#started off as vent art and then blossomed into something beautiful

[eggwishing]

Nice cannibalistic Yuri. Slay.

[maisysplayhouse]

i think i actually am insanely optimistic. this is evidenced by the fact that i will try LITERALLY anything to transform my situation. some people have to be persuaded to put themselves out there. my friending strategy is so rigorous that i legitimately walk up to strangers on the street and introduce myself. i make plans with randoms hoping it will blossom into something. i attend social clubs and workshops and parks and open mics several times a week (many weeks i do it every day) in search of friends. i apply for jobs i'm "underqualified" for or that are outside my skillset or are totally random industries. i've tried several therapists and DBT programs and even a residential treatment program even though i have a ridiculous writhing cackling ectoplasmic mass of psychiatric trauma following me around every day. i quit stuff. i endured stuff. i cut people off. i moved several times in search of a fresh start. i focused on my art. made sad art. made happy art that ignored the sadness. i surrounded myself with beautiful environments. i write in a diary daily. i track my moods. i get lots of exercise and fresh air. i shower and brush my teeth. i have tried over a dozen psychiatric medications. i've tried ECT. i've tried formally structured dream analysis. i've had a change in appearance. i've invented an imaginary friend, hid in the closet, vented to inanimate objects, rang up suicide hotlines. i rode my bike across the country. i got off social media, wrote to pen pals. i poured myself into work i believed in. not to sound egotistical but my partner likes to remind me that i am literally the face of TWO global movements with large followings both of which i started to address the alienation we feel. all day long i think up schemes of how to change my life. and yet i feel often like i will die from the loneliness, and i fear there are no real opportunities for me, and it makes me sad to hear fern describe that all the hope seems empty from me and i'm so different than when we met just a few years ago

[mahizli]

Reckless (There Is No Chaos, There Is Harmony)

Beautiful art that can be found here, and that shows what happens *after* and not *during* this story, that is also Part 3 of Threading The Way.

26 BBY.

“Why don’t you ever say something nice to me?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Anakin…”

“See what I mean? It’s never enough for you, is it?”

“Now don’t pull that card on me, Padawan–”

“No, you don’t get to Padawan me!”

Anakin paused, out of breath, cheeks flushed with rage, facing Obi-Wan whose eyes had started to brighten as well but still stayed infuriatingly calm. He had crossed his arms, though, fingers twisting the fabric of his tunic, meaning even perfect-and-tidy-Master-Obi-Wan could get upset. And Anakin wanted his Master to get upset. He wanted him to feel just as angry and betrayed and hurt as he was.

“You don’t get to tell the Council my actions were a bit rash. I saved your kriffing life, Master, I prevented a whole building from collapsing on you, and just because you’re too weak to do the same, you don’t get to be jealous of me and belittle me and call my actions rash in front of stupid Master Windu!”

He was as tall as his Master now. And he would get taller than Obi-Wan, that much was obvious, because he had already outgrown him in matters of boot-size. Meaning he was on eye-level with his Master. Meaning he had a full view of the whirlwind of emotions blossoming in Obi-Wan���s stormy eyes, and the way every bit of colour left his Master’s cheeks.

Obi-Wan’s fingers tightened around his arms, and for a few seconds, even the Force felt still around them, leaving Anakin quivering with rage and something uncomfortable feeling a lot like shame.

“Master Windu is not responsible for the way you feel about me”, Obi-Wan finally managed to push out, in a somewhat breathy voice.

And the angry beast deep within Anakin raised its tail again, clawing its talons deep into his chest and belly.

“No, because you are”, he spat out, and of all the things he could have done, his Master blinked.

It made Anakin even more angry. He wanted Obi-Wan to roar, to stand up against him, to yell at him, to call him names, to fight. Not to stand there looking like a small, breakable thing that could be crushed in an eyeblink, if Anakin wasn’t watching – and Obi-Wan had not a clue, Obi-Wan never had a clue…

“Anakin, my intention never was to belittle you.”

“Well I don’t believe you.”

Something in Obi-Wan’s face closed then, and Anakin felt his Master’s shields slam shut, leaving their bond blank, like the aftermath of an explosion. Obi-Wan’s hands left his arms, and then his Master simply walked past him, leaving their sitting room for the kitchen.

It was always the same, whenever Obi-Wan felt overwhelmed. He would simply stop talking, leaving the argument like he would leave a room, and it drew Anakin nuts.

“What are you doing?”, he asked, angrily, watching his Master open a cupboard, fetching a sponge and an old cleaning rag, without even using the Force – sometimes Obi-Wan seemed to forget it even existed.

“I’m clearing the dust”, Obi-Wan rasped, in that strangled tone of voice he had whenever Anakin had pushed every possible button to draw him ballistic. “It’s been weeks since we’ve been here, and I’m not sleeping in a dirty room.”

“Have you listened to a word I said?”

“Have you?”

Strange, how Obi-Wan’s fierceness could sound so much like sadness. Strange, also, how luminous his eyes could look whenever he finally chose to stand up, to fight back – and he didn’t even use his lightsaber, just some ratty sponge and rag, wiping the table with enough strength to wipe out every possible stain.

“I’m clearing the dust. I suggest you do the same, literally or metaphorically.”

“Typical.”

And with that last insult, hissed like a fire-breath from whatever nasty beast was feasting on sadness and hurt behind his chest, Anakin left their quarters, slamming their door shut, heading straight for the hangers where droids and speeders were waiting for him, and could do nothing but agreeing with him.

It had been six years. Six kriffing years, since Anakin had arrived at the Temple, had heard Master Windu tell him he would never become a Jedi, and yet there he was. There he was, going on missions with his Master, flying their ship, fighting alongside Obi-Wan and saving the day whenever his Master’s disturbing habit of talking them out of trouble backfired on them.

And yet, Anakin could not shake the nagging feeling that no one really wanted him there, that they were all watching him with narrowed eyes, waiting for him to slip up, to prove them they had all been right, no matter how hard he tried.

And Obi-Wan did not help. Not anymore. He was trying to reign Anakin in, instead of letting his power grow, instead of letting him prove himself, talking about balance and reason and mindfulness, when all was just a piece of rubbish.

“How is mindfulness going to keep you from getting crushed?”, Anakin muttered, teeth gritted around a nut he was determined to screw deep within the speeder’s core.

His hair was soon matted with dust and oil, and his skin salty with sweat. He was about as far he could get from Obi-Wan’s notions of cleanliness, and it felt so deeply satisfying that the beast behind Anakin’s chest finally quietened.

He spent enough hours under that speeder to get hungry, but it was out of the question to go back to their quarters and to Obi-Wan – because going back was almost like apologizing, and Anakin did not want to.

So he did what he always did, whenever he fought his Master and wanted to vent about him. Master Quinlan was useless in such cases, getting all stern and serious to the point even Aayla was beginning to look worried – but then, Master Quinlan was always a bit overprotective of his friends, so…

No, the best person whenever he wanted to talk, and explain just how betrayed and misunderstood he felt was Master Luminara, who somehow always managed to calm him down, and to silence the beast within him.

“Hello, Padawan Skywalker”, she greeted him, night-like eyes sparkling with unspoken fondness. “I see you have made it back from your mission.”

“Hello, Master Luminara. There is no need to Padawan me, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But I, too, do enjoy a tease every now and then. Do come in.”

“Thank you. Oh.”

Master Luminara’s usually impeccably tidy rooms were crowded with two empty shelves, what looked to be parts of a desk and two mechanic droids adding to the mess and bustle.

“Don’t tell me you are dusting as well”, Anakin muttered, dejectedly.

“Because Obi-Wan is?”, Luminara asked, cheerily, moving to the kitchen to brow themselves a cup of caff.

“Mhm”, Anakin let out, allowing his long, gangly limbs to cram themselves between the bench and the table, and to let out a dramatic sigh.

“Oh. Sponge or rag?”

“Both.”

“That bad, then…”

She was not laughing at him, though. Master Luminara never was. She always listened to him, and she never judged, unlike Master Quinlan who didn’t hesitate to yell and occasionally even shake him – not that Anakin minded, because it was always somewhat amusing to watch him loose his cool.

“He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand how I feel. He thinks I’m acting rashly, that I only follow my instinct and my whims instead of thinking things through, that I rely too much on my emotions, and not enough on the Force. But it’s not true! I’m the one who saved him from being crushed, last mission, and he keeps pulling stunts like that, getting into trouble and then lecturing me because I got him out!”

“What happened, Anakin? DUM, NIK, would you please put those shelves in the spare room – and the desk as well, opposite the bed…?”

“Why are you refurnishing that room, Master Luminara?”

“Never mind now, Anakin. Please tell me, how did you prevent Obi-Wan from getting crushed, exactly?”

And so, Anakin finally got to tell someone about how that building exploded, how his Master was standing just below, having been talking to officials, and how Anakin prevented the building from collapsing, holding it up with the Force for almost twenty minutes.

“He just lectured me. In the med-centre. Of all the things he could have done, he lectured me.”

“In the med-centre?”

“Yeah. I… sort of collapsed, after that. But it was okay. The medics said I just had some Jedi-Force-exhaustion, and I slept it off, and that was it.”

“I see… And how long, exactly, were you unconscious, Anakin?”

Anakin watched the caff swirl in his cup, as he moved it around in small circles, until he finally let out two pitiful words, refusing to look up.

“Two days.”

Luminara let the words sink in, and gently placed a soft, cool hand on his. But she didn’t say a word, just waited for him to rise his eyes and let out a small, undignified breath sounding a lot like a sob.

“I just wanted to make him proud”, he whispered, and Luminara drew him against her, allowing him to hide his burning face against his neck. “I know I should have thought of something else, I even know that he probably would have jumped away, but I… I knew I could do it, and I wanted to save him. And instead…”

“You saved him, Anakin. And I do not think Obi-Wan denies it. I think he was as scared of losing you than you were of losing him. I think that, whenever Obi-Wan calls you reckless, he is chiding himself for not protecting you better. For exposing you. He knows just how many eyes are on both of you. And I think your Master is trying to shield you – to make it appear like he is the one failing to hold you back, whenever you get passionate, so that you can continue to be who you are deep inside.”

Anakin frowned at that, and then he shook his head.

“I’m too chaotic for him. Sometimes I think he’d be better off without me.”

“Nonsense, Anakin. Obi-Wan thrives in chaos, believe me. Quinlan, Master Qui-Gon, and now you – he needs someone reckless enough to draw him out of his shell.”

That made Anakin smile, and unfold from Luminara’s embrace.

“So. Why are you putting those shelves and desk into the spare-room?”, he asked, and he watched Luminara’s face soften in quiet joy.

“Because tomorrow, Padawan Skywalker, I will welcome my very own Padawan into those quarters. I have waited for her to become of age, and tomorrow, we will finally start our apprenticeship together.”

“Your apprenticeship, Master Luminara? You are no apprentice anymore…”

“But I am, Padawan Skywalker. I am going to begin to learn what it means to be a Padawan’s Master and companion – it is not something we are born with, you know… And the Master learns just as much as the Padawan, on their journey together.”

It was late already when Anakin finally left Master Luminara’s quarters. He had helped her move the furniture where she wanted them, and had even managed to empower the droids so as to allow them to fix some of the shelves to the wall, standing one on top of the other. The room was clean and tidy, just like his had been when Obi-Wan had open his door to him – and Anakin remembered, with a sinking heart, just how different things had been for both of them, and just how much time it had taken for Obi-Wan to claim his own room and find the courage to clear it from Master Jinn’s things with him.

He opened their door with a slow, controlled Force-brush, and closed it noiselessly behind him, tiptoeing inside. The sitting room was clean, without a speck of dust, the plants were watered and even the holobooks and holovids had been dusted and put lovingly back into place. The kitchen was spotless as well, spoons and cupboards neatly stored in the cupboards, and even the ground was shiny and smelt of cleanliness. Anakin’s room was untouched though – Obi-Wan having learned very early that Anakin was very peculiar about boundaries, storing treasures and droid-parts – save for the bed that had been made with fresh sheets.

He found his Master in his own room, not even needing to open the door. Obi-Wan had dusted and cleaned his own room, and Valentine was letting out small, regular puffs on the windowsill – her very own way to snore.

Obi-Wan himself was stretched on his bed, feet still brushing the ground and arms circling his face, like someone who had sat down, then let himself fall backwards, without moving ever since. He was still holding the infamous rag in a loose grip, but he was fast asleep, hair still a bit sweaty from exertion, features lax behind the stubble he kept growing to hide just how young he looked.

Anakin shook his head, and took the rag from Obi-Wan’s hand, wrinkling his nose.

“Gross, Master. And ridiculous”, he whispered, careful not to wake him up.

He managed to shower and change without Obi-Wan even stirring – and Anakin realised then just how tired his Master must have been. He had not really noticed, but in hindsight it was obvious. Because his Master never slept whenever he was ill or injured, always hovering anxiously at his side, even pretending not to be.

He came back to Obi-Wan’s room with a data-pad, and had managed to reach level 72 of his newest game, when he finally heard a deep sigh leaving his Master’s chest, and realised Obi-Wan was waking up.

“Hello there”, Anakin whispered – and his own chest felt oddly tight, remembering the dreadful words he had thrown at his Master.

His Master whose first reaction was to smile at him and reach out for his hand, placing warm, loose fingers around his wrist, in an instinctive gesture of love or care that made the knot in Anakin’s chest even tighter.

Obi-Wan sat up, and then only seemed to remember that they had fought and were supposed to be at odds, his face getting all tight and apprehensive once more. But his hand was still around Anakin’s wrist, and Anakin did not let him speak – he just embraced him fiercely with everything he had, hiding his face deep into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I am so, so sorry, Master. I never meant any of it. I promise. I promise.”

Obi-Wan just breathed out and hugged him back. They stayed like that for some time, and their bond was no longer silent and cold, but simply there, like it had been for six years – tying Anakin to the Force and to his Master.

“Have you eaten?”, Obi-Wan finally asked, ever practical, and Anakin shook his head.

“Shall we, then?”, his Master asked. “There’s pie in the cantina tonight.”

“Wizard”, Anakin muttered, but he didn’t let go.

Not before he managed to ask that very important question, the one that had fuelled the beast’s anger deep within him.

“Master, do you think I’m… too chaotic? Do you think… Do you sometimes think about… how different life would have been… without having to take me in?”

This time Obi-Wan straightened. And this time his Master’s voice was as fierce and powerful as it could get – just like it was whenever he put a stop to all the nonsense the Galaxy allowed to happen during their missions, just like it was whenever he did something so great Anakin could just stand there and gape and think about just how awesome his Master was.

“I don’t even want to begin considering it.”

Anakin’s throat tightened, and he closed his eyes, feeling his Master’s hands on his back, gently tapping him.

“I’d die of boredom”, Obi-Wan whispered, grazing Anakin’s hair with his stubble, laughing silently at his indignant squawk. “Besides, Padawan mine…”

He let go of Anakin, just enough to be able to look at him, and to place Anakin’s braid back behind his ear.

“There is harmony to be found, even within chaos.”

He placed something into Anakin’s palm, smiling softly at him, and watched him discover a small black bead harbouring a beautiful golden streak.

“What is this one for, Master? I… I just yelled at you. I called you… I told you some horrible things.”

“But you also saved my life. And you taught me that sometimes… sometimes I still put things the wrong way, whenever I try to talk to you, and about you.”

“I do so as well, Master”, Anakin whispered, fingers closing shyly around the bead.

“Well then, Padawan… I think we still make quite the pair.”

And we can both become better Jedi together.

His Master’s voice was warm and loving in Anakin’s mind. And so Anakin smiled, and pulled his Master up, determined to pull him towards the cantina as fast as he could.

Because, tonight, there was pie, and after all, Anakin was starving.

[neverendingstories00]

Past The Point Of No Return (Ch.3)

Summary: Safin takes you on a tour of your new home and offers an interesting proposition.

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: n/a

A/n: Guys, sometime needs to take my labtop away. Safin is 100% going to be the death of me. I cannot stop thinking about this pyscho man PLEASE rearrange my guts. Anyways, school is starting for me tomorrow (today since i’m posting this at like 2:30am). I’ll try and get Ch.4 out asap since that’s where the drama is gonna rise. Also, thank you for all the support and comments! I’m gonna respond to them all tomorrow, I promise. I love ya’ll and enjoy the story!! ❣️❣️

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Three days had gone by. You refused to leave your room after Safin’s temper tantrum. Three days in isolation weren’t the worst thing in the world even if you had no idea where you were. The room Safin had given you was elegant and bigger than your old flat. It was like if Japanese Zen had met modern times. A living room with endless books and plants connected to a bedroom and large bathroom. You felt like you were in a fancy hotel. Inside of the bathroom was a freestanding club that outlook a rock garden. Of course, you had tried to break the glass or crawl out one of the closet vents, but everything had been locked shut. At one point, you had felt the room had been made just for you (which it probably had been). Safin must have had a lot of time on his hands to be able to construct it. The books that were on the shelves were the same books you owned a home, the candles were all lavender and cherry blossom, and even the small amount of clothes he had offered and gotten your sizing in were accurate to your taste. It was oddly amiable, but alarming that he knew so much about you.

As you finished making your Feng Shi bed, you heard a gentle knock at the door. With years in the military, you had recognized footstep patterns. Safin had light but quick footsteps, his boots always making a clicking noise.  

“Good morning Y/n.” He says, his cold accented voice slightly muffled behind the door. “I wanted to come and apologize for my uncivilized manner a few nights ago. I didn’t realize that you would be in such a sensitive state. I believe adjusting to new surroundings can be quite difficult. The way I acted certainly didn’t help with that. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Rolling your eyes, you didn’t even want to respond. If you could survive on your own in the wilderness for a month, then you could survive in a lavish bedroom in the middle of god no’s where until-

Oh right. There weren’t coming.

“It truly bothers me that you feel the need to isolate yourself in that room.” Safin. Instead of sounding condescending, he seemed genuine and even beseeching. “You haven’t had anything to eat or drink.”

“I’m fine, thank you though.” You coldy reply, seeing it as a facade. Safin was an anarchist, insane and cruel. “You’re a solid actor though, I’ll give you that.”

Safin sighs but doesn’t give in to anger or defeat. “For what I did to you, you have every right to upset at me. I’m upset at myself. I’m sorry for scaring you into isolation, my dear. It was not my intention.”

You refuse to respond, crossing your arms as you hear him let out a loud sigh. Safin looks at the nearest object to throw in frustration but stops himself for her.

“Y/n, I need you to understand that under no circumstance, that I will ever hurt you. You are a resident, not a prisoner. I want to show you my..” He freezes. It’s not a home, it’s a lair. But for y/n’s sake, it was there home. “I mean, our home. It will be short, and I will get you something to eat. After that, I will not bother you if you accompany me for just one hour.”

Two sides of you were battling with each other. The younger and more stubborn part of you wants to say a snarky remark and tell him to kindly fuck off. But the wiser and more calm side of you says that your starving and need to get out. You don’t sympathize with his actions and hate him more than anything in the world. The man threatened to hurt your friends and family if you didn’t obey his commands. But If he was going to hurt you, then why hasn’t he killed you yet? What was the point of keeping you there, knowing that you could possibly kill him with anything? Safin has stalked your whole life, from your clothing sizes to your military history.

You freeze as your fingers fiddle with each other. Letting the villain win always bothered you. But he offered you food and freedom for an hour. He had better kept to his promise. Looking at the door, you break the silence. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”

He responds, “Take your time.”

Walking over the closet, you look at the outfits organized by monotone colors. Everything seemed the same as you searched for something that wasn’t oversized on you. Eventually, you came down to wearing a black turtleneck, light grayish blue kimono jacket, and olive peg pants with black boots. The clothes were oddly comfortable and looked more expensive than your shitty flat. You hated wearing tight and revealing clothes, so it was doable. Looking in the mirror before you leave, you see your eyes. They’re tired from crying and sleepless nights. Your body had no energy as your stomach rumbled and throat thirsted for water. The last person you wanted to see was Safin, but you truly had no choice.

Opening the door, you see him standing in front of it with a straight posture and hands behind his back. A subtle smile appeared on his face, seeing you walk out.

“You look lovely, y/n.” He compliments as you walk side by side. He thought you could pull anything off and still looking amazing. You looked at him and nod, a silent response of “thank you”.

As you walk down the hallway, Safin noticed y/n limping more than walking. He made sure Serrano and his men had there asses yelled at. They had done everything they weren’t supposed to do; treat you like an animal, hurt, and embarrass her. No wonder y/n hated him, he thought she was going to be a prisoner or some toy for Safin to fiddle around with. As much as Safin yearned for her beauty, he saw her talent and intelligence. She would be useful in many ways.

In an attempt to be a gentleman, he held his arm out for her for support. Y/n, being the woman she was, silently and polarity declined this offer. Safin found it darling that she was so stubborn, refusing the help of others even if she needed it. Seeing you limp and silently groan made Safin’s stone cold heart drop. He wouldn’t be a gentleman if he didn’t help this sweet, little y/n. In a devilish move, Safin tucked his arm under her hand, linking them both. Her clutched fist dangled in his tight hold, wanting to resist. Seeing her [y/s/c] burn up, Safin softly smiled at her. She eventually gave him as her fist unclenched, softly leaning onto him.

The hallways were long and large, lit by hidden lights. From what you could tell, it seemed like an abandoned Russian military site that had been reconstructed by Safin. It was all concrete and void of any color or life. The Architecture was Raw, brutalist, extraordinary. Taking you up a dark hallway, Safin showed you a bright hallway, full of mustard yellow art. Leading you under a dark tunnel, it revealed a large, empty room. In the middle of the room was a large low black table with cushions, and that was it. On the sides were rock gardens full of shrubs and bamboo. You could hear a running river disconnect the gardens from the concrete gray floor. A few guards stared at you for linking arms with Safin. Seeing them whisper made you look down. Safin had noticed and looked at the men, who had fear in there eyes as they stood straight.

Safin explained that his room was where he and Serrano (or other co-workers in his words) would discuss their ordeals. He saw the light in y/n’s slowly disappear, seeing her thoughts run to something else. There wasn’t really much to show considering that Safin was the only man who inhabited the submarine pen. The soldiers and Serrano resided on another part of the island. He didn’t want to bore y/n but wanted to make sure she was adjusted with her new home.

“Are you enjoying everything, my dear?” He asked, Y/n looked up and nodded in response. She looked exhausted and upset, trying to hide it. Her once glowy [y/s/c] skin was turning lifeless and grey. Safin could see that you were miserable and depressed. He knew being trapped in the submarine pen wasn’t ideal, he had been doing it for years and was ever so alone. Having the company of a woman was something he desired more than anything. Over the years his man had brought him women, but they refused to lay with because of his scars. Safin hated seeing the once joyful and bright light he saw in you.

No words came out of your mouth. You once again nod in response, forcing a faked and sad smile. Safin heart breaks seeing you so silent and upset. His grasp tightens on your arm, to squeeze some reassurance into your dying soul.

“My dear, please speak to me.” He gently cooed, looking into her [y/e/c] orbs.

“I’m fine, just please continue…” You sigh in frustration.

Not knowing what to say, Safin simply continues. It had been years since he had touched or even been close to a woman. Having you here with him was a dream come true. He hated having you sleep all by yourself that was in the opposite quarters of him. All he could imagine was y/n’s soft cries into her pillow from giving up on life. He knew what would hopefully cheer you up. Walking up a spiral staircase, Safin opened the door for you to exit. Upon exiting, you were greeted with a beautiful view. Safin allowed you to walk to the edge to admire the breathtaking view. Not one cloud was in the bright, blue sky. The top of the submarine pen was covered in the island’s rich plants. You truly were in the middle of nowhere, you could have been in the Medaterrian or off the coast of Africa. The Island was so beautiful on the outside, yet so depressing and ugly on the inside. The sun shined onto your skin as you felt the gentle breeze through your hair.

You stand on the edge, seeing that the only island in the distance was you. You were surrounded by miles of water, along with the world’s most feared Anarchist. “It’s so..”

“Breathtaking.” He breathed, standing right behind you. You turn around, somewhat scared by how close he was. Your [y/e/c] met with his milky orbs. His face was grey and dark, his sleek black hair, and dark navy clothes were so dark except for his eyes. He had an usual and exotic face. But his eyes were beautiful and mesmerizing. “Just like you, my dear.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. What had been a nice moment turned into Safin trying to subtly flirt, or so that’s what you thought. “Can you please call me y/n?”

A small frown appeared on Safin’s arms. He’s confused about why you don’t enjoy his attention. “Why not, my sweet?”

“Because I’m not your partner,” You clarify. The way those words rolled over his lips made you squirm and your cheeks burn.

“Whatever you say, my little dove.” He smiles, holding you close. A disgusted “ugh” escapes from your mouth. The time you had outside makes you feel somewhat better. Feeling the sun and wind against your skin felt so normal in your little fucked up world.

Safin tried to pull you closer to him, but you pull away. Even if he was trying to be a “gentlemen’, he was still an anarchist who wanted to kill millions and overthrow the government. All you knew was that you weren’t going to fall in love with him, ever. You shrug him off, looking away from him.

“How did you find this place?” You ask to break the silence.

“Me and Serrano discovered this place when I had left Spectre,” He explains, looking around the gardens before back at y/n. “It was an abandoned communist Submarine Pen. Nobody inhabited it, so I simply took it as my own. I was based in Okinawa before I denounced, so I took slight inspiration from the gardens.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Denounced Spectre?”

“One of my targets resurfaced, a young woman. A woman who I spared...who I loved,” Safin stated, “I had let them go and let them live a comfortable life. She promised herself to me, but loved another man...and birthed his child when she was mine. Spectre wanted her alive, I wanted her and her whole family dead. When they didn’t let me kill all of them, I killed every agent I could. All of them.”

Chills had been sent down your spine. When Safin didn’t get his way, he used violence. You never knew Spectre’s downfall, but all along it had been his man. No wonder Bond was able to take them down; it was all because Safin had practically murdered half of them in a rage since he couldn’t kill his ex-lover’s family. Your thoughts began to race. If you didn’t do as Safin pleased, would he truly kill you? Who could have ever loved someone such as Safin? Too many questions came to your mind.

  “So, that’s what you do.” You noted, raising your eyebrows. “Kidnap women and force them to fall in love with you?”

Safin’s face scrunches up with anger, “No, she was different. She was a whore. I never hurt her. I spoiled her and loved her. She betrayed me. But you...” He looks at you with his expressions softening. “Are different. Out of all the women I have encountered, you y/n...are different.”

“That’s all you men come up?” You snort, staring right into his eyes. “Say that were different and then only use us for our bodies? You’re different, Safin. If you don’t get what you please, you act out. You use violence and kill.”

Safin looked at y/n, seeing the smirk on her face. She knew how obsessed he was with her, the anarchist obsessed with the cyrptographer. Safin had no intention of killing you and couldn’t bring himself to kill the woman he was madly in love with. Instead of becoming upset, he saw through you. All y/n was doing was poking the bear, refusing to give into Safin. Safin knew her antics all too well.

“Your hands are not clean either, y/n,” He debated. “Three hundred and thirteen men is a large kill count for such a young woman…”

In your short time in the military, you had achieved one of the highest kill counts in your ranking. Everyone knew you as the girl who never missed. From surviving alone in Serbia and crawling out of building rubble in Iraq, you were respected and feared. But that had been in the past when you still were young and had sanity. Now you were older, wiser, and even more broken. The military had changed your life drastically.

Safin truly knew how to dig under your skin and make you upset. He wanted to see you weak and feel stronger. You refused to let him. A small voice in your head kept telling you, “ Don't play his game. Play yours.”

 “ Safin, you’re the most accomplished stalker I’ve ever met” You chuckle. He’s oddly smiling like nothing was wrong.

“A beautiful bird cannot freely fly in a cage.” The anarchist response, a small smile on his face.  He relinked your arms as you walked back inside of the submarine pen.

Safin saw y/n, once acting up again. Seeing her make small “hmphs” and look away softly made Safin chuckle. He kept telling himself that with time, she would fall in love with him. Y/n was a young and stubborn woman who didn’t go down without a fight. Once Safin had her, he wasn’t going to let her go. Y/n was all Safin’s now. All the anarchist ever desired was to have company in his lonely lair. Not only someone to love but someone he could talk to and even work with. Y/n was the woman of his dreams who he had yearned for. She had to fall in love with him. She didn’t have another choice.

Safin let her slide away but still kept their arms linked. A part of him wanted to carry her to there next location, but he knew that she would probably punch him. In his spare time, Safin spent hours preparing the submarine pen for Y/n’s arrival. The bedroom was designed to fulfill her needs, but that wasn’t the only place that was meant for her.

“Close your eyes,” He says as you arrive at a large door.

You look at him and raise an eyebrow, immediately protesting. “Your going to trap me in a room where I cannot escape, aren’t you?”

“You are a guest, not a prisoner.” Safin reminded. You roll your eyes, deciding to go alone. Closing your eyes, Safin’s opens the door and leads you in. Taking small steps into the room, you can bear water running and birds chirping. A light that wasn’t artificial was projecting onto your skin. Opening your eyes, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

You were inside of a large glass atrium that had an open ceiling, showing the sun and cherry blossom tears. Their sakura petals fell into the garden, a few landing on your clothes and hair. Like all of the other gardens in the submarine pen, it was inspired after a Japanese Zen Garden but with color. There were Cherries, Bamboo, Camellias, Lavender, and a range of other flowers. Out of all of the places in your cold and unwelcoming home, this place had shined the brightest. It brought a true smile onto your face. Letting go of Safin, you walk down into the shrubs and are greeted with a small pond and a chabudai with a teapot and two cups.

“Would you like to have some tea?” Safin offers. You turn around and nod, a smile still on his face. Your not smiling at him, but the beauty of the garden. Before, the flat you had lived in was too small to host a garden (you also lived in the heart of Chelsea). As a substitute, your garden was a bunch of homemade terrariums and flowers. It felt like ethereal heaven.

The two of you sit down in the garden. Safin loves to see you so memorized with all of the plants. He had been in your apartment a few times when you weren’t there. He didn’t know how you managed to live in such a contained space. He had noticed all of the flowers and candles you had kept around and tried to replicate it best. He wasn’t doing something for himself, but his y/n.

“ Your smile is like the flowers in the spring.” He compliments. You look at him as you admire the diverse range of flowers that surround you. “It’s divine.”

“Oh..” You say as you feel your cheeks burn. This man was not going to stop until he got what he wanted. Safin went from kidnapping you to giving you a beautiful garden, along with subtle flirting. You weren’t really into dating much and never were hit on, even if you were a young woman. “Um, thank you..?”

He pours you a cup of Chai tea, and the two of you sit there, drinking in silence. Safin refuses to take his eyes off of you, admiring your every breath you take. Seeing you look at the flowers, fiddle with the cup, and small strands of hair fall into your face as you push them behind your ear. Everything about you was so magical to Safin. No matter what, Safin was going to make y/n fall in love with him. The two of you had enjoyed your tea in peace. Out of all of the madness, being in the gardens brought you peace.

Safin had let you enjoy the moment until he asked the question that he had been pondering about. “Do you love me?”

You nearly spit your tea out. Safin had been subtly flirting with you, but hearing him say the world love made you nearly choke. His face looked surprised, waiting for an answer. You had barely been around this man for a week, and he was already claiming he loved then. Then again, he did stalk you.

“I..um..no?” You spit, furrowing your thick eyebrows. The question had caught you completely off-guard.

Safin smiles, nodding at the response. Although upset at your answer, he knows that you will eventually have to give into him. Safin always got what he wanted, no matter the cost. “Fair enough, you will come around with time.”

The younger and more stubborn part of you would have loved to throw the tea into his hideous face and beat him. But it wasn’t so simple. Safin was a dangerous and mysterious man. The reason Europe was probably going to go into a civil war was because of him. M16 was probably going to have it’s a downfall because his blood became tainted on your hands. Not only were your friends were at risk, but so was your family. Safin had made a threat that if you didn’t comply, then he would...hurt them for you to love you. You couldn’t love a man that would hurt your family and drag them into your mess.

So you did the selfless act. You, a young woman, sacrificed yourself to Safin so your family could be safe from him. You would comply but at a price. No matter the cost, you wouldn’t give Safin exactly what he wanted.

Y/n was giving him the silent treatment again. Her face scrunched up as she looked away, annoyed.

“More like a thousand years.”

“Listen to me, my dear. I will strike a deal. Every night, I will ask you at dinner if you love me. Tell me no as much as you want. I don’t care how long it takes for you to come to your senses.” Safin proposes his plan. He sees y/n’s sudden interest with his “idea.”

“And when I do?”

“The next day will be your wedding day.”

Your jaw almost drops to the ground. Safin was an insane man; you already knew that. He was delusional enough to think that you were going to love him, but marry? That was a whole other level.

“You told Q in Athens you wanted to fall in love before you married, so I have given you however long you need.” He reassures. “But I know it will happen.”

You look at him with pure hate in your eyes. Words could barely process in your mind. You clench your teacup so tightly that you don’t even care if it begins to burn your palms. Safin had a smile on his face. He stood up and walked over to you, helping you up.

“I can get up myself, thank you very much,” You grumble as you walk ahead of him. Safin catches up and walks right beside you, seeing your anger. He pulls you closer than he did last time, tightly holding onto you. He knew that you weren’t going to protest if your family and friends were on the line. As you walk back to the bedroom, you feel relieved since being with Safin is emotionally exhausting. You mentally declare that he is one of the most insane men you had ever come across.

He stops in front of the door. A pissy “goodbye” leaves your mouth before Safin takes your hand, spinning you around. Your faces are even closer now. He smells like an expensive cologne with his haunting, big green eyes. The scars on his face aren’t burns, but horrid cuts that mutated his whole face. His hands were cold and rough from all of the scars. Safin doesn’t speak at all and just looks at your face in a creepy manner.

You feel his fingers brush against your skin as he puts a camellia behind your hair.  Safin backs away, a smile on his face as he adores you. Out of all of the gloom in his life, y/n was ever so bright. She had been caught off guard when he placed the flower in her hair. His beautiful bride to be.

“I thought it would go well with your hair,’ He purrs as his fingers stroke it. “Anything would look lovely on you.”

Holding back at eye-roll, a soft sigh escapes your lips. “Thanks…”

“I hope you enjoyed our time together. The garden is for you and only you. Feel free to wander as you please. After all, this is our home now.” He slowly backs away, seeing your eyes watch him disappear down the fall. “I will be pack to pick you up for dinner at seven. Goodbye, my sweet y/n.”

Once he disappeared, you retreat back to your room and slam the door. You see yourself in the mirror with a bright flower in your hair. The hair you had combed had been touched by Safin, making you cringe. As much as you hated him, this new place was your home. This would be your life from now on, whether you liked it or not. Your family and friends’ lives were on the line. It wasn’t such a horrible life. The submarine pen was void of all life but lavish. If being in love with Safin meant your mother and sister would be safe, then so it be. You couldn’t believe you, a simple cryptographer, was the Anarchist’s, true love. Sighing in the mirror, you ask yourself a question that will never be answered.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

[ruakichan]

Self-vent ahead!

I hate being “a creative.”

I’ve been drawing for about thirty years, most of that in fandom, and it’s utterly, hopelessly de-motivating to see that nothing has actually come from all that time. (Is this my mid-life crisis lol?)  No improvement, no following, I couldn’t even make money off my work if I tried (still living off my savings right now, for those that are aware I quit my job during the rona shutdown), no sense of lingering pride or accomplishment when I manage to squash down the loathing enough to finish a piece. I’ve watched my artist friends rightfully gain traction and blossom, while I shrivel.

All those pretty little puff pieces you see about how “work hard to improve!” have absolutely no idea what it’s like to be in the stratum known as complete banal mediocrity. You hit a wall that no amount of “working hard” can overcome: the wall that separates the talented from the hacks.

And squished right against that wall are the mediocre: good but not good enough. Only noticed because maybe they fill some niche until someone better comes along. They throw themselves against that wall in hopes of overcoming it, but never look up to see how high it really is.

A bad artist will always improve. A mediocre one just suffers diminishing returns.

My best friend, with good intentions, got me a very nice Cintiq for Christmas. He spent a lot of money he really shouldn’t have. He’s a “creative” too, so he understood some of what I was going through, and thought this would cheer me up, give me a boost. Thought maybe it was my outdated tools (over a decade old) was holding me back.

I accepted it because he was very proud of his grand gesture, but I wish he didn’t. I feel obligated to use it, to draw, to be continually disappointed, to continue to disappoint others. And on the rare occasion I do something I am pleased with the final product of, I hate it so, so very much the next day, and the masses agree, as the reception is silent.

Being an artist inherently has a streak of exhibitionism: what you draw is a reflection of your thoughts and perception of the subject matter, and when you post it publicly, you are asking for validation of that image.  Being able to appeal to a broad spectrum of people is a talent on its own: any popular meme or illustration becomes that way because people go, “yes, I can relate!” in some fashion. Empathy is incredibly important in any creative work.

But when the reception is silent, it’s hard to tell where it is you failed: the subject matter? the appeal? the skill level? everything? Do I fail at connecting with people despite being able to do it very well IRL? Is my art style just that unattractive? Is it my skill level, flat and uninspiring?

I know what I hate about my work (everything), but I don’t know what causes others to recoil from it, except to maybe give a pitying glance over but not enough to go ‘yes, I can relate!” and share it with others. So I can only assume it’s for the same reasons why I hate it: everything.

Perhaps my loathing for my art comes through in the image, which in turn elicits a similar reaction in others. I feel ‘this is ugly’ and others pick up on that and react in kind.  There’s something to be said about how people can pick up on your body language and confidence in face-to-face conversation; perhaps this is the same with art. But what about the work I do that I’m proud of, which gets even less reception?

During the initial drawing process, I do very much love art. I do like the act of ‘creating.’ I’m happiest during this point; I like brainstorming or daydreaming, doodling and laughing at my own bad jokes. But the longer I stay with a piece of work, the more critically I look at it, and the more ashamed I am of wasting my time with something that no one can love, not even me. There’s a lot of work I just never finished; there’s a lot of work I just flat out deleted from existence. I’ve been trying not to do this; try to at least post something, finish something, acknowledge that even flawed things have merit, but holy hell, it gets so depressing seeing these malformed things out there in the wild, even if no one else sees them.

When I was first starting out, I didn’t have these sort of thoughts, eagerly, lovingly drawing, proud of every single doodle, sharing them with anyone that would cast a glance my way.  When you’re fresh and naive, you don’t realize how personal art is until you get rejected enough to start to become self-aware of your own flaws: like how children can be so unabashedly carefree while adults are acutely self-conscious.

Lately, I hate admitting I draw. I don’t like sharing my art freely. Even the brief moment I got validated—being a winner in some contest for some game—I immediately wished I could take that image away so people wouldn’t see it cause I threw it together to get the participation prize.  “This isn’t representative of what I can do!”  ... but maybe it is.  After all, it won, where others I labored over haven’t.

Social media definitely hasn’t helped in this day and age, where you’re aggressively bombarded with how well you succeeded or failed.  I shut down my Twitter for this reason; it was absolutely soul-crushing to see anything I do die in the ether, because I wasn’t good enough. All these followers, but no response?   It’s better just to hide them under the bed, than look at your own failures.

So now I spend a lot of time going “why bother” when it comes to creative endeavors as I try to come to some final acceptance of my own mediocrity.

Why bother?

The images are prettier in my head.  They don’t need to be realized because I can’t convey them in a worthy manner that people would want to see. If after nearly 3 decades, I haven’t been able to surmount that wall, I need to accept that this is the end of the road.

Why bother indeed? There are many more talented, able artists to provide beautiful works.  I want to freely consume them without thinking about where I failed.  I can only look at art in areas I don’t draw in; it’s the only way I don’t immediately want to break my own hands.

Anyway, long vent, but it’s been building up since I got that Cintiq. I don’t talk about this much because people hate hearing about it. They don’t want to see your anxieties.  You have to be *~strong~* and *~confident~* as an artist, and it’s “”””””cringe””””””” to have any doubts about yourself. They don’t want to see “I’m not happy with this, but here it is” attached to something you did. They call it “fishing for compliments,” without realizing there’s a lot of baggage attached to a lot of artwork that they, as the viewer, don’t see.

That when artists post art, they are literally putting themselves up on display. They wonder where they can improve in their work, they wonder about the reaction to their art.  These things don’t exist in a vacuum, independent of each other.  Art is inherently exhibitionist.

It’s why I’m the least suited for it, and I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self to go collect stamps or something. What a waste of a life.

[alinette-coccinelle]

Written in the Tea Leaves

Hey Katelyn! I was your MLB Secret Santa, Merry Christmas! You said Lukanette was your favourite so I hope you like this little meet cute ficlet; I tried to pick two complementary cute AU's for this fluff piece so i hope you like it!

AO3

Despite the lack of sleep and her usual hatred for mornings Marinette had woken up long before sunrise today, her mind caught up in the opening of her and Alya’s very own Tattoo shop, their dream come true after years of hard work. She’d attempt to plan her outfit out the night before but with hours to kill in the morning she’d gotten changed a further six times, her nerves and excitement refusing to let her sit still. In the end she settled on a lacy dusky pink sundress that was both her favourite colour and still flashy enough to show off the art she wore on her own skin proudly.

And Marinette was no stranger to Ink, her fingers itched daily to add to the scrawling elegant display of watercolour flowers that spiralled both her arms and nearly met across her shoulder blades and collar bones. It was getting to the point where she struggled to add to the piece herself, instead bothering Alya to copy out her designs onto skin; Alya who was almost as talented with ink, though she preferred to stab people with jewellery usually.

The most recent addition to Marinette’s piece had been three small gold washed marigolds across her shoulder blade, to represent her and Alya’s creative dream coming true, every single one of the flowers she wore held a meaning of some kind, literally wearing her heart on her sleeves for all to see.

With the healing process finally over and the urge to show off her skill for the opening Marinette decided she was brave enough to skip the coat and bare the brisk spring air, after all it looked warm enough with the rising sun and it would be a shame to cover up the art she wanted to show off. With her heart still fluttering somewhere rapidly in her throat in excitement she decided she couldn’t wait any longer to get into the shop and so for the first time in forever she set off from her apartment ridiculously early, Alya would be pleased.

In her unrestrained glee Marinette had failed to notice the sky darkening or even the air growing cold as she practically skipped down the cobbled streets to their shop. When the rain finally broke overhead the squeal that ripped from her throat was genuine shock and despite trying to keep under shop awnings she was truly and unsurprisingly soaked, hair plastered to her face within minutes and her whole form violently shivering as she dripped.

Sheltering herself against the side of the building Marinette found herself cursing her luck and scowling down at the ‘lucky’ ladybug tattooed on the outside of her wrist, as if it was going to give her a solution; she was only about half way between home and the shop and in either direction laid more rain. In the end Marinette made the split-second decision to duck into the only open looking coffee shop on the corner, the lights glowing warmly through the window into the rainy gloom. Sure she wasn’t far from the safety of her own shop but the hottest tea she could stand sounded like a good pay off to her rain soaked self and maybe she could even miss the rest of the downpour safely inside, it wasn’t like she was running late.

Feeling a little more hopeful Marinette dashed back out into the rain and darted through the coffee shop door blindly, water dripping in her eyes as the bell chimed above her. As soon as the door shut and the warmth hit her and she stilled leaning back on her heels just slightly as her shivers subsided and her eyes slid closed happily, rubbing her arms a little for warmth as she adjusted.

“You’re dripping on my floor.” came an amused voice from her left, startling her eyes open.

Marinette immediately rushed to apologise, hands fluttering and her whole face turning scarlet but before she could mumble the words aloud a soft towel was being pushed into her hands, stilling them.

“It’s clean, dry yourself off and go sit by the guitars, it’s where the heating vents are.” He winked at her like sharing a secret before turning back to head towards the counter. “I’ll bring you something warm; tea?”

The unbelievably flustered Marinette just nodded in response, eyes wide and face burning but he at least seemed amused by her speechlessness, smiling as he left.

Despite still dripping with rainwater her brain failed to jump into action, instead allowing her eyes to follow the baristas retreating form unbidden, the teal tips of his locks reflecting in the lights and the muscles under his black button up flexing casually as he moved. ‘He’s Cute’ was the first thing to flash forward followed in the empty silence of her thoughts followed rapidly by ‘I look like a took a swim in the Seine! Argh!’

Finally kicked into action she immediately began towelling the rainwater off her face and shoulders before gently rubbing her hair, careful to try and make herself as presentable as possible by pulling her fingers through the now wavy damp locks. She eventually remembered to move from the door, eyes darting back to the Barista as she walked, this time watching as he selected tea leaves from a variety of jars on the counter adding them to a glass teapot. She was pretty sure could hear him humming as he worked which caused her lips to twitch into a small involuntary smile.

For a beat she hovered next to the table unsure if she wanted to get the comfy looking fabric seats all wet but when she next glanced up she could see the barista’s dimpled smile sent her way across the counter and as their eyes finally met her suddenly weak knees decided she needed the seat after all. So Marinette perched gingerly on the edge of the chair, fingers worrying in the damp fabric of her skirt as she waited, the returning smile on her lips refusing to be squashed by her embarrassment even if she couldn’t quite look his way again.

She instead cast her eyes about the café quickly catching on to the musical theme as she spotted all sorts of instruments mounted to the walls, not just the guitars she was sat near. There was even the odd album poster dotted around and she couldn’t help but smile as she spotted her own Jagged Stone cover amongst the rest; Uncle Jagged had like the design so much he’d let her tattoo it on his arm years later and she wondered idly if the barista was a Jagged fan, maybe she could ask him, If she could find her words again.

Marinette was startled out of her thoughts by a polite clearing of a throat. The Barista and his warm eyes were back, and he was baring a steaming teapot that smelled divine.

“I thought you might like-“ he began,

“I’m sorry about your-” she clattered over him.

His easy smile as he gestured for her to go first calmed the pulse ringing in her ears and Marinette found herself able to meet his lovely teal eyes as she spoke her own soft smile blooming in response.

“I’m sorry about the floor and thank you.” she finally breathed, relieved.

“It’s no problem, we’re not really open yet but you looked cold and a just little damp, so I thought I’d offer you a place to warm up.” He spoke lightly with just a hint of friendly teasing as he placed a musical note patterned mug before her.

“I really appreciate it, thank you! I, um, well I wasn’t quite prepared for the weather.” She admitted. And whilst Marinette had meant to be witty or charming, to try hard and make a good impression something about him put her instantly at ease; happy to just be herself for once, exactly as she was, even if that was a little bashful.

It seemed to be the right move as he grew flushed by her sincere thanks a small blush spreading across his cheeks as his eyes dropped from hers. In fact, Marinette got the distinct impression he’d rub his neck in shyness if his hands weren’t full of teapot, the thought alone caused a warmth to grow in the pit of her stomach; he was as adorable as he was kind.

“I thought this would suit you, jasmine and sakura blossom with curl of apple.” He nodded his chin to the leaves and fruit floating clear teapot before reaching across the table to pour, unintentionally causing his long sleeves to ride up baring the edge of a tattoo to her.

Like a predator spotting pray Marinette instantly zoned in on the tattoo, her bashfulness vanishing in curiosity, her hands reaching forward without thought to push the sleeve further up baring the beautiful design. It was some sort of snake surrounded by fresh tea leaves and music notes, the colours greyscale but with a watercolour wash of blue and teal; very much like her own preferred style.

“Oh! its beautiful.” She gasped delightedly, gently lifting his hand off the lid of the tea pot so she could turn his arm to view it better, revealing a burn scar running through the back of the design.

“I could fix this!” she blurted out, eyes darting across his skin mentally designing and recreating the piece with new details to cover the scar.

In the responding silence she finally glanced up to meet his startled but soft gaze when she remembered they were practically strangers; she didn’t even know his name and she’d gotten carried away again! Quickly releasing his arm, she sat back, linking her fingers together to stop the fidgeting as she turned slowly scarlet from head to toe her eyes fixed somewhere around his chin, no longer brave enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, that was so rude! I’m a tattoo artist and I get carried away and I shouldn’t have and–“

He cut her off with the scrape of the chair next to her as he took a seat, carefully arranging the music note patterned apron on his knee, as if giving her a chance to breathe before ducking slightly to try and gently catch her gaze.

“It’s okay but maybe we should start again properly. I’m Luka.”

His voice was so warm, like honey, that it took her a moment to realise he was offering his hand to shake; her daintier hand engulfed by his as she finally reached out and shook. She forced herself to untense and to meet his eyes with a smile despite the tingles in her fingertips of the hand he still held.

“I’m um, I’m Ma-Ma-Marinette! Pleased to meet you!” she stumbled the moment his eyes connected with hers, really at 26 she ought to be better at this, but Luka just chuckled softly squeezing her fingers but seemingly in no rush to let go either.

“Well Ma-Ma-Marinette, let’s talk about these tattoos...”

And they did her mouth spiralling out of control as her nerves calmed when supplied with a topic she loved, quickly explaining her skill and style before expressing exactly how she’d like to cover the scar in his design, absently tracing her plans with her fingertips on his skin. Luka in turn explained exactly how the scar came to be and how he ended up trading in music and fancy tea leaves, before shifting closer and gently touching the flowers across her arms, quizzing her on the meaning behind the art and how she’d come to be an artist in ink.

In the end he ended up getting down his favourite guitar off the wall and playing her some pieces for inspiration as she rapidly sketched out his new tattoo design on a napkin in biro; she couldn’t wait for a sketch book not when the idea was so perfect.

Before they knew it, hours had passed, the sun was breaking through the clouds and Marinette was getting a frantic call from Alya about being late to opening day as Luka realised that he should have opened the store front an hour ago. There wasn’t time for awkward lingering goodbyes, Marinette instead throwing her arms around the taller boy in a soft slightly to long hug before she was dashing out of his arms and running out of the door, wearing his borrowed jacket. A jacket that she’d later find a hastily hidden note baring his number in the pocket of.

So, when Marinette happened to get a craving for tea the next morning and returned his jacket with the pocket now hiding a preliminary sketch of his new design and her own number neatly in the corner it was only natural. As it was when she was invited back day after day, after all it was on her way and they had design to settle on.

Nearly a month later when that design was finally on his arm but now also baring greyscale sakura blossoms amongst the scattered tea leaves, it seemed almost logical for matching tea leaves to appear on Marinette’s design in return too, it was such an aesthetic combination after all.

And months after that when a beaming Marinette moved into the flat above his cosy tea shop to live with an overjoyed Luka no one even blinked, it seemed some people’s fate were written in the tea leaves after all.

[lisatelramor]

Choking Bittersweet

A DNAngel fic from me! I’ve had a few in the works, but this is the only one that’s got anywhere lately. This fic is a bit of a mess tonally but I can't bring myself to fix it as I'm a mess right now and I know I'm probably not going to want to go back and edit it some day. So fic. Basically I was reading a couple hanahaki fic and couldn't get the image of Satoshi coughing up flower petals out of my head because of course my brain would go "oh, Satoshi's suffering! This would be even worse!!!" because brains be like that. I binge wrote the latter half of this due to 'vent emotions via writing' and it shows >_>

******

A month before his fourteenth birthday, Daisuke coughed up tiny white petals into his hands. It wasn’t a surprise really. He knew that someone who had an unrequited love could end up with hanahaki. It ran in the family too. His mother had told him stories about his father getting it over her, so sure that she wouldn’t love him in return, until he finally confessed.  So it wasn’t as terrifying as it could have been. He knew that it wasn’t something that killed quickly, and it could be cured just by getting the emotions caught in his chest out in a confession to the girl he loved. He knew that just because it felt like he didn’t have a chance with Risa, it didn’t necessarily mean that she didn’t return his feelings. And if it came down to it,  if she didn’t love him back, he’d have the resolution he needed to move on and let the flowers die on their own.

Daisuke didn’t panic when the flower petals grew in number or when the occasional clump of blossom heads were coughed out of his throat. He just wrote a confession letter and waited for the right moment to give it to her.

There wasn’t anything keeping him from doing otherwise.

He had more to gain than to lose. So he waited for his birthday. It seemed like the thing to do; fourteen had always been the family’s lucky number.

And when Risa turned him down? He cried and the petals withered on his tongue and he tried to move on. Because for Daisuke it had never been a thought that he’d die from something as avoidable as hanahaki.

o*O*o

The Hikari were cursed. Most would say it was a curse of hubris, to try to create life, to create beautiful things, those things took life from them. Others would call Krad the curse. Satoshi agreed with both of those things as horrible misfortunes of birth into the Hikari line, but he thought his ancestors were blind in missing the other curse that seemed to follow them like a miasma. There were no, so far as Satoshi could tell, Hikari members of the main line who had been fortunate in love.

If the Niwa had Dark as a curse of romantic love, the Hikari curse was that they would forever fall for the worst possible person.

Satoshi’s grandmother had fallen in love with a soldier gone off to war and chosen the then-risky operation to remove the roots of her love rather than suffocate a love that was impossible to confess. Satoshi’s mother had fallen for a man she met once, conceived Satoshi, and had died rather than remove the feelings shortly after Satoshi was born. The Hikari family archives were littered with stories about lovers who died tragically young, of loves never realized, and premature deaths from flower-choked lungs.

He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t fall in love. If Satoshi didn’t love anyone, then Krad couldn’t gain as big a foothold in his soul. If he distanced himself from everyone, emotions couldn’t grow. Friendship would never root and there would be no chance that anything would blossom. He’d make his heart and soul a barren ground and he’d do better than his ancestors.

No giving life to art no matter how tempting. No giving into emotions. No letting Krad drain the magic and life from his veins in his pursuit of Dark.

Three rules. Three simple rules.

It should have been easy. Satoshi was no stranger to denying himself wants (or occasionally needs). He had the self-discipline to complete university at age thirteen; he had more than enough discipline to control his thoughts and feelings.

What he hadn’t accounted for was that not everyone would accept being held at a distance. That they wouldn’t give him a choice. That the very boy who was his enemy would offer a hand in friendship time and again no matter how Satoshi brushed him off.

He didn’t account for how too much denial made his mental walls brittle. Made him weak.

When Satoshi felt a tickle in his throat the day after the debacle with the lighthouse, he didn’t think much of it. He got sick easily and they had been out all night near the ocean.

But the cough didn’t go away and when he coughed up pale yellow specks and a perfectly shaped pink petal, his first thought wasn’t about confessing. His first thought was how long he had left until he died. Because there was only one person it could mean, and he could never bend to tell him how he felt.

In Satoshi’s head, Krad jeered about the frailty of human beings and the weaknesses of their emotions.

He could get a surgery tomorrow if he wanted to. Kei would sign off and it would nip the whole thing in the bud before it even had a chance to properly blossom.

But.

There was warmth in his chest wasn’t just the pain of the cough, and for the first time Satoshi understood why so many relatives had suffocated on their love. The feeling was simultaneously the best and worst thing he’d experienced. Like being split open and vulnerable but with the chance that something good might come out of all that pain.

It was a ridiculous thought. Nothing good could come from such a foolish, dangerous love. Satoshi was a Hikari and Daisuke was a Niwa. Dark’s tamer. It was an unbridgeable gap.

And he reminded himself this over and over as bits of flowers started to bloom in his chest. Bit by bit.

He should do something about it.

There was a certain sort of morbid curiosity though about what would kill him faster; Krad, his body’s frailty, or his own suffocating love. …He supposed he didn’t care much for living anyway.

o*O*o

Daisuke had flowers for Riku less than a month. Much like Risa’s they were small and white and left him coughing white petals into his hand. Much like Risa’s they went away the moment he confessed to her. Unlike Risa, she liked him back.

The weirdest thing out of all of it was that Dark never had a flower pass his lips. His feelings for Riku and for Risa didn’t bring out hanahaki the way they did for Daisuke, and when Dark was in control, they might as well have not been sick at all.

Maybe Dark didn’t have an ability to catch it like the Niwa did. Maybe being a work of art kept him from catching frail human diseases. Maybe Dark didn’t love the same way Daisuke did at all.

Either way, the petals dried on his tongue and the love bloomed healthily, the hanahaki fading from his chest.

Yet again, Daisuke hadn’t feared at all.

o*O*o

It was amazing what people failed to notice, Satoshi thought, breathing careful and slow to avoid aggravating his lungs and throat. No one noticed Daisuke’s odd behaviors, not as himself or when Dark took his body. They just accepted it as eccentricity. They didn’t notice the pale white flower petals he coughed into a handkerchief and later threw away. They didn’t notice the flowers end. And no one noticed Satoshi carefully control his breaths and coughs to keep them from disturbing anyone. They didn’t notice the yellow specks on his handkerchief and tongue or the pink petals that cropped up.

No one noticed the first specks of blood on his handkerchief either.

Satoshi looked at it dispassionately. The flower in his lungs had thorns. He’d coughed a leaf once, and little straight thorns had lined the underside. A kind of rose, he thought, and it was probably slowly tearing into him, roots and vines and thorns as it stubbornly tried to bloom no matter how barren he tried to make his heart. He couldn’t be lucky enough to have some finicky, delicate rose that could die at the slightest mistreatment. He’d ended up with a hearty wild thing that would choke him until he gave into its ache or it killed him trying.

His throat tasted faintly of blood a lot lately. He thought that his disease might be spreading faster than he had read it would, but his ancestor’s accounts varied wildly, so there wasn’t any clear way to tell how fast was normal for a Hikari or not.

Satoshi cleared his throat softly and felt the burn in his chest urging him to cough. His breath caught and he breathed through the pain. He needed to catch Dark. There were only so many more opportunities he would have.

He cleared his throat again and Daisuke glanced his way, a small worried frown on his face. Perhaps not everyone was blind to their surroundings.

o*O*o

If asked, Satoshi would say he was managing his hanahaki well. He got through every school day, managed his job chasing Dark—although with a bit less literal chasing—and still did research in his spare moments. He rarely had major coughing attacks, and while there was blood when he did, it remained tiny flecks. He was still functional. He still had a grip on Krad. How he felt wasn’t important. It never had been. Satoshi had one purpose in life, and that was fix the mistake his family made with Dark and Krad or die trying.

No matter how much his step father liked to point out the extra goal of continuing the Hikari family line, it had never been a priority or even an objective to him.

But even Satoshi could admit that having hanahaki was impairing his ability to work toward his goal. Getting shoved into situations with Daisuke were only making his condition decline faster. (He was almost thankful that it had been Dark in Daisuke’s body for most of the Ice and Snow play rehearsals. Worse, almost grateful for Krad bursting free if only because for a moment he could breathe freely, even if the pain was no better than before.)

Things were coming to a head.

Satoshi sat on a bench. It was chilly but not too bad to sit outside. He should be watching Daisuke right now, but there were only so many hours he had patience to watch him go about his day while Satoshi’s breath burned more and more in his chest. Watching Daisuke from a distance always made the memory of Daisuke’s outstretched hand come to mind. If he took that hand, took the offer implied in that. The friendship and everything that went with it… Daisuke never once rescinded that offer.

He closed his eyes. He was so tired. Of all of it. He swallowed against the prickling feeling in his chest. In the back of his mind, Krad sneered at the feeling. He’d been pushing more the worse the feeling of the flowers got.

Satoshi pushed him back and down and breathed, breathed, breathed. His head felt wrong, like he was floating and dizzy.

He wished it was as simple as taking Daisuke’s hand. If it was, he’d take it in a heartbeat, change their fates and their enmity. He wished—his breath caught and stuck. He choked, coughed, clutching at his chest. The world spun and he crashed to the ground, struggling to breathe.

o*O*o

Satoshi woke somewhere warm and soft with voices speaking above him. ‘Ah,’ he thought, ‘hospital.’ And yet there wasn’t the sterile scent or the too cold air, no beeping of machines or IV drip hooked up to his arm. So not a hospital. He opened his eyes and almost laughed because of course. Of course it would be Daisuke who found him. Of course it would be Daisuke’s home that he woke up in with Daisuke having a furious whispered conversation with his mother a few meters away.

Satoshi blinked at them and then at the fluffy white creature he knew was Dark’s wings sitting close to his head. It stared at him through large red eyes, not showing one thing or another. He supposed he should be glad it didn’t attack him on principle. His chest and throat ached. When he tried to sit up, his breath caught and the world spun for a moment.

He must have made a sound because suddenly Daisuke was there, one hand steadying his shoulder and his face far too close, scrunched up with innocent concern.

“Satoshi,” Daisuke said. “You passed out at school and weren’t waking up. I didn’t know what to do and ended up carrying you home.”

“You should have called an ambulance,” Daisuke’s mother said, her emotions smoothed away into a dispassionate mask like she hadn’t been fiercely arguing with her son moments before.

“I panicked,” Daisuke said, sending an irritated look over his shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Satoshi said, pulling back from Daisuke’s support and touch. His chest hurt.

Daisuke turned a frown on him. “You passed out.”

“I’m aware.”

“That’s not exactly fine.”

What could he say? That this happened? That he got sick easily in the first place? He looked past Daisuke at the room instead. It had to be Niwa’s bedroom, a scattering of personal items lying around and a work desk with the day’s homework laid out untouched on it. He saw cameras hidden carefully along the walls when he looked up, probably traps built in as well. This was a Niwa household, who knew what secrets it held. He was probably the first member of his family to set foot in one of their homes in generations. Perhaps the only one ever.

“I should go home. Thank you for your concern, but I can’t stay here.”

“You can’t just leave!” Daisuke said looking panicked. He put a hand on Satoshi’s forehead and Satoshi just. Didn’t. Breathe. “You don’t seem to be feverish right now, but you’re not okay! And you live alone…”

“You did collapse,” Daisuke’s mother said slowly. Niwa Emiko. Satoshi’s notes on her were far and few in between; his mother never met her. Still, she met his eyes in challenge and said, “You might as well stay for dinner.” There was something in that stare that made him feel cold. She knew, he was sure. She knew what was wrong with him and she didn’t like what she saw. But she was also going along with Daisuke’s wishes for some reason. She’d let him in here and was letting him stay for dinner.

This had to be some sort of cruel joke from the universe. Why? Why would they even show the slightest kindness toward him considering…? His chest ached, but so did his mind, Krad rousing slightly at the surge of his emotions.

Satoshi let his breath out slowly, pushing Daisuke’s hand aside.

“Please?” Daisuke said.

And Satoshi couldn’t deny him when he looked so earnest and concerned. Daisuke truly should only be concerned for himself.

“…Just for dinner,” he relented.

Emiko pasted a smile on her face. “You can rest in Daisuke’s room while I finish up dinner. Daisuke, why don’t you lend a hand?”

“Wait, but—” Emiko threw the door open, dragging Daisuke with her and leaving a dark-haired man who looked very similar to Daisuke standing awkwardly in the hall outside, a hand raised to knock.

“Ah,” the man, who based on appearance alone had to be Daisuke’s father. “It looks like they’re going to be busy.” He scratched sheepishly at the back of his head the way Daisuke did. But unlike Daisuke, there was something sharp in the glance he threw Satoshi’s direction like he was sizing him up.

Satoshi breathed as regularly as possible even though that close encounter with Daisuke had him aching to cough.

“Actually, could I speak with you a moment?”

Niwa Kosuke had married into the Niwa family. An art history student who had gone on to specialize in the Cultural Reform after becoming entangled with the Niwas. He had a few well received articles in the community, but Satoshi knew he was most likely the one researching and choosing a good percentage of Dark’s targets. There was always someone doing that in the Niwa line, and it certainly wasn’t Daisuke. He didn’t look like much, but neither did Daisuke; that was part of what made him dangerous.

“I’m Daisuke’s father,” Kosuke said, taking Satoshi’s non-answer as permission. He walked in and sat next to the bed and Satoshi, still struggling to breathe, didn’t have much choice in whether or not they had this conversation. “I’ve been wanting to see who this Satoshi Daisuke talks about.”

Daisuke talked about him? His breath caught, wetly, and he struggled to breathe through it.

Kosuke watched him with knowing eyes. “You know, sometimes your face looks very adult. Is that your face, or someone else’s?”

Satoshi’s hands closed into fists beneath Daisuke’s blanket. There was a pause, something heavy between them before Kosuke took another breath.

“I wasn’t born into the Niwa family,” Kosuke said, “So the feud between your family and them isn’t my business. But it gives me a different perspective than everyone in the middle of it. I don’t know where the things I see will lead, but I think you and Daisuke might just be close to a solution, more than anyone else.”

Satoshi wanted to leave. Now. Didn’t want to hear some man try to lay bare things that no one spoke of. There was no reason to speak of them because they couldn’t be changed. He took a breath. “I don’t—”

“I know,” Kosuke said, “I’m just a meddling adult, but I can’t stand seeing kids like you two suffer. Daisuke is always worrying—”

“Stop,” Satoshi said, the word choked as his throat threatened to block entirely.

Kosuke stopped, looked him over again. “You don’t have to accept what hurts you,” he said. “Even if—”

“Please stop,” Satoshi said again. “I don’t…know what you’re getting at.”

Kosuke sighed softly and gave Satoshi a sheepish little smile that was all Daisuke. “I see, well, thanks for letting me ramble then. Although… you should try to make a choice soon.”

“Pardon?”

“About your illness.”

Satoshi held very still and refused to cough. Refused to breathe wrong. It hurt.

Kosuke looked up and met his eyes, smile still friendly, but sadness in his eyes. “You’re nearing late stage hanahaki, correct? If you leave it much longer, you’re going to end up in the hospital or worse.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

There was pity there too. And kindness that stung worse than the pity. “I reached that stage myself when I was a little older than you. It feels like the end of the world, but I promise that it isn’t.”

Satoshi looked away. “Somehow I doubt it was ever that bad for you,” he said. For one, he doubted Niwa Emiko had been in a relationship at the time. And also wasn’t his enemy.

“Hmm,” Kosuke said. “Perhaps not, but everyone’s feelings are their own. Ah.” He reached into his pocket. “One more thing.” Kosuke held out two small objects, one a ring, and one a bottle. Satoshi, against his better judgment, let them be placed in his hand. “That ring has a seal on it that might help you. Dark used it once. It can suppress your…shadow. But only once.”

A ring that could hold Krad back? That was tremendously valuable. Where on earth could Kosuke have found something like that? Let alone feel comfortable giving it to him? “Where…?”

“You can find a lot of things if you poke around long enough. Including treasure,” Kosuke said with a mild-mannered smile.

“And the bottle?”

“That… It helped me once. Its contents can hold off hanahaki’s progress temporarily. It’s not a cure, and you can’t use it very long, but it helps.” He looked at the bottle with a mixture of warmth and sadness, like he was remembering something bittersweet. “I tried to put off dealing with it a lot longer than I should have.”

A bit more time… To what? Catch Dark? To feel himself slipping away even more as Krad tried to become him? Of watching Daisuke smile and offer hands of friendship Satoshi could never take? It was a gift, but it was just as much a curse.

“You know,” Kosuke said, “it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let Daisuke understand you. That sort of trust might be hard, but I truly think it’s possible that you can both shake off the chains of the past and make a brighter future.”

Did he mean Krad? A confession to Daisuke? Satoshi stared at the man and felt a pang of jealousy even as he was glad that, for Daisuke at least, this wouldn’t be a curse. He had someone on his side who would watch over him. Encourage him.

Kosuke gave a wave and stepped out. Satoshi clutched at his chest and tried not to choke. The bottle, something crystal and beautiful, surely an artwork in its own right, had liquid in it and a tiny dropper. Satoshi let a single drop fall on his tongue and it was bitter, horribly bitter, like poison. And like weed killer, he felt the flowers in his chest wither. Not gone, but weaker. Weak enough that he could take a breath. There was still blood on the back of his throat, blood on his tongue under the bitter taste. He wiped his mouth on a tissue from Daisuke’s desk and a single withered petal was crumpled in its mess.

A gift of time and agency. Daisuke was truly lucky to have a father like that.

Satoshi slipped the ring and bottle into his own pocket just before Daisuke came back into the room.

o*O*o

Emiko had never had hanahaki. She’d seen it in so many others, but she’d never had it herself. She had, before Kosuke, never been in love, and had only looked toward people who already were in love with her for potential romantic partners. She couldn’t have unrequited love in that setting. She hadn’t loved Kosuke when she first met him, and maybe it was a mercenary way of thinking, to only look for people who loved her, who could fulfill the requirement of a father for the next generation of a line of phantom thieves. But even if she hadn’t loved him at first, she’d grown to love him.

She didn’t know for sure if the Hikari boy was in love with her son, but he was in love with someone and it was killing him.

Emiko wouldn’t intervene with that. But Kosuke was kinder than her, and that was what had ultimately made her fall in love with him. He was kind and saw more than other people gave him credit for, so if he saw something in that boy, and Daisuke did as well… She wasn’t going to kick him out. She didn’t have to like it. But she’d feed him and let him spend a night under her roof. She just hoped her boys knew what they were getting into.

o*O*o

Satoshi was a fool. He should have left after dinner. Before dinner. Climbed out the window and fled. His heart was weak though, so he stayed. He ate food Niwa Emiko cooked, accepted what the rest of the family put on his plate, and let Daisuke cajole him into taking a bath and sleeping in his bed.

Not together. Thank goodness or he’d have died. Choked on flowers and died on the spot.

Satoshi had looked at Daisuke’s room with all the personal items that showed love and care and life. Looked at the painting he’d done and ached. “Daisuke, someday I’ll destroy you,” he’d said, heart feeling like it was going to burst, lungs burning, burning, and Daisuke had looked him in the eye and said back, “Not me! No matter what, we won’t be destroyed.”

Satoshi didn’t know what to do with that. With how certain Daisuke sounded or how it made Satoshi want to cry. Or maybe to reach out and bury his face in Daisuke’s hair and pretend he could believe him.

Instead he laid down in Daisuke’s bed that smelled like him and was warm and soft and waited until Daisuke was asleep to study his face. Defenseless and open. Peaceful. Things Satoshi never was nor could he ever be.

The vial Kosuke gave him held back the flowers just enough that he didn’t choke.

Krad stirred and for once he wasn’t full of anger. He was contemplative instead. Emotions were complicated things. For people like Satoshi and Daisuke, for Krad and Dark, one form’s emotions impacted the other’s. Even when those base emotions were so far apart, there was bleed over. For Satoshi, Krad’s rage. For Daisuke, Dark’s confidence. For Dark, Daisuke’s love. For Krad…

There was something simultaneously bitter and gentle as they watched Daisuke sleep. Satoshi wasn’t entirely sure where some of Krad’s feelings began and his own ended. “I never wanted to become deeply connected with you,” Krad said, voicing Satoshi’s words. “Daisuke, I always envied you.”

And yet he loved him too. Krad sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair from Daisuke’s face. “You have no idea what you do to him,” he said. “It would be kinder to kill you in your sleep.” But there was no violence in the words, no violence in his thoughts. No intent to harm there at all for once so Satoshi did nothing. Krad carefully shifted Daisuke to his bed with a tenderness that was Satoshi’s feelings, not his own.

A feather drifted free from his wings and they left it behind.

“You can’t go back now,” Krad said as they left through the bedroom window. “We can’t go on like this at all.”

Satoshi pushed that emotion down, all the emotions down, and Krad folded back away without fighting for once because Satoshi knew he was right.

There were flowers and thorns growing in his chest as he stood barefoot in his apartment bedroom, and there was no going back from this at all.

o*O*o

Dark never had hanahaki. He’d experienced it vicariously through his tamers, but roots had never grown in his lungs or flowers choked at his throat. He loved people. Loved girls his tamers loved, but it had always felt like a borrowed love. A lingering effect of the fact that they share a body. The love was there and then gone, just like Dark himself was.

It was different with Risa. Yes, Daisuke might have started loving Risa, but it hadn’t lasted, and Dark might have fallen for Riku first, but he hadn’t experienced this before, this divergent interest from his tamer.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it honestly. It felt wrong on a level he couldn’t explain, not that he ever would to Daisuke. They weren’t supposed to like different people. That wasn’t how it worked. But then Daisuke wasn’t supposed to go befriend a Hikari, and the Hikari wasn’t supposed to want to friend him back. It had to be driving Krad insane which would almost make Dark like the kid except for the whole, y’know, trying to catch/seal/kill him thing the Hikari had going on. Things were weird this time around.

Dark was pretty sure he really loved Risa, and he wondered if he could get hanahaki the way his tamers did. But even if he could, he wouldn’t get it with her. She loved him back and he’d known it from the start. It was Daisuke who had trouble. Daisuke who found himself coughing up petals and hadn’t even felt too worried beyond the ‘I’ve fallen in love with the other sister, how could I’ that Dark didn’t really blame him for being conflicted about. It was kind of an awkward situation if either of them stopped and thought about it too hard.

Thankfully Dark wasn’t usually one for introspection.

It was probably for the best that Dark would never have hanahaki. Maybe works of art couldn’t love that way in the first place.

o*O*o

Satoshi didn’t go back to school. It was a hard choice to make, but school kept pushing Daisuke closer and choking off what little time he had left Satoshi wasn’t even sure he wanted that time sometimes, but he knew that if he actually wanted to make any progress on figuring this curse out, he couldn’t keep watching Daisuke day in and day out.

He’d never realized how much he could miss someone he barely allowed himself to speak to.

Emotions were terrible cruel things. Like Pandora’s Box, once he let them out, all of them, the good and the bad, were overrunning his life. And like Pandora’s Box he hadn’t let out hope so he just felt more and more exhausted by it all.

Kei definitely knew something was up. Satoshi hid the flower petals, hid the vial Kosuke gave him, was very careful not to cough around him or use the blood-speckled handkerchiefs. It was only a matter of time though. Kei would confront him and try to get him to have the surgery. Late stage was a risky surgery. He could hear Kei’s words in his head without him needing to say them. “You have a duty, Satoshi. Don’t make the mistakes of your ancestors. Get that emotion dealt with and catch Dark.”

The truly scary thing was that Satoshi was starting to wonder if the hanahaki would keep choking him even if he did confess to Daisuke. It happened sometimes. No one was sure if it was because the person in love couldn’t accept the rejection or if they couldn’t let go of that love even after knowing it would always be hopeless.

“You’re a fool,” Krad said in his mind. “Just like so many Hikari before you.”

Satoshi blocked Krad out with volumes of family history and art records. With research for something, god anything, to remove Dark from Daisuke without killing him. He was starting to think he’d have to make it himself. Nothing good would come from trying to make something like that himself.

“Ah yes,” Krad said sarcastically. “Kill yourself trying to save your foolish love. You’re all the same in the end. You try to feel nothing at all while feeling too much.”

“Go away,” Satoshi said.

“There’s the gun if you want to die so much.”

Satoshi’s hands trembled on yellowed, crumbling pages. “No.” And that artwork was broken.

You can fix almost any Hikari art if you really want to, a voice that could have been Krad’s and could have been his own whispered. They were blurring more. Slowly becoming one person and Satoshi didn’t want that. He was terrified of becoming that. His great great grandfather had gone mad, Krad seeping into his mind until he’d almost killed his own wife as he lashed out at the world.

Dark went away for the Niwa line once romantic love was actualized. When someone chose the tamer over Dark.

It wasn’t that clear cut for the Hikari.

“You’re a disease,” Satoshi said to Krad. “I just haven’t found a way of getting rid of it yet.”

Krad simmered in the back of his mind and sent him a mental image of Daisuke, defiant and with his own blood-red wings as he defended Dark when Satoshi had sealed him in the mirror. That catalyst that started the end for real. Krad’s emotions were a mix of hatred and sick admiration. The sort of admiration that made butterfly collectors pin insects to boards. Satoshi sent back the memory later. Daisuke’s hand extended even though he was about to pass out. The compassion and kindness that act took. “Weak,” Krad said.

“Strong,” Satoshi countered in his head. Those were both moments of strength. The strength to fight back and assert his emotions, and then the strength to be vulnerable and kind even though Daisuke had just been hurt. Satoshi wasn’t that strong. He was no stranger to being hurt, but he couldn’t keep reaching out the way Daisuke did. Asserting himself didn’t do much with Krad who sometimes just felt stronger.

The roses in his chest dug in their thorns and Krad’s disgust roiled through him at Satoshi’s resulting coughing fit. A whole, five-petaled pink rose, stem and little leaflets and thorns and all ripped its way out his throat. Satoshi stared at it a long time before crushing it between the pages of the book he’d been reading.

How cruel that hanahaki killed with something beautiful.

o*O*o

Argentine happened. Risa kidnapped and another Hikari artwork gone rogue that shouldn’t have had the strength to do so. Argentine in love with Qualia and broken, unable to fully process or express what he felt. Satoshi felt pity for him. Krad felt disgust.

Satoshi extended a hand to Daisuke with roses crowding the back of his throat and felt something like acceptance when Daisuke took it.

Satoshi probably wasn’t going to live to catch Dark, but maybe… Maybe he could make the best of this anyway. Satoshi didn’t want Daisuke to love him back anyway. Nothing good ever came for Hikari lovers. If he could have someone who understood even a little…

He had to sneak another drop of Kosuke’s potion to make it through the rescue effort. The potion was slowly killing him too. The comparison to poison that first time he tasted it hadn’t been too far from the truth. There were so many things he was slowly dying from now he didn’t even bother guessing which would kill him first anymore.

They saved Risa and Daisuke thanked him and Satoshi… Was it love? Hate? Fear or longing? He didn’t know but it gripped the roots in his chest and he didn’t have a choice about whether or not he could breathe through it. The coughing fit came and Satoshi spat out blood and pink petals and yellow pollen to Daisuke’s horrified expression.

“Satoshi…”

He’d hoped to hide it until the end. Satoshi smiled grimly, blood on his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Please tell me you’re going to confess. Please.”

Satoshi just kept smiling. There was an echoing ache in his chest as Daisuke looked more distressed. He took a step back, then another. “I’ll see you around,” Satoshi said.

He left with a sinking feeling in him, one part having a secret shoved to light, another the thought that Daisuke might not understand after all. Not the way Satoshi did what was going on with Dark and Krad. That hurt. It hurt like walking on broken glass. And Krad was there in those hurts, pressing himself into the wounds, using that pain to gain more ground.

What happened to keeping a soul barren of emotion?

Worst of all, Satoshi still loved Daisuke as much as ever. It hurt more, but the warm feeling he’d first realized was there in the center of that pain. Like a fire.

Fires, Satoshi thought, also hurt. He was the fool that kept letting it burn him.

o*O*o

There was no warning when Kei showed up. That was what visits from him were always like, but Satoshi had grown complacent lately with work as a go-between.

“You’re sick,” Kei said when Satoshi entered his own apartment. He stood over Satoshi’s kitchen trash bin, looking down at its contents with a neutral expression that told Satoshi more than one of his pleasant-fake smiles would. In the bin was an empty bottle of cough syrup, bloody tissues, and many odds and ends of flowers.

“You’ve stooped to going through my trash,” Satoshi said in return, just as neutral.

“Were you going to mention it at all?”

Satoshi met his gaze, silent.

Kei’s lips thinned in a displeased line. “I’ve scheduled an appointment to talk to a surgeon. You are attending it.”

“I don’t want to,” Satoshi said quietly.

“This isn’t about what you want,” Kei said. “It’s about what needs done. You’re too far gone to wait longer, and you haven’t done the obvious thing and cleared the problem the normal way.”

“It’s fine the way it is.”

“It’s killing you.” Kei’s stare was biting, cutting into him like it wanted to slice him open and dissect how his mind worked. “But I suppose for you, that is the point.”

Satoshi looked away.

Kei sighed like he was an unruly toddler instead of someone who had been caring for himself perfectly fine for years without his supervision. “However poetic an end you see this, it’s a waste. If you were a bit more proactive you would have caught Dark by now, but you’ve let these emotions take root instead. You have a duty to—“

“Maybe,” Satoshi bit out, “for once in my life it don’t want to think about that duty. Maybe I want to be fifteen and feeling something that is normal. Maybe I want—”

“To die?” Kei said suddenly looming over him. Satoshi took a step back. “Oh, Satoshi, I’m not going to let you die any sooner than is natural for you.”

“Hanahaki is nat—”

“Curable. It’s curable,” Kei said over him, pushing him back a step, another until the wall was at his back. “This can be fixed and so can the problem of Dark. There just needs to be a few more sacrifices.”

Wasn’t it enough, what he’d given already? What all of them had?

“You can’t make me get the surgery,” Satoshi said.

“I can,” Kei said. “You aren’t in your right mind and I’m your guardian. I’m doing this to protect you.”

No, he was doing it because he needed Satoshi. Because Satoshi was the last of the main Hikari bloodline and the last of Krad’s tamers. Adopting Satoshi had opened doors to the Hikari archives that Kei never would have seen otherwise. He could never believe that Kei would act altruistically when Satoshi was concerned.

“You’re going,” Kei repeated. “As for hunting Dark… I’ve let you try your methods. Going forward, you’ll be using mine.”

Satoshi felt cold. Kei cared much much less about the safety of Dark’s tamer. “Don’t,” Satoshi said, regretting the moment the word slipped past his lips.

Kei patted his shoulder in a way that felt condescending. “Get the surgery,” he said, “and we’ll talk after.”

If he got the surgery, he wouldn’t care about Daisuke at all anymore. He’d feel nothing. Krad would probably override everything. But Kei probably knew that. He probably guessed who made love bloom in him in the first place. This was a warning and a punishment.

“Or get rid of it the old fashioned way,” Kei continued. “If you can. Either way you’re going to that appointment.” He moved away and Satoshi remained frozen against the wall as Kei let himself out without so much as a goodbye.

In his head, Krad laughed, a wild sort of rage simmering in him eager to have a crack at Kei’s methods. Satoshi slid to the ground and gripped his hair. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let either of them.

o*O*o

The hanahaki specialist’s office was strangely cheerful. It might have something to do with all the charts of flower species, which were actually rather depressing if Satoshi lingered on the thought of them, but it was much brighter than most doctor’s offices he’d been to. The doctor herself was a calm, middle aged woman who seemed perfectly content to ignore Kei’s presence in the corner and focus entirely on Satoshi himself.

“Well,” she said, looking over the symptom sheet Satoshi had filled out in the waiting room with Kei watching him like he thought he’d run, “it looks like most of your symptoms are edging toward late stage hanahaki. You’ve had symptoms for over six months?”

“Correct.”

“Hmm. May I take a look at your throat, please?”

Satoshi obediently opened his mouth and let her shine a light down his throat.

“Every case progresses at its own rate, but your throat is worse than expected even with your late stage symptoms. Your flower, did you determine its species?”

“It’s a rose,” Satoshi said, pulling out the sample he’d been told to bring. “I never bothered to look up the variety.”

“A rose?” The doctor looked up sharply.

Satoshi blinked at her sudden increase in intensity, but handed over the sample. “It didn’t look like a domesticated one.”

The crease in her eyebrows went deeper. “I see. This does look like a wilder variety.” It had five simple pink petals and a bright yellow center, a branching stem with bedraggled leaves and a myriad of small, straight thorns. His chest and throat burned at the memory of coughing it up. “Typically with roses, we hope that they’ll be domestic ones. They’re less hardy.” She looked up at him. “They also tend to be cases we hope to see here early on because plants with thorns are much more dangerous even at an early stage than soft-stemmed flowers. I’m surprised you aren’t worse.”

Satoshi knew without a doubt that he had Kosuke to thank for that.

“Roses, especially wild ones, are riskier procedures too,” the doctor continued solemnly. “Between the hardy rootstock and the thorns, there’s risk of permanent damage even in a middle stage operation let alone a late stage one. You should have been in here months ago.”

“He’s been hiding his symptoms,” Kei said from his corner, “or I’d have made him come sooner.”

The doctor didn’t even look his direction. “I’m going to have to ask that I speak to my patient alone for a moment, if you would.”

Kei lifted a brow. Satoshi could see the thought about arguing cross Kei’s face before he decided it wasn’t worth it. “I’ll wait outside then.”

The doctor waited until Kei shut the door before she spoke. “I like to hear in my patient’s own words why they chose to come or wait,” she said. “You’re not the first person to hide their symptoms from a guardian, and you won’t be the last. I want a better understanding of the situation before I advise you on anything.”

“Is it really necessary?” Satoshi asked.

The doctor smiled. “You’d think not. But hanahaki is both a physical and a mental disease. I’ve found that in curing it, you need to understand the patient’s mind as well as the symptoms of their body. For example…” She took Satoshi’s sample and pulled a book from under the preparation counter. “Hanahaki is a phenomenon that’s been studied for as long as humans have been experiencing it. And through the years there have been documented trends. Certain flowers show up in certain situations. You’d think it would be a flower that fit the person who is sick, or that best suits their love, but in practice it is a great deal more about how that person feels about their own emotions and the person they’ve fallen for than any straightforward symbolism.”

“I can’t see how it’s important why one flower was chosen over another. It’s the same end result.”

“It can determine how likely it is to kill you,” the doctor said. “For example, how long do you think someone who had belladonna growing in their lungs would live? When I wasn’t much older than you, I fell in love with my pen pal and had irises growing in me. Very pretty flower, also poisonous coincidentally. If I hadn't decided to get the surgery early on, it would have poisoned me before it suffocated me.”

“That has nothing to do with the emotions though,” Satoshi pointed out.

“No, it doesn’t,” the doctor said with a smile. She flipped through images, comparing Satoshi’s flower to them. “Yours… A Carolina rose. Native to North America.”

“And?”

“And I can tell from previous people who’ve had this flower that you view the emotion of love as dangerous, at least in this situation.” Satoshi felt deeply uncomfortable. The doctor folded her hands in her lap, looking at Satoshi attentively. “Please, help me understand the situation.”

He didn’t want to talk to this woman, didn’t even want to be here. He hated being vulnerable, but she’d already seen a large part of how he was feeling just by looking at his flower. “This is only between the two of us?” he asked finally.

“Of course. If I planned to tell your guardian I wouldn’t have kicked him out. Anything said here will remain between the two of us.”

Krad snarled about people interfering where they didn’t belong, but Satoshi ignored him. He could lay out the facts and that would be that. “I didn’t want to fall in love with anyone. Attachments have never brought anything good in my life. So naturally when I did fall in love with someone, it was the worst possible person to have feelings for.”

“In what way?”

Satoshi stared her down and she didn’t even flinch. “A person in feud with my family,” he finally relented.

“And this person dislikes you for your family?”

“No.” Satoshi could almost laugh. “No, they want to be friends.”

“So you’re worried about how your family would react?”

“I know how he would react.” It would be just as uncompromising as being forced to come here.

“And you don’t feel that sharing your feelings with this person would work out well. Is it the thought of rejection?” The doctor’s head tipped to the side, infinitely patient with how little Satoshi was expanding on anything.

“That’s not the problem. I know I would be rejected. This person is already in a relationship.” And it was stupid to feel anything about that fact. If Daisuke wasn’t in a relationship, nothing would change. He still wouldn’t feel anything for Satoshi other than friendship.

“And you’re worried that confessing would complicate things?”

“No. My feelings wouldn’t change theirs. I don’t want them to feel guilty though.”

“And do you think that there would be trouble for this person if their family learned about your feelings?”

“Why would they care? It wouldn’t make them dislike me anymore than they already do. The trouble is me.” He hadn’t meant to say that last part.

The doctor sighed. Her fingers tapped her leg, one-two-three, just once. “If you were less far along, I’d recommend a support group to work through accepting what you’re feeling, but you’re too far along for that to help. But Hiwatari-san, what you are feeling, for whoever this person is, is not wrong. Emotions are just emotions.”

Emotions weren’t just emotions though. They were fuel for Krad, and they meant he was slowly losing himself. He said nothing.

“Hiwatari-san,” the doctor said, taking a different track, “this person is your friend, correct? Or they view you as one?”

“Yes.”

“If you came in here a few months, or even a few weeks ago, I’d advise getting your surgery as soon as possible. But with your flower type and as far along as you are, this would be a very risky procedure. However,” she said sitting a bit straighter as if that would convey the severity of the situation, “the most effective method for curing still remains resolution for your emotions. Talking to your friend and accepting whatever outcome the conversation holds is the least dangerous method at this point. You’ve avoided it because of family history between you both and—excuse me if I’m reading this wrong—because you see your feelings as a failing in yourself. But it remains that if you continue to do nothing, you will die.”

“I know that.”

There wasn’t any judgment in her eyes, not like there would be from Kei, and no pity like Daisuke would have for him. There was sadness, but she was someone who dealt with hanahaki on a regular basis. There had to be plenty of people who’d consulted her and ended up dying from inaction.

“I advise you to talk to your friend. If they care about you like you seem to believe they do, they’ll accept what you tell them even if they may not reciprocate.”

Sure, tell Daisuke and potentially have Krad try to kill him in the process because Satoshi would be focusing on those emotions with their target right there. “And if I can’t find acceptance even after that?”

“Then you attempt the surgery. I would put it at a seventy-five percent success rate if we operated in the next week. Past that, the chances of properly removing it go down exponentially.”

A week. Kei would demand to know the time frame and probably schedule something as soon as they left. Satoshi took a breath, felt it burn like all breaths did lately.

“Thank you for the assessment,” Satoshi finally managed to say. How many people that came here came back? How many cured themselves naturally versus a surgery?

“I hope you take it to heart,” the doctor said.

Satoshi gave her a curt nod. She stood and moved to the door.

“I’ll let you talk to your guardian, and come back around to answer any questions you might have in a few minutes. You can schedule a follow up at the front desk.”

Satoshi gave another bland thanks and felt hollow inside. When Kei came back, he told him as little as possible, but Kei asked the doctor questions when she returned. She didn’t once give any indication about what he told her in confidence. It likely didn’t matter though. Given enough time, Kei would figure it out on his own anyway. There weren’t many people Satoshi spent time with in the first place.

They left with a follow up scheduled and resounding silence between them.

o*O*o

He hadn’t talked to Daisuke since Risa’s rescue. A dumb part of Satoshi had hoped that would help something, but considering it was two days past the doctor appointment and Krad was restless in his mind, it hadn’t mattered. Distance and time were doing very little in helping the situation, even if they weren’t making it necessarily worse.

Satoshi rolled the vial Kosuke had given him between his fingers. It didn’t get any less full with use. It was definitely magic, but he could tell he was nearing the end of time he could use it. There was something about how it tasted, something about how he felt afterward that warned him, like grains of sand falling bit by bit into an hourglass in his mind. One the one hand, he was forcibly having a surgery in less than a week that would either kill him in the process or leave him without the warm-painful sensation thinking of Daisuke brought. On the other, he ran and died from the disease in his lungs.

Or he talked to Daisuke and hoped for closure.

The tickle in his throat was impossible to resist, flaring up to fiery pain the second he let himself cough. Blood and petals. Nothing fully formed at the moment, but it left his breathing wet and raspy and Satoshi leaning against his kitchen counter feeling exhausted even though it was only morning. It was harder to sleep when laying down felt like suffocating lately.

There was a scuffling sound, something he almost missed with the heavy sound of his own breathing, but he looked up to see a familiar lizard looking at him.

“Oh,” Argentine said. “That looks bad.”

Yes, blood-flecked flower petals and a mix of blood and spittle on his face and hands was certainly not a healthy look, but it didn’t explain why Argentine was there at all.

“Where did you come from?” he rasped.

“Under your door,” Argentine said, answering the literal question instead of what he meant.

“Why?”

“Master Daisuke was worried about how you felt.” A tilted head and blank eyed stare. “Rightfully.”

Another cough rattled in his chest. Satoshi rested his head on the counter as it left black spots flashing across his vision. Damn it all, why did he have to fall for someone kind?

“Oh dear,” Argentine said emotionlessly.

Satoshi sent him a glare even as his chest kept stubbornly spasming.

“I suppose I have my answer.” The lizard crawled back toward the door.

“W-haa—it!” Satoshi wheezed. Argentine was gone. Dammit. He couldn’t do much about it through, just slide to the kitchen floor and focus on getting his breathing back to something of a normal. His mouth tasted like blood and bitter-sweet rose petals. If he ever smelled or tasted the things again if he survived this, he would probably throw up.

Well. That went wonderfully. Argentine would report back that, what? Satoshi was coughing blood and flowers? Well, Daisuke already knew he had hanahaki.  Satoshi could probably expect a frantic phone call in the future.

…Or his door could suddenly slam open as a frantic Daisuke let himself in, lock pick still visible in one hand. “Satoshi!”

Satoshi stared at him dumbly. He had lost a bit of time focused on his body, but he didn’t think it was enough time for Argentine to return to Daisuke’s home and Daisuke to run here. Which meant Daisuke had been nearby waiting for a response.

Daisuke froze at the sight of blood streaking the counter, Satoshi’s hands and his face. “Oh my god.”

“It looks… worse th—ahn… it is,” Satoshi got out around a stray cough. A pink petal clung to his lip. He was too tired to wipe it off. Besides, it wasn’t like he had any dignity left at the moment.

“Satoshi, you should be in a hospital,” Daisuke said, suddenly in his face and frantic, wiping blood from his face.

Satoshi jerked back, banging into the sink cupboard. The place Daisuke touched felt like it was burning. His lungs were burning. Everything hurt and Daisuke was there and caring and he never asked for this. He wanted to freeze off feelings and get through his goal to catch Dark, and maybe didn’t care about anything that happened after that. He couldn’t handle this.

He coughed again as his lungs seemed to heave, flowers suddenly blocking his throat. Thorns dragging and scraping. He heaved, heaved again, barely conscious of Daisuke’s arms supporting him as he finally got air enough around the obstruction to cough and expel it out. Six mostly-formed roses fell in clumps of two from his lips, catching on his tongue and gums and lips. They looked more red than pink. “Why,” he said as he could finally drag air for words, “are you… here?”

“Oh my god, are you dying? Oh no, oh no, I should call an ambulance, oh gosh—” Frantic hands on his shoulder, arm, neck, face, flitting like butterflies.

“Daisuke,” Satoshi said, more of a hissing wail of a desperate man than a spoken word. “Why?”

There were tears in Daisuke’s eyes and a bit of blood smeared on Daisuke’s face, probably from Satoshi flailing as he tried to breathe. He looked scared, horrified. Satoshi had tears of his own on his face and he didn’t know when he started crying because pain hadn’t been enough to make him do that in years. Maybe it was just the way he was feeling too much of everything all at once and he just wanted it to stop.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I wanted to make sure you were okay, you’re not okay, what do I need to do to make you okay?” Daisuke babbled, gripping Satoshi’s shoulders like a lifeline. Not giving him a chance to really answer, Daisuke kept talking. “You need to fix this, get the surgery or… or something. Who, who is it so you can tell them, please, I don’t want you to die!”

And Satoshi’s tears came harder along with that struggling feeling of Krad rising, in part because they werere hurt and because Satoshi’s emotions were right there and vulnerably exploitable. He clutched his chest, trying to breathe, to keep it all down, Krad, the flowers, the emotions, but there was too much. It was like trying to cup water in his hands, it just kept draining free no matter how hard he tried to stop it. “Can’t—”

“You can! You’re dying you can still fix this—!”

“You’re part of the problem!” Satoshi tried to say, but it came out sounding more like “Yera-plem.”

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Oh,” Argentine cut in, in human form behind Daisuke. “Is he actually dying?”

If this wasn’t happening to him, Satoshi would probably have found all of this at least mildly amusing. But it was happening to him so it was just distressing. He made an inarticulate sound and clamped down on Krad in his mind because forget dying, Krad escaping would be the worst scenario.

“Oh no, he’s not responding!” Daisuke shook him slightly. “Satoshi! Argentine, get the phone and call 119!”

Satoshi grit his teeth. Could they be quiet for two seconds so he could get back in control? Daisuke was a terrible emergency first-responder.

“Satoshi don’t die!”

Why did he even love him? Oh, right, because he was the only one who would care enough to check in on him and cry over finding him covered in blood. Satoshi grimaced up at Daisuke’s tear-stained face and felt something in him break. This was such a mess. “Sorry,” he choked. It would be awfully poetic if he died like this. Like one of his ancestor’s disastrous lives forever immortalized in their journals, just one more beautifully tragic moment to end a family’s legacy. It didn’t get much more poetic than dying in the arms of someone you loved.

“Don’t say that,” Daisuke protested.

Krad still struggled under his skin, but it was strangely easy to hold him back all of a sudden. Everything hurt, but Satoshi also contrarily just felt warm. Daisue was here. He wasn’t actually dying, he didn’t think, but it felt like in that moment it would actually matter in some way if he lived or died. To Daisuke, it mattered. It was like a revelation. Not Satoshi the last Hikari, not Satoshi the police officer, not Satoshi-Krad’s-tamer, but Satoshi the person he was under all those duties was someone that mattered to Daisuke. Not for what he was or what he could do. Just for being himself.

It wasn’t deserved and he certainly hadn’t asked for it any more than he’d asked to fall in love with Daisuke but it made Daisuke mean all the more to him as well. Maybe that was what gave him the courage to forget about all the reasons he shouldn’t say anything and let the confession fall shaky from his lips. “I love you.”

Satoshi was crying again, blood and tears and snot making it all the harder to breathe. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Wh-what?”

Inside, Krad was furious with him for saying it, but it was still strangely easy to keep him back.

Petals fell from Satoshi’s lips, a wheeze of breath as he laughed weakly. “Who else could it be, Daisuke?” Where was he getting the air for these words? “I’ve been in love with you since the Towa no Shirube.”

Daisuke stared down at him wide eyed, arms tight around Satoshi’s shoulders. He was so warm. Satoshi clutched the hem of Daisuke’s shirt, the closest thing to hold onto. “You… but…”

“I didn’t mean to. I… I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass. He couldn’t look at Daisuke’s face.

Those warm hands gripped tighter before he’s suddenly crushed to Daisuke’s chest. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Daisuke said, sounding like he was crying again. “All this time…”

Satoshi had half expected to be dropped or pushed away, but of course he wasn’t. This was Daisuke. This was Daisuke and he was kind.

“You could have died!”

Satoshi wanted to point out that he could still die, but it felt overwhelmingly nice to be held.

“It’s not worth dying for. Even if I can’t… There’s always someone out there. It’s not worth it.”

Satoshi laughed, once, it hurt too much to do it again. “You’re my first friend. You’re the only person who’s made me feel anything good in years. I only felt anything because you wouldn’t let me shut you out. I’m… I can’t. I can’t trust people like you do.”

Daisuke made a helpless, sad sound and held him tighter.

“I don’t want to feel anything. It’s so much easier not to.”

“Why didn’t you get the surgery?” Daisuke asked. His voice vibrated against Satoshi’s cheek.

“And be left with all the negative emotions and nothing good?” Satoshi almost laughed again, the memory of main the only thing keeping him from doing it. “I’d rather die.”

“Don’t say that!”

“I’m going to die young anyway. No one with Krad has ever lived past thirty.” Might as well die feeling something and of his own mind.

Daisuke’s hold went iron-band tight. Satoshi would probably end up with bruises from his fingers. There was a long silence that Satoshi couldn’t interpret. Or maybe it was only a silence on his end. Daisuke could ask Dark anything.

“Daisuke?”

“No.”

Satoshi blinked as Daisuke pulled him up so he could look him in the eye. His eyes were puffy and red and Satoshi had stained his shirt. Still, Daisuke had a fierce look of determination on his face.

“No,” Daisuke said again. “You’re going to live. I might not be in love with you romantically, but Satoshi, you’re an important friend to me. You’re going to live and find a way to be happy. Even if I have to help you seal Krad myself.”

The idea of Daisuke being capable of doing that was ridiculous. He didn’t even have any idea what Dark was or how he was affecting him let alone how Krad worked. But the way he said it almost made Satoshi believe it was possible. “You can’t seal Krad without sealing Dark.” Not permanently.

“We’ll find a way.” Daisuke smiled tremulously. “…Satoshi, how are you feeling?”

Satoshi blinked. He felt like a mess. He hurt all over, his throat was raw and aching, he couldn’t breathe through his nose—he could breathe better than he could this morning. Not perfectly, but so much better than he had anytime recently unless he took one of Kosuke’s potion drops. Satoshi blinked again and felt his throat.

“Your flowers, are they wilting?” Daisuke asked.

“I… I don’t know.” The love was still there, still unrequited. But. But Daisuke cared for him. Not the same way. But he cared and Satoshi had finally admitted out loud how he felt. It didn’t hurt as badly as it had all bottled up inside.

Outside there were sirens suddenly blaring and they both jumped and turned toward the door as they definitely stopped outside. Daisuke turned toward Argentine who still had a phone to his ear.

“Oh, I think they’re done crying on each other,” Argentine said in a monotone into the receiver. “He’s probably not going to die.”

“Argentine,” Daisuke said, somewhere between grateful and annoyed.

“You told me to call an ambulance,” Argentine said calmly. He looked at Satoshi. “Love isn’t supposed to hurt you like that. Are all humans this broken?”

“It’s a thing that happens sometimes,” Daisuke said. “But we’re going to be okay. Right?” he asked Satoshi, a little too anxiously.

Satoshi looked back, lost. Were they? But he wasn’t coughing up flowers right this moment and Daisuke was still holding him and warm. So they were better than they had been before. That was more than Satoshi could have hoped for. He nodded and Daisuke looked so relieved that he knew he’d given the right answer for Daisuke’s sake at least, even if it wasn’t wholly true.

The paramedics walked through the open door; Daisuke had never actually closed it behind him when he burst in. They took one look at the blood and flower petals and two red-eyed teenagers and took control of the situation. The flowers might not be choking him, but Satoshi’s throat was still bad enough that they wanted him to go to the hospital anyway. It was a pleasant surprise that Daisuke went with him, refusing to let go of his hand at all.

And Krad was still not breaking free.

For such a painful, exhausting morning, Satoshi supposed it was actually a pretty good day.

o*O*o

“Well,” his doctor said, “the good news is that your flowers are wilting. It’s too soon to say if the roots will wilt as well, but so long as you keep in the same mindset as you have been, I’m optimistic that it’ll be a complete cure.” She smiled. “I’m glad you were able to talk to your friend.”

Satoshi looked off to one side, a bit too embarrassed to be properly attentive. He hadn’t really thought he’d have another conversation with the hanahaki doctor. After all, it wasn’t like she had to talk to him to operate. But since the operation was no longer on the table…

“Your friend seems like a good kid,” she added. She’d briefly met Daisuke, who hadn’t left Satoshi’s side at the hospital until the doctors shooed him away to do a more in depth test and have his actual hanahaki doctor look him over.

Thankfully he’d left before Kei showed up. Kei had also left as soon as he was sure Satoshi wasn’t immediately dying, promising they’d have a talk later. Satoshi had to figure a way around that.

Satoshi squirmed, but there wasn’t really anywhere to go, not while he was hooked up to machines and drips. He hated hospitals. “He’s… kind,” Satoshi mumbled.

She nodded like he said a lot more than that. “As I said last time we met, hanahaki is as much a mental disease as a physical one, so try to hold on to the feelings of resolution and whatever else you’re feeling. It will help everything clear up quickly.”

“He doesn’t love me back romantically,” Satoshi found himself sharing, perhaps at the novelty that he both had emotions to work through and an adult who seemed to be trustworthy not to use them against him. “I knew he wouldn’t love me the same way I love him.”

“But?” the doctor prompted gently when he went silent.

“He cares for me platonically. Which… is more than I ever let myself hope for.” He could still feel Daisuke’s warm arms around him and see the raw emotion in his face.

“A good friend, then.”

Satoshi nodded.

“I’m glad. Now I do have to say there are some complications.” Satoshi sighed. Of course there were. He rubbed his throat absently. It still hurt like hell. “Yes, that,” the doctor said, catching the motion. “Even though the flowers are withering, they did still leave a good deal of damage to your throat and some upper parts of your lungs. I have a few medications that will prevent infections and promote those areas to heal, but you have to be aware that some parts of your lungs might never be as strong as they were before. Plants with thorns are vicious on their bearers.”

Satoshi laughed drily and winced when it felt like glass. Right, still no laughing.

“Well,” the doctor said, equally dry, “you would know that firsthand.” She set aside the chart. “I’ll have them fill your scripts. You shouldn’t have to stay overnight, but they might keep you for observation just because of the amount of damage to your throat.”

“Thank you,” Satoshi said.

“Keep working toward feeling better,” the doctor said, smiling. “I’m sure you have that full recovery in you.”

Full recovery. Satoshi wasn’t sure, but it was easy to be optimistic at the moment. Reality was sure to crash back down eventually, but until then he felt the most content he’d ever been considering he was in a hospital.

He could truly almost believe that one day they could do it. Seal away Krad and let Satoshi live life freely for the first time. There were dozens of reasons why it wouldn’t work, maybe hundreds, but without Kei or Krad right in his face at the moment with talk of duty and animosity… Daisuke’s conviction weighed more. And maybe some part of him wanted to keep living to see that future.

o*O*o

The conversation with Kei did eventually happen. But technically Kei couldn’t complain because Satoshi had ‘taken care of the problem’ like he wanted and by some miracle Kei still didn’t know that it was Niwa Daisuke that was the center of the whole thing. Who knew how long that luck would last. For a little bit longer at least, Satoshi was holding back Kei’s methods. Maybe with a bit more luck, he and Daisuke could make progress before Kei made his move.

Satoshi tended to be a pessimist at worst and a realist at best, but he was choosing to try to be cautiously optimistic this time.

o*O*o

Satoshi wasn’t sure how to feel, being in the Niwa family home again. Last time had been an incredibly stressful time and he’d been literally dying. This time was still stressful, but a different sort of stress.

“How’s your breathing?” Daisuke said at the door, one hand on Satoshi’s arm. “You’ve been taking your medicine?”

“It’s fine, and yes, I’ve taken my medicine. I’m fine.” It was a relief that Daisuke wasn’t flinching away from him or treating him strangely now that he knew. It was concern, the same concern he usually showed toward Satoshi, perhaps a bit more smothering, but he’d seen Satoshi at his worst so it was to be expected.

“Good.” Daisuke pulled him past an entryway that showed signs of traps all over, all currently not active. He’d been asleep last time and hadn’t left through the door. It looked like Daisuke had training in every moment of his home life if this hall was any indication. “Mom said we could use the study.”

“I’m surprised she’s letting me in the house let alone in the study.”

Daisuke shrugged. “Dad talked her around.”

“Ah.” The house was nice. Rich, but of course it was with the Niwa living off generations of stolen goods. They probably didn’t even have day jobs. He smiled wryly to himself. It should bother him more than it did on a moral level, but at their core, their families were equally corrupt. He was learning to make peace with it, especially since he’d seen in Towa and Argentine how Hikari artworks could thrive under Niwa care where before they had fallen to neglect. Daisuke let them into a room filled with old, carefully maintained books, and odds and ends that weren’t Hikari art, but were old and valuable artefacts.

Daisuke waved a hand at a desk with two seats. “Go sit down, I’ll go get some tea for while we work.”

Satoshi sat. There was a wave of fond exasperation in him when Daisuke waited to see that he was comfortable before leaving, but that was fine. It wasn’t the all-consuming love and pain of before. That love was still there, but it was settling into something less painful. It would probably always be there, but he felt like he might one day make peace with that instead of the emotion choking him from the inside. His doctor had been a great help with that.

A soft rap of knuckles on a door frame caught his attention and he turned to see Kosuke’s sheepish smile poking around the door. “Mind if I say hello?” he asked.

“It’s your home,” Satoshi pointed out.

Kosuke’s smile widened. “So it is.” He slid into the chair across from Satoshi. “You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I’m no longer dying,” Satoshi said with dry humor. “Or I suppose not as quickly.” He pulled a little crystal vial from his pocket, held it out. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I would have made it this long without your help.”

Kosuke took the bottle, holding it so the light caught it and left glittering squares of brightness across the desk. “You might have,” he said optimistically. “Either way, you’re still here.”

“I am.” He wasn’t quite at peace with that but he was getting closer to it.

“Have you thought any more about what I said back then?” Kosuke asked.

“Would I be here if I hadn’t?” Kosuke had wanted him to work with Daisuke and put their trust in each other. He was here now, doing just that.

“Maybe.” He smiled. “I’m glad you changed your mind.”

Satoshi hummed. “I still am not convinced we can do it. But we’ll probably have a better chance by pooling resources than alone. And…”

“And?”

“None of us have thought to try before.” Understandable considering the enmity. And Krad. Krad was not happy at all, and some of that bleed over was making Satoshi feel more easily irritated by small things. But Krad was getting bleed over too and feeling far less lethal toward the Niwas because of it. “There still isn’t much time but… perhaps this will work. It’s not as if I got very far alone.” When everything was working against him it was pretty hard to achieve anything.

“I’ll lend my help however I can,” Kosuke offered.

“We’ll have to see about negotiating access to some of the Hikari documents.” He wasn’t about to let someone run around in his family’s private information unsupervised, but another set of eyes would be welcome.

“The same for us.” They shared a smile, both calculating the others’ probability of misusing information no doubt. It was a risk for both of their families as much as it was an opportunity.

There was still a chance that Satoshi wouldn’t live to see Krad or Dark sealed away, or that Krad would leech into his mind until he couldn’t recognize himself before they managed to fix anything. This could blow up in their faces and kill all of them because magic and curses were volatile things, and art with souls even more unpredictable. He would worry about that when the time came.

For now, Daisuke returned with tea and another determined expression. And Satoshi took a breath of floral steam without blood or bitterness on his tongue. For now they worked together to maybe put the feud to rest for good.

For now, Satoshi did not regret.

********

I used Victorian flower language for the flowers because why not? Flower meanings taken from here For anyone curious, Daisuke's flowers For Risa and Riku are : Alyssum for Risa (worth beyond beauty) and Angelica for Riku (inspiration) Satoshi's flower, as shown in story is a Carolina Rose, which is "love is dangerous" according to my source (Meaning both how Satoshi feels about love and indicative that Daisuke is a dangerous person for him to love) Kosuke's flower for Emiko was Motherwort which, while being ironic since Emiko's dream was to be the mother of the next phantom thief Dark, means "concealed love," as Kosuke initially hid his identity when leaving tokens of affection toward her.

I like flower language.

Played with the thought of making it requited love when planning it, but this wasn't the fic to do it and in the end I wasn't in the headspace to write actually romance, just project emotional angst. So. Hope you like it despite the sad..

[vivian077]

Is There Still Anything Love Can Do?

I am lost in mind, Is there still something love can do?

Marinette's Pov

I can’t take this anymore. I can’t forget what Lila said to me. Tikki said Marinette don’t listen to her. I said it’s even worse that Adrien supports her. Maybe I truly don’t have a soulmate. Tikki said don’t say that Marinette. Of course you have a soulmate. Just be patient. He or she will come sooner or later.

“Flashback At the Gotham Art Museum”

As I was walking around looking for inspiration for new clothing designs. Lila came to me and said, Marinette. Why are even on this trip. You know that this class is against you. Why don’t you just get lost. I said It doesn’t matter what you or this class think. You may put the teacher and this class against me but know this Lila all of your lies will crumble down and I won’t stop until you tell the truth or I expose you. Adrien came to see what is going on with us. He said, Marinette. Why can’t you be nice to Lila. Lila said Oh Adrien don’t worry about me. I wish that you are my soulmate. I bet Marinette doesn’t have a soulmate and is destined to alone for the rest for her life. Adrien said, Now Lila I know you are not my soulmate but I have to agree with you that Marinette doesn’t have a soulmate. I pity her since she used to be the everyday Ladybug but I guess that title goes to you Lila. Lila said, Oh Adrien I am so honored of your words. Come let’s go see the art sculptures. Lila whispers in my ear and said I hope you have a miserable death. Adrien and Lila went off to see the art sculptures. I had tears flowing on my face. What it hurts more is that I may truly believe that I don’t have a soulmate and Adrien supports Lila in bullying to me. I can’t believe that I used to have a crush on him. I ran to the bathroom to freshen up and Tikki comforting me. I came out from the restroom and when I come out my teacher and classmates abandoned me.

“Flashback Ends”

I was born into this world. With nothing with my open arms.

Caught between eternity. I am wallowing around to live.

Only people who give in and people who are smart to move.

When I know they will always win. I can’t find a place to breath.

Why do I even fight back. My only friends are Tikki, Chloe, Max, Alix, Kim, Kagami, and Luka. I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m tired of suffering. If my soulmate exists. I hope to see him or her soon. I wish they are by my side comforting me. I wished to be loved by my soulmate and never leave my side. I keep walking until I went to a park and sat on a bench and started crying again. Tikki was by my side comforting and hugging me.

Even rulers, Even God

Act like they don’t understand. But they must know what’s going on.

But they must know what’s going on. They sure know enough.

Bravery, hope and love. Everything that’s magical.

Damian's Pov

I am walking towards a park since I wanted to get away from my annoying brothers. But I feel that my soulmate is calling out to me. He or she is really depressed and can’t take her situation anymore. My mark on my shoulder is bothering me since it is starting to glow when I’m getting near the park. That mark on my shoulder is a ladybug on top of a apple blossom. I hope that my soulmate is alright. As I continue walking, I notice a girl with black hair that looks like blue when the sun shines at her hair and it is in twin tales . Her clothes are a pale pink jack and underneath her jacket is a pale pink shirt. She is also wearing white jeans and white converse shoes. I noticed that she is crying and something glowing on her shoulder. Can it be that she is my soulmate. Only one way to find out. I approached to her and said, Hey are you alright?.

Not knowing how to use it right. Adults just like to walk away.

But still you stand in who I am. From that day all along. You be in the center here. In the middle of all my rights.

Even when the world betrays. Turns its back against us still. I can still see you here. Facing everything you see. I am lost in mind. Is there something love can do? I am lost in mind. Is there is something I can do?

Marinette’s Pov

As I sat on the bench and crying. I noticed my mark is glowing. My mark is a robin bird but I ignore it and continue crying. Tikki heard someone coming and went inside my purse. Then a shadow appears in front of me and looked up and saw a handsome guy with the most beautiful green eyes I seen. He approached me and said if I was alright. I said to him, I’m alright. I was just crying because my problems. He said can you tell me? I said are you sure? It's a long story but let me introduce myself. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. He introduced himself as Damian Wayne. I said ok I’m going to start telling you my problems. It all started when the new classmate came. I thought I could be friends with her but she started telling lies about meeting celebrities, saving the president of France. But it gets worse. She was telling lies about me bullying her and yet she is one who bullies me and makes my life miserable. Even worst is that my formal crush and friend Adrien supports her. He would tell me to take the high road and to not expose her and he agrees with her. All my classmates prefer Lila and my teacher doesn’t even help. She always demands me to be a model student. That I shouldn’t cause problems. I am sick and tired of this! As I was starting to cry again suddenly something unexpected happened. Damian hugged me.

You are the one who gave me all this bravery. So you are the only one I want to use it for.

You and me, shared all this love between us now.

You have to be the one it can be no one else.

I am lost in mind. Is there still something love can do. I am lost in mind. Is there something I can do.

Damian’s Pov

She introduced herself as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. In my eyes she is so beautiful. She looks like a angel. As she is telling me about her situation about her teacher, classmates and a bully named Lila. I notice she was close to cry again mostly when she mentioned some idiot named Adrien. I am so glad she doesn’t have a crush on this Adrien. He doesn’t deserves this angel. As she finishes venting, she started crying again. The only way I could comfort her is to hug her. I got closer and put my arms around her and giving her the hug she desperately needed. I notice our marks are in tune harmoniously and I knew from that then she is my soulmate. I said Marinette, I know your being so strong and I admire it. Things will get better. Your class doesn’t deserve the selfless being you are and you deserve better. Adrien doesn’t deserve you as a friend. Your teacher is neglecting you and doesn’t help you. Don’t give up. In case you haven’t noticed our marks are in harmony. I’ll be honored to be by your side as your soulmate.

Why do we get to dream when we don’t have anything to lose anymore.

Why do we get to have little hopes when we know we can’t live forever.

Why are we only giving things that disappear slip right though our fingers…still

Oh do we look hideous to be clinging on what we can not touch or are we beautiful

Oh answer me

Normal Pov

Marinette saw her mark glow and said my mark is glow. I can’t believe that your my soulmate. I thought I would alone. Tears are flowing to her face due to being happy. Marinette hugged Damian. Damian said if it's no problem if I call you Angel. Marinette said as long you don’t call me princess. I don’t like it since a Paris hero named Chat Noir would call me that and he wouldn’t leave me alone. He is obsessed with Ladybug and he would vent to me and I know his real identity. But that’s a story for another day. Damian said are you sure you don’t want to tell me. I could help you since I have resources due to being from a wealthy family. Marinette said wait, don’t tell that you’re THE Damian Wayne. Blood son of Bruce Wayne. Damian said at your service my angel. Then Damian kissed Marinette’s knuckle. Marinette said enchante bon monsieur. Marinette giggled softly. Damian said if it’s no trouble if I can kiss yon in your lips? Marinette said It’s no trouble and I’m honored. Damian's face comes closer and closer until lips met each other. The kiss was gentle yet sweet. For Marinette it was like a dream come true. The kiss lasted 10 seconds until Damian separated himself from Marinette. Both their faces were flustered and yet they enjoyed it. Marinette hoped that they would enjoy more time together. Their makes glow so beautifully. The colors were a mix of dark green and silver. Dancing in harmony as the two lovers embrace. Damian received a call and he answered. Hello

Dick: Where are you?

Damian: I’m at the Gotham Memorial Park with my newly discovered soulmate. Why?

Dick: Bruce is getting worried and he wants to know if you’re alright.

Damian: Yes I’m alright. Just pick me and my soulmate up.

Dick: WHAT! YOU HAVE A SOULMATE! JASON, TIM YOU GOTTA HEAR THIS! DAMIAN HAS A SOULMATE!

Jason: WHAT! DEMON SPAWN HAS A SOULMATE! THE WORLD IS ENDING! DID YOU BLACKMAILED HIM OR HER?!

Damian: SHUT UP! Yes I do have a soulmate and her name is Marinette and if you think you can tease me about it. Well prepare to get yourself killed.

Jason: Alright alright I won’t tease you much. But Bruce is going know more about Marinette from herself or you.

Damian: How about this I’ll invite her for staying at our mansion tomorrow? Let me ask her.

Marinette would you like to stay at my mansion tomorrow night? Marinette said are you sure it's no trouble? I don’t wanna intrude. Damian said it's no trouble. Marinette said it's a honor to stay at your home.

Dick: What did she say?

Damian: She said yes.

Dick: Excellent. I’ll tell Alfred to pick you guys up. He’ll be there in twenty minutes.

Damian: Ok bye

Hangs up

Damian said my butler Alfred is going to pick us up. Where are you staying? Marinette said my class and I are staying at the Wayne Resort. Damian said alright it’s just 20 minutes from where we are. While Alfred is coming. Why don’t you tell me about yourself. Marinette said my likes are fashion design, baking, hamsters, Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale, videogames, listening to music when sketching a new design and stargazing. My dream is to be a fashion designer. What about you Damian? What do you like? Damian said well I love animals and I’m a vegetarian. My likes are Alfred the cat and Alfred, Titius the dog, my family *don’t tell them I said that since they will never hear the end of it* Jon *don’t tell him as well since he will cry* and martial arts. Marinette said wow. That’s is so sweet. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone. 5 minutes passed and Alfred came and opened the door to Damian and Marinette. He said Master Damian and Miss Marinette I hope you didn’t wait long. Damian said no Alfred, you’re just in time. Please take us to Wayne Resort. Marinette is staying there with her classmates. Alfred said of course sir. I heard from Master Dick that Miss Marinette is going to stay with us tomorrow night. Damian said yes Alfred. She is going to stay with us tomorrow. Alfred said alright sir I’ll prepare the guest room for tomorrow night. We arrive at Wayne Resort. Damian said Marinette. Will 6:45pm will be alright for Alfred and I to pick you up? Marinette said sure. That time is perfect. Marinette leans towards Damian and kisses him on the cheek. I see you tomorrow Damian. Damian was smitten and only gave a nod. Marinette got out of the limo and went straight for the lobby. Damian and Alfred went to their home. Marinette managed to sneak past her classmates mates and went to her room. Luckily she is the only one who has a room all to herself. Tikki came out and said Marinette you are so lucky. You manage to find your soulmate. It’s so romantic. Marinette said I know Tikki. Damian is so handsome. He is such a gentlemen. I thought I would never find my soulmate but now he found me and comfort me. Tikki said see Marinette. I told you that you will find your soulmate. You just needed to be patient. Marinette said you were right Tikki. Well be better get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day and I want to enjoy it with Damian. Here you go Tikki a treat for supporting me all these years. Tikki said aww thank you Marinette. You’re the best Ladybug I ever have. Tikki went to hug Marinette's cheek. Marinette giggles and said time to get ready to bed. I can’t for tomorrow. Marinette puts her pajamas and went to sleep.

Love has bees sung in songs over and over yet.

Love has been told in films over and over and standing here in wilderness

I was born into this world and you but still I know.

I believe there is still something left that love can do

I believe there is still something left that I can do

Bonus:

Dick: I better tell Cass, Stephanie, And Barbara about Damian having a soulmate. Oh man a lot of teasing for him. I’m going to enjoy this.

Jason: Demon spawn has a soulmate. Well if she is against her will. I’m going to rescue her. I just hope she isn’t like demon spawn.

Tim: The end of the world is here! I better prepare. I hope his soulmate is not like Damian. God I don’t need another one like him.

Bruce: Damian has a soulmate. Huh. Well I better welcome him or her to our home tomorrow.

Alfred: I better prepare for tomorrow. Miss Marinette is so good for Master Damian.

Tikki: Damian is going to be good and gentle to Marinette. He better be or I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine. I wonder if he is the true Chat Noir. Only one way to find out.

Author's Note

Oh man over 2,500 words. I really enjoyed doing this one shot. I may make more in the future. Have a awesome day!

[merezeh]

It’s been quite an eventful night for Zoey. She had returned to her dorm from a night of dancing, partying and two huge bombshells being dropped on her dainty shoulders. On the outside, she was drenched in confusion and spilled Champagne, but underneath her Princess of Monaco worthy ball gown and fake eye lashes, she was secretly loving this; the attention of the two boys she had crushed over all semester. Aaron finally had the nerve to tell her how he feels about her and Luca, well, Luca dusted off his finest tux and rode in like a shiny knight to sweep his princess off her feet once and for all. The two lads showed up within minutes of each other; romantic gestures cocked and loaded, and made their feelings known to her. Now, it was official; it was real, and Zoey could no longer play the game of pulling two strings. She actually had to make a choice between the two boys fully aware that whomever she picked, the other would not wait around for her any longer. And wait he did not.

After Zoey wandered around her room from desk to bed to floor and back to desk, all the while twirling and twisting and chewing anxiously on her long, curly hair, she finally came to a decision. It was Aaron; it was always going to be Aaron. Luca was the mysterious, broody, cool kid; an enigma, and it was enchanting to her. But Aaron, he cared about things and he was not afraid to speak up about them. He never hid underneath invisible sunglasses and apathic, disaffected coolness. His passion oozed out of every indignant rally and heated conversation. Sure, it got a little much sometimes, but she wanted to be with the guy that made her question what she stands for and made her care about things on a deeper level. Zoey was a superficial girl. But “this is college; it’s time to grow up”, she thought and Aaron might just be who she needs to be with at this pivotal moment in her life.

Of course, Luca was disappointed. Perhaps if he had made his feelings known sooner, Zoey would be with him instead. He let out his woes unto his canvas and painted numerous odes to his object of desire. Though it was no huge loss like the death of a loved one or the end of a great romance, the salty taste of rejection followed him around for weeks. With every brush stroke, however, he could taste it a little bit less. Like many great artists, he emptied himself completely unto his art. Soon, his mind was clear of all that is Zoey Johnson. He may even have his sights on a new girl.

Skylar, Zoey’s friend, had been there for Luca as he licked his salty wounds. She felt that he was the better choice for Zoey and she made that clear to him. “I like Aaron, I do, but Zoey is an idiot if she doesn’t see how amazing you are”, she said to him in slurred words as they both gazed at his final ode to Zoey; a masterpiece of juxtaposition between the passionate brush strokes that illustrated her beautiful, bouncy hair and the soft, sweeping glides of oil that reflected light off every curve on the figure’s body. Luca took the dirty blunt sitting between his fingers to his mouth and inhaled deeply before passing it over to Skylar. “Dead ass”, he slurred back.

After weeks of pining over Zoey, Luca was finally ready to move on. The unusual friendship between he and Skylar – unusual because they seemingly had nothing in common besides Zoey – began to blossom outside the realm of their mutual friend group. They laughed at each other’s hair, despite both having long, black locs styled differently, Luca took her to his underground, cool-kid parties and they shared a similar taste in music, especially when they were high. Getting high was extremely familiar to Luca, but new to Skylar. She had recently discovered how relaxing it was to let the world melt away and her problems melt along with it. They were also both brilliant at their fields – he, a brilliant artist and she, a brilliant athlete – and neither of them had many people in their lives to whom they could vent about the expectations and weight that comes with such brilliance; not without sounding like conceited assholes.

Most of all, it was easy. Being around each other was effortless and uncomplicated. They bonded over things they now knew they had in common and laughed over the things they could only ever agree to disagree on. Luca’s extremely easy going nature, the thing that made him unfit for Zoey, was perfect for Skylar. Deep down, she was a free spirited girl, but wound tightly by the pressures of her circumstances. Being on a sports scholarship came with its own set of tribulations after all. With him, she found an escape and with her, nothing had to be performative. They could both just be themselves. Skylar never demanded he perform care and interest, for anything, in a way that suited her. She could read the subtleties of his facial expressions like a map and he could do the same with her. And when that failed, they were both mature and confrontational enough to have straight forward conversations. Neither of them had the capacity for head games and two-sided interactions.

As they relaxed into each other’s easy-going company, their bond deepened. They both started to notice things about the other they never had before. She observed that for a guy who seems so cavalier about everything, he was really hard on himself when it came to his work; an observation that blew her mind as she felt he was fantastically gifted. She also noticed his style. “You know, for a stoner dude who couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of him, he has impeccable taste”, she confessed to her sister Jazlyn. He also had started to notice her – how the sun danced and flickered around her hazelnut eyes. Their mesmerising shade of brown had even become his new favourite colour to paint with.

Jazlyn was admittedly “sceptical about Skylar’s new nth-cloud pal”, as she cheekily put it, but she quickly converted into a supporter of the pair when she began to witness her sister drift back into the relaxed essence of light she once was. There was, however, one person who could never understand or support Skylar and Luca’s new bond. Upon spotting the pair from a distance on one of their mundanely adventurous outings, Zoey hissed and sighed silently about it for hours on end, unable to make captive audiences of the people around her and voice her true feelings for fear of hurting Aaron’s.

It felt like a personal slight to her; a betrayal. Little did she know that her current feelings of betrayal were only the beginning, because despite maintaining that her relationship with Luca was strictly platonic, Skylar was starting to develop romantic feelings for the artist. Luca, on the other hand, was wise to stay away from Zoey and Skylar’s friends. Perhaps he was cautious of the way he gazed helplessly and lustfully at Skylar when she tucked her hair behind her ear being a dead giveaway to the group, and possibly to Skylar herself.

Despite Zoey’s quiet objections, Skylar and Luca continued to hang out together; acting both as fans and as escapist havens for each other. One perfectly yellow afternoon, Skylar had just finished a race and as she and her sister jogged off that burnt orange track in victory, glistening, smiling from ear to ear, their friends – Zoey, Ana, Aaron, Nomi, Vivek and Luca – received them unto the side-lines with cheers and refreshments. After the race, they all planned to get together for a movie night at Aaron’s place but Luca, who wasn’t too keen on watching Zoey and her new beau canoodling in their natural habitat, swiftly excused himself from the group meet.

Trying to be sensitive to Luca’s awkward predicament, she claimed to herself, Skylar stepped in to rescue the budding artist. “Yeah, there’s that show we wanted to see right?”, she said swiftly, inviting herself to join him and Luca was more than happy to play along. “Yeah, I’m hoping it inspires something for my class project”, he said in his usual mellow tone. Zoey glared at Luca smiling at Skylar, and as she pictured her magical night of dirty frat-house couches and pizza, she coveted Skylar because she too had experience Luca’s artsy world when his eyes were still on her.

Later on in the night, as Luca and Skylar wandered down the lit-up streets finding reasons and excuses to touch, playing “something in your hair” and “something on your jacket” games, they came to a halt in front of a door of what looked like an old tattoo parlour. “We’re here”, Luca said suspiciously. Skylar raised her eyebrows at Luca and said “where exactly are we?” with a slight excitement and hesitation in her voice. She might have trusted him, but she was still weary of dodgy-looking abandoned buildings. Luca opened the door by turning one of the fifty antique-looking knobs and handles on it and let her in to yet another underground party.

As they made their way slowly through the crowd, they started to move subconsciously to the music. From their worries and fears to pressures and the world around them, everything disappeared, time stood still and they began dancing together. Now, they had the perfect reason to touch and roll and grind all over each other. Luca’s fingertips found reasons to glide over every visible inch of Skylar’s bod, across her face and down her arms and around her waist; each stroke more electric than the last. With emotions running high and inhibitions running low, they stopped and looked at each other for a long second – it was like they had both just witnessed beauty for the first time – before Luca leaned in and kissed Skylar. The party lights sparked and shimmered like fireworks, giving the pair their fantastical moment which lasted just the perfect amount of minutes that felt like years.

After the kiss was over, they unlocked their lips and looked at each other for another long second, both trying to confirm that the magic they felt was not one-sided and imaginary. The smile that swept across both of their faces and the look of satisfaction and awe in their eyes was confirmation enough. Luca winked cheekily at Skylar to make her laugh; she rolled her eyes and burst out laughing. Time unfroze and everything around them started to move again just before they became aware of the music and proceeded back to dancing.

[unimpressedperson]

Jackpot | pt. 3 [FINAL]

(Found this picture in @youthstuffs , thank you for posting it)

Genre: Fluff and Crack, I guess…

Warnings: None

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x @taesbetch , Kim Namjoon x Reader

Word Counting: 8.5k

Synopsis: Nya spent her whole life in Las Vegas, she would never imagine that local knowledge would ever be useful. However, her vision changed when Kim Seokjin appeared and introduced her to a few friends, film producers, whose needed guidance through Las Vegas underrated places for a movie. She agreed in working for them, and in that moment none of their lives would ever be the same. What happens in Vegas, not always has to be kept in Vegas.

A/N: Heeeeeeeey Nya!! Finally the last chapter! The oneshot has originally 20.958 words, so I decided to split it in three chapters. It’s the final one. The closure of this rhapsody (am I cocky, lol?), yeah. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing, ‘cuz it was fun talking about RPDR, movies, Vhope, Jeon Seagull, Namjoon, you, Dragon! Yoongi au spitting fiiire oooh, Star Trek references, etc :) Forgive any grammar mistakes.

- x - x - x - x -

Yoongi knew it. He fucking knew it in the moment Namjoon began contending about some girl willing to guide them through Las Vegas. He saw back in then that something would rotten up during the process. Nothing could ever go soft and swift, every damn time, Kim Namjoon would come up with some drama, or Hoseok and Taehyung would fight, or the pipes from their filming location would BUST IN GEYSERS FROM EVERY WALL AND FLOOR.

He could gain money by showing off his auguring powers. At least from some dumb folk like Namjoon.

They worked together for 10 years. A decade living through ups and downs, but what kept their Cinematography Company moving and succeeding was the timing. Namjoon directs a successful movie, then gets involved with someone, breaks up and directs a shitty movie. It was a cycle in which Yoongi never complained and watched happening time after time. In 10 years, Kim Namjoon proved to be a genius and that he acknowledge the romantic vicious cycle, never defying it by getting involved with someone after almost breaking their business.

In situations of risk like these, Yoongi takes over his Spock role and always gives good advices to Captain Namjoon. It was his Vulcan power, after all. The Enterprise never bankrupted precisely because everytime one of the bosses made a bold move or a bad decision, someone would soothe it with a better idea or stopping before happening.

This time, though, Namjoon was being a stubborn bitch. Yoongi considered the idea of poisoning him and keeping the whole company under his name and charge.

Oh, he really pondered and even searched for undetectable poisons, but their 10 years story spoke louder than the homicidal side of Min Yoongi.

Kim Namjoon and Min Yoongi met whilst working. They were producing the songs from a  soundtrack, after so many nights of writing and playing instruments, sometimes all by themselves, their similarities brought them closer. A beautiful and honest friendship blossomed, nurtured with honest, curses, talent, humor, sarcasm and a lot of partnership.

Eventually, their dreams became way too big and only working for a company wasn't satisfying them. With their savings combined, Namjoon and Yoongi registered a firm called “Enterprise Inc.”. They had the name and ideas, but only when Taehyung and Hoseok appeared that their machine began working.

Independent movies were becoming a trend, so their company grew and more people got hired to different task. Jimin, Jungkook, Emerson, Jade, Taylor, Shmaillah, Zariah and Robin were now part of their big family. They treated each other like relatives.

However, since not everything happened smoothly, Namjoon also had his flaws. Unfortunately, his passion and volatility affected financially their business and finances. Kim Namjoon loved loving, but his kind of love changes fast and finishing a relationship always turned him into a grumpy man.

His longest relationship lasted 1 year and a half, with an author and professor of Creative Writing at London Institute of Art, Barbara. Unfortunately, their break up made Namjoon extra unbearable, to a point where the actors hired would quit and the filming had to be stopped. His mood swings almost led Enterprise to declare bankrupt.

Of course Yoongi dated, actually he's been officially living with Emerson for over five months, but his personal life never affected the professional. Home feuds stayed at home, even because his girlfriend worked as head from the Enterprise's Marketing and Advertising department.

After discussing, they slept for four hours. Yoongi always valued his sleep and would rest whenever (and wherever) possible, but their argue made the atmosphere inside the room unbearable. Namjoon couldn't sleep as well, he knew Min was right, but and if he allowed himself getting closer to Nya, then doubtlessly at some point would end up falling for her. Namjoon was an assumed romantic mushy, but with a volatile heart.

They went to the buffet, dragging a sleepy Jungkook and an awaken Hoseok jogging, dancing, humming and texting his boyfriend, also animated and sending copious audios thrilled with the last night events. Even though it was already noon, people having breakfast could be seen all around.

— I can see a whole bunch of people with last night’s makeup smudged. Walk of shame, guys. - Jungkook murmured after drinking a whole mug of coffee.

— You walked in the hotel with someone else’s skirt, smudged makeup and cummed pants in a brown paper bag. Walk of shame, bro. - Yoongi grinned and stared at Jungkook.

— Last night was nuts, wasn’t it? - The younger one asked, sipping from his second mug. - We started in a bar and end up in a Ball. What the fuck, I love my life.

— Yeah. Crazy night. - Namjoon disassembled himself from the conversation with a sweep of hand.

Jungkook could feel the tension around. Namjoon and Yoongi were clearly pissed at each other, and it was palpable around. The air was borderline toxic with so much electricity. However, Jeon could rightfully guess why. In his time working for Enterprise Inc., that same negative energy surrounded them plenty of times before. Currently, everyone knew their financial situation, since two actors decided to leave the project in order to get away from Namjoon and his bad temper, and one actress who broke contract after being casted to a bigger production.

Min Yoongi and Kim Namjoon were great egos and minds. Working together represented war and success. They bickered, yet found ways to reconcile and respect each other’s differences, at least during toil days of finishing every detail, since both were also meticulous with lighting, angles, planning thoroughly even colours and shades. In fact, Jungkook graduated in cinema, but most of his practical knowledge was obtained by watching his bosses.

For a matter of fact, Jungkook could have chosen to remain in Korea and work with K-Dramas, movies or even MVs. Their cinematography industry was in constant growth, Jeon would never actually be unemployed, mainly with his fame as an idol. Even though his payment wasn’t the highest one, residing in London wasn’t impossible or uncomfortable, he could be classified as a wealthy lad, since the fame acquired during his boygroup years still paid him for image copyright licensing.

Jungkook was so famous in Korea, that every film produced by Enterprise Inc. sold like water on desert. Their film grossing came 6% from Seoul only. His stardom reached such a level that Jeon Seagull was mentioned beside great names like BIGBANG and Super Junior.  

When Jungkook became 25 years old, his biggest fan club in England during a whole month sent 25 roses to the Enterprise Inc. building daily.

Although, even with fame and constant proofs of how influential he still was, Jungkook felt good by being treated like a younger brother. No one gave him a special treatment or rolled out a red carpet whenever he walked around. Once, after having a small party at Yoongi’s place, he vented with his hyungs about fame and all, Min Yoongi stared at him blankly and said placid:

— I couldn’t care less about your idol life and shit. For me, you are Jeon Jungkook and works with film editing, you can even sing whilst doing your job, but it will never earn you a golden star.

It worried him watching his hyungs and main inspirations brawling, probably over Namjoon’s love interest in Nya and how it would affect his work. Also, Jungkook knew about money problems and thought about offering some cash to help and stabilize their finances, however everyone knew Yoongi would rather sell a kidney before accepting any loan.

— NOO!! - Hoseok yelled and punched the table, cell phone still on his other hand and eyes furiously staring at the screen. That unexpected behavior startled everyone.

— What happened? Did someone die? - Namjoon questioned, genuinely worried.

— No! But someone is about to! Taehyung finished watching The Umbrella Academy without me! I'm going to kill my boyfriend! - Hoseok declared and began typing furiously.

- x - x - x - x -

Nya felt an apprehension in the air, like something was off. Namjoon and Yoongi barely looked at each other, definitely not a subtle change from their past behavior. It could be only a hangover, or not. Well, she wasn’t in such position to question them.

Whilst Namjoon and Yoongi were silent, Hoseok and Jungkook were jamming to whatever played on the radio, creating choreographies out of blue and pulling the grumpy men. Maybe in a common day things were like that, very balanced: two neutrons and two protons.

Their last demand was going to thrift shops, and places selling wigs. Their desire was an order, so Nya chose “Opportunity Village Thrift Store” and Honey’s favourite place to buy wigs.

The ride to Opportunity Village seemed to last forever. Namjoon wanted to talk and have fun along with Nya, Hoseok and Jungkook, but Yoongi could consider it flirting and throw a homeric tantrum. Oh, he would die out of embarrassment.

Arriving was a relief. Yoongi stretched his legs and stared at Jeon. Before leaving the hotel, they decided that having Yoongi always sitting on Hoseok’s lap wasn’t fair, so using their best tool of democracy (a.k.a rock, scissor, paper) the last ones would play to decide who would flump and who would be flumped. In conclusion, maintaining a Jungkook steady during a car ride isn’t comfortable.

Opportunity Village Thrift Store looked huge. Garment tracks, clothing rails, huge baskets and hampers with colourful fabrics and shoes. It felt like a paradise and a warzone. Namjoon seriously considered the idea of diving in one of them, only to test how it feels like, but kept a composed behavior.

Nya got in and pulled a huge pink coat from one of the baskets, throwing it in Yoongi’s direction, whose first reflex was to deviate, watching the fabric becoming a puddle on his feet. He picked it up and dressed. Understanding it as an ice-breaker, everyone else decided to have their fun exploring what the store had to offer.

— I’m gonna pop some tags. Only got 20 dollars in my pocket. - Hoseok began singing happily, getting out from the fitting room with a huge ass fur coat covering down his knees, pink glasses and platform shoes.

Jungkook was with his body halfway in one of the baskets, but after listening the fitting room’s door opening, he stood up using a baseball cap, a t-shirt made of black tulle with Xs covering the nipples. Hoseok never behaved discreetly, but seeing him all dressed up and singing Macklemore, it made Jeon cackle and sit on the ground.

— You look like an asian version of Elton John on a budget! - Jungkook managed to utter between guffaws.

Before Jungkook died out of laughter, Namjoon showed up with a brown ushanka covering his lilac hair, white jacket with voluptuous shoulder pads and a brown clutch. Jung was about to pronounce something, when Kim opened a huge and glittery fan that was hidden inside the jacket’s pocket.

— You look like a cheap version of Adam Lambert, Jeon. - Namjoon sounded serious, but a quirk dimpley smile took over his features.

Everyone laughed and looked around for Nya, since Yoongi was anything but undercover with his bright pink coat, sitting on one wooden bench close to the fitting rooms, he typed something on the cellphone, a deadly serious face, not even paying attention to all foolery.

The woman emerged from the third and last fitting room. She was using a dress made of golden sequins, her cleavage in evidence and left leg standing out of a opening. Namjoon, Jungkook and Hoseok shut up and stared at her in awe.

— Can someone please make a joke so I will feel less embarrassed? - She muttered, cheeks getting warmer and redder with their eyes laying on her stunning figure.

— Nya, Big Bird from Sesame Street called. - Yoongi pronounced without looking at her, still typing and unfazed. - He wants his drag queen dress back.

They got back to laugh until tears were streaming down their faces, even Yoongi giggled a little. Everyone went back inside a fitting room, dressing back their own clothes and going out, looking for more funny outfits.

…

Namjoon and Nya would never understand or feel able to explain how, but somewhere between laughing at a pair of ugly ass shoes and grabbing more stuff to try on, they found themselves making out inside one fitting room. Sitting on the ground, her legs straddling him and his hands cupping her ass, their mouths connected and only separated looking for air (or taking turns in kissing necks), lips moving in sync and desperately grinding against each other.

After a few minutes swirling tongues and trading saliva, they stopped gasping for air, foreheads touching and now fingers intertwined, laying on Namjoon’s lap. Nya smiled and gave him a quick peck, without saying a word. They agreed in making out without pronouncing syllables, got there and began smooching, not a single sound needed.

Namjoon moved his hands and posed them on her waist, smiling whilst staring and decorating every feature from Nya’s attractive face. The dimples, oh those dimples, she held his face and began kissing those goddamn cute details. Namjoon moved his face a bit, getting back to peck her lips passionately.

— I don’t want to leave this fitting room ever again. - Namjoon whispered watching Nya hop off his lap and sit beside him, laying her head on his shoulder, a long arm enveloping around hers.

— If we are going to do something else, then we gotta leave. - Nya murmured and caressed his clothed knee, making small heart shapes there.

— I like the way you think. - His free hand lifted her chin leaning a little to kiss there again.

Before they could even think about continuing the make out session, a loud knock on the door was heard, startling them. Namjoon froze on his spot when a deep voice was heard, most specifically Yoongi’s voice.

— Kim Namjoon, why is Nya inside a fucking stall with you? - He sounded pissed off and it scared even the woman.

— W-who told something about Nya being here? - Namjoon questioned, trying to keep his cool.

— Who told me? A blue bird appeared to tell me. - His sarcasm sharp and killer like a knife, as always. - I COULD HEAR SOMEONE WHIMPERING FROM THE FRONT DOOR! AND IT WAS YOUR WHIMPERINGS!

Looking around, Namjoon tried to find another exit other than the door, in vain of course. Nya noticed Yoongi’s frown when he saw they kissing the day before, but would never imagine how against making out with her. By the way, why did Min even cared about it? Well, she didn’t understand, but Kim’s reaction surprised her: Glancing around desperately, fidgeting and anxious.

Did Yoongi carry a gun with him after all?

— Namjoon, you know I wouldn’t care about your romantic life, if you were capable of dicking down someone without falling in love and ruining our business! - Yoongi scolded profusely, words spitted like fire. The small man had flames inside his belly, always keen to burn whoever dared to cross his path and stumble. When their partnership became real and moneymaking, Namjoon’s creativity and intellect lost ground to Yoongi’s audacity, geniality and incredible honesty. Everyone in a meeting could witness how Min grows talking about money, market and tactics on getting attention, the same way Kim shrinks. 148 IQ points, tall and intimidating, but the business head looked like a human Hamtaro.

Indeed, Namjoon felt rickety closer to Yoongi. Who wouldn’t? Although their partnership equally shared in 50% of profit between them, who always controlled their accounts and hired people was Yoongi. Kim Namjoon was creative and smart, but Min Yoongi was ferocious, visionary, not afraid of facing bigger companies and calling attention to their work. Success depends on many more aspects than a well produced movie, knowing how to speak with business man, sell their product and spread their name. The universe knows Enterprise Inc., Mr. Spock always the mind, Captain Kirk their face and voice.

Namjoon wholeheartedly respected Yoongi, which was a mutual feeling.

It’s not like Yoongi was perfect and never made mistakes during their ten years career, running a filming company and producing polemical content.

Seven years ago, Min Yoongi dived from head to toe in a project about korean idols selling girls around the world, promoting prostitution and drug dealing. The movie was a mixture of documentary and fiction. Purposely or not, apparently the villain portrayed resembled a lot a certain manager from some big entertainment company and they were sued. Back in then, drowning in debts, Namjoon sat down and studied similar cases, learning with someone else’s past equivocation, he based their marketing on that judicial situation.

In the same way his sharp tongue and bold behavior made them big, Yoongi also caused a lot of trouble by saying something offensive. Once, Min Yoongi argued with a group of australian entrepreneurs, owners from a huge farm with mines around, a collaboration organised with Seokjin’s help was being discussed. Maybe joking about their political bias wasn’t the best choice of icebreaker, ‘cuz when they found themselves, Mr.Smith was red in anger and punching the table stopping himself from whacking Yoongi’s face.

However, Yoongi was right, Namjoon falls in love way too easily. Perhaps it was loneliness, or his massive levels of empathy. Fearing the loss of his company, Min Yoongi felt the grip and patience held along their trip fly away in the moment Jungkook and Hoseok appeared, but Kim and Nya were nowhere to be seen. Whimperings inside one stall, it was the last straw.

Nya and Namjoon got out the fitting room, red as beets. Yoongi had a hand covering his face, pissed off and trying to control his voice volume, not wanting to cause a stir.

— Why do you care? What happened of so serious? - Nya raised one eyebrow, still confused about Yoongi’s reaction about them making out. He would be sane to complain about public display of affection, but not the whole idea of someone kissing another human being.

— Namjoon is a workaholic, but also has a huge problem with loneliness. -  Yoongi slid the hand down his face and stared at her, dead opaque eyes. - Every single time he gets attached to someone and breaks up, who deals with his tantrums and childish behavior, grumpy face and irascible humour, believe me, wouldn’t be you, it would be me, our hired actors, and of course our ring of friends. He gets unbearable.

— But we are not dating or in love, if anything ever happened, it wouldn’t leave Vegas. You are overreacting. - She was clearly embarrassed with the whole situation, when did she expressed any feeling of passion? Nya flirted with Namjoon and mentioned sex, but never said anything about dating, falling in love, or whatever.

— Yoongi, you are being irrational. I’m not in love, we are just young, horny and getting along. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. - Namjoon backed up Nya, pissing the hell off of Min, who took a long and deep breathe.

— Exactly! What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but you know who else will be staying in Vegas? Us. We’re coming back in a month and if you dick her down now, you will probably want to get another dose after. I want you fully focused on working in ‘Fierce’, not splitting your thoughts between tortuous falling in love and doing your job properly. - The shorter man spat, again fire coming off his mouth.

— I’m focused! I’m having fun, but also analyzing every place we’ve been to!

— Oh, you are focused, right? Focused like a fucking cannon under a drunk man’s watch! - Min Yoongi snapped, if he ever worried about not causing a stir, then it disappeared like Namjoon’s rationality. - Do you know what I was doing whilst everyone tried on clothes? I was trying to resolve some of our location renting problems and checking how the filming for our other projects are going. - He got closer to Kim, poking one of his long fingers against the taller one chest. - By the way, did you make any contact with Enterprise every since we landed in Vegas? Did you check your phone? Did you worry about anything other than inserting your dick in somewhere or someone?

— No, but… - Namjoon suddenly felt small and shrinking more and more.

— That’s what I thought! Your whole focused ass is whipped and willing to lose everything we fought for, all for one night stand with some random one!

— Shut up! - Nya yelled, flustered and vexed, stepping closer to Yoongi. - Don’t you dare referring to me as if I’m not here. Don’t you ever treat me like someone random, trivial. I’m not a random someone, I’m the one guiding you around Las Vegas for free. It may not be something as big as filming a movie, but it’s also helpful. - She poked Yoongi’s chest, he gave one step back, their discussion drawing attention from people looking around, Hoseok and Jungkook showed up. - Your posh ass can be rich, or the owner from a company, but don’t you dare talking about me like a brainless person, someone incapable of fucking with someone without growing fond of that person! Your friend can be sappy and weak minded, but I am not. You don’t know me, Min Yoongi.

— We better leave before anything else is said, right Joon? - Jungkook asked, pulling Yoongi by one arm in the door’s direction.

— Yes, please, I don’t think I can keep on guiding you guys, I would say I’m sorry, but it is not true at all. - Nya seemed gloomy, but also frustrated. They were discussing sexism and pre-concepts in a movie, but Yoongi’s opinion about her seemed far from awaken. Maybe it was more about Namjoon and his past relationships, but why couldn’t Min consider her vision? A relationship necessarily has to have two sides, and both agreeing with their terms. Even if Kim fell in love, nothing would ever happen again if Nya did not fancy it.

Women do have voices and their standpoint should be taken seriously.

Maybe Yoongi wanted to protect both parts from heartbreak or unhealthy obsession, but what a problematic way of showing his worries. Why couldn’t he just ask for Nya’s opinion? It’s not fair or right.

Nya watched them leaving, Yoongi frowning and Namjoon in shock, both being dragged down by Hoseok and Jungkook. Everyone inside the thrift shop staring at them, dividing their glances between Nya and the group.

- x - x - x - x -

Whilst packing their bags again, Yoongi checked his pocket list of goals for the travel. He concluded that everything needed was basically sorted, places chosen and their owners actually liked them, which would make it easier to bargain better renting prices. Their casting situation and debt with Nya could be solved within days and a few phone calls, since while Namjoon was flirting, Jungkook and Hoseok were doing some bullshitery, Min gave his cellphone number to a no number of people.

Staring at Namjoon and his gloomy eyes felt heartbreaking, but Yoongi knew that it was the right thing to be done. Kim needed to keep his head on the game. They only had one chance, and oh boy, Min Yoongi would hold it with claws and teeth.

Nya was a bewildering creature and, after filming everything, Yoongi would totally invite her to their premiere, however in order to actually having a Premiere, they first had to rent places, cast people, transport their shit, direct, film, edit, and first of all, not declare bankruptcy. Namjoon should’ve know better, acting like a horny teenager would be the death of them.

The lilac-haired man wished things could be different, but Yoongi was correct and sane: Kim Namjoon would never know how to balance a relationship with work, at least not without slipping at some point and getting hurt.

Namjoon was aware of his workaholic condition. All of his relationships got to dramatic endings after spending hours in a row inside his office, studio or even at home, but with a notebook almost morphing into his lap. Every single one of his past girlfriends were very understanding, and accepted that working represented over 80% of his life, routine and thoughts, but being pushed into the background felt tiring. Namjoon hurted himself so many times with that and promised to change, which never happened.

Let’s face it, his fate had nothing to do with a successful love life.

Truth be told, but never convinced. Namjoon thanked mentally Yoongi, he saved Nya from a very frustrating life beside him.

Hoseok and Jungkook didn’t dare to say a word from hotel to airport. No one felt the need. Silence seemed adequate and anything else would only trigger into bickerings. There was no energy or disposition to raise voices and argue.

Silence and rain, those words defined their travel back to England.

- x - x - x - x -

— Zariah finished the filming of “Beast”. She sent the files to Jimin and Jungkook, but I think they will need my help, since Jeon is stuck with all those sequential cuts Yoongi made during “Je M’appelle Carinè”, and Park is simultaneously working on the sound effects for our first animated short-film “Poundcake”, and in… Oh Jimin is recording the soundtrack to “Fierce”? I’m proud of him. - Taylor, a short, chubby young lady, with short brown hair and sparkling eyes, was standing in front of Namjoon’s office table, staring at her iPad and checking every information, whilst he stared blankly outside the window. - Should I keep on working as your secretary? Or can I help Kook and Chim Chim on editing “Beast”?

— What? What did you just say? - Namjoon looked at her, blinking fast and slowly getting back to reality. - Sorry, Tay. I lost myself in my mind again. It’s been happening more often than I would like to assume.

— That’s alright. - She pulled a chair and sat in front of him, placing the iPad on her lap. - What’s bugging you, Joon?

Namjoon gazed again outside, eyes oscillating between shining and getting opaque again. Where should he even begin with? His mind was hopping from thought to thought, concern to concern, and somehow, even filled with preoccupations, Nya always danced between daydreams and awaken nightmares. Despite trying his best to forget and move on, the lady with a contagious smile, beautiful eyes and the smoothest skin ever seen found her way back to divagations.

Enterprise Inc. wasn’t placed in a huge building, actually, they placed had to place a billboard outside to indicate where the firm resided. An ancient building about to be demolished, that’s why Namjoon and Yoongi could bid a whole four floor building for such a bargain. With its structure, the duo fixed some details and reformed every flat, turning into different studios. Every deck had a specific department: first video editing and animation (recently inaugurated by Taehyung and Hoseok after finishing their online animating course), second reserved to audio (both recording and editing, Yoongi built his office there) and characterization accessories, third filming studios, last everything related to managing (marketing, advertisement, Human Resources, Management, and of course, Namjoon’s office). No one would ever imagine how proud Kim and Min were of their achievements, every award and nomination resulted in motivation. They were succeeding, from the bottom and going higher.

Imagining himself waking up and heading to somewhere else, other than the building made of red bricks and black doors, that thought scared the shit out of Namjoon. He would never cooperate or live happily after declaring bankrupt and having to shut down his business, at least not after conquering so many prizes, awards, incredible movies under his name. No, closing doors would never be an option.

— Taylor, I know everyone is aware of how ramshackle is our financial situation. Those projects, “Beast”, “Je M’Appelle Carinè”, “Poundcake” and “Fierce”, are our last string of hope. That’s why we are rushing to finish and release them. - Taylor nodded, in fact, everytime Namjoon and Yoongi argued behind closed doors, rumours around the office were spread. - Specially “Fierce”, we are investing every dime left in that. It’s probably our most expensive and laborious movie, but we count on it to keep us working for a few more months. Two weeks ago me, Yoongi, Hoseok and Jungkook went to Las Vegas and rented places to film, but something happened there.”

“See, our guide, Nya, is the most dazzling creature alive. Not a single soul ever made me feel so impressed in my whole life, yet I can’t get attached to her. Not before finishing the filmings for “Fierce”, it would make me lose focus and possibly fuck everything up. It’s not my intention, but I can’t get her out of my head. Whenever I stop and think, she is there, dancing through my worries and thoughts.”

— Joon, why can’t you talk to her? - Taylor pushed her glasses down the nose bridge and raised one eyebrow. - It seems like by avoiding Nya, you are focusing in nothing else but her. Maybe this time your romantic curse was casted differently. You are not dating her, perhaps the vicious cycle is broken. Also, being unable to think about anything else won’t help you directing.

— I don’t know… - Namjoon pouted and laid his head against the wooden table, leaning the forehead there.

— When the filming to “Fierce” will begin?

— In two weeks. - Namjoon mumbled without raising his head, but now facing his brown walls. - We casted some american actors and actresses, our luggage is being packed, Yoongi made deals with every place to film, rented a house for the crew and us.

— You have two weeks to decide whether you want to invest in something with Nya, or not. It’s up to you. - Taylor made a flourishing movement with one of her hands, whilst standing up and staring again at the iPad. - Now about the “Beast” video editing...

— Go help Jimin and Jungkook. - Namjoon dismissed her and got back to his thoughts.

- x - x - x - x -

— Namjoon, you know I hate to accept when I’m wrong, huh? - Yoongi had an U shaped pillow around his neck, resting peacefully on a comfortable seat, whilst Kim typed on the notebook, adding some reminders on the script to himself. - But I think you should call Nya and ask her out.

— What? Why? - Namjoon turned his head and stared at Yoongi's unfazed face.

— You never had to take notes on scripts in order to work right. You are way a fucking genius, with 148 IQ points, had written masterpieces and composed glorious songs. - Min said without looking at his friend, but placing a hand on his knee. - In the past month you barely talked during reunions, you've been unfocused and divagating, also I spoke to Emerson, and she mentioned a certain talk you had with Taylor. Man, you need Nya and it's insane. You spent less than 24 hours by her side and now living without talking to her seems like a punishment. I don't understand how and why, but if contacting her during our permanence in Vegas will cheer you up, then I'm 100% supporting you. We need our leader, our main director.

Namjoon got back to typing without delivering a single sentence, Min’s hand still on his knee. Suddenly the space between their seats felt tinier, they were way too close and He needed to absorb Yoongi’s new position on Nya’s awe. Indeed, having his approval on looking for her was amazing, but how? During their trip to Las Vegas Min Yoongi said harsh things, leaving right after. Upon weeks of silence, even having Nya’s phone number saved, Namjoon never made effort to apologize, keep in touch or whatever. He respected Yoongi’s opinion, but his spitted phrases and dark tone made both parts highly uncomfortable.

He wanted and decided that looking for Nya was part of his plans whilst filming in Las Vegas, but embarrassment spoke louder and clearer. Namjoon wanted, but had no balls to accomplish it. At least not after remaining mute whilst Yoongi spat mean words at her, he could’ve defended their situation, stand up and put Min on his place. Well, what happened was far from ideal.

All Namjoon could think about, even before hearing Yoongi’s concerned and caring words about his mental state, was Nya, and what were the chances of her accepting to go on a date with him. Namjoon despised the idea of Nya evicting him.

Unlike Yoongi thought, Namjoon wasn’t in love before. It took him an array of nights stalking Nya’s Facebook page, checking her Instagram and reading how passionate her friends seemed to feel. Now, he felt obsessed and slightly uncomfortable with the idea of being dumped.

Nonetheless, Namjoon decided to pull himself together, grow a pair of balls and try. ‘No’ is a possibility, risking won’t harm.

Trying to gather some courage, the lilac haired man opened a new Word file and named “Captain’s Log”, getting in full Star Trek mode, he was Captain Kirk afterall.

“Captain’s log. Stardate -303753.640. We are arriving in the dusty and hot atmosphere of Las Vegas, a city located in the middle of Nevada, a state from United States of America, North America, one of the seven continents from planet Earth. My Vulcan friend, Mr.Yoongi, possessor of a great logical intellect is encouraging me to look for a human partner in our new location, specifically someone already acknowledged by Enterprise as homo sapien sapien, formed by carbon and XX chromosomes, turning it into a fascinating woman named Nya by her genitors. After our last expedition through Las Vegas, the relationship development between Enterprise’s Captain, yours truly, and terrestrial local resident Nya were harmed by Mr.Yoongi’s behavior towards her. Nevertheless, I’m willing to change our perspectives and get another chance.”

- x - x - x - x -

Saturday. A boring afternoon ghosting over Nya’s body, sitting on her couch along with Alexa. They were watching something about wildlife in Taiwan forests on National Geographics, a bowl with caramel popcorn between them and cups of mint tea. The curly-haired woman stared around her living room, noticing how the yellowish painting was peeling and slowly showing stripes of the white paint under it. Basically, her walls looked like an albino zebra. The purple sofa comfortable and everything else seemed pretty fitting, not needing to be replaced or moved. Oh, she was proud about her good taste in decoration.

Boredom hit Alexa like a truck and a deep grunt left her throat, almost scratching its way out. She grabbed the remote control and began zapping through channels, looking for something more interesting than animals mating or bullying each other.

— We should go out. You look like a mushy potato in that set of sweats. Is it yellow because you’ve been copiously using that for the past four weekends, or is it the original colour? - Alexa snorted, trying to combat boredom with jokes. - Honestly Nya, what the fuck happened? You explained something about Korean entrepreneurs, but as far as I know you’re not eager in investing on stock market, so I don’t know why their business would affect you. Did you get involved with one of them?

— No shit, Sherlock. - Nya mumbled and took a sip from her tea, trying to gather some words without sounding grumpy. - I have nothing to do with their business, but see, they hired me to guide them through Las Vegas. I’ve done that once before for one of their friends, the Seokjin guy I told you. Remember?

— Seokjin? The cocky and rich film producer? I remember him, he was funny and immensely confident, literally, I’ve never seen someone so sure about his looks. - Alexa kept her glance on the television. - Big dick energy at its finest.

— Yeah, him. - Nya avoided talking about Namjoon and cia, but now, completely alone with her best friend, it seemed like a good moment to vent. - One of the film producers I accepted to guide, he was funny, interesting, smart and a very good kisser, although, apparently someone deeply confusing. Like, I felt interest on him, but never said shit about being in love, unlikely what Yoongi understood and took as the gospel truth, his friend could cherish me with a thousand roses, but I would never date him and then break up, even because it takes more than 24 hours wandering around sin city and a good fuck for me to enamor someone.

“I don’t know how are the girls they know and usually go out with, but I’m not innocent. We don’t live in a book from Jane Austen. They claim to be so woke and liberal, discussing pre-concepts, sexism and homophobia on their scripts, but behaving and thinking like Mr.Darcy. Did they ever consider a scenario where women have voices and opinions? A scenario where I can easily say no and continue my life? See, I’m not hurt because I’m fancying Namjoon, but because from the moment they introduced themselves and their ideas, they seemed like progressivists, looking for equality, open-minded guys, willing to fight our biased society with their movies. However, Yoongi insinuating that Namjoon and I would ever date or engage in a long-lasting romantic relationship, without even considering my perception on it all, the possibility of the woman only looking for a good fuck. He literally throw a tantrum in a thrift shop about it, calling me some random one. The delusion hurt me.”

— Uh girl, I’m sorry about it. That Yoongi guy really assumed some fucked up things about you. - Alexa turned to stare at her friend, who didn’t spare a look from the television, even though she wasn’t actually watching it, only avoiding eye contact. - But you went through several deceptions along life, why is that different? What happened lately that you remain thinking about them? Or him?

Nya got tired of staring at nothing and met Alexa’s brown eyes, thick and beautiful eyebrows. She took her cell phone and found the long text Namjoon sent a few hours before, throwing it to the friend, keen to understand everything surrounding her grumpy aspect.

“Kim Namjoon [03/31/2019, 8h34min]: Hey Nya.

Sorry taking so long to contact you. I couldn’t find words apologizing my behavior four weeks ago. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can say now. I could’ve defended you, Yoongi acted like a jerk and said some hurtful things, which I don’t agree 100% with. I wasn’t in love back in then, but I understand his side from this story. Yoongi is worried about our finances, which I was the responsible for fucking up. Let me explain it all, expose the situation we unintentionally inserted you in.

A few months ago I broke up with an incredible woman who taught me a lot, but also couldn’t bear my working schedule and how I always set her aside. The career I built along with Yoongi always goes first, it’s my main priority, and I never learned how to balance ‘working Namjoon’ with ‘dating Namjoon’. The result of that break up was a moody me, who brought hell to surface and made two of our casted actors quit, they couldn’t deal with my humour (beside one who quit after receiving a better role somewhere else). It really cost us way too much, since they received for working day and we couldn’t ask their payment back. Also, when the infamous movie was released, the numbers were low and barely covered our bills and paychecks, media and critics criticized it harshly.

However, what happened is a vicious cycle which I’m stuck in. It’s one of the certainties from life: death, the ones most adaptable to change will survive and that I’m fucking up a relationship and then ruining a movie. Yoongi always found a way to contort it and put us back, saving our finances, but this time the loss was gigantic. Our company is solely relying on the success of ‘Fierce’, and a few other projects we will be releasing.

I’m not trying to find excuses for everything Yoongi spat to your face, he was rude and unnecessarily loud, but I’m begging you to consider his side as well. We are not up to losing our company, it’s our deepest fear. Min Yoongi and his stone cold heart is trying his hardest to get our butt off bankruptcy. I guess inside his head, he is willing to drag me away from anything considered as a distraction.

Now, enough of Yoongi and our financial trouble. Let's talk about feelings.

Yeah, I'm a lonely man and tend to get attached pretty easily. However, I wasn't in love with you. Nya, you seemed like someone really interesting and attractive, I'd rather chew my feet off than leave Las Vegas without kissing you. You are smart, independent, proactive, empathetic and friendly. Within hours being guided by you through Vegas, we saw how passionate you are about people you grew surrounded by, how you care deeply about them all and are willing to give up on money in order to help them.

By the way, our deal is still up and we casted your friends (Carol even gained a solo scene where she dances and Sasha got lines). Hopefully they already told you, but if they didn't and you are suspicious of my word, get in touch with everyone you introduced to us.

Continuing…

I wasn't in love with your back in then, but after two weeks thinking about it all and checking your social media (sorry about it :S), I grew fond of you. Everyone seems to love you so much and your heart is so big, couldn't help and now I, Kim Namjoon, am fancying you as well.

I'm not hoping to gain your mercy, but am willing to try and get your sympathy back. Would you go out with me sometime? Not in a romantic way, if you don't feel comfortable.

Again, I'm sorry about how it all began and hope we can fix it.

I'll be staying in Vegas for a while.

Thank you. Bye :) “

— First of all. Did he deadass structured the text like an e-mail? - Alexa looked up from the cellphone in time to see Nya grinning. - You are considering the idea of accepting his invitation? Girl, I ain't gonna tell you what to do, but that Namjoon doesn't seen to be a jerk, he could've just gave up, but he insisted and apologized. Did he actually casted everyone you asked to?

— Yes. Two weeks ago I received a text from Carol and Sasha, they thanked me and all. Tio Diego is also renting his bar for their movie. They also chose Paris as the main filming place, casting Honey too. - Nya felt divided, hoping on Alexa's opinion to define what should be done. - I'm still a bit hurt for what happened, but they proved their integrity by casting and renting everything and everyone I suggested. Namjoon apologized, gave me Yoongi's point of view and invited me to a date, giving me the option of saying no or defining if it's romantic or not.

— Nya, I don't see a plausible reason why you would say no. - Alexa’s hand snaked between them and landed on the other woman thigh. - You are only trying to find excuses because you are stubborn. If you want to, then go, get dicked down and you don't necessarily have to head back to him ever again. Even though he assuredly grew fond of you, it doesn't mean you obligatory have to engage in an actual relationship.

Nya huffed and slapped Alexa’s hand off her thigh. She hated when the girl with wavy black hair was right, and unfortunately Alexa seemed to never be wrong.

- x - x - x - x -

The night sky was clear and the air cool, wind making leaves from trees huff against each other and a chill run through everyone's spine. However, Namjoon felt sweat bidding down his forehead, anxiously shifting from one foot to another and resisting the urge to bite his nails.

The lilac-haired man was standing alone in front of Devito’s, same dining Nya took them the first night. His white t-shirt covered by a thin plaid shirt, jeans and white Converse, outfit plained specifically to seen laidback, since Nya chose the place and said it wasn't a fancy date. She was a ten minutes late and Kim had this crazy thought culminating in his mind, where she probably gave up and would call at any moment to dump him.

With 15 minutes of delay, Nya showed up dressed casually with a black Iron Maiden t-shirt, brown corduroy coat, skinny jeans and Vans. Her curly hair free and adorning the whole picture, no makeup, except for a cherry coloured lipstick. Flawless, Namjoon felt like his legs were made out of jelly and would collapse. His guts contracted in the same moment butterflies attacked his stomach. His mind hazing and suddenly his vocabulary vanished, being resumed by the extensive plethora of words pronounced by someone 2 years old, basically “bluh”.

The first half hour from their date felt weird. No one knew what to say, so small talk almost defeated them, but Namjoon decided to insist. Between eating burgers for dinner and dying out of embarrassment from going out in such situation, Kim decided to thank Nya.

His grateful words somehow touched Nya's heart. He sounded so sincere and whipped by her presence, that keeping the attitude of someone offended seemed pointless. Alexa was right, Namjoon liked Nya.

Goddamnit, Alexa.

Like a chain of gratitude, Nya thanked Namjoon for remaining faithful to his promise of casting her friends. He blushed and sipped on his fizzy cherry drink, grinning slightly, dimples marking their presence and reminding the woman why she thought Kim Namjoon was such a heartthrob beforehand.

Those dimples. Goddamnit, dimples. How can you be mad at someone desperately fluff with such a cute face? Nya wanted to stay loyal to her belief and hard feelings, but Namjoon's polite behavior, lovely face and insistence made it specially complicate.

Goddamnit, Namjoon.

Their body language clearly showed how the unsolved business led to a huge amount of sexual tension, Nya could bear it masterly though. Talking about everything and nothing at all, that's how Namjoon decided to speak his mind. What's the point of sitting and awkwardly pretend there is not an elephant in the room? Well, let's excuse it and set the pachyderm free then.

— Nya, I don't know if you are ever going to forgive me for not standing up for you, or whatever… - Namjoon's hand slipped swiftly closer to Nya's, touching her pinky but not holding it, avoiding more of an intimate contact.

— It's not that you didn't stood up or defended me, see there is so much more. Did you guys ever consider the idea that, I don't know, I could easily not want something serious with you? - She allowed his pinky to snake from her side and lightly take a hold of it. - I'm not mainly mad at you, disappointed with both Yoongi and you, though. For guys claiming to be so open-minded, then why is it so hard to assume I don't want a relationship? That I'm glad having something unofficial and leaving? Fuck, you make it so hard to believe you are an hypocrite.

— I'm not an hypocrite. I do believe in women's sexual freedom and ability to choose partners without necessity of commitment. I'm shitty at not getting attached, it doesn't mean that everyone else is also suckers for love. - His gaze was no longer on her eyes, but staring down to his own lap. - Indeed, we discussed my side, claiming I’d fall for you and ruin our project, but never considered your opinion, the possibility of you wanting nothing related to me. We behaved in such a sexist way, I’m profoundly sorry.

Their order arrived, someone almost spinning on her calves. Burgers and fries, so much cheese melting down the seeded bread. What a vision. If the conversation wasn’t in such an uncomfortable place, Namjoon would probably declare his passion for the juicy and greasy food in front of them.

The chit-chatting kept its slow pace. If National Geographics decided to make a parallel between their behavior and animals socializing, then they were trying to mingle, like Taiwan birds, Nya and Namjoon were singing in order to attract each other, hoping to link and connect. They got along once, why was it so hard to do it again? What wasn’t being said? Who was holding the cat inside the bag?

— I think I’m fancying you. - Namjoon finally took the cat out of the bag, or it could be a mice, ‘cause within seconds the elephant sitting on their conversation got up and left. Gone late, pachyderm.

— What? - Nya lifted an eyebrow. - I don’t know why I’m surprised, you said it in the message. Sorry, keep talking.

— When I closed all deals and rented everything we needed for the filming here in Vegas, my friends and my crew was all like ‘Heck yes, Vegas! Strippers, gambling, money, casinos, yaay!’, and even trying my best, the hardest, to focus on working and directing a masterpiece this script deserves to originate, all I could think about was you. - Namjoon decided it would be appropriate to look at Nya, she seemed unfazed, which made him nervous. - Travelling hours in a flying sardine can to see Nya! No one, except for the boys and Jin knew who you are, and kept on questioning me why so much anxiety and excitement over seeing you. And not even I understood. Working and wondering about what you could be doing really messed with my head. Nya, you messed with my head!

— Ok, Namjoon, it’s a lot of information. - She didn’t spare a look, he felt intimidated, but Nya’s behavior never showed any insecurity. - I don’t fancy you, but it doesn’t mean I cannot grow fond of you at any moment. However, in order to see it happening, you’ve got to insist. If you really want to be with me, then you’ll need to stick along, we’ve got to go out more, in different places. We can totally link up and have great sex today, but it won’t guarantee another row. Got it?

Well, Namjoon felt relieved. Nya was far from being mad at him. Oh, he remained willing to go out, as long as she was there.

In the end, if Nya and Namjoon’s story was something elaborated by Jane Austen, then it would be Sense & Sensibility. Nya and her sense changed how Namjoon dealt with his sensibility, breaking a vicious cycle, where engaging in a romantic relationship without previous thinking ruined all logical thoughts and mature behavior.

The end.

[neraawritesxx]

Gillyflower

naruto couples event - day 1

prompt: favorite canon pairing // how they met

pairing: ino x sai

genre: romance // humor

word count: 1,821

summary: “First of all, a rat? Really, Sai?”

author’s note: I don’t really have a favorite canon pairing, so this is my first time writing anything for Sai x Ino. That being said this could potentially be OOC and borderline crack, but I hope you enjoy it either way!

“Mom?”

Ino looked up from the flower arrangement in front of her, blond hair bouncing with the sudden movement.

She glanced towards at the opposite end of the countertop where Inojin sat on a stool, sketchbook open in front of him, fingers dancing across the page in smooth, smudging strokes.

Sai bought him a new medium for his art, colored pastels, and her son had been inseparable from them since the beginning of the week.

“Yeah, hun? What is it?”

It was silent immediately following her question.

In that short pause, Inojin finished a part of his sketch. When the task was complete, he regarded his work with an inquisitive tilt of his head and a critical light in those pale blue eyes. Finding his art to his liking, Inojin gave a short, curt bob of his head and closed the sketchbook.

Ino fought down the smile that threatened to curl on her lips. It had become a pastime of hers to watch her son work. There was something about the concentration that marred his brow and the scrunch of his nose while he drew that Ino found adorable.

Though if she told her son that, he would turn beet red and say that she was embarrassing him.

Must be an artist thing.

When Inojin finally spoke again, he turned to regard her but seemed to hesitate once their gazes locked.

He blinked once, opened his mouth to speak, then closed it with an audible click of his teeth. Ino arched a brow in his direction, watching him struggle to piece together his thoughts before he felt brave enough to try again.

“How did you and dad meet?” He blurted out the question quickly, catching Ino off guard.

The inquiry was so out of left field, the blond couldn’t help but giggle; a quick bubble of laughter that crawled its way up her throat, filling the silence of the room.

“Where did that come from?” Ino asked, turning back to the bouquet in front of her.

Nibley, she plucked a white lily from the pile of loose buds which resided on the counter. Placing the flower in the center of the vase, she organized some of the smaller blooms around it, framing it as a centerpiece.

When she was finished, Ino stepped away, moseying down to the opposite end of the counter where Inojin sat. She crossed her arms in front of her, leaning down so that her elbows were resting on the table.

Inojin eyed her sheepishly for a moment. “Well…with the new Ina-Shika-Cho training coming up, I thought it might be best for Chocho, Shikadai, and I to learn about previous members…that includes you and their parents.”

Ino smiled at his response, all pearly whites, while pride nestled warmly in her chest.

“You shouldn’t be uncomfortable to ask,” Ino stated softly. “I’m glad you’re that invested in your training, though I’m not sure what your father has to do with it.”

“I want to learn new skills, different jutsus. If I know enough about you and dad, I can gauge what abilities I can bring to Ina-Shika-Cho.”

At that moment, Sai chose to make his appearance.

He came out of the back room, carrying a large terracotta flower pot. He smiled at them briefly before crossing the threshold of the store to deposit the potted fern by one of the front windows.

“I met your father when he was assigned to you Aunt Sakura’s team,” Ino chirped, eyeing the subject of their conversation blithely. “I have to admit I was a little jealous at first. Forehead had a knack for getting ‘lookers’ on her team. First your Uncle Sasuke, then your father.”

Inojin scrunched up his nose at the mention of his ‘indirect’ uncle.

He turned on his stool to regard his father then, watching as Sai shifted the potted plant on an angle that would give it the most access to the incoming sunlight.

“Dad, what did you think of think of mom when you first met her?”

Sai, who was regarding the fern like it was going to be the next subject in one of his paintings, turned his head to give them both his attention.

Before the dark-haired male could respond to his son’s question, Ino sighed dreamily from her perch behind the counter.

“You can bet your mom knocked him off his feet,” She stated confidently, drawing the attention of both men. “Your father called me beautiful the first time I met him. I might have even taken his breath away,” she hummed with a wink.

“You can thank the Hag for that,” Sai said, walking over to join the two of them. He stood next to where his son sat, eyeing his wife appreciatively.

“Her and Dic-…Naruto,” He quickly amended seeing the older blonde’s sudden glare. “Due to my previous lack of understanding emotions, I would say the first thing that came to my head. When they told me that I was insulting people, I began to say the opposite of what came to my head, hence me calling your mother beautiful.”

It was eerily silent in the flower shop following the Sai’s clarification. Inojin flicked his gaze between his parents shyly.

Sai, all smiles, seemed indifferent to the implications his explanation held.

Ino, stared at her husband incredulously, brows high on her forehead, and her lips parted in shock.

“…WHAT?!” She screeched.

-o-

A little while later, Inojin eyed his father’s frazzled appearance before looking towards the front door that his mother just left out of.

“Are you going to go after her, dad?”

Sai huffed slightly, shoulders slumping marginally with the movement.

“Your mother is a…complicated individual, Inojin. She’ll be back…I think.”

-o-

Ino stomped down the street, keeping her head held high and nose in the air.

After expertly throwing her son’s sketchbook at her husband’s head, the blond had fled the scene to stew over the knowledge she had just been graced with.

Was she carrying on a little excessively? Yes.

Did she particularly care? No.

She didn’t make it very far, about two blocks, before the first flower arrived.

A small snake cut off the path she was trudging along. Its lithe body slithering between her ankles, wrapping around her left calf.

Halting her movements so that she wouldn’t stumble, Ino regarded the piece of art with pursed lips.

The blonde bent down, holding out her hand, allowing the snake to wrap its body around her wrist. Straightening, azure eyes observed the small ink creature in her hand, taking in the unique design drawn into its skin.

Though created in Sai’s typical style, the snake had a flower etched into its body.

The black and white snake had a rose blooming on the back of its head, the leaves and stem running down the length of its onyx scales.

“A rose, huh?” Ino inquired, looking at the reptile with a tilt of her head.

The little creature mirrored her movement, patiently waiting to see if it achieved the goal it was created to do.

“Tell him to try again,” Ino deadpanned, removing the small animal from her wrist and depositing it back on the ground.

-o-

The second flower came when she was having tea with Sakura.

While marching around Konoha with no a real destination in mind, Ino ended up at her best friend’s apartment. It took a little convincing, and some psychical dragging, but the blonde got Sakura to join her for a much-needed vent session.

“Can you believe him Forehead?!” Ino groused, flailing her arms to emphasize her statement. “I thought that he was seriously into me!”

Sakura gave Ino a pointed look over the rim of her cup of tea, saying nothing as she took a sip of the caffeinated beverage. After replacing her glass on the table, Sakura leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms.

“You know you’re acting like a child, right?” The pinkette inquired with a quirk of her brow.

The blonde grumbled under her breath, taking a sip of her own steaming tea. Ino knew that her best friend was correct, but her pride stopped her from voicing that thought out loud. 

“After all this time together, you really want to get into an argument with him over something that happened, what, fourteen years ago?”

“It’s our first impressions, Forehead!” Ino exclaimed. “When I look back on meeting Sai, I think about how taken back I was with his looks. He looks back and thinks about almost calling me ugly like he does when he looks at you! What am I going to tell my grandchildren!?”

“Hey!” Sakura started her reprimand but was promptly cut off by the sudden appearance of a pudgy, black rat that scurried onto their table.  

It sat on its haunches in front of Ino, two black and white jasmine flowers tightly clasped between its teeth.

“Your husband is as subtle as a freight train,” Sakura said, eyeing the ink creature warily.

Ino chose to ignore the rosette’s comment, blue eyes scrutinizing the flowers that the rat held in his mouth.

“First of all, a rat? Really, Sai?” Ino questioned, flicking one of the petals with a manicured finger. “Nobility and elegance, huh? Still not good enough. Scurry on home and let him know.”

“You’re hopeless, you know that right? You’re just picking a fight with him because you want to see what extent he’ll go to apologize.”

Ino took a small sip of her beverage before she responded, “Shut it Forehead and drink your tea.”

-o-

Ino found the third flower waiting for her on the countertop of the flower shop.

The bud was drawn once again in Sai’s traditional style, though what really caught her attention was the myriad of color it was painted with.

The white petals were speckled with varying shades of pinks and purples, meshing together for a gradient that reminded her of a sunset in the middle of a Konoha summer.

“A Gillyflower?” Ino asked softly, picking up the blossom and twirling it between her fingers. “Lasting beauty and happy life…I think I like the sound of that.”

Suddenly, a warm body pressed against her back, slender arms wrapping around her waist, holding her close to a broad chest.

“I had Inojin color it. He seemed to be getting better at blending.”

Sai’s comment was in a nonchalant tone, but Ino knew better. There was a hint of pride in his voice that was easily distinguished.

It was quiet for a minute, Ino continuing to spin the flower between her fingers and Sai was content with merely having his wife in his arms.

“Are you done being mad now?” He asked after a few more silent moments.

Ino turned her head, leaning up to kiss the underside of his jaw.

“For now,” she smartly replied. “But we really need to work on your approach to apologizing. Really, Sai? A rat?” 

[djinmer4]

Decapitated Flowers (X-Men/Star Wars Crossover)

Mitth’kurt’darcolm walked into Aikaterina Pryde’s office then stopped.  There was a half-filled vase of flowers with more scattered on her desk.  Brask Oto had an ornamental garden/park to accommodate service people who would be spending a long time there, and Kitty had certainly spent a good deal of free time there, but she’d never seemed to be interested in flower arranging.  “Where did these come from?”

She laughed.  “Hank picked up some interesting specimens on our last mission out.  They were pulling flower heads off in the garden, so I decided to make some use of the discards.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be into decoration.”

“On my home world, it was expected that a person would have a few artistic talents.  I’m not musically inclined and I can’t cook, but I’m a very good dancer, and I do like the art of flower arranging.  It’s some of the few things I’ve kept from before.”  Before she had been sold into slavery, rather than before she had been rescued, he guessed.  “There, it’s done.  What do you think?”

She turned the vase towards him.  A bundle of complex blue roses formed a dome for the center.  Topping them was a set of black orchids, while in the middle was a line of red lilies, with one more red lily off to the side.  “You’re mocking me.”

“Maybe a little.  The roses are Ithorian roses and the orchids are zinthorns.  The lilies are fire lilies.”  She held them out and for the first time he noticed the vase was the same shiny black as the CEDF uniform.  “You could put it on the shelf on the wall behind you.  Give people something to look at while your dressing them down.”

“Or you could keep it on that table on the side of the door and scare people when they turn around.”

“That does sound fun.”  She followed his suggestion, placing on the end table where it wouldn’t be seen until people were leaving.  “Now, what did you come here for?”

“Just the preliminary proposal for allowing the refugees to leave Brask Oto and begin settlements on some of the Chiss colony worlds.”  He held out the proposal.  He supposed he could have sent it via the hypernet, but he always felt more comfortable with a physical copy.  She could just scan it if she wanted to.  “Make sure to read it and send it back to me with any changes.”  He turned to leave.  “Now if you excuse, I have to go make sure Hank’s new acquisitions don’t turn into the same fiasco as last time.”

“Do you like them?  I think they look like you!”

Kurt observed the furry, blue vermin that were climbing all over Hank’s lab and wondered if he could possibly arrange for Hank to have a mission to Dagobah.  Then he discarded the idea, the scientist would probably come back with some giant meat-eating plant that would get into the vents and require purging the entire station to get rid of.  Maybe he’d just have him deliver the next report to Csilla.  Hank had complained that the Anri family was trying to get him matched; he could put up with blind dates and omiai or however his family did things for the next quarter.  “They look like me in as much as they look like any Chiss.  Why would you bring them back?”

“Curiosity, of course.  Ch’hodos was a Sith world, and you’re right about these things looking like Chiss.  We wondered if there was a connection.”

“We?”

“Kitty and Pyotr were the ones who found them.”

“She didn’t mention that earlier.” Kurt muttered under his breath.  “Even so, did you have to bring so many back?  Couldn’t you have done biopsies there or whatever it is you do?”

“No, for two reasons.  First, the star that Ch’hodos orbits has become considerably more active than it was in our records.  We couldn’t stay there for long due to the radiation.  Seond, well,” Massive blue furred shoulders shrugged.  “Try hitting one of them with something.”

Kurt stared at the scientist in disbelief, but pulled a knife from his sleeve and threw it at one of the things (rats? mynocks?  he didn’t have a word for them) that was clustered near the door.  Instead of dodging or getting hit, a puff of smoke appeared, then the same little blue rat was up on the back of Hank’s chair.  It was easy to see it was the same one due to the black markings on it’s face.  The furry mynock stuck out it’s tongue at Kurt and made a rude noise.

“Teleportation?”  Enthusiastic nodding.  “And they all can do it!  Imagine if it turns out they really are related to us.  Maybe we could unlock the potential to do so ourselves!  Not even the X-Men have teleporters!”

Kurt really did not want to keep these things around, but for once Hank had a good argument.  “Fffffine.  But keep them in your lab and under control.  I’ll see Scott or maybe Rayne about setting up a patrol to keep their numbers down.”  He desperately needed a painkiller.  “By the way, what are you going to call them?”

As if that was a signal, the critters started to howl and teleport all over the place, leaving little sulfur-scented clouds everywhere.  Hank smiled benevolently, and Kurt wondered how the older Chiss was actually planning to keep the vermin under control.  “Kitty named them Bamfs!”

“Wonderful.  I think I’ll need to have a word with her.”  With that he left Hank’s office and closed the door behind him.  Outside, he saw Kitty’s little dragon beast, Lockheed, chasing down some of the newly christened Bamfs.  It blew fire and about half of the crowd teleported away, then seized one of the remainders and shook it like a rancor with a lizard.  Normally he was less than fond of the dragon, but in this case, “Happy hunting, little dragon.  Hope you have a good lunch.”

“I got this for you.”  It was a large plant, with a maroon colored trunk with delicate flowers cascading from the branches.  The pale blue flowers with their lavender stamens gave off a sweet, almost candy-like scent.

“It’s beautiful.  What is it and where did you get it?”  Kitty raised one hand to delicately cup one gathering of blossoms.

“I got it from one of your X-Men, Linli the Zabrak.  She called it a Succulosum Azure.”  Kitty paused and pulled away from the plant.  “She may not have known I was going to present it to you.”

“You do know that Humans are allergic to Succulosum Azure?”

“Oh, I know.”  He gave her a fang-filled smile.  “But the plant is so very pretty, I thought you wouldn’t mind.”  He set it on her desk, adjusting it a few inches so that it was in full view, but not in her way while she worked.

“This is revenge for the Bamfs, isn’t it?”

He didn’t bother to answer, but his smile got even wider.

“I think I’d better go wash my hands.”

“That might be a good idea.  Hope you enjoy my gift.”

She really was rather inventive when it came to cursing.

[jeontrack-blog]

I’m All Ears

→ Pairing: Yoongi X Reader → Genre: Angst, Listener!AU → Word Count: 2, 479K  → Summary: A love that never got the chance to blossom → A/N: So it has been quiet a while since the last time I have published something out here. And this short writing is somewhat a turning point for me to experiment on new things. I receive a lot of praises for my smut writings, and I am honestly so grateful, but I also know that I could do more aside that. So this is me dishing out an angst writing, inspired by a manga I once read a long way back /I’ll try to remember the title and link it for you to read/ from which I got the Listener!AU idea from. I hope this stirs up something in you!

The dingy bell on the top right of your door frame gave off a little ring as the door halted to a stop, your last client of the day exiting out with a smile on her face and a less heavy heart, leaving you in a peaceful silence.Stretching your arms up above you in a stretch as you rolled your head from side to side, easing away the knots that had tangled themselves throughout the day. A sigh left your lips, eyelids fluttering close for the briefest of moments, feeling the strain of the day creep up to you.

Being a psychology student was much tougher than what others presumed it to be, especially now that you were a senior. And endless new modules and thesis just seem to find their way piling up on top of each other. But that didn’t stop you from working part time at La Masion De L’Ecoute, which means The Listening house in French. 

Because a listening house is exactly what its is.

Never  in your lifetime would you have believed that such place would actually exist. You remembered the first time you had found it, trudging your body on the busy sidewalk of the main street when you stumbled upon a neat, peaceful looking little house that came in contrast with the ever so present amount of vehicles and people that pass by the street everyday in a sea of masses, a bold WANTED: LISTENER in red paint plastered against a white illustration board, hanging somewhat a little sideways on its front window. You had stared at it with a baffled expression on you face, “Listener? Like someone who listens? A listener?” intrigued, you went inside, the comfy atmosphere of the place engulfing you in its warmth the moment you had stepped in, and it was like the whole aura of the house just made your muscles relax with ease.

You walked up to the lady on what seemed like the front desk, a dark chestnut wood with a cute little bell that was meant to be rang when a client came in. The lady, whose name you later learned was Solbi, told you all about the house and what they do, a soft smile never once leaving her lips as she said everything with passion that you knew she undoubtedly loved her job. It turns out that it was a place where people go if they wanted to vent out, to complain about their tiresome life, or about their cheating boyfriends or if they just simply wanted someone to listen to them, and at that moment you thought that it was such a beautiful thing.

We all have had times when we’re going through some things where we just want someone to be there to listen to what our hearts carry, but sadly we don’t always find someone who’s willing to, or we never had the courage to actually voice it out in the first place.

Your heart leaped at the thought, accidentally shouting out with new found passion that you’d like to take the job. And Solbi, still startled, offered you a small laugh before asking you to take a seat so she can interview you for a bit to see if you can take on the role of being a listener.

Your background as a psychology student was a major plus in proving that you were more than likely fit for the job, that people can open up to you comfortably without feeling like they were being judge, that you’re here to listen and hang on to to every word that rolls off their tongue. And so, with a satisfied little nod and the ever so present gentle smile on her lips, she had hired you, giving a quick briefing, on when you’ll start working, about your wage and such and some more discussions about the house rules, particularly your clients’ privacy. Everything seemed reasonable, except one rule got you scrunching your eyebrows together.

You were to stay quiet. In other words, you weren’t allowed to speak, converse, or give advice to the clients. Not even to greet a hello or a goodbye. And when you had asked about this, Solbi turned her head to look at you once more, caught in mid action of returning to the front desk, answering you with honeyed voice.

“People come here because no one else allows their voices to be heard. Because they want to be the one to talk this time, to not have someone speaking over them. We’re here to listen, not to butt in as they’re talking -no, we’re here to listen”

You peered out the window, the setting sun gracing its last few rays on your skin and painting the whole room in different hues of oranges as its muted light filtered through the curtains. It was almost 5:30, and you felt your heart skip a little beat when you remembered that you actually had one more client left, a fond smile finding its way to adorn your lips. It was not like you actually forgot that he was coming -you’ve been on the edge of your seat since the clock struck three, that tightening in your heart ever so present with the persistent churning in your stomach that seemed more like birds soaring than fluttering butterflies.

He had first came in on a late afternoon much like this, ink black hair and onyx eyes that seemed to hold a certain warmth despite its coolness, the orange and golden light embracing him in a way that made him look ethereal as he pulled back the chair in front you to take a seat, and you could feel yourself completely going mute at his presence -yep, looks like you won’t be breaking that no speaking rule anytime soon.

You stared at him, wondering just what could be bothering this piece of art, ears already on alert to whatever he has to say, but instead of speaking and venting out to you, he remained silent and watched the sun set down. There was something about it that was oh so tender in a way that it seemed genuinely tranquil, and you kept looking at him, adoring the way the remaining sliver of light glided across his face, adorning it in shadows that somehow only managed to show his beauty even more. You had no clue if he didn’t notice that you’d been staring at him for almost an hour or if he’d known all the while and just chose not to mention it.

He had left after a few minutes when the sun was completely gone, voice raspy and velvety at the same time, rippling through the air as he muttered a thank you and bid farewell. And you were left there breathless, wondering if he was even real or if you’d only just imagined everything.

He would always come back on Thursdays, would always come in as the sun showered him in colors, would always take a sit and watch the sunset turn the skies into a pastel painting, would always remain quiet, his eyes holding glimmers that you couldn’t for the life of you decipher.

But it was different today, you could feel it the instance he entered your room, the fourth out of the five rooms in the house. He took his seat,  resting his chin on his hand and rather than letting the usual sea of peace consume them, his voice pierced through the air. “You know” -a pause, a fleeting moment of letting everything sink in, not only for you, but for him as well, and he swallowed before allowing himself to speak once more “They said I won’t last soon”

You had snapped your head from looking out the window to stare at him with wide eyes, breath stuttering and failing to come out evenly as you waited for him to continue speaking while he continued to gaze out into the view of the sunset. “They found a hole, just a little bigger than a penny, on my heart” he scoffed at that and you almost hadn’t notice that you were holding your breath. It was like slamming into a brick wall in full force. “I knew something was wrong, I just didn’t expect it to be-” his voice cracked and he stopped himself from letting any more words spill out, and in that moment he looked oh so vulnerable that you wanted to leap out of your seat to envelop him in your embrace. He turned his face to meet your eyes and you were instantly drowning in them. “But it’s not that bad, at least I’ll be with my parents again when I go up there” he chuckled dryly at you before getting up to leave with no other words, not even his usual goodbyes. Your own heart was hurting as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, blinking it away and slapping your face a few times as you tried to get a hold of yourself.

He came back the next Thursday, face looking paler than you had remembered, bags hanging under his eyes and he seemed thinner than before, though he was still beautiful, always a walking piece of art.

He took his usual seat and you weren’t sure what to do, even the thought alone of just staring at him felt wrong, it made you feel so helpless, wishing nothing more than to ease the pain he must be going through. He took his phone out, pressing on the small music note icon and choosing a track, the melodious beat resonating around the four walls of the room. “Do you like it?” you nodded your head shyly, powdered rose sprinkling itself on your cheeks. He was asking you a question, he’s actually talking to you.

He smiled at your nod, looking pleased with himself, turning up the volume a few notches before speaking once more. “That’s good. Took me quiet a  while to finish it” you felt yourself grinning at his words, oh so he makes music, You liked the idea of knowing something more about him, it felt like it was another step closer to him, like a new link you now shared. “Lately it’s the only thing that’s been keeping me sane, like nothing’s wrong.” the music came to its end as he finished speaking. And you could feel the pool of tears rising in your eyes once more.

“They’re going to put me into surgery tomorrow, something about trying to patch up the hole” he had breathed out, voice a little raspy and you felt a tight tug at your heart, finally admitting to yourself then and there that there’s no doubt you’ve developed feelings for this boy sitting right in front of you. “I’m scared” you bit you tongue at that, voice almost slipping, wanting to tell him that everything was going to be alright, that you were here, that he had you. “So so scared” he finished off, his voice breaking at the end, showing his true emotions, showing just how frightened he was. You felt the courage stir in you, reaching out to hold his hand in yours, rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand in soothing patterns, wishing, truly wishing that this could somehow convey your emotions, that you were here, and that you’ll go through this with him. He looked at your hands, and you started panicking, instantly regretting your actions and wishing you hadn’t done it, oh shit is he weirded out? he’s weirded out isn’t he?of course he is! I’m a fucking stranger caressing his hand!  

Sensing your panic, he smiled as softly as he can at you -his friends always said he had a grumpy face, so he made sure that his smile was as gentle as possible. Because he in fact, adores the feel of your skin against his, even if it’s just your hands touching and your thumb drawing circles on his skin, now with a little hesitation. “You know” his voice caused you to stop your movements all together, Oh god he’s probably going to say that he’s uncomfortable. I knew I shouldn’t have acted out – but before you can berate yourself with more thoughts, he stops you with his words. “I never got to tell you my name” you look wide eyed at him, “Yoongi, it’s Yoongi” you wanted to test it on your tongue, and he too wanted to hear it slip past your lips, and Yoongi looked at you with a new found fondness. But before you can even thing about breaking the no speaking rule to say his name like you oh so wanted to, he stood up, tucked his chair in like he always does before he leaves, craning his head sideways to look at you from the corner of his eyes, biding you goodbye before saying something that made you smile brightly at him before he left, feeling as if you’d won the lottery. “If my surgery goes well, what do you say we go out to get a cup of coffee? Then maybe you can finally tell me your name”

You were buzzing the next Thursday, letting the orange light paint you in it’s beauty as you waited for Yoongi to arrive and fulfill his promise. Already picturing the  smile that would grace his face when he finally gets to hear your voice for the very first time, what coffee you two would be ordering, what you’ll be talking about as the first few stars peeked out and the evening sky takes over in the everlasting hues of the universe. And you’re already able to hear how your name would sound as he says it, and it’s beautiful, and you couldn’t wait to have it come true.

So you sat there, waiting, and waiting up until only the last few strands of the sun were bleeding through the curtains. No sign of him or his ink black hair, nor the gray sweater that was undoubtedly his favorite, nor his onyx eyes.

And something sank at your stomach, something heavy and dark, coming with realization, the thought utterly horrific that you feel bile rising up your throat. Knowing right at that moment that he wouldn’t come, that something had gone wrong, that he wouldn’t be coming anymore even after this, ever. And so you smiled out into the last bit of the sun, its rays blinding your eyes in orange and painting your tears in daffodils, a choked cry still managing to escape from your tightly clamped mouth, allowing your lips to part as the four walls of your room heard your voice for the very first time, soft as you hoped that he was listening. The few words you uttered mixing in with the air almost as soon as it left your lips.

“Y/N, my name is Y/N”