#sort of capturing the panic of feeling out of place in this setting

[cilly-the-writer]

ABANDONED

ABANDONED

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE

the vines have overtaken the cafe shop you once frequented

rust encroaches everywhere the eye can see

the air tastes

like you are lost forever

there is a dryness in your mouth

that you don't think you can ever escape

THIS IS THE GODLESS PLACE

YOU ARE HERE

AND YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE

YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE COME

YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE

[akingdomscrypt]

Forget-Me-Not

Part Two

Pairing : Gaz x male reader

WC : 7.35k

Summary : I warned y'all it would happen.

Warnings : referenced (minor) internalized homophobia, minor injuries, a teeny bit of panic. But that's all.

A/n : don't hate me 🧍

---"and here is how we end."---

Kyle was having a hard time focusing on the book in his lap, hardly digesting a single word on the page and far more enraptured by the warmth of your body pressed against his. Between lulls in work, when both of you had a bit of free time, you two could usually be found just outside the main building.

You're sitting on a smooth, flat stone, while Kyle rests against you. Back to your side, and his knees bent to prop a book up in his lap. The residual morning dew in the grass likely seeping into his clothes, but the heat rolling off you in waves, the peace of sitting beside you in complete silence, is worth the wet trousers later.

Sitting together while doing entirely different things—Kyle with his book, and you with that worn rubik’s cube, the colors faded and barely distinguishable now—was enough on its own for him to tolerate whatever feeling it was that made his heart beat a little faster, made his chest grow warm.

It had a likeness to adrenaline, the same sensation Kyle would get when on the chase, hunting down one target or another. This was different. You were simply sitting together, enjoying the company of one another.

“So why're you called that anyway?” You pipe up from beside him, and Kyle tears his gaze away from the book he had definitely been absorbed in. He sits up a bit straighter to get a proper look at those curious eyes.

“Hm?”

“Gaz,” you say, shifting on the little stone you are sitting on when Kyle moves away. Looking down and giving him your full attention. “Surely there's some sort of reason for it?”

“Ah,” folding the corner of the page he had been reading to mark his place, Kyle closes the book. “It's nothing special, really.”

“C'monn, it can't be as bad as mine.” you goad, and Kyle can hear the smile in your tone just as much as he can read it in your eyes.

“A'right, a'right,” Kyle relents with a soft laugh, holding his hands up in mock defense. “truthfully? It's just shorthand for my surname.”

The blank stare you give him his pure gold, and Kyle wishes he could capture that dumbfounded look on film.

Instead, he merely shrugs, “See? Told ya it was nothing special.”

“And here I was, thinkin’ it was something dramatic or some shit,” you huff, setting down the little cube you had been fidgeting with in your lap before giving him a playful shove.

Kyle simply laughs, shaking his head. “Sorry not sorry, Viper.”

“I hate you.”

“You really don't,” he says with a smug grin. “Now, it's your turn. Why do they call you viper?”

“Mm.. I don't wanna do this anymore.”

“Oi! You can't keep it from me,” Kyle protests. “I told you mine!”

“Yours was underwhelming!” You cheerfully snap right back, the mirth dancing in your gaze telling Kyle that there's no real ill intent behind it.

“Too bad! You gotta tell me now,” he returns your earlier shove, that damn smile never once leaving his face. “Besides, I think I have a pretty good idea..”

“I doubt that."

“Oh really? It has nothin’ to do with that fiery attitude of yours?” he would truthfully be pretty damn surprised if it wasn't.

“Hey- what's wrong with how I act?” You feign a pout, giving Kyle the most distraught puppy-eyes he's ever seen. The sheer amount of power you held using your eyes alone was befuddling.

“Nothin’-” he quickly reassured, patting the arm closest to him with one of his own hands. “Now, tell me!”

“Fine, fine..” you sigh. “so.. when I was first recruited, years ago, and after bootcamp, we got shipped out for our first taste of ‘real’ military life. At least that's what my lead at the time had called it.”

“Go on…” You give him a little glare and Kyle does his best to suppress his grin, which doesn't work very well, but you continue anyway.

“Got shipped out for Europe-” now, he has to cut you off then. Can't let you go on with this line of thinking, now can he?

“Wait- which part? You can't just say Europe and that's it, there are so many countries-”

“And y'all are all in the same tiny portion of land. So, Europe.” You say with a raised eyebrow.

“But-”

You cut him off again with a deadpan, “You wanna hear the story or not?”

“....”

“That's what I thought, now, as I was saying..” you continue with a dramatized sigh. “Ended up in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by way too much fuckin' grass. Was so thick, we couldn't see shit beyond surface level.”

“Following my CO’s instructions, we were squatted down at the top of a ridge. I just happened to be the most unlucky, and when I sat down..”

Kyle let out a disbelieving gasp, a hand flying up to dramatically clutch at his heart, “No..”

“Shuddup-” Kyle hears the clatter of the cube falling away, those fierce eyes turned on him as you give his shoulder a quick shove.

“I'm going to spread the word like wildfire.”

“You will not-” He barely has any time to react, tackled into the grass with a surprised yelp. Your body pressing down on him from above.

“Ah! I will- I'll tell everyone-!” Kyle struggles beneath you, grappling for the upper hand, but his laughter makes his muscles weak.

“How was I supposed to know there was a damn snake hiding there!?” You huff, trying to pin him in place, but his infectious giggles and wriggling limbs makes the task near impossible.

“Ha!”

“You are a menace, Garrick-!” You two roll around in the grass, neither having a proper hold over the other for long. All bright smiles and bubbling laughter.

“Says the man who got his ass bitten by a damn snake!” Kyle teases when he finally gets on top of you, softly panting, knees straddling your stomach, your body going limp beneath him.

The last thing he expects is to suddenly be flipped, a shocked “ack-” escaping him as he now finds himself face down in the grass. Held up by only his forearms, still shaking with silent giggles. “Okay, now this is just unfair-”

“I am going to strangle you,” your voice rumbles against his ear, and it's clear you're trying to stay firm, but the humor lacing your breathless tone is an obvious giveaway. “Your captain would surely understand-”

One of your hands comes down to loosely wrap around his throat, the other planted firmly on the ground by his head. Kyle can't take you seriously though, soft wheezes still escaping his lips.

“I'd really prefer to keep all my sergeants intact, if that's no trouble to you.” Your body freezes on top of his, all touches slipping away as you stand up.

Kyle's own humor abruptly cuts off at the sound of the familiar rumble of his captain's voice. Slowly, he turns to look up at the newcomer.

“Price, h-heyyy,” he says with a nervous chuckle, pushing himself up onto his knees. Then stumbling to his feet.

Your hand reaches out to steady him, a friendly gesture, really, but Kyle's body reflexively steps away at the last moment. A forced smile plastered on his features, pretending he doesn't see that dejected look in your eyes.

“Did ya need something, Cap’?”

Price glances between you too, and it takes everything within Kyle not to take another half step away. To distance himself from you even more.

“S’ matter ‘o fact, I do,” Price says. “Was goin' to send someone to get you, but none of them seemed to know where you rascals were.”

“Ah, about that..” Kyle rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, sir.

“None of that now, just wrap this up and meet me in my office in five.” With that, Price leaves, the two of you left alone together once more.

Kyle stands there, unsure what to say, or do for that matter, a few awkward moments later, before deciding on a quick, “see you ‘round then, Viper.” And walking away.

“You needed somethin’, sir?” Kyle asks once granted verbal access to Price’s office, shutting the door softly behind himself.

Price shuffles a few papers on his desk, pulling out a few and shoving others into a folder. “Just a little chat, Garrick, then you can go back to messin’ around with that friend ‘a yours.”

“We weren't-”

Price cuts him off with a, “None ‘o that now. Come on in. Sit.” And if Kyle didn't know any better, he would assume the man was annoyed with him. He did know better, though, and the slight twitch of Price’s mustache gives away that the old man found this all humorous.

Resigning not to even try to defend himself this time, Kyle sighs and walks to the chair in front of the desk. Pulling it out and seating himself, his posture far too stiff, a bit awkward.

The captain keeps it short and sweet; informing Kyle that, for the time being, they were going to sit tight at base until their teammates needed them. Ghost, Soap, and a unit of the Mexican Special Forces had apparently managed to capture a lead who knew where the stolen missiles were.

The lot of them were currently on an op to secure the second one, and the only reason he and Price weren't out there searching for more was because the captive refused to let slip where another was- or if there even was another out there.

So the two were sitting ducks once again, but Kyle found himself not minding it just as much this time. Maybe it had something to do with the companionship he had found in you, or maybe it didn't.

“I'm a bit surprised you're not more eager to get back out there,” Price says, leaning back in his chair with a brow quirked up, arms crossed over his chest. “Never known you to be the type to enjoy lingering in one place for too long.”

Kyle shrugs, “guess I'm just getting old like you, eh?”

A small huff leaves the other man, and Kyle hopes it'll all be left at that.. but when have things ever gone his way?

“That it?” Yes, that is it, it definitely has nothing to do with you and your- “Sure there ain't somethin’ holdin’ you here?”

And your.. uh, excellent.. company. Yeah. Totally not. Price had it all wrong.

“You mean somethin’ other than a guaranteed cot to sleep in and decently warm water to shower with, sir?” Kyle asks, feigning ignorance. As if he hasn't got a clue as to what his captain could be hunting at..

“All great things, I'm sure,” Price says with a slow nod, playing along with- with whatever Kyle was doing right now. What was he doing exactly?

“And I'm quite sure it has nothing ‘t do with.. one of the temporary soldiers on base currently, would it?” It's not- it isn't like there was anything.. weird or something going on between you two. It was just a friendship. A friendship that would almost certainly end the moment you packed up and had to leave.. to leave and never come back.

Why does the thought of you leaving, likely never to return, never to meet again.. no more of the inside jokes you lot have already gained in this short amount of time, no more midnight chats after a nightmare, no more hangouts in the grassy field.. why does it cause a deep ache in his chest, one Kyle swears he's never felt before?

Like something's missing. A part of himself that you've already stolen; ripped straight from his heart and tucked right away into one of those various pockets on that ridiculous outfit of yours.

“I'm ‘fraid I don't know what you mean, Cap’.” Kyle forces out, the words weighing on his tongue like lead. And, fuck him, but the sergeant has no idea why he's acting like this.

With a heavy sigh, Price uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. Resting his elbows on the hardwood of the mahogany desk and giving Kyle the most unconvinced look he's ever seen on the captain's face.

“So there will be no problems then?”

“..Of course not, sir,” he says. And maybe they both ignore his hesitation. Maybe they pretend that nothing has changed. “None at all.”

And maybe that is for the best.

Trying to find you the next day was like searching for a needle in a haystack. Worse. Trying to find a needle in a pile of more needles; if those needles were all donned in swaths of black clothing. All of these damn Shadows looked exactly the same.

Sure, Kyle could easily identify you when it was just you and maybe a few other soldiers, but this morning another group had shipped in. This one is much bigger than the one you had arrived with.

He came up empty in the morning, unable to find you in the mass of all black uniforms and visor covered faces. Giving up on the search and resolving to simply speaking up and asking one of your teammates.

The Shadows in his immediate vicinity, a small group of four, all unmasked but one, give him an odd look.

“We thought he was with you.” The one on his left says, tugging at a stubborn strap of a vest. The man paused, frowning. “Now that I think ‘bout it, I haven't seen the bastard all day.”

The Shadow just beside that one cuffed him on the back of the head, hissing something Kyle doesn't hear. “What?” He asks, looking at his teammates with a deep grimace. “Don't pretend y'all weren't thinkin’ it too.”

And this throws Kyle off his groove, unable to control the twist of his own features as he considers the implications of what the man is saying. Were you not as popular as he had assumed? Was that the reason you hung out with him so often?

Throwing in a disarming huff of laughter to settle the tension amongst the soldiers, Kyle digs deeper. “What, he not famous amongst you lot or somethin’?”

One of the other Shadows scoff, the masked one this time. “Famous? Yeah.” She deadpans, then sneers. “For all the wrong reasons.”

The woman to her left winces, but doesn't comment further. Instead, the Shadow that had reprimanded the other guy pipes up. “Yeah.. he's pretty well known for his temper, and that's about it.”

“Don't forget the fucker is also is the lieutenant’s favorite.” the woman from before speaks up again. Looking a little closer, the patch on her vest reads the numbers 2-6.

“Him and Venn both,” the first guy, 1-4, apparently, grunts. “The both of them have the poor man twisted tight around their fingers. Always agreeing to their every whim.”

The second woman finally speaks up, much more soft spoken than her loudmouthed counterparts. “C’mon guys, that's not fair. Y'know the lieutenant doesn't play favorites.”

“Shut it, Kayllee,” 2-6 snaps, albeit a bit more softer than she had been previously. “You're just sayin’ that ‘cause you've got a little crush on the big man.”

The appointed ‘Kayllee’ flushes a deep pink, whacking 2-6 lightly. “Shuddup-” she squeaks. “I do not!”

“That's not what you were saying on the flight over here…” There's a certain spark in 2-6’s green irises as she looks down at her friend. One Kyle had often seen shining between two particular teammates of his own.

And another place he outright refused to acknowledge.

Deciding to let the group continue squabbling in peace, Kyle takes his leave.

He doesn't see you that entire day.

Perhaps you're just busy. Yeah, that's it. There is no way it could have anything to do with what happened yesterday- not that anything did happen. You two had just been playing around. Like guys do; like friends do.

Kyle doesn't sleep right that night, and so what if he pretends it’s because he is too caught up worried over his teammates in Mexico?

It's just not right; that's what his grandparents always said.

Not right for relationships that weren't friendship to blossom between couples who weren't strictly man and woman. Kyle had always thought it was a bit odd that people cared so damn much about other people's lives, what did or did not happen between others.

But these two had raised him and his sisters; had taken care of the lot of them when their own parents had been deemed unfit to care for the bunch by the law.

Besides their, sometimes questionable, opinions, they had otherwise raised him and his sisters pretty damn well, in Kyle's personal opinion.

So, deep down, Kyle knew they were wrong when it came to sexuality. He had never cared much one way or another when his friends, first in school, then when he got older and enlisted, “came out” to him—aka when he saw them getting flirty with the same sex. And, of course, it existed within his own team as well.

He saw the way Ghost and Soap engaged in and off the field, and knew there was something there besides simple friendship.

Kyle didn't have a problem with it. It simply wasn't his business. Everyone could do whatever the hell they pleased, as long as no one got hurt.

Everyone.

Everyone..

Everyone. Or, well.. everyone with one exception.

..everyone besides him.

Now, Kyle liked to believe it was never an issue before. He had his fair share of crushes; whenever he brought home a friend who happened to be a girl, his grandma always gushed about how cute they would be together; his grandpa teased him about his little ‘girlfriend’.

They all laughed it off, finding his stuttering responses adorable.

Who was Kyle to tell them any differently? Sure, he never felt the urge to engage with the girls the same way his school friends always had. And ladies often preferred to hang out with him as opposed to the other guys their age- but that's just because his grandma raised him to treat everyone equally!

Even later, Kyle never had the urge to get with.. anyone, really. Women were pretty, yeah, but any attempt at starting a relationship was one-sided and would eventually end with them being better as friends.

Kyle didn't question it.

He had no reason to.

Until now.

Until he was cradling a nice, steaming cup of tea in his hands. Your eyes locked on him, gauging his reaction as he slowly brings it up and takes a sip.

It tastes.. okay? Not the best he's had, and he's pretty sure you may have microwaved the water.. but despite its imperfections, Kyle swears it's the best damn tea he's ever had.

“So..?” You urge, expectant.

“It's.. good.” He says, offering a small smile.

“Ah, shit, ya don't like it..” Your posture deflates, glancing back at ingredients left out on the communal counter space. Some sugars and a little residue of milk where you might have accidentally split a drop or two.

Kyle bites his cheek to keep from smiling like some sort of imbecile. “No, no- it's good! Really.” He says, trying to get that little spark to relight in your eye.

You give him a deadpan look, huffing. “.. I've just.. never, uh, made it before..?”

Oh, hell, now if that doesn't melt Kyle's heart into one big, sappy puddle…

“Awe, so ya did this all for little ‘ol me?” Kyle teases. “I'm honored, truly.”

He places a hand on his heart for dramatic effect, bowing slightly, other hand clutching the handle of the mug as if is we're his damn lifeline. Despite the joking tone, Kyle meant it.

It may not taste the best.. but, fuck, it was one of the- the cutest things someone had done for him yet. The sugar was there, a little splash of milk, just how he liked it.

Which meant you had paid attention to how he made it for himself.

So maybe he hadn't been completely honest before. Maybe it was time to admit to himself that the way he looked at some other men wasn't out of pure admiration. The way he looked at you.

If it was wrong, why did it feel so damn right?

The next instance that gives Kyle the same fluttery-feeling in his gut is when, after returning from one of your own wayward ops, you come to see him immediately.

The moment you step into the common room, Kyle knows something ain't right. You act just as you usually do, only this time there's a still-irritated scratch across the bridge of your nose, your clothes are rumpled, and he's on his feet faster than he can think. Abandoning the group he had been playing cards with, who all grumble their displeasure, but he brushes them off.

Kyle had more important things to handle than a silly card game.

“Viper? You a’right, mate?”

“Mhm,” you him with a little nod. “Mission success.”

“That's great, man!” He steps closer, giving your body another once over. “Have you gone to medical yet? Get checked out? Maybe get some food in ya?”

“Nah, none of that. I came to see you.” Kyle's heart stutters to a stop right then and there. It's a heavy pause before it kicks back into gear again.

He can overthink on the implications of that later, right now you need his help.

And that is how the two of you end up in his room. Again. For the second time now.

Only this time it's you who's injured. You who's sprawled out on his bed like you own the damn place, an impish sparkle in your eyes, the corners scrunched up in a way that tells Kyle you find all his fussing over you amusing.

“C’mon..” you drawl. “It ain't that serious, really. Just a few scratches.”

Kyle doesn't dignify you with a response. Instead he briskly walked to his desk and pulled out the little first aid kit he kept there.

“I mean it, Kyle,” you sigh. “It's nothing. The place we infiltrated just had a couple mutts were weren't expecting-”

Kyle flips around, kit in hand, and glares a million tiny daggers into your careless body. “How is that not serious?” He stomps over to the bed, plopping himself down beside you. “I should just send your mouthy ass down to medical.”

He taps your shirt with a few fingers—his touch gentle despite his grumbling—before pulling away to fiddle with the box. “Off.”

“Damn, take me out ‘t dinner first, at least..” whatever look he gives you must betray a bit more of his frustration than Kyle intended, if the way you put your hands up in mock surrender is any clue.

Kit open and set aside, Kyle takes it upon himself to twist his body to get a good look at you. Hands hovering just above your hips, a silent question in his eyes that you answer with a small huff and relax bodily into the thin mattress.

When he'd dreamed of taking your shirt off, it certainly wasn't like this.

Ever so slowly, Kyle pushes the fabric up, his pal just barely grazing your flanks. He stubbornly keeps his gaze locked on the skin gradually being revealed to him and not making contact with your own.

Once the cloth is bunched up just under your armpits Kyle grunts a small, “up” and pulls it off the rest of the way when you dutily follow the command. It's a good thing you had shucked off the majority of your gear upon entrance, made this shit a ton easier.

It hits Kyle right then and there that he's seeing you shirtless for the first time. Seeing more skin than just that glimpse of your eyes for that matter.

Fuck.

Now wasn't the time to marvel. To take in every inch of soft, lightly scarred flesh bared to him. It would be something right out of a damn magazine if it wasn't for the scratches and teeth marks marring your skin.

Kyle sucks in a sharp breath, but you seem as aloof as ever. “See? Told you it wasn't that bad.”

“Shut up.” He traces a few of the indentations a fairly large canine had left behind with the pad of his thumb, wincing when he sees the slight twitch your abdominal muscles give. Shit, that probably hurt.

It's out of sheer luck that the dogs hadn't been able to pierce your skin, otherwise Kyle would have a much bigger problem on his hands. Seeing as you were apparently not at all inclined to get yourself checked out.

Other than the handful of fang imprints, there's a scattering of scratches that litter your chest and belly. Nothing some antiseptic and plasters couldn't fix.

Kyle doesn't notice the trembling of his hand until you capture it in both of yours as he dabbing at the last cut, this one just above where your heart would be.

“Gaz?” He doesn't look up, instead rummaging in the first aid box with his other hand. Searching for another bandage. A tug on his wrist pulls him back to the present, body freezing.

Why did you appear so unaffected by all of this? Sure, they all came close to death every damn time they went out- hell, even on base, they were all still at risk. This shouldn't bother him, even with these pesky emotions. Complicated as they were.

It wasn't even that bad. Just like you said.

“Kyle?”

It wasn't just that you had gotten hurt that was bothering him. It wasn't too long ago when Kyle himself had been dangling out of a damn aircraft by nothing other than a flimsy rope-

Another soft tug, and Kyle finally drags his gaze to meet yours. “Hey there,” you murmur. “It's okay- I'm okay.”

That telling crinkle still lingered around your eyes, but Kyle finds it does nothing to quell the squeezing between his ribs he hadn't noticed before.

It wasn't that you had gotten hurt,

It was that you clearly didn't give a fuck that you'd been on the receiving even if several snapping jaws hours prior.

“Right.” He says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out more rough than intended. “Right. I know that.”

“It's sweet, though,” you continue. Gloved thumb brushing so delicately over his knuckles. It's silly, and Kyle can't help but let out a tiny chuckle at the ridiculousness of it. You, laying in his bed shirtless, with only a pair of gloves on. Fuck.

“What is?” He asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up just the slightest.

“That you care so much about little ‘ol me.” Kyle gets the feeling that was supposed to come out more as another teasing remark, but there's an underlying softness that makes it not quite strike its mark.

With another shaky chuckle, Kyle squeezes your hand then pulls away, opening up the final bandage and smoothing it down over the scratch. Directly over your thrumming heart, and Kyle swears he feels it speed up, just a tiny bit, under his touch.

“That I do.”

Or he could've been imagining things.

It's not the easiest conclusion to come to, and sometimes Kyle swears he can still hear the grating voice of his grandfather grumbling at the TV that fateful day in 2014. The day parliament legalized the marriage between same sex couples.

But he wants this. He wants you.

You're far more important than the gripes of a couple elders who, though he loves them dearly, are stuck in the past.

Kyle had mulled over it time and time again. Ideas of you leaving, shipped off back to your home, wherever that was. Furthermore, thoughts of you finding someone else, maybe some cheerful bird, filled the sergeant with a sickening jealousy.

He had come to terms with this, despite Ghost's warning still lingering in the back of his mind, but he was still stuck.

It was, well, not easy to come to this on his own, his feelings for you. Ones that had quickly developed beyond friendship.

That didn't mean you felt the same.

Kyle tried not to let that sinking feeling linger as you two lounged on the couch, watching some dumb horror movie. Something that moreso consisted of the two of you bickering amongst yourself about the inaccuracies of the film.

Had the directors never seen a dead body or something- scratch that. It was extremely likely that they, in fact, had not. Sometimes he forgets that not everyone murders people for a living.

“-those are the worst blood effects I have ever had the misfortune of seeing.” You pipe up beside him, the resulting snorted laugh you make jostling him slightly.

The both of you were seated side by side on the couch, the room dimmed and the TV the only source of light. No one else was around, but that likely had more to do with the fact that they all were in the mess hall getting dinner.

You and him had decided on sharing a few snacks while watching your little movie. Thighs and arms touching, comfortably relaxed against one another.

“It looks like they just squirted a ketchup bottle all over the wall.” Kyle agreed, stuffing his mouth with another handful of trail mix. The kind with mini peanut butter cups in it; the best kind.

“Poorly.” You grunt, smacking his hand away playfully when he makes another grab for the bucket—a treat you had apparently had stashed away—and grabbing a scoop of your own.

Kyle hums his agreement, and the two of you continue through the remainder of the film just like that. When it ends, you start up another, and he has not a single protest lingering on the tip of his tongue.

It's a quarter of the way through—something about space; Kyle's never been a fan about space movies, but he doesn't mind it so much when sitting by you—the film when he starts to feel the alluring siren song of sleep calling his name.

He fights it at first, determined not to waste a moment of the time he has with you. But after a certain point, the sergeant can't hold back the drooping of his eyelids anymore. Fluttering shut and slipping into the blissful quiet of slumber, a sleep far more restful by your side than he's had in weeks.

Warm. The mattress is warm and soft beneath him. Kyle's eyelids peel open slowly, taking in his surroundings with blurry, sleep heavy eyes.

The first thing he notices is that he's not in his room. Startling, but then the memory of watching a couple movies with you comes to the front of his mind and Kyle settles. He must've just fallen asleep on the couch, the TV still mumbling, volume low, images flickering.

The couch was breathing.

It's then that Kyle registered the scratchy texture of a shirt beneath his cheek, when he realizes the pillow he is clutching is not a pillow. No. It's far, far worse. The shit of nightmares.

…It was you.

And the entirety of Kyle's upper body was sprawled over your own form. That pillow? Not a pillow. No, no. His fingers were just shy of grabbing your fuckin' pec, right beneath it, splayed over your ribs.

His head nestled against your stomach, an honest to god puddle of drool staining the poor fabric of your shirt and sticking to his cheek. Fuck. Fuck.

Kyle did not want to deal with this shite. Fuck that. He was tired. And this was so far the best damn sleep he has ever had.

Maybe.. maybe he could just return to that. Just drift off again. Surely you hadn't noticed that he was awake yet.

So, he does just that. Controls his breathing to the best of his ability, calming his heart to an acceptable pace again, and doing his best impression of an unconscious shift in his sleep that he damn well can.

You say nothing, and Kyle takes that as a win.

The next second it takes all his strength not to flinch, not to make any indication that he felt it, when your hand comes up to brush gentle fingertips over his scalp. It's unbelievably soothing, falling into the rhythm of your nails scratching lightly over his hair.

Kyle's body relaxed immediately, eyelids drooping once again. Lower and lower, until he can't keep them open any longer.

It's nice. Now that he doesn't have to worry. Your hand drifts a bit lower, playing with the tiny hairs at the base of his skull.

He blacks out after that.

Things shifted after that night. Kyle doesn't know how you managed it, but he had woken up in his own bed that next morning. More well rested than he could ever remember being. That worn little cube on his desk.

The following week, you both dance around each other. It's infuriatingly similar to the way Kyle has witnessed Ghost and Soap doing it; at the same time he just can't fucking make himself do anything about it.

Kyle feels like one of those stupid birds in those nature documentaries. Like a peacock when he sees you in the gym at the same time he is, flaunting his strength and lean build. Finds himself puffing out his chest a bit more when he's out throwing drills at the newbies and sees you walking by.

The days are filled with touches that linger a little too long to be considered friendly, buzzing electricity between you two with every brush of an arm, every playful shove. He hasn't seen you in anything but full uniform since the time he tended to your wounds—after you got attacked but a hoard of fuckin dogs—, but somehow those little touches feel so much more intimate than if you two just got your shit together and fucked.

That was another idea Kyle had considered before he accepted the feeling he held for you; he wanted to make sure it wasn't just physical. Wasn't only surface level shite.

And it wasn't.

Don't get him wrong, you were hot as hell- something he was still coming to terms with, but not wrong. It's just that he spent more time observing every twitch of the meager features he could see, than he did on obvious things. Things like those thick thighs, the muscle defined even through the cloth, that could probably crush his damn skull.. or that nice arse.. and those biceps he wanted to be squished between..

Enough of.. that. What Kyle meant was that he searched out things like the crinkles at the corners of your eyes that meant you were either giving him a blinding smile, or glaring a burning hole into one of your rowdy teammates. The scrunch of your eyebrows, adorably so, when you fidget with something. Or that one time when he caught you cussing out one of your subordinates.

Fuck. He was so ruined.

There were also a few more movie nights, all of which either ended with him falling asleep on you again, or the both of you slumbering away on that old sofa.

You two always, without fail, ate your meals together. Never in mess, almost always in the communal kitchen or outside on your hill.

He liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes, how it brightened the color of your irises. Kyle got so caught up in it sometimes that he didn't realize he was staring until he heard you stumble over your words. Snapped out of your trance long enough to catch a glimpse of the privileged sight of a light pink just barely noticeable across the bridge of your nose.

You were skilled in the arts of handling your mask just like Ghost was. Always slipping it up just enough to take a nibble before tugging it back down, too fast for him to catch a glimpse beneath the cloth.

Kyle didn't know why you wore it, more than the other Shadows did, and it wasn't his place to ask just yet. He would never push you if it made you uncomfortable. At the very least he was glad to see you were fine with eating in front of him.

It all came to head one evening. The two of you are watching the sunset on your little hill again, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the damp grass.

Kyle doesn't know when the tone became so strained between you, but he felt you start to tense up beside him. Nearly imperceptible to anyone who wasn't attuned to your every move.

Gently, he nudges you with a light knock of his shoulder against yours, giving you a small smile when you glance over at him.

“Something on your mind?” He asks, voice softer than he had ever used with you. But.. but it felt right.

The two of you. On this hill. The sun setting and casting an array of colors across your features, lighting up those gorgeous eyes he adored so much.

You shrug and shake your head, eyes crinkling slightly. “Nah, nothin' much. Just thinking.”

Kyle nods. “A’right,” then, “but I'll listen if you need to get something off your chest.”

Your smile becomes genuine, and you nudge him back. “I know you will.”

He takes it with a soft hum, looking back at the setting sun, now almost completely past the horizon. The heat and light slowly sucked from the earth along with the great ball of fire.

Kyle knows it's just his mind playing tricks on him, but he swears the air has already dropped several degrees. Enough to make him shiver, and suddenly there's a rift between you two he doesn't remember being there before.

It feels like you both are miles apart, even though your arm is still pressed snug against his.

You shift then, pulling away to stand and brush off your clothes. “Best get inside now, yeah?” Your voice is quiet, lacking in its usual spark.

“Yeah.” Kyle says after a pause, and he takes your outstretched hand without hesitation. The glove is a rough contrast to his softer palms; the contact breaks as soon as he's on his feet.

You descend the hill together, the tension between you both growing higher and higher and Kyle is afraid it might snap. Afraid what could have changed.

He's just a few steps away from the side door of the building when your hand shoots out, grasping his wrist and yanking him back.

“Wha-”

“Kyle.” You say, and he finds himself with his back against the brick wall, your hand pressed against his chest. Keeping him in place.

“Everything okay..?” he trails off. You don't speak, seeming to be considering something. And Kyle wishes desperately, not for the first time, to see what is going on in that pretty little skull of yours.

You don't answer, a trembling hand raising, the one not holding him in place. Kyle is too late to realize what you're doing, your mask tugged down for the first time.

And what a wondrous sight that was.

He doesn't get the chance to react before your coming in closer, closer, closer-

The spark is back in an instant, that earlier warmth blossoming between you two as your lips meet. Soft, delicate at first. As if you're both afraid of fracturing this moment before you have the chance to savor it.

Just a brush of your mouth against his. Kyle's hand finds its place on your jaw, cupping it ever so gently, the other resting on your waist.

You pull back a few centimeters, a small, nervous smile on your lips.

Kyle's heart stops right then.

He never thought he would see you smile. The sight of which has heat warming his chest, his heart pounding heavily against his ribcage. It had to have been the greatest thing he's ever witnessed.

“There you are,” he murmurs, thumb brushing over your cheek.

A small laugh bubbles from you and- scratch out what he said before. This. This is the best thing he's ever seen. And heard. The sound drew a soft chuckle from his own chest.

“I wanted to do it sooner..” you admit, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth and nibbling on it. Kyle wants to do it for you, but he lets you speak. “But I, uh.. didn't know if you'd built some fantasy of what I looked like. And.. I didn't wanna, y'know, disappoint..”

“You didn't.” He breathes, and Kyle's other hand leaves your waist to join the other in cradling your face. “You never could.”

And then you're kissing again. This one is more firm, more confident than the first. Both of you pressing closer and closer as if you can't get enough. The sun is back and shining in his damn chest, it's so fucking blinding but he doesn't care, you. You. You. It's all you and you are his sun. He meant it before, there's nothing you could ever do to disappoint him–

A shrill buzzing cuts through the air, the two of you separating. Panting into each other's mouths, dazed as your eyes meet his. Open and full of liquid adoration.

The noise goes off again and it takes you both a delayed moment to realize the sound is coming from your pocket.

Kyle keeps his hands on your waist as you fish the damned device out. Fiddling with it until you get it unlocked and see what all the fuss is about.

You freeze. And the cold is back. Same as when the sun had set. Dying flames burning out.

“Who is it?” Kyle chances, hesitant to break the silence but that's all it takes. You pull away and Kyle goes to follow, to keep you from slipping from his hold when he's only just gotten you-

“I- I gotta go.” You rush out, not even glancing up at him as you shove your phone back into your uniform and head inside. The metal door shuts with a deafening slam.

Kyle doesn't go back inside until the tips of his fingers have gone numb from the cold.

Price drags him out of bed the next morning with a sharp rap on his door and Kyle has to pretend he had been sleeping. Like he hadn't been sitting at his desk all night—he had only had you in his bed twice, but that was enough for your memory to haunt it—, staring at his phone. Hoping it will buzz.

Even if he had never given you his number.

Price doesn't give him any more time to sulk, knocking on his door again and barking at him to get his arse up to one of the briefing rooms.

Kyle is barely present by the time he reaches his destination. Not even remembering the steps it had taken to get this far. Nonetheless, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, greeted by a dim room, a pissed Price, and a grim Laswell on the laptop.

“‘Bout damn time, Sergeant.”

“Sorry, sir-” Feeling horribly exposed, Kyle shoved his hands into his pockets. Stalling when his fingertips brush against a familiar cube.

“Nevermind that. Laswell.” Price looks at her, and Laswell’s frown only deepens. Kyle doesn't bother sitting.

“What's wrong?” He asks when no one else speaks, idly toying with the rubik's cube in his pocket.

“Go on,” Price grits out, and this had to be one of the few moments Kyle had ever seen his captain so pissed off. A scowl etched deep into his features.

“Well, boys,” Laswell sighs. “This isn't going to be pretty.”

She pulls out a thin folder, but Kyle knows better by now to feel his stomach drop as she opens it.

His fingers squeeze tight around the cube.

Little didn't mean good.

“Ghost and Soap are on the run in Mexico,” a beat. “From Shadow Company.”

Little just meant they didn't know jack shit.

__

Masterpost | One | Next

__

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[beautysamour]

kenji x f!reader

okay so basically, the reader escaped from sector 45 and she ends up at Omega Point. (She has the ability to create force fields) When Kenji finally sees her for the first time and ends up falling for her.

So to sum it all up; Kenji crushing on the reader and trying to not make it obvious but failing.

Thanks!! BTW take your time writing this. Ilysm!!<33

- ❤

Nonsense

✧ 𝐩𝐚����𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: kenji kishimoto x reader

✧ 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: kenji kishimoto, castle, adam kent

✧ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In which you were able to escape sector 45, but not all the people.

✧ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: some cursing, some spoilers for the first book.

✧ 𝐚/𝐧: implied to be set during the second book. i wasn’t sure if you wanted them to end up together at the end, but if you did— tell me and I’ll write a part two! sorry for the long wait! ilyt ❤️ anon <33

You’re sitting on the floor tucked into one of the corners in your room with the moonlight being your only source of light.

You try to shake away the memory of a kid crying at seeing their dead parents, at the feelings of guilt that had formed in the pit of your stomach for not being able to save them which as a result, hurt the kid more than any kind of physical pain could.

You were no stranger to death, hell, you were one of the people always on the battlefield while you were at sector 45 for you were their “shield and trap” as Kent put it.

You were responsible for shielding the soldiers, to create a barrier around them when multiple enemies surrounded them; often having the attacks reflect back to the enemy. As for being called a trap, you were often ordered to create a barrier around an enemy to contain them in one place.

It was the most frequent solution used for capturing enemies, and knowing that- having those memories only made you feel worse, what good is your gift, as Castle liked to call it, if you couldn’t even protect the people who needed your protection?

What good is it if you used it to protect those loyal to the reestablishment and not innocent civilians?

Looking up at the moon you let out a sigh and pushed yourself up off of the ground. You grabbed the hems of the bedsheets and tugged them upwards as you kicked your shoes off of your feet before collapsing on the bed.

You pulled the sheets over your body and closed your eyes, trying to envision the moon to push out the glimpses of the crying child.

“Good night,” you whispered out to no one in particular. Maybe you subconsciously said it to the kid, as an apology of some sort.

The last thing that was on your mind before the tiredness fully took over was the delusional hope of being able to start over.

✩ ✩

“Life is full of choices, no one ever mentions fear,” Anastasia sang through the television screen in front of you as you ate the last few portions of your breakfast.

“Mama, who’s that,” you heard from behind you, you paused your movements for a second waiting to see how the mom would respond; ready to flee the dining area if necessary.

The mom hushed the child, “A new person, lets not bother them,” the sounds of receding footprints gave you a sense of relief as you refocused on your breakfast and the singing of the cartoon character.

You weren’t worried about being “turned in” or anything of that sort, you doubt that anyone from the Reestablishment was acting as a mole so there would be no one to drag you back to that place.

Suddenly your brain sent panic waves down your spine as a foreboding feeling took over your senses; telling you that there was someone to close for comfort. Out of instinct, a thin force field surrounded your body- if this person meant any harm, they’d have to have a power that allowed them to deactivate yours.

You took in a sharp breath as you heard your last name come from behind you.

A few seconds passed before you took another breath; hoping that the person behind you would think they got the wrong person, but all they did was circle around your table and take a seat in front of you.

“The hell are you doing here,” he said, his tone not allowing you to fool yourself into thinking he’d leave without an answer.

“Kent,” you began, “didn’t expect to see you here,” you said as you gave him a blank stare.

“Yeah,” he scoffed out, “didn’t expect to see you here either,” he straightened his back as he leaned forward on the table between you two, his brows furrowed as he sarcastically tilts his head.

“How did you find this place,” he kept his gaze strictly on yours.

“Oh you know, went for the usual 5 pm scenery walk and found myself here,” the corners of your lips slightly curved up as you gave him a fake innocent smile before you dropped it not a second later, rolling your eyes and you looked away from him.

The man let out a noise akin to a scoff before speaking again, “I’m not here to turn you in, I have no gain in doing that. I just-,”

“Yeah, we’d all be publicly shot by Warner no doubt.”

He let out a sigh this time before speaking once again, “Because I owe you my life,”

“Everyone in the Reestablishment owes me their life,” you cut him off; your tone quickly turning bitter as you thought about what you did for them.

“Because I owe you my life,” he says again, “I won’t make a scene big enough to catch everyone’s attention, but,” he grabbed your arm causing you to snap your head back towards his direction; eyes slightly widening, “we do have to talk.”

You found yourself not being able to speak, your throat drying up as your body felt like it was short circuiting. You looked to where he was grip was on your arm.

You never disabled the force field you put around your body.

“How did you do that.”

He let go of his grip on your arm and stood up, “Like I said, we have to talk.”

✩ ✩

“When you said “we” Kent, I didn’t think you’d mean me, you, and the leaders of Omega Point.”

“Yeah well, better safe than sorry,” Kent pushed you through the door, his hand still wrapped around your wrist to which you try to shove off.

“Again, how the hell can you touch me?!”

He tightened he grip on your wrist, “I’m about to tell you— just stay quiet for a few minutes!”

“I don’t take orders from you anymore, Kent-“

“Uh, hey, can you guys stop shoving each other for a sec?”

You looked at the new person standing next to Castle’ desk. All his clothing pieces were black and subtle fitted around his body to show off his muscles, his hair color the same. Observing him effectively made you stop struggling against Kent’ grip.

“Has the ability to cooperate, check.” The new guy leaned forward reaching a hand out, “Kenji.”

Castle cleared his throat, “So,” he began. You looked at the hand “Kenji” reached out to you with furrowed brows. What was he doing?

Next to you, Kent cringed at the sight before roughly tugging you closer to Castle.

“What brings you here, with her,” Castle gave you a small smile, “She came in yesterday.”

Kent heavily breathed as he tugged you in front of him and threw your wrist out of his hands, “Have you done a background check on her? She’s from Sector 45, a soldier.”

The room was silent for a few moments, your expression blank as you looked at the same expression found on Castle.

Before, you weren’t worried about getting turned in because you didn’t think there were any spies around that would notify your higher ups. Not much changed from then to now, Kent seems quite content with this place. He probably ran away too, so even if he did turn you in, Warner would find him too.

You internally sighed, you didn’t care if you got kicked out of here. You’d find an abandoned place and force yourself to survive, but even with that in mind this place did seem nice. You’d like to stay especially after finding out that not only did you have a “gift” but there were others too?

Seems fun.

Castle pushed his chair out from the desk, standing up to walk around it and sit on the edge— now eye to eye with you.

“She was known as our shield-“

Castle raised a hand, “And trap,” he tilted his head to Kent, “I know, Kent. I also know that she came here asking for refuge and help, the first step to change,” he tilted his head back to you, another small smile on his face, “And that she’s one of us now.”

Skeptical as always, Kent glanced back and forth between you and Castle before averting his gaze to Kenji, who only shrugged and motioned for him to back off and a give you some space ad he was right behind you.

Kent let out a sigh as he took a step back, “And if she’s just on a mission?”

The smile on Castle’ face disappeared as he looked back at him, “If you’re so worried, I can have Kenji look after her.”

Kenji, who was standing at the side this entire conversation, suddenly popped up right next to Castle, “Won’t have to worry about a thing as long as she’s with me.” He gave Kent a fake smile before turning back to Castle seemingly waiting for further orders.

Kent scoffed, “Yeah, ok. As long as someone’s watching her.”

“Wonderful,” Castle replied; his smile returning, “Kenji, go escort Y/N to wherever she’ll be going—“

“Wait,” your gaze jumped to all three of the guys as you take a step back, “So you say that I’m one of you but then you put a cop on me?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not a cop—“

You point a finger at Kent as you keep eye contact with Castle, your temper rising along with the volume of your voice, “Just because he doesn’t trust me? He’s done more harm during his time at the Reestablishment then I ever could!”

Your temper only rises when you feel Kent’ hand on your shoulder, “Calm down—“

You whip your arm back, aggressively pushing his hand off of you, “I already told you Kent,” you bark out, “I don’t take orders from you anymore.”

You scoff at his widened eyes before walking out the room, leaving the three men alone.

“She’s upset.”

“Yeah, thank you Adam,” Kenji said with fake sweetness in his voice, “What would we ever do without you?”

“Shut up.”

“Kenji,” Castle interrupted not looking at either of them but at the door instead, “Go after her, she’s still under your supervision but not for Kent’ reasoning. I need you to help her feel comfortable here, I fear we might’ve given ourselves a bed rep to her.”

Kenji snorted, “Kinda? Alright, well I’ll make sure to keep an eye on her.”

Before Kenji could fully walk past Adam, he called out his name causing Kenji to turn back around, “What?”

He leaned forward reaching a hand out, mocking Kenji’ previous movements, “”Kenji.” What was that about?”

Kenji rolled his eyes before slapping his hand away, “Just proper etiquette, something you aren’t educated on.”

“What—“

“Kenji,” Castle interrupted again, a stifled smile on his face, “Go after her.”

Kenji nodded and turned on his heel, not bothering to say acknowledge Adam on his way out, “I’ll be back later today.”

✩ ✩

You paced around your room mumbling profanities under your breath, “Who does he think he is, he wasn’t even my boss!”

You rubbed the wrist that Kent had his grip on, “The audacity to drag me through these halls and say that I’m a threat. And all I ever did was protect— those fuckers literally called my “shield and—“

“Hey, uh, it’s Kenji,” he knocked on your door, “Want to get something to eat?”

“No,” you yelled back, “I promise you, I’m not a threat.” You took a step getting ready to start pacing around your room again before Kenji continued speaking.

“I’m not here to spy on you, I don’t take orders from Kent either. Just hungry and have no one else to eat with.”

You cursed the part of you that was telling you to go with him, at least you wouldn’t be eating alone having it be a perfect chance for Kent to pop in and try to drag you to Castle’ office again.

With a sigh you give in and open your door revealing Kenji who was leaning against your doorframe, “Oh— hey.”

He pushed himself off the doorframe and cleared his throat, “Almost started to think you were ignoring me.”

Not that he’d care if you were, he was just glad to know that you weren’t resistant to his charms— not that it would matter anyways.

You close the door as you walk out the room. You turned to face Kenji, subconsciously batting your lashes at him, “I mean you are just here to see if I was sent here by the Reestablishment…”

Kenji began to walk, you following right by his side, “I told you already, I’m not going to do that. I don’t take orders from Kent.”

“Castle was the one who really made the order though.”

“Yeah, well, I only follow orders that don’t start with Kent’ opinion.”

You snicker at his words, “Well that’s good to know.”

“So, what’s your thing?” He pivoted into the cafeteria, right on step with your pivot.

“My what?”

“Your thing,” he passed you a tray as you two stepped into the line, “Like Repunzel and her hair, you know?”

“Oh. I can create forcefields.”

“Ohh, so that’s why they call you—“

“Yeah,” you interrupted as you didn’t feel like hearing the nickname right now, “Can use it as to protect and attack, thank you, that’s why they kept me for so long.”

Kenji looked at you as you spoke, noting the way your hair moved as you spoke and the way your eyes looked under the kitchen light.

He was only looking because he was an observant person. That’s all.

It wasn’t until you looked at him with confused eyes that he snapped back into reality. He tried to remember the last thing you said— he swore he was listening— but the way your lips were moving was so distracting, even now as you opened them to start speaking, “Oh, sorry,” Kenji looked away from you, that’s why they kept me for so long, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head, “It’s fine, there’s far more interesting things to talk about.”

“I’m sure anything would be interesting to listen to as long as it’s coming from you.”

You and the lunch worker in front of you two looked at Kenji with widened eyes. “Thank…you?”

“Kenji,” gasped the worker catching Kenji’ attention, “I knew you were bold but I didn’t think you were that bold, thought you’d just keep staring at her with those puppy eyes! Congrats! I hope it goes well,” the worker says as they fill Kenji’ tray with food.

The worker averted their gaze to you, “Don’t worry miss, he’s a good catch.” The worker sent you a wink before shooing the both of you away.

The both of you awkwardly stood there for a few seconds, Kenji wondering if you’d take all that to heart, and you waiting for him to bring up finding a table.

Finally he did, “Anyways, let’s find a table?”

“Yeah.”

✩ ✩

“You can turn invisible? How did you even figure that out?”

Kenji almost laughed at your curiosity, it was cute,“Well how random was it when you found out you could create force fields?”

“Actually it wasn’t that random, happened while I was trying to protect someone.”

“I see. I found out on a random day during my childhood.”

You raised a brow at his confession, “That’s hilarious.”

The image of a younger Kenji walking through his house, unknowing of the fact that he’s gone invisible, and speaking to one of his parents who would freak out at the fact that they could hear their son but not see him was enough to make you want to laugh.

“Hilarious?” Kenji leaned closer to you as he rested his arms on top of the table, “It was terrifying.”

“I bet it was, especially since you wouldn’t have known how to turn visible again,” you pushed your tray forward finally finishing your food, “So, what movies do you like?”

“Interesting change of topic,” he picked up your tray and set it on top of his, “My personal favorite is Tangled.”

“Shut up, there is no way—“

“I know right! Best piece of fiction in all of literature.” Kenji said cutting you off thinking you were going to agree with him—

“—You like that Anastasia romance knock-off?”

“Excuse me?” Kenji raised an offended brow at you, there is no way you just compared the magnificent romance between Flynn Rider and Rapunzel to that.

“Anastasia is much better.”

“Ok, first of all— you’re wrong— second, did you just call Flynn and Rapunzel’ love story a knock-off?”

You scoffed feeling petty, “Yes. A con man that helps a lost princess get to a destination and they end up falling in love and have a big miscommunication arc but ultimately ends with them getting together? Anastasia and Dimitri are what Flynn and Rapunzel wish they could be.”

Kenji dramatically gasped, “Take that back.”

You turned your head, chin up and eyes closed, “No.”

You stayed like that for a few moments before breaking character, laughing at the fact that you were arguing with someone because of your undying love for another fictional couple.

It didn’t take long for Kenji to break is protective Rapunzel nature, he knew it would break as soon as he heard your laugh.

As much as it made him cringe to admit— not only because you only just met but because he never thought he’d say this— but he liked the sound of your laugh. It sounded like music to his ears, as much as that hurt him to admit this early.

The moment is cut short when a worker yells at you both, “Hey! Lovebirds! It’s dark outside, lunch and dinner both ended already— get a room before you start making out on the table.”

The worker, much grumpier than the other one who served the food, grumbled words that formed sentences saying that “youths are so annoying.” “young love is so outdated.” and “what’s next, he’s gonna buy her flowers and gummy bears too?”

Like before you didn’t think much of it, laughing as you found the misunderstanding funny. You expected Kenji to laugh too, to find the situation funny as well. Instead you were met with the sight of his hand over his mouth trying to cover the rest of his heated face, failing to realize that his ears were also flushed.

You were about to ask if he was ok, but then he picked up the trays and handed them to another worker. His posture stiffened when he got another teasing comment from said worker before walking back to you.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “It is late now, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

You smiled, “Ok, thank you.”

“You know what I just realized,” you say as you walk out the cafeteria.

“Hmm?”

“Kent never told me why he was able to touch me while I had a force field off.”

“Oh, his thing is being able to deactivate others gifts. I know, dick gift.”

You groaned, “What the hell that’s so annoying.”

Kenji chuckled, “Yeah, perfect for a guy like him.”

The rest of the walk back was quiet, Kenji most likely in deep thought, and you who was comfortable with the silence. When you reached your room you didn’t go in right away, you turned to Kenji waiting to see if he said something to say.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I actually look forward to that now.”

He snickered as you gave him a smug smile, he was glad you felt somewhat comfortable with him now, “For the record, Rapunzel and Flynn are not a rip off of your Princess and con man.”

You snorted at the irony, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Oh it sure well.”

“Ok, ok. Good night.”

Kenji gave you a smile and a nod before turning around getting ready to walk back to his own quarters, “Wait.”

Kenji turned around immediately, brows raised.

You looked down at your feet suddenly feeling shy, “You’re cute too by the way.”

You didn’t wait for a response, immediately shutting the door and running into the furthest corner in your room— what the hell was that?!

Outside of your room, Kenji stared at your closed door dumbfounded. It’s only when he realizes how creepy it would be to find him standing in front of your room does he snap out of it.

He walks to his own quarters with flushed ears and cheeks.

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 5: beel, asmo / photos

ao3 link

note: this one's short n sweet! takes place post-jtta ^^

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!”

“Huh? What?” Beel jerks upright as Asmo barrels into the kitchen - his spoon clatters to the table in mild panic. “Did something happen?”

“Look at this!” Asmo wails, practically slamming an orange-cased D.D.D. on the table. “You were hiding these this whole time?!”

“Huh?” Beel seems to have already forgotten that he lent it to him. “What?”

Asmo rubs his eyes furiously, sniffs, then asks, “You didn’t even notice?”

“Notice what?” He asks cluelessly, then finally looks down at the screen. “...oh…”

IK’s eyes - very, very close to the camera - stare back up at him. Like an inquisitive sort of little bird.

He pushes away his bowl with one hand and pulls his phone towards himself with the other. He’s cradling it like something precious, wearing the sort of softly awed face you’d use for a baby animal.

Asmo isn’t sure whether or not to laugh. Beel hasn’t even realised there’s more than one picture yet.

He lets him remember to swipe in his own time. Silently, he watches him skim through IK’s little impromptu photoshoot - none of it quite taken seriously, but earnest all the same.

Beel stops on Asmo’s favourite - the one where her face is behind a glass of water, so that it warps in funny places. Maybe it’s because the warping obscures it somewhat, but this is the only one where IK’s wearing a full grin. The other smiles are sweet, but small and a little awkward - this one, for lack of a better word, is just plain joyous.

Asmo takes a look at Beel’s face. He doesn’t feel as silly for bursting into tears now.

Beel has exactly two pre-existing albums - Asmo knows this because he was snooping through them before he spotted the selfies - one for food (dishes he wants to try, promotional restaurant posters, and everything in between), and one for family.

This one is a little more curated than the food album; given his lack of photography ambition, most of Beel’s gallery is filled by courtesy of his brothers messing around, so he’s more selective about which ones to commit to memory. Asmo watches Beel select the entire block of sneaky selfies, and saves them next to a magazine-worthy shot of Belphie staring out into the horizon.

He gets it. He’s feeling sentimental, too.

Beel is quiet for a little while longer. Finally, he says, voice perhaps a touch thicker than usual, “When did she have time to do that?”

Asmo had thought the same thing - which is why he’s already checked the timestamps. It seems IK was making a game of it for a little while, because the pictures come in bursts over a period of about a week. There are twenty-two in total.

Beel doesn’t seem to expect an answer. In fact, he’s already moved on. “I should show Belphie…”

He’s looking at the photo where Belphie’s tousled hair is just about visible in the background - IK’s done her absolute best to capture his sleep-contorted face. Based on the odd angle - and the blurring - she dropped the phone on him immediately after taking the picture.

He scrolls through the whole set one more time, then says affectionately, “I don’t think IK thought I’d find these.

He’s pointed out a certain quirk to her smiles. Asmo nods fondly; yes, that’s definitely the look of an IK who thinks she’s getting away with something. She does the same thing when she thinks Satan hasn’t noticed her drawing lines on his arm during study sessions.

“Gosh, I feel crazy,” Asmo sighs, then abruptly face-plants forward onto the table. “They’re just pictures, but I feel like I’ve just watched her win an award or something.”

“Is that what it is?”

“Maybe? Like, oh, that’s our girl, you know?”

“It’s…” Beel doesn’t finish the thought before moving onto the next. “...hmm. Do you think that’s what having kids is?”

“Having—” Asmo chokes on nothing in particular. “Huh? I’m too young to be a parent! That’s totally not the same thing.”

Beel doesn’t look convinced. “I’ll ask Lucifer.”

“That doesn’t count. He’s old.” He clears his throat and relaxes again. “...it’s a different thing. I don’t think there’s a name for it… I just think it means family.”

Beel smiles. “I think so, too.”

[andithewhumper]

Experimentations Chapter 2: Darts

Content: avian whumpee, scientist whumper, female whumper, injections/needles (trypanophobia), sedation, speciesism

Streak was starting to panic. 

"Ha! Okay, no-" He kicked out, his breathing rapid and heavy. His eye was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, deep brown with a perfect ring of gold. He weighed only slightly more than a human his size. His bones were more hollow and his body built to fly rather than walk, but his enormous wings added some mass and weight. 

"You need to let me go," he insisted. His wings kept him so enveloped that he couldn't even kick and fight his way out of the net. "That's not okay with me, so I need you to let me the fuck out of here, right now-"

Dr. Vaughn watched his struggle with amusement. She was pleased with her assumption that he would be a fighter. Stray feathers flew everywhere. She debated telling him off for making a fuss but she knew that he would tire himself out eventually. When she got to the research van she set up the cart next to the back and pulled open the doors. The interior of the van was neat and clinical with no equipment that looked intimidating. There were hooks and rope attached to the wall for the purpose of holding specimens down when they were being particularly difficult. Dr. Vaughn was under no assumptions that her specimen was going to behave himself. It would be a grave mistake to let him out of the net at this point. She would have to wait until she was back at the facility where there was plenty of room for him to throw a fit when she temporarily let him out of the net. She once again lifted him, this time more prepared for the unwieldy nature of the avian. She placed him in the back of the van and got to work securing him down. The floor of the van was hard and cold but the ride would be short so Dr. Vaughn was unconcerned.

Streak grunted, finally done struggling with all his might. It wasn't going to get him anywhere, not like this. He would have to wait for an opening. He relaxed slightly, now shifting to get comfortable in the bed then escape. 

"Hey- Hey, actually!" He cried out, his voice tight with pain. "Please, you gotta move it- move me- ah! I don't bend this way!" His wing throbbed sharply as his weight rested on a bent part. It didn't bend there. "Mmm- ow, please can you turn me?" He pleaded, trying to shift but only managing to step on his own wing. He needed out of this net, he needed out of wherever this was, he needed to go home! "Oh- oh, I don't- ow."

Dr. Vaughn frowned slightly at his words. She didn't want the avian to damage his wings before she even got the chance to examine him fully. Damage could come later. She carefully hid the cart behind some trees again and stepped into the back of the van. She pulled the doors closed behind her and crouched down next to the avian. 

"I need you to relax. Which way do you need me to turn you?" she asked. Her voice was low and full of authority.

He let out a shaky breath, as demanded. "I don't- I don't know, I don't even know which way is up!" He shut his eyes, though it didn't make a difference. Ruffled feathers stuck out every which way. He took in another breath, forcing himself to feel gravity's effect on him. "I need to rotate right," he decided quietly. He was sort of ashamed that he needed her to help him like this, when she was the one that captured him to begin with. It also sucked that he was in so much pain he was willing to compromise staying in the net for a better position.

Dr. Vaughn smiled at the sound of his breathy voice. She was pleased that while he was still heated and rude he was at least complying with her. She decided she would reward him by fulfilling his request. She reached down and shifted the avian until the main tension eased off his shoulders. "Now," she said clinically, "I need you to stay relaxed as we move because you will not get to move again until we arrive."

He nodded, but realized she didn't know that. "Okay," he agreed. "Will I shift? Will I roll over while you drive?" He assumed he was in a vehicle of some sort. "You know, I've heard humans make the best drivers," he joked lamely. "Though I suppose there's no way to test that theory, cause when avians are told to race, they take off." He was rambling, blowing off steam verbally since he couldn't struggle physically.

Dr. Vaughn smirked at the avian's comments. She was becoming increasingly pleased with her specimen. He would be wonderful, she was sure of it. After she was sure that he was properly situated she moved to secure him to the van so that he wouldn't move around. She hooked some rope through the net and tied it to the hooks on the wall on the van. She repeated this until she was sure that he would not move at all from his spot on the floor of the van. She opened the back door of the van and hopped out, closing the door behind her. She climbed into the driver's seat and turned over the engine, setting off to the facility.

He did squirm as they drove, but it didn't accomplish anything. Mostly he tried not to panic. He could survive this, sure, but- why? Why did he have to, why couldn't they just leave him alone? He'd been flying, that's all. And he'd tried to land, and now he was in a net, and he didn't know what was going to happen to him. And no one would ever even know where he went. He tried to detangle himself, but the net was too tight for him to actually get each limb where it belonged. He had to settle for arms in one spot and legs on the other side, hoping that was about right. Each wing was wrapped fully around him, and he was on his back, pinning the ends in place beneath him.

When they arrived at the research facility, Dr. Vaughn backed into the loading dock. She stopped the engine and walked around to the back of the van. As she opened the door she saw that the avian was moving slightly in the net. He stopped shifting when she opened the door, he didn't want to piss her off. She started untying the ropes that held him in place, then lifted him once again. This time she placed him onto a stretcher, still not releasing him from the net and wheeled him into the facility. As they came upon a large room Dr. Vaughn grabbed a small syringe and a bottle of medication. The room was empty spare a few avian-sized perches on the walls and the ceilings were high enough for flight to be comfortable. She stopped the stretcher in the middle of the room and pulled out the syringe, carefully measuring out the dose. The avian had thankfully shifted in such a way that his neck was accessible through the net. She skillfully grabbed the scuff of his neck and gave him the injection. He still couldn't see anything, so he wasn't sure how scared he should be. He cried out as she grabbed him, startled and afraid, and shut up real fast when he felt the needle. Dr. Vaughn pulled out a knife and carefully cut away several points in the net. After she was done she stepped away carefully.

She was not messing around here. It served to confirm that he was in big trouble here. He tried to keep breathing evenly, all the way in, all the way out, and again. It must be working, because his body relaxed, and his eyes drifted shut. Okay. Everything was okay. Then his eyes shot open. No, no, it was a drug, it was whatever she injected him with. Nothing is okay, he needed to get out of here! Still... he just couldn't find the energy to move.

The Doctor watched as the avian calmed with the help of the drug. When he was completely relaxed she stepped back towards him again. She pulled off the net and walked over to the side of the room to hang it up on a metal hook. He wriggled himself free of the net and took about a minute to adjust his feathers. His wings were huge, she learned. Much bigger than the net's confinement had made them seem. He stood up, finally untangled. His hair was long and smooth, black with one white streak toward the front. It was pulled into a bun at the back of his head, which was barely recognizable considering his current state.

"By now you have noticed that I gave you a small sedative. Don't worry, it won't put you to sleep, you just needed something to calm your nerves. It will wear off in a few minutes. That net was quite cramped I'm sure." Dr. Vaughn pulled out a small dart gun from her lab coat, out of sight from the avian and made sure that it was fully loaded.

He looked around as he smoothed his feathers. He didn't need to be perfect, he just needed to fly. Interestingly, he took notice of the long one that was missing, the one she had in her pocket. Then his wings were out, stretched wider than she thought possible, and then he was gone. Well. Not gone, just up. He'd rocketed off the ground, to the first perch, jump-soaring from one to the next until he was as high as he could go. He figured there was no way she could reach him up here. He crouched on the perch, catching his breath, and leaned against the wall to steady himself. He did not like being on drugs. "If I was a real bird, I'd shit on your head," he called down to her.

Dr. Vaughn was amazed at the beauty of the specimen she had captured. He was even more beautiful now that he wasn't in a ball of feathers. She was highly amused by his antics already. It was marvelous to watch him fly. She looked forward to seeing more of it. 

"I think you would find that an unwise decision. Now since you have untangled yourself, I suggest you fly back down here so we can discuss."

"I'm very willing to discuss from here." He tucked himself into a small form, though in a much more comfortable position than the net had allowed. "I understand. You're a scientist, and you want to learn about avian... what, biology? Behavior? I'll tell you right now, I do not have a cloaca, so don't even ask. I hate that question." He stopped his rambling, adjusting his position on the perch. He wore brown leather boots that didn't provide much grip on the perch. He hadn't planned on this. His sharp eyes were glancing around, and he was very disappointed to note that the only perch wide enough to act as a nesting platform was the lowest one, practically on top of this crazy lady.

Dr. Vaughn raised an eyebrow. As amusing as it had been for the first few minutes the lip was starting to get on her nerves. Never mind that though, she would have him tied down soon enough. Any lip that he dared to give her then would be superficial. 

"That was not a suggestion. You will come down here. It is your choice whether or not it will be flying or falling." She pulled up a chair and sat in it with her legs crossed.

Streak scowled at her. He didn't really want to fall. He took an extra moment to steady himself, and glided downward, kicking off the wall, pleased at the scuff it left, and settling on the platform near her. He sat cross legged, his wings folded behind him. He needed time to preen them, but he wasn't about to let this kidnapping scientist watch. Not unless he could get something out of it. 

"What are you trying to discuss?" He asked. It sounded a tad accusatory, but at least he wasn't rambling.

Dr. Vaughn smiled at his compliance and pulled out a small notebook, writing some notes down about his current behavior and appearance. She didn't say anything for several moments and just went about her business, curious to see what the avian would do in response to her ignoring him. She even pulled out her phone momentarily to report to her boss that she had acquired the specimen.

He rolled his eyes and sat back, pulling his hair out of the bun, smoothing it, and re-tying it. He couldn't help smoothing his feathers. He was all ruffled and mussed, and while he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of getting to watch him, he needed to fix it. It was instinctual, like needing to fix a hundred hangnails. He plucked a broken one and a bent one, straightening that one and putting it in his hair. The broken one he shoved in his pocket, he just didn't want her to have it. Of course, once he started, he couldn't seem to stop himself. It was so ritual, and calming, in an unsafe and unfamiliar environment. He picked through each section of feathers, smoothing and straightening, removing grains of dirt from between feathers, making sure it was all perfect.

Dr. Vaughn was pleased as she noticed the avian start to preen. She noticed him tuck one into his pocket and noted it for later. She further recorded the ways in which he cleaned himself up. the information being highly important for her research. When she was done she looked up at the avian. 

"It seems I am at a disadvantage. You know my name, but I don't know yours."

"Okay." He was perfectly okay with that. Still, he subconsciously tucked his streak of white behind his ear. To be fair, it wasn't his real name, but it was the only one he used. He stopped preening and folded his arms. 

"It's not legal to kidnap an avian, any more than it is to kidnap a human. I don't consent to any sort of medical trials or anything like that, and as soon as I'm out of here I am going to make your life hell. Why am I here? Why won't you let me go home?!"

Dr. Vaughn smiled broadly. "That's where you are wrong. I happen to have special licensing to procure and test avian subjects. While it is generally illegal in this country to take avians, it is very legal to do so with proper licensing. I don't need your consent to do anything, unfortunately enough for you. That said, I am going to give you a word of advice: if you decide to make my job more difficult I will be very displeased and you will find that it is me that will make your life a living hell." Dr. Vaughn was lying slightly. She would be very pleased if he decided to make her job more difficult, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, the results wouldn't change whether he did or not. He would be punished for disobedience quickly and efficiently and she looked forward to it highly. "Now, I believe I asked for your name."

He paled slightly, he didn't like that answer at all. "I don't care how human supremacist you are, you can't just take me away from my life like a- wildlife specimen. There are people who depend on me, and you have no right to take me and- experiment on me!" He clenched his hands. "There can't be a law that just lets you kidnap people."

Dr. Vaughn held back a smile at his words. It was best not to antagonize him right now. She would have plenty of time to do that when he was properly restrained. "It is true that this is very unfortunate for you, but that doesn't make it illegal." She gave him a stern look. "And as entertaining as discussing human politics is, you will find that I am not a patient woman. I will only ask you one more time. What is your name?"

Streak scowled. "You can call me Streak," he said at last. "What was your name?" He never was good at names. And in his defense, he'd been in a pretty shitty situation just then, so he excused it. He really didn't believe that it was just legal for her to take him and have him. It didn't make sense, there was no possible way. But there also wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Dr. Vaughn nodded. "My name is Dr. Vaughn. Your name is nice, you can keep it." She wrote down his name in her notes and added a few more comments before looking up again. "Now Streak, tell me where are you from?" She asked. She wanted to see how he would react to her comment. Would he comment or would he just answer her question?

He laughed. "Thank you, for your permission to have specific sounds attributed to me." This whole situation was absurd, and he was going to keep pointing out the insane parts. "I live nearby, and I'd very much like to go back there. If I could punch through this wall, I could be home before midnight. Or maybe before breakfast. I'm really not sure what time it is, to be honest with you. Can we open some windows?"

Dr. Vaughn raised an eyebrow. His response was slightly unexpected. She was getting irritated with his rambling. She imagined that he would be far more receptive to her questions after some pain. It would also allow her to establish some rules. "You're right," she said, "I think we have wasted enough time sitting here and talking. I believe we can be more productive in a different setting." She pulled out her dart gun and quickly shot off two darts at Streak, giving him no time to react. "I think that you will find that this sedative does, in fact, knock you out."

Next

[jedi-lothwolf]

Winter Whumperland Day 1: Santa Claus (Claustrophobe/Panic Attack)

Fandom: Star Wars The Bad Batch

Summary: Echo falls into a hole in a cave while on a mission. Memories of Skako Minor flood his mind.

    Echo had liked small spaces before being captured by the Techno Union. Fives thought he was crazy for it. There was something comforting about small, dark places. Echo never could explain it.

    One wrong step sent him into a panic. 'Watch your step' Tech had said. 'Caves are unpredictable' he said. The cave was dark and cold. Echo would have loved it. He should have.

    Instead he looked around at the small space he found himself in. "Echo!" he heard Wrecker tell out. "You okay!?"

    The clone couldn't find his voice. It caught in the back of his throat and became a sharp breath instead. He looked at the walls of the hole but couldn't find them. He started to slam his hand and scomp into rock. His breathing speed and he wanted to cry.

    It was just a cave. It was just a dark hole in a cave. It was just a memory. It was just cold. It was just him, in a hole, in a cave, his family above him, ready to get him out of there.

    Or was it a pod? Was it just a memory? Was it just a pod he had been trapped in for over a year? Was it just the cold? Was it just him, in a pod, captured by the enemy, his family below him, waiting for him, ready to welcome him home?

    "Echo!" Omega yelled out. But he didn't answer. He just stood there, hyperventilating, terrified of the past. He felt so small and the rock wall felt like it was closing in. He didn't even notice when a set of hands pulled him up from his place in the cave.

    "Echo, breath." Hunter spoke. He looked at Tech for answers.

    "Claustrophobe, likely attributed to his time on Skako Minor. Move." Tech practically kicked Hunter out of the way before kneeling down in front of Echo. "He is having a panic attack. I will deal with it."

    Tech looked at the man in front of him. He felt uneasy but felt the others would be incapable of helping Echo breath calmly. Still, he wondered if he was the best person to take care of him.

    The clone stood in front of his brother. "What you are feeling is scary, but not dangerous. Focus on your breathing not the memory." Echo looked up at him. "You need to breathe slowly." Tech started to slowly to encourage him to do the same.

    Slowly Echo started to breathe earlier. "Can you tell me five things you can see?" Tech asked patiently. Echo looked around.

    "Tech I don't think that's going to he-"

    "Hush" Tech cut off Hunter. "Now tell me five things you see."

    Echo looked around. "There's some, Stalactites, some standing water, bats, yo-you, and the others."

    "Good job. How about four things you hear? Can you do that."

    "Well I hear you" Echo slightly chuckled. He was still so tense. His breathing was slower but still irregular. "There's water dripping into that puddle, the bats, and the humming of the, the light."

    "Good. You are doing good. Now can you tell me three things you can smell?"

    Hunter and Wrecker watched the two. They didn't know that Tech could be so, gentle? Omega stayed near Hunter.

    "It's musky, the cave water, and the cologne Phee gave you." He sort of smiled, "it sort of smells like Kamino."

    Tech smiled softly. "Two things you can feel."

    "The rocks are kind of smooth." Echo reached out to Tech, "and you."

    "One thing you can taste?"

    "The smell of the cave." Echo sighed. He felt safe again. He was just a man, in a cave, with his family.

    "Can I do anything for you?" Tech asked calmly.

    "You already have." Tech helped Echo up. "Thank you Tech."

    "It is no problem. We need to finish the mission now. Do you think you will be alright?"

    "Yeah, I think I will."

[blackjackkent]

Hmm 18, touch prompt but not with Karlach as the dying. Dumb Angst AU brain rot, but what if Hec was dying instead of Karlach?

(Whether it's a total au of her not being the one for the whole game or just a real big "fuck you specifically" from the universe post fixing her heart - I just think it's an interesting thing to think about for a one shot lol)

(Touch prompts)

Anon, this was very feelsy and sad! And of course my immediate instinct was to make it MORE feelsy and sad by saying... what if both at the same time. >:)

Super non-canonical Hector/Karlach feels ahoy:

-----

“...don’t you go before I do,” [he] whispered.  “...I couldn’t abide to be anywhere away from you for a single second,” she whispered back. Then she was pressing her little proud broken self against his face, as close as she could get, and then they died. - His Dark Materials Book 2 (The Subtle Knife), Philip Pullman

Too many. Too much. 

We fucked up, Karlach thinks. It's a sort of vague thought, heavy with bloodloss. 

“Karlach!” She can hear Hector somewhere in the distance. “Karlach, please!” 

No, not in the distance. He's right beside her, one hand pressed to her cheek, his grey eyes wide with panic. “There's another wave of them coming, Karlach! We need to move… we need to get to higher ground!”

His face is sweat-soaked in the Avernus heat and he is breathing hard - maybe from fear, maybe from exertion. She's finding it hard to focus her eyes on his face.

“Can't move my legs, Soldier,” she says vaguely. “Where's Wyll?” 

“Captured, I think. I saw one of them grab him.” 

She hasn't seen him look so frightened in a long time. Not since Moonrise and the brain, years ago now. He's come so far. She feels a strange, rictus smile touching her lips and sways dizzily. 

“Stop that,” he says fiercely. “Come on, I'll carry you.” He tugs at her arm, pulling it to hang limply over his shoulder. 

For him, and not for herself, she struggles to think, to focus on pulling herself up with her arms into his embrace. He's warm - even in Avernus he's warm, in a different way, like a blanket rather than a bonfire. 

“You should run,” she whispers. “Might still get away… if you get the lead out…” 

He shakes his head. “Not leaving you here,” he mutters hoarsely. “I'm tapped out, but if we can find somewhere safe… I can heal you… “

Empty words. She loves him, so desperately, but she knows what he's capable of. His limited healing magic can't help what's been done to her. Her vision is already dimming at the edges. “Please, Soldier. Fuck, I can't--’

“No!” he snaps. “I'm not leaving you. Now hold on and--”

He's in the process of setting his legs to lift her weight and haul her upwards when it hits him. An arrow, she thinks, but certainly magic-infused, as the impact jolts through his whole body, ripping away flesh along his side. His blood splatters her face. 

His eyes, still locked on hers, go wide, shock giving way to pain in a visible wave. “Oh, no…” he whispers. 

His legs give out from under him and he falls, losing his grip on her and releasing her back into the dirt. 

“Fuck. No-- Soldier…” She fumbles blindly, grabs his hand, pulling it to her chest, turning his fallen body towards her. “Hec-- Hec, look at me. Stay with me…”

“Never leaving…” he whispers. His eyes have gone abruptly glassy. “I… told you I wouldn't…” 

She feels tears - just as hot as everything else in this bloody place - start to burn slow trails down her cheeks. “Damn it…” she whispers. “Fuck. I’m so sorry… I always knew I'd die in this bloody place… but you… I never should've brought you here…”

His eyes have started to drift closed, but he wrenches them open again with visible effort in order to keep his gaze on her face for a few more seconds. “It was… my choice…” 

“You should have lived.” She chokes the words out. Breathing is becoming more difficult. “We both should have lived… so far away from here.”

“I’ll find you…” He drags himself along the ground, closer to her, curling himself against her. His face presses into her neck in a strange, brutal mockery of a thousand nights spent buried in each other's embrace. “I’ll find you… in the Fugue Plane… in Selune’s light… I’ll find you… I swear it…”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she never decided what to believe. “Yeah.”

She can hear the clatter of a cambion platoon on the march, coming closer now. Almost on them. Fuck you. Fuck Zariel. Her engine heart starts to stutter, a last gasping burst of energy. Hector’s breath has shallowed. He isn’t moving now. She can’t see. All that’s left is the press of his lips against her neck, her hand resting on his hip wet with blood. 

“I love you,” she hears him whisper, almost too low to hear.

I’ve been dying to say that, she told him once.

“I love you…” she answers, broken and full of grief, and fades out of the world with that breath, her soul tangled with his in their departure.

[cornflakegetmilking]

Bittersweet Cravings

Warning: this fic contains possesion, alot of killing, oh also some saucy moments

Sauce Warning - Sauceless

Chapter 4: Beneath You

Flakes sat on the desk in the trophy room still in disbelief about the situation they were in. They looked up seeing Jack sitting on his chair with a smug grin as he looked down at them. They would be furious right now if it werent for the fact they still in shock.

"S-so what?! Im now like some sort of property to you?!" They managed to finally speak up.

"Well i wouldn't say property but more as my living trophy! It's not often you see a shapeshifter!" He placed his palm under his chin still observing them, amused by their reactions and expressions as he usually saw the quiet and calm side of Flakes.

"Yeah cuz most of us are dead! While half of us still alive ones are hiding away from any civilization! Of course we're not oftenly seen!" They yelled only to receive a chuckle.

"And yet here's one right in front of me! Say can you tell me if all shapeshifters are this small? Or is it just you?" He teased and received a glare.

He was like a child who had just gotten a toy they had wanted for a long time. He was excited, amused and fascinated in this moment.

"C-can you please take this seriously for a second?! Why capture me? Why didn't you kill me like every other shapeshifters faith? How did you even find out i was a shapeshifter in the fist place-" They were cut off rudely by Jack pressing their lips together to shut them up.

He seem agitated but somehow still had a smile on his face.

"You talk too much for someone who's under my control..." He chuckled before letting go. "But I'm in a good mood so ill answer your questions! It's the least i can do after capturing you! Now first of all i didn't kill you because i would prefer you alive, just the mere sight of you makes people's skin crawl and i love that scare factor you give on others. Not only that but your shape-shifting abilities would be some use to me, sure i have a lot of men under my control but their power is ehhh... its not the best! But you on the other hand? Ohoho you're a killing machine!"

"Please don't call me that..." Flakes cringed a bit.

"And about me finding out you were a shapeshifter? Well it wasn't hard to find out! I had a book about all sorts of magical entities and after studying about your kind it was only a matter of observing you closely! Also you were pretty gullible and clumsy enough to believe all the things i say to get your little ewrs twitching!" He grinned.

Flakes pouted and touched their ears in embarrassment.

"Stupid ears..." They muttered.

"Oh also crystal ball! It was easy to track you down with it once i found you suspicious!" He held the ball proudly in his hands that showed an image of Flakes in the moment.

Flakes covered their body immediately after hearing this, feeling an immediate lack of privacy as their face went red in embarrassment.

"I think i saw you shapeshift at least 3 or 4 times this week? Also you have a lot of splotch marks on your furless skin!" He quietly laughed watching their facial expression of horror as they felt violated.

He's seen them nude?! They thought in panic and shock.

"I-im sorry- I- You stalked me?!" They barked.

"Well of course! How else was i supposed to be extra sure you were a shapeshifter?" He snickered as he got up to set the crystal ball away on his bookshelf of other magical items.

Flakes was fully enraged as they let out a growl and tried to pounce towards him to scratch him on his face only for him to move out the way quickly, making them slam face first onto the shelves instead.

"O-owww!!!" They whimpered holding onto their nose as they fell to the floor in pain, checking if their nose was broken or bleeding after the impact. Only for their arm to be grabbed harshly and pulled towards Jack's face in an intimidating matter.

"Well someone's being a bit feisty now huh?" He gripped tighter making Flakes let out a inhuman cry in pain. "I'd break your arm or throw you against the wall right now... but as i said i need you alive and whole..."

With that he lets go, dropping them to the floor. Flakes scooched away, trembling in fear and pain as they rubbed their arm in agony. Jack's eyes looked at the pained expression on their face before looking at their collar that seemed to shake a bit making him sigh and bend down to pick them up genty and set them on his chair for them to be comfortable. He caressed their cheek while a look disgust formed on his face as he did so.

"I didn't hurt you too much did i?" His voice was soft and gentle...

Flakes looked at him and frowned, they could see right through him, his lies and his acts... but despite everything they were still were an idiot in love... letting him pretend just to feel something.

"Im fine... you didn't break my bones, don't worry..." They responded with a sigh.

"Good... i wouldn't want to break you so quickly..." He checked their arm for a quick second for any bruises or damages before pulling away and opening his drawer to dig through and look for something.

"What are you doing now?" They asked anxiously.

" About your claws... since you tried to scratch me..." He glared at them for a while before looking back in the drawer.

Flakes looked at them worried and held their own hands and poked at their own nails.

"W-what about them?" They frowned.

"Well i don't want you getting any other ideas again..." He pulled out a pair of nail clippers and put his hand out, asking for their hand.

Flakes frowned more as they looked at his hand. They've always loved their claws and made sure to maintain them but now they were being taken away.

"B-but-" They wanted to complain but was cut off once again.

"You tried to scratch me didn't you? This is your punishment... maybe in time when they grow back I'll let you keep them... But as of now i need them off..." He looked at them sternly.

Flakes paused but nodded in sadness as they hesitantly placed their hand on his. Jack smiled and gently pressed his thumb on their knuckles and massaged them as if trying to soothe them while he started to trim down their once sharp nails. However it wasn't helping much as they watched their nails get clipped one by one they couldn't help but let out whines and whimpers as a few tears brimmed out their eyes. It felt like their dignity was being taken away. Jack noticed and let out an annoyed sigh so he wiped their tears off with his stained thumb.

"Shhhh it's okay. They'll grow back anyways okay? What do i have to do to rid of this negativity you feel right now?" He was forced to do something to make them feel better or else their capture would be all for nothing... he didn't admit it but he did keep the man's words in mind.

Flakes seemed upset still and didn't know how to respond so Jack groaned as he decided to think of something by himself. So he cups their cheeks and pets them in hopes that would soothe them even just a bit. It seemed to have work cause they finally stopped whimpering and started cooing in his hold, their ears twitching happily in his touch. Jack couldn't help but look away in disgust as he continued petting them.

"T-that feels nice..." They cooed softly.

"Yeah yeah you better be enjoying it you lil freak..." He then finally let's go and dusts his hands on his suit. "Feel better?"

"Uh... yeah i guess..." Flakes blushed, a bit surprised from the petting as they touched their own cheeks.

"Good. Now that you seem calm we can finally talk about what's next for you!" He held them by the scruff to make them sit on his desk so he could go back to his seat.

"W-what? What do you mean?" They asked genuinely confused.

"Patience! Let me talk for a minute here! You already did alot of talking in the past few minutes!" He growled a bit but continued. "Now you're gonna live with me for now on!" He was cut off making him pout in annoyance.

"What?! Why?!" They got their lips pressed shut again by his fingers.

"Cmon can't you be quiet for a second here and let me finish?!" He yelled making Flakes finally go quiet as he lets go of their lips. "Thank you! Ugh! Now as i was saying! You're living with me for now on so no other hunter decides to hunt you down! Since a part of your true form is exposed you could become an easy target for them! Since aparently your species is that terrifying to the point that everyone wants to kill you!" He laughed a bit in disbelief. "I personally don't see why!"

Flakes raised their hand wanting to ask a question which Jack rolled his eyes to.

"What now?" He groaned

"Why not just let me use my human form completely?" They asked straight forward not wanting to agitate Jack any more.

"Well i done want people thinking i just have some low life human next to me! I want them to know i have a rare powerful magical beast! Its bragging rights! And even if you kept your human form I'm pretty sure you already exposed your identity to the rest of the bakers out there!" He chuckled as Flakes frowned as if the realization just dawned on them. "Now i also don't feel like having to look through my crystal ball all the time just to see what you're up to! So to make it easier for me you'll be living with me! And don't worry about your stuff i already got my other servants to go get them for me!"

Once again Flakes raised their hand.

"You can talk now! Im done!" He groaned once more as he rubbed the brdige of his nose.

"Okay so uh- I'm not gonna ask about the whole sending your servants to get my stuff bizz since you already explained about the creepy stalking me thing. S-so i just got one question and that's... what makes you think I'll even stay with you at your place?!" They glared at him waiting for a response.

"Well you don't really have a choice! Unless you want to choke yourself with your collar be my guest!" He chuckled.

"Fuck..." Is all they could say.

"Also you clearly like the idea of staying with me anyways since your ears are twitching." He grinned wide.

"DAMN EARS!!!"

To Be Continue

[box-architecture]

Jet is in the really weird position of only 'technically' being a hybrid. The only hybrid feature Jet displays is the slight point of their ears. Their parent had been a fairy like Hannah, but genetics are a roll of the dice, and Jet otherwise passes as an ordinary human to most.

Unfortunately, hybrid hunters don't really see it that way.

Sam and Punz end up destroying a pillager base that was used as part of transport for hybrid hunters, and while most of the people there were able to be returned to some sort of family or community, Jet was alone, clinging to Sam's flank that made Punz's throat close painfully.

Dream wakes up, creeper cubs cuddled into his side, rabbit girl curled up by his head, to the sounds of Punz and Sam rummaging through the cupboards trying to figure out what Jet can eat. He feels like he should be more surprised than he is.

Jet spends two weeks in Sam's shadow, following him around and scooting away anxiously when the cubs get too close, too curious. Sam is perfectly happy to cuddle his Treasure and show them his Redstone and set them in his lap while he works!!! But when they manage to build a temporary room for Jet and tuck her in for the night, he frets and worries over how the other kids are feeling about this new addition, how his partners feel, will Jet ever become comfortable with Dream and their kids? Will they have to find someone else to take care of him?

All the uncertainty eats him up until Punz is drawing the curtains around their bed into a makeshift box and holding Sam to keep his anxiety from becoming a full blown panic attack.

Dream quietly tells Honeydew that Daddy was too tired to read her a story for bedtime, and offers his own stories instead, and that is when Honeydew huffs and decides she's had quite enough of all of this nonsense. She gave her newest sibling two weeks to come to her, been very good and didn't overwhelm them like Father asked, and now she was going to take over. Clearly they didn't understand the importance of bedtime stories, if they were tiring Daddy out so much.

Jet ends up being pulled outside by Honeydew the next morning, who leads them and two curious creeper cubs to the field just outside the house, sits them down, and demands they all make flower crowns. The creeper cubs are like 3 and so all they really do is roll around in dandelions (Lute) and sneeze from pollen until they get tired and fall asleep (Joy.) So that leaves Honeydew being very bossy and over explanatory to the most bewildered Jet about how flower crowns work and which dad was which and how bedtimes worked and why Jet needed to stop being so skittish because how were they supposed to play games when Jet wouldn't even look at her??? Honestly.

She demands Jet ask questions and tells them the Rules-

("you can't ask Papa to pick you up if it's a bad pain day. That's rude. And you can't wake up Joy and Lute during their nap times. That's also rude.")

-and makes a shooing motion at Dream when he comes out to see how they're doing. He makes a face. She makes a face back. This goes on for a minute while Jet watches, and Dream becomes significantly less scary.

"Why does he look like that?" Jet asks quietly when Dream goes back inside. Their eyes linger on the grooves deep in his skin, all the way up his arm and neck. Honeydew blinks.

"He got captured. Uncle Techno rescued him." She nods very seriously. "He told me so. He saved him from a bad place, like Daddy and Father saved you. So you can't be rude about it, okay?"

And this makes sense to them both because they're like 10 at most and when Honeydew eventually marches inside with Jet in tow, announcing that Jet wants spaghetti, Jet fidgets and sits by Dream at the dinner table instead of Sam.

"Hi." Jet whispers.

"Hi." Dream whispers back.

"Can I have some?"

"Sure."

And they work their way from there.

Jet ends up losing a lot of their anxiety as they get older and settles on being quiet but calm and introspective. They still have fears and worries, but they're a lot less palpable than Joy's. It helps a lot that Jet doesn't desire to impress so much as they want to just have a nice home, run a good business, make beautiful things. They're not looking to change the world in the way their other siblings crave

Random note: Jet becomes a mannequin more than once because child Honeydew likes to place dress up, and Jet, who hasn't yet discovered their love of colors and textiles, will often critique what they're being dressed with, while Honeydew nods accordingly and changes it up to match what they're saying. Lute is climbing into the jewelry chest because Pretty Shiny and Joy is looking at picture books on the bed while occasionally being draped in fabrics

[fanfic-recs-01]

Shigaraki/Natsuo Fics

This is just a list of all the Tomura Shigaraki/Natsuo Todoroki fics I like on AO3, if you have any recs for me feel free to send me some!

Updated 12/18/23

Second to None by Haunted_Frost

~Natsuo is well aware that he is second to none. He's next to nothing in his father's eyes, (or in Touya's, once upon a time.) and he hasn't seen his mother in years. Fuyumi is too focused on her fantasy of a normal family, and Shouto is practically a stranger to him.

So when he's almost-nobody, no one bats an eye when he does his work-study at the Lamorak Clinic, a neutral clinic for heroes, vigilantes, and even villains. No one even notices when the League of Villains practically adopt him as their personal doctor.~

Know I've Done Some Bad Things, But I Don't Deserve This by burnthebodiesandbedonewithit (burnallthebodiesandbedonewithit)

~There's a new member of the League, and it's...Natsuo Todoroki??~

Everything I Never Told You by juurensha

~Tenko doesn’t have a set schedule for when he’ll swing by the clinic, but he does tend to appear every two weeks or so, and even if the other boy doesn’t talk much, Natsuo is patient and tries to draw him out. As time goes by, he seems to relax with the realization that Natsuo really isn’t going to send the police after him—he listens and adds caustic remarks, and Natsuo finds himself confiding in him all the ugly things he can’t talk about with anyone else.~

Of Humans, Healers, and Monsters by Alexdoesthings

~Tomura Shigaraki was easier to talk to than almost anyone in Natsuo’s life. This was normal and not reason for concern, panic, or internal crisis. Or so Natsuo liked to tell himself.

That's what he got for dragging the guy home and stitching him up on his couch.~

Four Times Natsuo Helped Tomura, And One Time Tomura Helped Natsuo by LifeOfMystery

~“My name’s Natsuo, by the way. I’m glad to be of service, but I really should be going.” The man flushes, a pink haze spreading over his cheeks. “If I’m gone for too long, my bosses will kill me.”

“But,” the man taps at the number in Tomura’s hand. “I’m always here. Never withheld medical attention from those in need, that’s my motto! I really should go though…”~

i’ll take a quiet life by Anonymous

~Just as he was sure he was about to slip into unconsciousness one way or another, he caught the faint sound of footsteps trailing towards him in the distance. Once they reached him, he didn’t struggle as he was bundled into someone’s arms with what seemed like practiced ease.~

Bury Me Six Feet In Snow by cas_sius

~After a couple weeks Natsuo’s a regular at the League base. He plays video games with Tomura and Spinner on Friday nights. He starts sneaking Toga a bag of blood from the teaching hospital when there’s extra. Mr. Compress even invites him to his magic shows. He plays dress up with Eri and puts her on his shoulder and spins around. She tells him about how happy she is here with her ‘big siblings’. Everybody complains about shitty fathers together. The only League member who seems to hate his guts is Dabi.~

Safe and Warm by Anonymous

~Ever since the heroes captured All for One and Kurogiri, Shigaraki has been lost. So really, it shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that amid all this chaos, he forgot to take his heat suppressants. What’s more surprising, however, is for him to meet a stranger who’s more interested in helping him than taking advantage of the situation.~

Repeating Patterns by Kairin16 

~Natsuo just wants to be independent from his father's money and if it takes working for villains, so be it.~

New Friends in Unexpected Places by crowstakeflight (skyrxca) 

~Natsuo has a run in with some injured League members that leads to him going back to their hideout and meeting the big boss.~

Local Villain Turns Out To Be Long Lost Sibling, Gets Hit In The Face By A Shoe by timefire25 

~Or, Shouto has the theory that Dabi is Endeavor's illegimate child and ends up being (mostly) (sort of) right~

we will dream of the sea by crumbsfiction

~It’s a mechanism of self-defense, after all - trying so hard to be liked. If he can gain Tomura’s approval, if he can prove himself to this group, Natsuo will be fine. It will all have been worth it, dragging his name through the mud in search of a ghost.Besides, watching Tomura comes easily - in fact, Natsuo barely has to think about it at all.~

夏の死 (death of summer) by kae_karo

~“Shmigaraki.”

“Touya…”

“His name is Shmigaraki.” Natsuo blinks at Touya - Dabi, but he’ll always be Touya to him - standing in the doorway. Behind him stands Shigaraki Tomura, head of the League of Villains, with the hood of a black sweatshirt pulled down over his face. Touya tilts his head.“He bears a striking resemblance to a particular villain…”~

Lingering by thyandra

~Tomura has Natsuo as his lockscreen. Natsuo finds out.~

Dish Duty by Library_of_Gage

~"Dish duty." 

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" 

"You had dish duty Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," Natsuo says, suddenly feeling a new kind of indignation rise in him- the kind that can only come when one sibling has inconvenienced another. 

"We thought you were dead for ten years, but you weren't. So you've been skipping your dish duty for ten years. Three days a week, fifty-two weeks in a year. Do you know how many you have to make up for?"~

Denny's Hits Different At 3 Am by Tigers1o1

~Natsuo is a tired med student. All he wanted was a break from studying at 3 am. And some coffee. And waffles. He ends up getting into and argument with a total stranger, who just so happens to be one Tomura Shigaraki, not that Natsuo realizes that at first.~

A Song to Come Home to by Vhaenya

~Dabi had been counting to being sent to Tartarus to break out the estranged members of The League of Villains that would jump start his final plan. However, he doesn't count on fate to not be on his side and is instead sent to Musutafu Private Psychiatric Hospital... exactly where his mother, Rei, is at.~

Shigaraki Tomura’s Walkthrough to Infiltrating a University, Getting a Boyfriend, and More by JajaLala

~In order to recruit Dr. Ujiko Daruma, his Sensei's old doctor who fled after his arrest, Shigaraki must infiltrate the university the doctor is now working at. Problem is, even when he and some League members enroll as students, they discover it's almost impossible to meet the doctor unless you're enrolled in his advanced seminar.

Fortunately, Shigaraki meets Natsuo, a premed in Dr. Ujiko's seminar, whose trust he must earn to meet the elusive doctor. However, the two of them might have more in common than Shigaraki expects...~

I'm Not Dead (I Only Dress That Way) by nocturnalgf

~Otherwise known as "How to Come to Terms With Your Little Brother Dating The Most Wanted Villain in Japan." A guide by Dabi.~

in a dream, my love by Shadowtravelingtitans

~The one where Natsuo finds his dead brother, saves his soulmate, and gets the band (his family) back together.~

'Tis But A Flesh Wound! by Storms_and_Oceans

~Basically, Natsuo finds Shigaraki who has a gunshot wound and Natsuo basically treats his wound~

Stay by korro

~Tomura Shigaraki feels his head spin, body sore and bruised. He can't remember how he got here, but there's an infuriatingly concerned voice asking him if he's okay, like they don’t know one day they will die. That big heart is a target for any villain. That’s just the way things have to go; according to Shigaraki’s plan.~

Accidental Hero by Emerald_Queeny

~After the League gets on Shigaraki's nerves he leaves and promptly gets lost, just to run into three people trying to rob a strange white haired man. He reluctantly saves him and yeah, that's the fic.~

Trick and Treat by aphrodaisyacs

~When Tomura anonymously crashes a Halloween Party hosted by some uni kids in search of free food and booze, the last person he expects to encounter is the son of the current Number One Hero. Clearly, the best way to take advantage of this is to seduce Todoroki Natsuo.~

saudade by mirotic_chess

~Natsuo never expected his boyfriend to be a villain. Shigaraki never expected to miss someone so much. Funny how love mercilessly crushed expectations.~

it's been a long day without you by BlueFrogs

~In which Natsuo, not Rei, experienced a mental breakdown at the hands of Endeavor’s abuse. How he and his family deal with the aftermath, and how Dabi comes into play.~

[giftfromblythe]

Magic

There’s something in these moments

That makes me feel alive

A nameless emotion

That fear cannot survive

Within the synergy of motion

And light’s gentle touch

The silence before the torrent

The breath before the plunge

And if I were to name it,

Would that tear away the veil,

Or would it rob the magic

From this beloved tale?

This poem is particularly special to me because it is about mental illness even though it might not seem like it is initially.

I’ve written a lot on this blog about the times I used hope to pull myself through some very difficult experiences, but I haven’t talked as much about where that hope comes from.

Most often?  I find it comes from single, simple moments.  The sort of thing that makes you gasp in awe or cry in joy—something so beautiful or so personal to you that it makes you feel completely and utterly whole in ways you never feel otherwise.  I live for those moments.

Now wait, Blythe, you might say, isn’t that a bit cliché?  How could something so simple, so comparatively small, outweigh all the absolutely terrible stuff your head dumps on you like clockwork?  Isn’t it inauthentic to claim it could make such a big difference?  Doesn’t it sound too much like the load of nonsense that some well-meaning but especially clueless people who have no idea what mental illness is actually like try to tell you will cure you?

Well, you wouldn’t be saying anything my brain hasn’t tried before (and probably will again, it’s stubborn that way), and I’ll tell you what I tell it then:

It absolutely does make that big a difference.  Just…not in the way those people who tout positive thinking as a panacea for all woes seem to think it does.  It’s not a matter of willpower or forcing ourselves to think a particular way right this instant and then never having a panic attack or a bout of suicidal ideation ever again.  It’s much subtler and requires just…remembering how those moments make you feel.  That feeling of magic and overwhelming wonder—you don’t even have to know what it is specifically, it just has to be something special to you.  Nothing elaborate, just something you can call to mind in an instant, that’s how memorable it was.

What it does is remind your brain that it can feel happy.  That this pit you’re in isn’t how it’s always been, and therefore not how it’s always going to be.

It doesn’t take the pain away or the challenge of working through that pain until you’ve reached a point where you don’t have to simply endure it anymore, but it does make it easier to hope.

And really, that’s the main thing that keeps you going: hope.

This poem is an attempt to put those moments of, well, magic in perspective: that your fear and pain don’t survive in the face of something that is ultimately beyond those things, something so pure and good and nigh-on incomprehensible that your mental illness can’t rationalize it away as something less than it is.  For me, I often find those moments in nature.  I’ll tear up from watching a hummingbird (so tiny, how can it exist and be so fast) going from flower to flower.  I’ll be breathless looking out over a bluff as the sun sets.  I’ll stop and stare at the moon coming up over the horizon.  Sometimes it comes from people or man-made places too—back before my crisis of faith, when I went to church, there was a moment where everyone was singing and I felt like I could fly with how beautiful it was.  Even though the context means something very different to me now, the beauty of the moment has stuck with me.  It’s these sort of inexplicably moving events that I call back on when I need to remind myself of the good that is still in the world, and that’s what I tried to capture in the poem.

Thanks for reading and I hope you got something out of this post that you can use when you’re struggling.  As always, take care, listen well, and share your stories.

—Blythe

[freshmanyearhistoryteacher]

hello! i have a request!

-nsfw

-latin teacher

-he praises her?? something like that!

it is a brown teacher, so could you please make it obvious that he isnt white but brown? thank you!!!

It isn't finished or well written im sorry.. But i have had this done for AGES and thought i might just post it.

Word count: 1, 318 

Warning, contains: 

- NOT FULL SEX, JUST A KISS. 

No penetration (he touches her) 

Excursion (public bathroom) 

The bookshelves lining every inch of the library creaked with old wooden bones and bent to the heavy weight of thousands of pages pressing down on each shelf. They towered so high it was impossible to reach past the first four shelves let alone the top seventh or eighth. Students were shuffling through the aisles of books, some mid conversation as they slid their winter coats off arm by arm and threw it onto the ring of desks set up in the centre of the building. Sme others walked silently, observing the stain glass windows and leaves that fluttered past the doors on either side in the wind as they made their way to sit alone. The last student to walk in earns a subtle look from the teacher which warmed “don’t fall behind, I expect book saviour from everyone today’. She assumed it would be stressful, taking a bunch of nearly graduated students out for the soul purpose of construction that had rendered their normal classroom unusable. She wondered how frustrating it would be to have to work from library while the rest of your coworkers and office remained at the school. She ducked her head down in submission and he stalked across the library in half as many paces at it took her shorter legs. He stood over her by nearly an entire for and permanently wore dark shirts which brought the rich tones in his dark skin to life. She thought he was beautiful, the way his mouth moved when he talked captured her every waking thought. 

“Take a seat place,” he said quietly to her before clapping loudly and beginning the class. Mostly, it was a boring repeat of the information they had received from the last week of lessons followed by the instruction to finish any remaining work before you are free to explore the library and read for the rest of the day. The girl, now sat with bare legs rubbing on the harsh fabric of the chair, sat tapping her pen on the table. She had finished all of the work, in fact, she had never had homework or study to do for the class. Some may have called it a deep need to please and impress the teacher who was now infant of her sorting through a file yet somehow making it attractive, and others may call it a dedication and good work ethic… who could really know anyway?

She waited, checking her phone below the desk and lushing as she watched the teacher lounge behind a desk dragged to the front of the ring. Occasionally, his eyes flickered to her lack of writing and paper only to catch her already glancing his direction and desperately attempting to hide it behind blushing panic. He smirked, though he turned away each time and she was nearly sure he was trying to hide the amusement his power over her brought him. It annoyed her, how easily he could see through her at times. How simple it was for him to come up to her and call her out for not working and staring at his desk the entire class. How perfectly normal it had seemed to him when they had nearly kissed on four seperate occasionally all because she had asked questions after class to spend more time with him. Each time, she had cowered away and he had straightened the bag strap on his shoulder before briskly walking away through the halls of the school. Now though, they weren’t at school… and it bloomed a certain confidence in her that terrified every rational part of her brain. She wondered if he had the same desperate thoughts about her. 

She sat there, legs bouncing, lip sucked between her softly biting teeth, as she imagined for the thousandth time how his hands would feel on her body. How big his figure would be in comparison to her when they were so close to each other. She could feel his hot breath against her neck, the pants as he whispered in her ear, how good it would feel it he reached between her.. 

She snapped out of her thoughts to see him standing infant of her desk, arms crossed in faint amusement. “No work today, hm?” He asked.

And then he slid a scrap of paper onto her desk with a few taps on the table and a poorly hidden scramble away. 

“Wait after class” 

—— 

The hour of class had felt like forever. She could have, amidst her curiosity and downright panic, sworn the clock hanging on a far wall laughed at her. But the rest of the class, for the most part, did filter out over time until she was sat at her desk alone facing him. He seemed to be distracting himself with a pile of books on a cart abandoned to the side by an exasperated and exhausted librarian who had given up at the sight of how many high school students had decimated her shelves. 

“Do you like romance?” She nervously bubbled up at him at a volume that drew the attention of the few others around. He swallowed harshly and toyed with the edge of his shirt before walking towards her and beckoning her to follow. She was terrified, nearly physically shaking as she followed him. Her arms wrapped around her midsection to keep the nerves from exposing themselves. 

He grabbed her arm before she had a changce to react and it was like her world fell apart. She wanted to scream, smile, cry, and let his thouch consume her entirely. Then he all but yanked her into the disabled toilet she had missed. She had missed the shocked mother standing at the end of the line of shelves too until the last second she had before the toilet door slammed behind them. 

Shelet out a yelp as he flicked the lock and ran a frustrated hand through his hair, clearly agitated by something. 

“Are you ok?” she whispered. “What are we-“ 

“You can’t do this to me anymore,” he growled as he stopped his ranting movement and faced the wall away  from her. His shoulders were visibly tense and she wanted to reach out, sooth him, help in every way she could. 

“Do what?” She took a hesitant step towards him. He laughed in a sort of half bitter, half shocked way and turned to face her. His cheeks were flushed deep rose compared to the normal collected dark completion she was so used to. 

“You know what you do. The way you stay later to ask questions. The way you lean over the desk with that shirt,” his eyes dipped momentarily and he swore under his breath. “We aren’t allowed to do anything. You are my student and I am your teacher.” Then he kissed her. 

She had never been so confused and so turned on in a single second. She had no idea what he was talking about. Sure, she had asked questions to talk to him for just a moment longer after each class and she leant forward to him when they spoke but it was just something deep inside of her that longed to be closer. She hadn’t realised her shirt… 

His breath was hot with temptation when he pulled away. The kiss was rough but peacefully unforgiving. He was panting softly, eyes deep with thought but mouth fixed in a small smile. She reached up and held the wrists of his hands which were pressed on either side of her face. 

“Didn’t you just say-“ say said looking down to hide how violently red her face had become. 

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

EVANESCENCE's AMY LEE Joins BUSH On Stage In Nashville

EVANESCENCE's Amy Lee joined BUSH on stage last night (Monday, February 20) at the Ryman Auditorium in Nashville, Tennessee to perform the song "1000 Years". Video and photos of her appearance can be seen below.

Earlier today (Tuesday, February 21),BUSH frontman Gavin Rossdale shared a few photos from last night's gig, and he included the following message: "well that was a blast.what a magical night.thankyou @amylee you elevated us to new galaxies.what a thrill. @officiallzzyhale @thejoestorm @officialnickraskulinecz always great to see you thanks for great energy and photos and love . so happy to see and hang with you xxx".

"1000 Years" is taken from BUSH's latest album, "The Art Of Survival", which was released last year. The LP encompasses the resiliency of the human spirit in the face of trial and tribulations as the band's own enduring place as rock outliers. Songs such as "Kiss Me I'm Dead" and "Gun Fight" represent the horrors that's going on in this country, while "Identity", "Shark Bite" and "Creatures of The Fire" capture the strength of people during these dark times. BUSH's euphoric rock revelation "Heavy Is The Ocean" encourages love and recognizes the bravery behind freely expressing your feelings.

Forging ahead once more, BUSH wrote and recorded what would become "The Art of Survival" during 2022, reteaming with Erik Ron (PANIC! AT THE DISCO, GODSMACK) who produced "Flowers On A Grave" and the title track for the group's previous album, "The Kingdom" (2020),and collaborating once again on two tracks with film composer, musician, and producer Tyler Bates ("300", "Guardian Of The Galaxy").

Last month, Rossdale told Alternative Press about what keeps him and his bandmates still so hungry to progress time and time again: "I guess we're just still in love with music enough to be inspired. I'm really lucky to have such an amazing band of fantastic musicians that can execute well and are super consistent. It's really unusual to have a band, management, and people that are still so hungry for the same thing to happen. There is also a reality there where we have a sort of humility where, yeah, things are great, but I always consider it a beautiful fistfight. I made [the 2017 album] 'Black And White Rainbows' at a really difficult time in my life, and after I picked up the pieces and made less-bruised music, I thought, 'Fuck it, let's just take it to people.'"

Regarding the heavier sound of "The Art of Survival" compared to earlier BUSH releases, Gavin said: "For me personally, it came from the ashes of the time around 'Black And White Rainbows' and my divorce. When you rise up after that terrible time, you gather yourself up and [push on]. When I would get up [in the morning], I would put my guitar in a drop tuning and just experiment. I noticed that I much more favor the detuned songs from all of the records to create set lists, especially for festivals. I wanted to do a whole record like that with super-heavy songs with nice melodies on top. I like progressive-sounding music with cool riffs like MASTADON — I love that sound. It feels good and feels vital to be doing that because if you're gonna work out, why not be an MMA fighter? It’s the music of MMA fighting. [Laughs]"

[starseedfxofficial]

Uncover the Hidden Power of the Chande Momentum Oscillator in Mean Reversion Trading can sometimes feel like navigating a bad sitcom—a comedy of errors where the price moves up right after you sell, and down as soon as you buy. One second you think you’re starring in a financial blockbuster, and the next, it’s more like a cringeworthy spin-off. But don’t worry—we’re about to give you the secret script to steal the show: the Chande Momentum Oscillator paired with mean reversion strategies. Let’s get into why this seemingly mysterious combo can be your star-making moment. Why Most Traders Misunderstand Mean Reversion (And How You Can Avoid It) Imagine this: you're hiking uphill and feeling the burn. Every muscle is screaming at you to just stop. That, my friend, is what market price movements feel like at extremes—they've gone too far, too fast, and the market needs a breather. That’s mean reversion at work. It’s essentially the price catching its breath, returning to the mean, and offering traders like us a golden opportunity. The problem? Most traders mistake mean reversion for a permanent change in trend. They think the market has decided it’s finally done climbing or tumbling forever, which is almost never the case. The Chande Momentum Oscillator (CMO) is the trusty guide that helps you read the market’s true exhaustion signals. Think of it as your fitness coach for those extreme price hikes, telling you when the market needs to stretch and relax before the next sprint. Chande Momentum Oscillator: The Hidden Formula Only Experts Use So what’s the big deal with the Chande Momentum Oscillator anyway? Isn’t it just another fancy indicator? Here’s where it gets interesting. Unlike many other oscillators that use only past price changes, CMO captures both the speed and direction of recent moves, giving you insights into just how much the market's overstretched itself—sort of like spotting that friend who always brags about their fitness streak before face-planting on the track. Knowing when to enter a trade during these emotional market moments can set you apart from the masses. The secret sauce of mean reversion trading using the CMO is recognizing when this oscillator hits extreme levels. If the CMO hits over +50 or under -50, it’s time to put on your contrarian hat. This suggests that a reversal might just be on the horizon—the market’s pumped out, breathing heavy, and likely to turn back to the mean. A Real-World Example: When Markets Get a Reality Check Let’s paint a real-world scenario. Imagine the EUR/USD pair is shooting up like a toddler that’s just had way too much candy. Prices are zooming past daily highs, everyone’s jumping on the FOMO train, and all indicators are screaming "BUY NOW OR MISS OUT." But you’ve got a trick up your sleeve—the CMO is at +60, signaling the market might have gone too far. Instead of joining the bandwagon, you get ready for the reversion trade. You set up a mean reversion strategy: patiently waiting for signs of exhaustion, and placing your sell order once things start to cool down. You look like the patient genius while others look…well, a bit like they’ve got buyer’s remorse. The market cools off, EUR/USD falls back to a normal level, and you bank the profit. The Hidden Patterns That Drive the Market Here’s the part most people overlook—the CMO isn’t just about identifying overbought or oversold conditions; it’s about catching market emotion. Picture the oscillator as a thermometer for traders’ emotions. Above +50, the market’s all heat and excitement, with everyone piling into a trade. Below -50, it’s cold feet all around. Recognizing this can give you a massive edge, allowing you to buy into panic and sell into euphoria—a game-changing mindset shift. And here’s where mean reversion enters: rather than simply buying high and selling higher, mean reversion with CMO helps you profit from when the market’s buzz finally fizzles out and takes a breather. Just like that pair of flashy sneakers you bought on sale—the ones you never really wore—sometimes it’s all hype, no lasting trend. Ninja Tactics for Chande Momentum Oscillator and Mean Reversion Time for some pro tips! You want to combine CMO signals with price action for maximum accuracy. For instance, if you notice a clear support or resistance level aligning with an extreme CMO reading, that’s like hitting the jackpot—a double confirmation for a mean reversion trade. But don’t forget to keep an eye on volume—a fading volume alongside high CMO readings is usually the market whispering, "Hey, we’re running out of steam here." Another nifty trick is to use multiple timeframes. If you’re seeing extreme CMO readings on the daily chart, zoom into the hourly chart to time your entry. This way, you’re not blindly diving in—you’re precisely timing the market’s tired legs, like catching that one moment when your favorite marathon runner’s about to break for water. Why This Mean Reversion Combo Is Next-Level Genius You might be thinking: "Can’t I just use RSI for this?" Sure, RSI has its place—like those basic running shoes. But the Chande Momentum Oscillator is like a high-tech, cushioned running sneaker designed for serious athletes. It measures both upward and downward price momentum, capturing the market’s emotional rollercoaster with precision. It also tends to be more responsive to market changes than RSI, meaning you get the signal faster and more effectively. This agility can be the difference between landing a profitable mean reversion or just feeling the whiplash from yet another failed attempt. Common Pitfalls and How to Outsmart the Market Pros Remember when you accidentally hit "sell" instead of "buy"? No? Just me? Anyway, let’s talk about how to avoid the biggest mean reversion pitfalls. - Ignoring Trends: Mean reversion strategies work best in ranging markets, not in strong trends. If the market is trending hard, you’re better off surfing that wave than trying to swim against it. - Lack of Confirmation: Always seek a secondary signal before diving in—whether it’s a volume drop, support/resistance level, or candlestick reversal pattern. Confirmation is like checking if there’s enough gas in your car before a road trip—you don’t want to be left stranded. How to Predict Market Moves with Precision Precision comes from understanding both the timing and emotion behind market moves. Use CMO to identify extremes, confirm them with additional indicators or support levels, and execute with discipline. It’s like threading a needle—patience and precision are key, and once you find your rhythm, it becomes surprisingly effective. The One Simple Trick to Change Your Trading Mindset Here’s the thing—if you always feel like you’re late to the game, it might be because you’re relying on the wrong tools or not recognizing the emotional cycles of the market. Using the Chande Momentum Oscillator for mean reversion is all about realizing when the crowd is too excited or too fearful—and using that to your advantage. As the saying goes, the best trades are the ones you take when everyone else thinks you’re crazy. CMO helps you recognize those exact moments—so you can jump in, cash out, and be the contrarian legend your friends will talk about. Wrapping It Up: Takeaways to Trade Like a Pro To truly master mean reversion with Chande Momentum Oscillator, remember to: - Use CMO to spot market extremes. - Combine it with price action for accurate entries. - Monitor volume to avoid fakeouts. - Employ multiple timeframes for sniper-like entries. Trading isn’t always about making groundbreaking moves—sometimes, it’s about mastering the basics and doing the exact opposite of what the masses are doing. CMO plus mean reversion? That’s your unfair advantage. Now go on, and let those other traders chase the market while you profit from its cooling-off moments. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

[littleroaes]

do you want somebody? (like I want somebody), l.jy

inspired by newjeans, ditto

Y/n watch the world through a grainy display. Interact and touch it without emotions attached. And as she goes through her coming of age as a third person, Juyeon, a new student, takes interest in her own corner of this vast Earth. The boy sees past her difficulties with the world he loves, as he decides to win her heart either way. Instead of words, he pass notes onto her locker, draws on chalkboards and read Opera Omnia in the strangest corners of the school. The feeling she can't quite grasp, she tries to convey it in an unconventional sort of way.

PAIRING ⏵ ( 3rd pov, she/ her ) juyeon x fem!reader

GENRE ⏵ fluff, soft angst, high school!au, autumn setting, takes place in the 90s(90s!au ?), mutual pining, quoting juyeon; "isn't it true love if you can love just because of their existence?", strangers to pining to lovers, classmates to lovers, makoto shinkai and studio ghibli type of love <3, juyeon is sweet caring and every cell is made out of love!!!!

WARNINGS ⏵ none major, y/n has a panic attack but its not detailed, proofread twice but probably something i missed!

WORD COUNT ⏵ 15.6 k

It is finally here!! Despite only being a month(even less counting with my request), it feels like forever since I uploaded a fic. It has been recorded as the hottest summer since(idk how many years), so we'll have to pretend it's sweater weather.

PLAYLIST Spotify version

TAGGING @blue-rainydays (you rly dont have to read it if you dont feel like it

like and reblog are highly encouraged!

HE HOLDS THE BASKETBALL WITH GRAY SPOTS AND WORN OFF COLOR BETWEEN HIS PALMS.

The moment it lands in his hands, he looks up the boring white wall. Juyeon stands still even when the wind brushes past his hair and his classmates bicker over who won this round. Up in a single window on the fourth floor stands a girl. Her back is before the schoolyard and her own front is directed at the hidden classroom. Though, he sees how she does a slight turn around the room as if following something, and in her hands is a camcorder. 

The guys quieten and look over at Juyeon with hands in their pockets. Once again, she holds the camcorder with two hands, slowly letting the lens pan the room. Juyeon listens as shoes scrape against the gravel covered concrete. 

“Who is that?” Juyeon asks. 

His friend glance at Juyeon’s eyes before following the invisible line to its final target. Then, he too sees the girl in the open window. The guys behind them have started to play again and are unaware of the contrast in atmosphere between the two halves of the concrete. 

“Y/n? She’s in our class.” His friends push stones and gravel away to create a circle. 

“I didn’t see her.” Juyeon frowns, still with the girl in the center of his rectangular vision. 

“She’s shy,” He looks at Juyeon’s side, “I’ve never heard her talk. She’s often in the janitor’s room.” 

Finally, Juyeon seems to let go of her figure centered in a window. He too has his hands in his pockets. All gravel has pushed up against the sides and formed some sort of mountain chain. He tilts his head as he looks at the guy's line in the gravel. His friend examines Juyeon's face, how the dark pupils seemingly concentrate at nothing and lips being the calmest entity on the yard. 

“It’s confusing to talk to her, she doesn’t look you in the eye or do any sort of motions when you ask her something.” He lose interests in Juyeon’s profile, “I’ve just assumed she’s disinterested in others.” 

The creation on the ground is done and Juyeon’s friend adverts from it. His eyes are back at Juyeon and then,  the basketball game some meters away. A long shadow follows his friend. His back faces Juyeon and he looks behind him to ask;

“Are you playing too?” 

Juyeon nods, still hands in their pockets. All those shadows work as a reflection of the real world and his friend's long mirror joins the other ones. They’re all captured between worn white lines. Juyeon turns one last time towards the window. Where it once was a person, is now only an empty spot without any sort of life. He takes his hands out from the khaki trousers and runs up to the white lined rectangle. 

-

As days pass, he inspects how the green trees turn yellow at its edges. Juyeon sits on a bench between two trees and outlines the once fully bloomed flowers wither in its body before it settles to the ground. Mid September comes around, and when he takes his bicycle out with brushes and paper, he notices how those yellow edges on his paintings don't match the fully brown ones before him. It is now a sea of withered bodies under the once so colorful tree. 

Juyeon, as one season dies and another comes to life, starts to settle his old body in this new world. Friends come around quickly and he has built a net of four other people. He takes the same road to and home from school, enamored by the change in scenery each day. Sometimes his group of friends take their bikes down to the center. It is an eccentric sort of sentiment, to have these two lives of his cross. How the square houses no more than two floors tightly knit together, contrasts to the nearly terrific thin, but tall towers decorate the skyline.  

Even when Juyeon goes through life like this, he has taken interest in the girl at the corner window. She sits furthest in the classroom, surrounded by walls, ones he can’t and can see. Often she has that camcorder to her. Juyeon, despite all things in his new life, spends a lot of time, in-between life events, to observe Y/n in her camcorder. How she pierce through the lens to another world, like reality is somehow desaturated and drear. She smiles throughout short sequences every now and then. Like the pure scenery he sees from a third perspective, is just a background to a complex foreground subject that reaches out to her. Y/n takes a step backwards for everytime the subject moves out of focus.  

During lectures and breaks outside or in the hallway, he sees her without the camcorder. She lets her notebook reach the outer corners of her vision. While that, her pen moves one row after the other down the page. Her figure in the hallways are near impossible to make out between the students, lockers and extended walls. Instead, Juyeon needs to drift out of conversations, scan the room and its hidden corners to find her up against it. 

The sun is setting, but her hair falls before her eyes. Their classmate one row behind reaches out their hand in faith. Tell each of them words of affirmation and wonder if they want to go to the city center, but he notices how she quickly rushes out of the classroom before their classmate comes up to her. 

When they eat lunch, he notices that she eats everything separately. She starts with soup, then side dishes and lastly the rice. When they get mandarin, she gently pulls from the high point and drags one petal down, then another. Y/n continuously opens it like a flower until it’s fully bloomed and the fruit is right in center. 

-

In the last days of September when the downfall won’t stop, Juyeon is in the library. One hears how the rain plummets to the windows and the light gets blurred by the thick layers of rain clouds. He stands in between the maze of shelves and titles. With cautious steps followed each row to find the spine he needs. For their studies of literature, various texts and writing, he searches for a specific title about literature history. At the fourth row, slightly more to the left, Juyeon finds the right green spine and reaches for it. 

As he pulls it towards him, he feels another force coming from the other side. Juyeon lets go of the spine and watches the empty room between book and shelf. In that small space, he finds another pair of eyes. They look at him before disappearing and only the navy blue of their skirt is to see. Despite only intertwining worlds for a second or two, Juyeon immediately recognizes those pairs of eyes. 

He doesn’t say anything when he reaches for the spine again. Instead he pushes it further away from him until the shelf ends and the green book disappears from his sight. He hears how it plummets to the ground in the dead library. Then, he walks away. Juyeon sees himself in third person pulling on his strings to turn around when the shelf ends. But he takes each step with his head in just one single direction, which allows the girl on the other side with the green book in her hands to see his disappearance. 

-

The class is all together in the P.E hall. Juyeon together with the other boys runs after the basketball. The hall goes a few meters underground, therefore the ceiling is of wuthering heights. Their shoes make these high pitch noises when they push off the floor to get to the basket. All together with the cheers from five guys when one throws the ball into the net, or groups of kids in corners along the walls that talk about taking the bike to the city. 

Juyeon high fives his friend and gets a clap on the shoulder from another guy in white tracksuit. The ball slows in speed as it rolls further from the net. Juyeon sees how the boys slowly split into smaller groupings and finds their own part of the hall. In the corner furthest away from the door and close to the net, his new friends stand and wave at him. Juyeon smiles. Before he crosses the room, his head turns behind him. His leg that’s extended towards that corner has stopped and his posture falls. Up on a platform, one meter higher than the basket net, is Y/n with her camcorder again. She stands up on the platform like a pedestal. Somehow he waits for the hall lamps to go out and a sharp point to drain her in the limelight . Despite being the protagonist of this room, no one else seems to notice her presence. 

Her hands guide the camcorder over the floor. Face covered by the camera as she holds the viewfinder to her left eye. Juyeon stares right into the lens when it passes him. By pure assumption, he thinks the camera will pass him like it does for every other student. His posture turns stale when it doesn’t. The camcorder focused on him, just like he is enamored by her center position in this vast space. Though Juyeon doesn’t look away, he seeks for life in that lens. Her hands finally fall down and he, without any larger ambitions, holds eye contact with her. 

A spark in his heart and across the room. He feels the window break the sunlight and a sudden rainbow appears across the painted white lines. But this moment doesn’t last long. Like the spark in his heart that came washing down on him in a second, she turns her back and disappears out the door, out of view. The stage up on the wall is now empty.  

-

The world painted by the author fades in and out of view as Juyeon reads. It’s raining during the break, he’s inside the school library again. He sits on the floor beside a chair. All clouds are tightly knitted together, therefore that no light can escape it. But even through that, the window over him cast a light in-form of the frame over the wooden floor. Juyeon listens to how voices and single sounds travel through the small space. In the other end of the library sits a call of girls conversing over life after school and dreams far away from the place they’re in now. When they laugh, it becomes the loudest sound in the library. Right after, a crack in the wood aligned after each other moves throughout every corner, just as the laugh fades. 

He looks up from the novel that has become nothing more than lines of alphabetic shattered pieces. And the moment his eyes come to lay on the real world, a sort of notion near him from all sides, that can’t be described in this dimension. The high shelves create a sort of tunnel vision that leads straight to a table, furthest down the library. Everything around him seems to point at the same spot and he follows each line, until they all connect in a sort of flower.  He sees, at the center of his vision, the girl from each preceding day. Once again, she holds her camera before her eyes, creating a sort of distance between them. 

In a library where complete silence is regarded, everyone you don’t hold close to heart is two meters away. He finds himself longing to get closer. To discover what is behind that built up wall and what, through the lens of the world, she sees. The world he has come to adore and draw every detail of, is it like in her lens? Or an ever changing filter, to become imagined and upside down, flipped onto itself by creativity. 

As he stares into the lens five meters away, he feels a presence on his shoulder. A warm sensation that spreads over his blazer and down to his hands on the book cover. Juyeon looks up to see his friends. They ask him to play a game in the other room. Without standing up or closing the book, he says yes and the group starts walking. Juyeon takes his eyes off their backs and turns his head back to the scene from before, where no one is anymore. The table  and its chair is as neatly placed and dust free like it has never been used. All windows are closed and each wall isolates them from each side, but he nevertheless feels a cold breeze take him at that moment. 

As the lecture has come to an end and school has come to its final minute. Juyeon sits back to back with the row of lockers. In his hands are a notebook with a stack of orange notes. He sees Y/n stand in the middle of the perfect rectangle that frames the outside world. As it is raining, she holds her unfolded umbrella, as the ceiling is still protecting her. People walk past her gray silhouette without as much of a glance to the left. It is almost like she is waiting when she stands there so calmly, he thinks. 

Finally, she walks. Juyeon watches as her figure comes upon the asphalt and completely disappears over the curve. When she is gone and he is left to his own thoughts, he looks down at the stack of orange paper. Juyeon take his pen and writes a one word message with a smiley face, the last line kind of curved off in the wrong direction. To walk up and follow the endless row of lockers until he stops in front of the one Y/n just stood in front of. He reaches out to the metal and holds the glue side towards it, but stops when he thinks of the people passing by tomorrow. Juyeon senses she might feel uneasy by the sudden acknowledgement towards her existence. Instead he pushes the thin piece of paper between the space of the rectangular door and its frame. 

-

The lower half of the wall is painted in a lively green color. Juyeon walks beside it and stares at the point where the colorless material meets the earthly line. Voices from kids his age fill the corridor before they fly out the open window. He greets two girls walking hand in hand on the opposite side of the room, then he turns left. ‘Classroom 72’ says the rectangle, it reaches out from the flat wall over the door opening. 

Juyeon stands in the frame cornered by the dark wood. Out over the classroom with their usual organized patterns and dim windows stands a girl. She is certainly alive, but the room is still like a patch of nature without human civilization. To think about when this space is packed with kids, how one shouts words to another in the far corner, or yellow post-it notes that travel through each small hand until it lands in the bin by the teachers desk. He stares at it and finds a new way to look at the room thought to be familiar. 

Y/n sees him in the opening, but turns to the chalkboard like he was never there. Another group of students pass classroom 72 to get to their own. She has a rectangular black eraser with a chalk smudged fabric at the bottom. With slow circular movements, she picks up the white chalk from yesterday’s lecture. He looks at her features clearly when the autumn sun directs towards their window and creates a sort of backdrop over her. Somehow, while her body stands before him, the owner of it seems to be away. 

Juyeon leaves his books on the desk closest to the door, he then walks up to the chalkboard. To the left corner of the green rectangle lays another eraser which he picks up. Juyeon starts to smudge out the white letters and shortenings of yesterday’s schedule. The word lunch and ‘12:25’ that stands after it turns to a white spot on the green background, then a slightly darker green, lastly, it’s like it was never there. He looks over towards Y/n, more than a meter away from him. White chalk smudges out over the edges. 

He notices how it’s her arm closest to him that holds the eraser. A very minor smile forms on his lips. It doesn’t make sense how the fact that she’s left handed sends the autumn air cast its leaves over his heart. The math formulas and words with three lines under take him closer to her side. Juyeon stands just a meter away, still smudges out the white chalk. Without even a side glance to her right, he picks up the chalk and starts to draw in between the spaces. Y/n takes notice how the boy beside her does the opposite of their assigned tasks. With smooth lines and faint sound of when he reaches a corner of his drawing. It is now a simple stick figure in the form of a robot with a happy face. Y/n looks at the drawing and then up at Juyeon who has now moved back to the far left corner of the board. The atmosphere hasn’t changed and his demeanor like no one is there, let her inspect his drawing and the guy two meters away. 

Juyeon continuously circles at the upper corner of the board. Soon there is nothing left to clean on this side. He doesn’t hear anything from the right side of the room, though a warm, focused sensation on his right face. The green chalkboard stares back at him as he forces his eyes on that single spot at the center of his vision. Juyeon then perceives a faint scratch of chalk against the flat surface. A white blur comes from all directions towards that center spot. He listens attentively how the chalk moves vertical or diagonally, then when it leaves the surface, just to come back with a clean sound. 

When no more scratches can be heard, Juyeon cautiously turns his head to the right.  Y/n is now even further away, but on the neck of his robot sits a detailed, little bow. Not like the ones you see men wear on the red carpet, rather what you put around a present. It adds a sort of charm, personality to his happy robot. 

Juyeon walks up to it again and starts to draw a bouquet in the robot's right hand. A person can probably barely make out what it is, it looks nearly like matches. He tries to curve the line in some sort of pattern to reflect a rose, but he tilts his head and scrunches his nose. At some point, the robot holds a bouquet of sticks with ambiguous round ends. Juyeon walks away again and starts to organize the bunt of papers on the teachers desk. Once again, he hears strokes of another chalk. Juyeon’s heart seems to be hit right by the sunlight that comes through the window. 

But the classroom that has been so silent changes in a second when their classmates come through the door. Juyeon looks up from the paper stack and sees group after group come through the rectangle frame to take their seats. Girls hold each other hand in hand and the guys throw their textbook onto their desks. Juyeon also took notice how Y/n threw her chalk away and ran down to the far left corner before the cabinet. With her head one level above the desk surface, he stares at her. 

Juyeon, before going to take his own seat, looks at the chalkboard. The spot where his robot has the bow and its flowers is like the scene from before . He wonders if she quickly erased her own drawing. But then, Juyeon walks closer to it and notices how the bouquet all of a sudden doesn’t seem ambiguous, rather very clear in its message. The stems of the flowers reach out and form detailed petals, and it all is wrapped neatly in a paper of sorts. Juyeon returns to his seat in the second row. With his head falling to rest at his palms, he smiles while silently admires the drawing. 

It’s raining again. It has for the past two days. Somehow Juyeon finds himself staring at the ceiling above his bed. He has one hand over his chest and the other behind his head, and so he lays every morning and dawn. The figure of Y/n and her black umbrella in the pouring rain has played in his mind these past nights. 

Juyeon focuses on the center of his palm where it meets his heart. There is nothing different in his heart today, it beats like it always has. Continuously source his body life. He rather has a change in mind. Something pulls and preys on his consciousness, he seeks understanding. The girl in her own world fascinates his mind.  In a way, she is a bit like a dream. 

A magical sort of moment comes into his life when she interchanges with it. Juyeon takes a breath as another wind crashes at the walls. There is magic in daily life too and how each person he passes possesses a desire and will of its own. But the girl turns the world he knows on its head, reinventing it. 

He holds a note close to his heart. One that sat on his locker when he walked out from the last lesson. To see if the surroundings have anything to confess, but it was silent as always between the walls of the hallways. It is a note with a lot of space left to be used, her ‘hello’ is incredibly small. Beside it, there’s a small cluster of flowers. As he lays in bed, he tries to figure out what it means. It’s form and texture, will he be able to figure out its species? With the signs left for him, he searches through magazines about the world’s flowers. 

-

At dawn in the autumn season, the two of them stand once again alone in the classroom. The sun uncover itself from the night sky and beams weakly at Earth. A small space between the door and the wall gives the world a chance to see the room. But even when so invited, the scratch of a chalk against the matte board is the only thing to saturate the school. 

Juyeon has drawn a robot again. He outlined the reference from his memories, but the stomach is a bit longer than the previous and his legs are a bit shorter. But nonetheless, Y/n took a brief look, between the passing minutes to see what he did at the classroom front. Juyeon was drawing a tie on its thin neck in intensive habit. A chair pushed backwards and someone took heel to toe steps towards the spot he was standing in. All that seemed to produce some sort of dim filter over the drawing. 

Now, in the single light at dawn piercing through the looking glass, they both stand with a meter gap. Y/n reaches out for a second chalk and start drawing a stick figure beside his own. As his robot has a school tie, her own figure has a bow around the much more precise neck and a skirt that flares out above the knees. Juyeon observe how she fill in each detail, smile as she doesn’t seem to bother his attentive eyes. When she backs away to see it without idealization, the two figures face each other while smiling. The scenery narrates a gift of acceptance. Juyeon focuses on the right arm of her drawing that doesn’t face down, rather waves to the one on the other side. 

He turns to her profile again. Catch her side face existing in a calm, edging on emotionless. As she stands like that, he thinks to himself that Y/n parallels a red light in the ever changing traffic. To receive a white block at the center of his vision to tell her someone has received her call from the other side of the ocean. Juyeon takes up his chalk again and draws his robot, this time with a blazer. The robot's right arm is awkwardly placed horizontally from the body. As if it's to grab onto something. 

With an anatomy not ideal, he hopes for her to read the words behind his drawing while falling back into place. A wave brings relief over his heart and he breathes when she leans forward, in the precise spot under the first two figures, to draw again. Her hair covers whatever she's drawing. Though, eventually, she too returns to the place from before. The two of them stare while their shoulders beg to brush against the other. The drawings that reach out one of their hands towards the other. Y/n has connected the small hand of her own character to Juyeon’s that abruptly ends in s sharp lift of the chalk. .

As their imaginative selves have taken the other’s hand, Juyeon senses how she slowly lets the camcorder fall from her face. And he wonders if she feels the same. A person without words to express, and their secrets that hides. He wonders if she’ll ever open up that part of herself. In contrast to the silent and motionless room, Y/n walks away. Her mind without a reach is focused on certain point, and while getting there, she passes Juyeon’s desk at the front. Y/n stops at the side of his desk and her vision deviates from that past point. 

Juyeon observes when her body is permanent like winter. Eyes specified and motionless onto his desk. Her hair starts to fall before her view, but she doesn’t take any effort to push it back behind her ears. Rather Y/n secure the object to her vision, to never let it go. Juyeon walks closer to her, still there is a meter between them. But he clearly sees the object that has taken her attention. His clock, upside down on the desk closest to the chalkboard. Throughout the six hours of school, Juyeon usually takes it off twice, sometimes three if the basketball match turns vivid. He looks at the clock and then  back to Y/n’s side profile. 

By an interchangeable sort of manner, she goes between the two viewpoints. Turn and shake on this scene to comprehend what enchants her about the writs band at the gray tables mit. Juyeon looks at the clock again, and notice the number 284 engraved at the circle's zero. The three number digit is incredibly small, barely beyond 5 millimeters. As he stands there, the meter between them becomes two and Y/n before the board again. Juyeon adverts from his clock and looks up to where the morning sun has laid its wings. It  spreads over the wall and the crown sort of ends where her shoulder overlaps. To remain in the spot he was in, he looks at how her shoulder twitches and finally she backs away. 

As some sort of halo, three digit numbers stand above Juyeon and Y/n’s characters. Over his awkward robot stands 284, the number on his clock. Her own halo is the number 220. Additionally, beside her figure says a date in small font. 

February 20th. 

Juyeon dissects and tries to see behind the two numbers on the board, but in no way are they willing to reveal the far side of themselves. In an eccentric progression, the entire room directs towards that drawing like a bullseye. Or, aside from Y/n. She stands with her back against the board and faces him and the inanimate objects surrounding them, waiting for a notion. But a passing breeze flies by him, and in autumn when leaves hold themselves by a single thread to the stem, nothing seems to be picked up.

A classmate comes through the door, breaking that space they’ve created. The moment a second student takes out their chair. Juyeon sees how she picks up the eraser and their drawing fades from the board, away from existence. 

Classes move with the sun over the open sky and Juyeon spends time in the library. His spot under the window is empty and the sun casts itself over it, like in limelight. But Juyeon takes a left turn and walks to the furthest corner of the library. At the bottom of a shelf, covered in dust, stands an entire row of wine red spines. The spines, each one 5 cm wide, represent an entire encyclopedia. The clock moves another centimeter and hits an even number, at the same moment, he takes the first book up and turns the page to the index. His attentive eyes move over the sentences. Each word has him bringing the page closer to him and after one paragraph, he is just down 3 centimeters. 

Time seems to stop for him as he reads through each book, but nonetheless. At ten minutes until the next lecture, Juyeon is on book number eight and has found interest in an article covering one page. With a simple title, Amicable Numbers, he sits on the floor in criss-cross position, stops to move his eyes like it’s a sort of panorama. 

Amicable numbers, or Friendly Numbers, are natural numbers that are related by the sum of their proper divisors. Each sum adds up to the opposite number. 1, 2, 4, 5, 10, 11, 20, 22, 44, 55 and 110 are 220 proper divisors, and add up to 284. The same progression happens for 284. 

Juyeon slowly lets the heavy cover fall towards the other side. The book weighs heavy on his lap when he continues to sit on the floor. He stares at a dim spot between the titles and falls into wonder about the ‘between’ he has discovered. The 284 under his watch and the 220, February 20th? When falling back towards the floor, Juyeon thinks it may be her birthday. In either way, Y/n stared at the numbers like it was something of importance, that it represented something more in this universe without solution. Somehow she has drawn a final equal sign at the end of earth and finds herself breathing gently while looking at it. Juyeon sits there to understand it, but he can’t quite get a perspective on it. 

Juyeon is indoors this break too. Like spaces between words, the doors work just like it to the green lines. The lamps down the narrow lane do not work, instead he lets the white- edging on blue light fade the walls. Each step comes back at him from all sides while he walks past a second door. Worn down by time and use of space. His ears have gotten used to the silence, therefore, he turns when the sound of footsteps doesn’t line up with his own. The entire lane without lights falls dead again as the two stop. Juyeon’s posture is alleviated when the green lines take his eyes to Y/n three meters away. 

“It’s just you.” He smiles. Juyeon sees how her camcorder is fully opened and four of her fingers sit between the band. It has fallen to below her hip and is covered by the pleats of her skirt. 

Despite the open space between the two of them, she smiles weakly and he receives it. Y/n looks to ground after that single interaction and begins feeling the worn out details on the surface of her camcorder. 

He can’t read what goes through her mind as she stares there. Unable to overlap instances, but enough to see each other from the horizon. He thinks of the book from the library and her annotation on the chalkboard. A part of his heart betrays his mind to stand with his back towards the outside and fall into deeper fascination. 

“Is the janitor’s closet here?” 

Y/n deviates her eyes from the ground and back towards him. His face contrasts with the scene behind him, it can’t be captured by the digital. She walks towards him, and continues past his shoulder. Juyeon follows her figure and how she comes to a stop at another door one space before them. Y/n opens it and walks in. He stands there, in the same space, as if waiting for an invitation  or a call. But he realizes there is none and even him, walks past the frame and into the room. 

A place without AC and lockers half the students size, together with the yellow walls create a contrasting atmosphere to the corridor. He looks at the window gaping down at him. The white curtains block nearly nothing and he stares at the memories of cloudless days these walls tell. He breaks free from them and watches Y/n who sits at the sofa right under the window. The camcorder lens is directed at him like the protagonist of a movie and she moves over the room like it’s his set. 

Juyeon smiles again and comes to think of the numbers. He wants to ask her about the book he took from the furthest shelf in the library. If his hypothesis of her mind is correct. But the space between them has seemed to shorten each yesterday and he thread the new line with slow steps. While he stands in the autumn light and room with too little air, he takes out his backpack and the library book. The page from before is tagged with a small purple note and he opens up the binder. Y/n sees reality through the display, and falls into wonder over his grainy silhouette. He takes a single breath and begins reading the mathematical complexions and editions like lyrics. 

Y/n never takes down the lens or press stop, i instead his melody transcends time and space in this secluded corner of the world. He names the two numbers and their connection, Euler's rules for the bond and their place in the universe. Even when Juyeon comes to the end of Euler’s last sentence, she holds the display still and stares at it like something more will come out of it. Juyeon smiles again and folds the book so that it penetrates the atmosphere he just built. 

He takes a seat one meter away, “Was I right?” 

Y/n looks at how the book disappears behind the fabric of his bag. She too eventually nods and smiles. 

“We’re amicable then.” His head falls back and his eyes are upon the ceiling, “I’ll not forget that.” Juyeon says much lower and closes his eyes. 

When he lies there, one meter from her own existence, she finds it difficult to make out this venture. Juyeon has his eyes closed and both of his hands on the front of the book he just read, it all over his chest. She pulls the strings of her own back and holds her face in a sort of diagonal line. Her nose reaches for the even warmer air in the highest corners of the room. Reality edges on being a dream and when she looks at his fluttering eyelashes, she wants to memorize them like a formula. 

With eyes closed, only ambiguous sounds paint the reality before him. He hears paper irregularly fold itself on an unsecured surface, a pen that nearly punctures the fragile surface and how the right side of the sofa begins tilting. Juyeon opens his eyes again and sees her figure a step closer than when he closed them. To look down between the empty spot beside him and her hand brushing against his blazer. Y/n’s view is rather limited, only on the spot around his pocket. She takes the orange post-it note, written 284 on it, and attaches it gently to the spot of his blazer. Y/n herself take distance from him again, look at the square paper and its bent corners. If the windows would fly open and a wind come crashing, the frail evidence of their connection vanishes. 

The note bunt lies beside her left arm. Juyeon sees it, looks at the paper on his clothing and back at Y/n won’t bridge eyes and lean any forward. Without falling into the ocean of his thoughts and drowning in contemplation before breathing, he takes the note and starts writing himself. 220 he writes, over and over again. Each one, he plaster on opposite sides of her blazer. When Y/n looks at her shoulder, chest, stomach or arm, traces of him are splattered all over her existence. To see him again, beaming like the row of streetlights during night, she feels a warm sensation push out the autumn season. 

Her hair falls before her face, powerless to read her emotions. But right after, she reaches for the pen and paper to write 284 again. She attaches it to the lower part of his blazer. Now Y/n sit on her knees and the white fabric of her blouse covers whatever scenery was before him. The clothes that have been confined in her presence and absorbed her scent is so close that he feels it working like perfume on him. Rose color taints his face and he refuses to look up. 

At the top of the world, Y/n writes 1.618 on another note and places it on his shoulder. Now covered in five different notes with all unique numbers, she falls down to earth again, closer than ever to him. Andromeda and the Milky Way will once the day comes, in a  million years collide and become a galactic spectacle, Juyeon feels his body want to lean forward and discover  every part of the girl in front of him. But he forces himself to sit in the space he has always been in, to appreciate her diviness from afar and wait for the full moon to leave its sign.

-

Those clouds that are heavy with rain  cover the lucent sun that shines on Earth.  The weather that has fallen, follows the slight curve of the asphalt and connects into puddles. Juyeon and his friends adverts from their lockers with umbrellas, backpacks and light pushes from the other’s elbow. When he stands side by side with his friend and sees the downpour framed between the double doors. Juyeon looks down on his blazer and sees the patterns of square notes. He doesn’t stay in place, rather continues in those conversations while moving one note after the other higher up on his blazer. 

They stand by the framed rain, at the edge of where the downpour starts. One after the other opens up their umbrellas. They form a sort of flower induced in fabric. How each petal sometimes touches the other. It moves forward like a lively creature, when one steps down the stairs and the other trains after. Juyeon stands last in the train and before his shoe overflows with water he hears a thud from behind. When he looks back, he sees Y/n who stands in the left corner of the hallway. She isn’t covered by the locker, but she presses onto it like she wishes it did. In front of her lies a book. 

He hesitates at the edge of the school and stares at her. Above the book are her hands that have her fingers desperately scratch on her palms. Her head moves the left corner of her view frame. Those constant actions make it hard for her hair to stay in one place and they fall to cover her face. But by those short moments when one strand lands on the other side, he sees her bitten lips and worried eyes. 

“Juyeon?” 

To break apart from what’s behind him, he sees his friends in the rain half turned. Their eyes on his silhouette are cloudy like the weather, drained in confusion over what has draped over his mind. Another friend group walks past them, out in the pouring rain. Finally he looks back again to see Y/n in the same place as before and takes a step back into the school. 

“It’s something important, I’ll catch you guys later!” He sort of waves his hand before he runs up to the lockers again. Even then his friends stay in that puddle for a bit until they turn their backs on school and continue up over the asphalt. 

Other students he faces on the way back make room for him. He stops when  in front of her figure. Conversations become clear and then fade before another one enters as they stand there. Juyeon eyes her attentively, shoulder pressing further into the locker and her head lowers all the more to the ground. When her blazer trashes and pushes, the notes from before hold onto the fabric. Juyeon sees it and presses it onto the blazer again, then takes his umbrella to the side. Right side of the hallway can only perceive a piece of their person when the umbrella embraces them. 

Juyeon looks over her sunken body that still forcefully tries to press the world out of it. A small corner under a pair of stairs. He takes the arm of her blazer and draws it gently towards his own body. In that moment, Y/n looks through the hair that has fallen over her face. Juyeon doesn’t look at her, rather has his eyes on that spot under the stairs. 

“Come.” He whispers and Y/n nods. With slow steps they push close to the lockers to let the other students pass. Juyeon fixates on the fact that Y/n is beside him and lockers and not the other way, or how the stairs are just a few meters further away. Though, when he feels a faint pull on his own blazer, Juyeon swears the rain stops for a moment and the clouds drift apart to shine a light on  his heart. When finally under the staircase he sees the ocean of people drain out in the rain. There's some significant space between the ocean and the two of them, but he wonders if the constant conversations and endless shrill sounds of wet shoes and floor continues to suffocate her mind. 

Y/n, who, like the crowd, slowly drains of whatever’s left as her heart falls into normal motion. Despite her eyelids feeling all heavier and body leans onto the wall for support, she sees his hands contract. She pays attention to how he first opens his hand, wide and welcoming, until they close again, a kind of insecure motion. Tired, she lifts her head to watch his side. Juyeon watches how the rain drenches and fights umbrellas before he takes a small step to her side and lifts his hand to Y/n’s. For the first time in his life, his body connects with Y/n’s and a warm feeling in this autumn weather spreads over him. 

Y/n experience how the world contracts on itself and becomes this fixed point in the universe. The wind becomes non-existent and words are background music to whatever she lays her eyes on. She hears how the world becomes muted when a warm sensation comes over her ears. By the calmness created in this corner of the school, she looks to the side again and sees Juyeon still face to face with the world outside.  

The two of them stand like that while the school empties out the last students. Juyeon looks down at Y/n everytime an autumn breeze comes through the door and Y/n, when she senses he is somewhere else. The muted world confine her like a mother’s hug and she lets herself drown it. But despite the safeness and organized thoughts, everytime Y/n looks up at him she has this sensation that pushes her chest. It somehow penetrates her skin and bone, floods out in her blood and pulls her heart. Y/n looks at him and wonders if it is a good or a bad feeling. 

When the hallway, abandoned and drained of life, Juyeon loosens his hands gently. He says quietly;

“It’s safe to go.” 

He looks down at the place where her hands hold the fabric of his blazer. Somehow, she seems to struggle a bit. Juyeon notices how she opens her mouth, but closes it again and takes a breath. 

“Can we go together?” Her words are barely over a whisper but it somehow took his breath away. 

“Yes.” He answers just as quietly and smiles before they start to walk out. Each step they take colors by the rain covered floor, and they both continue the pattern. Juyeon feels how she lets go of his jacket and bends to her right to put away her book. At the edge before the rain, he once again opens the umbrella and holds it over their heads. Juyeon knows she won’t go first, so without any sort of restraint he takes a step out in the rain. 

The rain that plummets towards the umbrella creates a sound similar to a second hand on a clock, soothes their minds. He stares at the cracks in the road and muted trees, streetlights that aren't on, tight alleyways between the low houses. When they’ve walked for some time, Juyeon falls into a world of his own. He didn’t talk so as not to force her to interact with him, but now nature has genuinely enchanted him to grow without words. 

A hazy filter that covers his square vision fades from him when he feels a push on his umbrella. Juyeon looks to his left where Y/n gently tugs at the handle over his hand. Now none of the rain reaches his shoulder, but with hesitation, he moves it closer to her again. Y/n, again takes the handle and refuses to let go of it. A faded sort of confusion has become a third person that was two. As one desperately reads their actions, and the other bears frustration that can’t be detected when trying to convey. 

“It’ll get wet.” Y/n finally says and looks at the post-it note furthest away from his chest. Aside from the fact that his navy blazer is even darker on that part, but the 284 in black ink has sort of melted. Nature is in grief over the loss of her leaves and now sheds tears down the Earth. Tears that smudge all over the world like makeup. Juyeon turns towards Y/n who has moved her notes further up her blouse, right beside her tie. Affection and care is beyond these numbers in a way he can’t comprehend, but he smiles either way and turns to the discolord note again. With a new found affection for it he moves it further up too. 

“Can you write a new one?” Juyeon asks gently. 

Y/n who secures the 220 note of her own on the blazer looks up at him. Eyes that are focused at some point further down the road, his side profile where every feature resembles a sort of perfect ruby, his eyes in the color of a tree in rain. She lets out a sound that should resemble a ‘what?’. Though, Juyeon turns to her immediately and asks gently again. 

“Can you write a new one for me?” And points at the orange note. 

Y/n looks at him, his eyes crystal clear. Fast she focuses attention on the note and smiles. Despite the autumn weather and downpour that pushes all its force onto them. A soft streamline warmth goes through her and wraps around her heart. Somehow it isn’t holding a tight grip on her throat, rather sympathizes along the mind and whispers to open her walls up so that she can finally breathe. It is a euphoric kind of feeling that makes her want to smile. And so she does and nods as an answer to his question. 

It has been raining for days on end. Juyeon has looked out the window everyday and listened to how it crashes onto his roof. But today on one Friday afternoon, when school ends and kids eagerly rush out from the double doors. The clouds decide to reveal the main star of this corner of the universe, and let it shine brightly on Earth. All bicycles stand one after another to create an endless line of colors and thin structures. Juyeon stands in the center of all directions and sees how kids go up to take their bikes. But quickly, he turns away from that sight and searches the rigid edges and sharp angles of the school yard. He reaches onto his toes and bends his knees to find her silhouette obscured at the edges. 

At last, he sees a lonely figure under the roof where the school building folds into a corner. How two friends arm in arm walk past her and Y/n pushes herself even higher up against the wall so there is a two meter space between them. East from that center spot, he leaves it. Y/n also has her camera, panning the entire scenery with a smile she only has while filming. The lens lands on Juyeon and he sees how her entire person stops for a bit. He stares into the lens, waves and smiles. Under the complex silver camcorder, she reflects the expression. This camcorder somehow works as a middleman and he winks, visualizing it transferring to the grainy rectangular screen. 

Juyeon comes up to the white wall and he, too, leans on the uneven material. “Would you be okay with bicycling down the city with me?” He asks without superficial sentences. 

She thinks of the past day, and all other moments they share together. Again, her body seems to create this quick invisible stream that flies past her. Juyeon waits for her at the finish line, even when the season changes and everyone has gone home. No one is there to see her draw a period at the end of her sentence, just Juyeon. 

“Okay.” She says weakly and looks up at him with a smile. Y/n can’t quite read what he feels when looking at her at this moment, but his smile becomes even wider. That is a good thing she knows, therefore she wants him to smile like that forever. . 

The cycle leans to the right and Juyeon’s leg holds the weight up. At the front of the steering is a basket attached in which he puts his bag. Juyeon’s head leans over his shoulder. On the furthest part of his cycle, she sits with a backpack close to her stomach, and at the same time tighten a helmet. Y/n lifts her chin up so as to not pinch the skin between her neck and head. While doing that, her eyebrows and eyes interlock while her lips stay serene. He discerns each feature of her face. 

“Do you always have that with you?” He asks and Y/n looks at him with creased eyebrows.  

“I’ve never seen you ride a bike before.” 

“I can’t.” Y/n falls back into her monotone voice and rigid demeanor, “Helmet reduces risk of head injury by over 50%, serious injury by 70% and severe traumatic brain injury by 74%.” 

Y/n stares at the houses behind Juyeon while her arms shove the canvas fabric of her backpack against her stomach.. From the perspective of the people who pass, Y/n appear to be bound with ropes to Juyeon’s cycle, though in fact, it is her nature. Juyeon still smiles, leans his weight onto the steering. 

“Do you judge me that I do not have a helmet?” He asks in which Y/n only shrugs her shoulders and tilts her head so that one strand falls before her eyes. 

“I believe in free will.” She says objectively. 

A cluster of rocks flies two meters away from the cycle line when he takes off. Juyeon feels a weak force of her pulling on his blazer. 

They follow a single road that divides into two. All houses become sharper and higher as trees become all the more scarce. They see how the sky opens up before them and two trees fade to the side of their viewpoint to reveal a skyline with traits of an incoming wave. When they stop at the circle of all the buildings, Juyeon asks Y/n if it’s fine. She nods without a second thought. At every corner, shop or billboard, Juyeon leans down to ask if it’s fine. Even when Y/n walks slower and takes longer to answer his questions, she insists on going. 

When the blue sky has turned pink, the two come out in the heart of the spending district. Square screens with colorful advertisements on glass estates that reflects whatever comes at them. The whole city seems to impend on the two of them as they walk the green light. As they hold their head high to see the point where the skyscrapers are swallowed by the sky, a wave of people come right at them. The moment Y/n feel the heat of people coming past her and conversations so loud that she can’t discern the sound of green lights. Y/n falls onto Juyeon’s side. Hold his school blazer, hide her face behind his shoulder, walk so closely that she becomes aware of his trousers, rough against her legs. 

Juyeon construes her desperation to not just move out the way, but disappear.  In such wise, he let her solace behind him and peek over all heads to see where the ocean hits shore. He can’t find an end to the wall of people that has surrounded them. To escape the spot they stand on he too smallens himself to push through bodies and bodies of Seoul. Juyeon has a hard time even turning his head right, instead, he wishes for that faint pull on his blazer to never let go. 

After a minute, he stands on the other side of the line. Juyeon is in front of a restaurant where warm orange light illuminates his left side. Though, he perceives quickly that there is just him here. To face the crowd once again, and look at it from above. Juyeon’s heart races the moment his thoughts come crashing down on him. A new person passes him every second, the light has turned green again and he sees hopeless reflection in the puddle beneath him. The moment the surface bursts from someone's shoe, he doesn’t take another second to look at the broken mirror, instead walks straight into the overcrowded line again. 

Again he feels not only the city, but every person impending on him, swallowing him until there is  nothing left to do than reach out for air. Juyeon frantically turns his head and body, he apologizes when he walks into someone without making eye contact. His blazer is folded in the wrong places, shoes are wet from the rain puddles, his bag is nearly more like a backpack. In a spot right where the entire Seoul surrounds him, he feels their eyes and turns around to face them all. Juyeon shouts Y/n’s name and perceives the eye of passing strangers, how each one shortly speculates on his messed up appearance and desperate eyes, before going back to their own lifes. Once again, he shouts her name. His body reaches some sort of emptiness. The drain right under him has water from puddles all over the city falling into it and he too feels like it’s slowly taking every part of him. 

Though, the green light takes a step down and turns red, only people’s backs are visible as they continue life down a different alleyway. And Juyeon can swear that his heart does such a motion that it nearly hurts in his chest. He breathes out and can feel his legs go out the moment he does. At a white wall on the store filled street, she sits hunched over her own self as if protecting it from the people passing. There is a plant beside her and an alleyway some meters away. The doors from the closest clothing store opens and he sees people coming out and eyeing her figure. 

Before another car runs over the horizontal lines, Juyeon leaves and runs up to her. Somehow, she appears smaller than before. The lines of her blazer drapes her like in a blanket and her hair falls over knees and arms near a curtain. The two are furthest into the building on the busy street. Contrast clearly against the loud conversations and constant movement, they’re perfectly still. Juyeon stands right before her feet, he is not even certain that Y/n is aware of his person being here. 

With that, he slowly bends his knees to come in the same height as her. Knees brush against his chin and gently he places his hand on the end of her shoe. Juyeon’s hand lies like a feather on top of her black shoes. The touch is barely sensible but enough to create a warmth and Y/n peaks through the strands of hair that cover her face. Juyeon can’t quite make sense of what lies behind those blinds. The evening has crept up on Seoul and none of the million streetlights and store signs pierce through her side. But it doesn’t change his perception, instead Juyeon reaches out for the arm of her blazer and pulls it gently towards his warmth. 

He whispers, “Do you want to hide beside me?” 

Y/n nods. He stands up again while still holding the blue fabric. Y/n slowly follows his motions, the moment she is up, she moves to his side to stand in the same position as when they were crossing the street. Streetlights show the way out of the center and Juyeon leads as Y/n faces the ground. 

-

When he thinks of how he could feel her breathe from behind and pull on his clothing, the current situation seems rather depressing. Instead of a slight pull on his jacket to indicate her existence, he looks behind every now and then to see her face completely mirror the passing ground. Her hands grab onto the space of the bicycle she’s not sitting on and her backpack depends on her weak shoulders. By the impending asphalt they travel by, Juyeon discerns small circles and by the time they’ve reached the alleys of warm colored trees, it’s raining again. 

As the complexes get all tighter and shorter, more bricks, cats run past them to hide under wood. Juyeon regards a hasty, dejected part of his heart. A part that has developed during the moment he sat himself on the cycle and just growed larger the further they’ve gotten. The girl behind him looks just like the dying leaves on the passing trees. He stays quiet because there is nothing to say, or he does it because he knows their perception of the world runs like parallel lines. Either way, Juyeon takes all slower and slower steps on the pedals as he needs to break their silence. 

“I don’t know where your house is?” Juyeon leans back and speaks composedly. Their blazers are a shade darker than before and water from their hair runs down on their shirts. He whispers again and hopes she will answer. Finally she points weakly to the right where a brick and concrete house with a balcony continues. The moment she points, he takes force again. But Juyeon quickly slows down when they pass door after door. He waits for a sign from her and if he wasn’t attentive at the moment, he wouldn’t have heard the quiet russells of her backpack. 

Juyeon fully stops the bike and his feet fall right on a puddle. Water converts from the spot she steps down into. Her hair covers whatever her face is telling and juyeon grabs the steering a bit tighter. Aside from the constant rain, there is complete silence between them. Y/n stands there, a meter away, like it is a responsibility. How her hands grab the straps of her back pack and rain soaked hair covers her existence. 

“Thanks…” Y/n whispers with a voice devoid of any personality. 

In one way, he answers her and the figure of a drained uniform moves step after step closer to a door on the left. Until she disappears behind it and he is left staring at the same spot she once stood in. How the coldness of the rain finally hits him, and a shiver starts 

at the top of his shoulder, down to the hand on the steering. The earth looks so much colder all of a sudden and he can no longer see the beauty of the pink flower petals beside the door. Juyeon bites his lip and turns his bicycle the other way. 

He doesn’t jump back up onto the cycle, rather, continues to let the cracks in the road take him home. This moment, he thinks, reminds him of a scene from childhood. When during an autumn morning, walk out alone between the trees and high grass while his parents were asleep. At the entrance of the forest, he met a creature different from himself. A deer. Juyeon with the lowest part of his jeans in puddles from the night rain and fleece going well past his hands, stands still while sharing its space. The deer doesn’t move, rather, looks at him too. And how the world moves slower for just this moment and the magical creature takes a step closer. Juyeon reached out his hand and the deer eventually sniffed it. The morning silence made him feel like it was just the two of them in this world. But in a second it shatters. When a toy car falls out of his left pocket and plummets right onto a moss covered stone. The deer, frightened and looks at him with eyes that makes him feel like a traitor and before being able to beg for forgiveness, it’s already gone. 

The teacher is talking and points at white chalk structure on the green board, but Juyeon tilts his head onto his palm. He stares at a spot in this space that is now empty. That chair, furthest into the classroom. And as another day passes he does the same. Juyeon keeps turning to the places wherein his memories, Y/n are in. But before his heart races, it falters since there is no one to reciprocate it. 

It’s Wednesday right after lunch, five days after Juyeon asked Y/n to follow him down the city center. Juyeon sits alone on that sofa in the janitor’s room. His head faces the single bulb hanging from the ceiling, cracks and bits of dry paint. Nauseousness makes a sort of impression on his heart when he looks at the four walls on all sides. His body has a sort of hyper sensibility in contrast. One that has him tremor his leg and itch deep into the skin beside his nails. 

The skyscrapers he passed everyday, people that were a part of his daily routine and stores with neon signs where his friends would meet on Saturday evening. It is all so beautiful to him, but crawls like nightmares over Y/n’s mind.  Everytime he closes his eyes, he sees that scene of her body desperately saving itself and how the world that have raised him like a mother, performs the very reasons to be alive- grip onto her limbs to kick and scream at her contracting conception. 

His head adverts from the ceiling to lay on its side. To look at the now empty seat that triggers memories. He’s a stranger to being alone. To always be surrounded by life and its consciousness, he thinks it must kind of protect him from something else threading this world, Juyeon feels the inanimate objects descend onto him. 

While he feels like that, a sort of curiosity blooms like spring within him. Juyeon turns to her empty seat again and pictures her figure in constant desolation. How she seems natural and drawn to tunnel vision and cubicle spaces without undertone of life. Juyeon knits his eyebrows and stares at the bulb again. How come she who detaches the world in her camcorder and isolates herself in rooms without personalities, went on and on in the overcrowded city center. 

A ache in his heart sources the nauseous to drown his mind once again. He thinks of the walls that have comforted her, held her because she doesn’t know who else will do. The clock moves forward another minute and before it strikes 13:15, he walks up to take a hatched A4 paper and a line pencil, broken at the top. He sort of draws in all his thoughts to a timeless collection, but walks up again to find an eraser. Where his thoughts write themselves as Russian novels, he needs to shorten them to a modern short story. With concise word choice and covered sentences that deviate from the point, he folds over the letter. 

In the same spot he stood three days ago, Juyeon now sees himself again. Between the edge of the asphalt and platform to her door, is an expanse of grass. He guides his bicycle up to it and bends down the support with his feet. When he walks up onto the platform, his figure sways a bit to the left. Juyeon’s eyes focus on the gap where the stone meets the door, then slowly make its way towards the door handle. Feet lift up and down from the platform like it will somehow open the door and he scratches his nape like someone will come from behind and open. After a minute, he imagines the flower pot beside him breathing and living so he does the same. Right at that moment, Juyeon reaches out his hand to knock on the door,  and at the same time, his left leg directs to a spot, away from the door. 

For a brief time, his ambiance stands static against time and he contends whether to leave this platform. As the passing stream behind him takes a single leaf down the drain, he takes a step down. And when he is fully out of the atmosphere of the door, it opens. Y/n’s home stands wide for him in a second. Juyeon, uncomfortable by the pure display of someone’s life, is rigid at every part of his body. A meter before him, through the angle of being two steps below them, stands a woman in his own parents' age. 

As expected by life. Time has affected her essence, with each year, spread out to the edges of her person. But like Earth with her ever changing nature and folds from tectonic plates. She is ever so beautiful. Juyeon won’t say anything and the woman smiles as another second passes without him moving. Her sudden change in expression drives the earth another step around its axis and he can feel spring go right through him. 

“Is there something to help with?” She asks. 

Finally he orders his limbs in a sort of acceptable pattern and his posture in a way he’d seen male leads do when waiting for their bride to walk down the aisle. Before he answers, Juyeon coughs lightly and looks on the grass and platform. The woman again smiles at his flustered state. 

“It’s your daughter, Mrs.y/l/n.” He coughs again. She holds a hand on the door frame and looks up at his face. From her angle he positions right where the sun would be. 

“I wanted to know if she’s okay?.” He looks down and sees her eyes go a bit bigger. 

“You’re a friend of Y/n?” 

It’s quiet. “ I moved here recently.” Juyeon points towards an ambiguous spot behind him, “We’ve been hanging out for a week.” 

Her smile becomes even more evident and he can’t help but mirror it. Each time she asks him something or smiles at him, his shoulders loosens a bit and he becomes the one self he sees in the puddle reflection. Juyeon finds no gap between their question and answers to take up his folded letter. And by the moment at the edge of their small talk, the mother asks him; 

“Please come in, don’t stand in the rain.” She walks to the side, and now the whole hallway down to the last window stands before him. Juyeon hesitates; 

“Are you sure? Is Y/n okay with that?” 

Again she eyes him in a way to ask him where he comes from. Juyeon reads something sincere from her pupil out to the brown color. He wonders when he looks at him like this, in what order of people have come to this house at the side of the road. If, to count up all the numbers of people that have stood on the platform like he does now and get to surround themself with their life. In what place would he land? Number seven, twenty fifth or fourteenth. In his mind complexion, the furthest part of him works like a voice in whisper, asking if he may be the first to visit for Y/n. 

“She’s in her room, as long as we’re quiet it’s okay.” She says sincerely and Juyeon nods. To step in and feel the wind stop brushing up against his back, it feels at peace. On the black carpet under the door, he places his shoes and follows the mother down the two walls. To the left is the kitchen area. A rectangular table in the midst of all pans, towels and carpets. She takes out a chair and reaches out her hand towards the one right in front. 

“Sit.” 

Juyeon thanks her before accommodate. Y/n’s mother works as a foreground to the windows behind her and the trees they frame. Each wall has a row of postcards and under the windows stands flower pots with lamps double its length. On the table stands an empty mug and a candle nearly burnt all the way down. So much that it has dropped and hardened on the table surface. 

“Is she okay, then?” Juyeon leans forward, eyes wide and with glitter at the edges. 

The woman’s smile and fond look turns to a disheartened mothers one quickly after he asks it. She starts holding the cup and smiles weakly again. 

“It used to be worse.” The mother sighs, “She wants to be alone when it gets overwhelming.” “She knows what stresses her so it doesn’t happen much anymore.” She looks at a door to the left, which he assumes is Y/n’s room. 

“I’m sorry I can’t let you in.” She says. 

“Oh, it’s okay, I didn’t expect to see her.” 

“Then why are you here?” 

He coughs and starts searching his pockets, “I wanted to leave this.” He hands her the letter, “I think I did some wrongs, I just want to reassure her.” 

She takes it, “What do you do together?” 

“We’re in the library or janitor’s room often. I think she likes it when I read to her so I search up books with topics that I think might interest her and read them out loud. She gives me post-it notes too so I try to write some back.” Juyeon takes out the 284 note from his blazer and shows it to the mother. 

Each stroke of the black ink on the orange paper is written in fine thought. The letters that barely take up a twelfth of the square and a period at the end, no matter what she writes. The mother turns away from the note and observes the boy she has before her. Somehow he has landed in her house, it gets absurd and entangled when she tries to figure out how. But nonetheless another human being sits here in sincere patience for her daughter. Those ideas he voiced before, using words like “I think” and “try”. She falls into a sort of trance of intrigue of his seemingly confused state of what is the right way to approach this person, and at the same time innocent passion to find out. 

“I’ll make sure she gets it.” The mother says as she breaks off from looking at the young boy. In attentive fashion she leans the letter onto the depressing candle. Juyeon stares at the rectangular piece of paper in the middle of the empty table. It makes itself at home in her house and he feels a bit of relief wash over him the longer he stares at it. 

“Thank you.” Juyeon stands up and bows. 

Y/n’s mother also rises from the chair to bow. He walks out of the kitchen and disappears behind the wall. Short after, she hears the front door open and slowly closes, just the sound of one metal falling into place with another. She is left alone like before he came into their lives, and she stares down at the little letter. Though he’s not here anymore, a part of him has sunken into the walls of their home and she breathes out like something heavy has fallen off her chest. The first time a person her daughter’s age came to their home was on a usual Wednesday afternoon, right after work. 

She reaches her hand out for the center of the door and knocks gently three times. Shortly after, she opens it and peaks between the fifteen centimeter opening and then pulls it all the way to reveal her daughter on the floor. Y/n sits with her legs up to her chin and hugs them at the same time. She can’t fully perceive her face, solely her side profile. In which, it is illuminated by the square TV over a VHS player. To focus on the screen, she sees a scenery way too familiar. Despite having about twenty VHS on the floor beside her, her mother can only name about five different places that seem to be the same clip over and over. But each tape has its number and there seems to be a shift in scenario from each one, invisible to her mothers eye. 

“Are you comfortable eating in the kitchen?” Her mother’s voice is quiet and light, tender and sympathetic. 

Y/n shakes her head and falls even deeper behind her knees. She has spent the last days in the same uniform she came home in. The scene before her is devoid of any color and she sighs in a way that only she herself can hear. 

“Okay.” Her mother acknowledges, “I’ll come back.” 

Her mother walks in again and places a white plate beside her daughter. In addition to the plate, Juyeon’s letter is neatly placed above it. Her mother leaves the room and when Y/n hears the door lock with the frame, she turns to the plate. The letter folded neatly and placed in the limelight, she picks it up. To separate the glue from the paper, she folds it open and reads the letter. 

this is juyeon

I had fun Friday, but honestly, I think I like it the most in the janitor’s room or the library. I like the stores but it’s even better when you give me post-it notes. I’m not a great reader, teachers always said I had too little expression, but I enjoy reading for you. When I think of the short time we’ve had together, those are the moments that come to mind. I can’t really recall your voice or say confidently which eye color you have, light brown? But you describe nature in numbers and when I look at a tree, I think of that formula you told me. I don’t know why you see five hundred in blue, but every time I see it, I see it in that color. 

I should be straightforward. I don’t think you need to change because I like how you give me a new way to look at the world. 

sorry for making things complex and illogical : )

A sort of silence walks around the room. Even when she folds the square paper to its original form, it is ever present. A sensation so hard that it falls out like light between the crack of one's door. She must grab the center of her chest, push whatever’s begging to come out into her isolated heart. Y/n’s breath becomes even more prominent. Dreams start to affect reality and she sits there in silence for a while. Face the world with her hidden colors and different angles. 

“Mother…” 

She squints her eyes and looks at the silhouette between the frames. 

“Yes.” 

“Where is the tape recorder?” Y/n asks. Her mother points at an ambiguous spot in the dark. But she eventually finds the black recorder and the tape material. To close the door and leave her mother to ask the moon about the shift in person. 

The moon stands at the top of Earth and shines on its surface. Y/n leans on her single window and stares at it like it is just the two of them in this current world. The rain has moved over her hometown as it has followed the wind to the southern part of the country. Without the rows of streetlights, the night sky is decorated with faint circles of light. Fades into different colors in a way that you forget they’re larger than the celestial they stand on. 

Y/n sits at the end of her bed. The single window opens up before it and the moon shines its light over her bed, in which the sheet reflects it back in a sort of white-lavender magic. She has finally taken off her white blouse and navy skirt, folded neatly at the top of her chair. Instead she has a white dress that ruffles at the wrists and follows no lines of her own body. As she sits there together with the moonlight, she has a notebook in her lap. While writing and erasing words she continuously pulls back the front pieces of her hair behind her ear as they fall in front of the pages. 

Once the moon has moved another hour, its reflection is up against Y/n’s wall. She straightens her back to look honestly at the paper she has covered. It nearly feels like another hour moves by before she lays the notebook on her pillow and reaches behind her to take up the tape recorder. Y/n takes the end of the rectangular box close to her lips and pushes down the button on its side. It makes a sound that is perceived as deafening in her timeless room. 

A second goes by and another one just like it. Instead of looking at the words she just has written, she stares at the moon like it's watching her. There is something very vulnerable sitting on her bed, in her room and with a recorder. Every leaf on the tree outside, the moon, its stars, her chair and the camcorder on her desk. Everything with its 3 dimensions perceive a drastic change in her heart. Somehow, it feels extremely frightening growing leaves and sprouts during the second half of the year, when everything else is slowly dying.  

At the center of the entrance, Juyeon doesn’t take another step forward. He watches the backs of his classmates continue into the school, while he fades from them. To stand still in the hallway where each one goes through their changes, Juyeon is standing hard-set to the wet floor and wrapped in other dimensions than the one stands on. At the front of the locker that’s been vacant of life, stands a girl in her usual presence. Like time has refused to move during these past days. Y/n closes her locker and just guides a passing look over the hallway, they meet eye contact. 

As they stand face to face towards each other, Juyeon perceives how colors fill his vision and rush against his heart. A girl seemingly devoid of happiness, like the rain clouds bringing life to the ones around it. Students walk right through the invisible wire, though, it feels a bit like radio silence. Her expression has fallen into a neutral and perceiving nature. There is nothing to judge in her demeanor as her hands can grab onto her backpack or her feet kick in the front door. 

A sudden spark between the stations and a jump from either side to the other. He receives a call back from the opposite side of the earth and Y/n stars walking towards him. The radio signal figures its way into his heart and wraps around his mind. Juyeon, similar to the broken TV at home, is adamant on the single position he is in, unable to comprehend what the other ways to go exist. Finally, she comes up before him. 

The feeling of air loss becomes all frequent as his heartbeat pulsates in an unusual rhythm . His hand hangs from its side, the right twitches as he becomes aware of it just simply being on his side, awkwardly, without purpose. After all, the hallway is nearly empty, and the last of their classmates walk into the classroom. In that moment, when one steps their heel onto the cold hard floor, Y/n brings out a cassette tape. With one hand on the backpack strap and the other holding the cassette tape, halfway left until she meets his life. Juyeon looks at her with big eyes and slowly closes what’s left between them. When he holds it in his hands, Y/n moves to the left, changes directions and her back disappears behind the classroom door. 

-

Juyeon turns to see the end of the classroom throughout the lectures. But Y/n passes him like she has never had an affect on his life. The tape that fits in his palm holds answers to the insecurities that have been eating him from the inside. At his usual spot under the window in the library, he looks up and down the room before pressing play on the player. 

It is all quiet at first. He senses a faint sound of leaves being taken by a wind and an owl two trees away.

It’s Y/n…, she coughs. 

I want to say thank you. Her voice shakes, I don’t understand why you’re being so nice to me. I think about it a lot… and I still don’t understand. …You’re the first person I want to be around, but I don’t want to bother you, so I try to be… 

There’s silence again. 

I- sometimes it feels like you’re reading my mind, but I can’t even understand what your facial expression means. I try to be more like you, but I can’t do that, I’m sorry…But I think I’m relieved you understand… 

She breathes as if she’s about to say something more, but it abruptly stops before any words are left spoken. The recording is over and Juyeon taps play again as if hoping something else will come out if it. Instead he falls back and looks at the ceiling. To be left in the ame position and have your heart running like you’ve passed half the globe in just 5 minutes. Juyeon closes his eyes to feel that warmth escape his chest and drown his body. 

Without exchanging words, they walk again along the asphalt. Let each crack in the road guide them home. Y/n won’t acknowledge his existence when she lets go of the door to her home. A familiar surrounding opens up before him, but a sort of new found appreciation and excitement blossoms between his heart as Y/n herself lets him into her world. Her mother sits on the same chair as she did when they talked, and he bows as far as his back allows him to. Neither daughter or mother does any sort of audible affirmation of the scene in their kitchen. Rather, mother’s eyes won’t close and Y/n awkwardly shifts in the same spot until she grabs onto Juyeon’s blazer and opens the door to her own room. 

They sit here, on her carpet in the middle of her room. Y/n observe the boy before her. When he holds his head low and falls deep into his own world, she gets a chance to look at him without distractions. To pick apart his devine features honestly and ask questions without fear of judgment. However, Juyeon notices in the background how no movements seem to come from Y/n’s hand and he then looks up to see her gazing at him in a sort of overwhelming way. 

“Do I have something on my face?” He asks and takes up his left hand to his lips. 

Despite Juyeon now preceding how her arm moves forward and naturally fragrant when she comes closer, Y/n continues dissecting. When she bends a centimeter to see his face from a lower angle, his posture trunks rigid and he doesn’t blink as if she will do something unprecedented if he does. It’s something intimidating with how she leans on her hands to support her weight as she comprehends every hidden feature or flaw on his face. 

“I don’t understand you.” Y/n finally says without expressions and falls back onto her spot. 

“I don’t either.” Juyeon smiles before he looks back on his poetry book. Each sentence adds onto the other and builds a sort of wall. He treasures each word like the stroke of one's brush and back away to see the complete painting. Though, as he falls in love with the words on the paper, he takes interest in how Y/n still hasn’t moved. Juyeon looks up again and sees her face staring at the same features as before. Dissecting and annotating. 

His curiosity leads him into a well of deep fascination. A person who twitches when one's skin comes too close to hers and escapes into an uncertain point when eye contact becomes too overbearing. Somehow sits before him, closer than ever, with hands on the floor like she’s never going to let go. His eyes close and he imagines Y/n counting his fluttering eyelashes. And memorize them like a math equation. 

Eventually, like everything else, she falls back to the place she came from. A gap wider than before has occurred between them, but no wind or coldness force itself the protective layer they’ve created. Juyeon doesn’t look back down to his poems, instead waits for her. After some passing seconds, Y/n looks down towards her hatched notebook before he pushes it towards him. 

A rectangular sheet of paper, covered in rows of numbers and symbols. He sees short key words with arrows pointing towards a formula running ten centimeters of the paper. He connects number 284 with his clock, but 4, 8 and 10? Y/n have quietly observed him when playing basketball, drawing or calculating. How many times he blows on a spoon of hot soup, pushes his locker or shakes his rain-covered umbrella.  It is all detailed in her book that she takes whatever she goes. 

His birthday at the top of the page, equal sign after equal sign down to the formula 3 x 7 = 21. Description of clouds during a free spring in the clear blue background. A single circle connected with a line towards the 21. Annotated in yellow with an extra note about clouds edging on pastel. The circle at the bottom of the page, chasing its diviness. 

“But it doesn’t make sense.” Y/n says quietly and stares at her complex row of mathematical poetry. 

“Does it have to?” Juyeon tilts his head and Y/n looks up at him again. Her eyebrows are knitted and her lips sealed as ever, “Does it have to make sense?” 

Juyeon can repeat his questions infinitely, but she will not fully receive the purpose of his question. In which he catches up to his own self and the divider of the world they live in. To look at her with a new perspective on the world, Juyeon picks up the bundle of orange post-it-notes. On each one, he draws circles with bent edges and unsymmetrical halves. Either way, he pulls each one off and attaches it against her blazer.  The circle in perfect nature and worshiped figure. He sees her in it. Sculpted by nature and perfect in its way of life. 

Y/n looks down at the ten different circles on her blazer and then back up at Juyeon, “I don’t understand it either, I just like your existence.” 

Y/n smiles just faintly. 

The puddles from yesterday’s rain have created a pattern over the rooftop. Juyeon stands five meters away from the stairs and leans on the metal railing. As it is break time, he watches his classmates occupate themselves at every corner of the dry ground. An incoming wind takes friction against him and disappears  between the layers of his clothes. He pushes his arms closer against each other and his silhouette falls in height. Since the morning, Juyeon has realized that even autumn’s soon passing him by. 

As the changing season moves along, he feels his own heart transform. To look back on the past months, he sees himself in a sort of continuous evolution. He feels another wind take on him and he sees Y/n in the mirage of his memories. Each step in the transformation, she stands at the opposite corner of the room or right beside him. He thinks of her camcorder covering half of her face to the day they sat on the floor of her room. Y/n too, seems to have been ever changing this time too. 

Since the day she confessed she couldn’t understand him, she has been carrying that notebook. Juyeon takes notice of how when he mentions something in passing, Y/n takes up the book to annotate it. And for each time they meet eyes, cross paths in the hallway or make eye contact in the classroom. Her eyes seem brighter. He looks at his world and wonders why it feels different, he blames the dead leaves and colder weather. But Juyeon starts to think that maybe Y/n has discovered something new, loosened the routines she worshiped. 

When he thinks about her, the door from behind opens. The weather storm around his ears and he looks back to see the person in the door frame. She lets the door fall to the closed space and the whole building surrounds the two. All hair strands fall before her face, covering whatever emotion for him. Her hand moves up to her right side and brushes away beside her ear. Y/n smiles as brightly as a person like her does and walks forward. Beside him on the railing, they stand together and look out over the changing landscape. 

“You’re not cold?” Juyeon looks at her and she shakes her head. Like always, they make room for each other to speak or nature to voice its thoughts. 

“I’ve figured it out.” Y/n smiles and takes up the notebook he has seen everyday. When she looks up at him with one page open.  Juyeon gently leans forward and observes the wall of numbers, to nearly create some sort of mathematical painting. 

She starts to describe the number and their sentences, how each one affects the other. Soon it all starts falling like a domino. Her words come out faster and with no sort of adjustment in language. Each formula becomes blurrier than the other, and before she is on the last equal sign, Juyeon has given up trying to dissect the words she’s speaking, rather look at her features glistening while describing. Even without summer sun, her face emits a warmth, golden light. 

Y/n talks about longitude and latitude, his birthday, bicycle, address, carbon and Earth’s birth. He can’t count them all, but all his parts are intertwined with the universe in a sixteen part formula, in which it all ends with his existence, the exact coordinate and exact time. 

Even when there are no words left to say, he admires her calm features that lingers over the A4 paper. She looks at it with a sort of gentleness only spring and a small village 3 miles outside the city center has. Juyeon’s hair falls before his eyes, but he doesn’t bother to correct it. All the words he can’t fully grasp, it becomes a parentheses, as the scenery behind it pierce through the curtains and reveals itself for him. As she holds the equation close to her heart, and he doesn’t ask her why since, he knows she too loves his existence.

BONUS

At the end of a long day, Juyeon lies in his bed with the ceiling like constellation above him. Right before the two parted ways, Y/n gave him a cassette tape. He has them all stacked against each other on the rectangular night stand. At number 11, he can no longer fit his lamp, it stands below his bed. To press 'play' and pull the sound close to his essence. His world does another year and his heart compress. It's just three words in her voice, but it sends Earth colliding. Juyeon lies there as the sun moves over the sky, to press the 'play' button over and over again.

© littleroaes, written and all

A/N: if anyone made it down here, i really want to say thank you for reading. Im not confident in this fic, i really love it, but im not sure it turned out good enough. thats all, thank you again!

[centrally-unplanned]

Thoughts ahoy, and spoilers:

I think it is often challenging in Sci Fi+ stories to make interior character arcs match their setting in fantasticality. The default state is that its a fantastical setting & conflict, but the emotions are people emotions, which makes sense, its people reading the story. (Or something fully alien as a contrast). Su's arc really does a good job of pushing that boundary as far as it can go without breaking it. Her forced mind-meld, quasi-hostile subconscious, and self-destructive levels of regret over her past actions are in the end yeah relatable, right, people definitely get trapped in cycles of guilt. But her mind still feels alien, the slipping between identities, both as independent entities and as love/hate dyads towards each other, is depicted with bracing detail without it ever/rarely being "two minds in one body" which would just be two people and a plot device. One of peak moments of craft for a writer is capturing an emotion in a way that the audience has never seen before while still fully impacting them, making them see it in just a tiny bit of a new way, and I think Su's cursed existence reaches that peak.

On the other hand, look me in eyes and tell me that, if none of the time loop murder mystery timey wimey ball stuff happened, and Su just visited Samium, had her last hope destroyed, and left the Sanctuary like normal, how her arc would be different at all. There are few nods to ideas like the loops letting time help her heal, etc, but its very minor and its not really evident in practice. Its a big problem, the story is like split in two, and those halves don't talk much to each other. The reality is that the large majority of Su's arc happens in flashback; we are seeing her at her culmination, and its a culmination that is occurring completely independently of the events at hand. And additionally besides Ran no one knows or ever learns about her true "identity", so the events with other people lack pathways beyond the illustrative to really impact her. She even, at the end of the loop-plot when Ran dies, dismisses the plot as irrelevant herself! Little on the nose there.

I enjoy how "in too deep" Ran is; she is from page 1 at least 50% ~done with this entire "resurrect Utsushikome" crusade, and is totally done by the end, but she can't just say that. She started it! And Su now completely buys into it. So you just...shoulder on, absolutely mood

It says a loooot about me that I instinctively see Kuroka as male, and struggled a bit to shake that. Their despondent struggle with a sort of society-wide devaluation, of needing to earn every scrap of affection and "place" and it being always contingent, it resonated with me quite strongly in the Deep Ways.

Oh previously I criticized the story for self-sabotaging its "moments" for the sake of drip-feed pacing, so I just want to note that Fang's death fucked, that is how you do a moment! Spend an entire chapter building up his affable superiority, given him multiple bluff check wins in a row, all timed for what seems like the resolution of a big plot moment that had a ton of build up. Spend all that, set him up to give a classic Poirotan reveal speech, and then JFK the fucker right in the temple; back and to the left baby. I felt the panic as the group just exploded, real win. This is similarly done with Kam's Determinator arc later, even if that gets a bit more stretched out. When the author wants to commit to the bit they know how, definitely hope more of those moments are given space in future books.

Okay, a big critique on this one - the story is branded as a murder mystery, very aggressively so (including 4th-wall-ish breaking fair play whodunnit rules), but it really isn't? There was even stuff like one chapter even had a poll asking who did a killing, quite cool! But there are so many structural problems that kill interest in that concept. Motives is the biggest one; none of students have any pre-established motives or even depth of character to support the idea that they would be at all involved in these harebrained schemes. Characters are debating whether or not Ophelia killed Yantho, and if Seth is collaborating with the Order to betray them for idk money?? and it all falls totally flat. None of these characters would do any of these things, because they are just normal students. (Lilith is the only one that somewhat works, as her sheer weirdness begged for a cause) And the Order's motives are simply cartoonish. We get stacked revelations one after another- oh they have a gun that stop time, tell your friends! Oh now entropy is conscious yeah I know entropy never came up before none of the students study this but trust me bro. Oh wait one time we made babies with space implants and just kept killing them, baby after baby, so now we might be cursed, and so on. If this was a story about the Order, maybe this could work? But in the end it isn't - its about Su, and she doesn't care about any this. Su has no interest in a time gun unless she can use it to off herself, Ran's only interest in entropic gods is so she can judge them as cheap plot devices in her genre fiction, Kam's problem of being a bootlicking blabbermouth (affectionate) will not be solved by her eating space babies - for one, she's vegan. Its a tonal break from how grounded the story was and fails to connect. By the end the story itself is self-aware of this fact, making fun of how convoluted the solutions are - which is funny, those scenes work! But that is a trick you can play in a real murder mystery when you have given the audience solid fair-play tricks beforehand to solve, and its like a change of pace. If you make a joke of the one big time you give out any true answers...well then the whole thing was a joke. So why all the time spent on it? (I understand that some of these things might "connect back" in Book 2, and to that I say Book 1 is almost 3000 pages. You can't stretch your foreshadowing that far at this quantity)

I liked the fact that Director & Playwright are quasi-real characters representing the culprits of the Time Loop just fine! Yeah its meta you have seen before but you've seen everything before, I think it added a bunch of humor and fun change-ups of the narrative style.

Alright long enough already overall I enjoyed it a lot. Its emotional peaks were very strong, its world-building is top notch, and I like a lot of the characterization. It definitely has weaknesses that could be deal breakers for some, and that is fair - but if they aren't for you, I can recommend giving it a go.

Finished Novel 1 of A Flower That Bloomed Nowhere!

...There's a second one! I didn't know that! Fuck meeeeeee