#that music room uni au i promised weeks ago and then never mentioned again

[enjoythesilentworld]

hey! remember this?

that prompt looks suspiciously close to the one for Simon's month tomorrow 👀

Wille's Month - Music (Room)

day 29 ! @youngroyals-events

Ex-Prince Wilhelm, hoping to escape the turmoil following the end of the monarchy, enrolls in university in New York City. He meets fourth-year music student Simon Eriksson in a music room on campus. AU.

read below the cut or on ao3. (T, 2k)

It’s a random Monday afternoon in September when he first meets him. Well, first sees him. 

Wille has been taking advantage of the rentable music rooms on Columbia’s campus, despite not technically being a music student. One day, enjoying the general listlessness of his new life in New York, no path, no expectations, he’s playing a tune on the piano that he still somehow remembers from his childhood. He must have gotten carried away, distracted by the music, because he jumps out of his skin when someone bursts through the thick, sound-proofed door. 

“Listen, I just made it to the practice rooms so,” a voice is saying in– Is that Swedish? Wille turns around in surprise as the intruder halts, quickly ending his phone call and dropping his hand to hang loosely by his side. He switches to halting English to say, “Oh, sorry, I thought I had—”

Ever used to it, Wille notices the exact moment the recognition flooded the other’s face. He braces himself, feeling a bit sick because he hasn’t been recognized yet in New York, which has been a welcome change of pace, and also because this man is the most beautiful person Wille has ever seen. 

This time, the stranger doesn’t bother switching to English to say, “Aren’t you—?”

He stands up abruptly, saying “I– Just, just Wilhelm,” then gives a curt nod and starts frantically collecting his things. Hesitating for a moment, he cools his expression, trying not to stare too hard at the man’s smooth skin and silky curls. “Forgive me, I must have lost track of time. I didn’t realize anyone had booked this after me. I’ll get out of your way.” 

In a matter of seconds, he’s slipping out of the room, ignoring the warmth when his arm lightly brushes the stranger’s as he passes, and fleeing down the hallway.

Feeling guilty, he thinks about it the rest of the week, hoping he’ll run into the pretty man with the brown eyes and brown curls again so he can apologize. He’s back in the music room on Wednesday at the same time and he stays a few minutes after, but no one else arrives.

On Friday, he does the same, pacing the room as the last few minutes of his reserved time tick over. Just like Monday, the same man bursts through the door, looking slightly ruffled. 

“Oh.” The man stands in the doorway again, awkwardly staring. 

Wille comes to a stop next to the piano. 

“Hej.” 

“Uh,” the stranger glances over his shoulder, like he expects to find someone else standing there.  “Hej.”

“I’m sorry, I was rude last time. I didn’t expect to—” He shakes his head and steps forward, extending a hand. “I’m Wilhelm.”

The man stares down at his hand for a moment, looking shocked, before slowly extending his hand.

“Simon,” he says, brown eyes boring into Wille’s. Wille tries not to think about how well Simon’s hand fits in his. Thankfully, he’s distracted by the other man saying, “You were kind of a dick.”

“Simon,” Wilhelm repeats, feeling both a slight grimace and an embarrassed flush rise on his face. “I am really sorry.”

Simon shrugs and his perfect mouth curls into a smirk. Wille’s shoulders sag a bit at the realization that Simon might be fucking with him just a little bit. That, he can deal with. 

“I was hoping to run into you again,” he says earnestly, hoping to make up for his lack of manners earlier that week. “It’s nice to meet you. You… You speak Swedish?”

“I am Swedish,” Simon deadpans. Wilhelm’s cheeks blush pink again. “Half, at least. I was born there. We moved away when I was, like, 13.”

Wilhelm nods understandingly. At that moment, they both seem to realize that they’re still shaking hands. They drop each other's hands quickly, chuckling awkwardly. Wille feels the blush on his cheeks darken further, but he sees a slight pinkness appear on Simon’s cheeks, too, and feels a bit better. 

“I have to admit, you caught me off guard.” Wille folds his hands behind his back and rocks a bit on his feet. “Most people here either don’t know who I am or don’t care.” 

“Oh, I don’t care,” Simon says nonchalantly. Wille lets out a surprised laugh. “I just mean— I never really cared about the monarchy, you know. I thought it was a stupid waste of taxpayers’ money and upheld harmful traditions of the elitist class. I mean, I lived in a small town with a fancy rich-kid school. They all assumed the absolute worst of me and just solidified my theory that the upper class sees those below them as ‘less than’. The monarchy really only encouraged that mindset, I think. Rich people helping other rich people get more rich, perpetuating the gap. I wasn’t living in Sweden when the vote happened, but I would’ve voted for the end of it. Thankfully they didn’t need my vote, anyway, but—” 

Trying to school his expression into something that hopefully doesn’t say I want to kiss you so badly right now – one, because that’s inappropriate and two, because they’ve quite literally just met – Wille pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites on it, hard. 

The other man looks sheepish by the time he cuts off his own rant, then blushes and looks down at his feet. “Sorry, I just…” He trails off and Wille grins. 

“It’s okay. You’re right. It was a harmful system. The vote passed for a reason.” 

Simon tilts his head to the side, considering Wilhelm, which, is fair. Most don’t expect him to be staunchly against the institution that he was a part of for most of his life. 

“What are you doing here?” Simon asks. 

“Uh,” Wille glances behind him at the piano. “Practicing?”

The pretty man waves his hands, “No, here, in New York. But, yes, I suppose also why are you in the Columbia practice rooms?” 

“Oh. I’m a student here. I wanted to escape Sweden for a bit after… everything. My, um,” Wille pauses, twisting his fingers together, “My brother and I always talked about taking a trip here when I turned 18, too. So… Here I am.” 

A silence fills the room and Wille is grateful when Simon diverts the topic. 

“Are you focusing on music then? What are you working on?” Simon rounds the room to look at the papers propped up on the piano. Wille feels suddenly embarrassed by the music sheets that are just messy scratches of black ink. 

“It’s not really—“ Wilhelm rushes forward, collecting the sheets and shuffling them together. “I’m registered for sociology, but I haven’t really decided on a focus yet. This – the piano – is more of a… hobby. It was a hobby. I’m not really sure how I feel about it.” There’s another long pause and Wille blushes more, holding the papers to his chest. He looks down at his feet. “I wasn’t really allowed a lot of hobbies growing up, but music classes were required so I figured…” 

“Right, that makes sense,” Simon says gently. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No!” Wille bursts out, nearly dropping the sheets in the process, eager to reassure the other. “No, no. It’s okay. I’m just not very good so I…” He releases the music from his tight grip and shuffles them in front of himself, frowning slightly at the scribbles. 

“I could,” Simon begins slowly, “take a look, if you want? This is kind of my whole degree. No pressure.”

Wille looks between the black ink and Simon’s face, chewing on his bottom lip again. Reluctantly, he slowly returns the paper to the music shelf. “I mean, if you don’t mind. I don’t want to steal your reserved time.” 

Waving him off again, Simon slides onto the bench and begins to sort through the notes. “It’s fine. No one has this room booked after me so I can stay later. Like I said, it’s literally why I’m here.” 

Simon looks up at Wille hovering over him and Wille looks down, thinking, oh fuck this is going to be a big problem isn’t it? 

Before he can doubt himself any further, Simon says, “Show me how it goes so far?”

That entire weekend, this time not out of guilt but out of fascination, he thinks about Simon. He can’t help it. The beautiful man with his beautiful laugh, his snarky remarks and complete disregard for Wille’s past is the perfect storm for Wille immediately falling head over heels.

On Monday, he lingers awkwardly in the music room, praying Simon will show up. He does, much to Wille’s delight, and brushes past any lingering unease, offering to show Wille the production program he’s been learning about in class. Simon is very smart and a very good teacher, easily moving through the parts of the program and kindly explaining them to Wille without complication.

Apparently the program is rather large, because after only about ten minutes, Simon’s laptop slips into buffering mode. He frustratedly smacks the side.

“God, this dumb laptop,” Simon groans, tossing his head back. Wille does not look at the long, lean line of his neck.

Wille smiles at the dramatics, and says, politely, “I don't think hitting it will encourage it to work, Simon.”

Simon groans again and sends a scowl at him. “You don’t know what my computer likes.”

“I can’t imagine it likes being jostled around like that.”

Simon rolls his eyes and Wille laughs.

“Why don’t you leave it alone for a bit and let it work itself out?” he suggests, wanting to reach out to comfortingly pat Simon’s shoulder but not knowing if they’re to that point, yet. “We can do something else?”

Shrugging, Simon puts the laptop down on the piano and folds his arms, glaring at it like he’s willing it to work.

Motivated by the rapport they’ve established, and itching to learn more about Simon, Wille asks, “Do you like it here?” He’s embarrased by how shy and timid his own voice sounds.

Simon turns to him and studies his face.

“Do you like it here?”

Wille holds eye contact for as long as he can, before looking away to stare at his shoes. There’s something about Simon’s stare that pierces his soul and completely disarms him.  

“Yeah.” It sounds a bit like a question, which it kind of is, because he’s unsure if he’s telling the truth but also doesn’t know if he’s lying. He steels himself enough to look back up to meet Simon’s eyes.

New York has been fine, a nice change of pace at the very least, but he’s still lonely. A different type of lonely, but no matter how far he flees, his brother is still dead and the monarchy is still gone and he still has no idea what his future was going to look like. (Now, though, for the first time in a long time, thanks to brown eyes and a blinding smile, he has some idea of what he might want it to look like.)

“What did you want to be?” Simon blurts, startling Wille out of his musings. “Before this. When you were a kid. Before you were… a prince. Before you weren’t anymore.”

Wille smiles slightly. “An astronaut.”

“Really?” Simon sounds surprised.

“Yes,” Wille frowns. “What’s wrong with astronaut?”

Simon shrugs. “Cliche.”

“Oh, alright,” Wilhelm quips sassily, and enjoys the amused look that arrives on Simon’s face. “What did you want to be, then, if my answer is no good?”

“A fish.”

Wille’s mouth drops open. He closes it, then opens it again but can’t seem to make any sound come out.

“Yes, exactly like that!” Simon grins widely, pointing at Wille. This makes Wille splutter, which makes Simon burst into laughter.

“That’s not– You can’t be a fish, Simon,” he gasps incredulously.

Simon continues to giggle. “Why not?”

“It’s not possible!”

“Oh and you becoming an astronaut is possible?”

“Hey, if I wanted to I could. You are a human person. You cannot be a fish.”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to be. You asked.”

Thirty minutes later, their booked time in the music room is up and Wille realizes Simon’s laptop has stopped buffering. He’s not sure how long it’s been done, he’d been too busy laughing and joking with Simon. He’s also not sure how long it’s been since he laughed like this. It feels really, really nice. Comfortable. He books the same time slot for Wednesday as they bid their goodbyes.

[bbugyu]

my happiness + lee jihoon

even in this maze-like world, jihoon made you feel a little less lost

wc.4563 | fluff, uni/hs au, gender neutral reader, seungcheol is a protective bigbro

my friend ulted jihoon recently, so <3

If there was one way to describe your brother, it was protective. You were always his baby growing up - an annoying little sibling, but he was the only one allowed to beat you up. When your neighbor made you cry when you were six, a ten year old Seungcheol went marching over to him at the park near your apartment complex and kicked over his sand castle. In hindsight, he might have been a bit of a bully, but only when other people hurt you first, and you had always been grateful for it as a child.

Now, though, it scared you. Because you had a boyfriend. And Seungcheol didn’t know.

Seungcheol had gone off to college, getting an education doing what he loved with a ton of friends. He lived in an apartment an hour bus ride away from your family home, where you spent the week in high school. 

On the weekends, though, you had free reign. And most weekends, you took that hour bus ride to spend a couple nights on the couch in his living room. In the beginning, it had been because adjusting to him being gone was hard for you. For the first 18 years of your life, you had spent the evenings playfully fighting with your older brother as your mom yelled for you to sit your asses down and eat. Now, you sat at the table and shoved your food around the plate, feeling like an only child. Seungcheol knew this, and had opened the invitation - whenever you had a hard week, you were welcome, no questions asked. As long as there was a confirmation before you got on the bus, he would happily meet you at the bus stop and buy your favorite ramen and ice cream at the convenience store on the walk back to his place.

Now, though, you went just to hang out. His roommates were fantastic, a group of music-making friends Seungcheol had made in his course, not to mention the rotating cast of friends that would show up unannounced or to work on music. They were somehow just like him, yet simultaneously so different. You felt the same older brother vibe from Jeonghan that you did your actual brother. He took care of you, tossing you a tangerine when you were starting to get hangry, or sneakily adding your favorite songs to the music queue when you were pouting about something you didn't want to talk about. He lounged on the couch with a look on his face that made you wonder if his eyes ever opened fully, yet he noticed everything. Sometimes, when you were mad at Seungcheol for indescribable sibling reasons, Jeonghan would shoot you a message on kakao, and you would jokingly tell him he was better than your real brother. He always scolded you for thinking so, but it was his own fault for being so understanding.

Soonyoung and Seungcheol had the same way of expressing their passion, diving head first and only coming up for air when they were done. You had watched Soonyoung shove the small table in their apartment against the wall so that he could use the giant mirror leaning against the wall to bang out a detail in his choreographies more than once, and you recognized the look on his face as the one Cheol had as he wrote. He made you laugh the most often, always sacrificing his image to commit to a joke. The way he could transform from a striking performer into a grandma at a moments notice was maybe one of your favorite things anyone has ever done, but you refused to give him the ego boost by telling him, even if your uncontrollable laughter gave you away anyways.

And then there was Jihoon.

Jihoon was quiet and thoughtful, like your brother. He seemed to do better assessing the situation completely before inserting his opinion, which was always well considered and well explained. He leaned back in his roller chair, hand on his chin as he listened to the opinions of his room and bandmates, then somehow managed to have a suggestion that solved all their disagreements. He dressed comfortably at all times, but the clothes suited him well. You cursed him for being able to look put together while wearing sweats and sandals, all his platinum blonde hair tucked into a hat. At first, you wondered if he didn’t like you, considering how close you had gotten to the other two, but when you asked Seungcheol what his deal was, he just told you he’s shy around new people. That didn’t stop you from crushing on him. Hard.

More than once, he had looked over at you, catching your starry eyed gaze while he was working on a beat. You would always blush and look away, mortified by being caught practically drooling, but you noticed that when you stole another look, he was blushing too.

Seungcheol always grilled you about the boys at school. He always made you promise that you wouldn’t go on any dates with any of them before getting his approval, and you sighed and agreed, thinking specifically about how he had said “high school boys aren’t worth your time.”

Jihoon had been around for a couple of these conversations, and while he always stayed seated, facing his computer and away from you, you could see his fingers falter over the keyboard, his creative function pausing as he heard you insist to your brother that none of the guys at your school interested you.

One weekend, you were cramming for an exam, seated on the floor and laid out on the table at the apartment. Around 2 in the morning, Seungcheol told you to not stay up too late, told Jihoon that if he kept you up he would end up dead, then retired to his bedroom. You had yawned once in the half hour since then, and Jihoon immediately spun around in his chair, tearing off his headphones.

“I should let you sleep,” he said, saving his files. 

“No, no,” you insisted. “I’m gonna be up for at least another hour, don’t stop working for my sake.”

Jihoon pursed his lips, a habit you had noticed in the time you had known him. He nodded, acknowledging that he trusted your judgement and that he could keep working as he spun around slowly to resume. You watched his profile a moment, noticing the way his eyes scanned his screen while he was frozen, seemingly lost in his own brain versus processing what he was viewing.

“Can I hear what you’re working on?”

He blinked at you hard. “Hah?”

You giggled, trying to keep quiet, knowing his roommates were all asleep. “Can I listen? It might give me strength to keep studying.”

“I-I, uh-” Jihoon stuttered for a moment, clicking around on his screen. “Y-yeah, one second-”

Your lips pursed to hide the creeping smile on your face. Seungcheol had told you ages ago that Jihoon never went on dates. You had slept over at the apartment when Soonyoung had come home late after nights out, or Jeonghan not returning until morning. You had even stayed home a few weekends for the express reason of letting your brother go on dates without worrying about you being at his place alone. Jihoon, though. He was always home, either sleeping or working. You wondered if he even went to class. It was hard to imagine him anywhere but his desk in the living room.

You crawled over to the desk from you spot on the floor, and Jihoon stood up as you got near, gesturing for you to take his seat. As you sat, he handed you his headphones and kneeled, hand on his mouse as you put them on. He looked at you briefly to make sure they were on the right way, then hit the spacebar on his keyboard.

As the beat started, you immediately smiled and let out a small “ooh,” turning to Jihoon as he tried to look anywhere but at you. Your head bobbed as you listened to the cheerful beat. “I love it. What melody are you thinking?”

He cocked his head. “I haven’t gotten that far. Cheol already wrote a few bars, so I made it for that mostly, but I don’t have a hook yet.”

You nodded, humming a quiet accompanying melody absentmindedly.

“Oh,” Jihoon said, suddenly looking at you. “That’s good? That was really good. Hang on.” He paused the playback and grabbed the microphone, and you watched in shock. “Can you do that again?”

“I-I, me?” You gulped. “I’m not a singer, you should do it.”

“You came up with it, how am I supposed to know it?” He asked, clicking around quickly. You leaned back in the seat as his arms reached across you to access the keyboard better. “You should record it, quick, before you lose it.”

You stared at the microphone he put in your hand as he went back in the song to where you ad-libbed, still slightly shocked at the difference in Jihoon’s personality when he started entering producer mode.

“Ready? Just do it naturally. Whatever feels right.”

You looked at him, nodding. The music resumed in your ears, and you sang the melody you had hummed into the microphone with no real lyrics. When you finished what came to you, you pulled the microphone away from you, giggling suddenly. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Why, why?” Jihoon took the mic from you and smiled, after saving the recording. “You sounded good! The Choi siblings are talented.”

“No,” you groaned. “Seungcheol got all the musical talent.”

“Yah,” he furrowed his brow at you. “Are you saying I’m not a good judge?”

You laughed again. “No, no, I’m not!”

“It sounds like you think I don’t know a good voice when I hear it.”

“Stop!”

“Then admit you sounded good!”

You pouted at him, and he laughed. Your frown broke slightly, only to end in you giggling as he looked back at his screen, adjusting a couple things. You wanted to watch what he was doing, but you were lost in his profile. He gave you a sideways glance quickly, then again when he realized you were staring.

“What?”

You shook your head, but didn’t stop looking at him. “Nothing.”

This was the closest you had ever been to Jihoon, sitting in his chair with him beside you, and your heart felt like exploding just by the way he was looking at you.

Then you heard a door.

Jihoon stood suddenly, instinctively clearing his throat and focusing on the screen as you spun in the chair to see Jeonghan emerging from their shared bedroom.

He paused outside of the door, staring at the two of you, processing the scene he had just walked into. “What’s all this?”

You blinked, and Jihoon cleared his throat again.

Jeonghan sighed, grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch. “You guys are too obvious.”

“Where are you going?” You asked suddenly, remembering the hour.

He eyed you, knowing what you were thinking. “Nothing like that. My girlfriend just accidentally played Animal Crossing for ten hours straight and has an exam in six hours. I’m taking her to a cafe.”

You nodded slowly, remembering the girl you had met a few weeks before, then wondered what class has an exam at 9 on a Saturday. “Stay safe.”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“Hey,” Jihoon said, feeling accused. “What’s that mean?”

Jeonghan laughed as he grabbed his wallet and keys, shoving them into the pockets of his denim jacket. “You do know that Seungcheol will literally kill you if you make a move on his baby, right?”

You bit your cheek. Jihoon stuttered behind you.

“I’ll keep your secret,” he said, shoving his feet into a pair of vans. “But if you guys are this obvious in front of him, don’t blame me when he finds out.”

It had been a month since Jeonghan had called you both out for having feelings for each other. A month since Jihoon shyly admitted that he had liked you for a while, but hadn’t expected you to feel anything for him. A month since you, a blushing mess, said that you had a crush on him the second you met him. A month since he gently put a hand on your jaw and kissed you.

A month since you started avoiding your brother’s questions about boys. And he was starting to get annoyed.

“None, Y/N? Really? No guys?”

You rolled your eyes, pausing your note taking. “No, bro. Boys at my school are stupid.”

“What about outside of school?”

This was the first time Seungcheol had suggested that you might know people outside of your class, and your panic must have shown on your face by the way Jihoon snorted from behind Cheol. He spun around and looked at the younger. “What? Is it crazy to think that Y/N might know people outside of school?”

“No,” Jihoon said, straight faced. “I just don’t get why you’re so insistent on them having a boyfriend when you wouldn’t approve of any of them anyways.”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, refocusing on your textbook. “Can you guys shut up, I have a quiz on Monday.”

“You have all weekend,” Cheol said, grabbing your notebook as you protested. “Whats up, my precious little sibling. Why aren’t you dating? You’re graduating this year.”

“Because I have an oedipus complex and no one compares to my brother,” you said, trying to snatch your notebook back as Jihoon broke out into a laugh. “Can you leave me alone for one weekend?”

“If you want me to leave me alone you shouldn’t come to my apartment.”

You didn’t tell him you only came because you wanted to see your secret boyfriend, who just so happened to be his roommate.

Jihoon was good to you, you thought. If he woke up early enough, he would facetime with you during your lunch period at school while he walked to his first class, bleary eyed and swollen from sleep. You shoved your classmates away as they teased you for your older man and he would just laugh, rubbing his eyes in the afternoon sun. He’d send you pictures of random things all day, sometimes in class, or in the library. A book cover he thought you would like the design of. The way the clouds looked in the sunset when he was walking back to the apartment. You often got selfies of him pretending to be asleep during lectures. You would send pictures back of your sneakers while you walked home from school, or selfies you took with the mirror in your room. Every other afternoon, he would facetime you again after Seungcheol left for his afternoon class, and you would study while he messed around on his computer, letting you listen to his music making process.

Then, Friday afternoons, you would skip up the stairs to your family apartment and rush to pack an overnight bag, telling your mom you were headed to Seungcheol’s. She would tease you for spending more time there than at home, but was secretly glad that her kids were staying close. On the bus, you would switch your wallpaper back to an edit with lyrics to some Jonas Brothers song from the picture that Jihoon had sent you earlier that week. You texted both Jihoon and your brother, separately, letting them know you were on your way.

Your phone rang in your hand suddenly while you were watching Jihoon type on the other side of the conversation. Seungcheol. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, kiddo! Something came up and I can’t get you at the bus stop.”

You paused. “Okay?”

“So wait until later.”

You paused again, looking around the bus you were seated in. “No?”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Seungcheol, I’m not a little kid. I know where you live. Besides, I’m already on the bus.”

You rolled your eyes when you heard him groaning. “You’re so annoying. Okay, hang on.”

“You’re the one being annoying, bro-” you were cut off by the sound of a door opening and Cheol yelling a sustained “YAH!”

“Can you go get this stupid kid at the bus stop? By the 7eleven?”

“Bro, I’m not a stupid kid-”

“Okay I’m back. Jihoon says he’ll come meet you.”

You paused. “Fine.”

“Ah, you’re fine if it’s Jihoon but not me. I see how it is.”

You laughed. “What do you mean?”

“This kid,” he muttered teasingly. “Doesn’t even care that their big brother just wants to take care of them. Prefers the other brothers. I get it. I’m not hurt.”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah whatever. Love you!”

“Love you, too.”

Then you sat, vibrating, on a bus for forty-five minutes. 

You stood by the back door as the bus stopped in front of the 7eleven, grinning when you saw Jihoon leaning against the wall, waving at you through the bus window. You hopped off and excitedly skipped towards him, making him laugh as he pushed off the wall.

“Hi,” you said, grinning.

“Hi,” he said back, quickly leaning into you for a kiss.

You really cherished the moments you could act how you wanted with Jihoon. You knew that if you let yourself get soft and sappy with Seungcheol around, it would be a dead giveaway, so you kept your normal attitude at the apartment. But, what you wanted to do was hook your arm into Jihoons, plant a kiss on his cheek, and happily tell him about your week as you walked. So that’s what you did.

Despite the fact that you had talked over facetime the day before, you still found something to tell him about, making him laugh when you imitated one of your classmates. He told you that he started a new song the night before, and you begged him to let you listen to it when you got home, but he said you had to wait until it was done.

Your fingers fit well between his, you thought, when he suddenly asked if you were hungry.

“Kinda,” you said, looking over to him. “You?”

He nodded, looking down the street at what was around. “I haven’t eaten yet today. Do you wanna go to the snack bar?”

You grinned, giving him a look. “Lee Jihoon, are you asking me out?”

He laughed, tugging your hand with his. “Shut up. Let’s go.”

You decided to let it slide that it was almost four in the afternoon and he hadn’t eaten yet, giggling as you got pulled down the street. You had always liked Jihoon, obviously, but you especially liked the Jihoon you had gotten to know. The one that was relaxed and laughed at every chance he got, rather than the shy and hesitant Jihoon you had met. Now that he wasn’t trying to hide his feelings from you, he had become a cooler, calmer version of himself when you were around, not just when he forgot you were sitting on the couch while him and the guys worked on a song. 

When you entered the snack bar that your group frequented often, you realized you had never eaten anywhere alone with Jihoon, much less there. It was starting to kind of feel like a real date, you thought, as he led you to a small table, looking over the menu when he sat despite probably having it memorized. You quickly got up and retrieved a pitcher of water for you both, asking him what sounded good.

“Everything,” he said, leaning back and stretching his shoulders. “What do you want? My treat.”

You bit your cheek, looking at the menu, despite also having it memorized. It really was starting to feel like a date. “Rabokki?”

“Oooh, I like it. With cheese?”

You scoffed, pouring the water for both of you. “Always with cheese.”

He laughed as he pulled the cap off a felt tip pen to mark out your order. “Do we want the fried rice at the end, too?”

“Wah,” you said, eyes wide. “I haven’t had that in so long. Are you hungry enough?”

He looked at you. “Are you being serious?”

You giggled, letting your hand find his free one beside the inset grill, fingers slipping between his. “Order it, then.”

He inhaled sharply, cocking his head at the menu. “Should we also get kimbap?”

“Jihoon, there’s only two of us.”

“And?”

He played around with the idea for a bit longer, making you laugh, but he decided against it so that he could justify ordering chicken for dinner. After the older woman that ran the place took the marked menu from Jihoon, he stared at you for a minute, then smiled.

You pouted, suddenly shy under his gaze. “What?”

“You’re really cute.”

You pulled your hand away from his and leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Shut up.”

He laughed, leaning forward to pull your hand back. “Hey, hey! That’s mine. You can’t take it.”

“My hand?”

“No, mine.”

You held it up. “This one? The one attached to me?”

“Yeah, it’s mine. Give it back.”

You wished you didn’t blush so hard as you pouted and muttered a “fine,” letting him take it back and rest it on the table again. 

Then there was thunk on the window, making you both jump and look over, along with the few other patrons. Your eyes got big as your big brother pointed at you, a balled fist against the glass.

“Yah!” His voice was muted from through the glass, but his tone was obvious. You looked at Jihoon, then at your hands, and you both pulled away as soon as you realized, but it was way too late. You groaned and collapsed onto the table as Seungcheol marched to the entrance and entered the snack bar.

“What the hell! You didn’t tell me?”

Jihoon stood up, but stuttered. “H-hey, calm down, bro-”

“Y/N.”

You didn’t lift your head. “What.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon interjected. “I asked them to not let you know. It’s my fault.”

“What?” Seungcheol stared at him. “Why? Why would you think I wouldn’t want to know about this?”

“Because you would have said I wasn’t good enough, and you’re right.”

That made you pop your head up, squinting at Jihoon. “What? No. That’s not true.”

“How can you judge?” Seungcheol asked, nodding at you. “You don’t have experience with guys. You barely even know him.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Oh my God, Seungcheol, I’ve known Jihoon for almost a year now. I probably know him better than you do. And I don’t need you telling me who’s worthy of my time.”

Seungcheol pouted at you, his brows giving away that he was more hurt than angry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You paused. “Are you serious?”

He exhaled, sitting in the extra chair at your table, completely ignoring the group of people he had been walking with that were now just standing outside of the restaurant. “How long?”

You eyed Jihoon, who quietly sat across from you. “About a month.”

Seungcheol clicked his tongue, as he looked around, concealing a curse and clearly annoyed that he hadn’t figured out sooner. “How serious?”

“I really like Y/N,” Jihoon said, pulling both of your attention. He adjusted his baseball cap, another habit of his you had noticed. “A lot. I would like it to be serious.”

You pursed your lips, trying to hide a smile. “Me too.”

“God, I hate this,” Seungcheol said, rubbing his face. “This sucks so much.”

You shoved his shoulder. “Why, why?”

“Because I want to beat up your boyfriend but I don’t want to beat up my producer.”

“Nice,” Jihoon deadpanned, looking at you with a raised fist in victory. “We found a loophole.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Seungcheol groaned, pulling himself out of the chair. “Are you paying? You better be paying.”

Jihoon laughed, hands up in surrender. “I’m paying, I promise.”

“He already offered, Seungcheol, seriously. God, you’re so annoying.”

“I can’t believe I’m leaving you two here.”

“Are you?” You asked. “Because it seems a lot like you’re still here.”

“Oh, nice,” Jihoon raised a hand and you laughed as you high fived him. 

“I’ll kill you both if given the opportunity, I swear,” Seungcheol said, walking towards the door. “Take me seriously.”

“Of course, big brother! I love you!”

Jihoon made a heart with his arms and you held your face, trying to not snort at the way Seungcheol pointed and looked at him. 

“God, this sucks,” he repeated before opening the door, sounding completely defeated. "Oh my God the song you were writing yesterday-”

Jihoon cleared his throat. "Hey, bro, shut up."

You eyed Jihoon and he shook his head. Seungcheol leaned against the doorframe in anguish, still complaining about how much he hated the situation. You waved to him as he rejoined his friends, all of them slapping his back as he huffed. You exhaled deeply and looked at Jihoon. “Well, that went better than expected.”

He exhaled, nodding, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

You giggled a moment, then paused. “Were you serious earlier?”

Jihoon looked at you, wide eyed. “About what?”

“That you don’t think you’re good enough.”

His tongue clicked and he inhaled, fidgeting with his hands. “I- yeah. Kinda?”

“Why?”

He shook his head. “I just don’t get you.”

You frowned. “What?”

“I don’t get how-” he paused, clearing his throat and straightening his spine. “I don’t understand it. You’re so funny and cute and smart, I’m sure people are asking you out at school all the time. Wouldn’t it be easier to have a boyfriend you could actually spend time with?”

“We do spend time together,” you said, thinking of all the video calls and the weekends hanging out.

“Not really,” Jihoon said. “Not like a couple.”

You faltered. “You mean like going out?”

He pursed his lips, clearly not sure how to express what was going on in his head with you pushing for an answer. “I guess? Don’t you think you should see your boyfriend more?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, trying to get him to look at you again. “But only because you’re my boyfriend. I like you, Jihoon. I don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

He sniffed suddenly, a smile breaking through. He raised his eyebrows a bit, and you almost laughed at his playful look. “You don’t wanna be with anyone else?”

You giggled. “No. Only you.”

“Wow,” he said, putting his hands on the table. “No one, huh?”

“Shut up,” you said, recognizing his jokingly cocky tone.

“Wow, this feels good, huh?” He grinned, committing to the bit by speaking in dialect. “I like this feeling. Turns out, happiness isn’t just a word.”

Your eyes closed as you laughed. “You’re acting so weird, stop.”

He laughed with you while your pot arrived and the server turned on the burner. Jihoon immediately began breaking up the ramen, smiling sideways while you watched him.

“What?” He asked finally, wondering why you stared at him instead of the food.

You smiled. “I like you.”

He exhaled with a smile. “I like you, too.”

[wordsandshawn]

The Long Haul

AU where Shawn is in Uni before he decides to pursue music, and the rise to fame is less like a catapult and more like a really long walk uphill. There’s a lot of no’s, a lot of empty shows, but he’s got his girl and his guitar for the long haul. 

(possible miniseries) Its definitely set up like the first part of a series, but I’m still trying to figure out if I want to continue it, so please let me know what you think of it/ if you’d want to read more! 

You’ve known Shawn almost your entire life, but only from a distance. You grew up in Pickering and attended the same schools, but you just didn’t run in the same circle, never really sharing the same friends. You always thought he was cute and respectful, something that can’t be said for all the boys in school. It wasn’t until after high school, when you both started attending the University of Toronto, that you actually started talking to him. That was over a year ago, and now he’s your boyfriend, thanks to a crazy turn of events you never would have predicted. The two of you had kind of stumbled together and never really separated since, something you wouldn’t change or trade for the world. 

You had no idea that Shawn sang until after you started dating. You didn’t even know he played the guitar or piano until later too. You knew Shawn played hockey throughout high school and decided to major in business economics, a predictable path for a boy like him. He chose a University less than an hour from his hometown, majoring in something that would put him on a career path similar to his dad, which was exactly what seemed to always be expected of him. There’s nothing wrong with that, and he never gave any intention that he was unhappy with his life.

It wasn’t until a month ago when you were lying on Shawn’s bed, and he was sitting in his desk chair, stressed about an upcoming exam, that he first voiced a desire to do anything with his music beside keeping a secret book of songs that he wouldn’t even let you see.

You knew he was stressed with midterms coming up, so you just ignored his offhand comment of Maybe I’ll just become a singer. You were both stressed, and you know as well as anybody that when the stress becomes too much everyone always begins looking for ways out, joking about taking leave of absences or switching majors to something easier or dropping out to work in a restaurant, anything that takes the pressure off the next assignment or the next exam. You thought that was exactly what Shawn was doing.

You have always secretly loved that he’s a musician, even if he wouldn’t call himself one or admit it. He won’t even really sing in front of other people, at least not at organized events, which is why you didn’t take his comment seriously. He’ll sing in his dorm room to you and whoever happens to be passing in the hall outside his open door. He’ll trek his guitar with him to bonfires with your friends and he’ll play and sing, his cheeks rosy from the cold. He’ll sit around the Christmas tree with his family, pull out his guitar and force them to sing along with him. But he’s never put himself out there as a musician.

When it comes to singing in front of people, he doesn’t exactly see the point for him. At least that’s what he told you the first and last time it came up when you questioned if he has stage fright.

“No, I’m not scared, It’s just not my thing. I just don’t know why I’d want to do that.”

“What do you mean? You’re great, and you’re not sharing it with the world.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to listen. I just do it when I’m stressed or for fun. I’m going into a career in business, not music.”

And that was the end of that conversation over a year ago, just a few weeks into your first semester at Uni and a week into dating. Shawn was a realist only because he wasn’t ready to let the dreamer inside him out. You never brought it up again, but you did notice that Shawn started to spend more and more time locked in his room just working on music his actual textbooks forgotten on his desk. Even though no one knew him as a musician, in his own way, in his own time, he was turning into one.

-

“I’m thinking of doing an open mic night.” Shawn says to you as you sit beside him on the couch eating dinner and watching the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

You’re caught off guard, so you reach over and pause the episode in order to give this conversation your full attention. “An open mic night?” You question, “Singing?” He just nods, shoveling more food into his mouth, unfazed by how shocked you are right now. “When?”

“Next Friday. Derek’s organizing one at that new coffee shop. He said I could sign up if I want.” He says it all so nonchalantly, like its no big deal, when it is. 

“And you want to?” You don’t mean to sound unsupportive, you’re just shocked.

He shrugs, “Yeah, why not.”

You don’t want to mention the reasons why not that he’s mentioned to you before because you think he’s great and you think other people should be able to appreciate him too, so you say, “I think that’s awesome, babe. I think you should do it if you want to.”

He nods, looking like he’s thinking more about it and about what you just said. He doesn’t reply, though. Instead, he just continues to eat. After a few more seconds, he leans over and un-pauses the episode, and the two of you finish your meal without exchanging any more words on that topic. 

-

Shawn’s true to his word, and he signs up for the open mic night after getting more information about it. It’s the night before the performance. You’re sprawled out across Shawn’s bed as he paces the room, absentmindedly playing his guitar like he has been nonstop for the last three hours. “I like that John Mayer song,” You suggest, just wanting to see him calm his nerves and finally choose a song. 

“I only get one.” He says, as though you weren’t completely aware of that.

“I know, it’s going to be great. It’ll be a great way to start performing, see if it’s fun, you know?”

He nods, starting to play the song you suggested. He’s nervous, but in true Shawn fashion, he’s also oddly calm.

He stops mid-song to turn to you and say, “Okay, and if it’s a shitshow, we’ll go get greasy burgers and milkshakes at that diner you like and pretend it never happened?”

“Yeah, if,” You say, making sure to emphasize the “if,” before adding, “But when it goes great, we can still go to the diner, and talk about how amazing it was until 1am.”

He nods, and you smile, knowing he feels reassured by your statement, which is all you were trying to do. You have confidence in him. He’s going to do great. Even though he hasn’t performed for an audiencet before, Shawn somehow calms down whenever he has his guitar in his hands. You’ve seen him stressed before, seen the way he grabs his guitar and plays until his fingers hurt, sings until his voice is hoarse. Singing and playing guitar is one of the things he enjoys most in this world. Its about time he lets other people appreciate all of his hard work and the talent he has. 

-

The next evening, you show up to the coffee shop early with Shawn, getting coffee and chatting with some other people you know there as Shawn talks to Derek, making sure that his guitar will be good to go when it’s time.

You find seats for you and Shawn near the front. Even though the event won’t be very big, and the back of the room is clearly visible from the stage, you want to make sure Shawn has a good view of you when he’s performing. Just in case he gets nervous, at least he’ll know you’re there and be able to see you. Shawn finishes checking everything with Derek and he slides into the seat beside you just as Derek gets onstage to open the night and introduce the first performer. Shawn nervously rests his hand on your thigh, squeezing gently, and you place your arm around his back, hoping to help calm his nerves.

You sit through the first few performances: a couple spoken word poets, someone playing the violin, and another singer. Then, it’s Shawn’s turn. He shakes off the nerves and you give his hand one last squeeze before he stands and approaches the stage. He flashes a nervous smile to the small but attentive crowd as he strums his guitar once. He takes a deep breath, raking his fingers through his hair before leaning closer to the mic. “I’m just going to play a cover for you all tonight. I hope you like John Mayer.” As soon as he strums the first few chords, a confidence comes out of him that you didn’t expect. You sing along the whole time, making eye-contact with Shawn when he looks to you in the audience.

As he strums the last chord, the audience claps loudly, some even shouting and cheering. The smile on Shawn’s face is huge and he just takes everything in for a few seconds before saying, “Thank you.” And stepping off the stage to put his guitar back in the case before finding his way back to the seat beside you to watch the rest of the artists. Even though you know you’re biased, you’re still pretty sure that Shawn got one of the loudest responses from the crowd so far. He’s on an adrenaline high when he steps off the stage, and it remains even as the remainder of the artists perform one by one. After the show, Shawn makes sure to thank Derek for letting him perform, and Derek lets Shawn know how good he was, promising to keep in touch because he’s putting on another event soon, not an open mic night, but one with actual featured artists, and he’s interested in having Shawn perform there.

Derek asks if you both would like to stick around because a few of them are going out for drinks after finishing up there. You wouldn’t have minded going out with them for some celebratory drinks over how well the evening went. But Shawn just looks to you briefly before saying, “Sorry man, we have plans already, but thanks for the invite. And I’ll talk to you soon about the event?”

“Of course, I think you’ve already got yourself some fans here, so it’ll be great to have you out again!” Derek enthusiastically replies before you say your goodbyes to him and others you know. 

Once you’re outside in the chilly night air, you pull your sweater closer to yourself, asking, “Why did you say no? We could have gone out with them.”

He just smiles over at you, taking your hand in his as he leads you to his car. “Because we have plans for burgers and milkshakes, and I’ve been looking forward to it all night.” 

You just smile and nod your approval because you felt the same way. Although you wouldn’t want to keep Shawn from going to hang out with new people or socializing and celebrating the success of the night, you were really looking forward to your corner booth in the diner, and some quality time to end the night. 

So that’s exactly what you do. You take your usual booth, ordering the same thing you always get. Shawn shares with you some of the thoughts that were running through his head onstage, and you’re starting to see he might be really serious about this music thing. 

An hour turns into two, and the leftover fries get cold, but you still pick at one every so often as the conversation shifts to other topics and Shawn has you laughing so hard your stomach hurts. 

[all-the-fanfics-bc-im-indecisive]

Rooftop | Muke AU

Summary: Michael takes a break from his best friend’s terrible college party and goes to get some air up on the rooftop, where he meets a puffy-eyed boy who’s ready to throw his life away.

Word count: 2,136

Warnings: Talk of suicide and mental illness, mentions of substance abuse

A/N: I’m not incredibly proud of this story but it’s all I really have and it’s not the worst. Also please tell me if I’ve said something wrong or if you think this is romanticising mental illnesses at all!! I tried to make it as real as possible but, although I struggle with a lot of mental illnesses, I’ve never come extremely close to suicide. So if you think I’m simplifying suicide too much or making it sound a lot better than it is, please tell me so I can fix it!

-

Michael looks around the overcrowded apartment. He hovers at the TV, avoiding the sweaty teenagers, drunk off their asses from watered down beer.

Calum is nowhere to be seen. Michael tries to spot him in the large crowd, with no luck. He guesses the boy is off chugging down a can of crappy alcohol or getting high with some minors upstairs.

He doesn't know why he allowed his best friend to throw this dumb party. He dreads having to clean the mess up afterwards, and he barely knows anyone in the apartment.

The air begins to feel hot and thick as more people pile into the apartment, and Michael starts to sweat. He takes a few deep breaths before beginning to push through the people closing in around him.

Thankfully, most of the people Calum invited were college freshmen or high school seniors, so Michael can see over their heads pretty easily.

He makes his way to the front door, avoiding everyone who tries to grind on him as he walks past. He almost gets a cup of punch thrown on him, but jumps out of the way just in time. He sighs in relief. He has a white shirt on, and absolutely does not want to be half naked in a crowd of horny teenagers.

Finally, he's at the front door. He slips out into the hallway as quickly as he can, immediately taking in a huge gulp of air. He's always hated parties. Even his birthday parties. It's not even the overcrowding. Drop him in a festival ground? He feels right at home. Throw him into an overpacked concert? Brilliant. But parties? Absolutely not.

He shakes his head and walks off through the hallway.

Humming to himself, he makes his way to the rooftop. The stairs are a pain in the ass, but he trusts them more than the rickety old elevator. And anyway, it's worth it. The view from the rooftop is incredible.

He walks up the stairs for what feels like an hour, sighing in relief when he reaches the door at the top step.

He pushes open the heavy door and smiles at the cool, fresh air. Even if it smells like city smog, it's a hell of a lot better than sweat, beer, and Calum's dirty laundry.

His smile drops instantly. His heart jumps into his throat.

A boy stands on the ledge overlooking the bustling road below, his toes peeking over the edge.

His hands cradle the back of his neck as he gulps in air. His intentions of being on the roof are obvious.

Slowly, Michael creeps over to the shivering boy, wondering if he can somehow grab him before he does anything drastic. But of course, he has no idea how to tiptoe and accidentally shuffles his feet along the cement, causing the boy to jump three feet in the air(which sends a wave of anxiety through Michael's body as the boy is dangerously close to the edge already)and turn quickly to face Michael.

Tears stream down his face. He sobs loudly to himself, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his denim jacket. He backs away slightly, taking a tiny step towards the edge.

"Hey, hey." Michael says softly, holding his hands up.

"G-go away." The boy stutters, hiccuping. "I'm serious, go away."

"I'm sorry." Michael replies. "I just came to get some air."

He takes a step forward, but freezes when the boy backs away from him.

"Whoa, it's okay." he says, trying his best to keep his voice soft. If he so much as looked at this boy the wrong way, he would be soaring off the side of the building.

"What's your name?" He asks, staying firmly in his spot.

The boy doesn't reply, he just stares at Michael through huge, swollen eyes. Michael repeats the question.

"I...Luke."

"Luke." Michael smiles. "That's a nice name. I'm Michael."

Luke's face goes red as more tears pour out of his eyes.

"Can I ask why you're up here, Luke?"

He shrinks into his jacket.

"It's okay. You can tell me." Michael tries to soothe him as best he can.

"I-I..." He sniffles and chokes on a sob. "I can't."

"That's okay." Michael's heart races, his brain running a million miles an hour. "But I need you to step off the ledge, alright?"

Luke shuffles his feet closer to the edge of the building. He shakes his head.

Shit, shit, shit. Michael scolds himself.

"I promise, if you come down, it'll all be okay." Words fall out of his mouth. He can't think of what to say to help this poor boy.

"You don't know that!" Luke yells.

"No, no. I do." Michael says in a whisper.

The wind whips around the two. Luke's hair flies into his face.

"Trust me, I do." He smiles softly. "I wanted to do the exact same thing, three years ago."

Luke shakes his head again. "You don't understand." He lets out a single sob.

"I do. I was running up the stairs to the top of the apartment where me and my mom lived when my friend caught me and stopped me." Michael rushes.

Luke seems to have frozen in place, listening to Michael. He takes a deep breath, praying the boy stays where he is until he can find a way to get him down.

"Every single university that I applied for rejected me. After six years of fighting to get all A's, putting my grades before my mental health, taking extracurriculars and working two jobs just to prove I was good enough, it turned out I wasn't." He explains. Luke's feet stay where they are. Michael continues his story.   "School, university, and work had always been the most important things in my life, and then I had nothing. I thought if I didn't get into university, I had no purpose. No future.

"So, after weeks of crying in my room, destroying furniture and tearing up denial letters, I decided that I'd rather be dead than worthless. So I grabbed my cigarettes and a handful of painkillers and ran off."

Luke watches Michael intently, as if he's not the one on the edge of the building.

"I sent my best friend a text telling him not to be surprised if I wasn't at school the next day, but I guess he knew me too well. He darted over from his house next door, and the next thing I knew, he was grabbing me, pulling me down the stairs, wrestling the painkillers out of my hand."

Luke takes a deep, shaky breath.

"He screamed at me for being an idiot. We were both crying, sobbing into each other's arms. I told him I had no purpose, he told me that that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. Finally, and hour and a half later, I let him drag me back to my apartment."

Michael sighs, quickly wiping his eyes and shaking his head.

"He cancelled his first year of university for me. Promised me he wouldn't leave my side until I got help. I went to therapy, so much therapy, saw psychologists, took a bunch of anti-depressants. I even stopped smoking. By the time I got on my feet, it was half way through the year. And that whole time my best friend was helping me make more university applications, making me send them out everywhere, even though I had no faith in myself. And then, after I had gotten out of therapy, he packed our stuff and we flew over to the UK. For the rest of the year, we travelled Europe."

There's a long silence. The two boys seem to have forgotten the situation they're in.

"And when we got home a few days before Christmas, I got a letter from NYU. An acceptance letter. We were so happy. We cried and screamed and poured cheap champagne all over each other. And he was going to Brooklyn College, which meant we could share an apartment."

Michael looks up. Luke stares directly into his eyes.

"I've been in uni for two years. I'm studying music composition and game design and gender and sexuality studies and I've never been happier. And that's because I didn't die that night. Do you know how much I would've missed out on? If I'd done it? I wouldn't have seen how incredible Europe is, or gone to any insane college parties. I wouldn't have met the amazing people I have now. I might've even killed my best friend. I don't know."

He finishes his story in a rush and suddenly it's as if time has unfrozen itself. The wind picks up again, Michael can hear the roar of the busy road below, Luke shuffles his feet back and forth.

"Please come down." Michael says softly.

Once again, Luke shakes his head. "No, I...I can't. You got better, your life got better, but mine won't."

Michael takes a deep breath. "How do you know? You won't be able to find out if you jump."

Luke is so close to the edge, his heels dangle dangerously off. He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that fall down his face and neck.

"Who's the most important person in your life?" Michael asks frantically while still trying his best to act calm. "Who do you love more than anything?"

Luke sniffles.

"My mom." He says quietly after a minute.

"What's she gonna think tomorrow? When the cops come to her door and tell her what happened? Did you leave her a note?"

"No." He whispers.

"What if she blames herself? What if she thinks she's done something wrong? She'll have to explain what happened a million times over when someone asks where you've gone. She won't know what to do with herself."

"Sh-she'd pick herself up. She always does." Luke's voice cracks.

"Do you want to put her through that? All the medication, the therapy?"

"I-I..."

"She might pick herself up, but it's not gonna happen overnight. After my mom found out what happened, she became an alcoholic, and she had to go to AA for almost two years. She still struggles now. And I didn't even get as far as the roof. She's so scared. She locks the bathroom cabinets with padlocks, she doesn't let me near the knives in the kitchen, and any time I'm home, she's checking on me constantly. Every few minutes, she runs into my room, just to make sure I'm okay. All I did was grab some pills and spontaneously run to the roof and now she's terrified that I'm gonna do it again.

"I don't want anyone to go through what my mom had to. It sucks, watching someone hurt themselves over something you did. It really sucks. Don't make your mom do what I made mine do. Don't let her waste away like that."

Luke doesn't move. He sobs loudly, his eyes not straying from Michael's face.

"I'm scared." He cries loudly. "I'm scared of what'll happen if I come down."

"Just keep your eyes on me." Michael says soothingly. "Can I come over to you? Please?"

Hastily, he takes a small step forward. Luke stays. He takes another step. Luke still stays.

"You're okay. Just take a little step towards me."

Slowly, Luke shuffles his feet along the concrete. It's only a few minuscule steps, but Michael's stomach begins to stop twisting into ferocious knots.

"That's it." He says with an encouraging smile. He takes a few more steps towards the boy. "Just keep looking at me. Don't focus on anything else."

Luke nods and takes a few more steps forward. He slowly gets closer to Michael.

As soon as he can reach him, Michael quickly stretches out his arms and grabs Luke by his jacket, pulling him as close as he can. Relief floods through him. He sighs, muttering a barely audible 'thank god' under his breath.

Luke's head hits his chest and he begins to sob into Michael's shirt. Michael stands there, stroking his hair as if the two have known each other for a lifetime.

"You're okay, you're okay." He repeats over and over.

Luke's sobbing has turned into a strange mix of crying and strangled screaming. His nails dig into Michael's back painfully, but Michael can barely feel it, absorbed in making sure the boy can't get out of his grip in any way, though he doesn't seem like he wants to anyway.

They stand there for ages. Luke's throat burns from screaming, his eyes almost sealed shut from the mix of new and old tears, Michael is almost certain the little stinging crescent moons on his back are bleeding and his back aches from bending down to hold on to the smaller boy, but neither of them care.

After Luke's screaming has died down somewhat, Michael takes a long, deep breath.

"Do you live in the apartment?" He asks quietly.

Luke nods simply, gulping in air.

Slowly, the two make their way off the rooftop and down the stairs, clinging on to each other for dear life.

-

Australian suicide hotline: 13 11 14

American suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255

U.K suicide hotline: 08457-90-90-90

Canadian suicide hotline: 1-800-448-1833

New Zealand suicide hotline: 5222-999/0800-111-777

French suicide hotline: 01-45-39-40-00

If you’re from any other country, please look up your national suicide hotline online and call if you need help. And talk to your close friends/family about what you’re going through. Get the help you need.

[incorrect-pokespe-quotes]

so i guess this is like an intro pv of a longer oneshot i’ve been working on for the better half of the year now. i got the idea from some soulmate prompt, so soulmate au i guess, or college au, or modern, or w/e.

and as usual i suck at titles so this piece doesn’t have one yet :)))))

-

There was a particular event of this world in which a certain order of people don’t exactly get the best results from. 

Of course, some of those that others would view as being cheated by life actually found themselves really fortunate.

Here’s the deal: On each of your wrists you have a name. The names are significantly faded, obscured from view at birth really, so you can’t tell what’s written without being relatively close. One of the names is that of your soulmate’s, the other that of your enemy’s. No one knows which is which. 

Crystal was one of the people who had an easier time with that question. She only had one name, the other wrist unmarred. For a while it was a bit of a wonder as to what the name could either signify, but that all changed in their first year of high school. There, she met an academic scholar -such as herself- named Eusine, the same name on her wrist. 

Eusine was a third year and, to put it short, absolutely infuriating. The two were always competing to see who could get the best marks despite the difference of their classes, and it became a battle most others couldn’t hope to reach. Second term, Crystal declared she was ace, so that was a done deal. She also got the highest scores of the school at the end of term, so Eusine had no choice but to sulk as he went off and graduated, declaring his desire to go off and pursue some magical beast he’d read about in a book previously. 

And that was that. Crystal’s one name was that of her enemy’s, and it was back in high school, and they had never seen the guy since, so it was a done deal. Her magical name quest given to her half-heartedly by life was complete, nothing left to it. Not that she minded, running into Eusine again wasn’t something on her daily lists of things to do.

Gold envied Crystal for that reason. But she was also his best friend, both bonding over their shared one-name-only trifle, so he was never envious for long, and it was never anything but a dull, weak couple of thoughts. 

That morning Gold’s mind decided to envy Crystal’s ease at being done with the whole name-destiny-thing for the sole reason that he was moving into an apartment that day that a scholarship was paying for and was incredibly nervous for some stupid reason because it was a big place with lots of people around and he still hadn’t found his soulmate/slash/enemy. It diminished pretty quickly, though, like always.

Currently, Crystal was helping move stuff into the aforementioned apartment because she lived in a dorm on campus so her stuff got moved in a week prior and Gold may have mentioned more than once how appreciative he would be if she were to help. She saw through it, though -it was rare that Gold actually remember to do anything nice in return. So she made him promise to buy her food that evening as payment, and he was forced to begrudgingly agree.

The apartment was on the fourth floor. The elevator of the apartment building was currently jammed with other residents that had decided to move in that day. Stupidly -according to Crystal- Gold decided to take the stairs. This was their second trek up. Crystal was holding a suspiciously heavy-but-small box and mentally cursing her best friend with every step she took. Finally, as they reached the third floor foyer, she had enough of guessing what the ‘OM’ label signified. “Gold, what the hell is in this box?”

He was already ascending the next staircase, but did flip back his head to look as he replied and she slowly followed. “The  . . Oh, my music. Bunch of tapes, CDs, stuff.”

“T-” She paused, thought, then quickly continued. “Tapes? Do you even have a player?”

“Yeah, somewhere.” He shrugged. “It’s mostly older stuff. Sinatra, Jovi, Frey, stuff like that. Although I did invest in-”

She could see it, a few paces behind him. He had reached the top, was spinning around the corner, and she’d seen enough of his accident-prone self to know, the shadow on the wall ahead only confirming.

“-Some, like, Gaga and-” He broke off with a very high-pitched squeal as he slammed into the person approaching, and Crystal quickly got up the final few steps to catch him before he could fall down the stairs. This mostly involved shoving the heavy box against his mid-back, but it did keep him upright. More than she could say for the other, who was barely picking themselves up into a sitting position.

“What-Oh shit-” Gold sputtered, catching sight. He quickly set the items he was carrying onto Crystal’s box -making her grunt and lean against the railing to keep from falling over from the weight- and reached down to offer a hand to the other. “Sorry about that, miss-”

“God that hurt,” a clearly-not-feminine voice said. The head lifted to reveal a pair of silvery eyes and -yep, it was a guy, way to go Gold, real nice move. They flicked to his outstretched hand for only a moment before ignoring it in favor of the wall beside him. Once he was back on his feet, those silver orbs narrowed and Gold retrieved his hand. 

“Uh. Sorry,” he said, eyes wide.

The other reeled back his lip. “Yeah right. Watch where you’re going next time, asshole.” He pushed away from the wall and walked off in the direction he’d originally been headed, to a door at the end of the hall, which Gold found strange but he would ignore in favor of other things.

“I said I was sor-” He broke off his half-shout as Crystal kneed him from behind, wincing in pain.

“Quit it and grab these from me before I collapse,” she grunted. Gold swiftly complied, adding an apology for good measure. She only huffed and shoved him out of the way, finally standing on the floor.

“Seriously though, what a hick.” He grumbled more as they moved toward his room. Although he was intrigued by the red hair. Not in a curious way, Crystal had dark blue hair for crying out loud, but it just seemed so vibrant.

His thoughts were cut short by Crystal kicking open the door they’d left cracked with a spare uni pamphlet they’d had on hand, figuring it’d be so small no one would notice the door was open. He walked in after her, watched her drop the box onto the counter with only minor flinching, and proceeded to freeze when she spun around to look pointedly at him.

“ . . What? What did I do?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. Just, watch where you’re going. And play some of this stuff. Music makes this less challenging.”

-

It was late in the evening when Gold found himself venturing out of his apartment, figuring he’d grab something from the vending machine the next floor down for dinner that night -because stupid Crystal and her stupid expensive tastes. He was just swinging the door shut, murmuring the last melodies of a song, when he saw something unbelievable.

“ … heart is a ghost town . .Uh-”

The person in front of him froze, a couple feet away. Silver eyes, red hair, the one from earlier. His hand was outstretched to a door beside Gold’s that led into the compartment beside Gold’s which meant he lived by-

The other stuck the key in and twisted the handle, looking firmly at the cream-colored door in front of him. Gold let his lips loosen before he could stop himself.

“Are you serious.”

The other finally pushed the door open, not bothering to answer and instead walking in. Gold jumped forward and caught his wrist, which was wrenched free pretty quickly as he spun around, pale eyes gleaming. “What,” he spat.

Gold bit down on his lip for a good moment to avoid saying anything unnecessary. “Your name,” he ground out. “I never caught it.”

The two stared each other down for a good five seconds before the other relented. “Silver,” he huffed. As Gold opened his mouth to speak again, Silver beat him to it. “Don’t care. Bye.”

The door was promptly shut in Gold’s face.

He wrenched out his phone and ran to the elevator.

-

“Repeat that again?”

“His name was, get in there you stupid bill, was Silver.”

“And that’s important because . . ?”

“It’s the name on my wrist, Crys, God.”

“Sorry, sorry! It’s been a bit since I’ve seen it.”

“Finally! Now . . mm . . ‘ets do chips . . So we’re the same.”

“Excuse me?”

“The same, like, we both have the names of our enemies.” he popped open the bag, immediately crunching on a couple chips.

“You think he’s your enemy?”

“Um, yeah. You were there. Plus he slammed the door in m’ face minute ago.”

“So that makes him your destined enemy.”

“Pretty much. You know any other Silvers? Plus his place is right beside mine. And he’s off-putting. And scowls a lot.”

On the other end, Crystal sighed and put her face into one hand. “Kay look. So it’s probably not going to work to avoid him. Just don’t stir up much trouble. Grades come first, got it?”

Although he wasn’t up to par with his super-geeky BFF, Gold had had the effort to maintain a good GPA, one of the reasons he was starting at the same school as her tomorrow. Since he was on scholarship, he understood what she meant. “Got it,” he muttered.

“Good. Now it’s, like, nine. So goodnight.”

-

The next time Gold saw Silver, they were both walking out of their rooms. Silver immediately looked away, walking over to the stairs. Gold glared for a moment before turning to the elevator.

This continued for the next few days, every morning, except for a notable trend. Silver grew more weary, dark spots appearing below his eyes, limbs moving just a bit slower. Gold didn’t get it until returning to his place the next day. Silver was coming out of the building, backpack on, books stacked in his arms, a phone between his head and shoulder. So that was it. He was a study freak, he was probably not sleeping very much. He probably . . uh …

“What do you want?”

“Gee thanks, good to hear your voice too.”

“It’s seven, Gold, and I have things to do.”

“Fine fine. Tell me how you take notes.”

“Because . .?”

“Reasons.”

A sigh echoed through the speaker. “I record the lecture and make a color code chart of all the topics mentioned. Then I make the notes in my spare time.”

Yep. That’s probably what he did. Mystery solved. Nothing big.

Except, it did turn out to be sorta big, when the water system clicked on for the first time late at night.

Gold didn’t realize the walls were that thin. Lo and behold, he could hear the pipes moving next door. He let his eyes slide open, move to the clock beside his bed. Oh. Not night anymore, it was nearing past two.

He’d just tell him off in the morning, well, later into the morning.

Except he didn’t. Gold was out the door late and Silver wasn’t there. He didn’t really feel like knocking, either, so he left. And then he forgot. Until, at least, the next night, when it happened again. 

Gold considered moving in with Crys. Then he remembered her saying not to make a big deal out of this, to just deal with it, it was just life. 

So at three-forty in the morning, ten minutes after the water had been shut off, Gold climbed out of bed and knocked on the redhead’s door.

It took a minute, but the door opened, Silver peeking out of it. When he caught sight, his eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“I-” Gold stopped, considered his words, then lowered his voice to a half-shout. “I want you to stop taking showers at three AM, you nerd! Get your shit together.”

“N-Ner . . ?” Silver paused, thinking through the statement. Finally, he looked back up at Gold. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll . . do that.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. Still left with a bit of spitfire, Gold just fired away. “Good!”

Mistake. Those silver orbs turned cold, turned to look him straight. “I get it, you can stop now,” he spat. Then he turned, shutting the door a little hard but not too much to cause a complaint.

He didn’t go too far. They were enemies after all, right? That was okay. But . . he did still feel kinda bad, as he went back and found he couldn’t fall back asleep.

He got up early and made himself some coffee, machine courtesy of a friend of his. After drinking it he got ready, then made a second cup before heading out the door.

As if on cue, the second his was shut and locked, Silver’s opened and the redhead stepped out. The first thing Gold noticed was that his hair was in a loose bun. He hadn’t known it was long enough for it, but hey, there it was. The second thing was that his eyes were immediately on him.

Or, uh, maybe not him. Gold glanced down at his drink. Then looked back up to Silver’s stricken face. Then he remembered last night, and slowly held the cup out. “Here. You look like you could use it.”

Silver just deadpanned at him. “Thanks, because someone insulting me is the first thing I needed this morning.”

He grimaced. Maybe that was some of the intention, but he was also trying to be nice, for once! Okay, it was most of the attention. But he really didn’t need a second cup, the sugar high would kill him later. “Just take it.”

“Is it poisoned?”

“Only if you don’t like a little cream.”

The other’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Another moment of hesitation, then Silver was slightly gripping the cup. Gold withdrew his hand. 

“Thanks.”

“Sure thing, mister beast.”

“Does everything that comes out of your mouth have to be infuriating,” Silver snapped.

“I could say the same to you!”

“Whatever. This probably tastes like shit, anyways.”

They didn’t interact for a bit after that.