin in the greenhouse (maybe even less if you can find an excuse to get yourself out of there!) couldn’t be any worse than being crouched down behind that cobwebbed old shed with his hand on your wrist and his eyes gazing into yours. At least you’ll have thirty campers to maintain the distance between the two of you. 

You suppose that you do have the easier of the two jobs. Arts and crafts is a rather simple activity to oversee, barring the occasional papercut or glue gun burn. Luckily, painting flower pots means that you will really only have to worry about the campers mod-podging their fingers together, and even then, the bathroom is just down the hall. Jimin, with his having to wrangle the kids to garden neatly and not hit each other with the trowels, is going to have it much harder. 

There’s a part of you that knows you’ll stick around. Not just to lessen the load of campers for him, but just so you can spend a little more time in the same room, breathing the same air, pretending that things are the way that they used to be. 

When you leave the arts and crafts room to hike the ten minutes to the greenhouse, followed by all of the campers dutifully carrying their brand new flowerpots in their hands, you feel like a young bird leaving the nest. Taught to fly little by little, but one day forced to face the real world and exist without the safety net you’ve called home for so long. The arts and crafts room hasn’t always been your favorite place in the camp, but this year it’s felt like you’ve been holding on particularly tight.

Jimin is already waiting happily in the greenhouse for your arrival, this stupid old gardening apron tied around his waist with a faded picture of a cartoon cactus on the front that says free hugs. He watches fondly as all of the kids shuffle into the greenhouse, the whole room just barely big enough to fit all of you, wide eyes peeking out from behind seed packets and green leaves. 

You stay in the back corner as Jimin gets to work, having all of the campers place their pots on the tables in front of them, bright plastic buckets of soil at the ends of their tables, flower seeds waiting to be planted. 

As much as Jimin is fantastic at patching kids up inside the first aid tent, the greenhouse is where he really belongs. The harsh rays of the sun are softened by the glass walls as they beam down on him, surrounding him with this warm yellow halo, painting him into the scenery behind him. Here, amongst the lush vegetables and flowers and ferns, Jimin doesn’t look like an underpaid camp counselor carrying the weight of thirty children on his back. He looks like this fairy in the woods, this forest sprite that has grown up amongst the trees and the moss and the wildflowers, who has learned to tend to the world’s greatest garden. He looks like someone whose mere presence makes the plants smile a little wider. 

Jimin’s like that with everyone. It should come as no surprise to you that the plants feel better when they’re around him, too. 

Jimin has always been so good with kids. More so than any of the other counselors, really, though they all try their best to be fun and friendly and gentle and stern all at once. But there’s something in Jimin’s nature that just makes him the best at it, something about the way he cares for them so deeply, something about the soft lines of his face that earns him their trust the fastest. He’s good with everything that camp throws at him, from frisbees to murky water to lake monsters, but nothing has ever seemed quite as right for him as his connection with the campers. 

The children don’t know how lucky they are to know someone like Jimin. Someone who believes wholeheartedly in the goodness of others, someone who will stop at nothing to fix what has been broken. 

You think about how lucky you are to love someone like Jimin every day of your life.

“Mr. Jimin?” A squeaky little voice pipes up. It’s a young girl named Zoe, whose flower pot is decorated with a painting of her entire family, a group of four stick figures with red shirts and purple dresses holding hands together, loopy smiles drawn onto their faces. 

“Just Jimin, alright?” Jimin corrects. 

“Are you sure these seeds are going to turn into flowers?” Zoe asks, looking skeptically at the packets in front of her. 

Jimin laughs, and it is as warm as the rays of the sun that stream through the glass walls. “I can’t promise that they will, Zoe.”

“Then why are we doing this?” She pouts. 

“Because,” Jimin says, pointing to the packets in front of the campers, “the only way that I can promise that these seeds will turn into flowers is if you guys can promise to love them. Because no matter how much sun they get, no matter how much you water them, they will only bloom if you really, really love them.”

“How do they know?” Another girl pipes up. 

“Flowers are just like us,” Jimin tells her gently. “They can feel when they’re loved, and they love us back by blooming for us.” He shuffles around the back of the greenhouse where he stands, fishing through the shelves lining the walls until he emerges with a rather large pot in his hands, placing it down on the table beside him with a thud. “Take this hydrangea, for example.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the blue flowers flashing before your eyes. 

You planted those together. Last summer. You and Jimin snuck out to the greenhouse while everyone else was eating potato salad for lunch and spent the hour listening to pop songs from the eighties and planting a baby hydrangea. 

They will bloom every year, Jimin said.��

So they’ll always remind us of us, you responded. 

It’s the first time that you and Jimin have looked at each other since you entered the greenhouse. He catches you off-guard, eyes wide as you stare back at him, suddenly feeling this gut-wrenching ache from deep within your belly. And Jimin—

God, Jimin looks like he’s tried everything under the sun and moon to keep that damn hydrangea from wilting. 

“They were planted early last summer. And they bloomed, right? But they look so sad,” Jimin explains, rallying himself and turning his gaze away from you. “And I gave them new soil and watered them regularly, but I’m still missing something.”

“Love!” Zoe shouts. 

“Right,” Jimin says with a tense nod, eyes flickering to yours once more. Your shoulders slump. “But I have a lot of love to give, so hopefully they’ll be alright soon. You guys just have to remember that love is the most important thing that you can give to your flowers. Just like you and me, the flowers need to know that there is someone who loves them.”

But you do know, you want to shout out to him. You’ve known this whole summer and you knew back at the campfire and you probably knew even before that. You’ve known for so long and still the flowers that we planted together are fucking wilting. Like they can’t even bear that this is what we’ve come to. What do you mean, they need to know that there is someone who loves them? You do. And I love you. You must know that, don’t you?

You feel the vines of a thorny rose wrap around your heart, clenching it tight. It’s been in bloom for a year now, thick red petals filling up the empty spaces between your bones, nectar swimming within your veins. And when you picked it, cut it off at its stem to place in Jimin’s hand, it grew only stronger, bloomed only harder.

Oh, if only that hydrangea knew how much you loved him. 

Afterwards, you stay back to help clean up. There’s soil all over the floor, buckets knocked over in the campers’ frenzy to go play games in the gym with Jungkook, discarded paper seed packets and trowels left littered across the tables. 

Jimin doesn’t put on any eighties music. Instead, you stand there in silence, brushing the leftover soil into dust pans and buckets, placing the gardening tools on the rack by the entrance. 

Even though you know flowers don’t wilt that fast, it feels like with every second that passes, the hydrangea is a moment closer to death. The color seems to fade every time you look at them, going from its vibrant pale blue to a sallow green, no longer able to tolerate being in the same room as the two of you. 

Your love doesn’t seem like it’s going to fix it this time. 

“I didn’t know that it was doing so badly,” you say, and the words don’t even feel like they belong to you when you hear them back, making Jimin stop dead where he stands. 

“What?” He asks. 

“The hydrangea.”

Jimin looks over at the pot on the table, and he sighs, helpless. “I’ve tried everything. It just doesn’t seem to be working with me this year.”

It’s no secret to the both of you why. 

“Hopefully you can figure something out,” you offer alongside a half smile. “I would hate to see them die after only a year in bloom.”

“Me too,” Jimin sighs. 

“How have you been?” You ask him, because you never really did get a real answer when you asked him that very first day. And because no matter what you do, you’ll always be curious about him. 

“Alright,” Jimin says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m looking forward to graduating next year.”

“Yeah, me too,” you say, even though you’re only looking forward to the not-being-in-college part of graduating. Not so much the being-chucked-into-the-real-world part. “How’s the major coming along?”

“Well, physics never gets any easier,” Jimin jokes, and even though it’s a little bit forced it makes the two of you both laugh, desperate to get back to the way that things used to be, step by step. “What about you? Still going for English?”

“With a side of business so that I don’t end up a broke poet,” you remind him. “But yeah.”

“Maybe you can write me into one of your stories,” Jimin suggests. 

Oh, but doesn’t he know already? He’s the main character in every single one. All of your poems are about him. He is your inspiration and your muse. He fills up each blank page all on his own. Doesn’t he know? 

“Maybe,” you agree, even though there has never been a ‘maybe’ when it comes to him.

You nearly drop the plastic bucket of soil on your toe when you hear his next question. 

“Have you, uh, been seeing anyone lately?” Jimin scratches at the nape of his neck, clearly nervous. Your heart sinks. Out of all of the possible questions he could ask you to keep this relatively casual conversation going, he chooses that one? 

You look up at him, wondering why on earth he’s asking you this when your love has already been laid out bare in front of him, every corner unfolded so he can read across the lines like a map, memorize the splotches of color. You look up at him and you are helpless, desperate for him to realize that even with thousands of miles and hundreds of days between you, for you, it has always been him.

You wonder if the only reason he’s asking is to see if you were starting to move on. 

“No,” you mutter lifelessly. “I haven’t.” And then, like a devilish whisper in your ear, “Have you?”

You almost expect him to say yes. You almost expect to hear him recount all of the fantastic dates he’s been on, all of the loving relationships he’s been in, but instead, he says, “Me neither.”

And that? That makes your heart stop dead in its tracks. 

“I tried to, you know,” Jimin says, and each word is a puncture wound inside of you. “But I just couldn’t. Nothing really stuck.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you tell him, because you are. Because Jimin deserves to love someone who will love him back. Someone that isn’t you, someone who hasn’t been hopelessly pining after him for a year. 

“No, it’s alright.” Jimin shrugs. “I’m kind of glad that nothing stuck.”

And if hearing the words “me neither,” leave his lips made your heart freeze up, then hearing these words set it aflame. You don’t respond, instead choosing to let the words etch themselves into your memory, carve themselves into your heart, give you hope, if only a droplet of it. Any is enough to have your heart beating a little faster.

“I miss this,” Jimin breathes out, and if you closed your eyes and pretended that you were somewhere else it would almost sound like a confession. You glance up at him, and he is so empty, clinging hopelessly onto the remnants of things past just like you, and you realize that being honest is really the only option you have left. “I miss doing stuff like this.” 

The with you goes unspoken, but it rings loud and clear in your ears anyway. 

“I miss it too,” you say, because Jimin must know already, doesn’t he? How if you could choose to go on loving him without him ever knowing, then you would do it in an instant? How loving him silently was painful but loving him like this, unbearable. “I feel like it’s been a long time.”

A long time since you both really spoke to each other. A long time since you were friends the way you used to be. A long time since you first began to love him.

“Can’t we go back?” Jimin asks, a foolish question. He should know better than to ask for something he already knows he can’t get. 

“You know we can’t,” you tell him. You’ve already tried.

“Then can we begin again?” He proposes, the two of you meeting in the middle of the greenhouse, right in front of the hydrangea. You hadn’t even realized you were barely three feet away from him until you were already there. “Please? I miss us, Y/N. Don’t you miss us, too?”

Gazing at Jimin, you feel your heart tremble. One thing that hasn’t changed is how weak you are to his touch, to his eyes, to the way that they make every part of you feel like jelly, feel like you’ll collapse without him to hold you up. You’ve never been able to say no to him. It’s one of the things you don’t think you’ll ever outgrow. 

“We can try,” you say, because being honest may be hard, and talking even harder, but now you would rather try to piece yourselves back together than spend the rest of the summer wondering what to do with the shattered remains on the floor, stepping around them instead of cleaning them up, repairing what has been broken. 

It’s like the words are music to Jimin’s ears, the way he lights up, grinning wide and real and true. He inhales and it feels like a breath of fresh air, like a brand new season has come to rest upon the two of you. It feels like relief. It feels like hope. It feels like new.

You hadn’t realized it before, but you’ve been dying to make him smile. 

Next to you, the hydrangea seems just a little bit brighter. 

It’s getting easier. 

No longer are you turning in the opposite direction whenever you see him hanging around the center of camp, praying that he hasn’t spotted you from where you stand. Nor are you making excuses about having to go help Namjoon with something or run back to your cabin whenever he shows up to spend time with you and the other counselors. 

And even though it’s still a little tense when you accidentally look up at the same time and meet eyes, even though it still feels like you two aren’t quite the same, it’s getting easier. 

You’ve even begun to eat lunch together again. 

It’s not exactly like it was before, not like when you would scurry off to the greenhouse or the shed or some other hidden place, spread out a picnic blanket and bask in each other’s company, laughing about anything and everything, but it’s better. It’s better than how it used to be, when you would always bring your lunch back to your cabin to eat in silence, drown yourself in your comforter and your thoughts, letting them pile on top of you, one by one. It’s better than how you used to pretend that you didn’t even know each other. 

Slowly, step by step, things have almost started to feel normal again. 

“You guys seem happier lately,” Taehyung commends mindlessly as he sits down across from you and Jimin, three pieces of meat lover’s pizza on the paper plate he sets on the tabletop. 

You and Jimin smile at each other. You suppose that you have been.

“Three, Tae?” The moment gone too soon, Jimin’s focus is immediately redirected to the behemoth meal in front of Taehyung. “Seriously? Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”

“The meat balances it out,” Taehyung says matter-of-factly, even though it definitely doesn’t. He takes an enormous bite out of one of the slices, eating nearly half the pizza in a single chomp. “But seriously, I mean it. You guys look a lot happier. Yoongi!”

Yoongi freezes in his tracks from where he’s walking by your table, spilling his open soda can all over his plate of pizza at Taehyung’s shout of his name. 

“Don’t you think that Jimin and Y/N seem happier?” Taehyung asks, motioning to the both of you. 

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says with a shrug, aloof as always. You chuckle to yourself, knowing fully well that it was him who got Namjoon to leave two stacks of flower pots in the arts and crafts room to give you an extra push towards talking with Jimin. Taehyung huffs, disappointed but not surprised that Yoongi contributed so little to the conversation, but he doesn’t notice how Yoongi gives you a smile and a thumbs up as he heads over to where Namjoon and Hoseok are sitting. 

“Well, I think you guys do,” Taehyung says pointedly. 

“Did we seem… unhappy to you?” Jimin asks, an eyebrow raised. 

“No,” says Taehyung. “I don’t know, you guys just seemed different. You know, I was talking with Jin and he and I were convinced that the two of you were dating last year and then broke up sometime before this summer because you guys were acting so weird earlier.”

“Really?” You ask, cracking an awkward smile just to keep the mood light because god, Taehyung really is a lot more observant than you give him credit for. “That’s so funny, honestly.” It’s not. “You know that we’re just friends, Tae.”

Next to you, Jimin is staring down his lunch like it’s insulted his family. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, goddamnit, anything that will make you feel like you’re not the only one who wants you two to be friends again. Anything that will remind you that being friends is all you have left because he will never love you back. 

“You could have fooled me,” Taehyung acknowledges. “Seokjin was pretty convinced, too. We even had a bet going to see which one of you would admit it first.”

“You guys bet on us?” Jimin asks, a little horrified and a lot of something else, something that you can’t quite place. 

“Not with money!” Taehyung defends. “Marshmallows for the end-of-camp counselor campfire. But neither of you ever said anything so we ended up just dropping it and ate as many marshmallows as we wanted.”

Oh, if only Taehyung knew. Oh, if only he had heard you that night, heard you pour your heart out in front of that fire. Oh, if only he had noticed, noticed the warm yellow glow that made Jimin look like he had been bathed in candlelight, noticed those roasted marshmallows over the heat, noticed the words that replay in your head like a broken record. 

There’s a part of you that wants to know who Taehyung was betting on. A part of you that is wondering why on earth would either of them ever assume that Jimin would be the one to confess first when he has only ever seen you as a friend and you have always seen him as something more. Seen him as this dream come to life, seen him as the answer to all of your prayers. 

Jimin never would have confessed first. That hasn’t changed. 

“Thinking back, it was kind of stupid of us to bet on you guys when you hadn’t even confirmed anything,” Taehyung says with a sigh, pursing his lips together tightly. “I don’t know. I guess that Seokjin and I both really, really wanted you guys to get together.” He chuckles, but it isn’t funny anymore.

Believe me, Tae, you think to yourself. You guys weren’t the only ones.

“Eh,” Taehyung hums, shrugging to himself. He clearly isn’t as caught up about it as you and Jimin, who wonder every day how different things would be if you had just kept your damn mouth shut that night, if you had never loved him in the first place. “I guess I’m just glad to see you both smiling again.”

“Thanks, Tae,” you say, because even if Taehyung doesn’t know the whole story he’s still hit the nail on the head, and even if he can’t pick up the way that Jimin’s body has tensed up beside you, even if he doesn’t notice how normal feels like the furthest thing to describe the two of you right now, he has always wanted the both of you to be content.

“Makes me kinda sad to know you guys are just friends, even though I’m obviously not going to force you into anything.” Taehyung takes another bite of his pizza, the words just conversational to him even if they clearly aren’t to either of you.

Slowly, Jimin looks back up from his lunch, like he’s finally made up his mind. You meet Jimin’s eyes when he does, and for once you don’t dare jump into the swirling sea of his irises, for once you can hardly tell if the waves are calm or rough. For once, it feels like Jimin is looking at you the way you look at him—helplessly.

Taehyung smiles, looking fondly at the both of you. “You guys would have been cute together,” he says it because he means it. “You make each other so happy.”

He means that part, too.

The end-of-camp show is a longstanding tradition where all of the kids, divided by age group, celebrate the best part about summer and going to a sleepaway camp: being away from their parents. There are dance performances choreographed by the counselors (namely Hoseok, who has the most free time because his other job mainly consists of making sure Namjoon doesn’t lose his head), a guitar performance organized by Seokjin (who has promised not to rickroll everyone this year), and an art show setup by you to display all of the treasures that the campers have created. But your favorite part of the show is how, no matter how much time time is spent practicing and rehearsing, the performance will always end in chaos. The only predictable thing about it is its unpredictability. 

This year, as suggested by Hoseok and immediately implemented by Namjoon, the counselors are being roped into a performance of their own, one that is bound to be even more disastrous because even though you can all listen to directions, you are all also just as capable of purposely disobeying them. 

Part of you suspects that the only reason Hoseok even recommended that you all do this is because he enjoys watching the camp counselor collective crash and burn. Like there’s something cathartic about watching you go up in flames.

Nevertheless, you do it, because if not for yourselves then for Hoseok, and if not for him then for Namjoon, both of whom tirelessly to make sure that camp is a place where you and the other counselors can do the dumbest things without repercussions. If it weren’t for the two of them, camp would be a lot less fun.

Hoseok also just absolutely relishes in being in charge of something, something that involves dancing and singing and performing, which are his favorite things to do, and it would be cruel of all of you to deny Hoseok this opportunity, if only for a silly little camp performance. 

Hoseok manages to wrangle a time and space for rehearsal thanks to one of those magic scientists that perform cool things with chemicals, one that Namjoon has arranged to visit camp to give you and the other counselors a much-needed break from the endless excitement of children. 

And so, you all trickle into the empty counselor meeting room at three in the afternoon exactly, waiting to see what the hell Hoseok has come up with now. 

All of the tables, chairs, and other miscellaneous furniture has been pushed up against the walls, leaving just enough room for all of you to fit relatively comfortably, with Hoseok standing smack in the middle of the room, looking proud. 

“I’m scared,” Hazel admits to you as you pass by Hoseok to stand where the rest of the counselors have gathered. You sneak a peek at the clipboard in Hoseok’s hand, which isn’t empty this time, and is instead filled with sheets of paper that look like they belong in the hands of a sports coach, X’s and O’s and arrows littering the pages. 

“Don’t be,” you say, though the tremble of your voice is probably doing very little to calm her nerves. You end up grouped together with Jimin and Yoongi, who are both standing in silence, waiting for something to pull them out of their thoughts. “Hey,” you say softly, giving Jimin a nudge. 

“Hey,” Jimin responds, face lifting a little when he sees you. From behind him, Yoongi is eyeing the both of you, but he doesn’t seem very worried. Jimin laughs tensely. “I’m nervous about what Hoseok has in mind for us.”

You glance over to Hoseok as he talks animatedly with Namjoon, who looks a little bit in over his head. Namjoon must have known that Hoseok would spare no expense when it came to a counselor performance. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,” you assure him with a squeeze to his wrist, making him smile weakly at you. 

“First Namjoon makes us sit outside, and then he makes us do exercise?” Yoongi huffs. “When will it end?”

“High time he got you out of the damn kitchens,” Jungkook mutters to himself, making all of the other counselors within earshot laugh. Yoongi turns around to give Jungkook half of a noogie before Hoseok claps to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, hi everyone!” Hoseok cheers. “Glad you all could make it.”

“Did we have a choice?” Seokjin asks. 

“Nope!” Hoseok grins. “Anyway, as you know, this year Namjoon and I have been thinking of doing a counselor performance at the end-of-camp show to show unity and entertain the kids, since they’re the ones who have been doing all of the work thus far to make the camp show a reality. And I, as your assistant head counselor and dance choreographer, get to set it up!”

“Oh, God,” Taehyung says. 

“It’s not going to be a super serious thing because this is camp and we’re literally performing for prepubescent children, so don’t worry!” He says, doing nothing to ease people’s worries. He turns around to face the chalkboard, and begins to magnet the pieces of paper from his clipboard onto it, page by page, as the rest of you stare on in horror. “But I have come up with a bit of a dance for us to perform…”

“Oh, God,” Seokjin repeats dramatically. 

“Anyway,” Hoseok says, clapping his hands together once more to redirect everyone’s attention from the mess on the board back to him. “It’ll be a bit of a partner dance for the first half, and then everyone gets about five seconds worth of a solo in the middle where you can do whatever you want—” when Hoseok spots Jungkook, Taehyung, and Seokjin already beginning to scheme, wicked smiles widening, he quickly adds, “—within reason, and then a big old group thing to finish it up. Does that sound good?”

“Whoop,” Yoongi deadpans.

“Great!” Hoseok says, fumbling for another piece of paper in the stack that he still has left on his clipboard. 

“God, a partner dance?” You ask awkwardly, feeling noticeably more worried than before. It’s not that you’re dreading having to dance, or even having to perform in front of a bunch of kids, it’s the idea of having to dance with someone else, a specific someone else in particular, that has your stomach doing flips. “Why did Hobi think that was a good idea?”

“It might be fun, don’t you think?” Jimin says, trying to keep the mood light. It’s clear he has no worries about the potential for being paired up with you, which might have been able to fly last year but this summer, you’re not so sure. You and Jimin just managed to start eating lunch together again without wanting to curl into a ball and hide. What’s going to happen if you have to dance with each other?

“I’m not a very good dancer,” you admit, a weak excuse for your real fear. 

“Then I’ll teach you,” Jimin says, and the words are hopeful and filled with light as he works so desperately to remind you that not all has been lost. That you can begin again. 

“Okay, partners,” Hoseok says, looking at his list. “Namjoon and Yoongi, Jungkook and Seokjin, Taehyung and Hazel, Maria and Ruby, Jia-yi and Quinn, and Jimin and Y/N.”

Shit. 

Yoongi, noticing your alarm, immediately interrupts, “Uh, is it possible for us to switch partners?”

“Why?” Hoseok asks innocently. 

And in that split second, that moment of pause, you look from the wide-eyed Yoongi to Jimin, who is gazing back at you like he’s finally got it right, like he’s finally been given an opportunity to fix what you had broken, to repair your relationship, brick by brick, if only for a stupid counselor performance. Jimin, who is smiling and smiling and smiling because you are finally eating lunch together and you are finally watering that damn hydrangea and you finally get to dance together, and everything in the world is slowly beginning to feel right, the dust is beginning to settle after a month’s worth of storms. 

You inhale, then you exhale, and you say, “I’m fine with my partner. I don’t think we need to switch, do we?”

And you swear, your heart feels lighter already. 

Jimin pops into the arts and crafts room more often these days. Sometimes he actually does it because he needs to drop something off, because a camper left something in the greenhouse or because Namjoon is making him, but most times, he does it just to say hi, just to charm all of the campers as they make collages out of old magazines or glue together fabric for no-sew pillows. 

And every time he does it, every time there is that familiar knock on the door, you nearly tumble over yourself from excitement. The best part about it is how normal it’s all beginning to feel, how familiar it is. You are almost back to where you used to be. 

Almost back to when you loved him, and he didn’t know, and everything was alright. 

Today, the kids are making cards for you to mail back home before the summer is done, before camp comes to a close and they return to their lives and you return to yours. Normally, you’d automatically send the letters back to the parents, but this time, you offer up an alternative. 

“These cards are going to be mailed back home to the people that you love,” you say, holding up your own as an example. It’s a basic one, yellow cardstock with daisies made out of construction paper glued onto it, but it serves as a good guideline for whatever the campers want to do with their own. “You just need to provide their address so that we can make sure it gets to the right person.”

“It doesn’t have to be our parents?” One boy asks.

“Nope,” you say with a smile, shaking your head. “You can send it to anyone you love. It’s just to let them know how you are, and that you miss them.”

“Who are you sending yours to?” A different girl, Rose, asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, because you don’t really need to let your parents know how you are when you text each other constantly, and all of your friends from back home can see all of the shenanigans you get up to on your social media, but a letter is no fun if only one person ever gets to read it. 

“You should send it to Jimin,” Rose suggests matter-of-factly, making you sputter out the water you were taking a sip of all over the table in front of you. 

“Jimin?” You repeat, forcing a smile. “I see Jimin all the time.”

“But you really like him, don’t you?” She asks, even though she obviously already knows the answer. Goddamn, kids pick up on everything. “I can tell.”

“Is that so?” You return, eyebrows raised. 

“Yeah, me too!” The boy chirps up. “You always look so nervous whenever he comes to say hello. Like you don’t know what to say. That’s what my mom looks like whenever she comes home from a new date with a boy she really likes.”

You do? That is news to you. 

“It’s okay, though,” Rose interrupts. “I think that he really likes you too. Otherwise he wouldn’t just be popping in every other day to say hello!”

“Maybe he really likes seeing you guys, instead!” You offer, feeling your cheeks heating up at the thought that you and Jimin have laid yourselves out bare like a board book for everyone to read. 

“I don’t think so. He looks too happy when he sees you.” The girl shakes her head. “You should send your card to him, so he knows that you love him.”

Oh, he knows, that’s for sure, you think to yourself. There’s no way that Jimin hasn’t already realized that you still love him. That you have always loved him. Even the campers have it figured out, and they’re still in elementary school. But you think that the worst part of this, the worst part of all of these freakishly observant children verbally beating you up with reminders of your relationship with Jimin, is how they seem to think that Jimin likes you back. That Jimin sees you as something more. 

Because he didn’t, last year. And he didn’t, earlier this summer. And there is no way things have changed that much. 

“You guys should keep working on your cards,” you say, desperate for the subject to drop, desperate to talk about anything, literally anything, besides Jimin. “We want to send them by the end of the week so that the people you love will get them before camp’s over.”

“So you do like him!” The boy exclaims. 

“Cards, Oliver!” You reprimand him, earning a chorus of giggles, though there is no mistaking the way your body has tensed, the way your words are shaking. No mistaking how your heart trembles at the thought of Jimin, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Jimin, actually liking you back. 

It can’t be. 

You and Jimin have always just been friends. That’s all you’ll ever be. You swear. 

You swear.

“The hydrangea looks better,” you comment as you enter the greenhouse, eyes immediately darting towards the pot on the table at the front. In it, the hydrangea has blossomed fully, its petals a vibrant sky blue, basking in the faint glow of the sun as it streams into the greenhouse, peeking between the misty gray clouds, painting everything with a hazy yellow warmth. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Jimin asks from where he’s wrestling with an enormous packet of soil, pausing his battle to turn and look at the blossom, smiling to himself. “I think we must have worked some sort of magic.”

“Or maybe it’s just your expert gardening skills,” you tease, hauling in some plants by the door that Jimin has been meaning to bring inside the greenhouse for days now. “I’m not in here enough to make any sort of noticeable difference.”

Jimin scoffs disbelievingly. “You’re in here almost as much as I am nowadays.”

“Just to help out,” you defend weakly, pouting to yourself. It’s not like you’ve completely abandoned your air-conditioned arts and crafts room to fool around in the balmy greenhouse, soil underneath your fingernails and seeds stuck to your clothes. You just prefer to spend your free time here. Nothing criminal about that.

Plus, Jimin sure doesn’t seem to mind. 

“And for that, I thank you,” says Jimin with a grin, the bag of soil finally beginning to cooperate with him. He hauls it over his shoulder to bring into the back room, where he keeps all of the bigger tools and plants that are too advanced for the campers, and you pretend not to ogle the way his biceps bulge as he carries the soil away, the bag easily fifty pounds or more. 

What? You didn’t fall in love with Jimin just because of his electric personality. 

“Besides, you come into the arts room so often that all the kids are starting to think you work there instead of here,” you remind him pointedly. He laughs, and the sound bounces off of the glass walls, filling up the room. 

Jimin comes out of the back room, a little bit of soil smudged onto his cheek from his gloves, and he’s smiling. “Maybe I just like seeing you.”

“Next time we do a craft I’ll make sure to prepare an extra one so you can do it with us,” you joke, ignoring the way his words warm you from the inside out, convincing yourself that this is what it was like last year, too, so Jimin doesn’t mean anything by it. 

Convincing yourself that Jimin has never loved you the way that you love him. 

“Am I going to be allowed to sit next to you?” He asks as he walks up to where you’re working, that same flirty lilt to his voice, that teasing tone that he always used to use on you, especially whenever it came down to spending time together. 

“Only if you’re good,” you chide in response, leaning over to pick up a flower pot just so you don’t have to see his damn face, so you don’t have to see the way his eyes glint in the sun as he toys with you, as he presses all of your buttons with ease.

Obviously, you had seriously miscalculated how far away he was, because by the time you’re standing up straight he’s right behind you, playfully pinching at your waist, the sensation sending an electric jolt through your veins. You jump and gasp at the feeling, nearly dropping the goddamn flower pot, body suddenly turning to jelly. Behind you, Jimin is in stitches. 

“I could have dropped this!” You scold him as he doubles over in laughter, giggling and giggling and giggling, so much so that you can’t even pretend to be angry at him, too endeared by his happiness, by his pure joy, to shout at him any more. 

“You’ve always been so ticklish, Y/N,” Jimin says between puffs of air, trying to catch his breath.

“I am not! You just surprised me!” You defend, even though Jimin’s right and he knows it. Your outrage leaves him in hysterics still, amused by the way you so easily fall right into his trap.

“Whatever you say,” he singsongs, helping you haul in the last of the flowerpots. “I think that’s the last of them.”

“Next time I show up, a whole different part of the greenhouse will need work,” you say with a sigh, because no matter how much you do, no matter how much you clean and reorganize, there will always be something left. 

“The work is never done,” Jimin says with a smile, having already resigned himself to this fate. “But I think it looks pretty good.”

And looking at the greenhouse, looking at the vibrant hues that fill the room, from the rich golden marigolds to the bright pink lilies, from the rich green leaves to the soft blue hydrangea, you have to agree. It’s no wonder why Jimin loves this place so much, spends so much time in it despite its severe lack of circulation and the absence of reliable shade. It’s because everything in here he has had a hand in making. Everything in here is here because of him. 

This place will never not remind you of him. 

“It’s getting late,” Jimin says, checking his watch. “You think they have dinner ready for us?”

“God, I hope so,” you say with a sigh. “I’m starving.”

“Then shall we feast?” He asks, holding his arm out for you to take. 

You wrap your arm around his own, and you grin. “We shall.”

Then the thunder cracks, and the sky begins to sob. 

You’re barely three feet out the door before you feel the wet splotches on your shoulders, cold drops on your skin, made thicker by the leaves above your head, forcing you to retreat back into the greenhouse. Thanks to the glass, the raindrops that hit the rooftop ring like mallets on a drum, booming and loud, echoing throughout the room. 

“Damn,” Jimin says, staring out at the once sunny clearing, now shrouded in a grey haze. “It was sunny two minutes ago.”

“It’s just a summer storm,” you assure, arm still wrapped up tight in his own. “They never last long.”

“Think we should wait it out?” He asks. 

“Whatever you want to do.”

Jimin grins, squeezing you tight. “How about this? Five minutes, and if it doesn’t stop, we make a run for it?”

You nod. “Five minutes.”

Five minutes pass and the rain has no intention of letting up, seemingly getting heavier as you count down the seconds, the light grey fog that has blanketed the clearing turning to an angry deep blue, thick and endless. The alarm on Jimin’s watch goes off, signifying your wait’s end, and you open your mouth to suggest that maybe you should wait here a little longer, but barely get the first letter out before Jimin is flinging open the door to the greenhouse and pulling you out into the rain. 

You shriek as the drops hit you, little pellets of water striking you like beads, soaking your clothes and your skin everything in between. Jimin looks back from where he’s running in front of you, one hand still wrapped around your wrist, and his hair is in strands and his shirt is sticking to his torso, and you don’t think that, in your three years of knowing him, you’ve ever seen him happier. He pulls you out into the rain and he looks like a shot from a movie scene, looks like the hero in a coming-of-age film, letting the rain wash away his worries and his insecurities, letting himself be reborn beneath the crying sky. 

And he stops, and you stop, and you stand there in the pouring rain just looking at each other, picturesque frames, moments in time, letting the water soak into your skin, letting it trickle down your cheeks, decorating your eyelashes. You feel his hand sink down to your own, feel your fingers intertwine. And he is smiling, God, he is smiling so fucking wide, smiling at you like there is no place he would rather be, smiling at you like you smile at him when you think he isn’t looking, like you are the reason he is filled with light. Jimin stands there in the rain with his hand on your wrist and droplets of rain dotting his skin, and he is brand new. And you watch him, watch the way it rains down upon him, and you wonder what the hell he is thinking. 

You wonder what on earth he sees when he looks at you. 

(Is it the same as what you see when you look at him?)

“Aren’t you cold?” You ask him, feeling like your voice is a distant melody, feeling like it’s coming from somewhere else. 

He shakes his head, and you can see the rain spraying from the ends of his hair, soaked strands framing his face. “Isn’t this wonderful?” He asks up to the sky, tilting his head up to let it rain down upon him, let the droplets drizzle down his cheeks. “Don’t you love it?”

“It’s nice,” you admit, because there’s something refreshing about being here, about being caught in the midst of a summer storm, washing away the dirt and sweat and worries. 

“It’s perfect,” Jimin corrects, voice trampled by the rain, thick and heavy. “I feel like this is just what I needed.”

“Needed for what?”

He looks back at you, looks at the way your bodies are still connected, at the way you’re standing barely a foot apart in the pouring rain, and he grins and says, “Just what I needed to know.”

You don’t have time to ask him what he needs to know, what he has been so desperate to learn, before he’s pulling you back into him and up onto the deck, wet footsteps on the wooden porch as you heave yourselves out of the rain and into the counselor meeting room, drenched from head to toe. 

“Oh my God, what the hell happened to you guys?” Seokjin asks, shocked when he spots the two of you, still holding hands. 

“Got caught in the rain,” you say sheepishly, still feeling out of breath. 

“In the rain?” Taehyung asks. “For how long?”

“Long enough,” Jimin answers this time, finally letting you go to run towards the back of the room. You watch helplessly as he does, your hand clenching around nothing, missing his touch. When he returns, he’s got a dry windbreaker in his hand, crumpled up from being in his backpack for so long. “Here, use this,” he says, placing it over your shoulders, pulling the collar tight at your front. 

“Thanks,” you say breathlessly, wondering what the hell Jimin is going to use to dry himself off, clothing so soaked not even a day in the sun could dry it. 

“That was fun,” Jimin says, fixing the windbreaker over your shoulders to make sure it’s covering as much of you as possible. “Who knew, right?”

“Right,” your voice trails off, too focused on the way his brows are furrowed as he tries to dry you off with a jacket made of fabric meant to repel water rather than absorb it, mouth pressed into a pout as he shuffles it around, drying off whatever he can. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” he says when he’s satisfied, gazing into your eyes, trying to get you to gaze back into his own. When you falter, he chuckles, this little huff of air dispelled from his lungs. “I’m gonna go bother Hoseok for something dry. Don’t stay in those clothes too long, or you’ll catch something.”

With that, he disappears into the other room, soggy footsteps leaving prints in his wake. You’re so busy watching his back disappear from view that you don’t even notice Namjoon coming up to you, a sage expression written all over his face. 

“What?” You challenge, not liking the way he looks so suspicious. 

“Nothing,” he says with a laugh and a shake of his head. “I just… don’t know if you really do have anything to worry about when it comes to him.” He nods his head in the direction of Jimin before vanishing, called over by Seokjin and Jungkook to complain to him about something, leaving you floundering in the doorway to the counselor’s room. 

Does Namjoon know something you don’t?

Are you missing something here?

Because as far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin are finally getting back to where you used to be. As far as you’re concerned, you and Jimin did these same things last year, worked in the greenhouse together, planted flowers together, ate lunch together (okay, maybe you didn’t stand in the pouring rain together), and you are positive Jimin didn’t love you back then. As far as you’re concerned, this isn’t different. This is normal. 

Outside, the rain has stopped, a rainbow hidden behind the trees the only reminder that it was ever there in the first place. 

Despite the fact that you will literally only be performing for a bunch of children, Jimin is insistent on teaching you how to dance. 

At least, that’s it looks like, when he asks you to meet him in the counselor’s room one day half an hour before the mandated practice that Hoseok’s arranged for the whole group of you while the all the campers are off on a nature hike with some of the local rangers from the reserve nearby. You don’t know why this couldn’t wait until during practice, when Hoseok puts on some upbeat dance music and lets everybody do what they want, which usually ends up in someone getting twirled (usually Seokjin), but you don’t really mind. Your other option was to lie around in your cabin waiting for the next social event. 

Jimin’s already inside by the time you arrive, this smooth, soft jazz playing from the little speaker that he brought with him, set up on a table at the front of the room. The furniture hasn’t been moved back to their original spots since the first practice, so anytime Namjoon calls a meeting everyone ends up sitting on the floor like a kindergarten class, but at least it makes dance practice easier. 

Even though he’s not really dancing, his body is still moving, absorbed in the music as it echoes around the room, hips swaying and head bobbing. He loses himself in the melody so easily, letting each and every note pluck along to the strings of his heart, this deep, mellow sound that fills him up like a wine glass, dulcet and sweet. 

“Hey,” you say softly from where you stand, watching him from the doorframe. 

Jimin jumps a little bit at the sound of your voice, almost embarrassed that he hadn’t spotted you sooner. “Hey,” he says in return, coming to a halt. “I didn’t, uh, see you there.”

“That was kind of the point,” you joke, walking into the room and joining him where he stands in the center. “Why did you want me down here?”

“You mean I need a reason to see you now?” Jimin teases in return, a little smirk playing along his lips. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, unimpressed. He gives. “Alright, you got me. I promised you a dance lesson, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t the kind of music that Hoseok puts on, though,” you point out, even as Jimin intertwines his hand in your own and pulls you in close to him, the two of you stepping in time to the beat, not too slow but not too fast, either, this even, steady swing, the sort of thing an old bar would play during the evening rush. Jimin doesn’t pay your comment any attention, instead focusing on his hand on your side, your fingers laced together between your bodies. 

You have, admittedly, never been much of a musical person. You never go out to clubs because sweaty, drunk people just aren’t your style, you don’t ever dance, and you can barely keep a beat when you sing in the shower. Your body has always been stiff as stone despite your (and your friends’) best attempts to achieve otherwise, and as such, you had long resigned yourself to the fact that you do better with your mouth than with your feet. 

But still, Jimin rallies on, because you’re here, goddamnit, and even if you never dance again after this, at least you can say that you have. He moves you around the room in time with the honeyed melody, even daring to pull some advanced tactics like spinning you beneath his touch, hand held above your head as you twirl in place. And you try to let loose, try to lose yourself in the music like he does, but it’s hard when you have always been more of a wordsmith than a dancer.

What’s also not helping is how every bone in your body always seems to freeze up at his touch. 

“Relax, alright?” He says, guiding you across the old wooden floor, boards creaking beneath your feet. “It’s just me.”

That’s the problem, your brain supplies unhelpfully. 

“I told you that I wasn’t a very good dancer,” you say bashfully, unable to look Jimin in the eye when he is so close, when his body is practically pressed up against yours, when his fingertips leave burn marks where they press against his skin, sparks flying. 

It’s different than when it was raining, because when it was raining, even though you were close, there were other things for Jimin to look at besides you. He gazed up at the sky and thanked it for its tears, gazed around the clearing and surrounded himself in the navy blue haze, closed his eyes and felt the drops on his skin, felt them wash away his nightmares and replace them with dreams. 

It’s different now, because there is nothing impressive about the counselor room. Because the janky old tables and dirty windows aren’t something to be gazed at. Because Jimin’s focus is on you and only you, and it makes you feel like he’s staring right through you, like he’s gawking at your heart where it sits in its cage, trembling beneath his eyes. Jimin makes you want to board yourself up, wall yourself in, and reveal yourself bare all at once, like there is so much that he already knows but so much more that he could, if only things were just a little bit different. 

“You’re doing just fine,” Jimin promises, voice as soft as his steps, padding on the hardwood. You’ve lost track of the number of times you’ve circled the room, Jimin guiding you without reason or rhyme, just rhythm. He makes sure you’re always looking at him, reaches a hand out to tilt your chin back up if you dare glance away, keeping his steely gaze trained on you, determined to have you do the same. “Isn’t this nice?” He murmurs. 

“It is,” you agree. You don’t even have to think about your response, letting the words fall off your tongue, because even if you do feel tense, even if your bones are stiff, there is something about this that sets you at ease. 

And you stay like that, wrapped up in each other, swaying to the beat of this song, a beat that is strikingly similar to the drums of your hearts, and the moment feels as though it’s freezing. Feels as though the rest of the world is fading away, leaving only the two of you and the warm, rich tune that floats through the air, slowing down as time seems to come to a halt. 

“Do you still miss us?” You breathe, and you can see the words as they leave your lips, see them written out in puffs of smoke between you before they fade into nothingness. 

“No,” Jimin responds, equally as speechless. The word disappears quickly in front of you, replaced by his next ones, “because this is what I had been waiting for.”

The words stare down at you angrily, your eyes raking over them, line by line, letter by letter, hoping to imprint them into your skin and your brain and your heart, hoping to keep them locked up besides your love for you to replay, over and over, one of many memories that keep you up at night, that you flicker back to watch like an old film, reminiscing of who you used to be, what you used to do. 

They disappear far too quickly, and suddenly time begins again, and you get dizzy just from how much the rest of the world needs to catch up, whizzing by you in fast forward. Or maybe you’re just dizzy because Jimin has always made you feel this way, always left you gasping for air, weak in the knees, heart pounding. 

God, he makes your heart pound. He makes it drum in your ears like the Nutcracker, like thunder during a summer storm. 

“Don’t you want…” he asks, trailing off, eyes hazy and deep, absolutely unreadable. 

“Want what?” You respond, and you swear you aren’t doing it on purpose but you feel yourself leaning forward, closing the gap between you, inch by inch—

“Want to see me lift Seokjin up in the air?” Jungkook’s voice rings out into the room. “I can, you know, he weighs like two pou—whoa, alright.”

A hoard of people stop behind Jungkook as he stands in the doorway like a floundering fish, blinking at you and Jimin. His arrival does not give you enough time to part without things looking suspicious, without all of the damn counselors already making their assumptions, leaving the two of you separating awkwardly, smiling tensely. 

“What were you guys doing?” Taehyung asks, breaking the silence that has blanketed the room. 

“Practicing,” you say quickly, looking as far away from Jimin as possible. Not even you are buying into your excuse. 

“Sure thing,” Taehyung responds, eyebrows raised in understanding, already having formulated his own, likely more realistic answer. 

“Alright,” Hoseok says, appearing from behind the crowd with a clap of his hands. “I guess that means that Y/N and Jimin don’t need to be joining us today, off you guys go.” He gestures for the two of you to leave, but the only exit doubles as the entrance, which means the two of you are left to shuffle past a crowd of counselors, all of whom are staring at you as you pass them by. Jimin doesn’t reach out his hand, and you don’t make any attempts at changing that. 

You nearly suffocate on the way out, overwhelmed by the tension that has filled the atmosphere, leaving everyone helpless to it. 

Jimin goes in one direction and you go in the other, the both of you clearly too stupefied to say anything meaningful to each other, determined to spend the rest of the night apart in an effort to dispel the dozen rumors that you know have already begun to circle the camp. 

On your way back to your cabin, alone and lost in thought, you finish your conversation. 

“Do you want…” Jimin asks, voice trailing off. 

“Yes,” you say. “I want it all. I want you.”

You wonder if Jimin feels the same. 

There is something eerie about the camp late at night, when the only lights that shine are the dim yellow wall sconces outside of the cabin doors, when everyone is sound asleep in their bunks, when there is only the moon and its stars to keep you company, watch over you from their place in the universe. There’s something eerie about the quiet, not because you have a reason to feel unsettled but because you’re so used to camp being this lively, bustling place, filled with things to do and people to see. 

When you see it like this, empty and silent, it almost makes you think you aren’t even in the same place anymore. 

The one and only place that you go when you cannot sleep is the pier, extending out over the lake, the cool, clear lake, looking out into the midnight horizon, a perfect view of the stars and their reflections, cast over the water, twinkling endlessly. You take a seat on the edge, legs dangling over the water, and you stare out into the world, a cool breeze tickling your skin. 

You wonder what it is that’s keeping you awake tonight. What it is that is holding sleep just out of your grasp, your dreams suspended above your head. Camp ends in three days and for once you finally feel satisfied, feel as though you have done what you wanted and accomplished what you had hoped. The last few days of this summer are a far cry from those of last summer, where you were wearing yourself thin thinking about your confession, thinking about what you would say and when you would say it, and what you would do based on the fifteen thousand different things that Jimin could say in response, so hung up on telling him that you barely focused on anything else. 

But this summer, you and Jimin are finally starting to be alright again. And even though you don’t think you will ever move on from loving him, you have moved on from the fact that he will probably never love you back, moved on from your failed confession, and you are learning to be okay with what you have, even if it’s not what you want. 

The truth is that you and Jimin have never felt closer. Driven by your mutual desperation to be friends again, to return to the way that things were when you were together, when you were inseparable, you have been pulled together like moths to each other’s flames, like the thunder and the lightning. You can’t think of anything from this summer that you have wanted more than to be by his side again. But things are different from last summer, different because you and Jimin are not only friends but friends who have had to reckon with love, with its disastrous effects. 

So maybe that’s why you’re awake tonight. Because this summer feels inexplicably stranger than last summer, and you feel like you’re missing something. 

“I thought I’d be the only one still awake.”

You whip your head around at the voice to find Jimin standing at the other end of the pier, ink black hair hanging over his eyes, stars swimming in his irises. You can barely make out his face this late at night, when there is nothing to cast upon him a glow besides the moon and its lonely companions, but you will never mistake his soft, honeyed voice, never mistake the way his eyes sparkle and shine. He is grinning at you, warm and kind, as he slowly makes his way towards you, footsteps tapping along the worn wooden planks, until he sits down next to you, feet hovering above the water. 

“You and me both, I guess,” you feel yourself whisper, not daring to speak a decibel louder. 

“Lots on your mind?” He asks, looking out into the horizon. You sigh, too tired to respond. He understands anyway, just like he always does. “Mine too.”

You let the silence wash over you like a wave that bathes the shoreline, gazing out into a world that carries on no matter the time of day, no matter who watches over it. Like this, you and Jimin don’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Don’t need to force a conversation just for the sake of filling up the quiet night. Like this, your presence is enough, the knowledge that he is here beside you, staring out into the same sky, into the same moon and stars, is all that you need. 

Something has long gone unspoken between the two of you. Something that you can’t quite place. Jimin has had something to say for a long time but he lets his body do the talking, lets you fill in the gaps. But this time, it feels like the more you try to read between the lines the less you understand, and goddamnit you wish that he would just tell you, would just say it so you don’t have to keep wondering and wondering and wondering—

“I never did tell you,” Jimin says, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Tell me what?”

“Tell you what I was thinking, that night.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate any further for you to know what night he’s talking about. You stare down at the lake, at the way it seems to move into itself even though there is nothing to disturb it. 

“I guess I was just so shocked that you, you know, liked me like that, that I didn’t really focus on anything else. Didn’t think about why, or how, or when, or what to do. It existed separately from all of that,” he admits, breaths heavy. 

“You didn’t need to focus on that stuff,” you assure him softly. “It was my burden to hold. I was the one who chose to tell you. It wasn’t your fault.”

Does he know? Does he know that you never hated him for not loving you back? That you didn’t expect him to do anything about it? 

“I just felt so bad,” he says, and you hear the way the words prick at his tongue, leave burn marks along his lips. “Because I didn’t know what to do after that. I wanted to love you back so badly but I just couldn’t.”

And even though you already knew this, even though you were already well aware that Jimin has always only seen you as a friend, for some reason hearing him say it aloud still hurts, still pierces your heart, wounds that your love for him alone cannot fix. 

“It’s not your fault,” you promise him, because throughout all of this, no matter what, you have never, ever blamed him for not loving you back. “I didn’t expect anything. At all. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I, though?” Jimin asks, and God, he sounds so helpless, sounds like he’s tried everything under the sun to figure things out and still, nothing has felt right. “We had always been so close. I wondered why I couldn’t fall in love with you and the things that we did together when you could. I thought that I was doing something wrong. You deserved someone who would love you back, and I so desperately wanted to be that person.”

“You owed me nothing,” you declare. “You still don’t owe me a damn thing. All I wanted was for you to know.” And look where that got you.

“Knowing didn’t feel like enough,” Jimin divulges. “I wanted to do more for you than just acknowledge it. I replayed that night in my head, over and over, wondering what more I could have said to you.” He sighs, deep and slow and filled with weight, filled with a year’s worth of thoughts he never told anyone else. “You told me you loved me and it was all I could think about. Then and now.”

“You still think about it?” You wonder aloud, sad because Jimin doesn’t deserve to have this weight on his conscience when you are the one at fault, and hopeful because maybe, just maybe, your confession meant just as much to him as it did to you. 

“I can’t stop,” he confesses. And then he turns to you, turns to you in the glow of the moon, his eyes drowning in starlight, and he says, “Every time I look at you I think about how you love me.”

You don’t know what to say. You are too absorbed in the swirling sea of his irises, letting the warmth wash over you in waves, filling you up before emptying out again, shocks of cold before the heat races through you. Jimin is right there, right here, and he is gazing at you and you wonder. 

You wonder, what if. 

You wonder, what if he loved me back?

“Even when I was away from you I thought about it,” he chuckles to himself, amused at his own obsession. “I thought about you, that night, at the campfire. You were wearing this neon pink camp t-shirt and your marshmallow looked like coal and you had this warm orange glow on you, and I swear to God, that image is imprinted in my brain. I see it every time I close my eyes.”

You didn’t know that. 

“When I went on dates, I saw you instead. I would be sitting in a booth with some girl and she would be trying to talk to me about the menu and all I would see is you.” Jimin exhales, filling the pauses that he leaves between his sentences, eyes raking you up and down as if he’s trying to commit this scene to memory, as if this night on the pier is something worth remembering. “They knew, too. All of them told me that I should get over my ex before going on a brand new date.” 

Get over you? What about you was there to get over? Your love has always been one-sided. You have never known a world where it hasn’t.

“And I wouldn’t even try to explain to them that I didn’t have an ex to get over, and that you were the one who confessed to me, and that I didn’t love you like that,” he forces another laugh, like he doesn’t even believe the words he’s saying himself. “Then this summer rolled around, and I saw you arrive and I just can’t tell you in words how happy I was to see you. How looking at you just lifted my spirits.”

“I hardly recognized you at first,” you admit shyly. 

“I dyed my hair,” Jimin reminds you. That’s right. He had brown hair last summer. “And I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how to without bringing up all the shit that happened last year, and things were awkward between us, and I guess…” he trails off, thinking for a moment. “I guess I just really, really wanted us to get back to the way things were, but I didn’t know how to. And I didn’t know what had changed.”

“Nothing changed,” you say, even though everything did. But loving Jimin has always been a constant in your life, a truth, and this summer was no different. “I wanted to go back to being friends with you, too.”

“I thought I wanted that, too.”

This time, you are the one who turns to look at him. What could he possibly mean by that? 

(Can it be?)

“At first, that’s all I wanted,” Jimin begins. “I wanted us to go back to being friends, I wanted us to eat lunch together and have it not be weird, I wanted us to spend time in the greenhouse and the arts and crafts room together, I wanted us to hang around the rest of the counselors without them noticing how different we were. But then I noticed that the hydrangea was wilting no matter what the fuck I did to keep it alive, and I realized that wanting our friendship back wasn’t enough for me anymore.”

You are frozen in place. You are locked into his gaze, body turning to stone, unable to even utter a single word. To breathe a single breath. And you look into his eyes, Jimin’s beautiful, ocean eyes, Jimin’s sparkling, ink eyes, and you pray. 

“And then Hobi partnered us up for the stupid camp counselor performance, and we got caught in the rain, and then we danced in the counselor meeting room and I just—” His chest heaves, words flounder. As if he has so much to say, as if the words are practically spilling off of his tongue, and yet they are still not enough. He closes his eyes. Pauses. Catches his breath. And then he asks, “If I asked you if you still loved me, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. 

“If I asked you if you wanted me to love you back, would you say yes?”

“Yes,” you whisper again. 

Jimin blinks.

“If I asked you if you wanted me to kiss you, would you say yes?”

You barely get out the first letter before Jimin is pulling you into him and pressing his fiery lips upon yours. His hand cradles your cheek, the other one splayed out on the wooden pier to keep his balance, dragging you into a messy, desperate kiss, one that sends sparks ricocheting throughout your body, turning your blood into liquid flames, that fills you up from the inside out. The feeling of his lips pressed upon yours makes your heart shake so wildly in its cage that it frees itself, growing a thousand times wider. The rose inside of you vanishes, finds itself replaced by a blooming, bright blue hydrangea, one that settles deeply within your soul. 

Your legs dangle off the pier as your arms wrap around Jimin’s body, curling around his torso in a futile effort to bring him closer than he already is, to feel the warmth of him press against you, sending jolts down your spine, into your bones. You feel yourself getting dizzy just at the feeling alone, kiss drunk, the rest of the world spinning like a goddamn teacup ride, but you cling onto him and you know that he will always be there to catch you if you fall. You know that he will always be there to steady you when you feel the world slipping out from beneath your feet. 

You have him, you have him, you have him. You have him, and he is right here, and he loves you like the sun loves the moon, and you love him like the waves love the shore.

When you part, you almost lose your balance and fall right off the damn pier. Jimin reaches out to grab you just in time, saving you from a watery grave (or just major embarrassment), and the two of you laugh, letting your voices fill the moonlit air, heads light, bodies blissed out. 

“Honestly, I was a little nervous you were going to say no,” he admits with a laugh. 

“Impossible,” you chide. “You know I’ve always loved you.”

No matter what, that will never change. 

“And now,” he says, pressing another kiss to your forehead, this one gentle and plush, “you know that I will always love you, too.”

It doesn’t feel like something long overdue. It doesn’t feel like something that you have been waiting and waiting and waiting for, something you have expected from the moment you told him. 

No. This feels like something new. 

This feels like your heart is in bloom. 

The end-of-camp show, no matter how much time and effort Namjoon puts into making it go smoothly, is a train wreck. But it is a train wreck in that wonderful way, in that way where you would be suspicious if things actually went according to plan, in that way where chaos and disarray reign supreme. Quite frankly, when it comes to the end-of-camp show, you never expect anything less. 

The truth is that the majority of the end-of-camp show performances are just for the counselor’s entertainment, an afternoon of fun to wrap up the end of camp, topped off by a fun meal (usually pizza) and a night around a bonfire, letting the heat warm your bodies from the inside out. Unless Jungkook and Taehyung pull some extremely ridiculous prank, the last official day of camp is usually everyone’s favorite, filled with snacks and music and laughter.

The performances by the campers go about as well as any performance by a bunch of elementary schoolers can go—that is to say, the kids remember the first five seconds of the choreography before they devolve into pandemonium, dancing as many weird, trendy dances as they can, and some you don’t even think have been invented yet. Nonetheless, Hoseok is proud, and beams at all of the campers as they scurry away from the center of the gymnasium once their dance is done, grabbing little snacks on the tables by the windows before settling in to watch the next stage. Hoseok does a good job of keeping the music current and upbeat so that nobody falls asleep, and gives the campers enough creative liberty so that it doesn’t feel too practiced. 

Lightly rehearsed, Hoseok likes to say. 

Absolute madness, Yoongi usually corrects.

After the dances, Seokjin and his hoard of campers with guitars the size of an overgrown ukelele make their way to center stage, and you and the other counselors bet on what stupid song he’s taught them all. He starts it off with everyone’s favorite and the most timeless of all tunes—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star—before the musical highlight. 

(“It’s gonna be Fireflies,” Taehyung insists, so confident in his choice that he even wagers two of the homemade Rice Krispie Treats that Yoongi got all of the campers to make for today’s celebration. 

“It’s been too long since he rickrolled us,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing suspiciously to Seokjin at the front of the room. “I’m just waiting for it.”

“Wonderwall, obviously,” Hoseok contributes, even though Seokjin got all of the campers from last year to play that. 

You and Jimin are both almost positive Seokjin has chosen to perform Let it Go, a song that will never truly escape you, but you keep your comments to yourselves. 

“I’m thinking Photograph,” Namjoon comments mindlessly, late to the conversation.

“The Nickelback song?” Yoongi says with a scoff. “Dude, we’re the only ones old enough to even know that song. No no, I think it’ll be Despacito.”

“If I have to hear Despacito one more time, I’m going to jump out of the f—” Taehyung stumbles on the syllable as Namjoon turns to glare at him, making Taehyung sputter for a replacement. “F… -reaking window. Watch me.”)

In the end, none of you guess correctly, because Seokjin has chosen to teach all of the campers how to play Country Road, Take Me Home, and honestly, none of you can even be mad about it because by the thirty second mark, you’re all singing along. There’s just something about that song that forces you to belt out the lyrics, something magical and irresistible. 

Afterwards, it is finally time for the counselor’s performance, which, if the camper’s excited screams are anything to go by, is apparently the peak of the afternoon. Hoseok puts on the same upbeat dance music and all of you go to town, following his choreography without any hitches before jumping into the solo section. Namjoon and Yoongi both attempt a trendy Internet dance and fail miserably, Taehyung and Hazel do a little tango that involves no accidents, and then it’s you and Jimin’s turn. 

The music isn’t really appropriate for the slow dance that Jimin taught you in the counselor meeting room, but he makes it work and you follow along, tracing his footsteps and laughing at the prickly sensation his hand on your waist sends shooting through you. You really have always been ticklish there. Hoseok only gives everyone thirty seconds before they’re booted off to the sideline, but thirty seconds is just enough time for Jimin to spin you once before pulling you into a kiss in front of dozens of campers and all of the counselors, whose hollers and hoots fill the gymnasium, bouncing off of the walls and ricocheting into your ears, when they watch you. It has your cheeks heating up something fierce, all embarrassed by Jimin’s big reveal, but the great big smile on his face makes it all worth it. He looks so happy to be here with you. He looks so goddamn happy to have you. 

It makes you feel like you can do anything. 

Ultimately, Jungkook and Seokjin get the greatest applause, because Jungkook lifts Seokjin into the air figure-skating style before Seokjin comes crashing down on him, and they land in a puddle on the gymnasium floor to the screams of all of the campers and counselors, who have never seen anything quite as artistically dramatic in their lives. 

Afterwards, you and Jimin retire to the snack tables alongside the rest of the counselors as the campers are free to roam the building, check out the art on display and eat as many ants on a log and homemade Rice Krispie Treats as they can get their grubby hands on. 

“Congrats, you guys,” Namjoon says, raising his dixie cup filled with lemonade. “It worked out after all.”

“I’m proud of you,” Yoongi murmurs to you, a soft smile gracing his features. 

“Love always prevails,” Jungkook declares, sighing happily, always a hopeless romantic at heart. You sure hope that one day, Jungkook will fall in love with someone who loves him back unconditionally, because he deserves it. 

“Which one of you confessed first?” Seokjin says, Taehyung nodding furiously behind you. You see that the bet is still on. 

“Me,” you say. 

“Me,” Jimin says. 

You both look at each other, eyebrows furrowed, clearly on separate wavelengths. 

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “Alright… which one of you said ‘I love you’ first?”

“That would be me,” you admit sheepishly, having a year’s headstart on Jimin when it comes to love confession. 

“I fucking knew it,” Seokjin says, palm out. Taehyung begrudgingly smacks five dollars into Seokjin’s hand, muttering to himself about how he was convinced that Jimin would tell you first. It makes you wonder, just a little bit, how long Jimin had known.

You open your mouth to defend yourself and your weak, weak heart, when you feel a tap on your side. Behind you is the same girl from the day that you were making cards to send back home to people you love, the one who absolutely grilled you about your feelings for Jimin. 

“Yes, Rose?” You ask happily. 

“So did you send it to him?” She questions. 

“Send what?”

“Your card. Did you send it to Mr. Jimin?” She elaborates, eyes wide in curiosity. You make a mental note to remind her to never stop being inquisitive. It will take her far. 

“No, I didn’t,” you say with a laugh, shaking your head. You look back at Jimin, where he’s laughing with Seokjin and Taehyung about their stupid bet on you, and you grin. He is so beautiful. It’s still hard to believe he’s yours. “Jimin doesn’t need a card to know that I love him.”

Not when he’s right here, and not when you know he loves you back. 

The counselor campfire is held on the day very last night that you spend together, after all of the campers have left the mountain, returning home, and you finally have the place to yourselves. Namjoon and Yoongi light it because everyone else has been banned from doing so after the Great Flame Incident two years ago, and then you all sit on the logs around the fire pit, reminiscing of the summer gone by, musing aloud about what the future holds. 

You and Jimin snuggle up together, and this night faintly reminds you of the one from last year in the way that Jimin still glows, warm and yellow, in the light of the fire, in the way he seems to make perfect s’mores no matter what, in the way that he laughs at everything that you say. But even with all of the similarities, nothing, literally nothing, could top how you feel right now, dancing on cloud nine with Jimin by your side. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d have him. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your confession would amount to anything more.

“You’re burning your marshmallow again,” Taehyung points out crudely, the side of your marshmallow already turning an ashy coal color. 

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter to yourself, yanking it away from the fire as you blow on it. 

“You’re never gonna learn, are you?” Jimin teases. He plucks his off of his stick, perfectly toasted, and holds it out for you. “Here, have mine.” You open wide and he pops it onto your tongue, the crisp, sweet flavor melting in your mouth as all of the other counselors groan, clearly wishing that they were somewhere other than here. Jimin’s fingers reach up to your chin, tilting your face towards him, before a thumb comes out to wipe away at the smudge on the side of your lip, a sticky white crumb that he pops into his mouth, earning another round of whines.

“Gross,” Seokjin says, nose scrunched up. “Just because you guys are in love now doesn’t mean you have to keep showing us. We get it.”

“Oh, just leave them alone,” Yoongi chides. “They’ve been pining after each other for so long, let them have this.”

“Thanks,” you murmur to Yoongi. You have a lot to thank him for. He has always been on your side, even when you weren’t. 

“Anytime,” he promises. 

“If they’re gonna be like this next year, then I don’t know how long I’m going to last,” Taehyung admits with a fond sigh, because no matter how much he pretends to be annoyed, you know that he’s happy for you. 

Namjoon sucks in a breath. “Uh, yeah, about next year…” he says, wringing his hands together. “I’m not going to be coming back.” You fall into silence, the only sounds the crackle of the fire, the rustle of the wildlife in the woods. “I have another internship at a firm, and then I’m going to be going into the job market, so I don’t, uh, I don’t really see myself coming back here.”

“Me too,” Yoongi chirps up, earning a surprised look from everyone else. “I’ve just been given an offer to produce music for this small record company, but they’re located across the country, so I’ll be moving soon. I guess—well, I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you all.”

“Congrats,” you tell him, sad to hear he won’t be back but thrilled to know he’ll be doing something he truly loves instead. “Seriously, Yoongi. That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, man, that’s sick,” Jungkook pipes up. “When you’ve won your Grammy you have to remember to mention us.”

Yoongi chuckles to himself, small and quiet, but even in this orange light you can see the way his cheeks are turning cherry red, relishing in the praise. “I’ll miss you all,” he says. 

And slowly, one by one, you all begin to admit that even though you love it here, being a camp counselor had always been temporary, and it just wouldn’t be the same without everyone else here with you too. You and Jimin will be graduating this coming school year. So will Taehyung. Seokjin has a Master’s degree in acting that he wants to pursue. Even Jungkook, who is younger than all of you besides Hazel, has said that he plans to travel with his college lacrosse team next summer. 

“Damn,” Taehyung says when everyone is finished, as you all begin to count how many of you there will be left for next summer. “Who’s gonna do Namjoon’s job?”

“I already asked,” Namjoon says with a proud grin, “and Hazel said she is happy to take on the responsibility.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Seokjin shouts, giving Hazel a massive hug, nearly crushing her in two. “Hell yeah, Haze! You are going to be kick ass at that. I’m proud of you!”

The rest of the counselors soon follow suit, congratulating Hazel and cheering for her future. It almost makes you want to come back, but you know that Hazel will be fine without you. As long as she still has her secret stash. 

“Nice work, Haze,” you tell her, earning a shy smile from her in response. “You’ve always been a leader.”

“I’m just nervous I won’t be as good as Namjoon,” she admits timidly, clearly a little overwhelmed at such an enthusiastic response. 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Namjoon assures her. “I know you’ll be fine. Plus, you won’t have all of these losers to worry about, so your workload will be much lighter.”

“Hey!” Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook all shout at once. 

“Don’t get me started on the two of you,” Namjoon chides, eyes narrowed. “You’ve caused me more stress than my senior thesis.”

“Out of love,” Seokjin swears, Jungkook and Taehyung nodding enthusiastically next to him. Namjoon rolls his eyes, even though you know that he secretly loves the extra work that they give him. It keeps him young, in that old-timey kind of way. 

“Then I guess this is it, isn’t it?” Hazel asks, standing up and holding out a finished s’more, already taking on her newly-bestowed head counselor duties. “I suppose I’ll do the honors. Congrats to Y/N and Jimin for finally figuring their relationship out, congrats to Yoongi for getting into that record company, congrats to Namjoon for getting his internship, and congrats to everyone else for doing what they love, and for not letting their dreams be dreams. This summer feels sort of like the end of an era, in a way, don’t you think? I mean, lots of us are moving on to bigger and better things, celebrating the past and aspiring to become people that we hope will be admired in the future. And I guess that I just want you all to know that no matter who you become, no matter what you do, I’ll always be someone who admires you.”

If you were a little drunk or just a little more sentimental, Hazel’s words would almost bring tears to your eyes, but instead you just join everyone in cheers, standing up and clinking your s’mores together.

And in a way, it really does feel like the end of an era. No more summers on the mountain, no more late-night camp pranks, no more hydrangeas in the greenhouse. You’re moving on, not only from this part of your life but from your almost-fruitless quest for love, from the place that led you to fall so deeply for Jimin, the place that has housed every memory you have ever saved of him. You’re moving on to a world where Jimin is with you every step of the way, where you know that he will always be there for you, where you no longer have to fight yourself to keep from loving him, where you have to do everything you can to preserve an already-fragile friendship. 

No. Now, you can take your first step forward with Jimin by your side. 

“Cheers!” Everyone shouts. 

“Cheers,” Jimin says to you, pulling you in for a quick little kiss, and no matter how hot the campfire burns Jimin’s lips upon yours will always be what warms you from within. “Cheers to us.”

You grin against his lips, pressing back because you can never get enough, and you murmur, “Cheers to us.”

“Hey! Jungkook!” Seokjin shouts right as Jungkook hops into his car. “When we text you in the group chat you better fucking respond!”

“I will, I will!” Jungkook screams back, voice so loud you can hear it despite the fact that all of his windows are rolled up. 

“No, he won’t,” Yoongi deadpans as he passes you by, duffel bags hanging from his shoulders. “You know he won’t.”

“He never does,” you agree. Getting a text from him is almost as impossible as winning the lottery. “I’ll call you, alright? I know you don’t really like texting, either.”

“Talking is just easier,” he says with a nod. “I’m looking forward to it. Call me whenever you need me.”

“I will,” you promise, watching as Yoongi bids you one final goodbye before heading to his own ride. He plops his bags into the trunk of Namjoon’s car before getting into the passenger seat. Namjoon pushes his head out of the window to wave, smiling wildly at you as he starts the car. You grin, waving back, and watch him, Yoongi, and Jungkook, disappear down the mountain. 

“You’re next, right?” 

You whip around to find Jimin standing behind you, a frisbee in one hand and a suitcase in the other. He won’t be leaving for another couple of hours, when Taehyung’s finally ready to go. They live close to each other so they figured they’d save money by splitting an Uber, which will be waiting for them at the bottom of the mountain.

“Yeah, gotta get back before college starts,” you say, dropping your bags at your feet. “But we’ll see each other before then, right?”

Jimin and you attend universities on opposite sides of the country. Loving each other is the easy part. Staying in love is what will challenge you. 

“Of course,” he promises. “I’ll visit whenever I can. And I’ll come see you on all my breaks during the semester, too. You and Jungkook.”

“Good, you better,” you say, and you pull him in for a bruising hug because you know that this will be the last time for a while. Not a long while, but a while, and even if you have committed every slope of his figure, every inch of his face to memory, you still have to remember how warm he is when you hold him, how soft his lips are when they touch yours. Those things… those are new. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he assures you. “But I’ll miss you too.”

Several feet away, Hoseok honks the horn of your car to let you know that you’re all ready to go.

“I’ll call you when I’m home, okay?” You promise, pulling him in for another hug, one last time, feeling this strange desperation rush through you, like you won’t see him for weeks and this is all you’ll have left. “Isn’t it weird? You’re right here and I miss you already.”

“We’ll see each other again before you know it,” he says, pressing his lips to yours in a sweet, quick kiss. No matter how many times he does it still sends sparks shooting through your veins, but you suppose that that’s just another thing you’ll have to remember. When you part, he notices your worry, eyes softening at the sight. “Hey,” he says, lifting your chin up so you look at him. “I love you.”

You crack a smile. “I love you, too.” 

It’s not a goodbye. 

It’s an until I see you again.

You grab your duffel bags and hike them over your shoulder, footsteps heavy and weighted as you slowly make your way towards your car. Every four steps or so, you turn back just to make sure that Jimin’s still there, and sure enough, he’s watching you, this lopsided, love-drunk smile lacing his features. 

You place your bags in the backseat of your car before heading to the driver’s side, hand on the handle as you look up one final time. 

There Jimin stands in the middle of the clearing, the warm afternoon sun bathing him in a halo. There he stands, beautiful, and kind, and lovely, and in love. And you are so in love. You wave. He waves back.

And you know that you two will be alright. 

You jump into your car and tug the door shut behind you, keys in the ignition, engine revving, and you sigh, content and feeling confident in life. You peer into the rearview mirror to see Taehyung running up to Jimin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and waving goodbye to you. You lift your hand up in response, watch as they bid you farewell as you creep towards the slope down the mountain. 

As you drive down the mountain, you take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh summer air, and you smile. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[that80sslytherinwrites]

Missing Sketchbook, Please Return to Artist (Neil Perry x fem!reader)

requested by @i-am-lost-and-need-a-map

Welton was pretty quiet once classes were done for the day, at least it was quiet in the school where the classrooms were as all the boys were either studying or goofing off with their friends outside.

  The dead poets trailed after Neil as he went down the empty and quiet halls in search of Mr. Keating. They rounded the corner and Neil knocked on Mr. Keating’s classroom door. They didn’t get a response, but the door wasn’t full closed, and it swung open at the force of Neil’s knocking.

  Neil poked his head through the opening of the door. “Mr. Keating?”

No response.

  “Mr. Keating?” Neil called again, slowly opening the door farther and stepping inside the classroom.

  “I don’t think he’s here, Neil,” Meeks said.

  Neil walked into the classroom, through to Keating’s office. The door was shut, and Neil rapped on it, which elicited no response. He tried the handle, only to find it locked.

  “What do you have to talk to Mr. Keating about so urgently anyway?” Cameron asked and sat down at one of the desks.

  Neil shrugged. “Nothing.” He wandered back down the aisle between the desks, heading for the door when he spotted a book flopped open on the floor of the classroom, nearly hidden from sight. He bent down to retrieve the book, flattening the pages back to their original state.

  “What’s that?” Todd asked.

  Neil shrugged. “I just found it on the floor. It looks as though someone dropped it without noticing.” He flipped open the cover in search of a name. Instead of a name he found intricate and beautiful sketches of himself and his friend on the first page. Curiosity getting the better of him, Neil flipped the pages of the book, inspecting the several sketches of him and his friend, but mostly him he noticed.

  “Woah,” those a really good,” Meeks commented, poking his head around Neil’s shoulder to look.

  Neil placed the book on top of a desk, and they crowded around it as he flipped through the pages.

“That’s kind of creepy,” Pitts stated. “Whose sketchbook, is it?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said. “There’s no name in here. It just says ‘if lost please return to artist’.”

“What’s written next to the pictures?” Charlie asked.

  Neil inspected the swoopy lines next to a picture of Todd. “It’s poetry.”

“Original?” Knox asked.

  He shook his head. “No, this one’s Shakespeare. I guess it’s just whomever drew these felt fit the pictures.”

Knox flipped the page of the sketchbook to a page covered in sketches of Neil wearing his glasses, lines of poetry were scrawled between the photos. He leaned in further to read them. “These are all love poems.” He looked at Neil and smiled. “Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

  Before Neil could respond they heard voices in the hall.

  “We should go,” Cameron said.

  The boys agreed and shut the sketchbook. Neil felt only a minor burst of a conscience to leave the sketchbook in the room where they found but as Pitts called that the hall was clear, and they sprinted out of Mr. Keating’s classroom he tucked it under his arm and shut the door behind him.

After dinner, the dead poets crowded into Neil and Todd’s room where they saw the sketchbook sitting on Neil’s bed.

  “You took it?” Cameron exclaimed. “Now they’re going to know that someone was in there.”

“Relax Cameron,” Charlie said. “A. no one will know it was us and B. it was on the floor, whoever forgot it probably doesn’t even know where they left it.”

Neil opened the book again to a page with a picture of himself drawn beautifully in the centre and surrounded by flowers and lines of romantic poetry. “Don’t you want to know who drew all of these?”

“You only want to know because whomever it is, is completely head over heels in love with you,” Charlie stated and flopped onto Todd’s bed.

  “I want to give it back to them,” Neil corrected.

  “Sure,” Meeks said and gave Neil and wink.

  “I’m sure they’re looking for it,” he argued. “If it were mine, I would want it back.”

For a week it was nothing but teasing as Neil searched desperately for the owner of the sketchbook. Neil had tried matching the handwriting with no avail, and then he began checking the art classes, he even asked Knox to ask Chris if she knew anyone who could draw well. She couldn’t come up with anyone that she knew had as good of skills os the one sin the sketchbook.

  “Still carrying it around I see,” Charlie said as Neil walked into the study room where the rest of them were procrastinating their math homework as Cameron slowly became more and more frustrated that they couldn’t understand this one problem.

  “Maybe you should just put it back where you found it,” Todd suggested. “Wouldn’t this person be looking everywhere they’d been recently to find their sketchbook?”

“Probably,” Pitts said.

  Neil sat down at their table and placed the sketchbook on top of it. “Maybe I should put it back.”

“But?” Charlie prompted.

  “But these drawings are really good, and I just want to meet whoever drew them,” Neil said.

  “Well, while you’re deciding on what to do, can you take a look at this question?” Cameron slid the textbook towards Neil.

  Neil glanced down at the problem before shaking his head and reaching for the sketchbook again. “I’m going to go put this back. Maybe if Mr. Keating is there, he knows whose it is.”

“Won’t he just then know we were snooping around his classroom without him there?” Cameron asked.

  “Mr. Keating probably won’t care,” Meeks stated. “And I figured the question out.”

Cameron’s attention was immediately diverted to math as Meeks showed him the solution.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” Todd asked.

  Neil shook his head. “I’ll be back soon anyway. Mr. Keating probably won’t even be there, and I’ll just put it on his desk.”

Neil left the room and wandered down the near empty corridors of Welton until he reached Mr. Keating’s classroom. The door was once again unlocked, and Neil stepped inside. It was dark in the room except for the fading sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Neil called out for Mr. Keating but received no response. Just as he suspected Mr. Keating wasn’t there. He walked up to the front of the classroom and placed the sketchbook on the desk just as the door of Mr. Keating’s office opened. He looked up and saw a girl standing in the open doorway.

  She glanced down at his hand that was still holding the corner of her sketchbook. “You found it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “This is yours?”

She nodded.

  Neil picked the book back up and held it out to her. She grabbed the book hurriedly and tucked it up against her chest.

  “You’re really talented,” Neil said.

  “Thanks,” she muttered.

  “Can I ask when you drew all of those? Those ones of my friends and I?” She blinked widely at him. “I sometimes sit on the lawn by the trees where you never notice me and draw you guys as you study outside. I hope you don’t mind. I just find it’s best to work with real—”

“It’s fine,” Neil interrupted her rambling. “I really like them.”

They fell into a bout of silence as they stared at each other.

  “The poems,” Neil started. “Are they a reflection of your feelings or are they just things you like?”

“Both,” she replied.

  “What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“I’m Neil.” He held out his hand for her to shake it.

  She shook his hand, her fingers cold against his warm ones.

“How come you’re here inside Welton?”

“Mr. Keating is my uncle,” she answered.

  “Oh, so that’s why we found your sketchbook in here,” he said.

  “I have to go,” y/n said. “They don’t want me spending a lot of time in here.” She walked past Neil, towards the door to the classroom.

  “Wait.” Neil ran after her, meeting her at the door where she had stopped for him. “Can I see you again?”

She nodded, her lips slowly creeping into a shy smile. 

  “This weekend?” he asked.

  She nodded again. “I’ll leave the address with my uncle.”

Neil nodded, face hot, and watched as y/n turned and left the classroom. He let out a sharp breath of air as he left the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Only three more days until he saw her again. He barely knew her, but after studying the pages of her sketchbook for a week, he felt he did and he was looking forward to seeing her again.

[raw-lesbian-energy]

Butterflies

[Image description: Anonymous said

Actual prompt- maybe Anne poked marcys side to get her attention and noticed that it tickled her and they have a tickle fight?]

Okay so I maaaaaaay have gone a teeny tiny bit completely overboard with how gay this fic got, but I mean, it still fit the prompt? I hope? Anyways I am super proud of this so please enjoy!!

——

Summary: Marcy brings Anne out to study the fauna of Wartwood with her, but a small mistake turns the whole plan sideways in a rather silly way.

Fandom: Amphibia

Pairing: Marcanne (Mainly Anne pining but it’s cute shut up)

Features: None

Word Count: 1,080

Warnings: This is a tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, just keep scrolling.

—————————————————————

“Hey Anne, check out this one!”

“Huh?”

Anne looked over as Marcy pointed out another colourful bug, watching it with shining eyes and sketching it in her notebook.

“Isn’t it fascinating?” Marcy chirped excitedly. “Most of the fauna here is insect-based, and yet there are so many varying species and sizes! Truly an evolutionary mystery.” Anne hardly noticed the creature or what Marcy had said, her eyes focusing on something else instead.

Marcy always looked so cute when she was studying. Her eyes sparkling with interest, the way her face scrunched when she was drawing something, and how that adorable excited smile never left her face. To Anne, that was all she needed to study out here.

“Come on, Anne!” Marcy’s voice snapped the teen out of her daydream, making her notice that Marcy was starting to walk away. She quickly got up to follow, making sure to keep her eyes on the path ahead since Marcy tended not to.

“Purple is usually such a rare colour to find in fauna, but there’s an abundance of it here in Amphibia.” The raven-haired teen rambled. “I wonder if it’s a difference in their biological makeup that-”

“Marcy! Cliff!”

Anne managed to grab Marcy’s hood just before she took another step, keeping her from walking straight off the edge of a steep, rocky cliff.

“Whoops!” She said, taking a step back and away from the edge. “Guess I still need to watch my step, eh Anna-Banana?” She smiled brightly and turned a different direction, leaving Anne stunned for a moment. She could feel fluttering in her stomach, but she knew she hadn’t eaten anything to cause it. No, these were a different kind of-

“Butterflies!”

The conveniently-timed call from Marcy brought Anne back into focus, turning and heading in the direction of her friend’s voice. Pushing through the undergrowth, she soon found a beautiful sunlit clearing, complete with elegant white flowers and butterflies in every colour of the rainbow. In the middle of them stood Marcy, who seemed to be enjoying the company of one particularly friendly light blue butterfly.

“Hey there, little one.” She spoke softly, watching the butterfly land on her pencil. Anne felt her cheeks flush at the sight, having to take a moment to compose herself before walking over.

“Making friends without me, Mar-Mar?” She joked, folding her arms. Marcy looked up at her with a confused expression, staring blankly until it clicked.

“Oh! You mean the butterfly?” She said at last, pointing at the small creature. “I don’t believe they have the same cognitive understanding of friendship, so perhaps something about me seems beneficial to its’ survival.” Anne raised an eyebrow at Marcy’s response, unable to stifle the chuckle that made its way past her lips.

“I was trying to make a joke.” She told her, poking her side in a playful manner. Marcy squeaked at the poke, jumping slightly and causing the butterfly to fly off. The reaction piqued Anne’s interest, noticing Marcy’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink and picking up on what had happened.

“Hey Marbles,” Anne spoke in a slightly teasing tone, “you wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?”

The word alone made Marcy’s face go red. She quickly tried to step back, only to stumble over something hidden in the grass and fall backwards. Anne seized the opportunity and pounced, straddling Marcy’s hips to keep her in place.

“Ahahanne!” Marcy was already giggling as she tried to wriggle out from underneath her friend, but her efforts were in vain. Anne was quick to dig her fingers into Marcy’s sides, earning a squeak and bubbly giggles that rang through the clearing.

“Anne, nohohoho!” She kicked her legs uselessly against the grass as she tried to curl in on herself, but Anne wasn’t letting up. Her fingers danced over Marcy’s sides, moving down to spider against her hips and earning high-pitched squeals. The sound made Anne’s stomach flutter again, amplified by all the actual butterflies that surrounded the two.

“Wow, you’re really ticklish, huh?” She mused, smiling as Marcy tried and failed to push her hands away. Her ears were even turning red at that point, contrasting against her silky black hair that was getting messier by the second. Anne’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, and wanting to hear even more laughter, she snuck her hands under Marcy’s arms.

“EEEHEHEHAHAHA!” Marcy’s shriek of laughter caused the butterflies to back up, the sound echoing through the forest as the teen could do nothing more than submit to her ticklish doom. Anne was grinning almost as much as Marcy was, wiggling her fingers in the sensitive spot and watching Marcy squeal in response. Soon enough, her laughter turned silent as her endurance reached its’ limit, and with that, Anne stopped her tickle attack to allow her friend to breathe.

“You good there, Mar-Mar?” She asked, small chuckles escaping her lips as Marcy caught her breath. The raven-haired teen nodded in response, her face still flushed as she looked up at Anne.

“Heheh, yeah.” She replied. “Got me good, Anna-Banana.” Anne felt her cheeks grow warm at the nickname, looking back at Marcy with a soft smile before she realized she was still sitting on top of her.

“HO-KAY!” She shouted, leaping to her feet as her whole face went red. “We, uh, we should probably get back before Hop Pop gets-huh?” She cut off mid-sentence as something light green caught her eye, and turning to look at it, she was met with one of the butterflies landing on her nose. It was a soft green colour, and it seemed to be looking at her curiously.

“Looks like you made a new friend too, Anne.” Marcy chuckled, getting to her feet. “And lucky, too; the green ones are always hard to spot as they blend in so well with the vegetation.” Anne didn’t say anything in response, staying still as the butterfly studied her for a second longer before it took off and flew away.

“…Huh.” She said at last, watching it go before she turned back to Marcy. “Well, are you ready to head back?” Marcy nodded, giving Anne a soft smile before she suddenly took her hand and started to lead her out of the clearing. The action brought a blush back to Anne’s face, but if Marcy had noticed, she didn’t say anything. She instead chose to talk about the valley’s plant life, rambling all the way back to Wartwood.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Gold Writing

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When a charming, handsome stranger gives you inspiration for the first time in weeks, you try to guess what it is he’s famous for in exchange for his name. Warnings: none at all :) A/N: Just a little idea I’d been toying around with for a bit. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @lowkeyorlokificrecs @gaitwae @whatafuckingdumbass @castiels-majestic-wings @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​

Disclaimer: Gif and picture not mine

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for this time of year in New York City. Or so you’d been told, anyway. You had been living here for three months, tops; not really long enough to have a feel for the weather patterns. Either way, you were grateful for the sun’s rays coating your face, bathing you in their heat.

You turned your face away from the sky and down towards the sketchbook in your lap. It had been your hope that Central Park might inspire you, but you were still having artist’s block. It was at least better than being cooped up in your apartment all day. You didn’t really know anyone yet, save for your old friend who you had moved in next to. If it hadn’t been for them encouraging you, you probably never would have packed up and moved. They’d promised to introduce you to some people they knew, too, so you wouldn’t get lonely. Sadly, the scheduling never worked out.

And so, here you were, alone on a bench. Looking at all the couples and families and friends bustling and laughing around you, you thought you might be the only person all by yourself on this Saturday afternoon. Well, no, not the only one, you realized, spying a raven-haired man on a bench not too far away. His nose was buried in a book, a few locks of his shiny, dark hair falling out of his bun and framing his face. He looked familiar, but not in a "you knew him" sort of way. More in that you thought he might be famous somehow. No one else seemed to notice him, though.

You glanced back down at the empty pages, waiting to be filled by the strokes of your pencil. Then you looked back at the mystery man again, scooting a little closer to the end of your bench. Without really thinking about it, your deft fingers picked up your standard 2B pencil and began to sketch.

Starting with the sharp lines of his jaw, you moved onto his hair that intrigued you so. You don’t think you’d ever seen another person with hair that dark a color. Trying to get every last detail right, you kept glancing up and down. By the time you were onto the shading, you were certain that you had seen him somewhere before. The next time you glanced up, he was gone, and a frown settled on your features as you looked left and right, searching for the only subject to inspire you in days.

“It is a lovely drawing, darling,” a smooth baritone voice with a British accent said from behind you, “but I do not really think that is my best angle.”

You squeaked in surprise and dropped your sketchbook. The man somehow managed to reach out in front of you and catch it. He came to sit next to you, and as he walked around the bench, you realized just how tall he was.

“I think you dropped this,” he said with a charming smile, handing your sketchbook to you.

“I, uh, yeah. I did,” you stammered, hating how you couldn’t be as suave as him. Plus, he was unfairly good looking. “Thank you. And, um, sorry. About, you know, drawing you.”

“On the contrary, darling, there is no need to apologize. I am quite happy to have my likeness captured in such a flattering light,” he chuckled, taking off his sunglasses and revealing his brilliant blue-green eyes. “Really, I should be thanking you.”

With all the small details you were gathering, it felt like his name was on the tip of your tongue. Infuriatingly enough, you still couldn’t place it. You didn’t think he was a singer, that didn’t feel right. Though you did feel like his mesmerizing voice would be well suited to it. So, a well-known author, perhaps? He had been reading, after all. But you were woefully behind on your own reading list, so you had a feeling it wasn’t that either. You briefly wondered what even happened to the book he’d had; it was nowhere on him, almost like he’d stored it in some pocket of space.

“Oh,” you finally responded, nervously laughing. “You’re welcome, in that case. And thank you. For the compliments, I mean.”

“Ah, you are very welcome, too. It is not often I meet such a talented artist.” He somehow managed to sprawl out on the somewhat uncomfortable park bench, his long legs spread wide. It wasn’t indecent, exactly, but it somehow felt like it was. His arms were resting on the back of the seat so that, had you been leaning back, one of them would have been wrapped around your shoulder. “I do somehow find it hard to believe I was the most interesting thing in the vicinity, however. Though, I suppose I am rather flattered by that notion, too.”

His mischievous grin sent pleasant shivers down your spine. “Well, when inspiration strikes,” you anxiously chuckled with a shrug. Your nerves were still telling you he was about to get mad at any second.

“I do suppose that is true.” He cocked his head at you in the most adorable way. “Then I am honored to provide you with it.”

You suddenly felt even warmer than you had before, but you knew it had nothing to do with the sun anymore, but rather was from this enrapturing stranger. Though, this man’s smile certainly rivaled the sun.

“I hope you don’t mind my asking,” you began, “but you seem awfully familiar. You don’t happen to be famous, do you?”

“Oh, so you have not yet figured it out, then. I had been wondering. I suppose that, yes, I could be considered famous.”

When he didn’t say anything else, you continued, “Can I get a name then? I’m afraid I don’t really keep up with pop culture all that much.”

“Well, I suppose I could tell you my name.” His grin somehow grew to be even more mischievous. “But where is the fun in that? Besides, I am afraid you might start treating me differently if you knew.”

“Ok, that’s fair.” A spark of excitement lit behind your eyes as you got an idea and turned to face the captivating stranger. “How about this, I get three guesses about what it is you’re known for. If I get it right, you have to tell me your name. If not, then it can stay a mystery forever, if you want it to.”

“A most intriguing proposition. Alright, I accept. First guess?”

“Hang on,” you said, putting up your hand. “If I only get three guesses, I feel like it would be fair if I got to talk to you for a bit longer, at least. Unless I’m holding you up from something, of course.”

“I have time to spare, darling.” He stood up and offered you his hand. “Join me on a walk?”

An easy dialogue flowed between you as you strolled through the park. The way the light was illuminating his features made your hands itch to sketch him again. That reminded you to ask about his book, which he pulled out from seemingly nowhere.

“Hang on,” you said, getting your first idea. “Are you like a-a magician or a, um, an illusionist or something?”

“Well, it is interesting that you mention that. Magic is more a hobby than anything else,” he replied. “But not what I am known for, per se. Two guesses left.”

You frowned and flipped through the pages of the book he’d handed you. Hoping he’d made some kind of foolish error, you checked the covers for his name. No such luck. Absorbed in your hunt for clues, you weren’t paying attention to the world around you. Your companion suddenly grabbed you and jerked you to a stop. A ball whizzed past your head. If you’d kept walking, it surely would have hit you.

“You really should be more careful,” he playfully tsked. Then he grew more serious as he gently turned your head, checking for injuries. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling flustered from the attention of his piercing gaze. He also felt surprisingly cool for how warm out it was. You looked up at him and saw him raising his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe you. “I’m fine, really,” you added more convincingly. “Just my pride that’s wounded, I guess. But you stopped me in time. So, thank you.”

“It was no problem, darling,” he replied as you set off on the path again. “After all, I can’t have you getting hurt before you finish guessing, now can I?”

Again, you giggled, simultaneously loving and hating how he had that effect on you. “No, I guess not.”

“So, have you found whatever it is your looking for in my book?”

Glancing down at the page you had open, you saw it was the story of Rumpelstiltskin. How ironic. You tried to forge a connection between the book of fairytales and this man in your mind, but were coming up empty. Unless, of course, he was going to the source material for some reason, like he was preparing for a role.

“An actor!” you said, feeling sure you’d gotten it now. You’d definitely felt like you’d seen him on your TV screen before. Plus, he was definitely handsome enough for it. “That’s got to be it.”

“While I have appeared on television before, that is still incorrect, darling. One guess remaining.”

Oh how you wanted to wipe that smug yet ridiculously captivating grin from his face. Maybe with a kiss... Nope, no. That was ridiculous; you just met him. Besides, he was famous. Why on God’s green earth would he be interested in you as anything more than an entertaining encounter to pass the afternoon? So, you’d just have to do it with the right guess. You put your thinking cap on.

“Ok, well if you were on TV but aren’t an actor, maybe it was in an interview,” you thought out loud, gauging his reaction. You were excited, but also sad that your game was coming to a close. He’d surely leave after, whether you got it right or not. You supposed you could always try to look it up once you got home, if you couldn’t guess correctly. At least it would make for a fun story then. “I suppose there’s reality shows too, but that doesn’t quite seem your style. And, I guess you could be doing the interviewing—like a reporter or something—but that doesn’t sit quite right either. Sports! They televise sports. Plus I’m not really a fan, so I could believe I’ve heard of you but not totally recognize you. So, my final guess is athlete.”

“And you are certain that is your final guess?” He had a wonderful poker face and gave away nothing as to whether or not it was right. “Last chance to turn back.”

You appraised him, thinking he looked like he could be an athlete. And maybe it was some reverse psychology, trying to get you to abandon the correct guess. You didn’t really have any better ideas, anyway.

“Yes?”

“So sorry, but that is incorrect. And you are regretfully out of guesses, darling.”

“Of course it's not,” you sighed. He seemed genuinely saddened by how dismayed you seemed, so you perked up. “It was fun, though. So I, uh, I guess I won’t hold you up any longer.”

“You are correct; this was quite fun. Unfortunately, I do have another arrangement to get to,” he said in a way that made you believe he was actually upset over it. “How about that sketch that started this all, though? That one you made of me?”

“What of it?” you asked.

“May I buy it off of you?”

Your mouth formed a surprised little circle. “I mean, you can honestly have it for free. It is an unsolicited picture of you, after all. I wouldn’t feel right accepting your money for it.”

“Nonsense, I am only offering a small amount, anyway. Say, the price of a cup of coffee?”

You smiled at your feet as you caught onto what he was saying. It made your insides feel fuzzy. Maybe you wouldn’t accept, though. After all, you still didn’t know who he was. But if you were to go on a date, then certainly he would tell you.

“Sure,” you agreed. “I would love that.”

You tore out the sketch and handed it to him. In exchange, he gave you his card and said to call him to set a time and place. You glanced down at the small paper in your hands, not yet reading it. By the time you looked back up, he was already gone. With your handsome stranger nowhere to be found, you went to actually read his information. Unable to contain your surprise, not to mention shock at how foolish you were, you gasped, and your jaw hung open.

Gold writing on a green card held the secret you’d been trying to find the answer to all afternoon. Of course he was an Avenger, a hero. You ran your fingers over his name, a small smile forming on your lips. You quickly punched the contact into your phone and headed off in the direction of your apartment.

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t goodbye, Loki Laufeyson,” you mused to yourself, relishing in the way his name rolled off your tongue. “I’ll see you soon.”

[chibi-mushroom]

Hey everyone! Finally get to post my piece for the memory of promises zine! check out the link here if you want to grab one of your own copies in the leftover sale! I was so happy to be able to join in on this zine, and I hope you guys enjoy all the work that went into it! (Also keep in mind this was written before MoM.)

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Namine rubbed her temples and looked at the clock. Midnight already. DiZ was not going to like this. The next time he came into the white room would bring on some lecture or punishment of some kind. She had been working furiously all afternoon trying to get past this one section of memory, but there was something that was keeping her back. Her pulse began to race. She was feeling sick. The door to the white room opened and with a squeak, Namine ducked under the table, fearing the familiar stride of the man in red.

"It's okay, it's just me. You can come out now." A soft voice sounded in her ears. "You're safe. DiZ said he needed to run an errand and wouldn't be back for a couple of days."

Slowly looking up, Namine could see the outstretched hand of the only comfort she had in this lonely place. "Riku. You're back."

She took his offering and stood up. He hadn't let go of her hand just yet, blindfold still covering those beautiful blue green eyes he had. She was glad it stopped him from seeing things like her girlish blush. He was only offering his hand as a friend. Besides, it was wrong for her to want to be with him- nobodies weren't supposed to feel anything. So why did she?

"You're shaking." Riku stated simply. "Have you eaten anything today?"

So he could even feel the slight tremor in her hands. "No, not exactly."

"Do you want me to get something for you? I think there are some leftovers in the fridge."

"No, I'm alright. I have to get back to work." Namine tried to take her hand from his, but he held onto it all the tighter, leaning down a little to be at eye level with her. 

"You were working when I left, and I can tell you haven't gotten any sleep. How are you expecting to take care of Sora when you can't take care of yourself?"

Right. Namine thought. He's just like DiZ. All he cares about is getting Sora restored. You're just a tool.

Still, she couldn't help but notice the way her breath caught in her throat as his blinded eyes sunk to meet her tired ones. Maybe she should take a small break. All of this stress was making her read too much into small gestures.

Namine simply nodded, and Riku left to warm her up some food. Sensing that going back to Sora's memories would be futile, she grabbed her sketch pad and turned it to the very last page. This was her secret page, covered in things she thought about. Mindless doodles she drew when she was waiting for the computer to check on Sora’s physical well-being.

The sketch pad was not necessary for her magic to work. She could rearrange memories- crush the hearts of her poor unsuspecting victims- without it. She used it though to help her concentrate. By visualizing the memories, she was able to make a more convincing edit or capture the feelings that were hiding beneath the surface. So many times she had drawn Sora, Riku and Kairi together. And sure there were strong feelings of both love and jealousy, but had she not had her sketch pad, she might have missed Sora's emotions of gratitude for two stalwart best friends, confusion about school topics they had recently studied, and hope that Kairi would want to go with him to the first school dance, even though he knew they would just go together and bail early to hang out on the play island like they always did whenever the school had some social.

"Here you go. It's nothing special, but it's better than nothing." Riku interrupted her thoughts with a plate of food.

With a gasp, Namine hurried to cover her sketch pad. Even though she knew he couldn't see it, he moved so gracefully that she sometimes wondered if he really was blind. Although those first couple of days made the mansion quite a bit louder with his cries of annoyance as he bumped into furniture. He even fell into the secret compartment that hid the computer lab, but luckily managed to land safely.

"Drawing something you don't want anyone to see?" Riku smirked. 

"No!" Namine replied a bit sharper than she thought. "Maybe."

Riku laughed as he set their plates down and pulled a chair over. "I'm only kidding. You don't have to be working on Sora nonstop. If you want to take a moment for yourself, then do it."

"No, I need to be working on Sora. It was my fault he's like this in the first place. I want to keep my promise." Namine picked up the white plastic fork. For once would it hurt to have some color around here?

With a sigh, Riku held his hand out for her to hold. "We've been over this, Nam. What happened wasn't your fault. You were being used." Softly Riku muttered "you still are."

Namine looked at him for a moment and then looked down at her food. She picked at it for a few moments before softly sliding her hand in his and taking a couple of bites. She ate in a comfortable silence, simply feeling the pressure that came from the gentle touch. This sort of thing wasn't unusual for them. They could usually be found in silence with their hands connected. But the mountain of pressure from the recent block in memories and lack of self care was threatening to squish Namine with its enormous weight.

"How's the restoration going?" Riku asked.

Namine's stomach began to twist around itself. "I'm….not sure." 

Riku squeezed her hand, urging her to explain. Namine sighed, unsure of how to continue. Would he get mad if she told the truth? He had slowly been becoming more like DiZ, after all. He used to be there with her when she was getting told off. These days, Riku was never usually in the white room for more than five minutes unless it was late at night.

"You remember what Sora's mom used to tell him all the time, right?"  Riku recalled.

"Never talk to strangers on the play island?"

Riku chuckled, remembering a secret promise. "A problem shared is a problem halved. If you tell me, it might relieve some of the pressure on you."

There was no avoiding it, not as long as he held her hand. 

 "It's just that, well-" Namine fumbled for the words. "There's been a bit of a roadblock. I've been doing my best to sort it out, tracing the connections, but it's like the memories slip away as soon as I think I have a grasp on them. I may have gone through half a notebook trying to find a solid piece."

There was a pause, as if Riku were considering what to say. 

"I'll go get you a new notebook tomorrow, then. As for the memories, we'll get it figured out. You need to take a break, anyway."

"No!" Namine swallowed back further emotion. Maybe she really did need some sleep. She was being more irrational than she expected. "No, it's fine. I'm sure I'm doing something wrong."

"Don't say stuff like that. If there's anyone who can make this situation right, it's you. Please, just take a few hours to rest tomorrow, okay?" Riku squeezed her hand again.

"I don't really have a choice here, do I?" Namine sighed.

"You always have a choice. I'm just asking you as someone who cares a lot about you."

Someone who cares? Namine thought. She slowly nodded in reply. Maybe a break was exactly what she needed.

"Thank you, Riku."

One Year Later

Again Riku tried to beat Marluxia, and again he was defeated. He only had this last battle to finish, having started against the organization members he recognized or had personally fought against. Which, admittedly wasn't many, but after several attempts, he was down to the last. It frustrated him that he still wasn't quite used to the keyboard controls, and Sora's moves were much less based in strength and relied much more on magic. Riku had never been very good with magic, focusing on perfecting his cure and dark firaga spells instead of learning the large array of magic that his friends had mastered. 

Some keyblade master I turned out to be. Riku thought, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms. I can't even stop my two best friends from leaving me again. This is just like back then…

His mind began to drift away with thoughts of Castle Oblivion and Twilight Town. He heard the door open and gentle footsteps move toward him.

"Hey Aerith. We can work on that scarf in a minute. I have to get some more ethers for data Sora first."

"I take it the fight didn't go well then?" A soft voice walked closer.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Not Aerith. 

"Hey Namine. How could you tell?"

Namine placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "You're really tense. Besides, I could feel your frustration from a block away."

What anger and annoyance had once plagued Riku's mind had since washed away. All he could register was how reassuring Namine's hand on his shoulder felt. She smelled nice, too. A faint blush warmed his cheeks. Ever since Kairi had insisted on going to sleep and Terra had left for the dark realm with Aqua and Ven, Namine was the only person Riku shared everything with. She had heard him vent several times, and she had been helping Aerith teach him how to knit. It was her delicate fingers that had lead him through the steps of a cable.

"I guess I need a little bit of a break." Riku said with a sigh. "Wanna go get some ice cream or something?"

"Sure." Namine smiled, stepping back so he could get up and stretch. They began to talk as they walked to their usual ice cream shop. 

Since Scrooge, Huey and Dewey had returned home, the ice cream shop had been manned by one of the local citizens. He usually gave Riku a discount, so Riku usually put some munny in the tip jar. It had become routine over the past year to go whenever Namine came to visit from Twilight Town.

"How is everything going with Roxas and Xion?" Riku asked, sitting down and unwrapping his fruit bar.

"Slow." Namine replied, taking a small lick from her chocolate cherry ice cream cone. She wanted to try all of the flavors, and this was the last one. "Not too bad, but I think I preferred the strawberry cheesecake the best."

"That was a flavor Kairi always liked." Riku smiled softly. 

When he saw the way Namine looked for just the hair of a second, he realized that was probably the wrong thing to say. He inwardly cursed himself and his inability to be the suave guy all the girls had thought he was growing up. Kairi and Namine didn't get much of a chance to talk after she got her replica body, as Kairi had almost immediately asked to be put under. Riku wondered what it was like living inside a heart of pure light. Just like Castle Oblivion, she didn't talk about it much.

"We should get some for her when she wakes up." Namine continued to eat her cone. There was an uncomfortable silence for just a moment before Namine spoke up again. "Who were you fighting when I came in?"

"Marluxia. He was the head of the castle, right?"

Namine nodded.

"I never really got to meet him as I was down in the basement back then. I'm sorry you had to deal with a guy like him."

"It's alright. I...had some support. There was Sora and Donald and Goofy. And despite everything I did to him, there was your replica, too." Namine spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "But don't feel bad. He made his decisions, like everyone else."

This time, it was Riku's turn to nod in agreement, taking a bite from his treat.

"After the data battles are all said and done, what happens next?" Namine asked softly.

"I...don't know. All I know is that I've been having these weird dreams lately."

"I wondered. You look tired." Namine grabbed on to Riku's hand, intertwining their fingers.

Maybe it was a reflex, maybe it was a force of habit, like how they used to sit back in the old mansion. Either way, the touch on its own was enough to pull Riku away from the dark thoughts that usually sat at the horizon of his mind. He squeezed her hand in response.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you ever need someone to talk to. I miss our little midnight chats." Namine admitted.

"I do too." Riku smiled softly. "They really helped clear my mind back then."

"A problem shared is a problem halved, remember?" Namine was glad she could actually see his eyes as she recalled back to his words that helped her through her time at the old mansion. "Care to share anything?"

Riku paused. He sighed before starting to speak. After he told her of the recurring dream he'd been having with the buildings and the feeling of being watched, he also admitted to the weight that had been pinned on his shoulders. 

"I know it might sound silly, but I can't help but wonder if these dreams are connected to Sora somehow. I just wish I could understand it more." Riku finished his bar and set the popsicle stick on the bench beside him.

Namine had just finished her ice cream as well, wiping her face with the napkin. "Maybe it's time you take another journey."

"With the data battle still to fight and Kairi still asleep? I can't leave now."

"Maybe not now, but after the last battle is won." Namine gently pulled his hand close to her and began massaging it. "But that means I can't follow you. Will you be alright on your own? Maybe you can check Kairi's dreams."

"I...don't know. I haven't used my dream eater powers in a long time and the process is still kind of fuzzy for me." He could feel his muscles relax as she worked at his weary hand.

Doubt was rising in his chest. Maybe she was right. Who was he kidding? He wasn't ready for this kind of thing. He wasn't like Sora or Kairi who could follow their hearts at a moment's notice. He couldn't always feel the way it was trying to lead him.

But as he saw Namine patiently working on his hands, the stiff muscles being brought to relax against her fingers, a light shone through the storm of his doubt. How he hadn't realized it before was a mystery. Ever since they had met, she had been the light in the dark, just as he had provided shade for her in the brightest situations. As she finished the massage, she tenderly squeezed his hands, reassuring him that she was there and willing to help. Surely that was love.

He felt love for her, no question. But with Sora and Kairi gone and asleep, there never seemed to be a good moment to tell her what his heart really wanted to say. 

"We...we should be getting back." Namine sighed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"No, but then, I'm not really all that sure of anything anymore."

"If there's anything I know, it's that things will get better. We'll find Sora. I don't know how or when, but we will." Namine took his hand again, standing before him.

Namine took a quick breath and then leaned over, placing a quick kiss atop his head. Ordinarily, she wouldn't be able to reach, but since he was sitting down, she could offer a small token of her affection and confidence in his abilities.

She and Riku's faces filled with blush, although a smile tugged at her lips. Namine didn't have enough courage to kiss him on the lips like she had wanted to for so long, but this was safe. He couldn't spurn her for a harmless kiss to the head. After all, what was some reassurance between friends?

"Thank you, Namine." Riku had a hard time looking at this angel of a woman without his heartbeat increasing.

To think she was willing to be by his side after all this. He decided there and then that he would listen to his heart and tell her of his feelings...after they set everything right. Once Sora and Kairi were home and together, then they could sort out their own relationship. It would give him yet another reason to bring his best friend home. 

He could still feel the kiss on his forehead, and it brought a genuine smile to his face. He stood up and began walking away from Merlin's house.

"Don't feel like you have to stop working on the data battles on my account. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright." Namine stopped for a second.

"We can get back to those soon enough. I need a little longer before I get back into it." He took his trash and threw it into a nearby can. "There are some fountains that are really pretty this time of day nearby if you want to check them out with me."

A smile formed on Namine's lips. "I'd love to, Riku."

[thiswasinevitableid]

for the meet uglies, 55 indruck sfw? sorry apollo

Here you go! For those wondering, Apollo originates in my Amnesty Super Hero AU

“Okay sir, I’m gonna say this as nice as I can.”

Indrid looks up from his drawing of some mushrooms. The ranger, a man about his age whose little bronze name tag reads “D. Newton”, has the look of someone choosing his words very, very carefully.

“You are this close to me writin you up. And I mean this. Close.” He puts his thumb against his finger.

“I, is this not allowed?” The log he’s sitting on is technically on the trail, just next to it.

“This ain’t the problem. It’s everythin you done since this morning that’s the problem.”

“I-”

“First there was leavin your breakfast trash on the picnic table by the visitor center so chipmunks got into it--it’s real bad for them y’know, makes ‘em too bold--then there was the selfies on off-limits spots, then you had the fu, uh, freakin nerve to be rude to Juno when she asked you to stay in safe areas, you littered left and right, then you left a beer can in the reeds by the plover nestin’ grounds. I don’t even know where to start with that one; you know we don’t allow alcohol in the park. Campgrounds sure, but we don’t want fellas like you gettin drunk and then fallin off a rock. How can you be so careless, or not give a shit for a place people put time into protectin?

The smile that’s been spreading across Indrid’s face since the word “selfie” is wide enough that the ranger spots it.

“Man, if you think this is funny, you won’t when you’re too drunk to swim or run from a bear. Then I’m gonna have to bail your ass out, which I will, and you’re gonna eat a slice of humble pie big as that overinflated ego of yours.”

Indrid snickers. The ranger glares. Slowly, Indrid pulls back the hood of his sweatshirt and retrieves his glasses from the front of his shirt (he doesn’t wear them when drawing in color due to their red lenses). The other mans expression slides off confusion and tumbles into horror.

“Aw hell, I’m sorry sir. Thought you were your, uh, well, guessin you got a twin runnin around this park.” He pulls the brim of his hat down in a charming attempt to hide his face.

“I do, and this is far from the first time I’ve been scolded in his place. Less so since I dyed my hair” he indicates the artificial silver framing his face, “I’m mostly amused by how accurately you captured his orientation towards the world. It’s also bitterly funny to discover he made someone else's day as unpleasant as he made mine.”

The ranger studies him, seems to notice the creases by his eyes and mouth, “Seem a little old to be gettin forced into family time. Not that you look old. Just, uh, I mean, you might be younger than me, hard to tell with the hair, uh, yeah.”

Indrid points in the direction of the beachside campsites, “The Cold Family Reunion can only be begged off so long.” His phone dings, the reminder that it’s his turn to help his aunt with dinner, “speaking of which, I should pack up.” He quickly gathers his supplies, sends the other man a final smile, “thank you for the laugh, Ranger Newton.”

“You’re uh, you’re welcome. And tell your twin to throw his damn trash away.” He smiles as he says this, suggesting a joke, but Indrid resolves to remind Apollo of his manners anyway.

----------------------------------------------

The fog caresses the coastline, hiding the dawn entirely. Indrid pulls his hood up against the chill, the wooden bench and viewing deck damp from the weather. He’s not going back to camp until he’s captured the sight before him; dozens of fishing boats on the dark water, their lights beautiful and soft against the grey world.

Sandy gravel crunches to his right, and then Ranger Newton appears. He keeps glancing at Indrid as he writes something indecipherable on a clipboard.

“I’m the nice one.” Indrid says in response to the quick, searching, looks.

“Thank fuck.” He turns so they’re actually looking at each other, “guess we’re both on the early shift.”

“Normally I wouldn’t be, but the cold and quiet is preferable to my twin snoring. I brought my own one person tent, but then my aunt and uncle had their monthly argument and she needed a new place to sleep.”

“That was mighty kind of you.”

Indrid shrugs, “Not really. I just want to get through this reunion with as little conflict as possible.”

“How’d you end up on this thing? Said you couldn’t get out of it but-”

“I just moved to town a month ago. Turns out this is a place my parents have always wanted to visit. Not enough to see me, mind you, or refrain from criticizing my choice of towns, but enough to host the reunion here so I had no escape. And if I want to eat with the family, I have to spend the night in the camp and not at home. And since money is tight after moving, well..."

The ranger whistles, “Damn, that’s rough. But uh, since you live in town you’ll actually get to see this place in nice weather.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” He shivers, “though I enjoy the cold when I can be in my nice little apartment. In a tent, not so much.”

“If you get a good sleepin bag or good company, gets a lot better.” The ranger smiles, then looks at his notes, “sorry, that ain’t appropriate talk around a visitor.”

Indrid meets his green eyes, “If you have recommendations for either, I’m all ears.”

A gust of wind carries salt spray all the way to the platform, Indrid shivering as it mists his glasses.

“Here” the ranger holds out his hnd, “I gotta go open the visitor center; nice and warm in there.”

“...Could you possibly come back in ten minutes? I’d like to finish my sketch.”

“Sure, won’t kill me to check on the tide measures while I’m out here.” He tips his hat and soon Indrid sees him winding down a path to the beach. Eleven minutes later he’s back, telling Indrid about a huge starfish he saw.

On the walk to the visitor center, he learns the “D” on his nametag is for “Duck,” that he’s a transplant from West Virginia, and that they’re actually the same age. When Indrid explains that he’s a tattoo artist who sells his drawings on the side.

“You’ll appreciate this, then” Duck bends down to roll up his pant leg. Indrid appreciates the view and the well executed geometric tree tattoo on his ankle.

“Juno and I got ‘em together. Had to go with the ankle because I already got some on my arms. Can’t show those off right now though.”

“My, my, Ranger Newton, you’ll flash a scandalous ankle at a guest but not take him to the gun show?”

Duck laughs, the sound like the mating call of a strange tropical bird; absurd and enchanting.

“Glad you’re in town to stay, Indrid. Think you’re the kind of fella I’d like to get to know.”

----------------------------------------------

Maybe he’s being childish. It’s not wrong for Apollo to say he’s making their father proud, that he’s successful, that he’s a golden boy of his field.

It’s just obnoxious for him to do this the one time their extended family expressed Indrid’s professional accomplishments. With that smile, the one Indrid knows for a damn fact he had fixed, that tone, that, that….

That voice sounds familiar.

He reverses course, takes the path he passed by that points towards the amphitheater. What he gets is more a firepit with a small stage, but standing at the center and addressing fascinated families is Duck.

Indrid sits on the rickety bench furthest from the stage, lets Ducks explanations of night blooming plants and the creatures that pollinate them drown out the echoes of family dinner. When the program ends and the parents shepherd their children off with instructions for bedtime and brushing teeth Indrid stays, not ready to leave but not intending to attract Duck’s attention.

He gets it anyway.

“Enjoy the talk?” Duck stays two steps down from him, rests a foot up on the bench, “this one is always real popular; when it gets warm, the little animal rehab place south of town brings education animals in. Y’know, bats and owls, stuff like that.”

“I’ll have to come back to see them.” The thought of seeing bats up close excites him, but he’s too tired to sell the emotion.

Duck frowns, “You okay?”

Indrid shakes his head, tells him about the constant comments, the threat of living forever as the family disappointment, a threat he can deal with until he’s around them all. Then he’s right back to being seventeen and afraid of failing them.

“....Apollo’s always been the golden boy, ruthless and goal focused like our father. He always knows just what to say to get under my skin and dig out the scar tissue,” Indrid sighs, “All I wanted tonight was to roast marshmallows and go to bed early.”

The ranger moved from the steps to the bench beside him as he told his story. Now, Duck looks at him, smile more soothing than the thrum of the distant waves, “I got an idea. Guessin’ you don’t gotta tell your family where you’re goin, right?”

“No, most of them will assume I’m off sulking and Apollo will hope I’ve fallen off a cliff.”

“Then leave ‘em to be their shitty selves and come home with me. Uh, not, not-not like that, fuck, like what you’re thinkin, uh. Fuck. What I mean is; I got a fireplace and some marshmallows. You want in?”

Indrid watches the dying fire flicker of the curves of his face, thinks back on the last week. The ranger has been a frequent companion, brings him hot cocoa from the little cafe and tells him where he’ll be for chunks of the day in case Indrid needs a break from his family. Last night, all Indrid could think about was wanting Duck to be in the tent beside him.

“Absolutely.”

On the drive over, Indrid points out his apartment complex and Duck points out the best places to eat and the cheapest laundromats. His house is tiny, looks like it was built when the town was a logging hub and not a tourist destination.

“Make yourself at home, it’ll take me a sec to get the fire goin’--uhuh, Taco, stop tryin’ to open that cabinet.” He hoists a yowling, blonde ball of fur on the couch. The cat directs a suspicious look Indrid’s way and then settles on top of the pile of blankets.

“You a s’more man?” Duck calls from the kitchen.

“No, thank you. I prefer my sugar in a single bite.”

“You eat marshmallows in one bite? I’m always worried I’ll choke.”

“I have an accommodating mouth.” Indrid smirks when Duck audibly drops the bag. He’s not always the best with social cues, but if the way Duck kept brushing their hands together on the center armrest in his car is any indication, the ranger is trying to pick him up.

Once the fire is going Duck sits on the rug, patting the spot to his left. Indrid joins him. Caramelizing sugar and increasingly sleepy laughter soon fills the air. Neither of them keep their knees from touching, and Duck keeps dropping his head to Indrid’s shoulder when he giggles. The whole scene is so heavenly Indrid isn’t paying attention to their marshmellow consumption. He reaches into the empty bag and makes a disappointed noise.

“Damn, we really went through ‘em.” He catches Indrid’s eye with a playful grin, “you still cravin’ sugar?”

Indrid licks his lips, “Yes.”

Duck cups his cheek, guiding him into a sleepy, close-mouthed kiss, brushing their noses together when he pulls back to murmur, “That do the trick?”

“Hmmmmm?” Indrid cocks his head, “no.”

The other man guffaws as Indrid pulls him down on top of him, kissing him happily and wiggling his hips when Duck digs his fingers into his hair. His own hands migrate under Duck’s shirts, finding his body just as warm and wonderful as he hoped.

He nips Duck’s lower lip. The ranger growls and Indrid is no longer tired.

“Care to see just how accommodating my mouth can be?”

Duck rolls them twice so they’re a safe distance from the fire, “Hell yeah.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid saunters into camp late in the morning, some of the Colds already packing up to depart. His twin is stuck on dish duty, grins like a barracuda when he spots Indrid.

“I don’t know why you’re here. You missed breakfast, and you weren’t in camp last night, so you don’t get lunch or dinner either. May as well skulk back into the shadows.”

“Mmm, yes, I was rather undutiful.” Indrid spots a figure checking campsite permits, who stealthily blows him a kiss, “but at this moment in time, I don’t particularly care.”

[thelightofthingshopedfor]

gotta say I’m particularly pleased with Loki using magic fireworks to show off, because I literally put that in the Steve/Loki fic I wrote for @veliseraptor​ a few years ago, where they sort of grow up together as childhood friends because of handwavey time-travel shenanigans:

Loki shrugs, looking down. After a moment he says, “We Aesir live such long lives that we mark such events differently as we age, or at least that is the common practice. Young children’s birthdays are celebrated every year; later, perhaps the day is marked in small ways but is truly celebrated once each decade, or once per century for adults and those nearing adulthood. I am approaching that age myself, so it is not as though I expect a regular, lavish celebration or anything of that sort. It is only…”

“Thor gets a bigger party?” Steve guesses.

“A feast of some kind, most years,” Loki says, his voice flat. “It is good for our warriors’ morale, you see. When he turned 750, the festivities lasted nearly a fortnight, and he was gifted with Mjolnir, a weapon of great power. So I thought…well.”

“Yesterday was your 750th too,” Steve says (it still feels unreal to him to measure someone’s lifespan with numbers that high, but when he does the math in his head, he’s pretty sure that’s about equivalent to 15, so basically Steve’s age).

Loki looks down again and nods. “In truth, I am not sure anyone remembered this year was anything out of the ordinary.”

Steve and his mom have never had much, but she’s always managed to make Christmas and his birthday special in some small way, taking extra shifts to afford an art book for him or ingredients for a cake. He’s been a little jealous sometimes of the stuff other kids’ parents can afford, but he’s never, ever felt forgotten. In every other way, Loki’s so much richer that Steve can barely comprehend it, but—

“Well,” he says, “I can’t throw you a feast, but I can take you to Coney Island for ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream,” Loki says.

“Yeah, haven’t you—no, of course you haven’t had ice cream, that’s my fault. I don’t really want to spend money on the rides right now, but just walking around is fun, and I can at least do ice cream.”

“I would like that,” Loki admits.

***

“Here we go, this vendor doesn’t charge extra for toppings.”

Loki balks again when Steve pulls out his wallet. “You needn’t, truly.”

“I know,” Steve says. “But it’s your birthday, and I want to.” He buys them both double-scoop cones with chocolate sauce and hands one to Loki as they head down the boardwalk. “Careful, it’ll melt and start dripping if you don’t eat it fast enough. Uh, but don’t eat it too fast or you’ll get a headache. You just lick it.”

Loki smiles sidelong at him, looking faintly amused. “I think I can manage.” He licks at the ice cream once, delicately, and then his eyes widen a little and he returns to it with a lot more enthusiasm.

“I guess you like it,” Steve says, grinning.

“This is good. I wonder if the cooks at home could make something similar.” He catches a drip running down the side of the cone. “How is it made?”

“No idea. I bet we could look it up somewhere, though. I think it’s milk, ice, and sugar, mostly.”

“Mm.” Loki’s almost reached the cone already—maybe Asgardians just don’t get ice cream headaches—and is finally slowing down. “Well, if you can find me a recipe, I will see what can be done.” He neatly sidesteps a child running between them and smiles at Steve in a way that makes his heartbeat pick up. “Thank you, my friend.”

Steve ducks his head. “Glad you like it.” His own ice cream is starting to melt, and taking care of that keeps him occupied for a few minutes. Then Loki hops up to sit on the boardwalk railing, facing the beach and the water. Steve scrambles up next to him a lot less gracefully, but he manages, and for a little while they just watch the boats and beachgoers, with the Wonder Wheel standing sentinel overhead.

“When is your birthday?” Loki asks.

“July 4, actually. Just a couple months away now. There’s always…” His lips twitch. “My mom used to say the fireworks were just for me, like the city was wishing me a happy birthday too.”

“I am afraid this is another custom with which I am unfamiliar.”

“Right, yeah, of course. July 4 is America’s independence day, since back in—well, actually, that’s not important. Everybody celebrates with fireworks, they’re like colorful little explosions, and we don’t have a great view but my mom started taking me up to the roof to see better.” Steve laughs a little. “I think she felt bad after a while for telling me the fireworks were for me, but I’d already figured it out, and honestly I didn’t mind. I’m nobody special, I know the city’s not going to celebrate me, but it’s still nice feeling like everyone’s celebrating with me.”

“Well,” Loki says, “to your assertion that you are ‘nobody special,’ I would be inclined to point out that you are almost certainly the only living human to count a prince of Asgard as a friend. Which…focuses on me rather more than I intended.”

Steve snorts. “That was pretty much luck anyway, right? You could’ve stumbled across anybody.”

“True enough. But I met you instead, and I am glad of it. If either of us has cause to be grateful for that luck, I think it would be me.” He darts a glance toward Steve and then away, studying the shoreline, and Steve is suddenly struck by how beautiful Loki is. He’s noticed before, but not quite like this, with the breeze ruffling Loki’s hair and the sun highlighting those fine, sharp features Steve is always itching to draw. He doesn’t just want to draw Loki now, though; mostly he’s wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

***

The next time Steve sees him, it’s slightly more than two months later and he’s sitting on the roof sketching the skyline when Loki pops into existence next to him. He’s doing a terrible job of trying to hide a self-satisfied grin, so whatever his latest prank was, it must have gone well. Before he can ask, Loki says, “Your birthday is soon, yes?”

“Last week, actually.”

“Damn. I’d hoped to find you on the day itself, but—well, nothing for it now. I wanted…” He reaches into a satchel, hesitates, and pulls out a small wooden box. “I brought you a gift. A small thing, but—I hope you like it.”

Steve sets his sketchbook aside and takes the box, intrigued. The top opens on a hinge; inside, cradled in a nest of straw, is a black crystal ball about the size of Steve’s two fists, with a polished wooden base. When he pulls it out, flecks of color glint across its surface wherever the sun hits it. It’s pretty, but he can’t think why Loki would give him a fancy paperweight, and he’s not sure how to ask without sounding ungrateful.

“Put your hand on the sphere,” Loki says, his voice still full of suppressed excitement, “and think of your fireworks.”

Steve does. A tiny spark of light shoots up from the base of the globe and bursts under his fingers, then another and another, red and blue and gold and green, spiraling downward and fading out before exploding again, and his confusion turns to wonder as he stares at it. It’s like a snow globe but it’s full of little fireworks instead, fireworks that look just like the real thing in silent, miniature form. He turns it in his hand and the lights follow the motion, sinking back to and shooting out from what’s now the bottom, in spirals and spiders and starbursts.

“Fireworks in a jar,” Steve says. “This is incredible.”

Loki grins. “It is, isn’t it? I didn’t make the globe, of course, I bought that, but the enchantment is mine, built from scratch.”

Steve turns the globe again, marveling at the tiny little world in his hands. “I thought you didn’t know what fireworks were?”

“As it happens, they are a very old invention—as Midgard marks time, anyway—so I was able to observe some myself at a celebration of some kind in China, and I replicated those. So…now you have fireworks that really are just for you.”

The globe is slightly warm against his palms, and Steve closes his hands over it. “This is—way better than anything I gave you.”

Loki looks at him with a crooked smile. “I suppose that is a matter of perspective.”

I mean, I guess I was wrong about fireworks not being a thing on Asgard, but still, it’s fun. :)

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Hello! I hope you're doing okay over there. Are your requests open? If so, could you do a Din x reader with the reader sketching him (the child and their special moments together) when she thinks he isn't looking, but one day he finds the sketchbook? If they're closed just ignore the request but hold on tight to the wishes of good furtune and health ♥ Stay safe!

I’m hanging in there sweet anon and I hope you’re doing okay too (okay but this is so cute omg).

Warnings: It’s really just two dorks and good ole fluff. Some of this is unedited as well

*Reminder that the forum for my taglist is still up and pinned!

__________________________________________ 

If he would turn slightly to the left, you’d be able to get the perfect angle you need to finish the sketch. 

The helmet reflects the glare of the stars, illuminating a bright shine around the top of the beskar and stinging your eyes just a little when you look up at it. You can’t help but do it anyway. The Child is asleep, a day of actually getting to use those little feet of his wore him out - you love the little one, but you and Din have exhausted yourselves keeping up with finding him his home and protecting him at the same time; this peace and quiet right now is highly overdue.

The pencil glides easily against the paper, connecting every line to another, creating another favorite of yours; the perfect piece of art that’s sitting in front of you, unaware of the stacks of sketches that you’ve drawn silently in the whatever corner you can lurk in. To be honest, with as attentive as he is, you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on to you yet. 

You’re so lost in finishing the shades that you don’t notice the Mandalorian turning slightly towards you in his seat. He watches your brows furrow in deep concentration, the light scratching in the air a comfort to him since the months of hearing it. He’s never actually seen any of your drawings, however, and he knows that one day the curiosity will get the better of him and he’ll ask... eventually. 

Truth is he’s not all the sure on why he hasn’t asked you yet, despite the growing and gnawing interest with teeth that grows sharper and longer as more time goes on. And it’s not like you’ve ever brought it up, either. It’s been this unspoken thing between the two of you - a dance that’s familiar in any language; of scared love and child-like curiosity that seeps into something deeper.

That’s exactly what he’s afraid of. 

It’s in this moment of sensing a pair of eyes on you - the pair of eyes you can’t see, but imagine they must be green, or brown more than anything. For a moment, you’re almost afraid to find out.

With a small intake of air you will your head to tilt up. The visor spins away so quick that it’s almost comical, and you bite your lip to suppress the giggle bubbling in your chest. 

“Din,” you call his name teasingly. “Is there something you wanted?”

It’s almost too hard to hide the laughter when his helmet jolts towards you, like he’s surprised that you called him out on it. 

“I -” You think you hear a gulp through the statics of the vocoder. “- I was... I was just wondering what you were drawing. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Your heart skips a beat at the sincerity of his apology, and the fact that he was watching you, which has you wondering if this is a reoccurrence you’ve been blind to this entire time.

“It doesn’t,” you voice croaks. “It’s-it’s nothing really. Just the ship, whatever I see throughout the day.” You sit up, still clutching the book to your chest. “I’m going to check on the kid. Call for me if you need anything.”

When the hell did the air get so thick like this? You feel bad, so bad, and a part of you wants to desperately show him this simple thing that he just wants to look at, but... but he’ll know. One look and he’ll know.

“Okay,” the modulator cracks - you wonder what it’s masking right now, what you can’t hear through the robotic statics. “You can rest too while you’re at it. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

You nod and awkwardly wave your departure, climbing down on wobbly legs to the hull and the cot the Child is asleep on; you’re relieved to see that he’s still bundled in his blanket, a peaceful expression gracing his features. 

It’s here you feel the fatigue settling on your shoulders. The dull beating You sigh and settle inside the small space, careful of your weight and making yourself as comfortable as you can get. With the book and pencil still in hand, you decide to finish the little details of his belt. 

***

Mando sighs as thoughts of you plague his mind once more. 

That, and the fact that he needs to sleep at least an hour before the landing at the next destination. 

He keens his ears for any sings of movements down in the hull, but when he hears nothing he climbs down to ladder in quiet, graceful strokes. 

The dim light does absolute injustice to your features in his opinion. It’s the first thing he notices, not the Child is gurgling over your open sketchbook that’s sprawled out on your lap as you sleep. 

“Kriff,” he curses under his breath and rushes as quietly as he can towards the bunk. He tries to keep his eyes averted of the drawings, but he can’t help it, especially when the Child pouts and slaps against the page when his hand clasps around it. 

It’s... well, it’s him. He’s leaning against the wall of what he can tell is the Razor Crest based off the small details you made sure to put in - he really admires that. Down at his feet is the little one, grinning up at him. Beneath the helmet that’s shielded him from the rest of the world for almost all his life, he smiles back; orange caresses the rough paper, imagining that he can actually feel it through the lead and gloves. 

The next page is of a planet he cannot name off the top of his head, but he can’t shake the feeling that it’s of home. 

Each page is filled with memories; past and present etched and filled with the kind of skill and warmth that can never be replaced; promises of mystery tied in like a piece of string. Most of them towards the end are of him and the Child. Small moments, mostly, like when he fell asleep with the kid secured to his armored-less chest, and moments when it’s him, sitting in the pilot’s seat or his cape flowing behind him as he walks away to a new bounty or clue to the Child’s powers.

He recognizes them with a deep fondness that makes his head swirl with all types of emotions. Din knows what they mean, but it’s the fear. Yet each drawing - he’s on the one from hours ago - scolds each inch of doubt within him, and in this he finds a type of bravery he’s hasn’t faced much before; it makes it more terrifying to him. 

“I like to draw what makes me happy.”

Your voice startles him from his thoughts. He’s never frozen up like this before - at least long ago - but now it feels like your stare alone is the only thing keeping him grounded to this spot. The doe like expression on your face the guilt that started to creep within his chest dissipates. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, because he still feels that he needs to apologize. “The kid had it and I... he likes the one where he found that flower.”

You smile widely at that, looking down at the child in question as you sit up. Din silently watches you climb out from the bunk and takes a few steps back to let you lean against the cold interior. 

“That’s one of my favorites, too,” you say; proudly, Din thinks. “And the one where you fell asleep in the pilot’s chair... you were so tired that day and I kept trying to get you to rest and let me take over, but you can be so stubborn sometimes, you know that?”

His chuckle radiates the room, and fuck it, it could radiate the entire galaxy. Yours join in with ease, but it quickly dies down, though not awkwardly or uncomfortably; it feels natural among the countless other laughs you’ve shared over the years. 

“I um - “ you clear your throat nervously, battling with the endless fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and the shakiness in your voice. “- I guess this is a good time to say that I really like you, Din. And I’ve been drawing these sketches of as many of these moments as I can because they’re so precious to me.” You take a deep breath. “Just like the Child is. Just like you are.”

You finish with a light scoff. It’s quiet, you have to pee, and you hope to the Maker above that this isn’t how your journey with Din ends; you should really open your eyes and at least do something if he’s just going to keep standing there. 

“I like you, too.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when those words reach your ears. It feels like your heart just stopped beating, your body frozen, and your thoughts bouncing wildly around like a blaster; that crackled laugh (that you know somehow is soft) brings you back to your body, back to the man standing closer to you know and slowly reaching his hand out. 

You glance at it before tracing your eyes over the worn out boots that’s seen better days, the scratched and scraped armor that you have shared more than enough time cleaning and polishing, the signet that the Mandalorian never fails to honor proudly, even in his own quiet ways; and now the helmet, the t-shaped visor that shields him.  

In this you find no fear. The weight of his hand in yours settles you and the soft link of his pinky with yours brings a stinging to your eyes. 

“I can’t do this alone,” he says. “And I want this to work. The Creed -”

“I know,” you interject quietly. “It’s not always going to be easy. But we got this, just like always, don’t we?”

“At least one of us has to.” 

His heart warms when the loudest snort he’s ever heard you make jolts the Child from his sleep, blinking those big eyes wearily as your muffled laugher continues against your fingers. “You should get some sleep now,” you tell him. “I got this one.”

It feels very natural to lean down and pick the Child up and smile at Din with assurance; he feels the air in his lungs draw out of him until he literally starts to feel breathless, and his lips stretch in a smile - it’s small and shy; hopeful. 

After he makes sure that the hull is closed off and lays his helmet by the plates of his armor (one of the rare times he actually can), settling onto the unforgiving but familiar cot, he imagines you’ll make a fuss about the scar on his nose with a pencil and book in your hands. 

Tags:  @talesfromtheguild, @absurdthirst, @chews-erotically, @hiwelcometochillys, @legally-a-bastard, @bluengrayfox, @pascaliprincess, @oloreaa, @thisis-theway, @jaynoellef, @ben-is-a-hoe, @hayley-the-comet, @pascalisthepunkest, @kenedyybrooklin, @garrshep, @paintmekala, @marian, @fit-fierce-gamer, @altersw, @hoodedbirdie

[angelkurenai]

Draw me, like one of your French girls - Steve Rogers x Reader

Title: Draw me, like one of your French girls

Pairing: Artist!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Visiting your good friend in his small apartment every time means you get drawn to his art, amazed by whatever he has created and curious about his inspiration which he always hides that it’s you. You don’t insist, and thing remain the same. It’s only when you finally ask him to draw you that things really change; maybe in a way you could never expect. Surely drawing you naked wouldn’t be a problem, right?

“Incredible.” you breathed out, your voice filled with awe as you ran your fingers over the new papers scattered across the room “This is... truly incredible.” you couldn't contain a small laugh, which was only half a second later joined by another one, soft, sweet and so warm to your heart “And, my gosh, Steve it's so beautiful. I've- I have no words. How- How did you manage all this?”

“It's not really... much.” he mumbling, shrugging for just a second, the papers in his hands filled with sketches nearly slipping from his fingers, but the sight of that adorable smile was enough to distract you from everything happening around you.

“Are you serious? Steve I was here two days ago and these weren't here. Two days, you did all of this in only two days and it's... my dear, stunning.” you bit your lip, eyes wide an filled with wonder as you tried to keep yourself from reaching out to trace your fingers over the charcoal on the canvas “Sometimes I think this isn't humanly possible, that you've found some kind of- oh I don't know, some...” you trailed off, your smile turning into a mischievous one as you looked at him over your shoulder “Magic potion? A serum? The kind that makes supersoldiers but only in your case you're something like-”

“What, a superartist?” he asked, his smile more of a teasing smirk.

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you tried to stay mad at him but failed “Not the words I was going to use, anyway. You said it.” you shrugged “Besides, I think that with that kind of built and height a supersoldier serum would have been unnecessary. You easily steal hearts wherever you go as it is.”

A laugh, soft and almost shy but certainly able to make your heart skip another beat, followed soon afterwards “I don't think that's entirely possible or the case but thank you.” he said, gathering more papers and sketches in his hands to make room for you to finally be able to sit.

“Nonsense. Everybody knows it. With a heart of gold, so loving and caring unlike anybody else, a body that even ancient Greek sculptures wouldn't be able to capture well enough and a talent that even Da Vinci should be envious of, just face it-” you smiled, snatching the sketches before he could even react – though he did protest and tried to prevent you from having them but you both knew it was a familiar fight that you won every single time “You're a catch. It's a well-known and commonly accepted fact. Hey, are these recent too? I've never seen them before.”

“Those are not-” he tried to lie, oh how he wished he could lie about it, no matter how hard it was at first he had managed to do so real well when it came to his feelings for you. Granted, that was more hiding the truth than lying to you about them but it was up to some degree practice.

He wanted to tell you that no it wasn't all things drawn within the span of three hours, after only an hour of you leaving his place. He wanted to lie, to pretend that you weren't the embodiment of inspiration, of beauty, love, everything wonderful and important in this world for him and everything else his heart longed for too. He wanted to lie about it so much, just so that he could hide the embarrassing fact that whenever he saw you, whenever you visited him even if it was for a cup of coffee and a casual talk because you were close by or you run into him I the street, it was like a breath of fresh air after being underwater for too long, nearly dead and starving for life.

He needed to lie to hide that he looked forward to moments spent with his eyes closed, picturing the way you had been laughing and smiling and looking at him – and only him – just a couple minutes prior, before grabbing any and every piece of paper, sketchbook and canvas he could find so that he could draw you or any other part of you, from the way the sun shone over your eyes and lips to the flowers on your dress or the hands on your lap. That didn't mean that he got theprivilege everyday, though. There were times when he tried to do that with the memories he had of you of a week or two ago, and it wasn't like he didn't ave plenty to last a lifetime, but there was always something different about getting new images of you; new memories. He had resorted to using the older memories only for when it came to creating a new piece that was either meant for a customer, for the upcoming exhibition or even the new art gallery he was planning to set up in town again. All in all, paintings that drew you as inspiration but could in no way directly linked to you – not unless someone was reading Steve's mind – were the ones for display, for the world to see, while the rest were only for Steve. The ones that reflected all the ways he saw you and all the things he felt for you were still tobe kept hidden, far too personal for anybody else to see yet.

Lying or hiding the truth was one way to go about it, but not in this case. So he decided against it in the end. With a soft sigh he smiled as he watched you flip excitedly through the various drawings, taking in every expression – especially on the ones you lingered most on, as you made yourself at home. Shoes off, bag falling at the feet of a chair carelessly as you dived in the art and made yourself comfortable on the bed. Steve only held his breath as he forced himself to stay put for a second longer instead of grab a brush and start capturing as much as he could.

He cleared his throat and looked away, focusing on making you your cup of coffee “Yes, actually. I did those last night.” he said the truth, not daring too look up at you. Keeping busy was the key.

“Oh Steve.” he could still hear the smile in your voice much like the awe “These are...” a breathless laugh, he couldn't hold his own smile “You know, I don't understand how you do this, how you suddenly find such inspiration but Steve you should use it more often. These have such potential, they could end up in the biggest art galleries all around the world! Not like your work isn't already there but, you know, these could be thee most popular works of the year! If not decade.”

“That's just too much, (Y/n). Not possible again.” he said with a laugh.

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking the cup he offered you “In all the time you've known me, when have I ever been wrong, Steve? Never.”

“I must admit that's true, though I fear I will regret it later.” he said with an adorable smile “And I'm guessing that same goes for everything else?”

“Considering you're a catch?” you raised an eyebrow, taking a sip “You bet.”

He only hummed, taking a seat on his chair by his desk, close but far enough to take all of you in before he asked softly “Is that what goes around in the office too?”

“Aha so Romanoff has spoken then!” you exclaimed before laughing, earning a laugh from Steve as well even though he tried to seem as innocent as possible with his shrug “I should have known she was going to out me at some point. Gosh I'm gonna kill her, can't believe I asked her to keep quiet about it and she just-”

Steve would have gladly stayed in that moment forever, admired the look of you sprawled in his bed amongst his rumbled bedsheets, the sun casting perfect shadows and light wherever needed, the insanely adorable flush on your cheeks captivating and intriguing as ever. So intriguing that he couldn't help but speak to ask you in the end “Well, honestly, she only said a couple of things. Natasha doesn't really let things slip, so I'm guessing this is something she wanted to happen. It was just the... necessary ones and they were uhm... interesting to say the least. I didn't know I was so popular.”

He tried to hide the smile behind his cup of coffee, mostly because he hoped he could hide his lie. Of sorts at least. Natasha had barely said anything, truth was he had little to no idea, but seeing you get so flustered over it, so damn beautiful was the only thought his brain provided, he needed to know more.

“Only you would say that Steve. Which begs the question, are you going to get another apartment or what? You could afford any and every house and loft in town, you know. This place is so small you can barely move as it is but with all this art, it feels tiny. And I love cosy places, you know it, but there is a high risk of getting some work lost or ruined in here.”

This time he couldn't nor wanted to hide his smile. Pulling his cup away from his lips he gave you a look “Are you trying to change the subject (Y/n)?” he asked but you shoo your head, shrugging to innocently it wasn't innocent anymore “Anyway, to answer your question, I'd take my mother's old apartment any day. Your turn and I want a direct answer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him “That's oddly... dark of you. Serious and possibly hot. I like that.” you smile despite your nerves and shyness “Well, to answer your unspoken question: It all started when Sharon asked me and a couple other girls out for drinks, you know ladies night, but you and I had already made plans. I couldn't lie because they'd think I was avoiding them so I told them. And then of course combined with all the times you've come to pick me up from work or I've spent my lunch with you or I've accompanied you to your galleries and exhibitions, well-” you huffed, looking down at your mug before placing it away “I wasn't aware of it until recently that they've started talking about us and thinking we're a couple. I could- I've tried to clear it up but honestly nobody seems to believe me and, you know, it doesn't help that you're so famous and sought after. Plus, we act the way we do it's just- It's all just a misunderstanding, it'll clear up.”

“I didn't mean to...” his voice was sad, almost filled with regret, even though his heart was beating too fast and eagerly in his chest “(Y/n), I'm sorry for-”

“What?” you gasped “Oh no, no Steve. There's nothing to be sorry for, it's not like it's.... a problem for me. I mean I never cared what others thought or said, not unless it was my friends, and besides-” you smiled, or at least tried to through your nervousness “Am I really that bad for you, Mr Rogers?”

“No!” that came out embarrassingly fast “No, of course not. I mean, (Y/n) you are the kindest and most loving person I know. You light up the entire room when you're there and if I'm completely honest, you have been my anchor more times than I can remember. More... so much more than that actually. I don't know where I'd be without you. So, if anything... you are the catch.”

“Alright, let's stop right there before it gets out of control and I am unable to stop myself from kissing you.” your smile was playful much like the wink you sent him but oh how he wanted to believe it was all real, but he got carried away by the way you laid down on the mattress, stretching softly as you focused back on the sketches in your hands, some already laying around you “Which reminds me: Where did this all come from? I mean, last time we talked two days ago you said you were behind on schedule with the pieces for the new gallery and now two days later you have pieces and ideas for ten more galleries.”

“I suppose... that's how inspiration is. Comes and goes. I was lucky enough this time, although, they're still just random works. I guess... the flowers and the eyes could turn into something good.” he shrugged.

“And may I ask, what is the source of said inspiration? Or is her name a secret?” you asked, your voice having lost some of the lightness in it “I could feel jealous of her if I wasn't so taken by your work. Lucky her, though I'm sure she must bereally special to be your muse.”

“H-her?” he stuttered, his posture straightening. He'd been careful to hide any and every sketch or painting that clearly depicted you in any way that you could easily tell. But there was just so many that it was very likely that he had missed one or two. Butt then, why would you refer to yourself as “her”? Thinking about it and as he said the next words, he noticed a sketch of your face and subtly but hastily made sure to hide it, by placing other blank papers on top of it.

“Muse? You know I- I don't have one.” whenever he had to lie to you once or twice he did feel guilty but he always told himself it was for the best. This time however it was joined by such a great wave of regret and sorrow, the only one that could describe his belief that he was somehow betraying you.

“Really?” you sounded really curious “Then who is this?”

He tried and he hoped he did a good job of hiding his relief. It was an older one, of you curled on his bed not too long ago, face deep buried in his pillow as you had all but collapsed there after a hard day at work. It was meant to be a visit but you ended up sleeping there, only for Steve to stay awake all night drawing like there was no tomorrow.

“Nothing. It's nothing.” he smiled “I saw a sculpture the other day and it was inspiring, that's all.”

“Oh. Oh. Sorry, I-” you almost looked relieved “For a second I thought... well, nevermind.” you shook your head “It's still very beautiful too. But-” you frowned, turning your head just slightly to look at him again “I've noticed that while you do draw people on the occasion, it's never the same ones, not for long for sure and even more not ones we know. Not ones I know. What I mean is that... why not, Steve?”

“I don't...” he looked out of the window, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from you despite how captivating you were in that moment “Well, there is something about painting people I know. You know I put emotions into my paintings but when it comes to my friends, to my family, to the people I care for and have memories with then I feel like it's all on the canvas there too. And sharing that with virtual strangers feels... I don't want to expose myself so much.”

“Well, then maybe it's because you haven't tried it out yet?” you suggested softly, making him tilt his head “Maybe, you have to... learn how to put out specific feelings. I'm not saying none at all, maybe some that will make the painting stand out, not like your art already doesn't, but you know so that it is still part of you like every other painting of yours. However, you could decide to keep the things that are most important to you about it only for you. Like, certain feelings, it doesn't have to be all there for everyone to see. It could be things you only get for once.”

“That sounds good (Y/n) but sadly easier said than done.” he said, already fidgeting with a nearby brush.

“I didn't say it was but with practice everything becomes easier at some point, right?” he could practically hear the small voice in his head saying that this wouldn't end well but he couldn't help but be entranced by the small hopeful smile on your lips “I mean, it could be hard at first, but it's only because you haven't tried it yet. Or practiced that much yet, whichever. But with time you could get used to it and I, well, I think it would be really interesting to try it out. It's something new and if you find it doesn't fit your style then you could just... stop. It's up to you.”

“It is, I know, I'm just-” he paused, pressing his lips together as he studied your expression for a couple more seconds “You already have something in mind, don't you? What's going on?”

The questions were mostly rhetorical but he asked anyway. And you shrugged as innocently as you possibly could “I mean... I might.”

“And are you planning on ever telling me or what?” he couldn't help but chuckle “Why don't you just ask (Y/n)? All you have to do is say it and I-”

“Why don't you ever draw me?” you cut him off gently but with a clear voice.

“I- What?” he could swear his heart leapt to his throat.

“I mean-” you cleared your throat “It's not like you haven't tried it at all to begin with. I've seen the portrait you did for Sharon, though not for your galleries, it's still beautiful and-”

“Sharon asked me to do it.” he said a little too fast, but his need to justify himself to you was far too great “She was- I was working on a new drawing when she came to visit and it was of- of a random couple I had seen that she asked me if I could draw her. It was more of a quick drawing than anything else. It's not-” he let a small breath, glancing down at his hands “It wouldn't be the same.”

“Well-” you started, looking down for a few longer seconds but he did notice the smile on your lips, making him feel happy with his words despite his initial worry “Then... you could try to draw me? If only for practice. I wouldn't mind at all. You've done amazing portraits before, I think you would do great again. I mean, if you'd like to of course. You're-you're the artist. If I don't insp-”

“It's not-” he started with a soft exhale, getting up from his chair and slowly making his way to you “What would you like?” he asked instead, smile soft as he let himself brush a few stray strands of hair out of your eyes. He could swear he heard you take in a shaky breath but his own heart was hammering in his ars so he couldn't know what he heard for sure.

“To know... how much I'd inspire you.” you confessed, voice small and almost fragile in a way that made his heart clenched beautifully in his chest. Oh if only you knew. If only he could really tell you everything.

“And...” he started again in a soft voice, fixing the bedsheets only a bit around you; he wouldn't dare touch a thing nor change it, he wanted you more than anything to stay exactly the way you were “You would like me to draw you. Well then-” he didn't realize it when his fingers had found your face again, now on your cheek tracing the line of your cheekbones as the excitement made his stomach fill with excitement, he could finally get to do this “Good, I thought you were never going to ask.”

You scoffed a laugh which turned into a warm big smile that stayed on your lips for good even though you rolled your eyes at him “Isn't the artist supposed to be the one to ask those kind of things?”

“Hm” he shrugged “I'm pretty sure we've always been a bit unconventional on some things.”

“Fine then. Since we are unconventional on some things, and not all, how about we start making a few exceptions now?” a smile had started to creep up on your lips, one that he could almost swear was too playful already to look anywhere near innocent as you planned for it. And maybe, just maybe, it didn't help that the way you were looking up at him through your lashes, sprawled on his bed, as he hovered over you so close – too close for it to be so comfortable or anywhere near appropriate and his mind almost screamed at him to take a step back but the rest of his body refused to move – it was all all but innocent.

“Again...” his voice came as something barely above a hoarse whisper “Something tells me you have something in mind already. It's beginning to feel like this has been your plan all along.”

And then you smiled more as if to look like you were sorry, but the way you were biting your lip was far away from sorry and nearly too seductive it should be alarming “Well-” your voice snapped him out of his thoughts “If you put it that way, and if... you like the thought of it then, who am I to deny it? You know now. Yes, I've carefully planned everything from the beginning and you've already fallen into my little trap. Again.” you laughed, your eyes sparkling with possible mischief and yet so much joy it almost made you look innocent. He could look at you like this forever if he could.

You clearly didn't mean it but there was always a part of him that thrived in moments like this. A part of him that eagerly looked forward to seeing you relax so much around him, when it was only you and him, that you ended up becoming so playful. Some would call it downright flirty, and it no doubt looked like you were trying to seduce him and oh he wished for that to be true, but he knew that it was nothing more. And he was content with that, if only for the time being, as he enjoyed the proximity it more often than not allowed him.

“So, what am I to endure this time?” he asked, a smile tugging at him lips.

“Endure?” you frowned, almost pouting “Stevie, you say that like my plans are ever anything but fun. As if-” you stopped when you noticed the raised eyebrow he gave you and then continued “Well-” you shrugged, grinning “For me at least they are. Though you always enjoy yourself so don't act like that.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is you want to or what?” he asked instead, and despite his words his voice was soft and calm “This exception of yours.”

“Well, you know me. I'm a hopeless romantic at heart so I want a few things to be, let's say, classic.” your voice softened but your eyes still held that playfulness “I said I want you to draw me, yes, I'd love to see myself through your eyes for once and through your incredible art but-” A moment of silence that stretched on for longer than needed but that neither of you realised, not as Steve got lost in you, fingers still caressing your cheek. He almost didn't realise it until you were more than just propping yourself up on your elbow and it was already too late. Nearly in a sitting position, you'd gotten closer to him, free hand pressed on his abdomen and face close to his belly as it was tilted up to face him.

“Wh-what is it?” he took a step back, or what was a pathetic try at it.

You smiled, pulling your hand away and laying back on the bed, eyes on him the whole while “Like Rose once said...” a moment of real hesitation “I want you to draw me like one of your french girls.”

“I- Wha-what?” he blinked, this time taking an actual step back but not too fast. Of all the things he had imagined, this was not one of them and he was fairly sure it could never be.

“Well, you know what I mean.” you still smiled “I didn't- I don't suppose you'd have a problem with that? I mean, art is art, any and every form is equally important and we both believe so. I mean I've seen you-”

“(Y/n)” his mouth had gone completely dry “That's not what I mean. You-”

“What?” you tilted your head “I'll be fine. I mean, I know you, I trust you and we both know it's not like you are going to put this painting in any exhibition to begin with. It is only going to be for me to see and... for you. So, no, I don't have a problem. I'm alright with you having it. If anything, I believe I would want you to be the only to have it. That is... if you'll draw me.”

“I-” he started but all words died out in his lips. Seeing the small if not barely there smirk on your lips, he couldn't help but let his mind wander back to his previous thoughts. What if this was all part of the two of yours game, part of the teasing and joking. Only a way for you to get a reaction out of him – which in every other occasion he had had the pleasure of giving you – since you were always the only one to push the boundaries. Was it the same or was there more truth here than he could think of?

Letting a calm and soft expression rest on his face, he knelt in front of you, fingers running over the line of your jaw and looked straight into your eyes before he whispered “Alright.”

He could almost feel the electricity that shot through you, he certainly saw it in the way your body almost jolted before he pulled away, but left you no time for you to speak; instead “Take off your clothes.”

“Wh-what?” he heard the whispered question behind his back, barely audible but definitely there.

“I said, alright I'll do it.” he barely glanced at you over his shoulder as he got to his art supplies “You take off your clothes, (Y/n). I will I get everything I need ready for the painting.”

Maybe it was time for him to see your reaction this time, whatever sort of consequences it ended up having in the end. It could all be damned or it could all be worth it.

[asmileyoucouldbottle]

champagne problems- catradora

word count:  2479 

tw: drinking 

takes place in season 4. someone finds a bottle of champagne while going through shadow weaver's old stuff, and catra and double trouble are talking while drinking. catra begins to realize that maybe she was the one who left adora, and not the other way around.

lots of angsty internal monologue, sweet yet haunting flashbacks, and heart-breaking realizations.

(based on champagne problems by taylor swift)

***

“Double Trouble, do you ever think about what we’re doing?” Catra looked down, regret clinging to her like shadows. She tipped her glass, staring down into the carmel liquid. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio had just found a bottle of champagne while digging through Shadow Weaver's old stuff. One of the other cadets had gotten together enough glasses for all of them- a celebration of “how far they’d come.”

There was nothing to celebrate though.  Everyone was constantly so happy and proud of themselves, and of their success so far. Sure, they’d won a few battles, but what were a couple cities and an edge? Etheria still stood. Adora still stood.

Catra wouldn’t rest as long as she did.

And yet… 

“What are you referring to in this instance?” Double Trouble lifted their own glass, curiosity sketching their features. 

What was that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat.

Double Trouble wasn’t exactly the trustworthy type after all, her position was so precarious… and they knew too much. Who knew what they could do with more information to hold?

She took another sip, and the bubbling liquid burned her throat. People seemed to rave about the taste, but she noticed nothing but the slight warm sensation. Catra didn’t taste much of anything these days. 

Adora’s expression while Catra cut the vines on the simulation cliff flashed in her vision. Her shock- the widened eyes and parted lips. Lips that had moments before mused about how she’d missed Catra. Her hands desperately gripping the vine… the same hands that had extended in offering. 

“Catra, help me, please…” 

“She left me.” Catra declared out loud. The words were empty. A half-truth, a story with only one side. 

“I never wanted to leave you… you could come with me!”

A growl tore itself from her throat, slamming the glass down.

“She left me.” Catra repeated with more force. “If she never wanted to leave me, then she wouldn’t have.” 

“Who are we talking about again?” Something in Double Trouble’s expression made Catra suspect they knew the answer already as they lazily tilted their head.

She bristled at the apparent indifference, but her words were low and pained as she whispered, “Adora.” 

A long sip.

“She told me to cover for her, she’d be right back.” Catra intended the words to be sharp, just the way they felt in her heart. To be cruel. She was over Adora after all, and far better than she was with her. She’d worked so hard to be better than her. To prove she didn’t need her.

But they came out aching.

“She didn’t come back.” The last thing Catra expected was the clog of tears, which she took as a challenge. Taking a harsh swallow, she willed the liquid to clear her throat before she continued. 

“She was gone one day, and she had a new life. New friends.” It was like I didn’t even exist. Even after everything they’d done together, all their life they’d lived.

“It was like you meant nothing to her.” Double Trouble’s words were a direct hit, and Catra physically flinched. 

Adora had been everything to her. 

When the only thing that matters to you leaves, what’s left?

And if you didn’t matter to anyone, then what are you?

She’d thought she mattered to Adora. They were a team, them against the world. Until suddenly, the team had become a party of one. Adora had new friends- a new team.

Sorry, squad. 

Adora, or at least She-Ra, mattered to everyone. But without Adora, Catra mattered to no one. 

Thus, Catra had to make herself matter. Become important.

“Like I meant nothing to her.” 

Double Trouble leaned forward, resting their chin on their palm. “And that’s why you’re fighting the Rebellion? Because Adora’s there?”

“No.” Catra spat, the implications that Catra only existed for Adora making her prickle. She’d worked so hard to make her own place- without Adora’s shadow. Adora couldn’t take this from her too. “It’s complicated, okay?”

Shadow Weaver, raising the same hand that caressed Adora to strike Catra, came to her mind. Fighting a tremble, Catra steadied her hands against the glass as she took another long sip. An ache was settling in her with each bit of champagne, though she doubted it had much to do with the drink itself. She actually wished the drink was stronger, but she didn’t know if she could bear walking in Shadow Weaver’s chamber again to dig around. 

Then Scorpia, whose kindness Catra had scorned, but only now realized how much she had relied on as she continued to put her down. She left her too. 

Entrapta, who had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but had betrayed her for the princesses. A betrayal that Catra had given back in a much more painful way than it was received.

Adora again, her horror as Catra dropped off the cliff at the Princess Prom. And as she had let go and fallen into the portal, knowing that it would cause Adora pain. Every look and word that proved, despite Catra’s best efforts, Adora had still cared for her.

But then, her glare as she walked out of the portal, which still felt like a dagger stuck in Catra’s heart. Behind the anger, Catra had seen a reflection of something in her own eyes.

Hardened and hatred filled as they were, she saw it. Broken. 

Catra hadn’t realized how much she’d clung to Adora’s continued care until it was gone. 

“Come with me. You don’t have to go back there. We can fix this.”

“She asked me to come with her.” Catra blurted, staring as if trying to burn a hole in her glass. 

Double Trouble’s eyebrows peaked in interest. “Go on.”

“I didn’t think she meant it, okay? When you flake on someone like that, it seems like too little too late.” She was getting worked up, her tail bristling as familiar anger joined the helpless sadness. 

“Come with me.” 

Double Trouble’s unimpressed look humbled her and she sat back down, tail still drawing distressed motions. “But I wonder… what if it wasn’t.”

“Well, Kitten, she does seem awfully obsessed with you.”

“What did you say?” she demanded,  unsure if the increase in speed of her heart was from fear or excitement of what she might hear.

“Catra this, Catra that.” They titled their head. “A lot like you, come to think of it.”

Catra growled, claws gripping the table in warning. 

“One would almost think she misses you, but that would be ridiculous, considering all you’ve told me.” The shapeshifter’s gaze held hers, a challenge. A small sliver of hope slipped through her crack, followed by a montage of memories.

Suddenly she was a child again, holding Adora’s hand as they admired beetles in the dirt of the Fright Zone and collected ants to put under Kyle’s covers. Playing pranks on the older recruits, which more often than not would end in a scuffle. Even when Catra picked pointless fights with force captains three times her size, Adora had her back. They would get matching black eyes, boasting and bickering over who had the better blue-black hues and comparing sizes. 

When Adora had gotten her first red jacket on her thirteenth birthday, Catra had immediately grabbed her hand and demanded permission to “make it cooler.” She’d been denied, but spent weeks persuading Adora to let her rip it up. Finally, Adora had conceded to a “little personalization,” but only after Catra pointed out they’d be matching- the little rips in her pants and on the sleeves of Adora’s jacket.

Training, where Catra first learned, after gossiping with other and older cadets, what it meant to want to kiss someone. Their faces had come almost to touching in a sparring match while they were grappling for a staff, hands clasped over each other. Adora was bright with the challenge, lips pursed and brows drawn in concentration around the gray-blue eyes Catra knew better than her own. A flush from the exertion was tinged on Adora’s cheeks, and as she gave Catra a small and secret smile despite their competing, she felt her heart flutter. Her grip went weak as Catra became overcome with the intense urge to lean forward just a tiny bit, to be even closer.

Their comfortable peace sitting together on the ramparts, whether it was in silence or rambling about everything under the sun. One day, only weeks before the attack on Thaymor, Catra had found a booklet in some box while on trash duty. “The Works of Shakespeare.” They’d spent an hour going through the old stories and laughing as they reenacted the plays, dramatically fainting and faking stabbing-death-by-stick all over the place. Their searching hands had found each other as they pretended to reach, outstretched on separate balconies. 

Come with me.  The attack on Thaymore. Her hand once more in Catra’s, just like always. This time, Catra had pulled away, leaving a crack behind for the first time.

Princess Prom, Adora had tried to hold onto her again, but once more, Catra let go. 

Then the She-Ra temple and the cliff. Adora had done nothing but tried to protect her, but as they’d raced through the halls, fingers entwined, bitterness welled up in Catra anyways. Another drop of the hand, another crack left behind.

Every battle they’d had that Catra had swung true but Adora had merely deflected was a hairline, a small break that amassed over time.

Perhaps… she had been the one to really leave Adora.

The realization shocked Catra, a rupture deep in her bones.

No.

No. 

Adora had left her. The champagne was making her head foggy. She wasn’t thinking clearly. 

But… 

Catra slammed her cup down. Changing her mind, she brought it to her lips, knocking it back before standing abruptly.

“I have more important things to do than celebrate and chatter.” 

Double Trouble barely looked fazed, and Catra guessed that emotional outbursts were to be expected around her. She was a bomb always ready to go off, to be treated with caution.

The entire room quieted- she hadn’t noticed that there was a buzz around her until it was replaced with tense silence. She looked out over the other Horde members, who had frozen, some with drinks halfway to their lips. Her eyes met Lonnie’s, then Kyle’s, and Rogelio’s. Lonnie looked at her, something bordering on accusation behind the slight fear. 

They were a team, right? Teammates were evergreen. 

She saw them laughing in the halls without her, a new bond bright and strong between the three of them. Even Kyle, who had always been the odd one out, was right in the midst of them. 

And Catra was on the outside.

But as she looked between the stunned and scared faces of the three of them… she realized that she was the one who broke that too.

Fuck it.

Not waiting for any sort of signal or response, she stalked out the door.

Catra meant to walk right out and to her dormitory, but she couldn’t bear to see any other faces and what they might be thinking of her behind her back. So she paused beside the door, burying her head in her hands, trying to still her heavy breathing.

“All twisted in knots after Adora.” Someone- Lonnie?- was murmuring. Catra’s ears peaked and her head jerked in the direction of the door.

“They were always… close.” Kyle added. Rogelio made some reptilian nose of agreement.

“They still could be, but you know what I think? Catra scared her off.” Lonnie lowered her voice even more as she added. “Fucked in the head, that one is.”

Rogelio hissed, and Kyle shushed her. “What! You see how she walks around this place like a crazy woman, muttering to herself and ordering people around like she wasn’t just some cadet like the rest of us.” 

“She could hear you.” Kyle muttered, panicked.

“Oh knock it off Kyle, she’s not lurking around every corner. Don’t be paranoid.”

Forcing herself to breathe and walk away, Catra buried her hands in her hair, combing through the mass. Desperately she pulled, wondering what had happened to the girl with wild curly hair and flushed cheeks, running hand in hand with a sweet blonde in the crisp autumn air. Their laughter haunted her as she walked, and she pressed her hands against her ears until she was flat out running to her bunk.

Fucked in the head, that one is.

She crashed to a halt against the lower bunk, hands curling into the hard mattress as her pants echoed. The room was mercifully empty.

Her eyes flicked up to the drawing she’d done years ago, her and Adora’s smiling faces, scratched through in rage. A sob clawed up her at the sight of it. It had been theirs, a testament to their friendship, and she’d shred it. 

Her mind might be making muddled connections from the alcohol, but she thought of a tapestry. It was something only princesses had, and she’d certainly never seen one. But from what she had heard, they were things of beauty, made to withstand time and tell a story.

Her and Adora were supposed to be a tapestry. Or at least, this silly little drawing was.

Catra wondered if Adora had a tapestry- a real one- in her honor. She was sure there were countless of She-ra, the hero of Etheria.

If Adora was the hero, what did that make Catra?

Tracing the outline of Adora’s face in the drawing, another tear slipped past Catra. She wouldn’t be surprised if Adora’s “Best Friend Squad,” had a tapestry. One of their heroics and the love they had for each other.

She almost hoped they did.

After all, if Catra was the one who broke things, didn’t Adora deserve people who could fix them?

One day Catra would be nothing but this scratched out drawing on a wall. The Rebels were going to win. They had She-Ra. The almighty princess.

They had Adora.

Curling herself into a ball on the bunk that was once Adora’s, Catra told herself that this was all the alcohol talking. Tomorrow she knew that the anger would be back, the familiar rage she clung to in an attempt to justify her actions. Anger was easier than sadness.

No matter who’d hurt who more, Adora had started this war, and Catra was going to finish it.

She had a goal. A purpose. One that, for once, she was doing for her, not Adora.

Destiny was hers to make, and nothing- not Adora, not her foolish regrets, not the “friends” who’d left or betrayed her- was going to change that. 

But, as she buried her face in the pillow that no longer smelled of Adora, she dared to dream about what would’ve happened if only she had said “yes.”

[franeridart]

Anon said: Opinions on Ochamina?

Cute soft and pink! Would be my main ship for those two if I didn’t ship seromina and ochadeku as hard as I do

Anon said: Hi there i was just wondering if its okay to ask you some questions about your art tools i work on paper a lot but i want to switch to digital art and want to know what to buy to get started you know?? if its not okay to ask thats fine, have a nice day!

I use Easy Pain Tool SAI and a wacom tablet so old I’m pretty sure they don’t even make them anymore haha if you’re just starting then anything is fine, really! The first thing you’ll need to do will be to get used to the feel of it, you won’t need anything fancy for that imho

Anon said: Yet again, I’m sleepy and feeling sappy so I luv youwu~

Awwww thank you so much!!! <3<3

Anon said: well guess who now has A LOT OF FEELINGS about Seromina after your reply? This anon. Holy, now I need like all the content about them. *goes of in search* Thank you for sharing your headcanon because it made me feel a lot of fluffy feelings!! Which yay!! I need more fluffly feelings in my life!! Also love love love your art. All of it original content and everything else (with a very soft sport for kiribaku and the bakusquad)

Ah heck thank you!!! And I’m very very glad to see I could make you see why I like them!!! :D

Anon said: how do you draw hair? i keep trying digitally, but it just seems so difficult! i tend to have so much trouble because i keep comparing myself to artists like you and the way you draw/shade/highlight hair is such a mystery to me!

Hmmmmm this is a hard question because I honestly mostly just go by gut feeling - I try to keep in mind gravity when it’s applicable (aka when it’s not gravity-defying hairstyles like kiri and baku’s)? But that’s the most conscious thought I put in it by this point. This might be an annoying advice to get but as always my only proper one is to look at real life people and study the way hair naturally falls on them, studying from real life is always the fastest way to learn how to draw something as far as my experience goes... and this one is gonna be hard but try not to compare yourself too much to others? Doing things your own way at your own pace will make the learning process a lot more fun!

Anon said: opinon on the lack of kiribaku interactions in the show recently? they have been interacting less and less since the provisional exam arc :( and even lesser in the manga. i miss my bois but bless you for the content omg😭💞

The truth is that they haven’t been the protagonists of an arc at the same time for so long that they’ve had little to no reason to interact with each other, and also that when Hori has characters interacting with them in the background it’s usually to have them reprimend them or tell them to shut up and at first they covered that role for each other but now they’re such good friends that all their interactions end up being them being nice to each other and Horikoshi needs his silly sketches thrown in the background at any possible moment so now Kaminari is the one you’ll see interacting with them the most, because he’s silly and doesn’t mind being a dick to either of them whenever given the chance. Or at least that’s the conclusion I came to after rereading the manga a couple months back. On the bright side they HAVE started interacting more again! We’ve been seeing them often just chilling together in the background, so cute, I love them best friends ;;;

Anon said: User kawaiiastar has reposted some of ur art just wanna let u know :)

Thank you for letting me know, I’ll look into it and see if I can get it removed orz

Anon said: ur drawings are so warm but like?? i just realized how much u talk in the tags and so ive been reading them and they actually add alot to ur art and its entertaining. idk just a little thing :) never stop doing krbk aus if you enjoy them!! would love to see stucky and soul eater if you can !! and i hear u about the reposters. they are all over instagram and its honestly quite upsetting. ive heard of artists that left the fandom because of it which is unfortunate. hope you are having a great day!

Hahaha I’m glad you like my talking too much in the tags since sometimes I just can’t avoid it lmao I have many things to say about my stuff most time than not..... anyway, I hope you’ll have a wonderful day too!

Anon said: i fight instagramers every day for you 💞

Thank you ;;;;;;;;

Anon said:  I love you so please stay safe!!

Thank you!!! I hope you’ll stay safe too, anon!!!

Anon said: During quarantine all I have to look forward to is your posts, it’s always great to check tumblr for the 14th time and see a new post by you.

;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; heck, I’m so glad I can make this tiring time a little more pleasant to you, anon!! <3

Anon said: I have class (online) at 8am and it’s currently 3:42am yet I couldn’t stop scrolling on your page!!! I’ve been going through the tags for like 30 minutes omg. I came to look at your seromina stuff and now I’m looking at EVERYTHING. I’ve been following you for so long and I love your art so much I’m screaming! I’m literally accidentally unliking then liking everything again cuz I’ve seen it all and keep forgetting I already liked it! Your account is like food for my soul ily!!!!! Thank you sm!!!

Ahhhhh anon thank you so so much!!!! You’re so kind I’m gonna tear up TTATT please do try to sleep next time you have to wake up early!!

Anon said: I read a headcanon saying Bakugo smoked. That would never happen because Kirishima would kill him.

To be fair that would never happen because he straight up said so in the first chapter of the manga lmao but I’m of the opinion that if people want to ignore canon in their headcanons to have fun they have all the power to do so!

Anon said: Idk if you’ve been asked this before, but how do you feel about Momo x Jirou? :D and I love your art!

One of my top Jirou ships! I’ve drawn stuff for them in the past actually, they’re in my momojirou tag!

Anon said: I love you way more than it’s healthy.

Thank you ;;;;;;;;; I love you a whole damn lot too, anon <3<3