#thank you SO MUCH Clef. i adore this with all of my heart

[stolenbybirds]

Eternally grateful that I am shipped with Micah 🙏

- O5-6

Brokeback Mountain (yes that's the ship name) attack for @stolenbybirds on artfight >:.]

[bonvoyagenoona]

Countermelody (M) | 03: Syncopation

Countermelody | Masterpost

Word Count: 21,819 (whyyyy am I like this) | read on ao3

Rating: 18+ / Explicit / Mature

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader

Playlist: Seeing as this is a fic about music and all 😏

Summary

This new city has already invigorated your tired bones and shy heart. The people here seem kind and exciting. All sorts of interesting silhouettes are always shuffling about, and you write little stories for each person who passes you by. Even the stationery shop next door is warm and inviting, and you’re grateful that Mr. Kang offers you the manager job on the spot. But you get a funny feeling about things when he shows you the boxes in the back, the ones marked with red tape and the name MIN YOONGI scribbled on top. You wonder what makes this customer particularly special. You don’t know that the process of finding out will make you question why you ever moved here in the first place.

Chapter Excerpt

Yoongi flushes. “Oh.” He blinks. “You said you didn’t want to come to dinner because you have the store in the morning, so I figured you were done for the evening.”

“Then why did you walk me home?”

He fidgets. “It’s late, and, uh, I, uh wanted to make sure you got home OK.”

You raise your eyebrows. Maybe you’ve misread the vibe. “Oh. Well, thanks. That’s really sweet.” But you can’t help adding, “Sorry, I thought you walking me home, especially after the very, um, selfless offer you made this morning, meant that maybe we could---”

“Yes!” he blurts out. “I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted--- that is, I didn’t want to assume--- ”

You laugh. “I did want to see if… if you could… help me with something,” you say, your hand around the doorknob, the door still closed, your body leaning a little, and your chin pointed up at him. “But like you said, it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you---”

“I can help.” Yoongi smiles at your big, twinkling eyes. “My offer is good. Redeemable at any time.”

Content Warnings: Soft and hard smut, including fingering and penetrative sex, but also just like a Yoongi warning in general because my god

Taglist 💜: permanent @purpleheartsfortae @btseditsworld @greezenini​ @missbickerbocker​ | countermelody @adventuresinwonderlust @min-yus @dearbambideer (taglist open, feel free to add yourself here!)

Special Shoutout: Chapter 03 mood board and title art by the ingenious @purplehearts1996​!! Without giving too much away, I love these pics of Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi, and I love how the mood board captures the light of the karaoke and the nighttime scenes in this chapter! And I adore the title art, with the clefs, and the music notes! Amazing!! Thank you so so much for creating!!

03: Syncopation

“YOU FINALLY HAD AN ORGASM?!”

Jungkook gawks at you as he screams his words right into the mic in his tattoo-covered hand, his voice booming through the speakers, his pupils like specks of soil lost in snowballs, and his jaw unhinged as if he is about to swallow whole the entire order of food and drinks that the waitress has just brought to your private karaoke room.

The waitress freezes at her current 45-degree angle, still gripping the bottle of soju that you’ve ordered, centimeters away from setting it down. She blushes pink, and the bottom of the soju bottle lands on the top of the wooden table with a clomp! 

She hides her eyes from both of you, the forgotten shot glasses on her tray rattling loudly as she skitters away.

You look up at Jungkook from your seat on the couch, the fire in your glare hopefully melting his incredulous snowballs for eyes.

“The door was fucking wide open!” you snipe, crossing your legs, and folding your arms, so angry and embarrassed that tears threaten to form at your waterlines. 

“SORR--”

You lock gazes again, and Jungkook winces. He lowers the volume of the music and lets his arm swing down, taking the mic with it.

“Sorry!” he whispers. “I just… you said you hadn’t… and then you bought all those… and then you still hadn’t---”

The karaoke bar owner shuffles through the door. He looks so upset that you genuinely think he’s going to kick you out and ban you from coming back, but he stops at the table before slamming down the two shot glasses that the waitress forgot to leave for you. He shakes his head in disgust at you both before leaving, making sure to close the door behind him.

Jungkook sits down next to you and sets the mic down on the couch. You look away from him, pouting. He sidles up right next to you and rubs his nose into your shoulder. 

“Hmph,” you mutter, folding your arms tighter and pressing them harder against your ribcage.

He whimpers.

You sulk.

He gently places a hand on your left knee, which is crossed over the right and swinging your calf impatiently. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to yell it like that. I was just excited.”

You raise your chin, still refusing to make eye contact with him.

“C’mon Boss,” he whines. “Let’s eat.”

You really wish you weren’t so hungry. 

After forcing him to stew for a few more minutes, you slowly turn to him, and he looks so excited to see your face again that you feel stupid for getting upset. 

The only light in the room is coming from the cheesy karaoke backgrounds on the TV, and they dance across his flawless skin, bathing him in cool sea greens, ocean blues, and beach sandy yellows.

“You shouldn’t feel embarrassed,” Jungkook says, leaning forward and immediately starting to fix you a plate of apology food. “If anything, this is a cause for celebration.”

His incessant blabbering is making it hard for you to stay cross. Jungkook’s voice is adorably raspy because, though you’re now pausing to rest and eat, you both have been singing practically nonstop for the past two hours. His voice is incredible, so much so that you’re surprised that he’s not already in the entertainment business. Ballads. Anthems. Protests. He sang something from every genre and covered all the notes in his range. Plus, he just screamed about the soul-destroying orgasm that you had the night before.

The soul-destroying orgasm that you had with Yoongi.

Actually, you wonder if you should say it that way. Was it really with Yoongi? You were the only one who got anything out of it. Was it more because of Yoongi? Then again, you’re pretty sure that it didn’t really have much to do with Yoongi as a person. From Yoongi? Maybe that’s best. Like a gift. A simple, general one. From a co-worker. Although, that last part cheapens it a bit. Though you’re not sure what, if anything, that means.

You hold your breath, trying to quiet your spiraling mind. You need to get the wording right. Because you’re about to use those words to explain things to Jungkook.

He hands you the plate, and you soften. You huddle next to him and start to eat, deciding to gobble up the lamb skewers and french fries first. As he makes his own plate of food, Jungkook’s eyes dart back and forth between the plate and the side of your face. Even after he’s selected everything he wants, his fingers still seem busy and anxious.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He purses his lips. He looks like he wants to say something, but every time he collects his thoughts, he fails to gather enough courage to share them. 

“Is everything OK?” you ask, concerned.

“I wanna ask you about it, but… I don’t want to make you mad,” Jungkook says meekly.

You smile. And then you chuckle. He’s right. You shouldn’t be embarrassed.

“I’m not mad. Ask away.”

Jungkook brightens, and his thoughts fly out at you, all at once. 

“How did it happen? What did it? Was it one of the toys? Were you on a date? Is that why you were late? What was it---”

“One at a time!” you laugh, overwhelmed.

Jungkook smiles and gazes at you. He’s just so happy, even though his voice has a bit of grit in it when he pedals back and asks, “OK, so how did it happen?” 

You puff out your cheeks and think. “Well… I guess… I couldn’t sleep.”

“What did it?” Jungkook asks next, getting ready to shove food in his mouth. 

“A toy was involved,” you say carefully. 

“So it was one of the toys,” Jungkook nods thoughtfully. A smirk pops up on his face. “Was it just one of the toys, or…”

You try your best to keep your cool, but your face flushes, and Jungkook’s eyes get so big that you can almost hear them stretching, blocking out the quiet sound of the third or fourth karaoke track that you had queued up.

“Were you on a date??” Jungkook asks, not quite learning the lesson from earlier, simply choosing to channel his scream through his tightly constricted vocal cords so that it comes out as more of an exaggerated whisper.

You aren’t sure what to say, but because what comes out of your mouth is, “No?”, his eyes suddenly narrow and fix on you.

“That’s not a full ‘no’,” he replies, his voice and expression suddenly gravely serious. “Are you holding out on me?”

He looks at you expectantly, as if your friendship depends on what you say next.

“I’m talking to you about it now, aren’t I?” you say, and Jungkook eases. 

“So it wasn’t a date?”

“No, it wasn’t a date.”

“But you weren’t alone.”

You think about beanied Yoongi sitting at the foot of your bed.

“I technically had company, correct.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment, then takes both of your plates and purposefully sets them down on the table. He pours two shots of soju and hands you one of the shot glasses. He turns to face you, criss-crossing his legs on the huge couch cushion and leaning forward.

You clink glasses. You throw them back. You wonder what else you’ll say, now that they’re in your system.

You echo Jungkook’s stance, choosing to tuck your legs next to you instead of criss-crossing them, and resting your side against the back of the couch, your armpit moulding to the top of the couch pillow as you rest your temple on your propped up, partially closed fist.

“First things first,” Jungkook says. “Could I take them in a fight?”

You think of Yoongi in his beanie, and you bark out a wheezing laugh. Jungkook can’t tell why, or whether to be offended.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “It’s just… Well, let’s just say that you don’t have to worry about that.”

Yoongi and fights, you think. Jimin pops into your head, and you feel even more sure about what you’ve said. Even when Yoongi has a perfectly fair reason to fight, he just won’t. He favors a contemplative cigarette over a furious fire. 

“That’s a nice sentiment, but you never know with people,” Jungkook replies quietly.

He gazes at you protectively. For a moment, you wonder what has happened to Jungkook in the past to make him think that way. 

You reach out for his hand, fingers fumbling toward fingers and tickling at each other. You tell him not to worry, not just because of his somatic aptitude and unfathomable physique. Having spent so much time with him, you also know that Jungkook is the kind of friend who would carry your banner and yell your name as he gladly marches into battle. Even when he’s the only one. Especially when he’s the only one. 

He eases back and relaxes, now mimicking your stance, keeping his legs crossed but leaning sideways on the back cushions of the couch.

“Well, go on,” he says, insistent. “Who is this person?”

Your eyes meet his.

“...Yoongi.”

Given Jungkook’s tendency to react so viscerally, especially today, it completely unnerves you when he remains silent and still, frozen mid-stream, as if unable to comprehend what you’ve just said.

“You’re judging,” you sulk.

“What? No!” he exclaims, though he’s reaching over for the soju again.

You down two more shots.

Jungkook drags the back of his hand across his mouth before dabbing his forehead and cheeks. “I’m just, well, confused.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, ‘why’? He’s so gruff and mean. I know you work together now, but I didn’t know you were…” 

Jungkook thinks carefully. 

“...Friends?”

You shrug. “I don’t know that we’re friends, but I don’t know that we’re not friends.”

“Co-workers with Benefits, then,” Jungkook jokes, and you slap him on the knee.

“Bene-fit,” you correct. “It only happened once.”

He rolls his eyes. “I promise you, I’m not judging. So you fucked Yoongi. Big deal. Who hasn’t disappeared into a closet with a co-worker for a quick fuck?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t say that we fucked.”

Jungkook frowns. “Wait, so, like… literally just the vibrator?” 

And you realize that he doesn’t have the full picture. You pick the story up from the night before. How long you were working. How late it got. How much you needed it. How convenient it was that Yoongi was willing to give it to you. How it wasn’t even transactional. How it was purely selfish, just for you. And mechanical. How -- and you say this part quite adamantly -- there were no feelings involved whatsoever, just two people experimenting to see if they could work towards an outcome together. It was less of a date, and more of a team-building exercise. 

“Relax, Boss,” Jungkook laughs, after your long-winded essay. “Whatever makes you happy is alright in my book.”

It finally sinks in that though Jungkook’s asked all the questions, he’s not the one concerned about explanations. 

“Any other questions?” you joke, poking your finger into Jungkook’s ribs and making him giggle and squirm. He catches your arm and tickles you back, making you squeal and kick. You wrestle a bit with each other before leaning back on the couch cushions again, panting and grinning at each other.

Wiggling his eyebrows, Jungkook asks, “How was it?” 

You smile and bite your lip. You’re not dallying. It’s not that you don’t want to describe it. It’s that you lack the words. 

So, instead, you reach for the soju bottle and pour two more shots.

“Oh shiiiiiiiit,” Jungkook says, happily taking his shot and clinking his glass with yours so hard that some spills out, “I’ll fucking drink to that!” 

You both drink so heartily that soju dribbles down the sides of your mouth, and you laugh with each other as you mop yourselves up. Your eyes settle on sweet, soft-hearted Jungkook, and you finally decide to ask him what’s been echoing in your mind during your entire conversation.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Always!” Jungkook exclaims gleefully.

You did this before, when you met Mr. Kang. Now, a corner of your heart, the one that’s reserved for the most special of life’s feelings, clears out a space for Jungkook, your heart becoming a little more his.

Smiling, tight-lipped, you ask, “Why are you so curious?”

Jungkook pales. “Agh. I’m sorry, Boss. I think I was just excited for you. I didn’t mean to overstep---”

“You didn’t!” you rush, leaping for his hands and taking them in yours again. You beam at him, and he smiles back at you, relieved. A pain moves to the front of your chest, and you’re surprised at how intensely you feel it when you speak it aloud. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a friend who cared about me like this.”

Jungkook softens. “What about your unnie?”

“I’m still not ready to talk to her. Besides, she wouldn’t have asked me about this stuff,” you say, annoyed. You think of all the unread messages waiting for you in your muted chat thread since the day you spoke to Eomma. The only one you’ve read is the first one. An apology for missing your call.

Jungkook sighs. “Well then.”

He stretches out his legs and lays them on top of yours, his knees hanging over your thighs. He interlocks your fingers, and he snuggles next to you. “It’s a good thing that I’m here.”

You grin, and he reaches for the mic behind him. He hands it to you, and he observes you, watching over you, as you start to choose a new song.

“Hey, one last question,” Jungkook says softly. “If that’s OK, I mean.”

“Sure.”

“Why were you late earlier?”

Lips bending into a crooked grin, you manage not to give it away. You make up a lie about losing track of time because you don’t want to tell him. You had given him this long essay about how last night, with Yoongi, meant nothing. 

You don’t want to admit that the reason that you were fifteen minutes late for your playdate with Jungkook was because you were too busy to start getting ready. Too busy moping. Too busy moping about waking up to find Yoongi gone, without having left any kind of goodbye. 

Too busy moping about how it meant nothing.

When you get to the studio, most people are leaving work for the day. You watch them all glide through the turnstiles with their IDs on lanyards and belt clips, the galloping of the herd forcing a breeze your way as you scan yourself in the opposite direction. You smile as you turn back and watch them empty out into the street, happily chattering about what they’re going to do with their evening now that they’re free, some of them making plans on the fly. They all seem like perfectly fine people, especially if they work at this label. 

But you still feel like such an outsider.

You’re an outsider even from the other outsiders. Overachieving interns, all of whom you’ve gotten to know, and who view you and your measly, one-year, underpaid contract as their worst nightmare. Fellow contractors, all of whom are stretched beyond measure, and who are jealous of your close ties to the trio. And trainees, all of whom are hungry and hard-working but stressed, and who aren’t sure what value you might provide them yet. They all scoff at you, eager to whisper their thoughts about how endlessly confused they are that raggedy, old you could have supposedly replaced Park Jimin’s spot amongst the greats.

That is, except for one trainee.

When she’s in class, she often chooses to work alone, sitting off to the side, always on her laptop, jotting notes down and singing into her phone. 

When she writes, she likes to sit in the hallway, sometimes tripping people with her feet if she doesn’t look up and see them coming. 

When she eats, she sits by herself and reads while listening to music, her huge, closed-back headphones putting the others off, but to you, only adding to her allure.

And when she gets on the elevator with you, she hides her bright and curious eyes from yours by staring at the points of her shoes.

She greets you professionally, and formally.

“Suran, you can use my name,” you laugh softly. “I’m just a person.”

Looking up at you, she smiles and chuckles along. She knows how observant you are. And she’s pretty observant herself.

“I have to tell you, I just love your voice,” Suran says shyly.

You startle. “When did you hear me sing?” You wonder if the demos that you’ve been working with the trio on have gotten out somehow, some kind of diabolical plot that Jimin and Taehyung executed during their recent visit. You start to panic.

But Suran puts you at ease. “There’s that old jazz lounge a few blocks from here,” she says. “I stumbled upon it when I was taking my dog out one night. I saw the sign out front, that you were doing a set. So I stopped by to listen fand watch through the window.” She grins. “It was so good. I could listen to you forever. Your voice is haunting.”

Haunting, you think. You smile and thank Suran for the compliment, all the while thinking about Jungkook and the lounge full of ghosts. 

“It’s mutual,” you say. “I love the alternative R&B feel that you have. Chill, easy, and…” Your lips tighten into a familiar smile. “Friendly.” 

You’ve heard her recordings, shared with all the producers in the company to get a feel for the talent pool. Though you haven’t worked together yet, you’ve always hoped that you would. 

You laugh and say, “I also love your Domo sleeve,” you tell her, nodding to the laptop that Suran’s clutching to her chest. “I like how it’s supposed to look like he’s eating it when you slide your laptop inside.”

She laughs. “You like Domo?”

You grin and show her your guitar case, the Domo sticker a tad worse for the wear, but immediately recognizable and cherished. 

The elevator doors open on Suran’s floor, and she thanks you, telling you to have a nice day as she waves a sweet goodbye to you.

It isn’t that hard, you think, saying goodbye. 

Sure, you walked out on your ex, but he was going to break up with you anyway. And you moved cities without really telling anyone, but you weren’t expecting to cut ties with anyone. And yeah, Yoongi left without a trace, not even bothering to swing by the store today, but he just as well as could have written a note or a text. But then you think of all those unanswered messages from Unnie piling up in your phone.

Upon thinking twice, you tell yourself to try your best not to be so wounded, and you reach for the door.

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi are playing a track back, and they look up when you enter the room. Namjoon and Hobi grin and gesture to the snacks on the table, and you join Hobi on the couch. 

The track ends, and Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi discuss some notes before they forget them. And then they turn to you.

“Good day at work, Boss Lady?” Namjoon greets you.

Everything looks like it normally does by the time of day that you join them, but there’s no doubt in your mind that Namjoon knows what happened between you and Yoongi, and that Namjoon is trying his best to keep things as calm as possible. 

You know that Namjoon knows because Hobi knows. And you know that Hobi knows because he is pure id. If he’s hungry, he eats. If he’s sleepy, he sleeps. And if he knows something too good to keep to himself, he’s going to share it. That’s why he bounces in his chair every time he looks between you and Yoongi, who still hasn’t made eye contact with anyone in the room since you’ve arrived. 

That’s how you know that Namjoon, despite his completely ordinary demeanor, knows.

“Day was good. Weekend was good too,” you dare to laugh, albeit nervously. 

Yoongi presses his lips together into a straight, horizontal line.

Hobi’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and he starts bouncing, curling his hands into excited fists.

Namjoon notices Hobi and winces. “Hobi, uh, I think we’re low on water.”

“OK, I’ll call Sejin,” Hobi replies, reaching for the office phone.

Namjoon snatches Hobi’s wrist. “No, I mean, wanna come with me to go get some? From the cafeteria?” He points his laser-focused eyes right into Hobi’s soul, and he finally gets what Namjoon’s trying to do.

Hobi stares back into Namjoon’s eyes and lets the realization wash over him completely. 

Hobi grins at you. “Suuure. Haaappy to.” 

And then he turns to Yoongi. “Be right baaack.”

Yoongi grimaces, and Namjoon and Hobi make themselves scarce.

Finally, Yoongi’s eyes meet yours. You melt when you see him snatch the beanie off of his head and swipe his hand through his hair in an attempt to look more presentable. His textured, black locks settle into a perfect, bedhead-y look that you might have seen the morning after, had he stuck around. You’re oozing as he softens, but he tightens up just as he’s about to fall completely. 

“Uh, hi,” he mutters, his voice unsure, and his teeth anxiously scraping his bottom lip.

You smile, trying not to feel nervous. You realize how happy you are to see him. You realize that you may have even missed him a little bit. “Yoongi,” you say warmly, the bass in your voice resonating.

That’s all it takes. 

Yoongi perks up, and you feel him starting to open. He scrunches up his beanie in his hands over and over again.  “You said you had trouble sleeping… And I didn’t know if a text would… I just didn’t want to disturb you,” he says. And then he’s back to chewing on his lips.

You blush, and you feel silly for being upset. It seems like Yoongi’s been carrying this half-formed but fully understandable explanation since he left your apartment. But it feels good for him to unload it now, and it feels good for you to know that his lack of goodbye was actually him trying to be considerate.

“I had a really good time,” you say. 

Yoongi’s confidence makes a welcome appearance. 

He winks and sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. “I know.” He chuckles and, in a voice as pillowy and deep as it was that night, he tells you, “Me too.”

You smirk. “I thought about what you did. A lot.” You clear your throat, feeling flustered.

He can’t believe what you’re saying. He’s so glad, and his resulting gummy smile makes you feel like you’re soaring.

“I…”

Yoongi pushes his precious, pouty lips out. You’re glad he’s not biting them anymore. For their sake, you hope he continues to feel at ease with you as he muddles through whatever he’s about to say. 

“I can help you whenever you need it,” he says, firmly. 

Blood rushes everywhere, to your thighs, to your chest, your cheekbones. 

“Good to know,” you say, smirking.

Though you appreciate the conversation, you get annoyed that it distracts you for the rest of the day. You’re regretting sitting in the small recording booth because it means having no choice but to feel Yoongi’s eyes trace your outline to absorb each of your idiosyncrasies, like how your fingertips move as you fingerpick several melodies on your guitar. His gaze flusters you, forcing Hobi to have to stitch together several of your vocal takes. It distracts Yoongi, too, when your eyes settle on him. As he creates that cocoon of sound, he accidentally turns a dial too much or forgets another button, and he has to backtrack or refer to one of his many journals. Yoongi, the man who touts precision and preaches optimized workflows, suddenly can’t remember which settings he had decided on five minutes ago.

By the end of the long day, as you’re all gathering together and listening back to what you’ve recorded, Hobi makes his stance clear.

“Are you two gonna get better at keeping the flirting to a minimum?” he asks. “We went for two hours longer than usual. I mean, the tracks are really taking shape, but I’d like to get home at a decent hour tomorrow.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat on the sofa, his shoulder bumping Yoongi’s.

“Sorry, Hobi,” you pout playfully, making Yoongi bite back a smile and mumble something similar while staring at his knees.

Hobi smiles wide at the sight of you. He places his hands over his heart and sighs, leaning back and peering over at Namjoon, who is just as smitten.

“This week is gonna crawl by,” Namjoon laughs, standing and getting his things.

You gather together in the elevator, and Yoongi remembers something.

“Maybe tomorrow, we can start working on an idea I had?” Yoongi suggests, pulling out his phone. 

“You wrote something new?” Namjoon asks. “On your own?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, quizzically. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Namjoon and Hobi exchange excited smiles, which you catch in their reflections in the elevator mirror. You don’t know if you’re supposed to know, but Namjoon told you that though Yoongi had always been a prolific writer, he had been struggling since the incident with Jimin. He was leaning on old beats and songs that he had written, choosing to dust them off and tide him over until new ideas came along.

This was the first completely new idea that Yoongi has shared since the day Jimin left the studio for the last time.

Yoongi plays the track, and it sounds like the next generation of whatever it is that your group is writing now. 

“The tremolo on the vibes?” Hobi whistles. “Gorgeous.”

“And the syncopation in the verse, with that disorienting start-stop feel, makes the hook that much more powerful,” Namjoon agrees.

“The power comes from it being stripped, too, I think,” you say. “The instrumentation is a bit sparser, but it opens the song up in a new way.”

Yoongi’s singing voice comes on, sketching out some options for the melody, sounding like melted, dark chocolate.

But suddenly, Hobi snickers. 

“What?” Yoongi asks, grinning.

More of the melodic line plays, and some of Yoongi’s notes come out a little more off-key. You grin, thinking of how that happens in Yoongi’s other demos, and enjoying the sight of Namjoon and Hobi doubled over, colliding with each other and the elevator mirrors as the door opens.

“Damn, I thought I was getting better,” Yoongi chuckles, as he glances at you. 

You smile back sweetly. He’s actually a decent singer. He’d have to be, given how talented of a producer and songwriter he is. But Hobi and Namjoon just can’t help making fun of the one thing that Yoongi’s not the best at in their little trio.

“You create such beautiful music,” Namjoon replies. “Just don’t sing it.”

Hobi’s eyes catch Namjoon. “You’re one to talk,” Hobi laughs.

Yoongi laughs along at Namjoon’s pout as Hobi raises his arm and swings it around your neck.

“How about we all agree to leave the singing to the Boss here,” Hobi chuckles, “and let’s save the rest of the work talk for tomorrow. I’m tuckered out.”

“Agreed,” Namjoon and Yoongi say in unison, looking at each other and smiling.

Hobi shoots you a wink.

And, in your heart, you start carving out space next to Mr. Kang’s and Jungkook’s, just wide enough for three more people. 

The four of you gather in front of the building, all of you (except grumpy Yoongi) politely acknowledging the security guard who gave you a hard time as you walk past the desk.

“Late night dinner?” Hobi asks, immediately on his phone and looking for a good spot.

“I’m down,” Namjoon replies.

“I shouldn’t,” you say. “I’ve got the store in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you home, then,” Yoongi says unexpectedly, “yeah?”

You think of the scene that greeted you when you arrived earlier. Young, fun people going off to do young, fun things. Yoongi’s only offered you company on a walk home, but to you, it counts. Now, you’re one of those young, fun people. It’s been ages since you’ve gotten to make plans on the fly. You’re curious and excited about what those plans will entail. 

“OK,” you say, grinning.

Yoongi beams. “Boys,” he says with a curt nod, as you give a little wave to them.

Namjoon and Hobi say their goodnights, and when you and Yoongi turn to head toward your apartment, you miss how Namjoon nudges Hobi in the ribs, and how Hobi lets out a puff of air through his nostrils.

You and Yoongi walk for a while in near silence, letting the sound of cars driving and honking amidst the chatter and bustle of other passersby fill the space between you. Yoongi keeps glancing over at you, almost as if to make sure you’re still there. And each time he sees you smile back at him, he lowers his chin and smiles to himself. 

You’re both staring at the sidewalk when you say, “That new demo was great, by the way.”

“You think so?” Yoongi asks.

You nod. “Why did you wait to play it when we were in the elevator?”

Yoongi blushes a bit. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “To be honest, it had been a while since I had written anything completely new.”

“Namjoon mentioned something along those lines,” you tell him.

He nods. “I feel like I’ve lost my footing a bit, and, well… I was afraid that if I played it on the speakers in the studio, I dunno…” He sighs. “The edges would have sounded that much more frayed, or something.”

You draw in a breath as you catch up to Yoongi’s quixotic and nimble brain. You’ve learned so many more things about Yoongi just now. You’ve learned that, given his previous successes, he holds himself to a ridiculously high and punishing standard. You’ve learned that he’s aware that he’s stumbling around a bit. And you’ve learned that he has something interesting in common with the previous occupants of Big Hit’s building, when it was still a clothing factory. You know now that Yoongi views songwriting to be like weaving, methodical and intricate and delicate, and he fears that he isn’t as good at tucking in the ends as he used to be.

“Whatever those speakers would have picked up, you would have picked up first,” you reassure him. 

Yoongi looks at you again, and this time, he doesn’t look away when you smile back at him.

As you approach your apartment lobby, you reach into your pocket and grab your keys. 

“What was blocking you?” you ask.

Yoongi holds the lobby door open for you, and he follows you through the hallway. “Don’t you think that’s obvious?” he chuckles, stepping sideways to make room for a couple of people walking past you. 

You shrug. “I mean, I know that the incident with Jimin probably caused a lot of tension. But I guess I could see how that whole thing might’ve inspired someone even more. Could’ve channeled the tension into the process.”

“Easier said than done,” Yoongi mutters, and you imagine him off somewhere, surrounded by crumpled up bits of paper, notebook after notebook shredded, with Lamy 2000 lines through their pages. 

As you arrive at your front door, you wonder if that’s why he buys so many notebooks and pens, week after week.

You place your key into the lock, and Yoongi seems to twitch at the sound of metal catching metal. 

“Well, have a good night,” he says hurriedly, starting to turn on his heel.

“Wait,” you say softly. 

He turns back around to you, and you smile your friendliest smile.

“Aren’t you coming in?” you ask.

Yoongi flushes. “Oh.” He blinks. “You said you didn’t want to come to dinner because you have the store in the morning, so I figured you were done for the evening.”

“Then why did you walk me home?”

He fidgets. “It’s late, and, uh, I, uh wanted to make sure you got home OK.”

You raise your eyebrows. Maybe you’ve misread the vibe. “Oh. Well, thanks. That’s really sweet.” But you can’t help adding, “Sorry, I thought you walking me home, especially after the very, um, selfless offer you made this morning, meant that maybe we could---”

“Yes!” he blurts out. “I mean, I didn’t know if you wanted--- that is, I didn’t want to assume--- ”

You laugh. “I did want to see if… if you could… help me with something,” you say, your hand around the doorknob, the door still closed, your body leaning a little, and your chin pointed up at him. “But like you said, it’s late, and I don’t want to keep you---”

“I can help.” Yoongi smiles at your big, twinkling eyes. “My offer is good. Redeemable at any time.”

Those big, twinkling eyes of yours linger on him a little longer than they probably should for something that is supposed to be completely mechanical.

You step into your apartment, and Yoongi follows you inside.

“Y’know, the mental block after Jimin left was probably for the best,” Yoongi goes on, setting his things down at the kitchen table, swinging his coat around the back of the chair that he used last time, setting his bag in the same exact place it was on the first night he came over. “Looking back, I wouldn’t have wanted to pour those emotions into my stuff. I don’t want to write songs out of spite.”

Your heart twinges. At all of it. How thoughtful Yoongi is with his craft. How eager he is to help you out. How Yoongi now has his own spot in your apartment.

He watches you as you set your things down and start making some coffee. 

“If I may be so bold as to make an observation,” Yoongi replies, as he takes off his beanie and ruffles his hair.

You chuckle at his sudden formality. “Sure?”

“I don’t think I’m the only one who’s suffering from a mental block,” he shares, sitting down.

You arch an eyebrow.

“Why is it that you think you… need help?” he asks you.

You frown. 

“I don’t know.” 

The coffee machine, the kind that uses Unnie-approved pods, is certainly more efficient. It whirrs softly in the background and spits out a full mug in seconds. But you miss the days when you would have to tuck the coffee filter into its place, measure and scoop the grounds, dump them into the filter with that soft, satisfying fwoop! sound as they land and disperse, and wait a couple of minutes in anticipation for your coffee, the aroma enticing you as it wafts through the air.

“It used to be simple,” you comment. “I used to be so easy.”

Yoongi laughs, and you bite your lip at the way you’ve phrased it.

“Not like that!” you defend. “But… my orgasms… they used to just pour out of me. Someone, or even myself -- even I could do just the slightest thing, like think of a particularly sexy memory, or even just sit a certain way. And I’d be ready.”

You take the two mugs of coffee and join Yoongi at the kitchen table.

“I think that part of me is broken, somehow. I can feel it.”

“I couldn’t,” Yoongi remarks, taking his mug and nodding a thank-you to you before you both take a drink. He looks over at you and adds, “I didn’t touch you directly, but it felt like everything was, y’know, working.”

“Before our little session, I didn’t think I could even orgasm at all anymore,” you admit.

Yoongi grins.

“But it took me a while to get there,” you remind him.

“I couldn’t have been with you for more than twenty minutes tops,” Yoongi says, more to himself than to you. Then, he looks at you and leans forward. “Wait, how long do you think sex is supposed to last?”

“Not twenty minutes!” you remark.

“Agreed, but I feel like we’re on opposite sides of the spectrum in this debate,” he says with a grin.

You scoff. “Maybe you’re not as good as you say you are.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says, and you know that this part of the conversation isn’t over, even though he goes on to say, “And why the toys? Your hands can’t get you there?”

You shake your head. “It’s like my body is suddenly completely foreign to me.”

Yoongi nods. “I see.”

There’s a long, long pause, and you both get down to half a mug of coffee each until Yoongi speaks.

“Then you should take the time to get to know it again.”

Something within you shifts. Yoongi, yet again, has made you feel lighter. But you don’t just feel lighter. You feel enlightened. You kept thinking about this as a problem that needed to be fixed. Not a new adventure entirely.

“Do you still want to…” 

Yoongi’s eyes drag across the length of the kitchen table between you until they reach your fingers curled around your mug, at which point, his eyes flick up and meet your eyes with dark and warm intensity. It feels like two stifling hot, star-dotted, summer night skies suddenly crashing over you.

“...y’know?” Yoongi says, his tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth.

The coffee that you’ve just had isn’t going to help slow down your racing heart. 

You stand up so quickly that your chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “Absolutely. Grab that beanie and let’s go.”

Yoongi laughs at your impetuousness. “Hang on.”

You whine and sit back down, squirming.

“Would you be comfortable if we tried something different?” he asks.

“Like what?”

“Like… maybe I get a little more involved.”

You push your lips out. You love the idea. But you know that you need to tread carefully. Your conversation with Jungkook echoes in your mind. This is not about feelings. And you fear that if you entertain the little sparks that you’ve been feeling in Yoongi’s presence, and the emptiness that you’ve felt in his absence, then you’ll possibly ruin everything. Sure, you would lose this channel of experimentation, but that’s not what really concerns you. You’ve seen how messy it has been for Yoongi to have his personal life wrapped up in his professional one. You don’t want to ruin things with your stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by involved?” you ask, trying to see this conversation through a clear lens of objectivity.

“That I lose the beanie, for one.” He ruffles his hair again, and he pouts. “I don’t mean to say that I’m going to leer at you or anything. My head just got really sweaty last time.”

You laugh, and he chuckles along.

“OK,” you say. “I’m actually… I’m fine with you… seeing things.”

Yoongi’s eyes deepen, and you kill the squeal that was rising in your throat.

“Are you fine with me… touching things?” he asks.

You nod. “That too.”

“Alright, then,” Yoongi says, rising slowly. “I have an idea. Not just for today, but for how all our sessions go from here on out. Sound good?”

You excitedly jump to your feet like you did before, and he laughs. You extend your hand for a handshake, and he firmly takes your hand in his. 

His hand feels so soft. Surprisingly so. Given their look, veins and knuckles tapering into long, strong fingers, you always viewed them as rough workman’s hands. You like that there can be someone who is so fiercely industrious and prolific, but who also isn’t afraid to be soft. Who, in fact, prides himself on being so.

You hold his hand tighter, and you lead him to your bedroom.

You both stand at the foot of your bed, and Yoongi scrunches up his face as he looks around, deciding how to set the stage.

“Mind if I sit on your bed?” he asks you.

“Go ahead,” you say. 

Yoongi sits and leans back against your pillows and headboard. 

“OK, I’m thinking that you could sit in front of me, and we could just take some time to explore,” he says. “Kind of just… move your hands up and down your body.”

You stare at him quizzically. “What?”

“Trust me,” Yoongi says, and he says it with such determination that you try to tamp down any other anxieties you might feel in the moment. Yoongi has shown himself to have a trustworthy opinion, after all.

“Just hands? But don’t we need the toys?” you ask, moving toward your door to get to the box  that you inexplicably put back in the open-ass living room, and trying to use this as an instance to remind yourself to fucking keep them somewhere else.

Yoongi smirks. “You won’t need them.”

His sentence wraps itself around you, and you know that he doesn’t mean just for this session.

“Do you think I should… um… take anything off?” you ask.

Yoongi’s mouth hangs open a little. Given all your concerns and questions, he didn’t think you’d be ready for that. “Whatever you like,” he says, careful not to push.

“Maybe I can start off like last time?” you venture.

“Sounds good,” Yoongi says, but this time, he keeps his eyes on you.

You feel flattered that he wants to watch. That he wants to see you. A smirk transforms your lips as you wiggle out of your pants, and Yoongi takes a slight breath in when he sees you standing in your underwear, the lace detail in the front giving him just enough of a peek at you.

“Sit here,” he tells you, adjusting himself to make room for you between his legs.

You teeter a bit, and when you turn to sit down, you miss how Yoongi reacts to the fully see-through lace in the back, admiring your plump ass, and doing his best not to reach out for it. While you swing your legs onto the mattress and get comfortable, Yoongi looks up at the ceiling, pleading to no one in particular, that he can get through this in one piece. That you won’t inadvertently kill him in the process.

“Lean back on me,” Yoongi instructs.

You do so, and you melt into his frame, feeling cradled. Supported. You feel your pussy twitch. You close your eyes and let your head fall back onto Yoongi’s shoulder, your temple just by his neck. You’re already starting to feel dizzy. Less there.

“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice low and soft.

You nod, still hypnotized by him, and you chuckle. You love that Yoongi is so committed to helping you that he’s asking if you are comfortable in your own bed.

Your hands are resting at your sides, in the gap between your thighs and Yoongi’s. He rolls his sleeves up to the elbow and places his arms over yours, the backs of your hands in his palms, his fingers resting on their counterparts.

“Follow my lead,” he says, and you nod again.

He takes your hands and lifts them off of the mattress. And then he places your hands on your warm, drooling pussy, making you spread your legs a bit, and close the gap between your and Yoongi’s thighs. He runs your hands up and down your own thighs slowly, only your skin touching your skin, and you start to squirm.

“Feeling good?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you answer.

He notices your hips starting to move, your pussy aching for attention.

“Show me what you do when you touch yourself,” he tells you gently.

You nod, and you bring your fingers, and his, to your quickly waking clit. You rest your hand over the cloth of your underwear, and you start to press into your folds. When you do this alone, you don’t feel much. But now, you hear Yoongi licking his lips, sending tingles through your body.

“Why do you do it over your underwear?” he asks, remembering how you started the first night.

“I like the feel of it, to start,” you answer, delighting in the way that the lace gives you an additional sensation, letting you build up to something. “And, well… honestly, when I come, it makes it less messy.”

Yoongi sighs, and you feel it resonating in his chest.

“You’re already thinking about how to clean up after yourself before you even let yourself enjoy it?” Yoongi questions.

You feel a bit hurt at the critique, but you do recognize that he’s right. Maybe that’s one of the things that has changed about you. You could argue that moving to a new city, and your strained relationships with your family, evoke that, too. You no longer care how messy things get. You’re desperate to do what you want to do. To feel what you want to feel. To live your life.

Yoongi starts to guide your fingers now, having gotten an understanding of what you like. He presses deeper, your folds sucking in the fabric, his fingers starting to get wet. He shows you how to wrap your fingers around your clit, teasing you a bit, and demonstrating how difficult it can be when there’s a barrier keeping you from yourself.

“Hnnnng.” Your groan is choked off by your throat. 

“More?” Yoongi asks you. “More of that? Around your clit?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Can I push this to the side?” 

He uses your other hand, the one that has been sliding up and down your thigh this entire time, to reach for the hem of that leg of your panties. He curls his fingers around yours and makes you pinch the fabric, tugging on it to show you what he means.

“Yes,” you breathe, really starting to lose yourself.

He runs your hand up and down that thigh, and then he slowly lifts his hand away, showing you that he wants you to keep going. You do, and then he uses his now-free hand to hook the fabric of your panties to the side, exposing all of you.

He grunts when he sees you, and you smile and bite your lip.

Still not technically touching you, he uses your other hand to guide you on how to touch yourself, wrapping your index finger and thumb around your clit, and showing you how to stroke it.

“Oh!” you exclaim, shuddering, knees nearly knocking at that first stroke.

“Is that the first time you’ve done that?” he asks.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, pinching your thigh with your other hand as you continue stroking your throbbing clit.

Yoongi chuckles. “It’s a good first feeling, isn’t it?”

“God, yes.”

Your hips are rocking now, digging into the mattress, even pressing back up against him. You feel him hardening against you, his cock undoubtedly straining painfully in his jeans.

“How’s that feel?" you ask. 

Yoongi can only moan approvingly before pressing his lips together and squeezing his eyes tightly.

You smile proudly, momentarily stepping back from the moment and feeling relieved. You can’t help it. As a performer, you’re always thinking about your stage and execution.

“But this isn’t about me,” he whispers, trying to stay in control. “It’s about you.” Yoongi knows what you’re doing. He feels you disengaging, even if only for a moment. 

Needing you to refocus, he puts more pressure on your fingers as he moves. 

“Good?” he growls.

“Good,” you repeat. “Good… Gooood.” It’s almost like a chant or a prayer, the way the word is billowing out of your mouth.

“You don’t necessarily like it when things are about just you, do you?” Yoongi asks, his nose starting to follow your jawline. 

You let out a sheepish laugh.

“It’s a shame,” Yoongi says, his voice so entrancing. “Because you should see you. You look amazing like this. You look like you do when you’re in the studio, lost in the music.”

You moan, enticed by the image that Yoongi has of you in his mind. 

“I wish I could have seen you that first night, but I’m glad I could hear you,” Yoongi tells you. “Your moans, like songs.”

“Yoongi,” you whine, your head lolling back, your mind starting to evaporate, though you swear you can feel Yoongi’s hips rubbing against you, too.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers urgently.

“Whatever you want to do, do it,” you tell him.

You keep stroking your clit, playing around with the pressure, even grazing your fingernails against it and making yourself quiver.

Yoongi’s hand slides off of yours, and he presses his middle finger into you, making you cry out and slam your hips until his finger is surrounded by you, all the way to the base knuckle. He spreads his fingers out to lay over and rub the lips of your labia, your hands playing off of each other, covering every single inch of you, meeting every single one of your immediate needs. You lean back and let out another beautiful moan, pressing against him even harder, your ass and hips ramming back into his cock.

“I could smell you, too,” Yoongi grunts in your ear. “When I would breathe on you, to make you warm. You smell sweet. Full. I could’ve stayed there for days.”

You whine, every muscle inside of you clenching as Yoongi finds the spongy tissue of your G-spot and starts to massage it, driving you wild. He even has the audacity to let out an excited, throaty laugh to spur you on.

“That’s it. Get it out of your mind, whatever block is telling you that you’re broken. I see you. I feel you. You’re not.”

You reach for Yoongi’s thigh, and he moans when you run your hand back toward him, gripping his jeans, needing something to hold onto.

“Fuck,” he gasps, as you find his cock. You run the tips of your fingers along its length, and you wrap your palm around as much of it as you can. 

He’s struggling to stay steady, moaning and losing himself in the moment. He’s so close to letting go of you and undoing his fly, or kissing you, or wrapping his arms around you and lifting that beautiful ass onto him. But that would be selfish. So he pulls it together. He wants to. He needs to. For you.

“Don’t think that you can’t have this,” he whispers. “Because it’s already yours.”

You gush and squirt everywhere, your orgasm shutting your body down, but thankfully Yoongi is there to keep going. You squeeze your thighs together, locking Yoongi’s hand and wrist in place, and you hug his arm to your chest. You rub your clit against his hand as you ride the wave, your juices sticky and letting out little bubbles of sound as you slow.

You’re already fading into sleep when Yoongi speaks.

“Good?” he repeats, with a smile.

“Good,” you sigh.

Your thighs relax, and you release him, but he doesn’t leave you right away. He rubs you gently, helping you ease down. When both of your breathing has leveled, he drags his hand up, and you catch it with your hands. You bring it down to your mouth, and you surprise him by sucking his fingers dry.

“Damn, Boss,” Yoongi exhales, his breathing starting to pick up as you wrap your tongue around him.

You release him, and you feel embarrassed for letting the moment overcome you. “Sorry. Was that weird to do?”

“N-no,” Yoongi says, sucking in his breath through his teeth. “That was… fuck.” He smirks. “But maybe next time, you’ll let me have a taste, too,” he mutters, and you hope he’s not joking.

As Yoongi rounds the corner and comes into view, you smooth your hands over the back pockets of your jeans. There’s a soft crinkle of paper as you do it. It comes from the note that Yoongi wrote to you before he left the night before. 

That was fun. Maybe I’ll swing by tomorrow at lunch.

You barely remember how you parted yesterday evening, but you have memories of Yoongi sliding out from underneath you and pulling the covers over you. Thanking you for sharing another session. Saying a soft goodbye. 

The brass bell rings, announcing his arrival. You try your best not to look too excited, but Jungkook is sitting on the counter, facing you, smiling tight-lipped at you as he swings his legs and eats his sandwich. You’d caught him up earlier, during the morning delivery, and there was no way he was going to miss lunch if Yoongi was planning on showing up. He made sure you wouldn’t miss it either, getting you a sandwich and ridding you of any need to leave.

“Hi,” Yoongi says, smiling.

“Hi,” you reply, as Jungkook looks at Yoongi from over his shoulder.

“Delivery boy,” Yoongi says, with a less-than-happy grin, but a grin nonetheless.

Jungkook’s eyes narrow as he smiles and says, “I heard you two had a pretty fun evening.”

Yoongi blushes. You jam your elbow into Jungkook’s thigh, but it’s rock solid. He grins down at you, and you can’t help but begrudgingly smile back. 

Mr. Kang comes out from the back office, holding his chips and guacamole dip.

“Yoongi!” Mr. Kang greets him excitedly. “Thought I heard the bell. How are things?”

“Good,” Yoongi replies, sighing happily and glancing over at you as you lean on the counter.

“Well, what brings you in today?” Mr. Kang asks.

Yoongi draws a blank. “Um… I… just wanted to say hi,” he fumbles, not technically a lie.

Mr. Kang grins. He plants himself on your other side and looks at you. “See, Boss?” he tells you. “He came by just because he wanted to say hi. You may not believe me, but I told you he was a good boy.”

You grin and flash a look at Yoongi, who looks puzzled, but happy just the same.

“Yoongi, do you still have your grandfather’s watch?” Mr. Kang asks him.

“This one?” Yoongi asks, rolling his sleeve up and showing him the same, ordinary watch that he wears every day.

“Yes,” Mr. Kang says fondly. He turns to you and Jungkook. “Do you see how pristine it is? How he takes such good care of it that it’s still in tip top shape today?” Mr. Kang clicks his teeth. “It looks exactly like it did the day that he got it.” 

“Were you there with him when he bought it?” Yoongi asks knowingly.

Mr. Kang nods. “I actually almost got it for myself.”

“OK, so we’ve addressed that Yoongi is a good boy and has a super old watch,” Jungkook says, not getting why this is important.

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “Can you even tell time, Delivery Boy?”

“Yes,” Jungkook says plainly, “because, as you love to keep pointing out, I’m a delivery boy.”

Yoongi frowns at how Jungkook’s deflated his remark, and he only slightly considers it a betrayal that you’re laughing and high-fiving Jungkook back.

“He -- and I -- just want to know the story behind why it’s special,” you explain, making eyes at Yoongi to lighten up on Jungkook. 

Yoongi softens. “Well, my grandfather met my grandmother because of it,” he says, smirking and passing the story on to Mr. Kang.

“You have to tell it from the start!” Mr. Kang encourages, his eyes gleaming. Yoongi just shrugs and looks back at Mr. Kang with affection. He knows how much Mr. Kang loves telling this story, and Mr. Kang knows how much Yoongi loves hearing it.

“Gojong and I were students at the time,” Mr. Kang says, “and he was getting ready for a big job interview. Neither of us come from money, so Gojong had to save up for the basic things that you needed for a job like that. A solid pair of shoes. A good suit. And a nice watch. Nothing fancy, just something presentable and durable.”

Mr. Kang smiles, his glasses rising with his cheeks.

“One day, Gojong tells me that he thinks he has enough money for a watch, and it comes at a good time, because the interview is that week. He asks me to go with him to the jewelry store down the street, which is around where the grocery store is now. We went into the store, and the saleslady helping us wouldn’t negotiate on any of the prices for the watches that Gojong wanted. She offered him this one, and he hated it. She said that it was a perfectly respectable watch, in his price range, and that he’d thank her later. He said it was too plain, and that she was just being greedy.”

“He said she was really mean, too,” Yoongi adds, making Mr. Kang laugh. “And super judgy. They argued so loudly that other customers were complaining.”

“People were pushing, demanding why Gojong was taking so long. And he had no real choice. So he bought the watch,” Mr. Kang goes on. “As we’re leaving the store, Gojong stops walking and takes a moment to put the watch on. He tells me that if he had to pay that much for as ugly a watch as this, there must be something else that’s special about it. And right then, a car hits the curb just ahead of us, barely missing us as it crashed into a fence and landed in someone’s yard.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Did anyone get hurt?”

“Miraculously, no,” Mr. Kang says in a whisper. “Not even the driver.”

Jungkook sighs, relieved. You can’t help but simp at his sweet reaction.

“How’d you know the driver was OK?” you ask.

“Gojong and I run over to the car, and there’s a gorgeous woman in the front seat. She’s flustered and has no idea why this has just happened. Gojong takes care of her, even helping her with the repairs, and finds that it had something to do with the steering column. They got to know each other, and, well… got to know each other, as they say,” Mr. Kang says vaguely, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Mr. Kang!” you exclaim, making everyone laugh.

“As you can imagine, Gojong feels invincible at this point. And on the day of his interview, he’s not even nervous,” Mr. Kang goes on. “But for as good an interview that he had, the employers went with a different applicant. And the woman tells him that she can’t be with a man who doesn’t have a job, and who wears a watch as plain as that one.”

Jungkook frowns. “But I thought you said that your grandfather met your grandmother because of that watch?”

“Well, that’s when he realizes,” Mr. Kang continues. “Had he not stopped walking to put the watch on, we would have been farther up the sidewalk, right in the car’s path. So, I tell Gojong, ‘You’d better go back to the jewelry store’. And he says, ‘What for?’ And I say, ‘She said you’d thank her later. Well, it’s later.’”

Mr. Kang turns to Yoongi, smiling. “Gojong went to the store the next day, and he told the saleslady that had it not been for the watch, he would be dead, or married to a complete snob, which would have killed him.”

Yoongi smiles fondly. “That saleslady was my grandmother, Myeongseong,” he reveals. “He asked her out on their first date right there and then.”

Your heart fills, and you and Jungkook share a dreamy, appreciative look.

“Aw, that’s a nice story,” Jungkook sighs. And then he glances at you. “Funny how people can surprise you.”

Mr. Kang catches Jungkook’s knowing expression, as well as the next in what seems to be a million looks with a hidden message between you and Yoongi. Mr. Kang’s about to say something addressing the vibe, until he chirps, “They’re back!” 

You and Jungkook snap to attention, and Mr. Kang lurches forward, grabbing the bowl of guacamole and chips that he’s waited to start eating. 

“Who’s back?” Yoongi asks.

“Antique Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady,” Jungkook says, as you all peer out the storefront.

Yoongi looks at the three of you and turns around to see the owner of the antique store and the owner of the candle shop arm in arm, walking into the candle shop. They’ve just gotten lunch, and they start tucking into their meals together.

“Things are progressing quite nicely,” you say.

“Just looks like lunch to me,” Mr. Kang observes.

“Wait!” Jungkook exclaims. “I see one milkshake, and two straws!”

You watch with glee as Antique Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady start to share the milkshake that they’ve brought back with them.

Yoongi stares at you, completely lost. 

You laugh and say, “I can catch you up on the backstory soon.”

Yoongi nods and smiles. “Sounds good. See you all…”

He watches as the three of you remain riveted at the scene playing out across the street.

“...Later,” Yoongi finishes, rolling his eyes and making his way to the door.

“Yoongi,” Mr. Kang adds suddenly, “why don’t you join us all Wednesday night at one of the Boss’s gigs?”

Yoongi blushes. “Huh?”

“Mrs. Kang and I will be there,” Mr. Kang says. “And so will Jungkook. We can laugh about the watch story together. Bring those boys you work with, too. Let’s make it a thing!”

Yoongi looks over at you and smiles a little funny. He raises his eyebrows, and you shrug. 

“Oh. Um, OK,” Yoongi replies. “See you then.” He leaves through the front door and waddles back up the sidewalk, toward the Big Hit building.

Mr. Kang nudges his shoulder into yours and says, knowingly, “Just like his grandfather.”

This week’s set list is that much more important now. You’re still awake, even after a full day of work and recording, going through the ideas that you’d been arranging since you started this gig. You can’t help but admit feeling a little more pressure for this week, now that the trio is going to be there, even though they literally listen to you perform every day. There’s something different about it being all yours that makes you feel like they might watch you with that much more scrutiny. Even Yoongi could sense the pressure was on, somehow knowing not to walk you home that day and giving you a bit of space.

You look down at your bed, and you see that your toes are wiggling. You start to feel anxious, and then you pull out your phone, looking at the text Yoongi had sent you when you split off from the group.

Yoongi (10:42 PM): Just pretend like it’s any other Wednesday. You’ll do great.

Seeing just his name makes you feel calmer.

But that feeling also makes you more anxious.

Suddenly, you see that you’re getting a call from an unknown number. You almost never pick up unknown numbers, but with all the new contacts you keep making through your work and lounge gig, you fear missing something important.

“Hello?”

“I can’t believe it took me this long to figure out that you’d muted my notifications,” Unnie says. “And don’t hang up!”

You pout. This was the longest you had gone without talking to her. It was starting to feel like an accomplishment.

“What do you want?” you snap.

“To check in with you,” Unnie says.

“Where are you even calling from?”

“This is Jin’s work phone.”

“And Jin has a broken laptop and some work emails to send, so please call her back on her cell!” Jin yells in the background.

“Jin!” Unnie scolds. 

“Ridiculous,” you grumble, hanging up.

You throw your phone onto the bed in annoyance, and then you pause. You wait to see if Unnie will call you back. You start to feel a sense of guilt overtaking you. Unnie isn’t one to let her personal matters bleed into other areas of her life. Using Jin’s phone is kind of a big tell of what she’s feeling with regards to your behavior.

You think about how supportive she’s always been. It’s not fair for you to lump her in with all the anger you have for Eomma. 

So you pick up your phone and call Unnie back.

“Hello?” she sniffles.

“Are you crying?” you ask.

“Well, yeah!” Unnie exclaims. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks! I don’t know if you’re eating, or making rent, or, like, I don’t know, caught in some sort of elaborate drug trafficking scheme, or bartending again, or---”

“Couldn’t you just have used your fancy tech job to track me unknowingly?” you ask, half-joking.

“Don’t you think I tried that??” Unnie screeches.

“Hey, hey,” you say gently, your heart aching. Tears start to prick at your eyes. “I’m OK. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“How could I not worry? You’ve left me on read. None of your friends here have heard from you. Eomma is freaking out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Is that why you called?” 

“I called because I love you,” Unnie tells you, and you know that she’s telling you the truth. This isn’t some reconnaissance call, the kind of thing you’ve been suspicious about. 

You sigh. “I love you, too. I’m sorry. I’ve just been. Y’know. Busy.”

“Are you still managing that store?” Unnie asks you hopefully. “Are you finding time to do some gigs?”

You smile. “Both,” you say. “And one new thing.”

You start with the cruel words that Eomma had told you when you last spoke. And then you tell her about the first jazz lounge gig, and Yoongi showing up, all the way to the contract with Big Hit. You tell her about all of the work that you’ve been doing with Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi. How kind everyone’s been. How creative you’ve felt. How you think this could finally be your big break.

Unnie sighs softly.

“What do you think?” you ask, nervous.

“I’m just so proud,” she croaks, and though you roll your eyes, your tears trickle down your cheeks, and Eomma’s words sting a little less. 

“I want to come visit you,” Unnie says, sniffling again. “Jin and I have some vacation time. Can we drive down? Next week, maybe? See you in action? I miss you so much.”

“Sure,” you say. “You know that you’re welcome anytime.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was,” Unnie says pointedly. “I don’t even have your address.”

You laugh and put her on speakerphone, opening your text thread and sending it to her before you forget. Your eyes catch a glimpse of a text, and you scroll back up to read it in full.

You realize that your eyes weren’t deceiving you. 

“What is Jae’s name doing in our texts?” you ask, not bothering to read on.

“Right,” Unnie says. “Well, a couple of weeks ago, Jae-hwa reached out. He was also worried about you because you basically disappeared on him.”

“We broke up,” you say.

“And then you vanished,” Unnie replies. “He tried reaching out to you, and when everyone that he had thought to ask told him that they hadn’t seen you in weeks, and then months, he got scared. So then he called me.”

“And then you told him to piss off, right?” you ask.

“He misses you,” Unnie explains. “I’m not saying that you have to get back together. I’m just passing along the message.”

“And you’re judging me for not getting back together with him,” you add.

Unnie sighs. “I hate when you put words in my mouth.”

“But you are judging, aren’t you?”

Unnie pauses, and for as much as you love her, and as fond of her as you are, you hate that you can’t go one conversation without her trying to get you to improve in some way.

“He’s a smart, nice guy who cares about you. He has a stable job. He can support you as you work your way up the ladder at Big Hit. He’s vetted. It just makes sense,” Unnie replies. “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m just stating facts.”

“Well, here are some facts of my own. I didn’t really care much about him. I like my three jobs. And I don’t need you or Eomma or anyone else to vet whoever I choose to bring into my life,” you reply.

To an outsider, the conversation seems tense. But at this point, you and Unnie are just doing the dance. 

“It’s not just that,” Unnie sighs.

“Well, what else is there?”

Finally, she asks it. 

“...Aren’t you lonely?”

You sigh. “I have a nice little family surrounding me, thank you very much.”

Suddenly, you hear the bite that your words have. You try to soften it.

“I’d love for you to meet them,” you add. “Or vet them. Or scan them. Whatever you and your drones consider human contact to be.” 

You hear Unnie laugh softly, putting you at ease. She draws in a breath and lowers her voice. “Is there anyone in your life who’s… y’know… giving you… intimacy?” she asks.

“You mean fucking me?” you ask bluntly, and Unnie clicks her tongue at you.

“No,” she says, annoyed. “Or, well, yes, but… y’know. Connection. Feelings.”

You think of Yoongi. You wonder if he’s still out with the guys, stuffing his cheeks with food and dipping in and out of conversation as his mind works. Maybe he’s home, wherever that is for him, and settling into bed. Maybe he’s at the studio, returning to tweak his demo after not being able to fall asleep. The thoughts you have are as adorable as his stupid beanie, and you hate that he’s coming to mind when prompted by this question.

“I don’t know,” you say. 

“Well, in that case, I’d say Jae’s worth a shot,” Unnie replies.

Your roll your eyes. “Sure.”

You look down at your set list, and you think you hear Unnie yawn. 

“I should go,” you say.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Unnie tells you.

“I won’t. Goodnight.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”

“Wow, really?”

“Night.”

You hang up, and you stare at your set list again. And though you aren’t any closer to finalizing the list of songs, you at least feel a tiny bit better.

You’d guessed that Yoongi was out with Namjoon and Hobi, or at home, or working another late night in the studio. But tonight, the trio are lying on the floor at Hobi’s place, his apartment being the closest to the steakhouse that they had drunkenly stumbled out of after dinner. Now, they’re getting even more drunk while watching Jimin’s new music video on repeat. His dance moves are as smooth as his velvet suit. His silhouette glides against a backdrop of pastel backgrounds shifting in and out. Certain words take over the screen as Jimin sings them, his face and movements filling in the letters. 

During the bridge of the song, the camera closes up on Jimin, and he stares straight at the audience, showing off his fiery red eyeliner. 

“That shot right there is about to be on every channel on every TV in the country,” Namjoon drunkenly slurs, lying on his back. “Are we ready for that shit?”

“Fuck no,” Hobi complains, rolling onto his stomach and pulling his hood over his head to hide. “Remember how long it took to workshop the music video? I can’t believe that bastard had the gall.”

Yoongi stares up at the ceiling. “Doesn’t matter.”

Namjoon, and a still-hidden Hobi, raise their heads slightly to look in his direction. 

“Wait, really?” Namjoon asks.

“What?” Yoongi stares back at them, befuddled.

“It’s just that… I don’t know, it’s hard for us to gauge where you’re at with him,” Namjoon replies, sitting up suddenly, stopping halfway and wincing, and taking the rest of the trip upright much slower, folding his legs underneath him and resting his elbows on his knees. He props his aching head up with his hands, his cheeks fluffing out as he does so. 

“Whenever he does anything, you shut down or disappear or act out. And now you’re saying that it doesn’t matter? You were the one who came up with the whole aesthetic. You came up with the red eyeliner.”

“I’m glad it’s working for him,” Yoongi says. “He looks good.”

Hobi shakes his head, his face still hidden, but his hood wiggling. “So all of a sudden, we’re OK with Jimin?”

“No,” Yoongi says definitively, pointedly. “But we can’t do anything about it. It’s like you said, Joon.” He stretches his hand out to gesture to the screen, Jimin’s smirk bobbing in their faces. “That shot is going to be everywhere, and we’re going to have to deal with it. I’m trying to finally let it go.”

“And what prompted you to ‘finally let go’?” Hobi asks.

“I don’t know,” Yoongi says, shrugging.

“Bullshit,” Namjoon says, grinning. He turns to Hobi and smiles. “I bet I know.”

Yoongi sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t make me---”

“How is it?” Namjoon asks. “How are things going?”

Yoongi frowns, unwilling to admit how his skin is getting all tingly at the thought of you. No one’s even said your name yet, and he’s already singing it to himself in his head. He kind of always is. 

“S’fine,” he mumbles, rolling away and turning his back to them.

“No, no, no,” Hobi says, face still hidden, hands engulfed by his long sleeves, ghost hoodie arms reaching out for Yoongi and dragging him back to the group. 

Namjoon raises his torso offthe ground using just his arms and, keeping his legs crossed, scootches into the little triangle that they’re making. 

“We want details!” Hobi clamors, finally crawling out from under his hood, his hair full of static. 

Yoongi furrows his brow.

“Not the dirty stuff,” Namjoon clarifies, forcing Hobi to pull his tongue back into his mouth and grunt in annoyance. Namjoon looks back at Yoongi. “Just more specificity. How are you feeling? Where do you think it’s going?”

Yoongi scrunches up his face. “Is that… y’’know… proper? To talk about?”

Hobi looks confused. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how it’s going. We’re still in the middle of…” 

Yoongi can’t find the right word. 

“...Courting?”

Namjoon and Hobi crack up laughing. Hobi’s stomach is working so hard that he can’t breathe, slamming his hands and feet on the floor as he sacrifices each gasp of air to more fits and starts. Namjoon is sputtering and failing, shaking his head violently, as if trying to whip the word out of his giggle-filled mouth.

“Cuh… C-cour… COURTING?!”

Hobi and Namjoon lose it all over again.

“How old are you, like, 80?!” Namjoon howls.

Yoongi grabs his beanie and pulls it over his face in anger and embarrassment, drawing his legs and arms into his giant hoodie.

“You can’t turtle your way out of this!” Hobi exclaims, as he and Namjoon leap onto him and drag his limbs back out.

Yoongi peers back up at them, his skin flushed.

“Just tell us how you’re feeling, then,” Namjoon encourages.

They all straighten, sitting up and facing each other. As Yoongi talks, Namjoon reaches back for the whiskey that they were sharing, and takes a swig straight from the bottle.

“Fine,” Yoongi sighs. “I mean, things seem to be going OK. She invites me over. I think we have a good time. I try to make sure she definitely has a good time. And I always have a good time.”

“Well, great!” Hobi exclaims.

“Do you want more with her?” Namjoon asks.

“I think… I think I do,” Yoongi says. “But…”

Yoongi sighs. This next part, the point that he’s about to divulge, is starting to become somewhat of a theme in his life. How many people have wanted to be his friend, only to ask him to listen to their demo or mixtape, disappearing when they suddenly aren’t Big Hit’s next major act? How many people have seduced him at a concert or club, only to get access to the bigger names performing that night, treating him like the screener for the groupies? It’s why he hasn’t really gone anywhere except his apartment, the studio, or Mr. Kang’s store in years, and it’s why the trio has remained a trio since Jimin’s betrayal.

Until you.

“You know what it’s like,” Yoongi laments. “I don’t know if she wants my help or if she wants… me.” 

“She doesn’t seem like a clout chaser,” Hobi points out. “I mean, you were the one who sought her out. And didn’t she hate you in the beginning?”

“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees. “But don’t most people?”

“You’ve never talked about it?” Namjoon asks, passing the bottle of whiskey to Hobi, who takes a drink.

Yoongi shakes his head.

“You usually talk these things out,” Namjoon observes.

“I’m good at the sex talk,” Yoongi replies. “Not so great at the relationship stuff.”

“Didn’t you hear him, Namjoon? They’re still courting,” Hobi teases Yoongi with a wink. “It would be improper and, dare I say, scandalous to have an open, honest, reasonable conversation about relations at this stage! Why, he hasn’t even an idea of the dowry!”

“Point made,” Yoongi says, chuckling along. “I’m old.”

“And you don’t have time to wait much longer,” Hobi says. “Not because you’re old,” he adds quickly. “You’re not old. But it seems like you’re already there with her. This is your window of opportunity.”

“If you have feelings for her, maybe it’s worth it to check in, in some way,” Namjoon replies.

Yoongi nods. He knows that things are coming to a point with you. He’s not sure what that point is, but he can’t help but feel like his heart is on the mend after having met you. And that’s not a feeling he wants to go away anytime soon.

“Come with me tomorrow,” Yoongi says. 

The guys had already declined the invitation when Yoongi asked them earlier in the day, their tongues hanging out in disgust at the prospect of wasting a perfectly good evening with a bunch of geriatrics. But Yoongi raises his eyebrows and says, “I know it’s not your thing, but maybe you could see for yourselves? Weigh in on what it seems like is happening between us? If I’m misreading the situation, or if there really is something there?”

“We see you two flirting non-stop every day,” Hobi reminds him, but then Namjoon kicks him, and Hobi adds, “But we’ll be there.”

Hobi hands Yoongi the bottle of whiskey.

Yoongi grins and takes a swig. 

This can’t be happening. This is your worst nightmare.

You look over to the table that Mr. Kang, Mrs. Kang, and Jungkook are sitting at. Jungkook waves excitedly and looks over to the front door of the lounge. Namjoon, Hobi, and Yoongi are smiling and making their way toward the front, to a table pushed right next to Mr. Kang and the gang.

You turn the dials again and again. You flip the power switch over and over. 

Nervous, you look back at the tables. Yoongi pulls his beanie off and gives a little wave to you, while Namjoon and Hobi order drinks. Yoongi catches the worry in the smile and wave that you send back to him. 

“Give me your set list,” the DJ tells you, and you hand him your notebook. You look up at him as he reads through the titles. “Be right back,” he tells you, stepping over to his setup and checking his files.

Your heart starts to sink. 

A hand lands on the small of your back, and you turn to find Yoongi’s eyes peering into yours. A wave of comfort flows through you. You can’t believe that a gesture so tiny can feel so relieving.

“What’s going on?” he asks.

“My amp’s broken,” you say sadly. The timing couldn’t be worse. Your set is supposed to start in three minutes. 

“Can I help?” Yoongi asks. “I can run and get one of the amps from the studio, or---”

“It’ll take too long,” you say mournfully. “My set would be over by the time you get back. The owner said that either I start on time, or I cancel, and the DJ takes over.”

You feel troubled at the thought of Mr. Kang finally bringing Mrs. Kang out for a nice night out, only to have it be for nothing.

The DJ returns, holding your notebook out to you. “Not to worry. I’ve got backing tracks for all of these except the last one. I don’t know it.”

“I know,” you sigh. “It’s kind of an obscure piece.” You shrug. “Well, four songs it is, then.”

“Wait,” Yoongi says. He turns to the DJ. “Do you have a piano, or a keyboard?”

“Yeah, we’ve got one in the back. It’s kind of old and crummy, though,” the DJ says.

Yoongi turns to you. “Do you have sheet music for the last song?” 

You reach into your guitar case and pull out the booklet. “Yes, but I don’t know it well enough to perform it on the piano yet,” you admit. “I’ve only learned it on my guitar.”

You hand Yoongi the booklet, and he reads through the piece. He smiles to himself, able to hear the soft plinks of the piano and the haunting melody in his head. “Wow. It’s… it’s really beautiful.”

Your eyes light up. The smile that grows across your face is resplendent. “I heard in a movie. Bought the music right after.”

Yoongi smiles warmly. “What if I play it for you?”

The smile on your face grows even bigger. “Can you?”

Yoongi nods. “It’d be a shame not to get to share this song with this group. They’ll absolutely love it.”

“You’d do this for me, on the fly like this?” you laugh. 

He softens. “When I said that I was here to help, I meant it,” Yoongi tells you meaningfully. 

Your heart swells, and you think you could have kissed him in that moment.

But now, you’ve only got two minutes. Yoongi turns to the DJ and asks, “Can I go get the keyboard while you get her set up?”

“Sure,” the DJ says, catching the owner’s eyes by the bar, gesturing to Yoongi, and then pointing to the back room.

Yoongi marches off to explain the situation to your two tables before meeting the owner and disappearing down the hall. Your tables of guests look over at you, and you throw them a thumbs-up, letting them know that everything is OK. They smile and settle back into the conversations they were having, and Jungkook sends you a wink.

You look over at the DJ and sigh. “Thanks,” you say. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says with a gruff smile. 

“By the way, that was my friend, Yoongi,” you explain. “We write songs together.”

“I know,” the DJ says. “I see him every week.”

You blink, confused. “You what? Where?”

“He’s here every week for your set,” the DJ repeats. “He stands in the back. Orders a Manhattan. Sometimes we talk shop.” He chuckles and says, “Here I thought he was your boyfriend”, before he walks over to his setup to queue up your tracks.

Your jaw drops slightly, and you look over at Jungkook. He smiles back at you again, but when he sees your face, he raises his eyebrows. 

The words that want to come out are some kind of muddled surprise at what you’ve just learned. But as you raise the mic to your lips, you force them down and greet the crowd instead. You linger on Jungkook’s eyes long enough to let him know that there’s a story here, and he gets the message, watching you that much closer.

Somehow, you figure out a way to start. 

You introduce yourself, as usual. You describe what you’re going to be playing for the evening. You briefly explain some of the minor technical hiccups you’ve run into, but you reassure everyone that they’re gonig to be in for a treat. 

The crowd seems incredibly forgiving, as if whatever hurdles you just had to jump weren’t hurdles at all.

It’s lucky that you’re only expected to do covers for these gigs. Your contract with Big Hit might become null and void if you were to share any of your original pieces, so it works out perfectly. Each week, you pick five songs, just enough for a set that’s about half an hour. And you love watching the crowd respond to your choices.

Tonight, you start with a cover of Ella Fitzgerald’s rendition of In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning, light and sweet. It helps ease people back to their seats after they’ve been dancing for a bit. You grin as you watch Mr. and Mrs. Kang gaze into each others’ eyes as you sing, hoping that you’re kicking off their hot date night just right.

You move into a cover of Someone to Watch Over Me. People start to sing along, including Jungkook. You can’t help but melt at the way that Jungkook is grinning at you. You think of his fierce loyalty. His kindness. His friendship.

Next is a cover of Nina Simone’s Lilac Wine. Longing and aching. You put all the confusing feelings that you have for Yoongi into the performance, letting them serve as a backdrop for the heady, dizzy feeling described in the lyrics. You see Namjoon and Hobi smirking at you as you sing.

Then, a cover of Pink Martini’s Hang On Little Tomato, a jaunty, sweet, positive tune that some couples get up and dance to, once you’ve established that the song will stick rigidly to its tempo, rather than pushing and pulling like your previous songs. You grin as you watch them all taking in the message of tenacity, and you daydream about what kinds of stories they take with them as they twirl around.

The entire time you’ve been singing, you’ve seen Yoongi in your periphery. He’s watched and listened while you were performing, only moving and setting up the keyboard in short bursts whenever you’d end and pause for applause, so as not to disturb the performance. Once he gets the keyboard set up, during Lilac Wine, he sits just to your left, and a little behind you, watching quietly, hands folded in his lap, gazing at you. And you feel so touched by his selflessness. So much so that it nestles into your voice, and the audience can feel it.

And finally, the last song.

Your heart clenches. You haven’t performed this song in front of an audience before, but you sing it all the time. It’s a jazzy rendition of a traditional Polish tune. You sang it to your friends so often that they thought you actually understood Polish. You sang it to help calm your then-baby niece and nephew before their naptimes. Everyone in your life knows it as Your Song. But more recently, you’ve only sung it to yourself, in the comfort of your apartment, or during an empty, slow day at Mr. Kang’s store, your chin pointed down and eyes lowered, the melody never quite leaving your chest.

You introduce Yoongi to the crowd. He gives a small smile when they clap, save for Mr. Kang, Namjoon, and Hobi yelling “MIN YOONGI!” happily and eliciting some chuckles. 

You tell the crowd the story of the song. It translates to Two Hearts, Four Eyes, and it’s about lovers who can never be together. 

You warn the crowd that you’ve never practiced this, but both you and Yoongi are willing to give it a go.

Yoongi shares a happy, pleasant look with you.

And then, you’re off.

The heartache of a song streams out of your pores, swirling around the lounge like smoke, pulling everyone into a hazy, bittersweet fog. Some couples slow dance and rest their weary heads against each other. You even see some couples starting to kiss. Mr. Kang himself leans over to Mrs. Kang and nibbles on her cheek, making her smile and blush. Jungkook, drunk, stares in awe of you. And Namjoon and Hobi watch, jaws slightly open, heads tilted toward each other, mesmerised by the beauty writen into the score.

Yes, your voice carries the song through the air so gorgeously.

But from the first run in the introduction, you know this song is no longer just yours.

Yoongi’s fingers capture the pensive gloom perfectly, the keys falling just on the back of the beat, not enough to throw off the tempo, but just to make the song feel a tad laborious, as if it takes the singer extra effort just to get the song out. It’s the same way you like to sing it, your voice effortless, but your performance effortful. You’re so impressed with Yoongi’s talent. You knew he could play, and you’d watched him play some sort of instrument every day in the studio, but you didn’t know that he could practically be a studio musician in his own right, as well as a producer. 

It’s not just the piano skills that you’re impressed by, either. You just can’t believe that, when Yoongi plays along with you, completely unrehearsed, he fits you like a glove.

When the song ends, there’s a moment of contemplative silence as everyone breathes the last of the fog in.

And then you receive the biggest applause you’ve gotten, not just in this lounge, but perhaps ever.

You turn back to Yoongi, and you see that the corner of his lips turn up into a nearly imperceptible smile. Having spent more time with him, you know now that this is his proud smile. You think that he’s proud of himself for saving the day. But he’s actually proud of you. Delivering under pressure, and performing a set as incredible as that. 

You say goodnight, and as the spotlight dims, people come up to you to commend you on your performance. One couple that is fluent in Polish commends you on your pronunciation, and one of them tells you, “I haven’t heard that song since I was a child. Thank you for singing it. It was marvelous.”

Chest heavy with emotion, you turn back to Yoongi. You want to tell him that he was right. That it would have been a shame had you not shared the song tonight. But he’s got a little audience of admirers of his own. When his eyes find yours, you share a look, and he smiles at you.

The small groups around you die down, and the DJ turns on the rest of his playlist, beaming and nodding at you.

You wave back and smile, and then you walk over to Yoongi, who has just unplugged and turned off the keyboard, moving it into the corner as instructed by the lounge owner.

“That was…” 

You sigh. 

“I don’t even know what to say. Thank you for playing.”

“Thanks for letting me,” he says, grinning.

You fidget a little, your dress swaying a bit. “You don’t have anywhere else to be, right?”

“Not at all,” Yoongi says.

“Then let’s hang out with our friends, and then… let’s hang out some more,” you say, your heart beating so fast that it sounds more like buzzing than pumping.

“Sounds like a plan,” Yoongi says, blushing a little.

You join your group at the tables, and everyone raves about your performance. 

Mrs. Kang tells you, “It takes me a lot to want to leave the house this late at night, but I’m so glad that we came. That was just amazing.” 

“Thanks for coming out,” you laugh. “So glad you enjoyed it.”

She grins and looks up at Mr. Kang, who is getting a couple more drinks at the bar. “I hope Mr. Kang doesn’t tire out before we get home,” she admits, a little tipsy. “I’m feelin’ a little frisky after that last song.”

“Mrs. Kang, you animal!” Jungkook exclaims, making her squeal. “Sounds like we need to take you out for a spin on the dance floor!” 

He stands and pulls her to her feet.

“She’s not joking,” Hobi adds, leaning over and grinning at you. “You guys had quite the steamy moment at the end there.”

“Well, it’s a smoky lounge and a smoky tune,” you reply.

“I’m not talking about the song. I’m talking about that look,” Hobi says, making Namjoon nearly spit out his drink, and Yoongi get so embarrassed that he folds his lips into his mouth, looks straight up at the ceiling, and widens his eyes.

Mr. Kang returns with his drinks. He sets them down on the table and looks around. “Where is my wife? I swear I brought her here.”

“Jungkook took her out for a dance,” you laugh.

“Oh, he did, did he?” Mr. Kang asks, looking out at the dance floor and catching sight of Jungkook dipping Mrs. Kang and making her guffaw. “Ooh,” Mr. Kang comments, “looks like Jungkook’s done me a bit of a favor. I haven’t heard her make that sound since the 60s.”

You all laugh, and Mr. Kang’s eyes settle on you. “Of course, you’re the reason why we’re all here. I guess you’re really the person I should thank.”

You shrug. “I’m just glad the set wasn’t a total disaster, given how things started.” 

Mr. Kang’s eyes shine over Yoongi. “I’m much more interested in how things end, myself,” he says, looking back at you. He extends his hand to you. “C’mon. Since our dance cards our empty for this song.”

You smile and take Mr. Kang’s hand.

You can tell Mr. Kang was probably quite the looker in his heyday. Not to say he isn’t handsome now, but in his youth, you know that he was probably one sought-after bachelor in his own right. That, plus his charm, and sweetness, could melt a heart over and over again.

Some of that charm and sweetness settle over you now, as he guides you in a mid-tempo dance.

“You did great, Boss,” he says softly, and you chuckle sheepishly. “No, I mean it,” he presses on. “That was truly magical. I can’t imagine what you and Yoongi are cooking up in that studio every night.”

“The songs won’t be out for quite some time,” you admit.

“I’m not talking about the songs,” Mr. Kang says, his eyes twinkling. 

He turns you so that you face Yoongi, and you’re surprised to see him watching you and Mr. Kang dancing, his eyes so soft. Though he answers Namjoon and Hobi as they talk, looking over to them every now and then and laughing, he always finds you again in the crowd.

“He really is a good boy,” Mr. Kang tells you. “So be good to him. Be good to each other.”

You nod. 

And that clinches it. 

There’s no more confusion. No more vacillating. You’re just as game as you were when Yoongi offered to play for you. 

You want to know what it could be like if neither of you ever had to leave the stage. 

You all gather outside, saying your goodbyes and figuring out your ways home. 

Mr. Kang and an admittedly grabby Mrs. Kang scamper off like teenagers to Mr. Kang’s car, parked just down the way.

Before he heads out, you plant a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek, and he tells you, “You’ve gotta tell me what that look was for, before you started.”

“Oh, believe me, just wait,” you whisper back.

When Namjoon and Hobi call for a car, they already know to call it just for two. And as you hug them goodnight, Namjoon drunkenly mumbles in your ear, “If you have s’more drinks, don’t let him have more’n five. Otherwise, he’ll fall asleep before things get interesting!” 

You and Namjoon share in wild laughter as Hobi carts him into the car, and though Yoongi wants to demand what provoked it, he chooses to glare at a chuckling Hobi instead.

Alone at last, you and Yoongi turn to each other. 

“Allow me,” Yoongi says.

“Hmm?” 

You see his arm move again, and you look down. His hand is reaching for your guitar case.

“Oh!” you say. No one, not even your ex, has ever offered to carry your guitar for you. “Um… sure. Thank you.”

You hand it to him, and as he takes the guitar case in his hand, he stealthily takes your now-free hand in his, turning to stand next to you, and leading you down the sidewalk.

You let out a soft chuckle. “Damn. That was smooth.”

Yoongi turns to you. He slightly winks and sticks his tongue out before nodding his chin up with a grin.

You think you might die.

“Cold?” he asks you, his thumb rubbing against yours.

“Not too cold,” you say, your heart so full that it’s radiating warmth.

“Tired?” 

“Definitely not.”

Yoongi smirks. “Perfect.”

You look up and you realize that you’re a little disoriented, though. For the amount of time that you’ve been walking, buildings that should be there are not there, and buildings that should not be there are.

Now, you really think you might die.

“Uh, where are we going?” you ask nervously.

“I’m walking you home,” Yoongi says simply.

“We’re walking in the wrong direction,” you point out to him.

“Well, we’re getting a celebratory meal, and then I’m walking you home,” he clarifies.

He leads you to a 24-hour diner that you didn’t know existed. It’s a little off the beaten path, populated mostly by long-haul truckers and all sorts of night shift workers who are stopping by for their break. 

People here seem to know Yoongi, and he nods to them as he leads you to what you assume is his usual booth.

“One of your hangouts?” you ask.

Yoongi shrugs, gently setting your guitar case down on his side of the booth. “A newer one, but yeah, been coming here for weeks now.”

“Every week, after my set?” you ask, relishing in the look of surprise on Yoongi’s face when you say it.

“You---” Yoongi clears his throat. “You know that I come every week?”

“The DJ told me tonight,” you say, as a waiter comes up to you with a couple of menus.

You and Yoongi smile at him, and then you start going through the huge books, all kinds of pictures of all kinds of meals flashing by as you turn the laminated pages.

“Why do you come every week?” you ask, peeking over your menu at him to gauge his reactions.

He does the same with you. “I like listening to you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming?”

“Didn’t want to make you nervous.”

You laugh. “We play together every day. Why would I be nervous?”

“I can tell when I make you nervous, Boss,” he says, his voice low and suggestive.

You feel his foot graze yours, and you start to blush. You lower your menu and look up at him. He’s looking at the bottom right corner of his menu. But he’s smirking.

You raise your menu again before you smile to yourself.

“Well, I like listening to you, too,” you say. “You play beautifully. How did you pick up Two Hearts so fast?”

“Been playing piano for years and years.” Yoongi sets his menu down. “My Eomma says that I’m so talented because she did the Baby Mozart tapes while she was pregnant.” He mimes his mother’s pregnant stomach, with headphones surrounding it. “Headphones and all.”

You laugh to yourself, imagining a baby Yoongi with a baby beanie in his mother’s stomach. Listening to Mozart. Frowning.

A group of college-aged kids burst into the diner, probably drunk and in search of greasy food to mop up all that liquor and booze. They thankfully choose a booth farther away from where you’re sitting, but then you hear a familiar tune that they’re carrying with them.

Jimin’s -- well, the trio’s -- latest single.

You feel Yoongi stiffen, and the waiter arrives with water, and mugs for coffee. He takes your orders, some waffles, and an omelette, before collecting your menus and heading over to the group of college kids.

“Ignore it,” you tell Yoongi, who just smiles.

There’s a pause. And then, Yoongi asks, “Have you seen the music video?” 

You nod. “It’s such a cool idea. But I hate that it’s set to your song.”

Yoongi purses his lips. “The idea for the video was ours, too.”

There are seemingly no depths to Jimin’s effrontery, nor your disappointment in him. You sigh, and Yoongi looks at you gratefully before adding, “But I’m trying to let it all go. The anger. The resentment.” He smiles at you. “There are new, better things to think about.”

You grin. “Did you ever get a chance to talk to him after that day?” you ask.

Yoongi traces shapes in the condensation of his water. “A couple of weeks after it happened, I went to go see him. Try to talk some sense into him. Convince him to come back.”

You lean forward. You’ve never heard this part of the story, and you get the feeling that Namjoon and Hobi haven’t either. 

“And?” 

Yoongi suddenly looks like he regrets bringing it up.

“I’m here to listen, but we don’t have to talk about it,” you say.

Yoongi sighs. He kind of wants to tell you. He kind of needs you to know. And he thinks you’ll understand.

“Well… I’m assuming that Namjoon told you that the reason Jimin was upset was because I left for an anniversary dinner with my ex, Yaeji,” Yoongi begins. When you nod, he goes on to say, “When I went to see Jimin, I saw Yaeji in the hallway, knocking on his door and calling out to him. Saying things. And… like… moaning things.”

He gets fidgety, and you can only imagine what sorts of things.

“We were already fighting, and me being late to our anniversary dinner was the last straw for her. She broke up with me that night. And I totally understood. But when I saw her looking for comfort from him, after he had just taken all my work… I just…” 

He sighs and slides his hands off the table and back into his lap. Like taking bullets out of a gun.

You watch him. Observe him.

“I’m so sorry,” you say quietly.

More silence passes between you.

“Did he open the door?” you ask.

“I didn’t stick around to find out. Neither of them saw me,” Yoongi replies.

The waiter returns with your food, and though you both thank the waiter, you both also just stare at your plates. 

“Sorry to kill the vibe,” Yoongi apologizes. “We were having such a nice---”

“My ex’s name is Jae-hwa,” you tell him, cutting the omelette in two and splitting it between you both. You pick up your fork and start to eat. “He was an asshole, too.”

Yoongi smiles at you. He reaches for his own fork and starts to dig in. “Oh?”

“Yeah. My Eomma, which, don’t worry, you’ll get earfuls of her later,” you say, rolling your eyes as Yoongi chuckles warmly at the thought that there will be a later, “well, she thought Jae was a pretty good catch. But to her, the only things that mattter are looks and money.”

“What did he do?” Yoongi asks, and you selfishly appreciate the edge in his voice, and the assumption that the breakup is Jae’s fault.

“It was more what he couldn’t do for me,” you explain. “He is stable and generally pleasant. But I never felt serious about him. He was so selfish. With chores. With dates. With sex.” Your eyes meet Yoongi’s, and you both grin knowingly. “And with the way he ended things.”

“How did things end?” Yoongi asks, his cheek poking out, full of waffle.

“I was performing at an open mic thing, and he chose to break up with me that night,” you say.

Yoongi’s eyes widen.

“Two acts before me,” you add.

Yoongi gasps.

“To a cover of Into the Mystic,” you finish.

Yoongi coughs, nearly choking on his food. He quickly chews and swallows his bite, and then he chases it with some coffee. “Are you fucking serious?” he asks, his voice raspy.

“Yeah,” you say, disgusted. “And it wasn’t even a good cover.”

“Into the Mystic? That’s like…” Yoongi’s eyes move back and forth quickly, searching for a metaphor. “That’s like someone taking you to heaven only to tell you that you can’t go inside.”

You brighten. “Exactly.”

Both of you eat and chat, catching each other up on life’s yarns. Tales of the trio when they were a quartet. Notes about Eomma and Unnie. Fond memories of Mr. Kang and the shop, both old and new. Even the backstory of Antique Store Guy and Candle Shop Lady.

Soon, Yoongi is walking you up to the front door of your lobby, still clutching your guitar case.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say. And then you laugh. “And, I guess, this morning.”

Yoongi smiles. “We tend to stretch on, don’t we?”

You nod. “But I like that about us.” You smile. “I like that we live in the wee small hours.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath and looks at you sweetly. As he exhales, his pink cheeks and nose wiggling, his breath condenses in the cold air.

“Listen,” you say, softly, stepping into him and catching him off-guard. 

He peers down at you as you wrap the ends of his scarf in your fingers. “About Yaeji… I’m so sad that things had to end,” you tell him earnestly.

Yoongi’s free hand finds its way to your hip. “Well, I’m actually glad. And I’m glad that Jae broke up with you, too,” he tells you. He wraps both of his arms around you, his hands crossing behind your back and pulling you close, your guitar case resting just on your ass. 

He breathes you in. “If those things hadn’t happened, then you and I wouldn’t have…” 

“I know,” you say.

And then, the moment comes. The moment that you always wait for. The moment you decide whether things are going to start or stop. Like always, you’re hoping that something magical happens. That moment tends to end a certain way, like it did with Jungkook. But what you’re not realizing is that Yoongi already feels the magic happening. It’s been happening all night. To him, you are the magic.

You catch sight of the iron gate of Mr. Kang’s storefront.

“Do I remind you of Mr. Kang?” you ask meekly.

“Mr… Kang?” Yoongi asks, confused.

You smile brightly, and you push yourself up on your toes, kissing Yoongi, full, and soft.

Yoongi hugs you tight and kisses you back, hungry, as if he hadn’t just had a whole meal a few minutes before this.

The push past the front door of the lobby and on through the door to your apartment is a blur. You remember squeezes, and kisses, and giggles, and slight trips, and one minor collision with a neighbor. 

But then, you’re in the comfort of your own home, and Yoongi’s setting your guitar case down, along with his coat, his scarft, and his beanie, in his spot at the kitchen table.

You crash into each other again, helping each other undress as you kiss passionately, fumbling for each other as you make your way to your bedroom and land on your mattress.

Now that Yoongi’s lips are on you, you realize that it feels so natural. You feel more naked without them than without your clothes. 

You wrestle playfully with each other, and eventually, Yoongi sits back against your headrest as you straddle him, kissing, hands roving, bodies heating up. You reach down for his cock, strained and trapped by his jeans during your last session, but now, swollen and pulsing and free. You stroke him as you kiss, and when you get it just right, he bites your bottom lip and lets out a moan.

He reaches down for your pussy, already wet for him, already yearing for him. He massages you, sighing at the sight of you, finally feeling like he can take as much as he gives with you, and thankful that you’ll let him.

You bend down and wrap your tongue around the tip of his cock, making Yoongi suck in his breath and hit the top of his head against the wall.

You both laugh, and you ask, “Are you OK?”

“Am I OK??” Yoongi asks sarcastically, curling his fingers into a fist and resting it on his forehead. “God, keep going, please.”

You chuckle, the vibrations in your throat buzzing his shaft as you bob up and down his length, aiming to make him as soaked as you are, lapping every single inch of him over and over. He starts to move his hips, and you take it as a compliment, continuing to suck and lick, whatever drives him wild enough to act.

“Fuck, you taste so good. I want this inside me, now,” you say, looking up at him.

“But I haven’t even,” Yoongi pants, almost sounding worried, “I h-haven’t even gone down on you yet, and you’ve b-been wanting it, and I---”

“Next time,” you say urgently. “Right now, I want this.”

Yoongi opens his arms to you and nods, cueing you to place your palms against his chest, melting into his embrace.

Finally, you straddle him, sink down onto him, and you both shiver at how good it feels.

You’ve never been this connected with someone before. For the most part, the sex that you have had has been rushed. You discovered your sexuality quite early, your fingers already dextrous at their maneuvers while your schoolmates were still learning what the clitoris even was. You lost your virginity in five minutes to some unworthy soul that you completely forgot in six. Whether it was because you only had such little privacy at home, or because you had such limited time after you grew up and moved out, you’d draw pleasure out of yourself so furiously and straightforwardly, desiring nothing but the feeling of your body bursting, and putting up with anything and everything to get there. You fast-forward through the kissing and romancing when you watch porn. As if you’d watch a whole video. In your private bookmarks are just a series of clips, some even shorter than the most viral social media clips that litter your text threads. Your libido is difficult to quench, something that your fuckbuddies and lovers and boyfriends found incredibly sexy at first, but laborious in the end. You were always racing full-speed when chasing your next orgasm, thinking the other things were nice but inevitably inconsequential. Instead of stopping to smell the roses, you were always doing everything you could to get yours to blossom as quickly as you could.

Sex with Yoongi completely turns you on your head.

He’s so patient. Not because he’s understanding and empathic, though, incidentally, he is. He’s so patient because he’s so confident. He knows that whatever happens, you will explode, and it will be because of something he’s done to you. 

He feels so familiar, like an exact copy of your unconscious, the personification of everything you never knew you wanted but so desperately needed someone to do with you. In Yoongi, you have finally found someone who was willing to give it his all, for as long as you want. 

And he takes… his… damn… time.

He forces you to slow down, and in doing so, he directs your attention to your other senses. Even now, your bodies exposed and tangled, the feel of his thick cock inside of you, the feel of his lips and tongue wrestling with yours -- all of it is drowned out by the achingly slow pace at which his palms are rubbing your back. Both of his hands start in the middle of your spine, where his forearms had previously been resting and pulling you to him. His right hand slides down at the same pace to grab your ass. His left hand slowly climbs up your spine to tangle his fingers into your hair.  And he pulls you back a little by your hair as you ride him, your knees sliding adagio and in circles on the mattress on either side of Yoongi’s hips.

You moan as he paws at you, your hips automatically picking up the pace as he leans forward and deepens your kiss. At the feel of the unexpected faster pace, Yoongi breaks your kiss by raising his neck again, resting the crown of his head against the wall while his back is propped up firmly against your headboard. His legs stretch out in front of him, and you rest your hands back on his thighs, moving your hips in wider, faster circles now. He bites his lip and groans as you bob your hips up and down, rocking against him. 

“Easy,” he tells you.

You whine and have every intention of disobeying, but suddenly, you feel pin pricks and pinches on your scalp.

“Ow,” you complain, giggling a little and reaching for Yoongi’s hand in your locks, fingers spread apart and gently cradling the back of your head.  When Yoongi’s eyes flash open and land on yours, you smile reassuringly. “I think my hair is caught in your watch.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, his brow creasing with worry as he does his best to free his hand without tugging any more than he needs to. “Not like we need this thing right now anyway,” he adds, smirking. 

Even Yoongi’s grandfather’s watch forces you to slow down. You keep moving, feeling the head of his cock with your walls clenched tight, watching him in splendor as Yoongi keeps his right hand glued on your ass, rubbing it and squeezing it languidly but firmly so as to show you what pace to maintain. He locks eyes with you and slowly draws his left wrist to his mouth. He parts his lips and sets his teeth on either side of the black, leather strap of his watch. You see the pink of his tongue slowly slide the tail of the band through the loops, and you watch his teeth nimbly undo the buckle. Your abdomen tightens involuntarily and deliciously as you watch him bite the end of the strap of the watch and gently pull it from his wrist, the face of the watch glimmering up at you as it dangles just under his chin. No, you don’t need this instrument right now, not unless, instead of marking time, it can stop it, or give you all that you could ever want.

You can’t believe you ever thought that this part of sex was overrated.

You’ve been here forever, and you’d gladly stay here as long as Yoongi would let you. You haven’t switched positions once, but you’re so in the moment that you aren’t letting your mind wander, wondering about things like if Yoongi’s ass is getting numb with you sitting on top of him like this, and you won’t feel the rug burn on your knees and calves from all your grinding until hours later.

Yoongi’s eyes finally let go of yours when he turns to your bedside table, using his left hand to set his watch down before walking his fingers up your spine and combing them through your hair. They settle back into place to hold the back of your head as he brings you to him, parting his lips, and making you part yours.

You can’t stop thinking about Yoongi’s famous tongue, your mind still trying to make sense of what you’ve just watched him do. You felt his pride and joy on your chest for the first time earlier, his tongue like a new visitor that had traveled down the path of your neck and chest to set up camp on your bosom, the strong muscle happily swirling around your nipples as his jaw widened and narrowed the boundaries within which it could play. He nipped at you, told you that your skin tasted good, salty and sweet, maybe even a little flowery, like your perfume, taste and scent mixing together on his palate. You wonder what his opinions might be about the other parts of your flesh, like your soft belly, or the meat of your ass, or, most importantly, the velvet, glabrous parts of you that are starting to quiver now, stimulated by the way his cock is twitching with excitement.

You almost regret declining his offer to show you, but you remember that you’ll have time to find out.

“I think I’m going to come,” you whisper, breaking your kiss.

His voice purrs deep in his throat. “So come.”

The way he says it. So simply. As if you hadn’t been struggling all this time with it. Like all you had to do was make a choice. And you realize that it really is that clear for him. He’s a man of his word. This is what he does. He produces.

You lean back and start to move in waves now instead of circles, quickening your pace. But Yoongi moves his hands to your thighs and squeezes, reminding you what he means. Don’t come right now. Don’t rush it. When it comes, which it absolutely will, just let it. 

It’s a valuable lesson, one that you think every musician may not remember to practice, but understands inherently. You don’t renumber measures or skip forward in a track just to hear your favorite parts. Every note has its place, and they’re all important in building up the overall, lasting high.

Yoongi leans forward, connecting with you, smiling into your kiss upon hearing the melody of your whines and whispers of his name. He loves doing this to you. With you. Writing symphonies together.

His hands move up to your temples, caressing the sides of your face and running down your neck, shoulders, upper arms. His touch tickles your skin as he strokes his cock firmly with you. He doesn’t speed up, but he’s starting to move his hips a little more, deepening his thrusts as you meet him with your hips. His hands settle on them, gripping and kneading the fold where your legs meet your pelvis, fingers entrancing you as they move to your front and tease the soft skin of your mound. He takes all of his fingers away but one, his right index finger, which he curls into a hook. He places the stretch between the top knuckle, just under his nail, and the middle knuckle, the next bend after that, flat on your pussy. He strokes it softly and looks into your eyes, gently asking you if you want him there.

You close your eyes, moaning at his touch, making him smile happily. Of course he’s wanted there, your body tells him. And he so loves being wanted.

You’d kind of forgotten about your clit until he places the pads of his upturned fingers between your folds, opening you up. Your clit screams out, and you groan with pleasure. You feel your released desire dripping onto him, and onto your sheets, your emotions and juices leaking everywhere.

Yoongi slides the soles of his feet up and meets your back with his thighs, giving you something to rest against as he starts to take control, never abandoning the pace that he’s set from the beginning. His fingers start to circle around your clit at that same pace, making you shiver.

“How’s it feel?” he murmurs. You both know that he probably doesn’t need to ask, but your eyes are still closed, hiding the facts, and Yoongi just wants to make sure.

“P-perfect,” you stutter, both of your hands gliding into your hairline and feeling just how sweaty you’ve become. You grab fistfuls and moan. “It’s fucking perfect.”

You start to move your hips with him, trying to increase the tempo, but he smacks you on the thigh playfully with his other hand.

“Am I going to have to resort to spanking you?” he challenges, laughing and biting his lip.

You giggle and open your eyes, and Yoongi beams so brightly. 

That smile. It does something to you. Your heart’s been racing this entire time, but you feel like certain pulses are dropping and erratic. It feels like an old, worn record. 

Like it’s skipping beats.

You’re not just shivering now. You’re full on shaking, and you can’t help it.

“Yoongi,” you whine desperately.

He licks his lips and lets his jaw hang slightly open to take in more air. “Stay with me now.”

His fingers press harder into you, swimming around your drenched bud and sticky lips, the sound erotic and dirty. As tears pool in your eyes, his other hand lets go of your thigh, running up your side and along your arm to find your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours, and you grasp him tightly, palms and skin so, so sweaty. 

You can’t believe how wet you are, everywhere. Beads trickle down your chests. There’s a stain on the headboard from the crown of Yoongi’s head. Condensation from the steam you’re co-creating appears on the sheets around you. Nothing, though, is wetter than where your hips meet, Yoongi starting to fuck you deeper, pressing deeply and noisily into your mattress and using the energy from the springs to launch himself up, raising his ass off the bed when he slams into you. The sound and feel of you rhythmically colliding again and again reminds you of jumping jubilantly into puddles.

He starts to wiggle his hips a little with each thrust, really trying to screw himself into you, the tip of his cock slamming into your wall as if it hopes that with just one more dig, it can break through. Your cunt tightens as if trying to catch it and hold it in place, unable to fully grip its lubricated shaft as it glides in and out. He lets out a grunt as your folds hug him tighter, and harder, squeezing him and shaping him so seductively that he almost breaks his own rules about the tempo. 

Your hand balls his palm into your fist, bending his knuckles back and popping them.

“Fuck!” you cry out, your neck starting to go limp, and your other hand latching onto your breast, fingers taking your nipple between them and clasping tightly as your palm massages your skin.

You bring your hands to your mouth, and you start to suck on Yoongi’s fingers, biting where he bites when he’s anxious, running your tongue to soothe him again.

“Aahh,” he groans. Yoongi has to shut his eyes. It’s so much. Too much. You already feel so good around him, insanely hot, unthinkably taut. If he watches the way that you’re squirming and playing with your gorgeous body, and if he sees how red and purple your tongue is making the tips of his fingers, he’ll fall apart right away.

His fingers and thumb start to wrap around your clit, five points of pressure surrounding the bundle, and he starts to stroke it, his fingers tightly dragging down all sides of it before reaching the bulb and spreading out a little, slightly parting your folds as they go, before regrouping at the base of your clit to do it again. And again. And again. And again.

Your ass pushes into his thighs, and you furrow your brow. Your shoulder blades slam into Yoongi’s knees, and you go completely limp. Your clit can’t take it anymore. It prompts you to come, wave after wave, nonstop, overwhelming, mumbling a mix of “Yoongi”s and “yes”es in staccato bursts, the only way you can get them out with your sharp and ragged breathing.

It’s the hardest you’ve come. Maybe ever. 

But just because you come doesn’t mean Yoongi stops. 

He smiles fiendishly at you, and now, after your body has begged for it over and over again, he starts to quicken his pace.

His fingers flatten and start rubbing your clit with such speed and force that it hurts. You sob, but you nod, and Yoongi helps you push past it by whispering and moaning to you. “Shh. Almost. Almost there.” There’s a razor sharp but playful edge to his voice. “You’re a nice girl, aren’t you? Be a nice girl now.”

Your countenance disappears from sight as you drape yourself over the back of Yoongi’s knees, your hair spilling down his calves, your arms dead at your sides, the sides of your legs resting on the mattress, your body completely splayed out in front of him, unable to do anything but whimper and experience this.

He slams into you faster and faster, harder and harder, and your pussy almost becomes nonexistent, either so tight that there’s barely any room to move, or so completely destroyed by pleasure that physical forms don’t make sense right now. It all feels so rapturous, the way Yoongi’s breaking you apart into your elements to reform you into something new.

A growl bleeds from his throat, and it sounds so delectable that you reawaken, as if he’s summoning you to him. You spring forward and latch onto him, enveloping him in your embrace, clutching him tightly.

“Shiiiiiit,” you whine again, “Yoongi. Fuck. It’s so, so good.”

He grunts, and you start to bounce on him, using your knees for full leverage, and slapping your hands onto the headboard and wall for even more.

Yoongi growls again, and he bites your neck, sucking hard as he digs his nails, still covered in your saliva, into your back. You suck in some air and lean down to kiss him, both of you moving so fast and erratically now that your mattress is slightly off of the bed frame, and your motions have knocked your phone and Yoongi’s watch to the ground from your bedside table to the ground.

Your cunt tightens like a vice grip, and you come again, bringing Yoongi with you this time, drawing every last drop of his cum and pleasure and thoughts and sex out of him. You burst around the head of his cock, marinating him in your juices, your cunt still so unyielding that your liquids can only seep warmly down his shaft, sousing his still-wet sack. He goes slack and loses his breath, muttering appreciatively as you slow your movements, easing you both off of your highs.

Inevitably, you come to a stop, still like the world around you.

You curl into his chest, and he rests his lips against your forehead. It surprises you. Yes, you’ve just had mind-blowing sex, but it’s so… intimate.

With sleepy eyes, he looks up at you, dragging a finger through your folds, making you moan a little, before raising his finger to his mouth. He tastes you, and he smiles. “Delicious.”

“You’ll have to have the whole meal next time,” you reply, making him laugh.

“I thought you were a nice girl,” Yoongi says thoughtfully, making you laugh softly through your nose. You don’t yet have the energy to give much else of a response, and Yoongi says, “Though, I guess we did already have breakfast”, making you laugh again.

As he strokes your hair, you think of Yoongi’s eyes taking you in as you sang those words during your first set at the jazz lounge. And his eyes tonight. For as long as you’ve been working together, you still can’t believe the feeling of having his eyes on you. It drives you crazy. You know he could be looking at literally anything or anyone else, and you’re completely puzzled as to why he’s continuing to choose to train them on you. 

You sit up and look into those eyes now. And even though he’s smiling in sleepy bliss at you, there’s still a bit of that enticing edge. Suddenly, you remember what Mr. Kang told you about Yoongi.

“I thought you were a good boy,” you say back naughtily.

Yoongi’s eyes deepen, and his smile widens. “Mm,” he thrums cryptically. Then, he pulls you in tighter, his arms resting around your waist, his soft pout kissing your breasts carefully. “C’mere. Let’s get some rest.”

He cranes his neck up, and you smile at him. You tuck your sweaty strands behind your ears, and you nestle your fingers into Yoongi’s drenched locks, just at his temple. And you bring your lips to his, kissing him gently.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, he helps you lift up and move off of him, caringly, knowing how raw it all still feels, knowing because he’s raw, too. But not just right now, as a result of something shared. 

What you don’t know is that he’s raw all the time.

He lies down next to you, his lips just grazing your ear. He starts to hum quietly, a soft, aimless tune.

“Are you singing me a lullaby?” you chuckle, feeling so warm and cozy that you’re starting to fade.

“I can,” he tells you, “but you heard what Namjoon and Hobi said about my terrible voice.”

“I love your voice,” you whisper, reaching back for him. 

His hand is resting on your hip. You place your hand on top of his and bring his arm around you, lacing your fingers together and locking them to your chest. You feel his lips curl into a contagious smile, which you catch as his soft pout sliding against your ear lobe, making you smile, too.

“In the wee small hours of the morning, while the whole wide world is fast asleep…”

His singing voice is so deep. Low, and warm. Soothing. Comforting. 

“You lie awake and think about the girl, and never, ever think of counting sheep…” 

His thumb starts to move over your knuckles in a slow rhythm, and he starts to slide his legs closer to you.

“When your lonely heart has learned its lesson, you'd be hers if only she would call…” 

You feel the rest of his body moulding you. His arm relaxing so that you feel its full weight on your body. His hips against you. His knees filling the space in the backs of yours. Your feet touching under the covers.

“In the wee small hours of the morning…” 

You breathe, and it feels like you’re breathing him in.

“That's the time you miss her most of all.”

As you settle into slumber, your heart does that thing again.

It skips a beat.

Countermelody | Masterpost

<< 02: Tuning | 04: Modulation >>

[war-of-the-words]

A December Night

A very merry Christmas and happy holidays to my @dcmkkaishinevents giftee, Clef! I sincerely hope this gift makes you smile! -Two

Kaito hated wearing heels. They weren’t any problem for him now, he could wear them for hours if he had to, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed them. And when you’re disguised as an attractive young woman at a private auction for high-priced items, heels were practically mandatory. Plus, heels made his legs look fantastic.

He hadn’t sent an advance notice this time. He just wanted it to be a quick in and out kind of deal. The majority of this decision was because Nakamori finally got time off and he promised Aoko that he would spend the day holiday shopping together. Aoko had been so excited to hear it, and Kaito thought that they both deserved some father-daughter time.

Unfortunately, that meant that Kaito had to spend more time than he liked weaseling an invitation for his disguise from the organizers. It never ceased to amaze him how sleazy “high class” people could be. But he was there now, circling the buffet table like a shark and eating his fill of the pretentious mini desserts. 

“Excuse me?” a voice said from behind him. An incredibly familiar voice that made Kaito’s blood run cold.

“Hm?” he hummed, turning around and giving the intruder a warm smile. The face wasn’t one he wanted to see. Kudou Shinichi stood there, looking incredibly handsome in a fitted charcoal suit, a smile on his face. Kaito hated how he couldn’t help but notice the way one side of his lip always pulled a little higher than the other.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you babe.” What did he just say? 

“Um, I think you’ve-” Kudou tilted his head ever so slightly, a sharp look in his eyes. Kaito slid his gaze to where Kudou indicated and noticed one of the more sleazy organizers orbiting a little too close for comfort. It clicked, Kudou had seen a woman in potential danger and stepped in like a knight in shining armor. “-got the wrong idea about why we came here, dear. The jewelry is great and all, but you know I can’t resist a good dessert table!” Kudou laughed, it made Kaito’s heart do backflips. Why, of all the people that could materialize at a secret KID heist it had to be him.

“How did you think I knew to find you here?” Kaito was about to respond, but the organizer finally decided to make his move.

“Miss Yamagi!” He said, walking over from where he was not so subtly eavesdropping. “I didn’t know you knew Kudou Shinichi!” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, he thought he was catching Kaito in a lie here, whether for leverage to get Kaito alone or to make a fool of him like the rich often like to do.

“Of course I do.” Kaito said, pushing as much honey into his voice as possible. He ran a hand through his long blonde wig. Yamagi was an aspiring model after all, a good cover for being taller than average, and a wonderful opportunity to use one of his favorite wigs, but she was best for winning over unruly men. Kaito watched the way the organizer followed Kaito’s hand as he played with his hair, winding the soft locks around his finger. How easy this would be. “We’ve been seeing one another for a while now, but its a secret.” Kaito pushed out his bottom lip into an adorable pout.

“Her modeling career hasn’t taken off yet, and my darling refuses any help from my family. She’s determined to get there on her own terms; that’s why she insisted on getting her own invitation to this event instead of being my plus one.” Kudou said, moving closer to Kaito’s side and smoothly wrapping his arm around Kaito. Kaito didn’t want to think about how easy it was to lean into Kudou’s side. 

“Is- is that so?” The organizer looked like he was trying very hard to refrain from mentioning the PDA. “Well, be careful that the press here doesn’t see you.”

“We will,” Kudou said with a cold smile, letting the organizer know his intentions were known, “We’ll just be on our way, excuse us.” And with that Kudou guided Kaito out towards the balcony, which was devoid of people thanks to the chilly weather.

“Thank you,” Kaito said once they were out of earshot of the rest of the guests. He could’ve easel handled it himself, but it was nice to be given help.

“You’re welcome, although I have to admit I had ulterior motives.” Kudou shimmed off his suit jacket and wordlessly placed it around Kaito’s bare shoulders. Suddenly, Kaito was very thankful he had worn a strapless dress.

“Oh, and what might those be?” Kudou probably didn’t know he was KID, he hadn’t even sent a notice so there should be no reason to even suspect that KID would be here.

“I just wanted to know why such a beautiful girl would look so lost.” He gave Kaito another killer smile and Kaito could feel his face flush. This man is criminal. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” Kaito averted his gaze out to the clear night sky. The moon wasn’t even half full but the winter night was bright.

“Hm, my hunches usually aren’t wrong.”

“Well, this one was.”

“If you say so.”

Kaito was about to say, ‘I do say so’, but something made him stop. He chanced a glance at Kudou; he was staring at the sky too. His face was soft in the moonlight, the usual tension eased. Kaito never got to see him like this, and he was usually the reason why. He found himself playing with his hair again, he found it soothing. He called Kudou the “Great Detective” for a reason.

“You promise not to tell anyone?” Kaito cringed out how quiet it came out, how obviously nervous.

“Cross my heart.” The words hung in the air for a while, Kaito desperately trying to regain control of the pounding of his heart. It was so loud he was sure that Kudou could hear it.

 “I guess I’ve just been overthinking a lot of things lately.” The words felt thick in his mouth, and they fought to stay in his throat. “I know everyone acts differently in front of others, but sometimes I feel like I’m an extreme case.” The irony that Kaito was saying this in a voice that was not his own was not lost on him. “My jobs requires me to be someone else, but all of those people are me in one way or another. So when I’m alone I guess I don’t really know who I am. Which one of those masks are actually my real face, you know?”

“Probably, not to the same extent as you, but yeah, I think I do. You would be amazed out how often.” Kudou let out a low chuckle. Kaito laughed too. It was sweet that Kudou was trying, but he highly doubted Kudou could understand this gnawing feeling Kaito had been trying to ignore for months.

He had been changing faces as KID for so long that when he was “himself” it started to feel like an act too. Especially in front of Aoko. The amount of times he wanted to tell Aoko about his plans for a heist, a trick he was developing for KID, were piling up. Not to mention all the times Aoko dragged him shopping but he found himself shopping for his different personas instead of his best friend. He’s caught her casting suspicious glances at him when he’s spent a little too long looking at clothes Aoko would never wear. But Yamagi would, although at this point that’s the same as saying that Kaito would. His appearance had become completely detached from who he actually was. Even as the faceless Kaitou KID he put on a mask.

“It’s harder when you have no one to lean on.” Kudou interrupted his thoughts. He was still facing forward, eyes to the sky, a soft smile on his lips. “But it’s hard to find someone to lean on when what you feel feels so earth-shattering. No one can carry the weight of the world but Atlas after all.” Kudou turned to look at him, still wearing a smile Kaito never had the privilege of seeing before. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of Kaito’s hair behind his ear, and Kaito shivered but not from the cold. Kudou let his hand linger on Kaito’s cheek, it’s warmth a stark contrast to the night chill. Kaito was sure now that Kudou could feel his racing pulse, and the sound of it nearly made Kaito miss the announcement that the auction was about to begin. It was a chance to escape, to slip away from this dreamlike moment and return to his reality.

“Kudou, I really appreciate what you did for me tonight, but I-”

“Of course, this is an auction after all. But what did you come here for?” Kaito contemplated it, it couldn't hurt to tell him, right? Kudou just thought he was an attractive young model-

He never told Kudou he was a model. He never had a chance, Kudou just said he was a model to the organizer. Did he just guess? He was a detective after all, and considering Yamagi’s height it wouldn’t be that big of a stretch… “A necklace,” Kaito said tentatively.

“I thought so,” Kudou was still so close to Kaito, he could feel the detective’s hot breath on his face as he breathed out a laugh. 

 “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but this is the first time we’re meeting, isn’t it?” Kaito tilted his head in the way that made most men swoon and gave Kudou a pretty little smile. If Kudou had suspicions he had to dissuade them as quickly as possible.

“Mmm, no. It isn’t.” Kudou’s lip pulled up into that smirk that made Kaito want to simultaneously flee and kiss him senseless. He reached into his pants pocket, and Kaito had to physically fight the urge to run as fast as possible. He did not need to make a scene. Instead, he closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. Stupid crush, making him act all stupid. He should have just thanked Kudou as quickly as possible and ran. He hadn’t made any announcements on purpose. And why had Kudou said ‘I thought so?’.

His thoughts were cut short as he felt hands brush the side of his neck and a weight fall onto his chest. Startled, he opened his eyes and took a step back. “What?” Kaito stammered, confused. Glancing down, he saw his target, glimmering in the moonlight. “What?” Kaito said again, searching Kudou’s eyes for answers.

“It really suits you, KID.” And Kaito probably would have run if Kudou’s voice hadn’t been so damn gentle. “I knew it would suit you as soon as I saw it.”

“Okay Meitantei, you’re going to have to break this one down for me.” Kaito said, with his own voice this time. It didn’t seem to faze Kudou.

“I knew it was you as soon as I saw you walk in. Your presence fills the room, KID, even if you don’t mean it too.”

“I think you’re the only person with that problem, Meitantei.”

“I would never call that a problem, KID. But after I saw you, I was sure you were here for something from the auction.”

“But I didn’t send a notice, how did you know I wasn’t just here for fun?”

“And free dessert? Just call it a hunch. And the knowledge that Nakamori was very excited to have some time off to spend with his daughter.” Kaito let out a sigh.

“I hate how much you know about me.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Oh, cocky now, aren’t we? So, what’s the catch, you’ve got me collared,” Kaito gestured at the very expensive piece of jewelry around his neck, “are you going to turn me in?”

“What, I can’t just get you a Christmas present?”

“Seriously? Shinichi, I know what the starting price for this was going to be, and I don’t want to know how much you paid to buy it before it could even be put on sale. This isn’t something you just give to your favorite rival.”

“Hmm, I suppose it isn’t. But rivals also don’t call each other by their first names.”

“I, um, well-”

“Look, KID, I like you. A lot. I’m drawn to you like a moth to a flame. I’ve come to terms with that now, and if the way you’ve reacted to me tonight was anything to go by, I might have a chance.”

“You haven’t been flirting with me all night because you think I’m a hot supermodel?”

“I’ve been flirting with you all night because you’re Kaitou KID. It’s just a bonus that I got to see you looking like a hot supermodel.”

“But that whole thing I said about-”

“I told you, KID, it’s so much easier to share it with someone, and I desperately want to be that someone. You’re not Atlas, and even if you were, I’d carry the world for you.”

“So you don’t care that I’m-”

“KID, you could fill in that blank with anything and my answer would be the same.”

“I’m the magician here,” Kaito laughed, “I’m supposed to be the one to leave you speechless.”

“I might know a way you could shut me up.” And there was that smirk again, but it no longer made him want to run. And so he kissed him senseless, underneath the bright December sky, where it felt like it was only the two of them in the entire world.

[authenticcadence18]

in the spirit of the other anon: what are some of your favorite pnf songs?? 👀

AHHH MADDY PLS YOU KNOW I LOVE MUSIC AND PHINEAS AND FERB THANK YOUUUU FOR THIS ASK. 

ok so! favorite songs! I’ve got a ton so let’s just jump right to it (see what i did there? lol)

What Might Have Been

This is my FAVORITE Phineas and Ferb song, I remember when whispers about a “Phinbella duet” first started circulating mid-2012 and being SO HYPED (I was so hyped I wrote my own Phinbella duet, lollllll. maybe I’ll post it sometime). I waited literal YEARS for this song and it was VERY WORTH THE WAIT. I love the instrumentation (the strings? the guitar? the drums? the hint of Isabella’s theme at the beginning of the third verse? a A H), the lyrics are just so heartfelt and sweet and poignant (with just a hint of trademark PnF humor thrown in, lol), and the vOCALS GOOD LORD, ALYSON AND VINCENT KILLED IT. And the harmonies at the end. Bless. AYA isn’t perfect but I ADORE “What Might Have Been.” Like, they really gave us a 3 1/2 minute long song of Isabella and Phineas singing about being in love. They did that for us. Sometimes, I listen to it on a loop when I need to focus...or just because I want to listen to it. It’s truly just. The best. Ah. My heart. This song deserves more mainstream attention dANG IT. 

Summer Belongs To You

This song is so uplifting and positive and the beginning is a Phinabella duet of COURSE I love it (i deeefinitely made a lil’ reference to it in a certain simile in chapter 9 of CHFIL, not sure if anyone caught that but writing it made me smile!). It always puts me in a good mood and makes me feel like I can accomplish anything. And it gets bonus points because it features Candace singing about loving her brothers!! SBTY is also one of the episodes that got me interested in the show, so this song holds a special place in my heart. 

City of Love

This song ALSO holds a special place in my heart. Like, it’s so sad but it’s so good. I love Isabella, and I feel for her (and when I first heard this song I could 100% relate to her plight, LOL). This is also the first PnF song I ever downloaded! So it’s very nostalgic and special to me. 

Us Against the Universe

I ADORE THIS SONGGG I ADORE IT SO MUCH OK IT’S JUST EVERYTHINGGG. It makes me feel ALL THE THINGS. It’s very similar to “Summer Belongs To You,” but rather than being rooted in nostalgia, it’s like a reminder that the characters are still as present and united as ever. A couple years ago, I never would’ve thought we’d get to hear the entire cast sing together ever again, so like....this song means the world to me. It’s a great song for 2020. 

The Universe is Against Me

This is ALSO the perfect song for 2020, but in a venting way as opposed to an uplifting way like the previous song. I love the imagery in the lyrics (and like...they’re surprisingly real and raw for Phineas and Ferb) Singing along to it is so cathartic, I could listen to this one on a loop and not get tired of it. 

Happy New Year

THIS SONG DESERVES TO BE ON AN ALBUM. I listen to it every new year; it really captures the feeling of New Year’s Eve and the celebration of starting over (and also. uh. I will forever associate it with Phinabella and lovely Phinabella vibes because of that scene of them dancing together).

Busted

Busted is iconic. Plain and simple. I adore it. Love the harmonies, love the vibe, I’m pretty sure this was the most listened to song on my old iPod, lol. 

Somebody Gimme a Grade

I was (and am...lol) 100% the kid who had to have the best grades they could, so this song speaks to me on an emotional level. I also love the clever wordplay--like, “you wasted all my time learning how to rhyme then left me hangin’ from a treble clef!” is sUCH A GOOD LINE LIKE WHO THOUGHT OF THAT IT’S BRILLIANT. I also love getting to see Baljeet come out of his shell a bit and express himself! 

Happy Evil Love Song

This is one of my go-to songs to play on the ukulele! It’s just so funny and sweet (as long as you don’t think about what happens after it, lol). 

I Really Don’t Hate Christmas

THIS SONG. I LOVE IT. I love that it pokes fun at the “villains hating Christmas” trope while also subverting it! It’s just, so soooooo so great. I have a great time trying to sing it each Christmas season, LOLLLL. (because those are some FAST lyrics. how did Dan do it????)

That Christmas Feelin’

This is one of my favorite Christmas songs ever!!! It really captures the vibe and joy of the season, and I always go out of my way to play it when hanging out with people who might not know it’s from Phineas and Ferb! lol

In The Empire

One of my biggest flexes is being able to sing the entire “It’s sO NOT FAIR....” section of this song, LOLLLL. It’s just such a fun one to sing!!! (or attempt to sing....hah. Ashley has SKILLS.)

Ferb Latin

Ok, this one might seem a little random, but as a musician, I am OBSESSED with how the three melodies intersect and blend together at the end of the song!!! It sounds SO GOOD. (Plus. Phinabella duet. Yes. Are y’all detecting a pattern?)

Aerial Area Rug

So I’ll just go ahead and say PHINABELLA first because this song has MASSIVE Phinabella vibes (I mean it begins with a homage to the “do you trust me?” scene with Phineas and Isabella, that’s like pure-seratonin right there). And this song is also genuinely just so beautiful. It’s sung so well and the instrumentation is gorgeous and the lyrics are so literal but like, they work very well. (and that key change baby, I love a good key change!)

Gitchee Gitchee Goo

Gitchee Gitchee Goo means that I love you! It’s a classic, and super catchy, and totally reminds me of Phinabella even though in the context of canon that isn’t what it’s about at all😅. Also! Candace and Phineas singing and having fun together will always make me smile. I crave wholesome sibling interactions. 

Thank You For Coming Along

THIS SONG MAKES ME FEEL THINGS....I really can’t think of a better send off the show could’ve had. I love how genuine it is, like a love letter to the fans, with all the references and such (I’m a sucker for fourth wall breaks, lol)! And I mean, that Phinabella moment near the end is just MAGNIFIQUE, YES, FOURTH WALL BREAK, PHINABELLA KISS REFERENCES, AND PHINEAS FLIRTING WITH ISABELLA??? WE LOVE TO SEE IT. 

We’re Back

and THIS SONG. THIS SONG RIGHT HERE. I can’t think of a better re-introduction to these characters after saying goodbye to them years ago. This song really feels like a warm hug, a welcome home. The music video Disney released for it is especially wonderful because it incorporates scenes from the show!!! I always rock out to this one whenever it comes on. It’s a gift, truly. I love it. I needed this song this year!!!

Ok I could go on and on and on but this post is getting really long so I think I’d better just post it, LOL. Maybe I can make a pt. 2 sometime, LOL. Because there are plenty of other songs I love!!! 

THANKS FOR THE ASK MADDY I HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH THIS!!!!!!

[testifytime]

hi ardent!!! im here to be government kin assigned. you pretty much know most things about me by now, but i really love music and art! i also really like sports n science!! so, uh, a pretty wide variety of interests ghjklgh. i try hard to stay kind and optimistic, and i really care about my friends!!! ty for doin these, they seem so fun!!

-Cracks my knuckles- You didn’t specify so I’ll do all.

- A Pokemon team/type theme (+ fun facts abt your team!)

You’re a fairy-type user! Your main pokemon is Sylveon, though you also have a lil Togepi, Florges, Alcremie, Marill, and Ribombee!

Fun facts!

Your Sylveon evolved without you meaning it to! You were going to evolve it into a Vaporeon, but you befriended it so quickly that it evolved before you got the water stone!

Your Togepi likes to ride around in a little backpack you made specifically for it. It’s a huge sweetie, but it also a bit of a baby; it knows Fake Tears, so it often cries whenever it wants some attention. 

Your Florges and Ribombee help you in your garden! Ribombee makes sure that all of the flowers are pollinated, and likes to help with watering them! Florges helped you plant all the flowers and how to place them beautifully, and now keeps a close eye on them for any signs of stress or illness - which, luckily, have never happened!

Your Alcremie was a gift from someone! It adores you with its whole heart, which can sometimes be a little messy; more than once it’s tried to jump into your arms, and you’ve ended up covered in sticky cream. Its sweet is a Heart, and its flavour is Mint!

Your Marill is a little different from the others. It’s a lot shyer, and tends to cling to your legs a little more. But it’s really good with kids!! It loves to go swimming with you in fresh water lakes. 

- Bloodcaste/lusus/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck troll (+lore)

You’re a bronzeblood with a Paradise Flycatcher lusus! Your chumhandle is amiableGaitey.

You live in a small house in a meadow far away from society, living a fairly simple - albeit hard - life. There’s a stream that you get most of your water from, and a clothesline that you dry your clothes from, and as soon as the sun sets, you lose all power. It’s... a bit of a pain, honestly, but you kind of like it! You eat the berries and fruits that grow in the orchard and bushes that surround your home, and sometimes you go foraging for nuts and mushrooms, but only if your lusus gives the go-ahead. You’re pretty sure a bunch of the plants near your home are deadly. You might have even made poison once? It’s kind of weird.

You spend a lot of your time outside, going for walks and picking flowers to put into scrapbooks. Sometimes you’ll take your camera with you, and take pics of all the cool plants that you have around your home! It’s fun to show your friends later, when they’re all online, and it encourages you to go out every day just a little further to see what new things you can find. You’ve even turned it into a bit of a game! So far, you’ve managed to follow your river all the way down to the cliff that it drops from, have climbed up it, and have gone racing through the woods above. The exercise is great! You love it maybe more than anything else, and you couldn’t imagine giving it up for anything in the world. 

When you’re at home, you like to spend most of your time talking to your friends online. Your husktop is solar-powered, so you settle down in a nice sunny spot just outside your home and curl up against a big beancushion for hours until that itch to get going hits you again. Sometimes you draw - they’ve gotten you into drawing more and more frivolous things, things for you, things you might not have indulged in if they hadn’t encouraged you to - and sometimes you play games. Most of the time it’s just talking and having fun, though, and you love it! You’re pretty sure you’re all going to be friends for a very long time. You hope so, anyway. 

Your lusus is pretty small. They’re kind of fae-like, if you’re honest, and they often warn you against going in mushroom circles or going too deep into the woods. They’re a supersticious little thing, really! But they make a great navigator when you’re out and about, and they warn you of oncoming trouble pretty quick, so you don’t mind having to do weird things like hop on the stepping stones of a river after saying a little thank you.

- Symbol/guardian/chumhandle as if you were a Homestuck kid (+lore)

Your symbol is a styalised bass clef that looks like a heart, and you live with your auntie! Your chumhandle is appreciativeGuitarist.

You and your auntie live in a tiny cottage at the foot of a mountain surrounded on all sides by a field of wildflowers. The kitchen doubles as a dining room, and your livingroom really only fits a small, old-fashioned tv and a sofa that’s a little too worn for wear at this point. But you have your own room! And you’ve got all your things in there, including your bike, which is kind of a pain to get in and out all the time, but you make it work. You have a small desk for your drawingpad and laptop, and a tiny bed you just about fit on, and it’s maybe a little small? But it’s also filled to the brim with clothes you love and stuffed toys you’ve collected over the years, so it’s pretty good, all things considered. Homey, more than anything.

You love to draw! You’ve really improved in the last few years, you think, and you’re getting more confident about posting your art again - so you draw, and draw, and you think maybe you’re starting to see what your friends have been telling you! You like to draw fantasy things, of yourself in different scenarios or just spending time with your friends, all of which you do on your drawing pad. It’s a pretty neat little thing to have, admittedly, though you don’t always get to save your art in the process unless you send it to yourself and save it on your phone - but it means that you’re more inclined to send your art to your friends, and you’re pretty sure they love seeing what you’ve made. 

You love to go out and about, and your little space in nature gives you the perfect place to release all that pent up energy. There’s planty of beaten paths for you to follow, and a whole moutain for you to trek up if you want! You’ve gotten lost a few times, but that’s okay; the wifi signal is weirdly good up there, and it’s easy enough to figure out a way back down again before nightfall. It makes for a pretty good bike track, too, with plenty of dips and bumps that make your stomach flip whenever you go over them too fast.

You have a bunch of friends online! Actually, you have a bunch of people who just kind of flock to you for guidance and leadership, too? It’s a little weird, and it can be a bit intimidating, but you really like being able to help people, even if it means overwhelming yourself sometimes to be good at it. Your friends make it worth it, anyway. They make you laugh and make you feel better when you’re down - which doesn’t happen often, but sometimes it’s hard to keep smiling, and they remind you that that’s okay - and they make such wonderful things with you!! You love being able to talk to them, love spending time with them, and even love getting teased by them (which, you tease them back, of course). 

You like to sit out in the field of flowers just as the sun starts to set, and the sky slowly turns from blue to orange. The wind rustles the flowers around you and curls your hair around your cheeks, and sometimes, you wonder if maybe you’re not alone.

- A FNAF animatronic design and name

You’re a sweet, pink and white boardercollie with lots of hearts in your design! Your eartips are curled over, your pupils and nose heart-shaped, and you have cute little toebeans on each paw. Your chest fur, paws, belly, and the underside of your tail are white, along with your muzzle and a stripe up to your forehead, but every other part of you is a beautiful pastel pink!

You’re designed to be a friend to any child who seems upset or let out at a party, to make them feel special and to bring them back into the fun or even just to spend the whole day with them! 

You have a designated name - Collie - but you like to let the kids decide what to name you, too. It’s fun! And it helps to make them feel like you’re a Special Friend, so you often get trusted with their secrets - like if another kid is a bully, or if they’re maybe not too happy at home. You do your best to make their time at the pizzaria as fun and happy as possible to make up for all the bad things they have to deal with - and honestly, they love going to Freddy’s just to see you! It’s their favourite place in the whole wide world because they know you’re there. 

(You also tend to send information back to the owners about anything worrying you’ve heard while out on the floor. This has saved a lot of kids. They’ve often come back in smiling brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and they haven’t needed you after that, but that’s okay. You know that’s for the best.)

- A BNHA Quirk and hero title

Your quirk is Uplift, which allows you to raise the spirits of any person who hears your voice! It doesn’t matter how down they are or how villainous they may be; as soon as they hear you, their hearts are filled with brightness and warmth. The downside to your quirk, unfortunately, is that it can be draining on you: sometimes you Uplift others so much, that your own mood starts to drop, and you start to get emotionally tired. When this happens, you just need a little company, warmth, and love to get you back to normal. Cuddlepuddles with blankets and hot chocolate ARE common after training.

Your hero title is The Inspiring Hero: Restoraise! You’re more of a support hero than a daylight one, and not very high on the charts, but that’s not what matters to you. What matters is keeping people calm and full of hope whenever you’re on the scene - be that upset civillains, trapped victims, or even hopeless villains. You refuse to let anyone down if there’s even a slim chance that everyone can be saved or redeemed! 

[nikkoleon]

The end of the year is upon us, so there are some things that I’d like to say in regard.

First off, I’d like to thank each and every person who has followed me over the year. Never have I ever had this many supporters of my work and everyone who likes, reblogs, sends inbox messages, comments in tags, ect, ect mean so much to me and any form of your support is really and truly uplifting and motivation

I’ve been told frequently that I inspire people, but it’s those I am inspiring that are showing me so much love that keeps me doing what I do and these same people inspire me to keep on working.

Also, people that I have met over time such as Roth, Clef, and Bright (though we don’t talk much I do still adore), and the people in my server such as Musica, Midi, Aran, and Sparkita, along with the people I live with like my husband and Null. All of these people and so many more have given me a friendship that I feel I’ve never had and has filled in a trench in my being that last year had torn open. I thank these people and more for your patience with me through my times of sorrow and pain, for your energetic and silly times with me when I was happy and joyful, and for being there even when I haven’t been around for a couple of days. With you guys, I don’t feel abandoned like so many other people over the course of my life had made me feel.

I have made friends, lost friends, and sadly just slowly drifted from others (as is life), but I do cherish all of the friendships I had and hold today.

Lastly, I wish to move into the new year and decade with more positivity in my life, with old friendships strengthening and new ones forming, with my work growing and old and new fans enjoying more of my content. I feel as though I am a far cry of the sad and lonely person I was a year ago and I appreciate all of the special people that have come into my life since then.

Thank you all, and let’s all march into 2020 with smiles on our faces and love in our hearts.

[wonderland-irwin]

I was gonna write Ash..

But he already knows. This is what my email was about (although he has not replied). There was more of course, but my email was basically this:

to go more in depth, I began to play trumpet in grade 7. And in public school, I was really good. I practiced often, played a Jazz solo, and my fellow trumpet section relied on me to carry them. Which I had no problem doing. However once I got to high school, things changed.

The four years I spent in my high school music program have left such a damaging mark on my music playing ability, that when I play I get extremely bad anxiety.

My music teacher constantly made me feel like shit. Absolutely pure shit. I was never good enough, never practiced hard enough, and he absolutely adored doing this and picking on me in front of my band mates. I always did my best, and it was never ever good enough. Regarding trumpet, whenever I would perform a test piece, he would rip me to shreds. I would start and restart because I couldn’t focus. I would sweat out of every pore in my body, and usually ended up crying at the end of it.

It was terrible.

I got into ukelele and guitar because of 5 Seconds of Summer. Michael’s been taking about how he wants to inspire people, and sometimes I forget that he inspired me. My guitar is four this year, his name is Moose. My ukelele is 5, and his name is Luke.

Luke and Michael combined inspired me to become a guitar player. There was something so calming and empowering when I played guitar. I felt like them. It was a safe space for me I truly loved. I felt connected to them, and for once I understood why they did what they did. I feel it every time I play.

When I was in grade eleven, my music department didn’t have a bass player for the jazz band. I’d been wanting to try bass, as my wonderful (he truly is wonderful. I haven’t seen him in over a year and I miss lessons) guitar teacher outside of school is origianlly a bass player. He said that I should think about trying it, and I thought about how fucking cool it would be to say I play bass. I thought how it is a complete surprise factor to anyone who meets me, because I don’t have that typical bass player “look”, and I thought that if I ever met Calum, to say I play bass would be a fucking cool thing to do.

Because of Calum and my teacher, I auditioned for the bass part.

I was shit, simply because I was used to playing in treble clef, and bass clef was new to me. My music teacher never slowed down or anything, so I had to play at tempo.

The only thing he said to me was “you can play bass, but you have a lot of work to do.”

Which I expected. I practiced over the summer, eager to play with the band in the fall. But all hell broke loose when I got there. My music teacher was more brutal to me than ever before, degrading me more than he supported me.

“Are you even practicing? Practice harder. You still don’t know that yet. Work on this more. Are you paying attention to the drummer and keyboard?”

“Sorry I was doing other courses, frisbee, swimming, camp, and having a life outside your damn music class.”

Words I should have said but never did. I love music, don’t get me wrong, but I do so much more than just music.

Anyway, he spent the year degrading me and pushing me down, and I relied so much on the hope one day I would tell 5SOS that “yes, I can play guitar. Because of you. And yes, I can play bass because of you. And no, I don’t play drums, but you can bet your ass I know what you’re doing back on that kit, Ashton. I know.” I went through hell, just to make them proud.

It’s silly, but I truly relied on them in every aspect.

In grade twelve, I think my teacher got bitter because I didn’t go back to jazz band. In concert band and music class, I played my trumpet, going back to my grades 9 & 10 way of thinking that I wished, oh god did I wish, that a trumpet was a rock band instrument. Because it felt sort of lame to me sometimes.

And now?

Well, I miss the bass. A lot. I want to save for my own, but school and gas are my main priority right now. I will get one one day.

Guitar? Moose sits by my 5SOS poster, and he plays a lot of bass lines. Bass is my true instrument love, I think. It’s what I feel really powerful with. Anyways, he also plays Jet Black Heart, Coachella, Wonderwall and the solo from Wrapped Around Your Finger pretty damn well.

Luke lives on my chair. He needs new strings and I have yet to buy them. I love him to death.

I play the keyboard downstairs now, and am figuring out my written bass clef parts and left hand coordination. I am determined to prove that bitter man wrong. I am trying to fight my anxiety I get when performing music in front of people. He left more of a damaging mark on me than I initially thought.

In regards to him, he left my school, and someone told me that often times when the grade 9 bass player wasn’t at practice, he wished I was still there. If he had asked, I may have gone back. But we will never know for sure.

And well, in regards to 5 Seconds of Summer, a trumpet is a rock instrument, and I get emotional when I see it in your performances The amount of times I wished and hoped, and now its there. I have no words.

5SOS got me through those years. This is basically what I told Ashton in my email, but with more meat. If you read my letters, you could probably put it all together.

if you read this, thanks, I know it’s long. I just have to explain myself.

[canonicallyanxious]

“i never lose your stuff.”

Untitled Original Project | Jessie Yang/Sydney Walker | 1.2k words

It’s Femslash February and it’s Valentine’s Day!!! I wanted to do something to celebrate, so even though I haven’t written much recently i do have a tiny thing to offer - a little pre-canon sketch of some of my oc’s from a story i’m currently working on. In this scene, Jessie is 14, and Sydney is 13. Please enjoy! <33

Jessie loves track meets, loves them with all her heart, she really does. The warming up, the racing, the spectating, and also surrounding herself with people who are almost as intense about track and field as she is. She always tells her coach she kind of wishes track meets happened every day, and her coach always says that if they actually were every day she’d be wanting to quit the sport entirely within the week. But as amazing and wondrous and brilliant as Coach T is, between the two of them there’s only one person who can see inside herself, and even if no one else in the world believes her, she at least knows the truth, and that’s pretty much all that’s ever mattered to her.

The one part of track meets she loves a little less than the rest of it - just a little - is the before part. Not the warming up, but the getting ready. There’s plenty of other people who probably hate that part, too, because the nerves can be especially bad in the locker room when you’re surrounded with your competition and there’s absolutely no one to talk to and all you can really do is wait until your time to go out on the track.

That’s not her reason, though.

Her reason is that it’s so fucking boring.

Honestly if she could just come here and run in her street clothes she’d do it. But jeans and long loose hair in the wind aren’t particularly conducive to winning a gold medal, and she likes winning gold medals too much to actually risk trying. So here she is, yanking through the snarling tangles of her hair to manhandle the mess into something that won’t get in the way - a tight ponytail, usually, but with her thick and smooth hair it takes way more bobby pins than it should - and biting her tongue so she doesn’t scream out loud. It’s a bit early for that kind of thing, she knows.

There’s a light tap on her shoulder, and she twists around to see who it is. It’s a black girl who’s a couple inches shorter than her, treble clef necklace gleaming in the overhead lights and heels of her velcroed shoes pressed neatly together.

“Hey, Jessie,” the girl says, beaming.

“Syd!” Jessie surges forward to wrap her in a big, gangly-armed hug. Syd huffs a laugh into her shoulder as she staggers back from the force of it, and that’s how Jessie knows she doesn’t mind the surprise attack. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s what you always say,” Syd sniffs as she pulls away. “Like you’re even surprised at this point.”

And of course she’s right, because she always is. But sometimes pretending to be surprised can feel kind of good. Like they just ran into each other simply because they were meant to.

Syd’s eyes shift to the brush in Jessie’s hand, and then the top of her head, her eyebrows raising. Probably shocked at the complete disaster that is Jessie’s attempt to tie her stupid hair up.

“I don’t understand,” Syd says. She reaches out to pull her fingers lightly through Jessie’s hair, and tucks a loose strand behind her ear. “You have the straightest hair known to mankind. Why is this so hard for you?”

“You know I’m not good at the girly shit.” Jessie wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

“It’s not girly stuff,” Syd chides. “It’s just - life stuff.”

“Hey, you’re great with life stuff,” Jessie says. She sticks out her hairbrush and smiles at Syd hopefully. “Why don’t you do it?”

Syd shakes her head, though there’s no hiding the smile tugging at her mouth, either. “I swear you do this every time. You can’t always count on me to do your hair for you, Jessie Yang.”

“Please?” Jessie clasps her hands together and pulling her face into an exaggerated pout. It’s not the kind of thing that would work on anyone - Jessie’s not that brand of adorable. But that’s not really the point, is it?

Syd gives her a pointed look - one that lets her know she knows her game exactly - but she reaches out and takes the brush anyway. “Here, turn around,” she says. “You can borrow my scrunchie, ‘cause I don’t think these cheap hair bands are gonna cut it. Just please don’t lose it.”

Syd’s long and careful fingers start pulling through Jessie’s hair, a slow and gentle motion. Already it feels so much better. Jessie lets her eyes slip shut.

“I never lose your stuff,” Jessie says, which is true. She’s losing her own hair bands all the time, every day. But never Syd’s.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Syd says. The brush starts running through Jessie’s hair, pulling at her scalp in a way that tingles not too unpleasantly. “How are you feeling about today, anyway?”

Jessie has to resist the urge to start bouncing on the balls of her feet, thinking about the upcoming races today. Probably wouldn’t help Syd at all. “Good, I’m feeling real good. I think this one’s going to be a piece of cake.”

“Yeah, I think so, too,” Syd says. “It’s nice out but not too hot. Perfect racing weather. And you’ve run against everyone in your division here, right?”

“Yeah,” Jessie says, clenching her hand into a fist. “I’m gonna crush them into dust.”

“Please don’t actually do that,” Syd says. “I don’t want you to go to jail.”

“Metaphorically, though, can I crush them?”

“Metaphorically, you can do whatever you want.” Syd touches her fingers to the back of Jessie’s neck, feather soft. Her hand is cold. “Done-zo.”

“Nice.” Jessie whirls around and hugs Syd again, mostly because she can’t help herself. Syd’s hands come up and rest under her shoulder blades, warm and reassuring. Not that she needs the comfort, honestly, because she’s not usually in the habit of getting nerves before a race. But - it’s nice, still. It’s proof that someone believes in her - that someone wants to believe in her. And if that person is Syd, all the better.

Some days she wakes up with Syd’s faith tucked snugly under her collarbone and she knows she could do just about anything in the whole entire world.

Jessie leans back, placing her hands on Syd’s shoulders and grinning down at her. “Thanks,” she says.

Syd smiles back, one of those that touches the corners of her eyes more than her mouth; it’s warm, like the sun, and as sincere as the truth. “You’re gonna do great, Jessie,” she says, and goes on her tip-toes so she can press a quick peck to Jessie’s cheek. The customary good luck kiss. Jessie feels herself grin wider at the gesture.

“Waffle House after?” Jessie says, just to be sure.

Syd shakes her head and laughs. She turns and moves to leave the room, twisting her head back around to shoot one last smile at Jessie. “Do you even have to ask?” she calls out behind her, making a jaunty little salute as her farewell.

Jessie turns around to face her locker, the warmth of her own smile still lingering on her face and in her chest.

Yes. The answer is always yes.

[rhysanoodle]

Teach Me

Feysand fluff

Word count: 1822

Inspired by this post by @captainluxiian

And this art by @porcelainart

AO3

Part 1

Part 2

“Orrin, slow down!” I yelled from over the banister.

It wasn’t even breakfast time, and already he had popped out of bed in a frenzy this morning and was trying to chase his Uncle Azriel around the foyer, delighting in making the larger Illyrian try to duck and dodge his grubby hands while Az tried ever-so-cautiously not to knock anything over with his wings.

I caught the gaze of the Shadowsinger, giving him my best apologetic smile. At six years old, Orrin was a powerhouse, a never-ending fountain of energy which we were hoping would one day be well-directed into ruling the Night Court with honor. He was only a few years away from his first visit to Windhaven, where Rhys and I would move for his adolescent years to give him the same training my mate had been succumbed to in his adolescence.

A sudden wailing noise came from over my shoulder. That would be my niece, Ava. I motioned to Az that I’d take care of her, relishing the relative peace and quiet she’d afford me once she was freed from her crib. At least compared to what was now occurring downstairs.

Her mother was already out tending the garden, but I was still greeted by a giggle and the most adorable grin as I walked into the nursery and Ava realized who had come to get her out of bed this morning.

As I approached her, she pulled up on the bars and got into a standing position, miniscule wings flapping aggressively. They’d just begun to start unfurling last month, and, with any luck, they’d be fully formed by the time she reached one year old.

They still wouldn’t be strong enough to carry her weight for a few years yet, but I missed the days before Orrin was raring to go, demanding that anybody with a set of wings begin teaching him the ropes of flying. Now it was all I could do to keep him grounded when we weren’t able to watch his every move.

Rhys and I had been trying for another child since not long after our son was born with no luck. Hopefully this time it would be a daughter for Rhys to no doubt spoil rotten.

I cherished any time I got to sneak away and care for Ava, grateful that Elain and Az had come to live with us on a more full-time basis not long after she was born.

After changing her and summoning a bottle from the kitchen, I walked down to the drawing room where the piano sat. It had been gathering dust for months, neither of us able to find much of a spare minute to play with all the chaos going on in our little household once we’d managed to finish our official duties.

I missed it. The late nights where Rhys and I would just sit for hours, hammering out familiar melodies, trying to recreate symphonies we’d heard performed in the Rainbow. He had been patient with me from the beginning, not minding the nights where it was a significant struggle as I tried to learn how to decipher the clefs and key signatures on the page.

Rhys always caressed me down the bond, soothing my nerves whenever I’d get so incredibly frustrated that I still stumbled after months of playing, reminding me that he’d spent years learning to become decent, and centuries trying to master it.

Now, whenever we were awoken by nightmares, we usually also had another bedmate who had heard us and wormed his way into our bed. We’d stay silently still, sometimes just glancing between ourselves and our precious boy, praying he never had to experience the trauma we’d been subjected to — and reminding ourselves that we’d made it out. And we were so incredibly blessed with how our lives turned out.

As I sat on the bench, seating a babbling Ava in my lap, I found myself reminiscing of that night all those years ago when my musical journey began. Unable to contain myself, I began to leisurely play the melody Rhys had helped me tap out on the keys all those year ago — our song. I closed my eyes, content to let the music take me away. As I grew more familiar with playing again and began to regain my muscle memory, I increased my tempo, catching up to the intended speed, the notes soaring out for beneath my fingers.

Just as I was reaching the end of the first movement, I was pulled from my reverie by a small beating of wings and some plodding footsteps.

“Wow, mommy! That was amazing!” Orrin exclaimed, shuffling up to me and tugging on my tunic. An out-of-breath Az was close on his tail, looking for all the world as if he’d tried to give me a few more moments of peace. “How’d you make it do that?”

“Well,” I explained, “I just press down on the keys, and each one makes a different sound. See?” I demonstrated by pressing and holding the middle C key. “When you press many of them at the same time and string them together, you can make a song. Just like this.” I performed a quick practice etude.

The look in his small violet eyes was nothing short of awestruck. “Please. Pleeeease will you teach me how to do that?” he pleaded, giving me a look he knew made me melt most of the time.

I thought about it for a moment before coming to a decision. “Go ask your father, Bud, okay?”

He face sunk. “But he’s not even home right now. It could be houuuurs before he’s here to teach meeeee!” He drew out some of his syllables like molasses as he began to tear up, and I could sense a tantrum about to erupt out of him.

“Yes, but he’s a much better piano player than I am,” I said conspiratorially. “He taught me. You wouldn’t want to miss out on this opportunity because you couldn’t wait a few hours, would you?”

Az shot me a grin and added, “You’re so lucky. I’ve been trying to get him to teach me for years, but your mommy has been keeping him all to herself.”

Orrin’s eyes lit up as he quickly agreed and began to drag his uncle with him to the kitchen, stating that he needed to eat up now because he had to be full and ready to go whenever Rhys came home.

I laughed to myself, struggling to keep from relaying this precious conversation to Rhys but knowing that the surprise would be worth it when he got home from the Court of Nightmares.

“Daddy!” The shrill yell could be heard throughout the estate, as Rhys no doubt winnowed into the foyer early that afternoon.

I left my seat at the kitchen table to go greet my mate with a kiss, and saw that Orrin was already tugging at his pant legs in anticipation.

“Hello, Feyre darling,” Rhys purred at me as I came into view, the familiar greeting paired with the longing on his face making my toes curl with desire, even after all these years.

“You’re home early,” I replied. I gave him a swift peck on the cheek, but did little more to encourage him, knowing that the two of us wouldn’t be able to satisfy our own urges until much later tonight, when the little one was finally in bed.

“Mor’s been doing her job incredibly well lately. Remind me to buy her a present for having already finalized most of the weapons deal with Keir before I even arrived this morning.”

By this point, we could both tell Orrin was about to burst from excitement as Rhys knelt down next to him and asked, “And how has your morning been, kiddo?”

Orrin cringed slightly at the nickname, but barreled on, intent on relaying his wish to Rhys.

“Daddy, will you teach me how to play the piano? It’s the coolest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and Mommy and Uncle Az told me you were the best piano player ever.”

Rhys’ eyes never left Orrin’s face, but I felt a brush against my mental shields. I opened up the familiar sliver just for him.

The best ever, Feyre darling?

The one and only. He may be embellishing a bit, but who could blame him? You’re his hero.

That’s a whole lot to live up to.

I’m sure the most powerful High Lord in history will have no problem training the next great virtuoso.

Do you think he’s actually serious about wanting to learn? 

A slight tinge of worry was sent along with that question. I knew it wasn’t for our son, but for Rhys. For the fact that he might get his hopes up only to have Orrin grow frustrated or bored of it quickly and never show interest again.

You were younger than him when you had your first lesson, and look at you now. It’s all he’s talked about for hours now. I might have told him you could start as soon as you were done working.

Cruel, wicked thing. 

At that, I shut him out, not willing to let him turn this conversation into a flirtation when there were more important things to do right now.

“I’d love to,” Rhys responded out loud, ruffling Orrin’s hair. “Why don’t you give me a few minutes to change and grab a snack, and I’ll meet you in the drawing room.”

Half an hour later, I crept into the doorway, and watched as Rhys, with Orrin on his lap, guided his small hands ever so slowly over the keys, demonstrating how to make his fingers curl properly, and letting him know not to get too discouraged by the fact that the size of his hands made it slightly more difficult to spread his fingers out correctly.

Orrin was raptly paying attention for the first time in years, soaking it all in, desperate to begin truly playing a song. It was the most focused I’d seen him in awhile, and it made me smile, remembering the moments he couldn’t, where as a toddler, his father would seat him on his lap, and serenade him.

As Rhys sensed me hovering in his periphery, the bond was filled with a sense of joyous melancholy. I knew the words he didn’t even need to say — the memories that were now coursing through him of his mother teaching him to play and the peace he was finding at finally being able to pass this piece of her onto our child. To give him a sense of the grandmother Rhys so wished was still here to see this day.

I sent a loving caress down the bond, pouring my heart out to him in the way that was best done mind-to-mind, as a tear slid down his cheek.

Thank you.

< Previous  Masterlist

Tagging: @porcelainart @ineedcrossants @illyrianinterrasen @dagypsygirl

[patricksilvrrozartistry]

Current Music Obsessions: December 17 - 31, 2018

I'm so late on getting around to posting this. I've been busy lately and I'm currently fighting off an upper respiratory infection, but that isn't gonna stop me! So let's look at the final honorable mentions from 2018.

The Big Jazz Duo - The Heretic Shadygrove - Northern Lights Neverlight - Thirteen Nails Kerli - Savages Bemore - Ambitious Anneke Van Giersbergen - When I am Laid in Earth (symphonized live) Except One - Nothing The Hardkiss - Forever More Marcela Bovio - Here to Stay Marcela Bovio - Desde Adentro Northward - Timebomb Against Myself - Hero's Soul Kheos - Asphyxia

And now for the final main obsessions of the year.

Spiritbox - Trust Fall

This is the third single they released in 2018 and it's wonderful. It's making question if what they're working on is an EP or a full length album. Either way, they're out here to let people know that they're here to slay the djent world. This song is so beautiful. The bass solos are wonderful and the pitch-shift harmonies are back, and we all know I'm a sucker for those. And can we please talk about how epic that acapella outro is? Yes bitch.

Myrkur - Juniper

This track is so pretty. She really knows how to create some of the prettiest music out there, but isn't afraid to let Lady Satan out either. Lady Satan doesn't appear in this track. I just can't get over how lovely it is.

Red Moon Architect - A Wish for a Tear

This popped up on my recommended videos one day and I fell in love with it. They're a gothic doom metal band I discovered a while back, but never dabbled too much into. I really need to change that. This song is so strong and lovely. I haven't listened to some good gothic doom metal in a while, so this was a good change from all the prog/symphonic metal and hard rock I've been jamming to a lot lately.

Lilith and the Knight - War Cry

I don't remember subscribing to their YT channel, but I'm glad I did or else I would've missed this epic track. Their front woman is a powerhouse of a singer. The riffs are really cool and have this fun vibe to them. And I always love showing love for metal bands that are fronted by black women.

The Hardkiss - Koxaнці

This is such a fun track. Has such a great groove to it and is rather catchy. The bridge goes in and brings this energy that adds to just how fun this track is. And can we talk about the video for this? Bruh, it is amazing. I've always been a huge fan of their videos, but they started to get less visual about a year or so ago. But the visuals are back in this video and I am living for them.

Votum - Hate

This is their newest single and it's a powerful one. It's about cyber bullying and really touches on things from so many different sides, like why people do it and how it affects both parties. It even gets real in the chorus when they start singing off messages from bullies. It really hits home for me when they bring up hate towards queer people (which this video features queer people btw). And those screams near the end. Dude, he turned this song the fuck out.

Qveen Herby - Bank feat. Monogem and Maliibu Miitch

I fell in love with this track after listening to her full discography while my sister and I were wrapping Christmas gifts one day. It's such a great track and has a beautiful flow. The singer in the pre-chorus has such pretty voice. I know I've been posting a lot of Qveen Herby on here a lot lately, but I went through a big QH kick thanks to EP 4. But that's not a problem for me, I love Karmin's work to not just let it sit around unlistened.

Profusion - Clef of Memories feat. Anita Rachvelishvili (live)

I discovered these guys on IG one day and decided to check them out and found this performance. Holy tits is this amazing. Anita has got some pipes on her. I wonder if she's done any studio work with them. I love the flow and the feel of this track a lot. It might be a simple prog track, but man them vocals really sell it.

Memoira - Dawn of Time

It's been a minute since they've dropped something. This is such a gorgeous track and it features their new front woman. It has a bit of an atmospheric vibe to it that I just adore so much. It adds to the emotion and the dreamy atmosphere of the track.

Aly & AJ - With You

This is their latest single and I absolutely love it. I love the fact that they're going in this synth-pop direction. The song is so chill, but it's still really fun and great to vibe with. It has a great blend of 80's and modern synth-pop vibes to it that I think will appeal to a lot of people. Also I really hope they release a studio version of the version of Rush they perform live now sometime soon. It sounds sick as hell.

Circus of Fools - Watch Me

Rex was a pretty good album, but I really fell in love with this song. The vibe of it is just really cool. There's something about the production and the vocal lines that I just absolutely love. It's an aspect in songs that is always a guarantee that I will fall in love with it. This track really shows of their female singer really well, but not much of her range, but that's not an issue here though.

The Anix - Black Space

Their new album was amazing and this track is definitely a favorite. It's so lovely and you get a great feel for the singer's range. He has such a gorgeous voice and I feel like this song really shows that off. It's one of their more synthy tracks, which is no complaint from me. They're a synth-rock band after all.

Marcela Bovio - The Silence Before the Storm

This song is full of so much power and emotion. It really makes me wonder how it would sound if it were a Stream of Passion track. It's the most powerful track on the album in my opinion. Marcela really turned it out here.

Fleurie - Love Has No Limits

This song is so pure and lovely. It just makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside when I listen to it. Fleurie just has that affect on me sometimes. She really sings from the heart and that's very apparent on this track. The overall vibe of this track is just so stunning and touching.

And that's it for 2018! These were the tunes that I rocked out to at the very end and there will be plenty more in obsessions to come in the following year. But I might be changing things up with the series. Not sure if I will or not, but you'll find out if it does.

[sportanime-maniac]

Midorima, Aakashi and Yamaguchi take his gf at her birhday to (new in city) cafee with her favorite animals for example parrots, puppis, owls etc and she look so happy and smiling like he never see her? Sorry if this weird...

It's not weird at all. I'd love to go on a date like these!! 💙❤💙 hope you enjoy! Sorry they're kinda short....Midorima He had waited until his horoscope star sign matched with ___, before asking her on a date on another day where their star signs were compatible before taking her to a new cafe that had opened up in town - a kitty cafe."You really like this horoscope thing, don't you?" she asked him. He pushed his glasses up and coughed."Well I believe that while it is not scientifically proven, it is not nonsense. It holds emotional and mental value too. So I follow it to the letter every day," he told her. She smiled."I think it's awesome that you believe in something with all your heart!" she replied. He was glad that they arrived at that moment, since he didn't want her seeing the pink on his blush at her comment. "Table for two?" the waitress asked them."No. It's under a reservation for Midorima," he requested."Of course! Right this way please," she asked and they followed her into a private room."This is very pretty Midorima, thank you!" ___ adored, in awe at the cute room. At that moment, a small meow was heard. Behind ___, a small can had walked through a cat flap in the wall. The female had stars in her eyes as she called the cat over and began to pet it. Before long there were more cats in the room, all around them. ___ was smiling brightly, hugging several of the cats, while Midorima watched her, not really reacting to the cats, but stroking on that was on his lap. He was more focused on the female in front of him, who seemed overjoyed."Happy birthday, ___," Midorima said quietly. She looked over at him with eyes filled with adoration and love."Thank you!!" They ordered coffee and cake, and the cats got fed too, before a cake got brought out, with her name on and a birthday message. She was overjoyed and overwhelmed by everything that her boyfriend had done for her.After their date, ___ held Midorima's hand, her heart feeling lighter than ever."Honestly that was the best date ever. Thank you so much!" she kept thanking him, and admiring the picture that had been taken of her with all the cats. When they got off the main street, ___ kissed him quickly. They both went bright red, but she grinned and a small smile showed itself on his face.AkaashiThe setter was having a difficult time planning a date for his ___, when he was at training one day and overheard one of the managers talking about a new cafe that had opened up in town. Sure enough, when he looked for it, he found the perfect idea. He found it mildly amusing that his girlfriend's favourite animal was the one their school basically represented. Owls.The next day, he appeared at her house without warning and told her to get ready. She was mildly surprised, but did as she was asked."Hey, Keiji? Where are we going?" she asked him. He didn't reply, but took hold of her hand. She blushed a little - something that Akaashi noticed and took pride in. He then a moment later covered her eye, and walked them through a door."Hello, do you have a reservation?" ___ heard someone ask."Yes, it's under Akaashi," the male said."Ahh, alright miss, we're going to put a blindfold on now," they said."Keiji, what are we doing?"she asked, her voice unusually shaky."Don't worry. We'll be there in a moment," he told her. She nodded, and she was sat in a chair, before being allowed to take her blindfold off. Akaashi saw first hand how her whole face lit up,seeing the owls around her. Her favourite, a barn owl, was in front of her, and she looked at the staff member."Are they ok to stroke?" she asked, her voice breaking with happiness."Of course," the employee said. ___ reached her hand out and stroked the bird gently. She turned to Akaashi and basically pounced on him."Thank you so much Keiji!" she grinned, before kissing him. He chuckled, and turned her round. There was a server who had brought out a cake saying happy birthday on it. The two spent the rest of the day there, stroking owls, holding them and drinking coffee and eating cake.Afterwards they went back to Akaashi's house, and he gave her a present in a small box. It was a promise ring. Let's just say that it was the best day that ___ had ever had.Yamaguchi"Hey! Tadashi!" ___ called, catching up o him after school."Hey ___, what's up?" he asked."So you know it's my birthday tomorrow?" she asked. He nodded."I got your present at my house," he said. She smiled."Can we go to the new dog cafe in town?" she asked."There's a dog cafe now?!?!" he said, excitedly and she nodded."Should I book it?!" she asked."No, I'll do it," Yamaguchi told her. She hugged him and ran off.The next day when they arrived at the cafe, there was a table already ready for them, with a Husky, Red Setter and a German Shepherd sat near the table. ___ ran over and instantly made friends with the dogs. Yamaguchi followed after ordering their food and drinks, sitting down on the floor opposite ___, making friends with the Husky. They must have spent hours there, just hugging the dogs, laughing and feeding them. Yamaguchi loved dogs as much as ___ and they would have spent forever there, if the manager didn't come over."We're glad that you love it here, but we're closing now," he told them. They went red, realising the time, apologised profusely, and left.Holding hands, they went back to Yamaguchi's house, recalling all the moments today."Here, ___" the male said, handing a box to his girlfriend. She opened it to reveal a beautiful necklace with a treble clef on it."Tadashi, it's beautiful!" she whispered, her mind totally blanking."Happy birthday, ___."

[wanna1things]

Pianist! Hwang Minhyun

i need to stop writing for minhyun but i can’t stop

Genre;; fluff + PIANIST AU!! GET it also minor college! Au

Warnings;; none !!

Pairing;; Hwang Minhyun x reader

Requested;; NO i was watching la la land bc i’m basic and realised I wanted to write this so bad bc pianist minhyun is the only reason i’m still alive to this day

Summary;; Who can play their way into your heart? Hwang Minhyun can.

Style;; bullet point

Word Count;; 2388

More Minhyun with pianos bc I have no self control;; Kindergarten Teacher | Prince

masterlist • request rules • request something

i’ve been wanting to write a proper solo hwang minhyun pianist au with no other aus so here it comes while i PROCRASTINATE writing other stuff :)) this story is my baby and i love it

you first met minhyun when you were out on a date

not with him, surprisingly

one of your college classmates had asked you out on a date and

for some reason you agreed

maybe you thought something would happen

but as you sat in a restaurant, time ticking on, you realised there was no chance of that happening

out of nowhere, someone handsome and very smartly dressed walked in through the door and straight towards a grand piano which sat in the corner of the restaurant, the corner nearest to you

the man started to play almost straight away and it was;;; beautiful

you didn't know the piece he was playing and honestly it didn't matter

it was making you feel more emotion than at any other point in that evening AHSJSKD

when he'd finished playing the piece you couldn't help but stand up from your seat and run over to catch him before he started his next song

you noticed a small jar sitting on top of the piano, and you slid in a $10 note before turning to him

"You play... beautifully."

he smiled widely at you and looked down at the piano keys

"Thank you so much..."

there was an awkward silence as you just,,, stared at him in awe

he could just play so ??? beautifully ??? And he was also so beautiful UM not fair

your date called your name and you looked up at him for less than a second before looking back at minhyun

"I'm y/n, it was lovely to hear you play."

you held out your hand for him to shake and he took it, shaking lightly, his hands real soft

"I'm Minhyun."

he turned away from you and started to play again, this time something more upbeat

you walked back to your seat and sat opposite your date again who,, seemed in a bad mood

"Really? You go and flirt with another man?"

"I think we should end the date here."

you put your money on the table in front of you and got your stuff together and made your way over to minhyun

and there you sat for the rest of the night,,, just watching him play

most of the time he wasn't playing an actual piece, which he'd explained to you while he played

it was just something he made up as he went along really ,, then every so often he'd turn it into an actual piece and then go back to the random thing

and this was just... really impressive

he managed to make something that beautiful up as he went along?? amazing

before you even knew it the restaurant was closing up and it was time for you two to leave

but you didn't

minhyun stood up and whispered something to the owner, who nodded and passed minhyun some keys

before long minhyun was back at the piano again, smiling widely

"We're locking up. I can take anything you request!"

the first piano piece that came to your mind was that ,,, one from up

THE SAD ONE

so minhyun started to play

and for some reason,,, it was even more emotional than in the film it was on a whole different level

maybe it was because it was minhyun or maybe that sip of alcohol you had on your date was still in your system

but before he'd even finished playing you could feel tears in your eyes

he looked up and noticed that you didn't seem,,, happy,,, because the piece is sad lol

so he went ahead and started playing something more upbeat, another piece you didn't know

but,,, honestly you didn't give a damn what piece he was playing everything seemed to make you feel things,,, more

sadness and happiness were more intense when minhyun played those pieces

it was like a whole new world

but before long it was nearing 2am and yall had to set off home

you walked together back to the campus, where you two realised you both happened to attend the same college,,, wow

but he was a music major and you weren't so

but after you two said your goodbyes you didn't see each other again for a good month

over that month you wondered constantly about minhyun

how did he get so good?? how is he so skilled?? is he a proper professional?? where did he learn and where can YOU learn to play like that holy moly

you ended up seeing him again at a wedding

it was one of your family friend's weddings,, and you were kind of invited as a 'side piece' like you weren't invited to the ceremony only the party after (is it called a reception???)

you walked in with your family and you heard it

that familiar melody on piano

the same piece that minhyun always freestyles with

you looked around the room frantically while you greeted and congratulated the couple, looking for wherever the piano could be

"We have a family friend's son playing piano for us! He's over there-"

as soon as they pointed over in the direction of the piano you were gone, waving a small goodbye and apologising in your rush

as you got closer, you approached him slowly, taking in the music

as always, it was intricately played and there was a never a single note out of place

or if there was, he sure as hell styled it out

as he finished one of the pieces and went back to the freestyle you walked around in front of the piano so he could see you

immediately his face lit up and he almost missed a note as he called your name

"Long time no see!!"

his face was red with a blush much like the one he showed when you first complimented him

and you pulled over a chair to sit near him again

as he played he asked about how the past month had been for you, and he told you himself how the past month had been for him

he said,, or claimed,, that since meeting you he's been playing piano daily to try and get even better

to which you simply said 'you're already perfect'

UM cue adorable blush again and a mumbled 'thanks'!!

you then sat back in your chair and watched him play for a while, sometimes closing your eyes to really,, feel the tune

it was honestly the most calming experience ever,, even more so than a massage

the POWER of MUSIC

as you continued to relax he suddenly spoke

"I don't have your contact details. I'd like to see you more often."

you weren't sure exactly what his intentions were, whether this was an attempt to flirt or ask you out, but you pulled your phone out and while still playing he recited his phone number out to you

you saved it as simply his name with a treble clef beside it

but as you saved it you heard your family called you over

and like that you two were separated again

you didn't see him for the rest of the night, as you were caught up greeting your family members and family friends and stuff

but as soon as you got back you sent a quick text

'It's me!'

he replied within seconds ,, which honestly surprised you

'Did you want to come watch me play tomorrow?'

'Would I ever say no?'

and like that, the next day you met up by the fountain in the middle of your campus

and he took you to the music rooms

inside was a massive grand piano, all the walls soundproofed

you noted the various guitars that hung on the walls as well as the speakers and recording equipment

but minhyun didn't seem to notice this and straight away walked to the piano and sat down

he played slowly, something you hadn't heard before

it seemed familiar to you, maybe a piece you'd heard on tv before

and he started to speak

"I learnt to play the piano when I was 5, if you were wondering."

"I was."

"My grandmother paid for my lessons because I wouldn't let go of the toy piano I had. Thank god she did that back then, or I don't know what I'd be know."

he smiled a little at you, and he looked like,,, wise,,, and knowing,,, and just reALLY handsome

he focused back on his hands again and played a little improvise melody before starting to talk again

"I didn't think I wanted to have a career in music until much later. What really made me realise was when I used to get stressed from school, and the only way to de-stress myself would be playing piano."

you nodded slowly, totally lost in the music and his soft spoken words

"It just sounds so beautiful without even trying..."

he looked up at you softly, looking deep into your eyes and you felt your heart skip a beat

maybe the beautiful piano playing boy had played his way into your heart?

from that day onwards, you two would meet after your classes were done and he'd play for you

sometimes you'd request a song from a tv show or a film, other times you'd just let him pick whatever

sometimes you'd sit there, close your eyes and go off into another world while he played

other times you'd do your work, plan an essay, all your struggles seeming to melt away with the beautiful tunes

every so often you'd spend the whole time looking at him, admiring his features, slowly falling more and more in love with his soft voice and his softly played pieces, and him

you two met solidly for a month before minhyun announced he'd be partaking in a big competition, a nationwide one

you went to the preliminaries with him, watching from the audience as he played the first song you ever heard him play

he smiled widely at you and he was announced to have passed, and with a speed pass to the final so he didn't have to attend the other days

he would be up against 11 other pianists, some from royal schools of music, others from specialist music colleges or even record labels

he was the only one from a normal college, a normal place

but you knew in your heart he could win

no matter how many times he expressed doubt up until the night before the final

you'd take ahold of his hand and reassure him of how talented he was, how beautiful his playing was and how it made you feel

and a soft smile would always appear on his face, one filled with love

and you realised how much you truly loved him, enough to support him through no matter what, his ups and downs, his everything

before you knew it, the day had come and you two were dressed more formal than you ever had been in your entire lives

you knew exactly the pieces minhyun would play, as they had to play 2

he'd picked the one from your first meeting, and the one from the wedding

both of them were special to the two of you, and it was almost like a tribute to your relationship up until that point

you took your seat in the front row and waited for minhyun's turn

he was set to play last, so all the other 11 pianists had to play before him

sure they all played well, and all received standing ovations

but none of them made you feel what minhyun's playing made you feel, nothing was as moving

there was no sadness, no happiness, it was just a well played piece

as soon as minhyun appeared your heart did a flip, you weren't sure if it was because you were nervous for him or whether it was because of how EXTRA handsome he looked in the soft lighting and the suit

he spotted you in the crowd straight away, and waved slightly before starting to play

immediately you felt more emotion than you felt through the other 11 performances, and you knew everyone else could feel it too

it was like nobody breathed until the first piece was done, and as soon as it was the cheers and claps were what felt like 1000 times louder than for the other contestants

and then he performed the second piece

just as you'd remembered, this one was more melancholy,, and you swore you started to tear up as soon as the first note was played

you watched as he moved his hands gracefully along the piano, playing each of the notes softly

as you gazed at him you felt soft tears come falling down your cheeks

you weren't sad, that wasn't it, it was just how proud you felt of him, how much love you felt for him, how beautiful his playing was, all welling up into one and coming out as soft tears

as he finished playing, you looked around at the audience who were all on their feet again, even the judges

most of them were in tears like you, or close to it, all of them clapping as hard as they could

as you looked at minhyun's bowing figure on stage you knew, deep in your heart, that there was no way on earth that he hadn't won

and as the results were announced, you were proven right

the scores accompanying each performances were read out, and minhyun's scores were close to being almost twice the amount of the pianist in 2nd place

as soon as he received his flowers and had bowed to the judges, he found your face in the crowd and smiled at you, a smile filled with love just like the ones you had seen before the competition

he flew down the steps from the stage to the seats, almost dropping the flowers in his hands

he walked straight up to you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it tightly

"Thank you so much for supporting me, for loving me, for everything."

"It was my pleasure."

his lips pressed against yours softly, and another cheer rang out across the audience for minhyun again, but this time also for you

as he pulled away he whispered in your ear

"Please continue to do all of that."

call me amazing for including links to the pieces again and ya girl left it open for a part 2 so thats a possibility

[yeoldontknow]

It Was The Night: 5

Author’s Note: WE FINALLY MET CHANYEOL!! lmao thank you all for coming on this little journey with me. im so sad it’s coming to a close *wails* enjoy!! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: historical au; drama; suspense; romance Rating: PG Word Count: 2,487

V.

These days, I view our first meeting as little more than a game or an act of pretense, something a child or lonely woman, desperate to be loved, might imagine during their empty and sleepless nights. So distant was he from me that I assumed it all a dream or a trick, spent my evenings imagining perhaps one of the other children had put on a rouse to fill me with hope or, more likely, to embarrass me in the harsh light of day.

Shrouded in darkness, he cleaved desperately to his secret, though I suppose it served the purpose he intended. All his mystery and carefully chosen words fanning the flames of my blood. Brilliant, as always, and tearing straight through to the heart of me, as though he had known me all along. Looking back, I suppose he did.

From that moment, I became plagued by Aeon Smith, by his person and the idea of him. As the days passed, I felt tormented, perpetually ruminating over his existence and the truth of his name. Rather, not a name but a title, similar to that of a soldier. To me, he continued to remain nameless, paradoxically identifiable without an identity, and this only served to bewilder me beyond the comprehension of my imagination.

I am the son.

Infuriating, to know the what of a man before knowing the who. Or rather, no, I find this declaration unfair. In music and in letters, he had done nothing but reveal himself to me - always, he was baring his soul to me, presenting himself as though he were naked, skinned down to the bone to display all his ugliest parts.

Every dissonant chord penned by his quill was an exposure of a flaw, one of his flaws, and I was moved into loving and appreciating them with all of myself. Every major chord was a virtue, and therefore it was easy to adore those pieces, easy to love and understand them, to want them all over me as a slight fall of rain, but it was his dissonance, the anger and wrath of his heart and mind that became the subtle clues I mulled over for weeks on end.

From that night forward, we met weekly, always in the chapel and always under the cover of night. It was not long before the skin of my bare feet became immune to the ice and the cold of the floor, no longer quivering in the chill; not long before I hardly needed a candle to guide my way, eventually only taking it to add a sliver more light to the room in the hopes of seeing his face.

Rarely did he allow himself to lean into it.

My favourite nights were filled with moonlight, nights when the sky was clear of clouds and the moon, unwavering her adoration of his features, made it difficult for him to hide from me. One night delivered me the perfect curvature of his upper lip, pink and swollen, unkissed yet desperate to be so; another, the peak of his ear, glorious and glowing, the redness of the blood beneath his skin flickering in time with light of my candle’s flame.

The night that lingers most in my memory, perfect and immortal, tangible as though it happened not twelve hours previous, was the night he finally got close, close enough for me to see the sleek line of his nose, its mole, its angle, the way in scrunched impishly in disagreement. This moment, this simple gift from the universe, the slant of light along the slope of his nose, said so much more about him than words ever could, I thought.

Most nights, he sat at the organ and I in a pew, eyes scanning the room for signs of him or stray letters, focused yet searching like a child during prayer. Our conversations moved as though they were part of a maze, topics winding through and between music, art, history, sometimes even love. Love, though our words never formed the sentiments of romance, never brought shape to confessions of feelings kept locked tightly away inside our hearts, rather simply breathed life into our affections for philosophy, for music, and even God.

It was our tenth meeting when I arrived in low spirits, feeling tired and feeling somewhat lost, capsizing, perhaps, in a sea of performance exhaustion and unrequited love. With a single wax seal it had become clear to me who he was, the son of our illustrious House owner Monsieur Park, but the colourful details of his existence eluded me. Where one answer was found, more questions seemed to arise, coated with sadness and tragedy. As an heir to a fortune, surely his family would celebrate his existence, and yet, it seemed I was to be the only one who could bear his secret, joining him in fielding its burdensome weight.

As I approached the chapel, I could feel the thickness of the atmosphere, and stifled a cough as I felt my lungs become tight with expectation. There was an air of change and divergence saturating the stones the Opera House, the performance of Aintogona now well established in its run and feeling more like routine rather than a moment of excitement, all of us suddenly eager for new roles, new experiences, new lives to wear upon our flesh. My hands were shaking, taught and strung like the strings of a violin, cracked raw, when I pushed open the chapel doors, letting my fingers graze along the ornate patterns carved into the wood.

Hesitant, trembling, and always aching for him.

That night, he was playing a hymn, slow and filled with mourning, the wail of a broken heart carried within the notes of the bass clef. My angel caressed the nature of grief much the same as he stroked the keys, heavy with a familiar sort of longing that made me close my eyes. For a moment, we remained this way, he playing for me as though he were yearning for my presence and I swaying as though adrift at sea, basking in a reverence that bored its way down into my soul.

‘You’re late.’

There was no error or falter in his fingers as he spoke, his voice moving amongst the notes as though creating a staccato melody. At the sound, I opened my eyes, greedy and wishing to be greeted by the sight of him, but was met only with the elegant line of his shoulder in the moonlight as he moved in time with the music.

Contentious and indignant at his complaint, I dropped my hands to my hips and released a heavy sigh. Looking back, I think I was mostly upset to interrupt the hymn, my voice somehow too ugly to penetrate the din. ‘It could not have been more than a few minutes.’

‘Yes, but I am eager.’ At this, he stopped playing, as though his honesty was a confession meant only for the ears of God. He curled in on himself then, looking more like a lost boy than a man of imposing greatness, and my heart broke for him.

Hope like gold moved about my blood, my tongue licking at the word to fixate on its meaning and implication. But still, I could not see him, not truly, and therefore I could not read his motive.

‘Eager?’ I repeated, somewhat breathless.

‘I am always eager in the anticipation of you,’ he conceded, and it was then that he turned from the organ. The light splayed across the smooth line of his neck and I felt my heart begin to splinter, the sword of longing tearing through the muscle and turning my breath stale.

Feeling somewhat apprehensive, I looked to my feet, studying my arches and the shape of my toes as I spoke. ‘You’re teasing,’ I whispered, wholly unsure he would hear me at all.

At this a low rumble resonated in his chest, the sound almost wolfish and youthful. ‘It is not in my nature to tease.’

Cocking an eyebrow, I smirked. ‘On the contrary,’ I said with a small giggle, ‘I find you to be quite playful.’

‘An insult,’ he laughed, rich and deep, the sound of it echoing around the chapel and into my bones. By this sound alone, I found I was warmed.

‘See?’ I said, biting my lip as I shook my head, slowly and rendered in awe. ‘Even there, your laugh is too gentle. It glides into the mouth, like chocolate from Spain.’

The smallness of my voice turned him curious, even worrisome, had him leaning into the light more than he normally would - just enough for me to see the rich brown of his hair. ‘You seem distant from me.’

Once more, I sighed, brow furrowed. ‘Then come closer,’ I whined, fraught with an unrelenting desire to have and keep him close.

‘No,’ he countered gently, ‘in your eyes you are absent, plagued.’

‘I know who you are.’

The words fell from my lips in a rush, impatient for him to hear them, impatient for him to know I had discerned the truth the moment my fingers stroked the sealing wax of his letter. Perhaps this was the air of change I had sensed throughout the Opera House, the winds of knowledge morphing our relationship from something of an amorphous shape, something youthful and fanciful to something now wholly unrecognizable, contorted beneath the weight of honesty, and forcing us to confront what we both dreaded to know was true.

This, however pure and beautiful this existence was, could no longer continue. 

At that moment, we were both challenged to hold and fondle the concept of purpose - his purpose to move behind walls and mine to be the only one who could know him. I scowled, then, caught between an unwilling acceptance to let the joy of him go and the need to bring him into the light. Perhaps, I was selfish then, though, in the case of him, I cannot say I ever stopped. 

For several moments, silence lingered between us, the sounds of our breaths the only noise that rustled and turned our minds to distractions. Thoughts laid themselves bare behind my eyes, numerous and needy. Did he think me intrusive? Had I been rude? Had I revealed my nature and proved myself unworthy of his presence?

Above me, I heard him shift, leaning over in keen interest and breaking the tension that had started to build. Unmoving, I kept my gaze trained on his black form, eyes trying to prise him from the clutches of darkness.

‘I’d like to hear you say it,’ he said simply, deep voice echoing through the chapel.

With a shaking inhale of breath, I steadied myself and searched within my blood for the lost fragments of my courage. ‘You’re Monsieur Park’s son.’

Simple, I thought, and yet he seemed to make it so unbearably complicated.

Leaning back, his voice came to me as though he were satisfied with my answer. ‘And so you know why I must hide.’

‘The sex of your birth means you have no reason to hide,’ I sighed, suddenly painfully aware of my circumstance and station.

A star I might become, but still the age of my expected marriage and the transformation of my wages to that of a dowry always loomed painfully over my head. At every turn I was reminded of my sex, of the rules and etiquette that came with it. For a moment, I became bitter, saddened that our meetings were all at once tarnished by this implication.

He, a man, a son, desired more than my sex, a regretful daughter, even if he did not want to bear his family’s name.

‘But what of circumstance?’ he questioned with a cock of his head, visible only in the shift of light around his skin.

‘What of it?’ I scoffed. ‘You are an heir to a fortune, an empire. Your family is the heart of the city.’

He matched my tone, sounding almost as though he meant to scold me, though the cadence of his words remained even. ‘Do you think I run from it?’

‘Do you not want it?’ I countered, tone quizzical.

Movement filtered throughout the floorboards of the chapel, his footsteps seeming to carry through the dome of the roof and surrounding me from all sides.

‘Who wouldn’t want this?’ he said, voice suddenly behind me. I turned, then, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. ‘A life such of this?’

Tired of his games, my laugh turned incredulous. ‘You claim to want it yet you scorn it! Why do you turn it away as though it vexes you?’

Behind me once more, towards the front of the chapel, he was close enough that I could hear and feel his breath against my neck. His presence warmed me, a shiver tracing the bones of my spine as I quaked with his nearness. All of my heart and all of my soul wanted to turn, my heart battling against the constricting cage of my chest, but my synapses remained hesitant, wary, unable to break the fantasy of him. I had learned to crave him as a phantasm, and was forced now to witness the reality of him. 

The fact that he was indeed flesh and bone and breathing, seemed too much to bear.

‘What became of Adam and Eve when they disobeyed?’ he whispered, soft and seductive, words laced with the strenuous gravity of symbolism.  

‘They were cast out,’ I said simply, biting my lip as my eyes fluttered shut.

‘Thus I am a thing born of sin.’

His hands fell to my shoulders, his fingers warm and strong. At once, I reclined into him, into his touch, a sigh falling from my lips as my skin began to feel tight around my body. Wings, I thought, were trying to be born from my back, wings of love and desire, but my corporal form prevented me from taking flight beneath his strong hold.

My voice trembled as I spoke, stripping away all my pretenses of rational thought and revealing me as a weak thing, a lustful thing. ‘Aren’t we all?’

‘But what if my father cannot cast himself out?’ he pressed, pulling me back against him and spaying his arms over my hips and stomach. I was trapped against him. Trapped against him and the true nature of his existence.

‘You’re illegitimate,’ I gasped, incredulous.

Against my neck, I felt him nod, his lips giving shape to the words that clarified all my questions.

‘Illegitimate and unwanted.’

Had he only known then how badly I wanted him, how badly I needed him. With his heart beating as a drum against the tense muscles of my back, I resolved then to ensure he felt wanted and desired and needed. Not just by me, by my weary and heavy heart, but by the world.

[miraculousstorytelling]

Three is Better Than Two

@larvesta Hope that you had a wonderful birthday! I really love all of the amazing art that you create, and I especially appreciate how you create such soft and sweet images with the rarest pairs. Thank you for being such a lovely part of the ML fandom.

This fic was inspired by your piece here!

AO3 Link

Each start of the new year began just like this. Marinette would wake up, close her eyes, and hope. The first day of school meant new students and new chances to meet her soulmate. Plus, it also meant a chance to finally have a class without Chloe Bourgeois. At this point, she wasn’t sure which would be better.

By the end of the day, she not only hadn’t found her soulmate, but she was also still in Chloe’s class. On the bright side, she’d made a new friend who was willing to stand up to Chloe, and instead of a soulmate, she’d gotten a kwami and the chance to be a hero.

Still, Marinette stared down at her wrist and frowned, rubbing her thumb over the bare skin, wishing as she always did, that tomorrow would be the day she’d gain a mark.

Marinette knew it was dangerous to fall in love with someone who wasn’t her soulmate. Despite the sparks between her and Adrien when he handed her his umbrella, there was no mistaking the blank wrists after their fingers brushed across each other. He wasn’t her soulmate. She had to accept that.

That didn’t stop her from tripping over her words and her own two feet every time she got close to him. That didn’t mean she didn’t silently daydream about him during class, wondering what his soulmate mark would look like. That didn’t keep her from imagining a lovely golden sun blooming over her wrist and wishing for the impossible.

Chat Noir had been convinced they were soulmates. He begged her to try touching skin to skin just once to see during one of their first patrols. So, she indulged him, secretly hoping he was right, and brushed her cheek over his. When she dropped into her room moments later, detransformed, and checked her wrists, Marinette bit her lip and blinked back tears building at the corners of her eyes.

Blank as always.

It was almost worse when Adrien and Nino began to bond so easily in those first few weeks of class. Every time they laughed together or brushed elbows or traded playlists, she couldn’t help but think of what a beautiful couple they’d make. She couldn’t help but remember why she’d always liked Nino so much on the few occasions that they interacted. She couldn’t help but imagine a golden sun on his wrist, too, and the mental picture warmed her heart in a way she couldn’t quite understand.

Then came the days Alya, Marinette, Nino, and Adrien would share lunch, and Marinette would laugh at Nino’s jokes and swap stories about their chemistry teacher. One lunch, she figured out mid-bite exactly why she felt so light and pleasant when she was around Nino, and frankly, it was entirely unfair. As if being Ladybug wasn’t complicated enough, now she had to fall for two boys who weren’t her soulmate at the same time? So much for ladybugs being a symbol of good luck.

Eventually, Marinette fell back into her normal routine. Wake up, run to school, try not to make a fool of herself in front of Adrien or Nino, ignore Chloe, try to stay awake in class, fight an akuma, go to lunch, work on homework, help her parents at the bakery, go on patrol, finish designs while struggling to keep her eyes open, and stare at her wrist while falling asleep. The want and emptiness that filled her every time she looked at her blank wrist faded with the monotony of routine.

She could almost understand the akuma they faced now, calling herself the Blank Canvas and stealing soulmate marks from everyone she saw. Ladybug had no qualms about fighting her, which might have been the only benefit to not having any soulmate mark. Just as she was swinging down to face the villain, however, Ladybug saw a pair of civilians running down the street.

Unfortunately, Blank Canvas saw them, too, and Ladybug barely managed to change direction fast enough to scoop them up and out of the way.

“Hold on!” she shouted as she flew off, the two of them pressed close and wrapping their arms around her neck.

Only once she was on the ground a safe distance away did she realize who she’d transported. Adrien and Nino landed beside her, glancing around for any sign of the akumatized victim.

“Stay here. I’ll draw her away from you,” Laydbug said, turning away from them and hoping the way her pulse spiked wasn’t obvious to anyone but herself. Neither of them were her soulmate, she reminded herself as she aimed her yo-yo and prepared to swing away.

“Wait, Ladybug!” Adrien spoke up from behind her.

She soared off before she could hear what else he had to say. She had a job to finish, and the last thing she needed was for Adrien or Nino to see Ladybug blushing over them when she should be saving Paris.

Chat Noir caught up with her moments later. “I think we need to talk when we finish dealing with this akuma, milady.”

“Something bugging you, kitty?” she teased.

“Not exactly.”

She didn’t have the chance to ask for further explanation, and Blank Canvas proved to be more of a challenge than either expected, which meant a lull in the puns and banter they typically enjoyed during fights. Chat Noir seemed somewhat distracted anyway, Ladybug noted as she paused to strategize, but he was still holding his own.

A cataclysm and lucky charm later, and they were helping a confused girl to her feet, checking to see if she was okay. Once they were sure everyone was back to normal, Ladybug and Chat Noir ran off to a rooftop just out of sight.

“Wait, Ladybug-”

She turned to look at him. “We only have a couple minutes left. Can it wait until patrol tonight?”

“No, it can’t.” He frowned. “I’m sorry, but I think both of us are going to be figuring out who we are pretty soon anyway.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got my soulmate marks.” Chat Noir sighed. “Nino did, too, which means yours are probably there under the suit right now.”

“Marks?” she asked. “What are you ta-”

She froze when she realized. Having multiple marks wasn’t unheard of, but it was rare. Of course, it always complicated things, because all three had to touch each other at once to trigger the marks, and if that was the case…

“Adrien?” she whispered, taking a step closer to him.

He raised a brow. “You recognized me?”

She nodded. “We g- Um…” She hesitated, then she sighed. “Well, you’re going to figure out anyway. We go to the same school.”

“We do?”

She chewed at her lip. “Did you already tell Nino?”

He looked away. “Not yet, but he’ll probably figure it out pretty quickly.”

She offered her hand as their miraculouses beeped in unison. “Let’s tell him together, then.”

Ladybug couldn’t believe her luck when they spotted Nino only seconds later. She landed beside him. “Need a lift?” she asked, wrapping an arm around his waist.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders, and she flew off, barely catching sight of a ladybug mark on his wrist.

Chat Noir followed and landed beside them in a quiet alley.

“Look, I get it if you can’t tell me who you are or anything,” Nino began. “I’ll figure out how to cover this up. I can always say I only have one mark, and I bet Adrien would do the same…” His voice trailed off as Ladybug’s transformation fell in a burst of pink light.

Chat Noir stared. “Marinette?” A green light followed, leaving Adrien behind.

“Adrien?” Nino asked, looking between the two of them. “You guys are Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

Marinette glanced down at her wrists, and sure enough, a black cat with bright green eyes was on her left wrist, and a blue treble clef was on her right. “I don’t believe it…”

Adrien held up his hands, showing her the ladybug on his right wrist and the matching treble clef on his left. “I knew we were soulmates.”

Nino let out a slow breath, slowly taking all of it in. “This explains a lot, actually.”

“Tell me about it.” Marinette grinned. “I thought I was awful for loving both of you at the same time.”

“Me, too,” Nino admitted with a small smile.

Adrien reached out to take each of their hands in his, marveling over the twin black cats on their wrists. “I just can’t believe I get two soulmates.” He pressed a kiss to both marks. “It’s pawsitively purrfect.”

Marinette laughed. “So, the puns are a you thing, not a Chat Noir thing.”

Nino chuckled. “Oh, they’re totally an Adrien thing.”

As it turned out, puns weren’t the only Adrien thing Marinette learned about over the course of their relationship. Cuddling was also an Adrien thing. Spontaneous gifts were certainly an Adrien thing. Surprise love letters might have been her favorite Adrien thing.

Of course, she also learned about Nino things. Hugs when you needed them the most was a Nino thing. The perfect playlist was a Nino thing. Endless snapchats, ranging from hilarious to confusing, was a Nino thing Marinette simultaneously adored and teased him about.

Marinette had her own things, too. Sharing cookies and croissants and macarons was a Marinette thing. Fashion advice and fixing clothes was a Marinette thing. Planning the best surprise dates was a Marinette thing.

Marinette had a knack for finding the best gardens with secret hideaways where they could sit in the grass and relax together. Adrien would watch, enraptured while Marinette would lean over to peck Nino’s lips, each enjoying the soft and sweet way the other would move closer and murmur praise into the corners of the other person’s mouth. Nino would gently push her towards Adrien, reminding her he needed some attention, too. He’d watch over Marinette’s shoulder while Adrien would taste Nino on Marinette’s lips, warm as sunshine against her chest. Marinette, comfortable and snug between them would duck out of the way and cup the backs of their necks to push them together, insisting they couldn’t leave Nino out. Nino would smile and lean in for his own kiss, savoring the feeling of his best friend and soulmate’s hand in his while Marinette grinned up at them. Together like this, they felt like home, and nothing could be better than that.

[c-jacksonn]

Welcome Home.

pairing ; chris x reader

summary ; after four years, you’re finally back in new york with your best friend; you’re finally back home.

words ; 4,706 (wowza. this was all written, first, too.)

warnings ; references??

note ; i had some inspiration from the fic “When You Come Home” by @teamgtnw

masterlist 

Everyone has something they call home. This thing could be a place, person, object, animal, even a smell. Of course, it’s different for everyone ─ most say that “Home” was the house they shared with their parents currently or during their childhood. Some would say home is the feeling of happiness, caused by being in their birth town, or the block they grew up on.

You, however, considered it to be a culmination of things. Alongside the stereotypical place, you found comfort in the smell of New York; specifically, a street in The Bronx that you grew up on in the quiet side of the big place, where couples walked the streets, runners smiled and laughed at the dogs they were jogging with; where families could be out with a mild fear of being mugged by some druggie or poor guy in need of some money; where happiness seemed to be one of the most prominent emotions and one of the only words to describe the place and your feelings upon walking around it.

Your favorite place, as dumb as it sounds, was the little coffee shop at the end of the street. The workers were always changing there, seeing as they were all teenagers wanting more money or just starting college and need a way to pay for their loans because their parents sure-as-hell weren’t doing it alone. At one point, that had been you, when you still went to community college.

You remembered loving working there, as you always had light-hearted conversations with the customers and relationships with the regulars. But once you got your first two years of college done, you headed off to a big university across the country, staying there for about four years to get your masters. Then, you came back home with high hopes of achieving something great, something that made an impact, no matter how big.

Your dream had always been to be involved in dancing or music, specifically for Broadway. And as crazy and farout as it sounds, you knew you could make it there someday ─ someday.

The distinct smell of coffee beans and oven pastries filled your senses as you walked into the coffee shop you adored so much. People were too caught up in their own conversations to acknowledge your entrance, which was normal. A fuzzy feeling filled you when you took a deep breath and let your senses be bombarded by the homey smell. The sounds of clinking plates and brewing coffee and buzzing of light conversations about work, coffee, the need to finish a paper and get some sleep filled your ears, as well.

What you noticed out of all of that, though, was the echoing, familiar voice of someone you knew all-too-well. The voice was deep but soft, forming words that were so beautifully put together, yet only said because they worked with everything else he was singing about. This one was about working two jobs, brewing coffee, and still enjoying the life he was give. The optimism he had in his words was what seemed to keep the rest of coworkers going, smiling and giving him beats or backup vocals.

A fond smile made its way across your lips as you walked up to the counter and got the friendly smile of a barista. “Hello! Welcome to The Bronx’s Coffee! What can I get ya’?”

The cheesy name of the coffee shop ricocheted off the walls of your mind and you responded, “I’ll just take a coffee; one cream, five sugars.”

The smiley barista nodded, tapping the monitor in front of her a few times before printing out your receipt. “Okay, and, what’s your name?”

“Y/n,” you answered, the grin never leaving as you fell back into the routine you had four years ago, when you’d order coffee on your off days – the barista, whose name leaves you at the moment, would jokingly ask your name, as if she didn’t already know. The girl grabbed a medium-sized cup and scrawled your name down in black sharpie, then turned to you and said your name would be called when your drink was ready.

You nodded and walked away from the counter, looking for the table you used to say “has my name practically engraved in the wood.” Thankfully, it was open, so you quickly sat down just in case someone decided the six other open tables weren’t suitable. After you got situated, you remembered why this table was your favorite. Other than the fact that it was right by the window with a near-perfect view of the busy street, it was also where you would spend your breaks with a certain boy who had a knack for singing.

Closing your eyes, you saw a memory play out of Christopher Jackson, the boy you loved to hear sing, talk, or do anything, giving you that dorky smile that perfectly showcased the gap in between his two front teeth, cause the ball of his cheeks to turn pink and swell, and his beautiful brown eyes to sparkle.

Then it flashed to him throwing his head back in hysterical laughter, his big hand flying up to hold his chest and his other hitting his thigh. You don’t remember what had made him laugh so hard, but you knew you’d never forget that he had just before.

You also remember writing down music in a journal, swiftly drawing music notes in the clef lines, trying to study for exams and getting sidetracked, or just being bored and doodling them in the corner of your paper. Chris would sit down with you when he could, which subsequently helped you focus because he would pick up your review, bring it close to face and scrutinize, then say, “Kid, if you can get ten of these right in a row! then next coffee’s are on me.”

Of course you’d always respond with, “You’re on, Christi. Also I want the most expensive, good coffee on the menu.” Most of the time, you got all ten ─ in a row! ─ right, but the few times you didn’t, Chris would still get you a small coffee and tell you he’d help you more on his next five-minute break. Days like that, when the two of you acted like the best friends you were, when you would make each other laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe, when silent words were exchanged through playful glares and proud smiles, were the ones you cherished the absolute most.

But after you left, those days became mere thoughts in your dreams and the back of your mind. College was stressful, and the few times you did come back home, Chris was either busy, or your family wanted you home, or the stay was too short to do much other than sleep in your own bed for once.

While at the university, you never once made a bond with anyone like you had Chris, which probably made the itch to get back to New York, to get back home, more apparent with every passing day. And, now, now that you were back home, you felt like you needed to see the one person who pushed you to continue, just because you thought of him everyday, and who was ultimately the reason you could even say you made it out alive.

“Y/n! One cream, five sugars,” a man’s voice happily, sounding extremely familiar. You got up from your chair, shuffled over to the counter and grabbed the cup from the taller man holding it. Your fingertips brushed and you looked up to see the boy who consumed your thoughts smiling that dorky, gap-toothed smile.

“Thanks,” you said, just barely loud enough to hear. You turned on your heels and walked back to your seat, humming the tune Chris had been singing earlier. Normally, anyone would’ve kicked themselves for not at least saying “Hi,” or something along those lines to someone they hadn’t seen in years, but you knew Chris, and you knew that smile was specifically for you ─ at least, that’s what you hoped.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you peered over the cup to see Chris walking out from behind the counter and smiling at you as he made his way over. “If you don’t mind me asking, this seat taken?”

“Well,” you looked down at your warm drink, “I can’t say it is and I can’t say it isn’t.”

Chris seemed to understand your cryptic answer, plopping down in the plastic chair across from yours and placing his forearms on the table. “Hi,” he says softly.

“Hey, Christi,” you smiled, responding in the same soft tone he had and bringing back the old nickname you’d given him so long ago. His smile spoke volumes in response, his head turning in a shy manner which allowed the diamond studs in his ears to sparkle in the mid-afternoon, New York sunlight.

“So,” he asked after a good minute of comfortable silence, “what brings you here?”

“Still not one for good conversation starters, are ya’, Christi?” You both laughed, him shaking his head and his dark, thick eyebrows raising just a small bit, while you just shrugged your shoulders. “Anyway, I’m here because I have finally finished my walk through Hell, and I couldn’t bare to stay close to it any longer.”

“You callin’ gettin’ an education Hell?” He still had a smile while he teased you, and the rhythm you two had before you left began to fall back into its pace.

“You don’t understand, Christopher, it was absolutely draining to just wake up and think about going to class, let alone actually doing it. And don’t even get me started on the annoying asshole of a roommate I had,” you slightly ranted, your hands waving around to emphasize your point.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head and looking down at his hands before peering at you through his eyelashes, “I’ve missed you, y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

“Chris,” you whispered, placing your hand over his bigger, caramel colored one. “The thought of you is what kept me going through that hellhole, I assure you.”

It seemed as though neither of you could stop smiling, just too happy to be in the presence of home again. After a few more minutes of catching up with one another, Chris had to go back to work and you knew your parents would want to see you. “Okay,” Chris said, standing up, “c’mere.”

You gladly got up, walking into his embrace and pressing your face into his chest. Home, God, it felt good. Home was Chris’ arms, home was the faint smell of coffee and a forest-y scent, home was the warmth of his arms around your small body. Home was Chris.

“We’ll see each other later, yeah?” You proposed, looking up at him from his chest.

“Yeah, my place. Your number is still the same, right?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll text you my apartment number. I’ll see you tonight, y/n,” he leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your head, then walked back behind the counter to finish out his work day. You grabbed your coffee ─ only partly drinken due to the fact that you were immersed in whatever Chris had been talking about ─ and walked out, only once turning around to see his brown eyes fixed on you.

Waving, you left after he gave you a quick two finger wave ─ something signature for Chris ─ and smiled when you smelled the outside again. Rubber from the cars peeling out or braking too hard on the road, the sewers (that’s just self-explanatory), exhaust from tailpipes, freshly baked food, and even the coffee shops. Home.

The remainder of your afternoon was spent with your parents, which included a slight scolding for going to see Christopher before them, and a lot of kisses and hugs and crying (Mom, don’t cry. I just got home ─ Exactly! My baby’s home!) Then Chris��� text came through, with just the words “Come over soon.” and his address attached.

He didn’t live too far from your place, so you just went back, changed into an old shirt and a pair of jeans, then went to his. You shot him a text to notify him of your journey, and within a few minutes you were standing at the door to his apartment and rapping your knuckles against the wooden, dead-bolted entry. Anxiousness flooded your system when Chris didn’t open the door within a few seconds, thought of having knocked on the wrong door or Chris decided he didn’t want to see you or another girl being there that was occupying his time going through your head.

Though you wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter, because Chris, out of anybody, deserved a good girlfriend.

Through all of your worrying, you almost didn’t catch yourself about to walk away from the door. Sure, you hadn’t been waiting all that long, but with anxiety taunting you and wrenching your gut, it felt as though you had been standing there far too long and that you should’ve taken the hint to leave. But, then, the door opened to a smiling Christopher, and those anxieties slowly washed away.

“Hey! Sorry I took so long, the stove started beeping when I was coming to open the door so I had to pull out the chicken and,” he took a breath, taking a second to look you over. “You’re… you’re wearing my old shirt.”

You looked down at yourself, realizing that he quite correct ─ you were wearing his shirt. It had two numbers on a little pocket that was placed on the right breast of the shirt, and you knew the back had JACKSON written across the shoulders. This was his old, custom made t-jersey (as he dubbed it because he felt as though saying “t-shirt jersey” took too much effort) that he wore everywhere for the longest time. You knew why you had it, now, though ─ a late night visit to his parents’ apartment because you were having a rough night, and when you decided you were staying the night, Chris gave it to you since it was the only “clean” shirt he had.

“Oh yeah, I am,” you laughed, toying with the hem of it a little. You looked up at him through your eyelashes and saw an adoring, goofy smile on his face and a happy sparkle in his eyes. Another chuckle came from both of you until he grabbed you by the shoulders and drug you into his apartment. It smelled like the baked chicken he mentioned, a little bit of coffee, and like, well, home. Though he didn’t quite let you go, instead pulling you into his chest like at the coffee shop.

The door closed when he kicked it with his foot, then the two of you were rocking. With a deep breath, you inhaled his homey scent and snuggled deeper into his warm embrace. “I can’t believe I’m home,” you whispered, pressing your forehead into his chest.

“I’m glad you’re back in New York,” he whispered back, a soft vibration from his voice coming from his chest.

“Not just New York,” you looked up at him, smiling at his curious expression, “here. With you. It’s home. I’m home, right here.”

Chris smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead and holding you a little tighter to him. “God, I missed this; I missed us.”

“You’ve no idea, Christi.”

After a few moments of hugging each other, whispering about being able to see each other again after four years of no contact, you backed up and said, as serious as you could, “Now feed me.”

Chris bellowed with laughter at your statement, which made you laugh as well. The statement in itself wasn’t all that funny, but the sentiments the two of you shared in general and just a few moments before the sentence was uttered was just enough to push Chris into hysterics, gripping the big, grey shirt he wore and throwing his head back.

While your tall best friend laughed to his heart’s content, you went into the kitchen (it was the first thing you saw if you looked to the right in the small apartment) to get dinner prepared. The baked chicken was still sitting in its pan, but it was fully cooked and just needed to be plated with the sides sitting in plastic bowls. As you walked over to the food you’d be eating that night, Christopher called out to you, asking where you went even though you couldn’t have gone far, seeing as you didn’t know the layout of his place just yet.

You answered with a snarky, “Where do you think?” and heard him chuckle as he walked in behind you and grabbed two paper plates from his cabinet.

“Sorry about the plates,” he apologized, “can’t really afford much else when I have to pay for my apartment and all the other shit I have to pay for.”

“You think I care about paper plates? When people say college students live off Ramen Noodles, they’re not kiddin’. And plus,” you shrugged, “at least you’re amazing at cooking; I can’t cook for shit.”

He raised his eyebrows and teased, “But you can make some damn good noodles, right?”

“Girl,” you tutted, putting your hand out, palm up, in front of you, “you know it.” You both chuckled, him shooing you away so he could “be a gentlemen and get you your plate because I’m a guy and that’s what guys do.” Once you got your plate, you went and sat on his couch. It was positioned in front of a TV stand with a small, flat-screen atop it and a Playstation 4 sitting on one of its shelves.

Chris reached forward, grabbing the remote from his coffee table and turning on the TV as he settled into the cushions, and you crossed your legs while sitting closer to him. The feeling of domesticity washed over you before you even realized it.

A boyfriend and girlfriend, fiancé and fiancée, husband and wife, eating from a paper plate and sitting close together on the couch they’d had forever, watching some random movie on Netflix or a TV-show that just happened to be on when the hit the power button on the remote. Then cuddling and completely forgetting about the two plates with mere scraps of food left on them, that would end up sitting on the coffee table until the next morning.

Of course, you knew what you and Chris were doing was just under the category of two best friends who hadn’t seen each other in four years, and you had no idea if Chris was in a relationship ─ Lord knows he’d be the best boyfriend ─ or if he’d ever thought the way you did sometimes. In four years, things change, feelings change, people change. Your feelings changed by developing into a love for your best friend, then they changed again when you decided you’d just suppress them for the time being ─ only making them want to show themselves more, of course.

You were positive they’d change again ─ for better or worse, you weren’t sure ─ and something would shift in your heart. But, for the time being, you wanted to relish in the moment as long as possible. At the current juncture in time, your dinner plate was sitting on the table, pretty much forgotten. Your head was against Chris’ shoulder and his arm was loosely draped around the back of the couch. His fingers were lightly resting against your shoulder, absentmindedly tracing patterns from time to time.

The TV show playing out in front of you soon became background as sleep started to take over your system. Any of Chris’ comments got a grunt in reply until they stopped altogether. Chris, of course, took notice to this and soon, he turned off the TV, picked you up bridal style ─ he’d never tell you, but he always loved picking you up that way and watching you snuggle into his chest ─ and brought you to his bedroom.

After tucking you into his covers, he softly kissed your forehead, went into the bathroom to change into some pajamas, then went into the living room to sleep on the uncomfortable couch. It felt nice to have you back home, to be able to hold you again, after four-goddamn-years. In truth, he would never cherish anything more than that ─ than you.

The next morning, you were slightly alarmed upon waking up in an unfamiliar bed, but once you looked around and saw things like hats, jerseys, and various pictures on the wall, you realized it was merely Chris’. You also realized that you had fallen asleep the night before, which is why you were in his bed, and that he most likely slept on his couch since he wasn’t lying with you.

Sliding out of bed, you pushed away the covers a small bit and got up, noticing one of your socks had probably come off in your sleep because you had one bare foot. Shrugging, you went on your way, opening the door and being greeted with a direct view of the living room. A lump of slightly moving blankets on the couch meant that CHris was still asleep so you remained quiet as you padded across the wooden floors.

You walked in front of the couch, looking down at your burrito-ed best friend and smiling. You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his temple, rubbing your thumb on his cheekbone before standing up and going into the kitchen. You quietly searched for the coffee beans, knowing Chris wasn’t the biggest fan of K-Cups and only drank from them when he was in a hurry.

Deciding to be generous, you made both yourself and the sleeping giant a cup, knowing he’d be grateful when he woke up. Holding the warm dink in your hands, you walked over to a door leading to the fire escape, opening it and stepping outside in the welcoming morning air. It felt as though New York was happy to have you back, as everything was a little nicer, the skies were a little clearer, and the morning air was a little warmer than you remembered.

And you were a lot happier than you’d ever been; partly because of Chris, partly because of the coffee in your hand, and mostly because you were home. When you were a kid, you always thought of New York as a place at the top of the world. You’d climb up the fire escape outside your parents’ apartment and look over the skyline, blown away at the beauty of home. You’d even do homework up there, sometimes calling out to birds that few by or accidentally dropping your pencil and just pulling another out of your pocket because you somehow knew you were going to do that.

Those times were simpler, and you often found yourself wanting to rewind and live it out again and again. You remember even bringing Christopher up there when you’d come home, telling him he had to not bring his Algebra II homework up because he’d either drop it or drop the whole binder and Mr. Forney was not the most forgiving when it came to lost homework.

Even now, at the age of twenty-four, you wanted to go as high as possible with the boy and look over the skyline while feeling the King and Queen of the world. You laughed at yourself as you remembered one of the last nights you were here before you left.

“What’cha laughin’ about?” Chris’ sleepy voice filled your ears as he walked up next to you in nothing but a white muscle shirt and basketball shorts.

“You remember one of the last nights I was here?”

“Which one?”

“When we climbed up to the roof and looked at the sky,” you started to laugh again.

“Oh, yeah! We were trying to see if we’d see Aladdin and Jasmine on their carpet,” he chuckled. “I remember that.”

You looked up at the light blue sky, then back down at your lukewarm drink, “Do you remember what you told me?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, “I told you I’d show you the world, too, someday.”

“Someday when I got back,” you smiled, letting your hair fall in your face.

“Hey,” Chris turned and said, so you turned and faced him, “I meant that. I will show you the world, no matter how long it takes.”

You blushed, hearing your heart thump in your ears as it picked up pace and a shy smile made its way onto your face. You looked up into his amber-in-the-sunlight eyes, seeing sincerity and adoration coursing through them. His smile was the same ─ not quite open-mouthed, but still conveying so much unspoken emotion. His free hand came up to clutch your waist and pulled you gently to him.

Your own free hand reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb running across his cheekbone like you had earlier that morning. His eyes darted down to your lips, your eyes doing the same to his, and although part of you was saying shit was about to hit the fan, you both leaned in and your lips touched.

There was a moment of hesitation, a hope that you both wanted to do the same thing, before you pushed forward and captured your best friend lips with your own. His hand moved behind you, pushing you closer by your lower back, thus deepening the passionate kiss. You couldn’t think of anything else but the warmth of his hands, the taste of his lips, the way the two of you were pressed together like two puzzle pieces; all you could think about was him. Home.

After a few seconds longer, you pulled apart, your lips swollen, but begging to be back on his, and the coffee in your other hand long forgotten. Chris began to smile, pushing forward and capturing your lips a couple times in quick pecks. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

“You should have done it forever ago,” you smiled. After a few moments of silent smiles, you asked, “How long is forever, though?”

“Since the day I met you in freshman year,” he admitted.

“Chris,” you looked up, snapping out of your dazed state. “You should’ve told me sooner,” you looked behind you and placed your coffee cup on the fire escape stairs. “I wouldn’t have─”

“No, don’t,” Christopher grabbed your hands, “that’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted you to go get your degree; I wasn’t going to be the reason you didn’t go somewhere with your life ─ not if I had anything to say about it.”

“Christopher,” you whispered, “what if─”

He cut you off with a swift kiss to your lips, cupping your face in his hands. Yours gripped his forearms as you fervently kissed back, and when he pulled away, he looked you straight in the eye. “No ‘what if’s. You’re home, you’re with me, and we’re kissing on the fire escape outside my shitty little apartment, and if you let me, I get to call you mine.”

“Of course I’ll be yours, Chris,” you sighed, pushing into his hands and closing your eyes, “but it pains me knowing you liked me that long and I just up and left with no idea.”

“It’s okay,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling, “I love you, everything’s okay.”

“God I love you, too,” you leaned up and kissed him, then wrapped your arms around him and just stayed in his embrace. He peppered kisses on the top of your head, rubbing your back and whispering sweet nothings.

After a few moments, you pulled back and rubbed his chest. “It’s funny. I just got back and we’re already together.”

“What can I say? I got excited,” Chris laughed, showing his tooth gap again.

“Christi, excited is an understatement.”

“Eh, you know me,” he shrugged. You both turned to look out at the skyline once more, seeing the sky to be just a little brighter than it was.

“Welcome home, sweetheart. Welcome home.”

happy valentines day!

[fireboltbitch]

Beach houses and songwriting|| mc

Requested: Yes! Sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy this!

Unlike the rest of her band, Y/n did not understand why they had to share the house with another group of guys. Especially since she had just gotten out of a horrible relationship and wanted nothing to do with guys. At least for a while.

Her band Beyond the Unlimited, although still small, was invited by Teen Choice Awards to a beautiful beach house in St. Barth, a luxurious island on the Caribbean. It was due to their collaboration on the show itself they, along with another band, had been invited to this incredible island. And who were they to say no to a free vacation?

The girls were told the other band would be the first to arrive to the house since they were closer to the island due to their American leg of their tour. And them being English and living on the heart of London, had a long way to go.

The day their flight was booked, Y/n and the rest of the band met a few hours before on the airport, each buzzing with excitement for different reasons. Tracy, the drummer, was excited to try surfing and the different sport the beach could provide her with. Living on a rainy city, she didn’t find pleasure on getting in the water only to be freezing cold. Claire, the bassist, was already daydreaming with the different foods and drinks she was going to try, vowing not to repeat any plate of food unless completely necessary. Natalie, the lead vocalist and guitarist, had spent the last few days buying bathing suits that didn’t leave much for the imagination, planning on having a tan line darker than the night itself. 

But Y/n? She was excited for the sleeping she was finally going to be able to catch up on, since the breakup had left her completely exhausted. Hours before the plane she had already turned on airplane mode on her phone and decided she was not going to make any type of contact with the people she was leaving on England. Except her family, of course.

They all could agree on one thing though; they were dying to find out which band would they have the pleasure of sharing a house with. The girls discussed with hushed giggles their theories and hopes of sharing a house with a band they knew already, while the four of them made their way to the airplane. Y/n though, was already submerged in her own world of music. 

She had failed to leave behind the overflowing folder of music sheets, from where she got the inspiration for their songs. Because, while she sucked with words, she had a way of portraying her feelings through music that no one else had. Currently, she was working on a piece that was said to be impossible.

Before his death, Mozart was working on a piece that was rumored to be incredible. Problem is, he never got to fully finish and before he knew it, the compositor was on his death bed, unable to finish it any longer. Thankfully, like the rest of his compositions, the copy of the piece was shown to the public and ever since Y/n got her hands on it she’s been working on it.

“That piece again? We don’t even play classical music” Claire complained when she eyed the piece of paper Y/n was so intently staring at. 

“Where do you think all of our melodies come from, smartass?” Y/n grinned at her friend and the bassist rolled her eyes at her attitude, leaving hers aside and trying to help her with it. “Okay so maybe it’s not a melody but a base?” Claire suggested and gave her idea a go, humming the possible rhythm as best as she could. “Yeah no, it sounds like shit” Both of them grimaced as they seated on their assigned seats and prepared for the long flight. 

Thirteen long and frustrating hours later, the girls were getting their luggage out of the car when four familiar guys that had heard the commotion outside decided it would be a great first impression to help them out a little.

“Out of all the possible bands it had to be Five Seconds of Summer?” Y/n groaned to herself and, much to her dismay, Calum grinned at her.

She didn’t have a problem with them, quite the contrary since most of the flight she had listened to their songs, envying Michael’s guitar solos she only dreamed of playing. 

“I like your hair” He spoke in a teasing tone, given the fact they both were sporting almost the same color on their heads. 

Blushing profusely, she tugged on one of her short blue strand of hair and twirled it, a habit she had when she was nervous. 

“Come on Y/n, or you’ll be left with the ugliest room!” Tracy called from somewhere in the house and she rolled her eyes even though she couldn’t see them.

“You do that and then see where your drum sticks end up dumbass!” She called as she made her way inside the house, trying hard to ignore the deep booming laughs she wanted to avoid. 

Deciding on a room that she found to be more secluded on the house, she immediately changed into a bikini and grabbed the pieces of paper she was dying to figure out. Not thinking twice about the blue-black circles that adorned the sides of her body, she headed to the beach before she could consider changing her mind.

The rest of her band was scattered along the house, some unpacking and some chatting with the other band they were to share the house with. None of them were found on the beach, something Y/n was secretly thankful for.

One of the downfalls of being so invested in her music was that Y/n failed to sense what was going on around her. Which is probably the reason why she failed to notice the two figures looming over her and, consequently, casting down a shadow on her music sheet.

“Is that what I think it is?” Luke’s voice was heard and involuntarily snapped Y/n  out of her thoughts, casting a wave of frustration down on her.

“Have you gotten somewhere on it?” Michael asked me and she nodded, not once sparing him a glance since Y/n was trying to get back the concentration that was ripped away from her so suddenly.

“I haven’t cracked it yet though” Y/n spoke in a whisper, in fear of breaking anymore her concentration. Which would make it practically nonexistent.

“Why do you try though? It’s not like you play classical music or anything” Luke spoke honestly and Y/n frowned at his words. It clearly wasn’t the first time she heard them though, that’s for sure.

She knew she had a unique way of composing that most people didn’t understand the first time around, but she still couldn’t grasp the fact that people were so close minded and surprised about her methods. They seemed so obvious to her.

“No I obviously don’t, my band plays the same genre as you guys. The only difference is that when it comes to composing the music, I base it on this kind of stuff” Y/n explained and they both nodded, visibly surprised.

“So let me get one thing straight, you composed every single guitar piece of your songs?” Michael wondered and Y/n gave him an affirmative nod, secretly turning back o the music sheet just to check if she had missed something big or obvious.

Michael glanced at the guitar on the floor and then back at the beautiful girl in front of him, before pleading Luke with his eyes to leave. He was already walking back inside anyway. He sat down next to Y/n and watched her frown in concentration. Her matching hair was pulled up in the typical messy bun girls sport all the time, the only difference is that Y/n made it seem more sophisticated and, in other words, more beautiful.

Michael dared to grab the music sheets from her tiny hands, to which she retaliated with a gasp of surprise before fully turning to look at him.

“Have you tried playing it with two guitars?” Y/n shook her head no, surprised she hadn’t thought of that yet “Want to give it a go?” He was up in his feet and looking for his guitar before she could muster the courage to answer.

In the few seconds Michael was gone, Y/n reminded herself that not all the guys were bad, not everyone was out to attack her like Bryce was “Michael won’t hurt me” She muttered to herself, but her heart hammered in her chest louder than ever when se heard an answer.

“Damn right I won’t” His mouth stretched out in the most adorable and comforting smile, while his eyes held more sincerity comfort than what she thought was possible. “Let’s get this started shall we?” 

And with that, they were both lost in their own world of music, Y/n’s most basic escape from reality. She knew this piece by heart already, something that allowed her to play it with her eyes closed, enjoying the music way too much to ruin it with her four other senses. 

“All this time, I thought this piece would sound amazing” He voiced his thoughts out loud and Y/n clicked her tongue in thought.

“That’s because there’s something missing” She said out loud and then sighed in frustration “I’ve tried everything and still feel like I’m missing something” Y/n looked at Michael who seemed to be deep in thought, staring at the music sheet with the same intense look she seemed to have every time she worked on it. Which was most of the time.

“Well there’s no clef in either pentagram so that must count for something, right?” He looked at her for confirmation and she nodded, absorbing the piece of information she had missed.

The only way she had deciphered the correct notes was because a faint ‘F’ was scribbled on top of the third note, which made it very simple to guess the rest. 

“I have tried from right to left, from left to right, alternating. I’ve turned everything everywhere except... Upside down!” Y/n squealed gleefully and Michael grinned, enjoying her happiness more than what he thought he would. He had known Y/n only for a couple of hours yet, he couldn’t deny how attracted he was to her. Michael dared to think he even liked her.

Excitedly, she played around with her new idea but it sounded the same, to which she slowly deflated. Y/n was now considering giving this whole project up, it seemed impossible now.

“Don’t give up just yet, I’ll play the first and you play the second and we’ll see how this goes” He reassured her and she nodded, switching her gaze to the music sheet once again. Y/n even dared to promise herself this was her last try and, if it didn’t work out, she would leave it for the professionals that were probably studying the case in some prestigious museum. 

But when they played, oh they sounded amazing. Words could not describe the feeling Y/n had in her chest, but all she was certain of was that it was due to the blue haired guy beside her. As soon as they finished the piece, she impulsively tackled him to the ground, carefully moving the guitar to the side in the process,

“Thank you” She grinned inches away from him and moved to hug him tightly, when Michael held her still and pressed his lips to her gently. 

She responded immediately, setting a gentle pace to the kiss that overwhelmed her body with warmth, making her doubt wether it was due to her or the proximity of his body. It was probably the latter. 

Y/n was finding it hard to think about how to describe how she was feeling, but she knew it was like no other type of music she’d heard before. This was more satisfying than music itself. Y/n could never get enough of it.

Standing on her toes she deepened the kiss, to which Michael interrupted with a smile. A smile so big she was initially blinded by it, but was quickly mimicked on her lips.

“So, are we writing that song or not?” Michael dazzled her with another heart warming grin and she nodded, still not over the events that took place mere seconds ago.

Y/n wasn’t exactly sure what had happened or what was going on, but she was very sure she was falling. Hard.