#that would be longer than its ever been in my life and im already halfway there
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ourladyoftheflytrap · 1 day ago
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Saw all these beautiful women with long hair today and thought to myself "why do I want to do that" so now I'm debating if I want to chop all my hair off again
#on one hand. if i go back to the bowlcut then i cant just put it in a ponytail when its in my face#i have to actually cut it short consistently in order to keep it manageable.#but on the other hand. im already doing that with my bangs#and as much fun as i have braiding my hair its. its a little weird that all but 3 of the women in class wear their hair the same way#sigh i dont know. i like the idea of having long hair for my wedding#so that i can do some cute elaborate design but im nowhere close to getting married#like im only 20 and marriage is at the very least a 25 year old thing so. i have time#theoretically i have plenty of time to grow my hair out but the thing is will i ever want to#maybe what i really need to do is just buy a better wig so that i have one thats more customizable#bc my current wig is cute but i cant do french or dutch braids on it without revealing the mesh underneath#and all i really want is to walk around with cute braids but at what cost?!#ok but also lets think about it this way: this time last year my hair was just shy of my ear lobes#and now it tickles the tops of my shoulders but isnt quite shoulder level#lets say thats about 3 inches in a year. that means 9 inches in 3 years and 15 inches in 5 years#that means if i dont cut my hair now then it will have grown about 7 inches in total by the time i graduate#that would be longer than its ever been in my life and im already halfway there#sigh again. i guess i should stick with it just to see if i even like it that long#cuz how will i know if i dont try
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awrkive · 4 months ago
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THE LOVE PROGNOSIS, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)
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for as long as you can remember, you’ve always been a hopeless romantic.
the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.
PAIRING jungkook x female reader // mingyu x female reader
GENRE r18+ (angst, fluff, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
CHAPTER WORD COUNT 27.5k
CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC medical!au, roommates!au, surgeon!jk, surgeon!reader (they are both 4th year residents and are co-workers), corporate lawyer!mingyu, oc and jk are bffs since med school but their love language is fighting each other <3, jk and mingyu are bffs during undergrad, hopeless romantic!oc. shirtless jk in almost every scene ijbol he needs to get locked up, jk thigh tattoo 😔 a dash of sexual themes (ie: making out, grinding) and violence, this is pretty much MED SCHOOL LORE GALORE bcs boy, was there so much history mentioned here, 3/4 of this is in jk pov, so ladies.... prepare yourselves 🤔so much fluff, and we counter that with not major but not minor either ANGST, so many conversations and dialogues in this one lol, this hopefully offers every answer youre looking for from part one, when ur done reading the chapter this is how the keyring looks like
NOTES hi!! this chapter was supposed to be longer but i was like.. fuck that 😭 its getting too long. anyway. hope u guys enjoy this one!! this is my most favorite thing ive ever written i think n im weirdly very proud of this one idk. scream into my inbox and the reply section if u have #thoughtss 😄😄 [ important: pls make sure to read the note below ]
[ TLP MOODBOARD ] // [ SPOTIFY PLAYLIST ]
SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST
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You take your sweet time trying to right your wrongs.
After that day, you were the one to initiate a call with Mingyu which he answered thankfully (you were a little skeptical about him calling you that night). You went over to his place after your shift, apologizing to him for lying about your roommate situation. Admittedly, Mingyu still doesn’t seem to be wholly okay with it – but he doesn’t really say anything more about it. He kissed you better that night, his lips making you forget all about the stress that you’ve went through for the day, convincing you to stay over.
The night bled into two when he said he couldn’t let you go. Mingyu was persistent and you were unwilling to go in the first place. Partly because who didn’t want to spend more time with their significant other? But it’s also because of a certain someone that is no other than Jeon Jungkook.
Those two nights are going on four – which means that you’ve been avoiding Jungkook for the past three days now.
It doesn’t seem like a difficult task though because Jungkook seems to be doing the same. That was your hunch. He replies to you with dry-ass “okay”s when you text him about not going home because you’re staying at Mingyu’s. Nothing more, and nothing less.
Which is unusual of him. Sure, in your almost decade-long friendship, you’ve fought a bunch of times. But it usually gets resolved in a day or two. And Jungkook wasn’t ever cold like he is right now.
See, the regular Jungkook would find you anywhere on your floor at the hospital just to annoy you. When your time allows it, you eat together with your friends at lunch.
But now, he seems to always have something to do – which, okay, fair. He’s a surgeon, after all. But he doesn’t even spare you a glance whenever you two meet halfway in the hallways. Yesterday, you coincidentally scrubbed in together for the same surgery but he did not say a word to you other than, “Scalpel”.
The rest of your friends are already asking about it. Doyeon told you he had lunch with Jungkook this afternoon, but when she mentioned that maybe you were free to go with them, Jungkook suddenly had to look over a patient’s chart.
It’s not just a hunch anymore. He really is avoiding you.
And to be honest, you’re tired of the whole pussyfooting around. He’s being childish – and you’ll be the better person to come and talk to him about it. Granted, you’re three days late. But at least you’re doing it.
You texted Mingyu earlier this afternoon that you’re coming home to your apartment tonight. He was bummed about it, you could feel it through his message, nonetheless he replied saying he’ll miss you, which put a smile to your tired face from work.
When you went home from your shift at 9pm, Jungkook wasn’t anywhere in the house. Which was a shame – because you were planning to talk to him.
Well. Maybe you’d wait for him.
But it seemed like you underestimated your exhaustion for the day because as soon you finished showering, dressing yourself with your bed clothes which consists of comfortable flimsy camisole and panty shorts, you went straight to bed and passed out – forgetting about Jungkook.
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It’s past 2 am when you feel yourself waking up from your deep slumber, stomach grumbling at the emptiness, and you realize you did not only forget about waiting for Jungkook but also about eating dinner.
Walking out of your room, you head straight to the kitchen where you immediately go to open the refrigerator to see if there’s something in it you can consume. There are boxes of Chinese food take-out which makes your eyes light up. When you open to smell them, it seems that they’re still new.
You deduce it must be Jungkook’s.
That gives you the predicament of whether you should eat it or not. You take you’re not exactly on good terms as of the moment – therefore you can’t eat his food. But you’re really hungry.
Throwing away your inhibitions, you open one of the boxes, not even bothering to heat the food.
“Hey,”
You almost jump upon hearing another voice. Looking to your side, you see Jungkook approaching, with only his boxers on, upper half naked.  
“H-hey,” you say, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are these yours?” You point to the take-out box in your hand.
Jungkook nods and heads straight to your direction. Taking one of the boxes, he hauls himself to the kitchen island, twisting his body so that he can face you.
“Yep.” he responds, dipping his fingers inside the box and taking out strands of noodles from it.
You wince at the sight. “Look like worms.”
“Just like worms.” Jungkook grins, chewing on them in that obnoxious way because he knows you don’t like noisy eaters.
Frowning, you decide to follow him to the island and haul yourself on top of it as well, sitting beside him. Jungkook scoots to the side to give you more room.
“It’s kind of like eating naengmyeon, I don’t like naengmyeon.” You tell him, opening another box and feeling delighted to see untouched stir-fried rice. “Did you just buy this earlier?”
Jungkook nods. “Left them in the fridge when I realized I wasn’t too hungry.”
“Then you woke up feeling hungry?” You smile at him.
He chuckles. “Yeah. When did you get off work?”
“Nine. You?”
“Twelve am.”
You grimace at that, but nod in understanding.
There’s a beat of silence before Jungkook speaks up again.
“Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“Just wanted to remind you I’m still your housemate…” you joke, brushing your elbow against his arm in a teasing manner.
Jungkook laughs as he shakes his head. He picks up another batch of noodles in his fingers and then offers it to you, prompting you to arch your brow at him. “Try it.”
You shake your head. “I hate cold noodles.”
“Just try,” He insists, placing it closer to your face. You scrunch your nose, skeptical. It makes Jungkook chuckle lowly. “Head back.”
Hesitantly, you tilt your head back and open your mouth as Jungkook puts the noodles inside it. You almost choke on it when Jungkook laughs mid-way, making you laugh as well, but thankfully, you were able to chew all of them just fine.
“What the fuck.” You frown, slapping his arm good-naturedly.
“Wasn’t so bad, huh?”
“It was bad.” You say, going back to eating your fried rice. Jungkook gives you a look that says he’s not convinced. Looking at his face, you roll your eyes, “It’s like eating–” you stop mid-sentence as Jungkook quickly wipes off something on the side of your lips. It’s so quick though that you brush it off just as instantly and continue, “—literal worms.”
“Imagine if worms tasted like noodles. Wouldn’t that be sick as hell?” Jungkook muses, stretching his arm over you to reach for another take-out box on the counter. It’s so sudden that your immediate reflex was to stretch your upper body backwards, feeling a little taken aback when Jungkook’s face gets a little too close to your stomach, with his arm rubbing over your bare thighs.
He seems like it doesn’t move him, though. Just goes back to his position casually and opens another box. As he does, you can’t help but take a quick look at his bulging thighs, the short length of his boxers letting you get a brief view of the tattoo that peeks out of the expanse of his skin. You’ve seen that before many times, but not the entirety – of course not. It looks like it goes up from way above. Anyway, it’s sort of like a flower, but you’re not sure. You never really asked him about it. He never brings it up either.
“Oh, man, the dumplings got cold.” Jungkook picks inside his box as if he’d miraculously find one that’s not cold.
You roll your eyes at his antics. “You stored them in the fridge for like how many hours now?”
Ignoring you, Jungkook takes out one dumpling, trying to eat it, and you watch as he visibly winces. In a moment, he shoots one straight to the trash bin across from you.
“Oh, that’s real mature.” You say dryly.
With that, Jungkook throws another one, giving you a cheeky grin when it lands in the bin successfully for the second time.
Pursing your lips, you sarcastically say, “Wow. Two points to Xavier from Jeon Jungkook.”
That makes Jungkook look at you instantly.
“How the hell do you know that?” He gives you a look of confusion but there’s amusement written all over his face at the same time.
“Well… Mingyu told me you both played for the basketball varsity team back in undergrad, so,”
Jungkook stops. There’s look of something in his eyes that you can’t quite point out, but then suddenly, he nods.
“He told you how good I was?” He says with a teasing tone, a contrast to his sudden and quick drop of mood a few seconds ago.
You throw him a tissue. “Don’t be cocky. He just mentioned it.”
“I was captain. Two-time MOP, 2018 and 2019 NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament.”
You look at him with silent reverence. Well, Mingyu didn’t tell you all that, that’s for sure. It’s a bit surreal to picture Jungkook wearing a basketball uniform, though. You’re so used to seeing him in scrubs and lab gown and his usual casual, occasionally suits when you attend formal conferences. You’ve only ever seen him sweat it out whenever he works out in the living room.
“Impressive.” You say. Jungkook grins proudly. “It’s strange I only know about it now, though.”
“You never asked.” He shrugs. “What ‘bout you? I only know you’re little miss summa cum laude.”
Huffing, you jab at his arm when he mentions it, rolling your eyes at him which only earns you a chuckle. Regardless, you tell him, “2018 NCA College Nationals. We won Coed Division One.”
Jungkook arches a brow. “NCA… National Cheerleading Association?” You nod, eating from your take-out box so as to avoid Jungkook’s look after you do so.
“No fucking way,” He says incredulously. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling too much. You never really get to share this part about you with a lot of people. To quote Jungkook, they never ask. It’s funny when they do get surprised by it though, like he is now. When Jungkook stares at you – you don’t know if it’s just in disbelief – longer than necessary, you realize he’s staring at your face and that makes you consciously fix a strand of hair behind your ear. “Go big blue, go big blue, show ‘em what wildcats can do.” You sing a in fast tempo, chuckling about how silly it sounds.
Jungkook utters a sound of amusement. “That’s… wow. Right now, I’m just picturing you cheering but it’s a bit hazy and shit.”
“You’re saying you can’t picture me cheering?” You playfully accuse, but you know exactly what he meant. Even you still don’t believe that you actually did cheer in undergrad. When you signed up for it, it was just because you had to choose a club, and you weren’t interested in anything other than that. You thought cheering would be fun and it was fun.
“No, I’m just—” Jungkook cuts himself off and looks at you. “Okay, now I totally deserve a cheer for that two-point shot I made just now.”
You laugh loudly at that. Covering your mouth, you look at him to see if he’s joking but he seems to be serious.
“No.” You say, your eyes widening, body stiffening.
“Come on,” Jungkook chuckles.
You roll your eyes. “You have to do more than a two-point shot to get a cheer.”
“Okay, what do you want me to do?” Jungkook eagerly presents a challange. You stifle a laugh when he gears up for something. “I can shoot dumplings further from here with my left hand.”
“Ten feet away,” You muse, giggling when Jungkook suddenly gets off the counter, carrying the box of dumplings, and positions himself further away from you. Laughing, you shake your head before you say, “You can’t do it.”
“Try me.” He says as he begins to pick out a dumpling and concentrate on the trash can. Before he shoots, he tells you, “This one’s for you.”
You watch as the dumpling misses the bin.
Jungkook beats you to speaking first. “I admit. I’m a bit rusty.”
Sneering, you eat your fried rice, not straying your eyes from him. “You have to shoot, like, three dumplings.”
“That was a trial shot.” he insists, eyeing you playfully, before he gears up for another again. You watch closely when he makes a move to shoot another dumpling.
It goes in. Jungkook smirks at you when you look at him, impressed.
“Not bad.” You cock your head to the side.
“Tss.” He shoots another shot again and it’s successful for the second time. “That’s two.” Jungkook shows you his fingers and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.
“Let’s see if you can get the third.”
Jungkook nods, and you cover a snicker again at the way his stance suddenly turns serious, as if he’s really taking the whole thing seriously.
In a few seconds, he shoots the last dumpling straight to the bin just as successfully as the last time.
“What did I say?” Jungkook brags as he goes over to the island across from you, sitting on the high chairs this time. You turn your body to look at him, containing your smile. “Your turn now.” Jungkook says with a smirk.
Your purse your lips. “I’m a bit rusty.”
“So was I!” Jungkook claims which prompts a chuckle from you.
You look at him for a while, unsure. You close your eyes, bobbing your head side to side, covering your face as you suddenly feel a sense of embarrassment at the thought of dancing in front of him.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” You say after Jungkook tries to remove your hands off your face.
He raises his right hand and fixes his sitting posture upright. “Promise.”
“If you show your teeth I’ll stop and so will this friendship.” You threaten as you bring your legs over the island to his direction.
Jungkook chuckles while saying a series of “Yeah”s, holding your hand to help you hop off the counter safely.
You take a few quick strides to place yourself in the space between your counter and dining area and look at Jungkook who settles himself comfortably in the kitchen island chair, watching you with relaxed position and crossed arms.
Feeling uncharacteristically shy, you stand upright, suddenly aware that you’re only wearing a pair of panty shorts and a fitted camisole. You don’t work out so you’re a bit conscious in front of Jungkook who looks really good in his natural form. You don’t even understand how he finds time to go to the gym or do his little work-out sesh during some nights or weekends, but you shake away the thought and smile at him coyly. He has the better body, sure, but you know well enough he’ll never judge you for yours… besides, it’s just Jungkook. He makes you feel safe and secure, no matter the context of the situation.
Off the top of your head, you do whatever it is you remember from your college routines and begin your yell.
“Wildcats, get up and shout! We’re the team that’s gonna take it out! Give it all you’ve got, let’s hear you roar!” You chuckle mid-way, forgetting a step. “Sorry,” you apologize quickly, but then continue right away, trapping your bottom lip with your teeth to prevent yourself from completely losing it. “We’re the Wildcats, and we’re here to score! Go Big Blue! Go Big Blue—" You make a mistake again and skip a beat with your finger snaps, and when you look at Jungkook, you can’t help but give in to the laughter that’s been bubbling up inside you. “I can’t do it!” You say, cutting your “performance” short.
“What? It was good!” Jungkook says, encouraging you to continue further.
You stifle a laugh as you go back to the top again but then your mind forgets the next step and you’re messing up the choreography again. At that point, you start mindlessly cheering; jumping around and flapping your arms to make it look like somewhat of a cheer but none of the coordination. You know it looks messy, so you run over to Jungkook shamefully, plopping on the chair beside him. Bringing your legs up to the seat and covering your face in your thighs, you can’t help but giggle in embarrassment.
“Woah,” Jungkook says, but you can say there’s a hint of laughter in his tone. You know it’s not out of mockery when he lifts your head up and boop your nose. “That was cute. Best cheer I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re pushing it.” You hiss, kicking his knee slightly.
Jungkook captures your leg, and you squeal when he pinches your thigh. You both laugh at that and you thought Jungkook’s gonna let go of your leg but he keeps it on his lap.
“My stomach hurts from laughing.” You tell him, taking a deep breath, trying to regulate your heart. Everything feels funny. Your cheer was funny. You must’ve looked so stupid.
Jungkook chuckles. “Wildcats, get up and shout—”
“Jungkook!” You cut him off, removing your leg from his lap to kick him again on the thigh this time. That only prompts him to laugh louder.
When the high of the moment fades, Jungkook looks over at you.
“Do you feel sleepy?”
You shake your head. “Not really. At least not yet.”
He hums, and then takes your box of fried rice to eat from it.
There’s the silence again, but it’s quiet and comfortable. No weird tension sitting in the air.
“Jungkook,” You call him after a while.
“Hm.”
You clear your throat. “I meant to talk to you,” Jungkook stops eating and looks at you to acknowledge you. “I’m sorry.”
He stares at you for a moment. Then, he chuckles, shaking his head. “You know what’s funny? I was gonna talk to you yesterday to say I’m sorry but then you didn’t talk to me at all in the OR. I thought you were still mad at me.”
With furrowed brows, you tell him, “I thought you were mad at me. You only said “scalpel” in the OR and then that was it. No hi’s or hello’s in the hallways for the past three days.”
“Me? Mad at you?” He says, as if he can’t believe you would even think that. “I mean, you piss me off sometimes, but I don’t think I was ever mad at you.” You pout. Jungkook smiles. “I can never be mad at you,” His look is gentle and warm that you feel a little flustered for a reason unknown. It just ticks a little something in your brain, tugging something at your heart. Then, Jungkook sighs. “I’m sorry, too. For the way I went about it. The “bringing boys here” comment was out of line.”
There’s a wince on your face when you hear that.
That comment did hurt a little.
But you know it was just a heat-in-the-moment type of thing, and he just wasn’t able to think through his words well enough when he was… well, pissed – and rightfully so. Because you did something offensive to him, and you can’t blame him for feeling the way he felt.
You nod at Jungkook. “Thank you for saying that. I’m saying sorry because I realized what you said. I should’ve informed you I was bringing Mingyu home, and I should’ve told him about you being my roommate. We really could’ve avoided that situation.”
“You can just tell me beforehand if you’re bringing him to our place.” Jungkook shrugs.
You chuckle. “No. That won’t happen again.” And it’s true. It’s awkward and it’s rude when you have a roommate.
Jungkook looks at you. “Okay. I won’t do it as well,” You shake your head, playfully rolling your eyes at him. “I’m guessing you settled it pretty quickly with him?” He gestures at your neck and you realize he’s referring to the necklace you’re wearing – the one Mingyu gave you the very same day you fought.
You want to point out it’s not really new, but you settle with, “Yeah. Fortunately.” as a response.
“I really am sorry for what happened.” Jungkook says and you can feel the sincerity in his voice.
“It’s fine,” Touching his arm, you give him a small smile. “Have you and Mingyu talked?”
Jungkook shakes his head. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you think about how that’s… not good. They were friends before you and have just met each other again after so many years – you do not want to be that kind of person who gets in the way of some other people’s relationship.
And you really can’t have Jungkook not liking your boyfriend or your boyfriend not liking Jungkook, either.
But as much as you want to suggest that they talk it out, you know you can’t. Besides, you trust that they eventually will. They’re grown men.
“So…” you trail off. “Are we okay?”
Jungkook’s lips tilt upwards. “Are we okay?”
“Come on,” you roll your eyes. “Do we hug it out or like – I don’t know – handshake on it?”
“Let’s hug it out like we’re twelve.” Jungkook grins and in a moment, he scoots closer to you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head on your chest.
The angle is a bit awkward with Jungkook crouching too much you don’t doubt his position is anything but comfortable, but it works, and it gives you the opportunity to pat his head as you say, “I missed hanging out with you, buddy.”
“Can’t say the same thing.”
That earns him a slight pinch to the ear easily accessible to you.
“Ow!” Jungkook says and then add, “I hate to ruin the moment but… you’re not wearing a bra.”
You quickly grab both sides of his head to get him off your chest. He comes back sitting upright on his chair, laughing.
“Fuck off—” you flip him off and then look over your box of fried rice, but then you remember he was also eating it earlier. “You ate all of it!”
“Finders keepers.”
“I hate you.”
“Hm.”
You shake your head, standing up and starting to grab all the boxes to take them to the trash bin.
“By the way, I just got my approval from HR for our trip the next two weeks. Have you?” You ask him across the room. You can see Jungkook’s face light up at the mention.
“Yeah, of course. Got approved yesterday.” Jungkook grins. You watch as he stares at you a bit longer, his face showing a hint of confusion.
You arch a brow. “Why does your face look like that?” Jungkook shakes his head, obviously ready to dismiss it. But you’re persistent. “What is it?” You say, walking towards his direction and stopping in front of him.
“Nothing…” he trails off. Then he rubs the back of his head. “I just really thought that you…” You squint your eyes at him. Then he chuckles lightly and swipes his fingers through his hair. “I just thought the trip would be cancelled.”
Your eyebrows furrow. Frowning, you nudge at him. “What? Of course, not! We planned that trip like six months ago. I’m not backing out.”
Jungkook gives you a shy smile.
“Okay.”
You can’t help it. You bring your hands to his cheeks and pinch them.
“He’s so excited for his birthday trip!” You say, intentionally talking like you would to a toddler.
Jungkook predictably forces your hands out of his skin and holds your wrist a bit tight as he rolls his eyes at you.
“Knock it off.” He glares at you. But you’re not done with your fun, so you poke your finger to his waist, knowing that’s his weak spot, and tease him some more. “Seriously.” Jungkook huffs out and your laughter becomes louder because he looks like a grumpy child right now.
“Sorry.” you say, still giggling. He furrows his brows, and you can’t help it, you poke at his waist again. When you do it, though, Jungkook captures your wrist, effectively stopping another one of your juvenile assaults. Suddenly, you start noting the mirth in his eyes.
You’ve seen that look before and it always ends up with you almost dying from too much laughter because he always—
“You’re gonna regret that.”
You let out a squeal as Jungkook takes ahold of your waist, and before you can even voice out a protest, he easily hoists you up against his body, bouncing you up until you're hanging around his shoulder like a sack bag.
“What the hell, put me down, you prick!” You complain, slapping the rugged muscles on his back. But Jungkook just responds with a series of clicks of his tongue, carrying you across the living room.
You know he’s about to put you on the couch to tickle you to death, so you do what you could and bite down on the skin of his back.
“Ouch!” Jungkook immediately reacts, stumbling a little in his stride. You snort at that, but you immediately frown when you feel a slap to your ass.
“You asshole!”
“You just lowered your chances of being spared,” Was his last words before you feel yourself getting put down on the surface of the sofa. Soon after, Jungkook’s poking his fingers to your waist and stomach, prompting you to erupt in fits of giggles and laughter, thrashing beneath him like a caged animal.
“Pl—stop—oh my god!” You say, weakly reaching for his arms. When Jungkook doesn’t relent, you continue wriggling under him, laughing and choking, saying a variety of, “Stop! I’m —” giggle, “gonna—” then another snort, “—die!”
Jungkook chuckles. He torments you some more before finally stopping his fingers in their ministrations.
“You deserve that.” Jungkook says when you both came down from the high, laughing at the messy state of your hair and the way you try to catch your breath like you just ran a triathlon.
You breathe in and out deeply, clutching your stomach that still hurts from laughing.
“Fuck you.” You hiss, giving him the finger.
Jungkook bursts into laughter, and from his position in between your legs, he lets himself fall on top of you.
“Jungkook, no!” Pushing him off you, you try to get away from him but the goof just forces himself beside you instead, sticking his much bigger build in between you and the back of the couch. It makes you scoot near the edge as a result, and you hold onto his arm so that you don’t fall off, tangling your leg against his own for added support. Pinching his waist in which he lets out an ingenuine “Owe!” to, you face him as you say, “You are so annoying.”
Jungkook just gives you a shit-eating grin. “Who started it?”
“You almost killed me.” You say dryly.
“Don’t be dramatic.” He rolls his eyes.
Suddenly, you realize the position you are both in.
Your bare legs are intermingled against each other, Jungkook has one arm wrapped around your waist, and from the lack of clothes on both sides, you can feel pretty much everything.
There’s a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach upon the epiphany.
Jungkook’s looking at you with a playful grin, but as he notices you staring at him, he stills. From such close proximity, you can almost trace out the lines of his features. The scar on his cheek, the mole under his lip, and the pimple scar that was probably from a week ago. At that thought, you think about: if you can see him so close like this, he can also probably see you, and that’s when you break away from the contact.
“Shit.” You hiss as you let yourself fall off the floor by rolling around, away from his hold and touch and him in general.
Jungkook immediately scoots to the edge of the sofa to look down at you with confused eyes. “The hell?”
“Don’t worry,” you wave your hand at him.
He snorts. “Did you just fall?”
You roll your eyes. Of course, he’d think that. But you let him, standing up from the floor.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”
You hear Jungkook’s boisterous laughter as you walk towards the kitchen again, stopping in front of the fridge to get some water.
“You’re going to bed now?” Asks Jungkook, following you to the fridge and mirroring your activity.
Nodding at his question, you peer from the rim of the glass as you answer, “Yeah, I don’t want to be sleeping at the hospital later.”
“Fair.”
Soon after, you both decided to clean up a bit in the kitchen and when you finished, you two headed towards the direction of your bedrooms. It’s located just near the kitchen, with the doors located beside each other.
When you turn the knob open to your own door, Jungkook calls you, catching your attention.
You arch a brow at him, waiting.
“Good night,” Jungkook says. You drop your kitted brows and smile. You’re about to greet him the same but then he adds, “Also– that was a really great cheer.”
“Ugh, Jungkook!”
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You look across the bed to see Mingyu still on his laptop on his worktable, working on something. An hour and thirty minutes have passed since you arrived at his place, but you’re still not getting the least bit of attention from him.
You get it, it’s work, but he asked you to come over… isn’t it only fair to expect a little bit of something?
Getting up from the bed, you trudge over to his direction.
“Hi,” you say, ducking down to wrap your arms around his neck from the back of his swivel chair and kissing the spot below his ear.
“Hi,” Mingyu meets the kiss you give him on the lips. He reaches for your hands resting on top of chest and holds it there, looking at you. You delight at the hint of attention. “I’ll just be in a few minutes. You’re staying, right?”
You grin. “Of course.”
“Good.”
Rolling your eyes, you take your hands off him and stand upright once again. Mingyu rotates his chair so he can look at you with his undivided attention, voicing out a low whistle when he takes in your outfit – or lack of it thereof.
You arch a brow, knowing well he’s ogling you only in your bra and panties, squinting your eyes at him. Slowly, you glide your leg over his waist and plop yourself down on his lap, waiting for any protest from him. It doesn’t come, and so you give him a grin before planting your lips against his.
The kiss turns heated in a matter of seconds, with Mingyu squeezing over your bra and taking in your soft moans against his mouth, feeling the delicious roll of your hips against his crotch where you feel a semi growing already.  
“Sweetheart,” Mingyu grunts. When you don’t answer that, he cups your jaw, making you look at him. “__.”
“What?” You say, more like a whine, looking at him with hooded eyes. You’re starting to feel sticky in your underwear and you need him to do something about it.
“Not now, sweetheart. I told you, I’m working.”
You frown. There’s a beat of silence before you let out a sigh. “Okay.” You say, getting off his lap.
“I’ll take care of you when I’m done.” He promises, taking ahold of your wrist, looking up at you.
Pursing your lips, you look away. “It’s fine.” When Mingyu lets go, you look at the direction of the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a shower,” you tell him. “You’re free to join me if you want or whatever.”
You know he can’t and that he won’t.
“Alright.” Was the last thing you heard before you walked towards the bathroom door.
You’ve been over at his place too many times to count now, and you’re slowly building your shower essentials in his own bathroom. Your body wash, your face cream, your shampoo, your conditioner – even your moisturizer and your eye mask are already placed inside his bathroom cabinet.
As you step out of the shower box, all clean and fresh, you go over to the lavatory to brush your teeth. At the sight of both your cups sitting beside each other, you smile.
You look in the mirror – noting the way your lips can’t stop from curling up at the thoughts running inside your head.
Shaking them off, you grab Mingyu’s robe and put it over yourself, turning the knob around to step out of the bathroom.
You see Mingyu on his bed this time around, but his laptop’s still perched on his lap.
He looks up when he sees you. “Ready to sleep?”
You nod, feeling at home the way you automatically go towards his closet to pick out a shirt and some panties you left over the time.
As you’re in the process of dressing yourself, a phone’s ding rings in the room.
Looking at Mingyu, you watch as he checks his phone, assuming it came from him. When he puts it down, he looks at your plugged phone on the bedside table.
“What is it?” You ask, now properly dressed, walking to the bed.
You note the way Mingyu’s gaze changes as he hands you your phone.
“It’s Jungkook.” He says with a weirdly clipped tone. Then another ding comes. A beat, and then your phone rings.
Your brow shoots up, taking the device from him and checking it yourself.
Jungkook’s face is plastered over your screen – a picture of him wasted in his room two years ago, taken from your Thailand trip with the rest of your friends. He’s sleeping with his mouth open, shirtless in the middle of the hut, only covered up with his trunks. You remember setting it as his contact photo because it was funny back then. Jungkook hates the photo, and your friends always made fun of him for it.
Right now, though, it doesn’t feel the least bit funny. Not when Mingyu’s certainly saw it. Not when he looks a little put off as soon as he sees a glimpse of it when he was passing your phone to you.
“I’ll just answer this.” You say, standing from the bed again.
You don’t expect Mingyu to suddenly shoot you a question, “You can’t answer here?”
Brows knitting together, you give him an uncertain look. “It’s just Jungkook.”
“Yeah… so, why not here?”
You relent, seeing the point he’s trying to make. Plopping yourself on the bed again, you answer Jungkook’s call and put the phone over your ear.
“Jungkook,”
“__,” he sighs out your name, sounding relieved. “Thank fuck.”
“What’s wrong?” You ask, growing a bit concerned at his tone.
You can hear some shuffling from the other line as Jungkook tells you, “Did you see me with my pager in the locker room earlier?”
“Oh, uh… let me think…” you trail off, trying to remember the events earlier. As you do that, you notice Mingyu’s fingers trailing his hands to your bare legs, but you ignore it as you answer Jungkook, “I think I didn’t, yeah. I didn’t.” Jungkook hisses. “Did you check your car?” you ask, trying to help out.
“Already did. It’s not in there, either. I really think I accidentally threw it out in the bin along with some trash in my pockets.” He says, sounding a little distressed now.
“Well… you can always just go to the operator, you know? Get a new pager?” you offer. There’s a drop of kiss on your shoulder that makes you shudder, and you look at Mingyu with furrowed brows. He doesn’t say anything, though, just let his fingers trail upwards, his hand sliding under your shirt, gripping your thigh. Your boyfriend just gives you a sly smile, and you squint your eyes at him, confused at what he’s playing at. 
“I know. But, ugh, you know I lost two pagers already this year. Sungkyun hates me at this point—”
Jungkook’s answer suddenly drowns out when Mingyu grazes his thumb on your clothed clit.
“Oh.”
“—what?” Jungkook halts, asking about your abrupt reaction.
You bite your lip in an effort to shut yourself up, and when Mingyu’s hand makes another move again, your free hand shoots up to stop him.
“Hold on a second, Jungkook,” you say, quickly pressing mute.
Mingyu looks at you with a smirk, playful smile painting his face. “You know you can continue, right?”
At that, your brows furrow even further.
“What are you doing?” You didn’t mean to sound curt but with the way Mingyu’s expression changes, it may have sounded that way.
You… couldn’t help it.
“I wanted to touch you,” Mingyu tells you after a beat of awkward silence. Then, his hand retreats to himself. “Do you not want to?”
There’s guilt that springs up inside you when you see the look on his face as he says those words.
“No, I’m sorry— it’s just… I want to. I just… not with somebody on the phone?” You put it out like a question, unsure of yourself.
The room is quiet for awhile and suddenly there’s a thick tension that hangs in the air.
You reach out for Mingyu but then drop your hand to your sides when he moves to sit on the edge of the bed.
He turns his head to you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Is it because it’s Jungkook?”
You frown at his tone.
It sounded accusatory.
“Excuse me?” You say, taking immediate offense. When Mingyu shrugs, you feel a bit of annoyance bubble up inside you. “I would’ve still stopped you if it was anybody else on the phone, Mingyu.” you say, tone firm and leveled.
“I’m sorry, then.”
But he definitely doesn’t sound like it. His sarcasm makes you snap. “What’s up with you?”
Mingyu opens his mouth to say something but then he closes it again. You watch him with confused eyes, completely at loss of context where he’s at. The night was going fine as usual and suddenly, there’s this.
After a few seconds, Mingyu sighs. “What are you even talking about right now?” He glances at your phone.
“It’s—” you take a glance at it too. “It’s just his pager.”
“Pager?”
“Yes.”
“He asks you about his pager in the middle of the night, knowing full well you’re with me?”
“I—” you stop yourself, words suddenly getting lost in your tongue. Not because you don’t know the answer to his question, but because you hate the way he phrased it – and honestly, you’re starting to feel icky about how he’s going with it. What was he trying to do? Pin you down with accusatory notions?
You don’t fucking get it. Jungkook’s his friend. It’s so bizarre to even think about how Mingyu is seemingly acting jealous over his supposed friend.
“You know what?” You say instead, not wanting to discuss it further with him anymore. It’s just gonna lead to an unnecessary fight – and frankly, you don’t want to deal with his jealousy. It seems so… futile. “Can we just sleep this whole thing off?”
Mingyu looks at you and for the first time, his eyes don’t look gentle. He looks at you with a bit of a frown, and you get it. You do. You’re not exactly happy, either. Not right now, with the way he’s acting.
“Do you want me to go?” You ask, ready to step out of bed.
“I didn’t tell you to.” Mingyu says, voice equally strained.
You sigh. “What do you want me to do, Mingyu? Are you jealous, is that it?” You meant it to be completely rhetorical, not at all expecting him to say anything.
But he answers instantly. “What if I say I am?”
Your lips part. You’re surprised at the confirmation, but you shake your thoughts off it.
“Then it’s completely unnecessary,” you tell him, as genuine as you can sound. When Mingyu doesn’t move in his position on the edge of the bed, you crawl towards him. Testing the waters, you touch his arm to see if he would avoid your touch, but when you do rest your hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t stray. “I like you, Gyu.”
Cocking your head to the side, you watch as his face still sports a cold expression. But he says, “I like you too, you know that,”
“But…?” you try to get out the words from him, because you knew there’s more.
“I don’t want you to think I’m being irrational about this whole thing,” he starts, and you nod your head, trying to show him that you get it. Mingyu licks his lips before he continues, “I just… I guess I just want you to put boundaries around your friendship with Jeon.”
That makes you stop. Nevermind the strange way he called Jungkook by his surname.
“How do you mean by that?” You ask with furrowed brows.
“You’re just really close with him. And you live in one apartment together.” He points out.
“Mingyu…” you say, suddenly feeling tired all over again. “I thought we already talked about that.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m a hundred percent comfortable with it, you know?”
It feels like you got electrocuted by his words the way you quickly retreat your hands. “That’s…” you trail off, not really knowing what to say.
Thankfully, though, Mingyu interjects before you can slip into a dilemma.
“I know, I know about why you’re living with him and all that stuff. We talked about it. It’s just…” he reaches for your hand. Entangling your fingers together, Mingyu brings your knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss there. “I want you all the time. And I guess I really am just jealous – even though it’s juvenile. I’m jealous that he’s known you far longer than me.”
“But— I’m here thrice a week. I make time for the both of us. And it doesn’t really matter how long you’ve known me for, Gyu,” you respond truthfully.
He nods.
“I’m sorry.”
You shake your head. “No, I’m sorry. I guess I just— I got in way over my head that I also forgot to take your feelings into account,”
Mingyu smiles, and there goes his soft gentle expression again.
“I know. It’s fine. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. It’s me who’s being unreasonable.”
“No, it’s not unreasonable,” you tell him. “I get it. Boundaries, Mingyu. I know what you’re talking about.”
Mingyu scooches closer and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You gladly bask in it, smiling against his lips, keeping your gentle gaze towards him as he breaks away.
“I’m sorry for being a bummer.”
You kiss him again and the way he inserts his tongue in your mouth distracts you a bit but you manage to break the contact. Soon, he’s lying down beside you and when you check your phone, your call with Jungkook has already ended, but there are two messages from him on your notifications.
[12:35am] jaykay🤠: are you still alive [12:38am] jaykay🤠: ok nevermind i’ll hang the call i actually found my pager just now 😭 [12:38am] jaykay🤠: it was in the kitchen counter LOL [12:45am] jaykay🤠: ok bye. night
You were going to reply but decide against it for some reason.
Putting your phone down to the bedside table, you follow Mingyu under the sheets and as usual, you face against his direction just like he does.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t really like cuddling that much. He’d share his space to a certain extent, just like how you got into his bed in the first place, but not the lengths of cuddling together in bed. Mingyu didn’t tell you why – and you don’t want to come off as clingy, so you don’t bother asking.
It’s strange, though. Now that he told you a while ago that he, apparently, “wants you all the time”. Shouldn’t he like to cuddle you in bed, then? But you don’t want to dwell in it too much, afraid that you may be digging yourself a hole if you were to keep it up.
As you lay your cheek on your folded hands, you play back the events of the night and think about how you’ve seen this film before.
When you were in med school, Eunwoo always had something to say about your friendship with Jungkook. He wasn’t direct with it, but with the way he never bothered to make friends with Jungkook or always had a grimace on his face when you mentioned him in passing, it was enough for you to conclude that Eunwoo was always… wary of Jungkook – and definitely in a jealous type of way.
He said almost the exact same thing as Mingyu – that boundaries should be built; that Jungkook and you are too close, why is he calling you in the middle of the night to ask about mundane things, why does he know too much about your mother’s preferences, and why is he buddy-buddy with your dad who otherwise always had an uninterested expression on his face?
It wasn’t even just Mingyu. Your past flings for the past four years you’ve been single always got put off when they heard that you’re rooming with a guy – even more so when you mention that he’s your bestfriend.
You’re not stupid to not see how it looks like from the outside perspective – and you’re not dense to not ever consider the possibility of something romantic brewing within the friendship. You have thought about it before – had an instant crush on him the first time you met at the law library back in post grad school. But it was fleeting at best, especially when Eunwoo came into your life a few weeks later.
Nayeon, Doyeon, and Taehyung have also hinted at it. Sometimes – most of the time, really, teasing you two, especially Taehyung. Even the most mature one among your friends – Yoongi – once told you both to get married at forty. He was joking, though he looked way too serious for someone who was just supposed to be joking.
And there was that one dreadful time in third year of med school when Jungkook almost kissed you.
You buried that memory in the very depths of your mind – not ever wanting to revisit it again. It was a bad time, and it was just not a good thing to look back at. Jungkook acted irresponsible, and you stupidly let yourself be complicit in it, even though you knew better.
Nothing even happened – but that memory was just that. A mere memory. You doubt Jungkook even remembers that himself.
Here’s the thing: you’ve just never seen Jungkook past the person you consider as a friend. You’ve never been weird about the women he dated – or if he dated, at all. He’s also always been supportive of your relationships… as far as you’re concerned. Regardless of what everybody says, you both seem to agree that you’re just better off as friends. You work better that way.
Jungkook’s a good guy, though. He does have tons of flings – but he’s just conventionally attractive and works hard for a body that is to die for. Women like that. Additionally, he has a stable job and even though he annoys you about splitting the delivery fee when you do take-out, he’s actually quite rich – or, his family is – he’d always insist.
You get it though. As a co-resident, you both don’t really make that much (for the work that you do) – at least not yet.
But he was indeed born in generational wealth, coming from a family of doctors, which is why it’s quite impressive that he knows how to handle his life by his own hard work. His intelligence and perseverance are some of the things you admire about him, his drive to make a name for himself and never leeching off his family’s name. Jungkook doesn’t ever brag about how his neurosurgeon dad is one of the best in the country and how his mom is a legend in cardiac surgery – even though sometimes, he could use it a little. He’s playful yet charming; quiet when you’re just knowing him, but he’ll eventually talk a lot when you get close.
As a friend, he’s quite the best you’ve ever had.
And even though you don’t really see him past that, you know in your heart that whoever ends up with him romantically will be a very lucky person.
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“You’re a pussy.”
“Doyeon.”
Doyeon huffs, rolling her eyes so hard at Taehyung’s reprimand and then goes back to glaring at Jungkook again who just looks at her with a pathetic expression.
“What? I’m right. He’s a pussy and you’re an even bigger pussy for defending him being a pussy.” She says, furrowing her eyebrows angrily.
“Why are we talking about pussies?”
Nayeon suddenly enters the on-call room and Jungkook nearly has a heart attack.
“What the hell, you should at least knock. Jesus.” Jungkook says, clutching his chest, looking at Nayeon with an almost offended expression who closes the door behind her.
“Were you scared it was __? See!” Doyeon sighs out in frustration. “Such a fucking pussy.”
“Such a fucking pussy,” Jungkook mocks, using a higher pitch to imitate Doyeon poorly.
“And a child too.” She rolls her eyes and throws him a pillow. It misses Jungkook and hits Taehyung instead.
“Seriously, what are you so mad about today? You have that mood. Did you and your secret boyfriend fight?” Taehyung spits out.
Everybody stills in the room when Doyeon gives him a sharp glare. That pretty much makes everyone shut up, especially Taehyung who makes a show of physically zipping his mouth.
Nayeon fakes a cough and trudges towards Jungkook sitting on one of the beds. She throws her heavy hands on his shoulders, more like slaps, and then looks at Doyeon as she asks, “What are we calling this man a pussy for?”
“Oh, ask him. Or his dumber best friend.” Doyeon rolls his eyes and looks at Taehyung, crossing her arms and leaning her back on the chair she’s sitting on from across the room.
“You’re starting to hurt my feelings and I hate you.” Taehyung says from the other bed.
“Why?” Nayeon ignores their banter and furrows her brows at Jungkook curiously.
Jungkook hisses under his breath. “It’s nothing. She calls me a pussy for literally everything.”
Doyeon butts in. “Yeah, are you gonna cry?”
“If __ was here, she’s gonna be on my side, you know that?” Jungkook rebuts.
“If __ was here, you’d be panicking because she’ll know about your little secret.”
“Oof.” Taehyung comments.
“Oh, Jungkookie…” Nayeon looks down at him with worried eyes. When he looks up with a sad look, she starts rubbing his shoulders as some sort of comfort, already knowing about what this might be about. “This is about… the thing?”
He nods weakly. “Yes. And no. Uh, well, this is… you know about the birthday trip in the next five days, right? So, she asked me if she could bring, uh, Mingyu along.”
“Oh.” Nayeon utters, looking at Doyeon for confirmation.
Doyeon nods, and then nags, “Ask him what he said.”
Nayeon looks at him. “What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
“Oh.”
Jungkook looks down in slight shame at Nayeon’s reaction. She completely stops her hands’ ministrations on his shoulder, indicating that even she could not believe what he just did.
This makes Jungkook even feel worse.
Leaning his elbow on his thighs, he runs his fingers through his hair as he says, “I mean, how could I have said no? I would’ve looked like an asshole. Besides, Mingyu and I are college friends. There’s no reason for me to prohibit him from this trip. Like, at all.”
“Yeah, you and Mingyu are college friends but, ultimately, it’s our trip, right? __ would’ve understood if you said no.” Doyeon says, still not over her justification from a while ago.
“I know, I know. But still… I didn’t want to say no to her.” Jungkook tells Doyeon, not having a lot to say more than that.
It’s the plain truth, anyway. He truly, simply does not want to say no to you. Not ever.
“But Jungkook…” Nayeon interrupts. “Would it be okay for you? We know how you feel about the whole – er – Mingyu thing. Can you really take them being close together? Especially on a trip for your birthday?”
Though Nayeon’s voice is soft and her gaze gentle, her words hit him like a ton of bricks.
Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to feel about the whole thing. You dating Mingyu is one thing, but you bringing him along on your trips is another. It means that he’s it.
That you’re getting serious.
He hates himself for hating the idea. Jungkook’s always wanted to be nothing but supportive of you. He’d done it perfectly well with Eunwoo before, and your flings in the past four years have never upgraded past to being solely flings so he never worried about them, but now with Mingyu… it’s hard to pretend like it’s not killing him when you talk about how much you like him.
You have that lovestruck look on your face when Mingyu comes up in a conversation. For the first time in a while, you look genuinely happy. Jungkook always thought that your feelings for Eunwoo still lingered over the past few years – and how could it not, when you were literally engaged to him for a year? You told him one time that he may have been your greatest love… and he fears that it might be the same with Mingyu.
Where does that exactly leave him?
“What I think doesn’t really matter. And it’s just for week.” he murmurs, but the others hear it anyway.
“An excruciating week, you mean.” Doyeon says. She stands up from her chair. “You know what, I’m over this whole thing. I’ve witnessed you pine over her for whole eight years – and I’m just – I’m moving on from this. And I have a surgery. I’m going out.”
Jungkook grimaces when Doyeon heads towards the door.
“Doyeon, don’t be mean to Jungkook. He’s trying his best, you know? The timing is just not right and—”
“What timing?”
As soon as Doyeon twisted the doorknob, pulling the door open to completely head out, you came barging in, cutting off Nayeon’s words.
Her eyes widen a little at your sudden arrival. And Jungkook scrambles to think of an effort to swerve the subject, but Taehyung beats him to it.
“__, heyyy,” he prolongs the word quite unnaturally, chuckling at the end of it for no reason. Jungkook internally notes to tell him later never dare try to save anything ever again.
That makes you furrow your brows in confusion. Directing your look to Doyeon who stopped on her tracks, you ask her instead, “What’s going on? What about Jungkook trying his best?”
Doyeon looks at Jungkook and then you. You wait, but then she just rolls her eyes – just completely done about the whole thing. Like she said earlier.
“He’s trying his best not to be a pussy – well, allegedly.” At that, she goes out of the room, ignoring your calls to pull her back in.
“Uh… I think I have a surgery in twenty. See you guys around. Gotta scrub in.” Taehyung jumps from the other bed and Jungkook makes sure to extend his leg forward so that the older guy trips on it as he walks. “What the fuck, man.” Taehyung looks at him, offense written all over his face.
Jungkook gives him a glare. Taehyung chooses to ignore it rather than prolong it and walks past you at the door.
“Bye, fuckers.”
“Don’t call me a fucker!” Nayeon chimes in but Taehyung’s already out of the room.
“Hey, seriously! What was that?” You head towards the bed where Jungkook and Nayeon are, situating yourself on the far end of the bed to lean on the frame. You take off your sneakers in one swift move and lay your feet on Jungkook’s lap.
“It’s nothing. You know how Doyeon always bullies me…” Jungkook says, ignoring the tingling sensation that starts to creep up his spine at the way you casually initiate physical contact.
He needs to get a grip. You most probably don’t really mean anything by it.
“She does not bully you.” Nayeon rolls her eyes beside him.
“You probably deserve it.” you say, pulling out and eating some strawberry yogurt.
Nayeon laughs at your remark, but then it’s cut short when a pager suddenly beeps. Instantly, all of you take out your own and check if it was yours.
“Alright, that’s my call.”
“Bye. Good luck.” You say, offering your cup to Nayeon, but she only shakes her head. Meanwhile, Jungkook gives her a pair of thumbs up.
When Nayeon leaves the room, you nudge Jungkook with your foot.
“Hey,”
Jungkook looks at you with a brow raised.
“Can you rub my foot? Please rub my foot.” You say, making the best rendition of puppy face, extending your sock-cladded foot in his direction.
He scoffs. “Do you think I’m a pushover?”
You gasp dramatically. “I do not! I think you’re a cool person who’d totally give me foot rubs.”
“Unfortunately, I’m not a cool person who would give you foot rubs.”
You groan. “I gave you a massage weeks ago.”
“That was, like, two months ago.” Jungkook says drily.
“It counts because you didn’t do anything to repay me for my kindness.”
“Oh, you need your kindness paid back?” Jungkook teases, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
You pout at him and then whine. “Please, just three minutes, I swear. I’ll even put up a timer.”
Indeed, Jungkook is a pushover. Pushover to your cute pout and every request. Again, he could just not find it in himself to say no to you. Not even in his wildest dreams.
But it’s never not fun to tease you before he relents. “Fine. Two minutes.” He says, pretending to begrudge the thought of giving you a foot massage, even though inside, he’s quite thrilled to be doing so.
It would be a lie to say that it isn’t one of his favorite past times in the quiet evenings of your apartment. Jungkook loves the weight of your leg on his lap, loves the way you thank him in between groans, and loves that he just gets to be close to you in almost such an intimate way.
“Your feet stink.” Jungkook decides to tease, scrunching his nose, feigning disgust.
“Don’t lie. Also, your feet stink even more, don’t try me.”
“My feet do not stink.”
“Let’s just agree to disagree,” You grin. “I’m starting a timer.” You say, grabbing your phone, pressing some stuff on it before you put it on the mattress.
“Let me see, for all I know, you set it to five instead of three.”
You look at him with widen eyes, stiffening.
“It’s three minutes.”
“Your nostrils are flaring, you’re lying.”
You groan. “Please. Dinner is on me later.”
That obviously catches Jungkook’s attention.
“You’re staying at home for the night?”
You look at him weird. “Yeah, of course. What’s with that face?”
Jungkook shakes his head, hides a small smile as he looks down to your feet on his lap and takes a hold of one. He takes off your sock for you and begins massaging the tendons of your foot, noting the way you immediately lean back and relax.
“Nothing. I just thought you’d be staying at Mingyu’s again.”
“Ah,” you nod your head. When Mingyu's name is mentioned, you visibly frown. It’s the kind of face that you make when you’re deep in thought. “I was supposed to. But I don’t know… we fought this morning.”
Jungkook raises a brow. “You wanna talk about it?”
You shrug. “Not really. It’s a weird argument. I don’t know.”
He wants so badly to poke around and find out… but somehow, there’s something in him that tells him not to bother.
Anyway, you’re going home tonight so that’s all that matters. Jungkook begins to think about what to eat for dinner… he’d love to cook something, nevermind that he’s tired from his overnight shift yesterday. He also only got around four total hours of sleep in the past 48 hours, and that was not even consecutive hours – just the sum. That is why he was in the on-call rooms, until Taehyung suddenly barged in, followed by Doyeon, Nayeon, and then you.
“Oh– there, that’s so good, Jungkook,” you say after a particularly hard press against the ball of your heel.
Jungkook knows better than to let his mind wander upon hearing that from you. He’s massaging you, of course that was gonna be the natural reaction.
It’s also quite pathetic to be even thinking about it in the first place – considering that your mind might most likely be weighed by yours and Mingyu’s argument – your boyfriend.
“Hey, about what I said a few days ago,” you started to speak again, breaking the momentary silence. Jungkook hums to acknowledge you. “I know you said yes to me bringing Mingyu along, but, uh, I’m not sure if he still plans to.”
“Ah,” Jungkook nods. Was the argument that bad? “Okay.”
“Yeah. He has to fly over to Arizona for something that week. Told me he may be able to arrive and join us on the second day, which is the exact date of your birthday, but honestly, I’m not sure. His sched changes a lot.”
Deep down, Jungkook wishes Mingyu just opts out of joining in altogether.
But he doesn’t have to tell you that.
“That’s a shame.” he comments, not really meaning it. He massages your other foot with ginger hands, which has you letting out soft sighs again. Jungkook buries them in the back of his head, lest his mind goes to territories that are absolutely humiliating.
“I know…” you trail off. You look like you have more to say as well, but then the door to the room opens. Again.
“Forgot my pager.” Doyeon announces, crossing the room with quick steps to reach for the forgotten thing she left on the table.
When Doyeon’s gaze falls back to the both of you, she raises a brow, and then her eyes direct their way towards Jungkook’s hands on your foot.
You’re about to say something when Doyeon rolls his eyes at Jungkook. Then, without giving you the opportunity to speak, she heads out of the room quickly, leaving Jungkook to look in another direction in quiet shame.
“What was that?” You comment, confused at what just happened.
“Eh, she’s in a sour mood today. It’s regular Doyeon.” Shrugs Jungkook, trying to swerve the subject.
You pout. “Are you two fighting again for real?”
Jungkook chuckles. “No, it’s not serious. You know how Doyeon and I get.”
You squint your eyes, but say nothing nonetheless.
Meanwhile, Jungkook hisses internally.
Jungkook gets Doyeon. You all have been friends since freshman year of med school – the founder of your study group – and she was also the first one to find out about Jungkook’s little crush. He didn’t even have to say it explicitly, she just knew. Eventually, Jungkook told Taehyung. He has quite a big mouth, unfortunately, so when you started your internship at the hospital – he lets it slip in a conversation with Nayeon who was just becoming your friend that time – leading the situation to where it is right now.
Out of all of them, though, Doyeon got it pretty hard. She’s witnessed the early stages of Jungkook’s infatuation towards you in the first semester of med school, had to keep quiet during study sessions. She was even supportive that time, telling Jungkook to just go for it – but then Eunwoo happened, and the confession never saw the light of day.
When they broke up, Doyeon became hopeful again, just as Jungkook was. But you were showing no signs of moving on and Jungkook had no choice but to step back for a bit.
The past two years, though, Doyeon became more insistent, telling him you’re single and it’s the fattest chance Jungkook can ever get.
But she’s right, after all. Jungkook’s a pussy. He hides his feelings well – a pro at the sport, really, at this point.
When Mingyu happened a few months ago, Doyeon’s just over it. She told Jungkook one time in a drinking session that the ship has sunk and he’s going to be in his sixties regretting not ever confessing to you. Sometimes, he wakes up at night in sweat from a nightmare that involved Doyeon murdering him because of his emotional constipation.
Jungkook knows she just wants the best for him – even though she’s more on showing him tough love instead of a gentle one. Doyeon’s always been like that, but she’s a good friend. When things went haywire, she was there to genuinely sympathize with him and console him – together with Taehyung and some of his other friends.
But in Jungkook’s defense, Doyeon just also doesn’t get it.
It’s so easy to just say fuck it and make a confession already, so easy to think about how things could turn positively – but she’s not – they’re not – in Jungkook’s shoes. They will never be.
So many things could go wrong if he ever were to listen to his heart. Sure, he’s had the chance over the past four years – most would say that. But it’s not a chance when you’ve spent half of it moving on from Eunwoo. It’s not a chance when you spent the other half trying to go on dates and fail – each one making you more miserable about your love life, as you told him so many nights ago in those rare special moments in the balcony of your apartment.
Those four years you were single was never a chance – not when you never showed any bit of interest.
It’s the reality that his friends always somehow miss when encouraging him to confess his feelings.
You’re friends for almost a decade now – eight years to be exact – but not once did you ever hint at wanting to be in a relationship with him. Your reaction to that always involved a disgusted expression and a variation of “No way!”. Might be a joke just to tease him – but also might be rooted in something genuine deep down.
Jungkook likes to think that physically, he doesn’t look so bad. He’s nice when he wants to be, especially towards people he cares about. He’s a resident surgeon who makes enough. Could be funny, charming… whatever.
Most of all, he likes to think he could deserve you one of these days. That he could be the man that you’re searching for.
But it’s been eight years and you’ve never once looked at him like how he surely does at you.
God knows how many times Jungkook has tried to move on – how many sleepless nights he has trying to erase the feeling of so much longing for you. Sometimes, it works, when he’s on his casual dates and hook-up with all those women that thankfully fancied him enough. He momentarily forgets about your laugh and your hair and the crinkles on the sides of your eyes when you smile and your soft hands and your gentle voice – but it cracks when the sex is done and he’s staring at the blank ceiling of his date’s apartment, hating himself for yet again seeing your picture in his memory when he’s buried in somebody else, wishing it was you instead.
It hurts so badly. Especially when you seem to look at everybody else except him. You wanted to weed out someone for you – meanwhile, he’s just right under your nose, and yet you don’t see him. It’s at this point, when you have Mingyu as your boyfriend now, that Jungkook is starting to realize that you don’t see him not because you can’t, but because you choose not to.
Regardless, he knows you love him. Knows you care about him on a deeper level. Would probably sacrifice a bit of your time to tend to him if he needs it. But it’s the kind of love that’s not comparable to the one he has for you. Jungkook’s feelings encompass every single kind of love a human could have for another being – but you only have one kind for him. The platonic kind.
And even though it’s painful to face the reality of that very idea, Jungkook thinks that maybe… just maybe… Mingyu’s actually it.
Mingyu wasn’t exactly a saint the last time Jungkook saw him, but people change and the way you seem so genuinely happy these days tells Jungkook that maybe Mingyu’s another version of himself now – the better one who will never hurt you or make you cry.
Maybe this is what love’s all about. You’re content with seeing them happy, even if it’s not with you.
Jungkook thinks that as he steals a glance at you looking at your phone – most probably playing that landlord game on your phone you’ve been obsessed with the past few weeks – and you’re so beautiful like this. Even when you’re probably running on limited hours of sleep just like him.
Your hair is put up in that tulip hairclip you have a lot of, stray hairs framing some parts of your face. But he sees your features just fine – notes the way they are structured so perfectly it truly awes him that men and women didn’t beg for your attention whenever you went out in public.
Because he would. He did. He does. He always teases you for the purpose of your reaction… because Jungkook likes it when you pay attention to him. So much that it kills him to think that maybe, that attention will die soon as you and Mingyu get closer as another week passes by.
The timer that goes off on your phone snaps Jungkook out of his thoughts, and you look at him with widened eyes.
“Don’t st–”
“It’s my turn now,” Jungkook cuts you off and gently places your legs on the mattress, bringing his own on the soft surface as well.
You jut your bottom lip out – and Jungkook feels himself wanting to give in.
“Five minutes is so quick.” You say, but nonetheless takes his shin to your lap.
Jungkook tries hard to sway the butterflies in his stomach at your touch.
“Favor for a favor, remember?” He teases, lifting one of his foot to your direction.
You pretend to gag. “I hate you.”
Jungkook laughs, quite boisterously. Because he knows you don’t mean it. I hate you basically just means I love you but you’re annoying me right now in your own little dictionary – and he always gets giddy whenever you tell him that – as weird as it may sound.
But Jungkook likes this, though.
Sure, it would be so fucking great if he could just confess and lay out his cards all at once, but the chances of you not taking it well is too big – and even though Jungkook’s usually a risk taker, he couldn’t ever risk you all over his dead body.
He can keep his hurt to himself over you feeling anything but romantic towards him – because if he confesses and you don’t feel the same way, he knows damn well that he’ll lose you completely.
And the thought makes him shudder.
That probably catches your sight, so you ask him about it.
Jungkook tells you it’s the AC.
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[ DAY 1 | August 31st, 11:04am ]
The beating sun feels uncomfortable on Jungkook’s skin, but there’s no way he’s wasting a day like this holed up in the villa he and his friends chipped in to rent. It costed you all a shit ton of money – might as well enjoy every waking day he gets to spend here.
It’s why he decides to goad Taehyung and Nayeon into coming with him along the shore where sun loungers are lined up to accommodate the few visitors who were also at the resort. He tried to convince Doyeon, but she goes straight to sleep as soon as the rooms were assigned.
He gets it – you all did travel by plane instead of car (because that would've taken you twelve hours) and Doyeon gets airsick whenever she rides in a plane. Jungkook also tried to talk you into it, but you said you were just going to lounge about by the pool at the villa and follow after a while.
Your “after awhile” takes about thirty minutes, and Jungkook thinks you’re missing all the fun, especially when Nayeon and Taehyung are starting to strip off their clothes to submerge themselves in the ocean.
With his loaded watergun, he goes straight back to the villa, and it doesn’t take much time to spot you by the terrace, lying down on a sun lounger with your big hat and sunglasses on, a book opened in your hands.
Unsuspecting, you let out a sudden squeal when Jungkook presses the trigger of the toy in his grip, a spring of water meeting your bare legs. Jungkook obviously tries hard to ignore that you’re wearing a flimsy pair of white bikinis. He saw you pack it two days ago… and he remembers taking too long to move on from the image he’s conjured up in his head upon seeing it.
“Jungkook!”
He chuckles at your reaction, poorly hiding the watergun behind him. “What?”
“I’ll kill you.” You seethe, your body coming forward to sit upright, hastily taking your sunnies off so he can see the cute glare on your face.
“What are you going to do? I have this,” He points to his weapon. “Are you challenging me into a hand-to-hand combat?” Jungkook teases, wiggling his eyebrow.
You groan. Then, you lay back on the lounger again, opening your book, deciding to ignore him.
Jungkook can’t have that, of course. So, he walks closer to your direction, stopping beside you, effectively blocking the sun and in turn, dimming the light source of your book.
“You’re blocking my sun.” You say, looking up at him.
“You’ll get all the sun you want if you haul your ass off to the shore. Come on, we’re all swimming in there,” he tries to convince you, nudging your thigh with his knee.
You give him a pout. You sound whiny when you say, “But it’s too hot.”
“That’s why we’ll get in the water.”
“Don’t be sassy.” You roll your eyes. “I meant the water would be way too hot.”
“It’s not, Nayeon said so.”
You glance at the pool across from you. “Why can’t we all just swim in here?”
Jungkook deadpans. “Because this is a five-foot pool and absolutely no one will enjoy it.”
You frown at him, quietly telling Jungkook he’s right.
“Ugh,” you groan. “But I’ll have to reapply SPF first…” You grab the bottle of lotion that’s just placed on the small table on the side of the lounger. Then you look at him with squinted eyes, “Did you wear sunscreen?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes but nonetheless says yes, knowing how you always nag him about it whenever you guys are at the beach. It’s not even just him. It’s also with your other friends.
He watches as you rub lotion over your body, but when you get to the back, you look up at him and extend the bottle towards his way.
“Can you help me with this, please?” You say.
Jungkook automatically takes the bottle but it takes him a full five seconds to understand what you’re getting at.
You’re asking him to put sunscreen on your back. You’re very naked back that sports nothing but the tiny strings of your bikini holding your chest.
Of course, you don’t notice his dilemma. Twisting in your seat so that your back faces him, you gather your hair to the side, obviously waiting for him to do your request.
But Jungkook’s distracted behind your back. He’s distracted at how smooth it looks under the scorching sun and how easy it would be to paint it with something other than the natural color of your skin.
It’s not even the first time he’ll do this – you’ve been to trips before and putting on sunscreen over your friend is about as natural as it gets like how he would do it as well to Taehyung or even Doyeon or Nayeon if they ask to.
But it doesn’t mean it doesn’t affect him one bit when it comes to you.
Needless to say, his mind is pre-occupied as he sits down behind you where you left some space for him to sit, squirting the lotion into the palms of his hands, gingerly spreading it over your back once he got it.
“Be sure to cover everything,” you say, obviously not aware about Jungkook’s mental crisis behind your back.
He thinks it’s worth the crisis over though, as you’re so soft under his touch. Jungkook kneads the span of your back, squeezes your waist lightly to even out the cream, and makes sure to put it over your shoulders as well. When his hands fall, he hesitates.
“Should I – uh—”
“Yeah, just go under the strings.” You tell him before he can even finish.
There’s a lump in his throat that he swallows before he goes under the strings of your bikini top, his heart doing funny somersaults against his ribcage as he spreads the lotion over your skin. It guilts him to no end that his mind thinks about how he’s just inches away from your breasts.
He retreats his hand right away. “Done.”
You turn back to him. “Thanks. You want me to do yours?”
“Sure.”
Jungkook sits on the edge of the lounger and lets his back turn to you. He hears the cap of the lotion bottle being opened again and soon your hands are lathering the cream over the expanse of his back.
It’s embarrassing the way he lets himself savor the seconds of your every touch. Embarrassing the way his mind zeroes in on the way your soft hands caress the tendons of his back muscles. He thinks about the weight, how good this feels; your hands on him. Suddenly, there’s a zap of electricity that goes through his spine, and then he feels it.
The twitch in his dick and the blood that he feels rushing to it.
“Okay, you’re done.” You say, tapping his back twice so he can turn to you.
It snaps him out of his thoughts, but his dick is thinking about something else and as he subtly looks down, there’s already a growing semi on the crotch of his trunk shorts.
Jungkook curses himself internally, shutting his eyes close in slight frustration.
Fucking uncooperative dick.
He stands up from the chair when you nudge his back with your foot, thinking that he’d see you coming along in a few seconds. But you don’t, and as he turns his heel to look at you, you’re back in your cozy lying position on the lounger, with your book opened, just like how he saw you when he came in a while ago.
Jungkook parts his lips in disbelief, but also finding the whole thing funny.
“You minx.” He muses, playfully squinting his eyes at you upon realizing the trick you just pulled.
“Enjoy the beach, Jungkook. Send my regards to Taehyung and Nayeon.” You say, giving him a taunting flying kiss. “And thank you for reapplying my sunscreen.”
Jungkook chuckles at your remark, and just like that, he forgets about his stubborn dick, and goes over back to you, blocking your sun once again.
“You’re blocking my sun again— Jungkook!”
It’s predictable the way you hurl a series of creative curses at him as Jungkook forcefully picks you up from the chair, knocking your hat and your book on the ground as he hoists you against his shoulder, carrying you upside down like a sack of potatoes.
“Jungkook, I swear to god!” You squeal, repeatedly slapping his back as he walks to the direction of the shore, but Jungkook’s nothing but a solid muscle, firm over his hold on the back of your legs.
“Be quiet.” He says, chuckling at your sounds of opposition.
“I hate you, you’re such a prick, ugh!”
He picks up his walking pace and you scream again when you see the ocean water from your view.
Jungkook chuckles as you continue to plant your fists on his back, and when the water reaches his knees, he throws you in it.
“Fuck. You!” You say, glaring at Jungkook in the middle of his uncontrollable laughter.
“Come on, Taehyung and Nayeon are over there,” he points to the deeper part of the ocean a few feet from where you are, and when you turn your head, you see Taehyung and Nayeon with their floaties.
“Ugh…” Jungkook hears you groan before you follow behind him. When Jungkook looks back, he sees you paddling around the water like some puppy, and he snickers to himself. That earns him a splash on his way, with you rolling your eyes at him.
“Jungkook! __!” Yells Nayeon over their direction, waving her hand around. Taehyung and her are perched on the big floatie they fought over with at the villa earlier.
“Jungkook,” calls you behind him.
You’re starting to cross the deeper part of the ocean and it’s within Jungkook’s chest now. Meanwhile, your friends are still about a few feet away, so the level would definitely be on his neck by the time. You’re considerably tall, but Jungkook’s still half a head taller than you, so when he looks back at you, the water’s already reached your shoulders.
“This is way too deep!” You complain.
“Don’t be a pussy, __!” Comments Taehyung from afar.
“Fuck off,” you murmur and then beckons Jungkook to you. “Help me a bit here.”
Jungkook shakes his head, chuckling as he moves a few steps back to get to your direction.
“You big baby, you never learned how to swim, have you?” He teases, playfully clicking his tongue.
“What for?” You say when he gets near.
Jungkook feels pleased with himself about you asking for his help to cross the deeper part of the ocean, but he’s met with surprise when you heavily plant your palms on his shoulders, causing him to be out of balance and tripping over his feet under the water.
It causes a misstep and he nearly chokes as he comes back up for air again only to see you laughing your ass off. Nayeon and Taehyung are also laughing along, even from afar, and Jungkook wipes the back of his hand over his eyes to see clearly.
“That’s for throwing me in the water earlier,” you say in between your snickers and Jungkook’s just about to say something back when you suddenly wrap your hands around his neck from the back, your legs locking around his waist. “Carry me to the floatie, pretty please,” you say against his cheek in a sing-song voice.
With that, Jungkook feels your whole entire body against his back, your breasts pressing against his skin. He ignores the way the physical contact makes his body tingle, and he hopes you don’t notice his blush when he raises his arms to hold the back of your legs.
“Only because you’re annoying.” He pretends to sound annoyed, but the laugh that comes out of you at the remark makes him smile anyway.
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[ DAY 1 | August 31st, 11:35pm ]
Your daytime activities at the beach included jetskiing – one that knocked Taehyung off the water way too many times that he just gave up halfway through it. When Doyeon woke up a little later in the afternoon, all of you decided to get food from the dining hall and ate your hearts out at the buffet.
The day ended with all of you back in your assigned rooms again. Since you rented a two-bedroom villa, Jungkook’s rooming with Taehyung in the secondary bedroom while Nayeon, Doyeon, and you are all inside the primary one since it’s bigger.
It’s past thirty minutes to eleven in the night when somebody knocks on Jungkook’s shared bedroom with Taehyung. When Jungkook looks at him from across the room, he’s knocked out on the sofa, soft snores coming out from his mouth. Him and Jungkook decided to take turns with the bed itself throughout the whole vacation. There’s an extra cushion Taehyung could’ve laid on the floor, but he was way too tired to set it up and to even care – looks like he doesn’t really need it, though, since he looks so peaceful in his position.
Grumbling, Jungkook gets out from the sheets, scratching his bare chest and rubbing the back of his head as he walks over to the door to open it.
When he does, he’s welcomed by the sight of you in your big grey hoodie and some shorts.
“Wear something.” You say as soon as you take in his appearance.
Jungkook’s habit of going to sleep with only his boxers knows no bounds. Even when it’s below 20 degrees Celsius outside, he always opts out of his pajamas, choosing to go bare in his sheets instead. In his defense for now, the duvet is thick and it provided him with enough protection against the cold of the AC and the summer night.
“What are you doing here?” He says as he trudges back inside the room to wear a pair of sweatpants hanging from the chair.
“Rude.” You comment, following him in the room. You look at Taehyung’s passed out state in the couch. “He’s going to wake up in the evening tomorrow and miss your birthday.”
That makes Jungkook smirk, remembering Taehyung’s high energy in the morning.
“No consequences. It’s vacation week.” Jungkook raises his eyebrows. “Seriously, what brought you here? It’s almost midnight.”
You sit on the edge of the bed. That’s when Jungkook notices the black plastic you’re carrying in your hand. “It’s not that late. Let’s head out for a bit.”
He raises a brow, confused. “Where to?”
“You’re going to find out. Wear a jacket, it’s a bit cold outside.” You say as you stand up from the bed again, heading for the door.
Jungkook’s confusion just grows with passing seconds. Nonetheless, he can’t say he’s not intrigued.
Unsure, he goes for his small luggage and takes out the only hoodie he packed. It’s grey as well, matching the one you have on. Jungkook tries to shake that thought off his head as you both quietly head out of the room.
It’s late into the night and when you head out of the villa, there’s not many people hanging along the shore anymore.
“Follow me,” you tell him, and Jungkook does.
It may have been his drowsiness that kept him quiet throughout the whole walk – just quietly following along with you, your rented villa no longer in his line of sight. Jungkook couldn’t exactly pinpoint where you currently are, but this side of the beach is a bit rocky, and much, much colder. He feels it even through the thick material of his hoodie.
“We’re here.” You announce, a proud lilt to your voice. Jungkook bumps with your back when you suddenly stop on your tracks. It prompts a chuckle from you, turning back to him so Jungkook sees the crinkles on the sides of your eyes as you do so.
It makes his lips curl. “What’s this?” He curiously asks, looking around.
Your grin grows wider. “We’re gonna take those stairs and it’s gonna lead us to some pretty view.” Jungkook looks to the direction you pointed at, seeing the stairs you just referred to. Still unsure, he glances back at you. You laugh. “You remember when Doyeon and I went out for a walk earlier for a bit? We found this place.”
Jungkook nods. “I see. Thought for a second there you found a place to dispose my body at.”
You snort as you take Jungkook’s wrist to hold on to as you climb to the stairs.
“I won’t do it as such a public place.”
“So, you really are thinking about it in the first place.” Jungkook nods his head, guiding your back up the jagged stairs. You manage to get to the smoother surface and Jungkook’s quick to follow you towards the straight path of the narrow walkway.
“It’s my favorite past time, really.” You look back at him cheekily, a playful grin painting your lips. Jungkook scoffs.
The hallway is colonnaded with some flags, and there’s an edge where the concrete stops, the ocean water splashing against the big rocks beneath the broken bridge.
You set aside the black plastic you’ve been carrying around and Jungkook realizes they’re Smirnoffs. Sitting on the concrete, you let your feet hang on the edge.
“Hey, be careful,” Jungkook comments as he sees you do that. This part of the ocean isn’t necessarily far – where you were earlier when you were swimming was far deeper, but still, it could be dangerous if you make a mistake. Jungkook wonders what the designers of the beach thought about when they made this plan.
“Come on, don’t be fussy. Sit here with me.” You say, patting the space beside you.
Jungkook follows, of course, and you scoot to the side a little to give him more room.
“It’s nice, right,” You look at him, cocking your head to the side.
Jungkook feels the breeze of cool wind passing, and it’s a bit strong that it moves his fringes and yours as well. You put your hair up as usual in that big metal clip you always wear, but some strands of your hair escape and they frame your face.
With your big hoodie on and smile, Jungkook thinks you look extra cozy. He may have been hot and bothered by your bikini ensemble earlier, but now he’s bothered for another reason. He can’t stop thinking about cuddling you under the night sky full of stars at the very moment.
“Feels good.” Jungkook comments. He plants his palms on the hard surface of the concrete behind him, leaning back as he looks to your side. “You wanted to drink here?”
“Oh, yeah,” You say, twisting your body a little to pick up the plastic cellophane. You take out two bottles of Smirnoffs and offer one to him which he gladly takes. Taking a bottle opener out, you’re about to open your drinks when Jungkook offers to do it for the both of you. You don’t protest, just let him do his thing, smiling when he hands you your Smirnoff.
“This is really nice.” Jungkook sighs after he takes the first sip, looking straight ahead to the mountainous view in front of you.
You hum, seemingly enjoying the moment as well. Jungkook takes a quick glance at your side profile and then quickly looks back ahead when he feels you do the same.
“Why’d you bring me here?” He asks.
“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep, and I thought I could bring you here. So.” You shrug.
Jungkook nods.
“I’m turning thirty-one tomorrow. Or, in an hour, actually.” He says, automatically looking at his wrist but then realizing he took off his watch and left it at the bedside table. He didn’t take his phone with him either.
“I know. You’re so old now.” You tell him with a teasing tone in your words.
“Fuck off,” he snorts. “I’m only a year older than you.”
“Hmm… still old. Imagine, you turn fifty, I would still be forty-nine.”
Jungkook laughs at that.
“Whatever makes you sleep at night, babe.” He lets the pet name slip, and he did not mean to. It just rolled off his tongue for some reason. Quite easily, too.
You don’t seem to care – or even notice – as you chuckle.
There’s a comfortable silence that hangs in the air again when Jungkook decides to break it.
“Hey, I really appreciate you for coming along. You and the gang, really. This is a really good trip so far.”
You give him a smile as you look at him. It’s one of those pretty ones that are a bit small but there’s a certain shine to your eyes and Jungkook just really loves looking at you with a smile on your face. You’re so pretty, he thinks he’s so lucky to even get the chance to look at you.
“You know we all need this trip, right? I think it’s all our first time vacationing in two years.”
He nods, chuckling to himself. It’s true. The last time was the Thailand trip and it felt like eons ago. Being a resident surgeon means less free time for leisure – and so you always make sure to spend your days off wisely. Even this trip took a lot of pre-planning to be possible just so all of your schedules would match.
“It’s crazy, though…” you say suddenly.
Jungkook cocks a brow at you. “What’s crazy?”
“That we’ve known each other for like – what? Eight years?”
Eight years and four months to be exact. Jungkook’s not keeping count – he just will never forget the exact moment he met you for the very first time.
It’s truly one of his core memories – knowing you. He remembers having to pass by the law library to meet Jimin – one of his closest friends who was studying law at the same grad school as him at the time. They were planning to eat out for lunch, but then he saw a woman at the individual study areas with a reading material that’s familiar with his. Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy. You wore that maroon hairclip you loved so much during first year (Jungkook remembers you losing it in the second semester and how he bought you another one in your birthday), and when you looked up from your book for awhile, taking a break from taking notes on your iPad, that was when Jungkook saw your face and he nearly falls over back then.
It’s common knowledge among your mutual friends and acquaintances that you’re pretty. It’s the first thing that Jungkook noticed about you, the reason why he harbored an instant crush. That pretty much turned into… well – something deeper as the years passed by and he got to know you more than just your beautiful physical appearance.
He found it strange at the time to find somebody who was obviously a med student studying at the law library, but he soon found out it was because you didn’t like studying at the med lib, said you felt too much pressure being among your fellow med students. Jungkook understood that in a spiritual level, and so when you became friends, you studied a lot at the law lib, until you met Doyeon and she formed a study group. It wasn’t long before Taehyung joined the equation.
Looking back at it, Jungkook thinks it’s surreal. How knowing you led to him knowing more people that would soon be important in his life up until the age of thirty-one.
“Almost a decade.” He says, can’t help but smile at the thought.
“Right? It feels so surreal sometimes that we all knew each other at, like, twenty-three and twenty two. And now we’re in our thirties.”
“When you put it like that…” Jungkook trails off, laughing at how young you actually were eight years ago.
“Yeah, I know!” You giggle. You look ahead, then you laugh again to yourself. Jungkook looks at you in confusion, giving you a questioning look at your sudden burst of laughter. Looking at him, you shake your head, “This is a bit of a TMI, but I was twenty-two when I entered med school, so I just lost my virginity three years ago. You know what’s funny? I’ve always thought I would lose my virginity, at like, thirty. Or twenty-seven. But that was even way too early for me.”
Jungkook almost splutters at the way you casually bring it up. He takes the bottle of Smirnoff away from him and looks at you with a chuckle. “Losing your virginity at nineteen is common.”
“Well, did you? Lose yours at nineteen?” You arch a brow.
“Nope.” Jungkook shakes his head, tipping his head back to drink again.
“Younger?” You ask again.
Jungkook chuckles at your curiosity. Much to your surprise, he shakes his head again. “Nah. Junior year. I just turned twenty-one. Lost it with my first girlfriend.”
Your lips part and Jungkook meets your shocked stare, brow cocked upwards.
“You’re fucking with me.”
“What? No, I’m not.” He laughs. He gets your surprise, though. Taehyung couldn’t believe it either when it came up in a random conversation.
You still look incredulous as you say, “You mean, like you never dated until junior year of undergrad?”
Jungkook shakes his head once again. “Yes, and no…? I mean, I had a… sort of girlfriend? Back in highschool, yeah, but it was more of like a mutual crush thing rather than an official relationship. But yeah, never dated and never had sex ‘til I found my first girlfriend in third year.”
You look at him suspiciously still, and Jungkook can’t help but laugh even more at your reaction.
“I really don’t believe you.”
“What’s so surprising about that?” Jungkook knows the answer, though. He sleeps around, and you know that. It’s probably why you can’t believe he’s only started having sex until third year of college.
You’re quiet for a bit.
“So… you and that girlfriend broke up, and then…” you trail off, letting him finish the pieces.
Jungkook chuckles, recalling some memories that he thought were already hidden well at the back of his head.
Jiyeon. Her name was Park Jiyeon, his first girlfriend. He was the one who ended things – and not because he didn’t have feelings for her. It was the other way around.
“Yeah,” Jungkook fills in. “Didn’t date seriously after that.”
“Uh… was it a bad break-up?” You say, and there’s hesitance in your voice. When Jungkook looks at you, you open your mouth to take your question back, probably, but Jungkook just gives you a warm smile.
“Yeah. It was bad. But I don’t really think about it now.”
You nod. “I see.” You say, looking ahead at the ocean again. “You dated… quite seriously again in our last year of med school, though.”
“Sora?”
“Yeah.”
Jungkook nods, remembering the only one-year relationship he had. Min Sora was a fashion magazine director at the time. Jungkook liked her as she did, but they had too many differences that lead to too many arguments. Sora ended things before the relationship dragged out. Jungkook was grateful for it. They’re casual as of now… good friends, maybe?
“I always wondered why she broke up with you.” You say quietly.
Jungkook doesn’t expect that. “You wondered about that?”
“Yeah. I mean, you seemed like you were both really into each other, so I just thought… you know,” you shrug.
“Ah. That,” Jungkook looks afar, recalling the day when she ended things with him. It had been because of the stress that the last year of med school brought – he likes to think that. But it was also during the time when Eunwoo proposed to you and what he thought was feelings forgotten for you came back resurfacing and Sora just… figured him out. She told him he loved you, and she’s got no spare time to compete with that. Denying it at the time was futile – Sora was smart. A wise, independent woman. She ended the relationship herself before she got deeply hurt. Jungkook has always felt sorry about how things turned out. No, he doesn’t regret the break-up – just regrets the way he hurt her – unintentionally – even though she didn’t show it.  “Just didn���t work out, I guess.”
You nod again.
Silence sits in the air.
It feels a little strange to talk about these things now. It’s not that you both never share these aspects about your lives to each other, but it’s the first time you ask him about Sora. He never really bothered to share, though, for the record.
From his periphery, he sees you taking your phone out from your pocket, then gasping.
Jungkook immediately looks at you to see what’s wrong. You show him your phone and he notes nothing of significance first before you say, “It’s 12:01 am. It’s September first!”
“Oh.”
“Happy birthday, Kook.” You say, smiling at him, and it’s an underestimation for Jungkook to say he nearly gets blinded by it. You look so gorgeous in your happy smile, so genuine, so warm, so cozy in your big grey hoodie.
Jungkook wants so bad to plant his lips on yours right then and there, but he reminds himself that he can’t do that. He reminds himself that you’re taken. That you like somebody else. The somebody else arriving tomorrow, as per your words earlier this day when he asked about Mingyu.
Still, it doesn’t stop Jungkook from mirroring your smile.
“Thank you.”
“And, before I forget,” you stuff your hands in the pocket of your hoodie and Jungkook watches as you take out a small rectangular box. As he pays you a glance, you’re a little bit shy, not looking straight into his eyes as you say, “Uh. I saw this somewhere, and I thought you’d like it.”
You extend your hand to him and Jungkook lets go of his beer to take the velvety green box from you.
He feels jittery as he takes it in, caresses the ribbon first before opening it altogether.
What’s inside surprises him.
“It didn’t cost much so don’t throw it away,” you say, uncharacteristically defensive. Jungkook can’t see your expression, but he bets your thoughts are going haywire as it takes him awhile to say anything about your gift. You always get nervous when it comes to gifts. “... and anyway, it’s not even my real gift. My real gift is a hairdryer, so I’m sure you’re gonna like that better. But it’s cute, right? You can hang it in your keyholder or something—”
“__,” Jungkook cuts you off, his eyes still on the keyring laying on the box. “You’re giving this to me?”
“Y-yeah. It’s… uh… cute, right? I thought it was cute.” You say, and when Jungkook looks at you, he sees the adorable way your brows furrow.
He chuckles, looking at the keyring again. It’s a silver Claddagh.
“Do you know what this means?” Jungkook asks.
“The what?”
Jungkook points to the Claddagh. “This symbol.”
You look away as you say, “No, not really. I just thought it’s a cool keychain. You told me you like keychains, but I don’t ever see you with a keychain. So.”
With your nostrils flaring a little, he knows you’re lying. You definitely know what the Claddagh symbol means.
But instead of goading you about it, Jungkook takes the keyring out of the box and hangs it over his finger, admiring the item.
“Thank you. This is really cute, and I love it.” Jungkook tells you, giving you a soft smile.
You stare at him and then cave into a smile of your own. “I’m glad you do.”
Jungkook looks at the Claddagh again and smiles heartily.
His heart aches with so much yearning and longing when you go back to the villa that night, spending about three minutes staring at the Claddagh you gifted him that he immediately hangs in his key holder. Jungkook thinks he’s going to transfer it to his work bag or the back of his rearview mirror, but his keyholder would do for now.
You love him alright, certainly not the way he does, but it’s enough for him.
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[ DAY 2 | September 1st, 11:55pm ]
It was not a secret among Nayeon, Doyeon, and Taehyung that Jungkook’s mood considerably plummeted down as soon as Mingyu called you early in the morning that he’d be landing in the afternoon.
Afternoon came, and he tried to suck it up like a grown man – and because as far as you know, they’re both friends. And Mingyu’s your boyfriend. He should be nothing but supportive.
But it was especially hard when you gushed about being excited that he was finally here. It’s been four months since you started seeing each other, two months since you officially dated, but somehow, Jungkook still could not process it.
He knows he’s being unfair. To you and to himself. But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help the feeling of ugly bitterness that sat in his heart as you told him about how Mingyu rented another villa so you both could room together, effectively taking you away from the rest of your friends.
Of course, you all spent his birthday together – doing tons of water activities in the ocean, eating at the dining hall, and roaming around for some more leisure time, but Jungkook could not help but think that ever since Mingyu’s arrived, you’ve been sticking with him, even taking the time away from the gang to show your boyfriend around the resort.
Even at the villa’s porch where all of you took out your foldable chairs to drink outside, you were with Mingyu, perched on his lap, laughing at the jokes getting thrown around in the circle.
He tried not to look too much at how Mingyu comfortably wrapped one arm around your waist while the other held a drink, how you leaned into his touch, and how easily he blended with the group with his charm.
“Where’d you get the ice cream?” Doyeon asked as Taehyung sat down on his chair with a small bowl of the sweet treat.
“Fridge. Nayeon and I bought it earlier.”
“There’s ice cream?” Mingyu asked, in which Taehyung nodded to. He turned to you. “Do you want it?”
Jungkook’s brows furrowed in confusion. “__’s lactose intolerant.” He noticed everybody suddenly looking at him. Feeling cornered, he drank from his beer to avoid their gazes.
Mingyu, obviously surprised by the declaration, glanced back at you. “Baby, you didn’t tell me that?”
You winced. “It’s not really a big deal.” you waved him off and when you laugh.
“Yeah, she’s stubborn about it. She can inhale five cones in one sitting.” Taehyung said which made everybody laugh. Jungkook knew it was to lighten the mood. So, he laughed as well, even though from his periphery, he could see you giving him daggers through your eyes.
Jungkook doesn’t know why you had to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. Sure, Taehyung’s right about you not taking your lactose intolerance seriously sometimes, but you’ve also gotten into a lot of trouble because of it, hence why you’ve been making conscious efforts to not eat dairy.
The whole day leaves a sour impression on him with Mingyu around. Quite a shame, really, since he started his birthday so well with you taking him to the far-end of the beach to drink and give him a Claddagh.
When the night becomes much darker, Jungkook sits on the terrace near the pool all by himself. Everybody’s fast asleep at this point. He doesn’t know about you, though, ‘cause you’ve probably transferred all your stuff to the other villa Mingyu rented around.
“Hey,”
Jungkook looks at the embodied voice that suddenly calls. He sees it’s Doyeon.
“Hey,” Jungkook smiles, taking the other bottle of beer on the coffee table and offering it to her.
She waves his hand. “Nah, I’ve had enough for the whole day.” Doyeon situates herself on the folding chair next to Jungkook.
Jungkook nods, looking straight ahead to the pool. They sit in comfortable silence for a while until Doyeon speaks.
“Hey, I’m sorry for the last week,”
Jungkook glances at her with a small smile. “What for?”
“For calling you a pussy. And just… being harsh. Had a tough week and your emotional constipation just pissed me off more. You’re still a pussy, but I shouldn’t have rubbed it off your face.” She says.
Jungkook stares at her with parted lips.
“Wow. I don’t know if that’s an actual apology.”
“It’s an apology with a hundred percent realness, you know I don’t baby anybody.”
“Hah,” Jungkook scoffs, amused. “Yeah. Well, you’re right, though. Today’s been…”
Doyeon sighs. “It’s hard on you, right?”
Jungkook can only give her a meaningful smile.
“But you don’t exactly have the right to get jealous… she’s not your girlfriend and you two are not anything,” Doyeon says, and it tugs at Jungkook’s heartstrings. Meanwhile, she looks ahead and continues to speak. “It’s hard when you have all these feelings for someone, but you have to hide it. You just want to show everybody they mean so much to you, but you can’t. It sucks.”
Jungkook thinks she’s still talking about his situation with you but then as he glances at her, she seems to be deep in thought. As if she’s actually speaking from her own experience.
He’s intrigued by that, of course.
“Woah, are you still talking about me?”
That seems to get Doyeon out of her trance.
She rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking about?”
Jungkook opens his mouth to say something. You guys have always had the theory that Doyeon has a secret boyfriend. It’s silly at best but sometimes, he thinks it’s true. Doyeon has never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve, though. She’s tough and she’s frank a lot of times. But she’s the kind of friend who’d call you a bitch in your face but then would go to all the lengths to defend you from everybody.
“Okay.” Jungkook nods, dropping the subject.
“Has she told you yet?” Doyeon asks suddenly.
“What?” He mirrors back, knowing exactly who the she Doyeon’s referring to.
“She’s planning to move in with him some of these days.”
“I…” Jungkook stops, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in water. To say that he’s stunned is an understatement. Obviously, you haven’t told him anything.
“You don’t know.” Doyeon says upon realization.
Jungkook shakes his head. “She didn’t tell me.”
Doyeon lets out a loud sigh. “It’s not really set in stone, though, that’s what she said. But they’re discussing it.”
“Ah.” Jungkook nods and looks ahead at the pool. Another beat of silence, a sip of beer, and then he scoffs. “I really should’ve confessed even way back then, huh?” He laughs but there’s no humor in it.
Doyeon stares at him. “I didn’t tell you about that so you can regret not telling your feelings for her earlier.”
“I didn’t—”
“I told you that so you can move on, Jungkook.”
Jungkook closes his mouth shut.
She looks away. “You remember the time I liked you in med school?”
“Doyeon…” Jungkook’s lips part, not at all expecting for her to bring that up. It’s been so long ago and ever since… Doyeon’s confession, they never really talked about it again.
“Oh my god, look at your face,” She laughs. “God, do you think I still like you? I moved on the day after you rejected me.”
“I didn’t reject you.” Jungkook defensively says.
She rolls her eyes. “I asked you if you were interested and you didn’t say anything. You just looked at me like this,” Doyeon stiffens her body and widens her eyes in a comical rendition of Jungkook’s famous OJO face.
Jungkook can’t help but scoff. “That was the strangest confession that happened to me, though. You told me you liked me in the straightest face ever, I still think it was a cruel prank of some sort.”
Doyeon bursts into laughter, and Jungkook follows along, recalling that time.
“Yeah… that was funny. But… it was real, not a prank at all. I don’t remember why I liked you, though.”
Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “Okay, but that’s actually the most hurtful thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t take it personally,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her lips still. “Anyway, I brought it up because that was the same day when I realized you like __. I mean, I had my suspicions, but I confirmed it around the time.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “Was really surprised when you told me that. I thought I hid it pretty well.”
“Yeah, but not to me. You know, I don’t even know how __ didn’t figure it out herself. You’d always follow her around and in our study sessions, you always stayed up late with her and was overly attentive. Whenever Taehyung asked you too much, you sort of like reached a point where you just told him to suck it up. But if it was __, you were so patient,” Doyeon giggles. “She had a really hard time with Biochem. I remember you tutoring her all the time.”
“That was…” Jungkook bows his head down, a bit embarrassed at being read like that. “She cried a lot during first year.”
Doyeon purses her lips. “Yeah…”
Both stare ahead again, with nothing to say for a few more seconds. Jungkook continues to sip his bear while Doyeon quietly sits.
“I have this biased notion about Mingyu,” Doyeon speaks up. Jungkook looks at her she continues, “I keep on telling myself, he’s probably gonna fuck up anytime soon – and that’s because deep inside, I still want you and __ together. You know I’ve always wanted you both to be together. It’s hard to see __ struggling with her love life. She almost failed the internship when Eunwoo broke up with her, and I don’t want her to go through that again as her friend. It’s hard, because I can’t do anything about it. I think of you, and how much you love her, and I think you’re good for her… but at the same time, I feel bad for thinking that. Because I can see that Mingyu makes her happy. It’s different with the other guys she dated before him. She’s truly happy with him, and I find it hard to think that Mingyu’s gonna break her heart. He seems… nice… and that he’d be good for her, you know what I mean?”
Jungkook’s quiet, processing her words.
Doyeon sighs before she speaks again. “But that hurts you in the process, doesn’t it? Seeing her happy but not with you. You’re both my friends and I’m in the position where it’s hard for me to situate myself in a certain place. Because I want __ to be happy, but I also want you to be happy – but your happiness is interconnected and it’s… tricky. It’s a tricky situation.”
Jungkook doesn’t realize that he’s gripping the neck of the bottle quite tightly at Doyeon’s words, but he listens.
“I don’t normally say things like this, Jungkook, but I’m your friend so I’m just gonna let this go,” Doyeon finally looks at him, and he meets her gaze. “It hurts me to see you hurting like this. It hurts Taehyung and Nayeon as well, but they won’t say it. Just… just be… just be okay, please?”
Jungkook exhales a sharp, shaky breath.
He knows what Doyeon meant by that. She’s asking him to… find happiness on his own. Happiness that doesn’t lie on __’s reciprocity because with the way things are going, that’s impossible. She’s planning to move in with Mingyu, and most of all, she seems genuinely happy.
“I… I know. Thank you.” Jungkook says, not really knowing what to say.
Doyeon chuckles. “Do you want a hug?”
He looks at her with a smile. “I could use one right now, yeah.”
Doyeon laughs before standing up and going over to where Jungkook sits on his own sun chair. When she steps in front of him, Jungkook wraps his arms around her waist and lets himself rest the side of his head on her stomach, closing his eyes when Doyeon pats the crown of his head.
“Belated happy birthday, Jungkook.”
Jungkook chuckles. “Thanks. You’re unusually mushy today.”
Doyeon pinches his ear slightly which earns her a groan.
The two stay like that for a few more seconds when suddenly, Jungkook hears a familiar voice.
“Oh, h-hey guys,”
Jungkook immediately looks ahead to see you standing from the other side of the terrace, looking at him and Doyeon. At that, Doyeon lets go of him, twisting her body to look in your direction. Jungkook retreats his arms back to his side and smiles to acknowledge you.
“I thought you were sleeping already.” He says.
“Yeah, what brought you here?” Doyeon asks.
You approach them with unusually slow steps, as if reluctant. “Left my wallet here. Just realized it a while ago,” you say. After that, you stop on your tracks. Your gaze falls between them with an unsure smile on your face. “You two drinking?”
“Nah, Jungkook is.” Doyeon says, pointing to the bottle of Smirnoffs on the small table beside Jungkook’s chair. Then, she looks under her own. “Where’d you leave your wallet?”
“Over my chair earlier.” You give her a smile again. But somehow, it looks a bit awkward. A little forced. Jungkook knows you well enough to identify your smiles.
And as he looks at you longer, he realizes you have a certain color on your face, but it’s one of those expressions he can’t read.
“Well,” you blurt out after a beat of silence. Looking around, you go over to where you were sitting earlier then duck. “I think I left it here…” you trail off. Jungkook’s just about to stand up to help as well when you suddenly pull up a brown leather, grinning at both of them. “Yay.”
Jungkook chuckles. “That would’ve been the third wallet you’ll lose this year.”
You mirror his laughter, and Doyeon joins in.
There’s another pause and then hesitantly, you ask, “Did I… uh… disturb something? Or…”
“What?” Doyeon asks with furrowed brows. “No,”
“Ah, okay,” you smile at her and then insert your wallet in your shorts. “Anyway, I’m heading back to Mingyu. The villa he rented is just at the back of ours, so… feel free to visit anytime or whatever.”
“Sure.” Jungkook says. He didn’t mean it to sound clipped and short but he must have unintentionally let the tone slip, as you and Doyeon immediately give him a look. He clears his throat. “I mean, of course. Tomorrow?”
You nod.
You look at him. And then, you point between him and Nayeon. “Are you two staying up here late?”
“Nah, I’m heading to bed actually.” Doyeon says, picking up her phone from the sun lounger.
“Yeah, me too.” Jungkook puts the beer to the coffee table and stands up.
You nod. “Okay, then. Well, good night to you two.”
“Alright, good night. I’ll head out first.” Doyeon says before disappearing into the sliding door that leads straight to the villa’s living room.
You soon turn your heels back to head out as well, but Jungkook calls after you. Turning around, you hum, acknowledging him. “Hm?”
“Good night, stinky.”
You deadpan. “Night, fucker.”
Jungkook laughs, watching your retreating back as you leave.
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[ DAY 4 | September 3rd , 3:05 am ]
Jungkook likes to work out when he has a lot in his mind. But sometimes, he opts for jogging or walking around to clear his head.
With the turn of events since Mingyu’s arrival and Doyeon informing him about your plans on furthering your relationship with Mingyu, he finds himself along by the shore at three am with high hopes to clear his mind. It doesn’t give the solution, but it temporarily does the job.
Inserting his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, he looks ahead at the view of the ocean, trying so hard to shut his head down with overbearing thoughts of you. It’s no use, though, it’s always filled with thoughts of you and you alone.
Jungkook thinks about the time in med school when he thought he was completely over you. It had been after you made it official with Eunwoo two months into seeing him. He thought it would be a “bigger person” thing to do, moving on, that is, after you announced that you got a boyfriend – but then later on, when he slept with other women or had his casual dates, you suddenly popped up in his head randomly, and his heart suddenly ached when Eunwoo would drop by the university to fetch you. He felt ugly bitterness when you smiled too much whenever Eunwoo was brought up in the conversation. He found himself wishing it was him instead – the guy you thought of buying shirts for, the guy you randomly thought of when you saw something at the mall or the park, or the guy you called when you needed anything.
It was that spring break in second year when he realized that he loved you, after trying hard to brush his feelings off for you as a mere infatuation because you were gorgeous and smart.
He finds himself thinking about the time when he almost let out his heart when you had a fall-out with Eunwoo during your third year. Thinks about how pathetic he was for thinking that he finally had the chance. It had been when you called him at midnight, crying onto the phone as you asked him if he wasn’t busy. Jungkook had been studying for a Clinical Skill Assessment at that time, but he’d have been a fool to make you feel lonely when you already seemed like you were not fine. So, he had set aside his studying that night and went right over to your place. You told him about how Eunwoo was going cold, how Eunwoo was getting too close to the senior architect at his firm which you’d been having huge arguments about during those days – Jungkook remembered feeling broken at the sight of you crying, could feel himself building up hatred for the guy who was fucking up his chance with the woman he did not deserve. He thought about how he would never do that to you, thought about how he could be better for you – the envy bubbling inside his heart too big to ignore.
Jungkook remembered thinking how he would never fuck up any chances with you, and how Eunwoo was a fucking idiot for even making you feel that way.
That night, he almost kissed you. And the day after that, you avoided him like the plague.
Doyeon told him he was just as much of a big fucking idiot as Eunwoo for doing that. And Jungkook remembered regretting that night, and swearing off to never, ever make a move on you ever again because your avoidance of him made him feel like the biggest fucking piece of shit to ever exist on Earth.
He remembers you didn’t talk to him for about a month. And he remembers fearing that that was finally it.  
Of course, you made up – you’re still in his life. You let him still be in your life even though he betrayed your trust. The trust that lies on the fact that he was your best friend. Someone who was not supposed to take advantage of your vulnerability, someone who did not suddenly try to kiss you when you were at your worst.
It was a memory you two weren’t fond of. Heck, you’ve never ever brought it up not even once since it happened. When you finally talked to him again after that, you did not let him apologize for what he did – just shut him down by saying that you two should just forget about it and never mention it again. You made it clear that you did not want to talk about it – not at all, not in a million years.
Again, Jungkook has had a million attempts to move on. Especially when you got back together with Eunwoo. He did temporarily, when Sora came into the picture. He genuinely did like her, even more than his first girlfriend in college, and he thought he could eventually love her the same way he does you, but Eunwoo suddenly proposed… and his defense came crumbling down. The fear of losing you once again was too overwhelming that he ruined the relationship with Sora because admittedly, he had always been pathetic like that.
Even now that you’re with Mingyu, he’s still pathetic. He still thinks that one day, you can finally look at him. Like, really look at him and feel anything but friendly towards him. It’s extremely pathetic that he keeps on telling himself that your friendship will be enough, but then deep down, it’s not.
Jungkook shuts his eyes close when he feels the cool breeze of the wind hitting his skin under the hoodie. He lets himself stand there for a while, just trying to bask in the surroundings, ignoring the heavy feeling that sits in his heart.
But then he smells a sudden waft of smoke, and he knits his brows as he opens his eyes back again, turning to the direction of the smell.
When he turns back, he sees a familiar figure of a man.
“Mingyu?”
Mingyu glances back at him with the same surprised look on his face, but it disappears just as quickly. Pinching the cigarette between his fingers, he blows smoke in the air and inserts one hand in his shorts.
“Jeon.”
“Still Jeon to you, huh?” Jungkook sneers, walking over to where Mingyu is. “Why are you here?”
Mingyu arches a brow. “I could ask you the same thing.”
“Woke up a few minutes ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.”
Taking a hit of his cigarette again, Mingyu shakes his head. “That’s tough.”
“Same with you?” Jungkook asks.
“Nah. Had a discussion with my girlfriend. Just wanted to clear my head.”
Jungkook nods, not saying anything to that. It’s weird that you’ve been fighting a lot lately. He wonders if you’re okay.
Pulling out a pack of Marlboro and a lighter, Mingyu extends them to Jungkook.
He looks down at it and thinks about how this exact thing happened in college. Mingyu always had the pack of cigarettes and the link to the best weed man in college. He used to think they would be fond memories.
But Jungkook shakes his head, looking ahead.
“I quit years ago.” He says. And it is true. He wasn’t much of a smoker and only did it occasionally when he was extremely stressed, but it took him awhile to stop the habit completely, only dropping the cigarettes during second year of med school. Jungkook would say it was due to his own concern about his health – but there was an incident in the same year where you caught him smoking at the uni’s park after a particularly taxing exam, and how you did not hesitate to tell him that you hated – absolutely abhorred – smokers. You said you didn’t care if he smoked, but as a med student he should’ve known better.
He never touched that shit again.
“Changing your ways now?” Mingyu says with a teasing – more like mocking – tone, inserting the pack and lighter back in his pants.
Jungkook shrugs at that, which earns him a scoff from Mingyu.
“Do you smoke around her?” Jungkook suddenly asks.
“Who?”
“__.”
A beat of silence. And then Mingyu laughs.
“No. She doesn’t know I smoke. She doesn’t have to.”
Good. Jungkook thinks. Good that he doesn’t smoke around her. But what did he mean by saying she doesn’t need to know?
“She doesn’t like smokers, you know.” Jungkook tells him.
From his periphery, Jungkook sees Mingyu glancing at him. It takes a while for him to say something.
“You’d know that, huh?”
The dip in his tone makes Jungkook meet his gaze. Suddenly, the smirk on Mingyu’s face is gone, and there’s something behind his eyes that he can’t quite put a finger on.
Jungkook tries to ignore that. “I’ve known her for a long time. The others can also tell you that.” He says, referring to the rest of your friends on the trip.
“You think I don’t know?”
With furrowed brows and growing confusion, Jungkook stares at Mingyu.
“What?”
“That you like my girlfriend.” Mingyu spits the words out like venom in his mouth, but it’s in a way that tells him it’s been sitting with him for far too long. Jungkook’s surprised at the declaration, feels himself being taken aback by the blunt way he said it as if he’s so sure.
But Jungkook doubles down, to Mingyu’s surprise.
“So?”
That obviously wasn’t the answer the other man wanted to hear. So, what? He can dish it, but he can’t take it?
“You’re goddamn pathetic, then.” Mingyu says after awhile, taking a hit on his cigarette again.
It itches the bubbling anger Jungkook has had for him for the past ten years.
“I like __, and I’m not gonna deny that to you,” Jungkook faces him. “But you don’t have to worry about that, because unlike you, I have enough self-respect to not sleep with my friend’s girlfriend.”
It’s another response that Mingyu does not expect. Jungkook also did not mean to let that out. But his tongue glided with the words and he couldn’t help it. Suddenly, memories of junior year in undergrad comes back flashing to him; Jiyeon and Mingyu, fucking in his goddamn bed, his girlfriend cheating on him with his best friend.
Jungkook’s already moved on from that. Jiyeon was not a loss, even though she was his first girlfriend – heck, first love even, but she cheated on him. And not just with anybody but his best friend at the time. The worst thing was that Mingyu was completely in on it, and Jungkook doesn’t think he ever felt remorse about what happened back then. Mingyu gave him a half-assed apology the day he walked in on them, even had the gall to “explain” Jiyeon’s side, that apparently, she just wasn’t “feeling it” with Jungkook anymore, and that Mingyu and her had been hitting it off. Jungkook realized it was why Mingyu suddenly came over way too often over at his apartment.
It’s exactly why he never bothered to meet with Mingyu after graduation. Why he was not enthusiastic meeting him at the engagement party.
But that happened so many years ago that he thought Mingyu’s changed. He didn’t want to burst your bubble and tell you what happened between them back then because he’d be the one to ruin the happiness you’ve wished for all these years.
“I see you’re still hung up on that.” Mingyu says after a while. He throws the cigarette away and steps on it with his heel.
Jungkook’s jaw ticks in what he feels is growing rage. “I’ve moved on. I’m just letting you know that even though I like __, I’m never doing what you did back then.”
“You’re such good guy, then?”
“If not cheating makes me a good guy, then maybe I am.” Jungkook shrugs.
“Jiyeon was a bitch. She was never gonna be good for you.” Mingyu suddenly says.
It makes Jungkook seethe. “And so you fucked her?”
“She liked me better than you. Women always liked me more, that’s why I was going through them while your goody-two shoes virgin prude ass was daydreaming about dating to marry.  You remember that, right?” Mingyu looks at him with a mocking stare. “And Jiyeon was smoking hot. She offered, I just delivered. Said you couldn’t make her cum properly. We could have shared her, you know?”
“Fuck you.” Jungkook spits out. He feels enraged and pissed and disgusted all at the same time.
“Are you getting mad?” Mingyu levels him with an infuriating smirk. “You always got a stick up in your ass, Jeon. Kyungmi told me you’re just a regular playboy these days, said it was the effect of your first girlfriend cheating on you. Right now, though, is that just a front to hide your feelings from my girlfriend? A pathetic boy best friend just wanting to be noticed by his hot girl best friend? You play that role so well. Telling me she’s lactose intolerant, she doesn’t like smokers… you want to fuck her so bad it’s laughable because you know you can’t.”
“Don’t… fucking talk about her like that.” Jungkook growls, and he feels blood rushing through his veins.
Mingyu shakes his head. “You know what I thought when I first met her? I was completely interested right away, but when you showed up…” He chuckles in the way that makes Jungkook’s skin prickle. “It just made me want her more.”
“You’re fucked in the head.”
“This fucked in the head guy got the girl you want wanting to commit to him. I don’t know if she told you, but we’re moving in together.”
Jungkook pokes his tongue to his cheek. “You think I won’t tell her about this?”
“You think she’s gonna believe you?” Mingyu fires back. Jungkook closes his mouth, doesn’t really know if he’s confident enough to say yes. That earns him an arrogant smirk from Mingyu. “That’s right, she won’t. I have no doubt she’s gonna choose me over you. Jiyeon has had before. And if you’re gonna fight the same battle again this time, you’ll lose.”
Jungkook regulates his breathing hearing his words. He’s starting to not see clearly, his fist clenching on his side and he knows better than to resort to violence, but Mingyu’s testing his patience.
He’s completely wrong for thinking that he isn’t the same asshole he was back in college. He’s completely wrong for not telling you about him sooner. He’s completely wrong about everything.
Glancing at his hand, Mingyu looks him in the eyes, leaning forward. “You wanna hit me just like how you did back then? You almost fucking killed me when you gave me that head injury that kicked me out of the fucking team.”
The head injury. That fucking head injury. Jungkook was so mad when he found out that he just saw pure red. It wasn’t his best moment – he knows. He lost control and just… went for it. He still regrets doing it – not punching Mingyu – but for losing it when he could’ve shown him that he’d always be the bigger person between them both.
He’s quiet and Mingyu takes that as a win. Scoffing, Mingyu says, “I could’ve reported you to the admin and you could’ve been expelled, and if that happened, you couldn’t have gone to med. You are where you are right now because of me, so don’t fucking show that animosity towards me because you fucking owe me one.”
Jungkook can’t help but laugh. But he does so humorlessly. “You really think that?” He stares at the other guy. “You’re just as delusional as you were back then, Gyu. You think everybody liked you – but that was just because you were a touch-deprived loser who would fuck anything that breathed near him, and I wasn’t. I only entertained women I liked. You thought you were smarter, but I was always the one who got the better and higher grades, even though you studied way harder. Is that why you went with law? So you won’t have to compete with me in the med field? I also know you were pissed as fuck when the captain title was passed on to me instead of you,” Jungkook leans closer as well. “You’ve always thought of yourself so highly, but deep down, you were just an insecure little boy trying to compete with another guy that didn’t even see you as competition because you were that irrelevant.”
Mingyu, in his own fir of rage, grabs Jungkook’s collar, but Jungkook stays in his place, face stoic as Mingyu snarls, “You keep running your mouth while you cry yourself to sleep because those don’t mean anything when I’m the one fucking the love of your life,” Jungkook visibly recoils to that, and when Mingyu notices, he smirks, adding, “Yeah, yeah, you wanna know how __ is in bed? Because you’ll never see her sopping wet when you give her cock. That angelic face of hers… you’ll never know she’s a slut the way that filthy mouth asks me to fuck her harder because I am that goo—”
He wasn’t able to finish his sentence when Jungkook’s heavy fist suddenly lands on his cheek.
That effectively gets Mingyu to let go of Jungkook’s collar as he loses his balance and steps backwards limply, thumbing the side of his mouth only to see blood.
Whisking away his fist, Jungkook looks at Mingyu with fire in his eyes and venom in his voice when he says, “Don’t you ever fucking dare talk about her like that, you fucking piece of shit.”
The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a silvery white glow over the beach, but the comforting sound of waves and the calm of the surrounding is a contrast to the rising tension between Jungkook and Mingyu.
When Mingyu doesn’t say anything, Jungkook turns on his heel, ready to leave, but suddenly, he feels the back of his shirt getting pulled and being met with a fist right on his cheek, close to his nose. He barely dodges the hit, taken aback by the unexpected attack.
“Fuck you.” Mingyu grits, eyes blazing.
With that, the fight intensifies, with Jungkook throwing a quick jab back. Mingyu retaliates with as much fury, the two of them grappling, their bodies colliding with violent force. Soon, the sound of their grunts and the occasional crash of a punch against flesh is drowned out by the crashing waves.
And then a familiar voice calls their names.
“Jungkook! Mingyu!”
“Oh my god!”
Jungkook’s suddenly being taken away by somebody by his arms, and he realizes it’s Taehyung when he speaks up again once he and Mingyu are off each other.
“What the fuck are you two doing?” Taehyung asks incredulously, rightfully shocked at what he’s seen. Jungkook forces his way out of Taehyung’s hold in frustration, wiping the side of his mouth. Mingyu’s on the other side a few inches away being hesitantly held down by Nayeon, who looks at all of them with deep worry in her eyes. Turning to her, Taehyung says, “Call Doyeon and __. They’re sleeping in the same room together at the villa.”
“You don’t need to do that,” Jungkook says, glaring at Taehyung.
He looks at him angrily. “You’re fistfighting with somebody at fuck o’clock in the morning. We’re going to get run off by the police, be thankful we saw you.”
“I-I’ll call Doyeon and __.” Nayeon stutters, reluctantly pulling away from Mingyu and going to the direction of the villas.
When she leaves, Taehyung looks between the two beaten up men, not believing their busted faces. Rubbing his own with his hands in frustration, he looks back at them again, saying, “What the fuck happened to you guys? Why were you fighting?”
“It’s none of your business.” Mingyu says.
Taehyung glances at him with irritation. “None of my business? Fuck off, Kim Mingyu. You joined in on this trip. Everything that happens here is quite literally each other’s business.”
“Tae.”
“I can’t believe you guys,” Taehyung shakes his head, ignoring Jungkook. “Fighting like goddamn immature teenagers… are you not embarrassed?”
Looking away, Jungkook decides to sit on the sand and let Taehyung’s words go from one ear to another. His energy is waning and the rage he had a while ago is just simmering down to… nothing. He feels absolutely empty.
“Jungkook?” He doesn’t realize the steps that were coming towards them were you and Doyeon. It’s obvious that you’ve both been sleeping, still in your pajamas as you rush towards their direction. He looks at you when you call his name, but then suddenly, you turn to Mingyu. “Ming— what happened?”
Jungkook feels his heart break when you come towards Mingyu’s direction first. He knows why you did. He’s your boyfriend, of course you are going to tend to him first.
Suddenly, he remembers what Mingyu said. About you choosing him over Jungkook.
Jungkook didn’t doubt that, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt a little to see it fully realized.
“Jungkook– Jesus Christ,” Doyeon comes over to him and quickly checks his head. With knitted brows, she casts him a look.
“I’m fine.”
She’s about to say something, but then she closes her mouth and then glances at you.
Sighing, she turns to everyone and announces, “Look, let’s just get them back to the villa. Treat their wounds before they get infected.”
“Right.” Taehyung says and then comes over to Jungkook to help Doyeon guide him in walking. He relents first because he doesn’t need their assistance, but Taehyung looks at him and he knows he’s pissed. So, he lets them.
As he tries to subtly look over to where you were, you have your arm around Mingyu’s waist while Nayeon helps guide him as well.
It takes a tedious few minutes to get back to the villa where Doyeon and Taehyung decide to take care of him in his room while Nayeon and you tend to Mingyu back in your room.
Doyeon nor Taehyung doesn’t say anything the whole time. Just let the silence fall in the room as they clean his wounds and put bandages around the cuts on his face and treat his busted lip.
He knows they’ll talk to him in the next few hours. It’s inevitable. But at least they’re sparing him for tonight – or today, since it’s almost four am.
Jungkook regrets not seeing the sunrise.
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this chapter is not over yet! tumblr has a 1k paragraph/block limit in a single post and so i can't put the whole thing in this. please look thru the reblogs to read the last scene and the continuation of this chapter or click on this [ link ]
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caz-is-gay · 5 months ago
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so. currently actually sobbing bc i made the horrible decision to look through techno’s channel. i saw the gravity mod vid he posted after the announcement that he had cancer. i remember being so happy. sbi content! god. i still haven’t watched the video. yknow the one. a year ago i tried to watch squids video on part of the potato war. i didnt get 3 mins in b4 i heard his voice (he was celebrating!! he was happy!) and started crying. maybe in a decade ill be able to watch it and smile. and ill be able to watch the new one, and old ones and laugh like i used to. i looked through the community posts. he really loved birds, didnt he? i feel so bad for his dad.
june 2022. worst month of my life i think. everything happened at once. on june 1st lizzy was over. i was so desperately in love with her. still in denial about the inevitable friend zone. we went to zydecos grad party! she left halfway through to call her ex. they got back together. the facade was broken. obviously she didn’t like me back and anything romantic with her is a pipe dream. (i mean who would ever love to be attracted to an ugly fat pig like me?) so lizzy is over. im trying to ignore the heartbreak. then i hear the news. techno died. my sister hears it from a friend and tells me. the ppl we have over dont get it. they dont get why it hits me so hard, and god i dont want to explain it. so i pretend im fine. keep hosting, keep being nice. every second is agony! i cry myself to sleep. that had stopped a few months ago. i wasnt suicidal anymore but god. 2 weeks later im starting to back to *normal* levels of summer break depression. my dad finds out. he loved techno. im gone again. my mom fonds out, she doesn’t know who he is., doesn’t know the other 3 ppl at the table have already been grieving. shes lost so many to cancer. “did you hear about that minecraft youtuber who died of cancer? he was only 23, its so sad” i didnt know what to say. “yes i watched him everyday for 4 years his videos were the only thing that could get me to sleep when i started having suicidal thoughts if not for him i wouldn’t be here and now he dead.” yeah.
i still didn’t get over lizzy for months. fantasizing about a life with her was my escape. it was unrealistic and i couldn’t think about her like that anymore. then my dad brought covid home from work. june 23rd, my mom almost dies. thats the worst day of my life. it was mcc day. i was watching it on my tv, because my dad went to see his parents and mom was sick. she had been in bed for days. she got sick a lot. she had bronchitis for 10 years at this point. i was taking care of her. she was obviously delirious. asking me to pour water on her because she was so hot. i didnt know what to do. i waited for so long. i couldn’t deal with this right now i needed to de stress not have more. it got too much, i called my dad and he said she must have high blood sugar. fuck. i looked at her insulin log, nothing written for 2 days. fuck fuck fuck. he told me, if she cant draw her own blood for a reading, call 911. so we did. she could have died. if i waited any longer she could have passed out and stopped breathing. she went to the hospital. medically induced coma, intubated. she had told us many times shed rather die than be on a ventilator. none of us mentioned it. she was in a coma for 2 weeks. woke up, had to be in vent for longer. she was finally extubated. she couldn’t talk but she managed to be sarcastic still. i had to hold back tears. best day of my life.
that month changed the course of my life forever. my disability was most likely caused by the mild covid infection i got b4 my mom got sick. my mom doesn’t have a fungal lung infection anymore. my parents are sleeping in the same room again, and going to therapy. my mom has a cgm and a cpap and is on top of her health.
i cant stand the sounds of artificial breathing after sitting next to her for so long. im more afraid of my future than ever. im still getting over my best friend (fuck being demiromantic man) and i am still crying over technoblade.
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aggressivelyclueless · 1 year ago
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hey @theshitpostcalligrapher you wanted a horror story? ^_^
fair disclaimer this is a pt1 and it's a first-draft so please excuse my typos; also im going a bit hogwild so it may end up slightly longer than short-story territory (whoops) but i'll try and keep it shortish? hopefully? anyways if u have any thoughts/critique/suggestions/whatever then let me know! i wanna hear em!
Yu Lin breezed through the upstairs level in a little less than an hour. Aside from the master bedroom, there wasn't much up there -- a stale spare room which served as a perfect time capsule of the nineties; the odd upstairs closet whose backside opened to a cupboard in the master bathroom. Nothing his conscience argued too strongly to keep. When he got to the last door by the top of the stairs, he imagined it to be another spare room: sparsely furnished, no doubt a rife breeding ground for dust bunnies and nostalgia.
The door swung open with a deceptive, almost mischievous ease, and -- glimpsing the room's contents -- he groaned. Cardboard boxes posed as furniture here, some piled up in the corners, others stacked far too high and leaning drunkenly on each other for support. Every one of them was taped shut. None, he saw, were marked.
"Oh, sonofabitch," he muttered, watching the afternoon slip through his fingers like a dream. This was the last of Grandda's rooms to be cleared out (well, except for the downstairs storage, but by the sounds of it, Angie was attacking that pretty effectively), and he was supposed to finish up and get back to Portland in time to feed the cat, maybe even feed himself, before getting to work.
Now, staring at the corrugated mountain range that may as well have extended for miles past the faded blue walls, all of that was gone. He would get nothing written tonight.
But, damn, he couldn't just leave it.
Resigned, he shuffled downstairs to arm himself with the only meager defenses he could think of: sharpie, boxcutter, spare tape. The carpet in the living room had been vacuumed to within an inch of its life, but there was no getting rid of the decades-old footprints where the sofa and end table had gone; Lin found himself stepping aorund them as if they were still there, found himself wondering if this was how most ghost stories began: as habits.
But he wouldn't know. Horror was not his genre.
"Hey!" Angie's voice was aimed at the upstairs landing, punching loudly enough in Lin's ears to make him flinch. She was coming up with a box overfilled with shirts, not having bothered to fold them; sleeves in all colors hung out the sides like fingers. Seeing him, she started, propping the box on a hip. Her voice was much more reasonable the second time. "I was wondering if you wanted any of these. They look about your size."
He could not think of a single time that Grandda had ever worn black -- or a time (within the last decade, at least) that Lin himself had worn any other color. "No, thanks."
"Well. I thought I'd ask anyhow," said Angie, plopping the box down alongside a handful of others by the door. "You didn't finish up there already, did you? I was beating you earlier."
Lin shook his head slowly. "No. You still are. The last room's where he left all his crap."
". . . did you want a hand, once I'm done?"
"Probably. We'll see how far I get." His prediction: not far. Halfway, if he got very lucky and all those boxes turned out to be out-of-season decor or all the stored hardware and cables form the computer room that got renovated six years prior. All of that would at least be chucked quickly, and going through it would not take long.
He went back up and sized up the first stack of boxes in sight, picking one totally at random to start with. What if it was all junk?
The first box, dismally heavy, was filled with cracking, yellowed newspapers.
Every one of them had to be sorted through, reduced to clippings, consolidated. If Grandda had kept them, his name was on at least one article in the issue, at least one article in every issue. To hell with the afternoon: Lin had just opened the death warrant for the entire week.
But this had to be done, and all of a sudden he was the only one who could do it. Angie would not help him. She could, at least to the extent that she could snip out strings of Grandda's words and pile them up in a box and forget about them. But that -- Lin was instantly convinced of this -- would be a disservice. He had not known Grandda very deeply, but he was certain that the old man would not approve.
So it fell upon him and him alone.
It took half an hour to get through the first box, and by then he was sitting amidst a sprawl of crinkling papers, surrounded on all sides. The old man's career was tracked by the dates on the newspapers: sporadic at first, then gaining in frequency until at least two or three articles appeared in every issue. Then they cut off at once -- that was the first time he had tried to get that magazine of his up and running. Failure demanded that he return to the news job, though Lin couldn't see how that had added up. The guy could write. The guy could really write, Lin mouthed absently (and not, he would admit later, without a pang of jealousy), the pace at which he was skimming through the clippings beginning to slow. The articles, especially these early ones, were brief, but he saw the talent: he tried to imagine Grandda in his prime, with all the wrinkles ironed out and a vigor in his smile that hadn't been worn around the edges yet.
Writing like this, how had his first magazine failed to sell?
He was poignant; compassionate; direct; all the things that Lin was not. He could pick a single heartstring from a bundle and pluck it, turning minds toward or away from an issue. He could even do it through the half-century since these little flashes of fact had been written: Lin found himself caring about a candidate for governor that had run in the election of 1974.
How did he do that? Lin's novel was selling all right, his editor said, but suddenly that may as well have meant terrible.
All of a sudden, he wanted -- no, needed -- to write like that.
But he did not have the time to go through all of these right now. He stacked the clippings carefully inside one of the six boxes he had emptied, and dumped the discarded papers into the other ones without a second thought. There was a modest pile of special issue magazines, undated, but one glance told him he would find nothing useful in them: they were written entirely in Mandarin, and Lin could barely read it, much less shoot for a workable translation.
He almost tossed them out.
Almost, except at the last moment he hesitated, the little stack hovering over the pile of papers to be thrown away. He should at least look through them first, once he had more time to reacquaint himself with the script. He had been passable at it once (passable, and also four years old). Surely, he could relearn? He pawed slowly through the issues, pronouncing the titles with the little he could recall from his earliest childhood.
But the last one, bound in ratty, powder-blue cloth, was written in English. Its cover read simply: A Bookworm's Guide to Writer's Block. There was no author listed.
Lin turned it over, curious. Had Grandda used this one when he was starting out? It looked to have been around for that long. He thumbed to a page at random, not entirely sure what sort of advice he would find -- certainly not a lone sentence scrawled in a spider's hand.
Clear your burden and lay it on me.
There went that single heartstring, plucked once and once only, somewhere deep and inscrutable in Lin's chest. No -- in his mind, something had been plucked and it was working itself loose. It would take a minute, or more; he did not want to rush it.
Oh, but he could not wait.
The next page: write the words for yourself first.
He could use this. Not only that, he needed this. He did not leave it with the rest of the saved writings, even the important ones -- it went directly into his lap, where he would start from the beginning. Whatever had been knotting itself in his brain for the past few weeks, this had pulled an end of it loose. Once unraveled, he could finally finish the second book.
He was sure of it.
Upon every page, Lin found, was written a single sentence like a precision strike. The book knew -- whoever had written it knew -- exactly how stopped up he was, exactly where to pull the thread loose and get him thinking again, exactly where to redirect. He thought, in a mad rush of clarity, that he could never possibly be blocked again. He reached the last page, his fingers stained black with old ink from too many weathered newspapers and magazines. Oh, yes, he would keep this one.
He was aware, or rather he became aware in that moment, that Angie was frowning at him from the doorframe.
". . . think you'll have time later?"
Blinking, Lin had failed to catch anything before that. "Sorry?"
"I asked if you wanted me to say hi to Spudbud on my way home. You don't look like you're going anywhere for a while."
"Yeah," said Lin, remembering belatedly what year it was, and only after that came the mental reminder that he did not have time to get one written tonight, much less the five-thousand that were suddenly pounding at the gates. "If you could, that'd be great."
Angie just nodded along. "Don't worry about it. Did you still want the hand?"
"No. I'll take care of" -- gesturing wearily at the whirl of papers still around him -- "this. I got it, really."
"Okayyyy," said Angie, rocking back on her heels. "I'll be back tomorrow, if you change your mind. Just don't be a weirdo and stay up all night. Or, do, if you want."
"I won't," said Lin, aiming to sound reassuring although he didn't quite have it. He glanced down at the book in his hands, giving its cover a few pats. If he was going to stay any longer, he should at least move around a little bit and stretch first? Maybe he could scrounge up a notebook, too. Ten-thousand words -- oh, yes! ten-thousand, why not? -- were not going to write themselves, now, were they?
By the time that he heard Angie's Corolla back out of the driveway out front, he was already rooting through his bag for a pen, having entirely glossed over the fact that the ink had vanished from his fingertips as if by magic.
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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago
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Suicidal Misunderstanding XVI
Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XIII - - - - Part XIV - - - - Part XV
Star Wars Time Travel AU #27
Masters Aerdo, Koon and Nu lurched forward in distress as Obi-Wan unceremoniously slammed his mental walls into place.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He reassured them, smiling weakly and rubbing his temples.
“Cutting yourself off so abruptly from the force after a meditation that deep is dangerous,” Master Aerdo said, alarmed. “Please endeavor to be more gentle with yourself, Master Kenobi.”
“Of course, I simply thought it would be be best to allow for some, ah, uncertainty with my retreat to counteract my... necessary indiscretion.”
“Uncertainty!” Plo scolded. “If I hadn’t been in same room as you I might have thought you were dead!”
“Well, yes, that’s rather-”
Vokara Che burst through the door, followed closely by Bant Eerin.
“PLO KOON! WHAT IN THE GALACTIC CORE HAVE YOU DONE TO MY PATIENT!”
Master Koon took a step back, “Vokara, please-”
“I’m perfectly alright, Master Che,” Obi-Wan interjected, “Master Koon has helped me beyond what I can ever repay. I- Oh dear. You all have.” Obi-Wan looked around, guilt creeping into his voice. “Oh. OH. I am so sorry for what I must have put you all through. I- I assure you, it wasn’t what it looked like. Thank you so much for all you’ve done to save me from...well, my own foolishness, I suppose. Oh that must have been- I deeply apologize for the inconvenience I’ve caused.”
Master Che took a deep breath. “Your good health is repayment enough for whatever debt you feel you might owe. May I take your recent...reaching out to mean that you have begun to regain your sense of where and when you are and no longer feel the need for more...drastic means of escape? Alarming raising of shields notwithstanding?”
Obi-Wan winced. “I am...still confused on a number of points, I admit. But I’ve cleared up most of my important doubts. Its... 7957 by the Centralized Republic Calendar. I’m in the temple Halls of Healing on Couracant. Everyone in this room is a fellow member of Jedi Order.” Obi-Wan hastily wiped away a few tears forming in the corners of his eyes. 
He cleared his throat as the five onlookers watched with a mixture of sympathy and confusion. “It’s going to be difficult, but I owe you all an explanation. Actually I need to explain a few things quite urgently, but first-”
His train of thought was interrupted by the roiling force presence that proceeded Mace Windu’s entrance. Mace paused at the foot of the bed, eyeing Obi-Wan critically as everyone else shuffled slightly out of the way to the edges of the increasingly crowded room. 
“Master Kenobi. You’re looking better.” He finally said.
“I’m feeling better. You really can’t imagine. I’m sure you have questions, but first I must insist- ow!” Obi-Wan jerked back, startled by the sudden rap of a gimer stick on the side of his head.
“Master Yoda!” Che and Aerdo scolded as the Grandmaster suddenly appeared on the nightstand to get a better look at his troublesome great-grand padawan.
 Vokara actually grabbed the wizened elder with both hands, lifting him by the armpits and chastising him like a misbehaving youngling. “That is not an appropriate greeting for any of my patients. Shame on you.”
“Patients, hmm? Shame, shame indeed.” Yoda muttered, dangling in the air. “Gone, my patience is. For making us think he had joined the force too early, shame indeed on Obi-Wan.” 
Obi-Wan bowed his head. “My apologies, grandmaster. I had strong reason to believe that I was trapped in a hallucination. I will explain everything but first we really need to comm-”
“Your suicide attempt, I was not referring to, no. Do such a thing in your right mind, I know you would never. Concerned, we were, of course. Halfway fake your own death, the first thing you did was, after all this! The reason I am hitting you, that is! Too old for this, I am!” 
“I understand, and I had reason for retreating so suddenly. Which I will be happy to explain. But first we really need to do damage control and contact-”
- - - - -
“ANAKIN! Anakin, what’s wrong!” Padme shook her husband’s shoulders as he knelt, collapsed on the floor.
“It’s- Obi-Wan” he choked out. “He was here! He was awake and alive and then he just- stopped.” 
“Oh force. You don’t mean he’s-”
“I don’t know. I can’t sense him. I don’t know.”
“Go. And when you find him, please comm me to let me know if-”
But Anakin was already gone.
- - - - -
"Oh...hm.” Master Tiin shuddered slightly.
“Sir? Is everything alright?” Captain Rex asked.
“Does this have something to do with General Kenobi’s illness?” Boil called out anxiously. A low murmur rippled through the mixed meeting of high-level strategic and logistical officers. 
“His- force presence grew rather strong for a moment. I would have to contact the temple to-”
“He’s dead.”
“Master Krell!” Saesee Tiin chided as the room recoiled in horror. “We don’t know that.”
General Tiin addressed the anxious room, “His force presence did cut out abruptly, but there are a number of explanations for such a thing, and jumping to the worst case scenario prematurely does us no favors.”
“Perhaps we should pause the briefing while you contact the Temple, sir.” Commander Cody offered stiffly.
“Out of line, Clone.” General Krell said, sneering. “Regardless of the status of your former General, we depart at 22:00 hours this evening. This briefing will continue. Interrupt with such a meaningless and insubordinate suggestion again and I will have you put on review for decommissioning.”
“Yes, sir.” Cody replied.
“That’s enough, Master Krell. I realize tensions are running high but please control yourself.” Tiin sighed. “We do need to finish this planning session. I apologize for the disruption, everyone. Now if you will all turn your attention back to map 3a of the Ghost Nebula...”
Command training included modules on compartmentalizing unhelpful emotional responses in order to focus on tactical information, so that’s what Cody did.
- - - - -
“If you have some Sith-related intel to divulge, I think it might be more appropriate to contact the rest of the council first, Master Kenobi,” Mundi said, discarded fluid drip awkwardly jabbing him in the side . 
“I agree, but trust me, first, someone really needs to tell Anakin I’m not dead. If you don’t want to do it, I will,” Obi-Wan announced, trying to get up. 
“You’re not going anywhere,” Bant snapped, pushing him back into bed.
“I- Oh Bant, It’s- some things are fuzzy, but you were one of the medi staff who came to my quarters after I...”
Bant glared in answer. 
“I am so sorry, again I-” 
“Obi-Wan, try not to worry too much about apologies right now. The important thing is you have people who care about you and we are all pleased by your renewed vigor for life.” Healer Aerdo interrupted, maintaining a death grip on Yoda while Che fussed over Obi-Wan’s vital readings. 
“I’ve commed Skywalker but if he’s acting as I suspect, he’s not checking messages” Master Windu said from his place in the corner.
- - - - - 
A Chiss Padawan leaned over to whisper to her Master as the mental flow halted unceremoniously. “Master, you don’t think...”
“Is something wrong, young one?” Chancellor Palpatine called out, smiling warmly at the young apprentice and drawing all eyes in the sub-committee meeting to the cloaked pair standing watch at the door.
“Ah, no, Supreme Chancellor, thank you for your concern. We simply observed a minor disruption in the force,” Her Tholothian Master replied smoothly as the padawan attempted not to fidget. “I’m sure the Council will contact us if it’s anything worth reporting to the Senate.” 
The meeting continued but more than a few senators spent the remainder of the session discretely swapping messages speculating on what could have ruffled the usually silent and stoic guardians. 
- - - - -
Shouted curses and wailing speeder horns followed Anakin as he raced to the temple. 
I swear to all the gods if he’s alive i’ll never kill anyone ever again I should have been there was no warning in the force please help me if he’s dead i’m going to kill everyone on this planet except Padme and then im going to kill Dooku and Grevious and then
- - - - -
“Master Fisto!” Ashoka said, turning anxiously to the Natuolan Master as Obi-Wan’s presence evaporated. “Do you think Master Kenobi is alright?”
“We’re quite a distance away,” Kit replied soothingly. “There’s a very good chance he simply had to withdraw because he was overreaching himself to say hello.” 
Ashoka frowned. “Can we contact the temple to make sure? Please?”
“I’ll send a comm, but we might not get a reply right away. We’re only a few hours out from the planet, so you’ll be able to check in on him yourself soon, alright?”
“Yes, Master.”
- - - - -
“Ah...perhaps we should shift into another room? This one is a little small for the...full Jedi Council. And I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to change out of these patients robes and into something a little more appropriate”
“You’re not going anywhere or changing into anything until I clear you.” Che snapped, elbowing Koth out of the way to jab Obi-Wan with another device.
“If one of the high council is unable to leave this room, than the high council is more than willing to meet here.” Master Gallia said calmly from her perch at the foot of the bed.  
“Well I’m not leaving.” Master Nu announced. “I still haven’t gotten the full explanation Plo promised.”
“As a healer-”
- - - - -
Klicks apart from one another, Sith Assassin Ventress and Knight Vos unknowingly shared identical frowns as Quinlan softly gave voice to what they were both thinking,
“What the fuck, Kenobi.”
- - - - - 
“WATCH OUT!”
“Kriff!”
“...Was that Anakin Skywalker? Did The Hero With No Fear just cut us off?”
“Must be some serious business for him to be flying like that.”
- - - - - 
Count Dooku redirected the Invisible Hand; his plans for Kiros would simply have to wait. Sidious might prefer the Umbaran seige to be a long, protracted affair rather than a decisive win one way or another, but if Tyrannus’s suspicions were correct, than the time for kowtowing to the Sith Master might be near its end. Sidious had long underestimated his Grandpadawan. He suspected that whatever play was going on was less the act of a new player and more the opening move of an experience one now shifting his attention to another arena. 
The ‘attack’ was likely a deliberate ruse to allow Kenobi to slip into the shadows and finally begin addressing the hint he had provided on Genosis long ago. Now, more than ever, Dooku needed to manage Separatist affairs strategically. Kenobi’s search into the force and subsequent rapid withdraw was too deliberate to be anything but the first steps of a larger plot. 
- - - - -
“Ah, Master Mundi?” A young apprentice healer asked the Cerean Master guarding the entranceway to the wing. “There’s a small crowd gathering outside. All very orderly, of course. But they want to know Master Kenobi’s Status. What should I tell them?”
Mundi Sighed. “If they ask, tell them Master Kenobi’s wellbeing is protected under healer client confidentiality and the highest security clearance.” 
Ki-Adi paused. “If Anakin Skywalker, arrives, just- send him this way, as you would a Council Member, understood? Don’t try and stop him.” he added begrudgingly.
“I see.” the padawan replied with impressive professional calm, "Thank you, Master Mundi” She bowed and returned to the front.
- - - - -
Maul staggered out of his cave. Kenobi was taunting him now. Kenobi would pay. Kenobi would see. Kenobi couldn’t die before Maul killed him.
- - - - -
A gap opened in the somber crowd as Anakin sprinted through, heart in his throat.
He should have been here there was no warning he should have been there
“Skywalker!” Mundi barked. “Calm yourself!”
Anakin stared at him with wild eyes and the High Master faltered, frightened for a moment. Before Anakin could say or do anything to the council member, Master Windu appeared. “Over here.”
Anakin blurred past him, mind tormenting him with images of nooses and blood and broken bodies and incomplete-
“Hello there, Anakin.” Obi-Wan sat upright in bed, smiling at him and surrounded by far too many Master’s for anyone’s comfort. Least of all the Masters, now that Mundi and Windu were forcing their back in. 
Anakin took in a strangled gasp, “Obi-Wan- you- i thought you were dead.”
Obi-Wan’s welcoming smile faltered. “Oh Anakin, I’ve really put you through a terrible ordeal the last few days, haven’t I? I am so, so sorry- I- I promise I didn’t intend to leave you like that. Come here, I’ll- its going to sound quite impossible but I can explain everything. There’s so much I have to tell everyone-”
Anakin threw himself forward, ignoring Jedi dignity and who he was knocking over.
He heard a tut of disapproval behind him as he embraced his Master. 
“Oh be quiet” Master Koon chided someone. “Honestly, he’s padawan age, have some compassion.”
Anakin decided to ignore that in favor of crying over Obi-Wan for the fourth time in as many days, utterly exhausted. 
Obi-Wan hesitated for a bare moment before wrapping his arms around his brother and friend for the first time in years (at least for the first time where he was aware that it was real and oh force he was really going to have to meditate to fully understand what he had said and done and what everyone had said in response).
“Perhaps we should give them a moment to collect themselves.” Master Aerdo offered diplomatically. Having largely reached their threshold for open displays of emotion, the Council non-verbally came to an agreement.
“You two have five minutes to pull yourselves together,” Master Windu said severely. 
“Of course, Master Windu. Thank you.” Obi-Wan rasped.
The group shuffled out with remarkable good grace, considering the number of inhabitants in the room, or rather remarkable bad grace, considering they were all supposed to be Jedi Masters.
Plo Koon patted them both on the shoulders before filing out. Master Yoda leapt nimbly out of Bant’s arms to land on the nightstand. He rapped them each lightly on the head before darting out with a chuckle. The door clicked shut.
“Master- I- never do that again.”
“I’m sorry Anakin, I promise, I wasn’t trying to die, I have far, far too much to live for. I’m never going to leave you again, I don’t care what else happens but- I’m not going to abandon you ever again, do you understand. Even if I die, I’ll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life, you’ll barely notice the difference, I swear.”
“...Thank you, but please stop talking now”
“Right, of course. I’m sorry. I’m so, so-”
“I love you, Obi-Wan.”
“...I love you too, Anakin.”
Part XVII
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s4ijoh · 4 years ago
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meet me halfway (across the globe). suna rintarou
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SUNA RINTAROU X GN! READER
GENRE: slice of life; facetime call; fluff
WORD COUNT: 1.4k+
WARNINGS: established relationship; mentions of stress
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in which suna is somewhere far away…
[10:22] rin: “you up?”
[10:23] rin: “big game tomorrow morning.”
[10:23] rin: “cant’ sleep. need to see u.”
the phone buzzing on the bedside table startles you out of your morning somnolence. the empty spot in bed next to you feels a weird type of unfamiliar. you drowsily stretch your arms out, reaching for the ringing device while dragging out a loud yawn.
you are taken aback by surprise once you take a look at the numbers displayed on your phones lock screen: 10:25am. its already past midnight in his timezone. he shouldn’t be up this late.
swiping through your phone's screen, you waste no time in dialling his number once you come across the green facetime icon and luckily, it is only a brief moment until he is picking up and oh boy are you met with a sight to behold. if it werent for your concern, you could’ve just stayed there, marvelling in awe at your boyfriend, sitting shirtless against the headboard in all his glory. his pale skin is gleaming a beautiful shade of orange under the dim light of the table lamp thus reminiscing a statue made of gold; his tousled, black feathery hair sticking in all different directions yet with just a few loose strands cascading down the sides of his temple and framing his face in such way that made him look effortlessly handsome.
he looked as beautiful as ever. however, despite the apparent picture perfect scenario, you would be a fool not to notice the clear signs of restlessness showcased on his features nonetheless.
“sorry, did i wake you?” suna apologizes tenderly with a doting frown on his face once he notices your lids still heavy with vestiges of somnolence just barely peeking from the bottom of the screen. your phone is propped up on your chest, the lower half of your face hidden away from him as you refuse to get up from your comfortable position laying under the warm blankets.
“dont worry about it, baby.” you hurriedly push his apologies aside whilst rubbing the sleep off your eyes to try and not make him feel too bad about it “you know you can call me anytime. im always waiting for you on the other end whenever you need me”
he offers you a subtle smile, although its odd — its weak, not sincere. it is not the usual signature smirk with a teasing remark on the side you earn whenever you say something cheesy. it is also hard to miss the darkening spots growing under his tired eyes, his usual sparkly green orbs now nearing dull, heavy with underlying frustration. it made it all crystal clear.
rintarou is not an outwardly emotional person and definitely not one to voice his concerns. his pleas for help were often left unspoken and it takes a sharp eye to see through his unwavering surface. for the most part, the blank expression he's seen wearing most of the time did a pretty good job at shielding his feelings yet his eyes often betrayed him.
he had taken off a couple days ago to somewhere foreign for an important match. you know how sometimes, before a decisive match takes place, he lets pressure get to that pretty head of his and relies on you to keep him grounded and soothe his racing mind. for the longest time, he had been capable of keeping his emotions at bay and deal with his troubles on his own but ever since you came around, rintarou found himself growing selfish and craving your comfort, finding solace in your reassuring words and warm embrace.
you miss the old days when your lover was just at an arm's length and all it took was for him to say the word for you to drop everything and come running to his house, to hold him in your arms and make it all feel better. you remember people in highschool claiming suna was bound to fade into the background given his lazy tendencies and lack of enthusiasm. (what a waste of potential, they would say) suna would shrug. he never payed any mind to it — you praised him on his unshakable nature. it should be a major ego boost for rintarou to know that, not that many years later and against the spiteful tongues of some of your classmates, he made a name for himself as a first division professional volleyball player, thus proving them wrong.
however, he still has quite a few demons to tame inside his head. one of which was self-doubt.
you let your eyes roam his tired features for a moment. “you need to get out of your head, rin”
suna knew you could read him like an open book. you made him feel vulnerable under your scrutinizing gaze. he felt exposed. to have you stare directly into his naked soul was intimidating, more so than to have you stare at his nude body, like you have done dozens of times before. but just like you did with his body, you had taken your time to get to know every corner of his soul. you knew him like the palm of your hand — both mind and body.
“i know.” he tears his gaze away from yours, looking down while running a hand through his disheveled hair and down to scratch his neck in frustration. “tell me how have your days been?”
the silence of his hotel room was eating him whole and he needed you to distract him. most of the time, suna was fond of the silence. after a rough day he found comfort in laying down in his bed and basking in the quiet. he found peace in it. sometimes it was in the quietness of his own little world that he found the solution to his problems. but upon your arrival to that mysterious world of his, your voice soon became his favorite sound. he craved you to fill in the silence that he once treasured.
and so he listens. suna listens as you talk throughout the night (who would’ve guessed you had just woken up), rambling on about your days as other trivial things — namely how you could never get used to starting the day without his morning cuddles. he found it endearing how you seemed to speak enough for the two of you. he was a man of few words so he was lucky to have found someone to fill in the silence for him. and so he listens until his eyes start progressively feeling heavy, your voice lulling him to sleep.
“hey, baby” he calls in a barely audible raspy voice. suna lays down on his side under the cold unwelcoming bed sheets, holding his phone next to his face on the pillow “put your pretty face on the phone”
a soft smile crawls its way up to your flushed face at his sugar coated words, his voice although drowsy sounding sweeter than saccharin. you were so lost in the lovely image of him that you failed to notice that your face was barely on the frame, just your eyes peeking shyly from the bottom of the screen.
you shuffle in bed, turning on your side to mirror his position. its almost as if you’re not a hundred miles apart and he's lying right next to you, if you squint hard enough.
“there you are” he mumbles weakly under his breath, a loving smile on his pillowy rosy lips that you miss dearly.
his eyes appear weary through the screen yet he never fails to look at you with the utmost love. dumbfounded, you wordlessly stare at each other as you fall into a comfortable silence that is however, filled with a hundred unspoken words.
his love is quiet, hesitant at times but never shallow. he felt deeply and feared he wasn't the best to put it into words so sometimes, his love, it hides beyond lingering stares and shy touches. it remained unuttered most of the time but words are futile when he has shown his devotion to you countless times before.
“hey rin. you think you can go to sleep, now?” you notice him fighting the urge to let his eyes close shut, battling to stay awake for a little longer to try and memorize your face for later so he can dream of you tonight.
he simply nods with his eyes shut, too sleepy to pronounce a single word.
“call me tomorrow after the game, alright?” he nods yet again, noticeably starting to drift away at last but not before muttering a quiet i love you before the last hint of consciousness leaves his body, eliciting a tender smile from you.
“i love you, rin. ill meet you in your dreams tonight.”
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[a/n]: so! writing this fic made me realize that im undeniably in love with suna and he now owns a 51% share of my heart. (oikawa. ill never forget you. its not you its me (suna) maybe its time i move on. 🤒 jk jk ill have both pls and ty 🥰)
anyways ye i guess im back from my mini hiatus (as a full suna whore) :))
this is honestly a word dump, initially this was supposed to be like... what.. 500 words long? i just thought of the prompt “put your pretty face on the phone” and the rest is just me pouring my love for him into words ah-ha. (you probably noticed how it is unnecessarily cheesy 🙄)
just for the record!! i havent finished season 4 just yet 🐸 lmao. i took inspiration off of nooras (@/inarzki) characterization of suna because she was the one who made me fall in love with him in the first place.
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ncssian · 4 years ago
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A Favor: Part Four
Nessian Modern AU
Masterlist
a/n: hey y'all. my new job has been draining the life out of me so i have very little energy left for writing, which is why these updates are taking so long. im still very passionate about this fic though, it just takes me more time to write :(
in other news, this chapter is saturated with descriptions of pain, both physical and emotional. i hated writing it but it was worth it.
***
Nesta, 14
Sometimes it all becomes too much. Feyre asking for help with homework and Elain begging for more money to go to the strip mall, and their dad ignoring them all as if they aren’t even there. Sometimes she wants to leave it all behind and pretend she isn’t anchored to three other people, wants to pretend she is a lone being in a lonely world.
When she needs to go away, she comes here.
Cherrywood House is quiet, as it always is this time of year. One of several expensive vacation homes in the Smokies, Cherrywood is Nesta’s favorite for a multitude of reasons— it’s empty for ten out of twelve months of the year, it’s the only house with a clear view of the nearby lake, and cherry blossoms bloom on trees out in the back every spring.
It’s early June, and she has a few more weeks left with the house until its owners return. The family that owns the place never leaves a trace of themselves behind when they leave each August, so Nesta returns the favor by never leaving hints of her inhabitance either.
She takes her worn Converse and socks off at the back porch and climbs in through the unlocked window barefoot. This is where she belongs. A ghost roaming the empty halls, with no one to care for and no one to care for her.
She makes her way upstairs to her preferred hideout spot: an airy bedroom with a bay window seat that looks out onto the cherry blossom trees outside. Cracking the window open to let the fragrance of flowers in, she settles into the bench seat with her book of the week and starts reading.
Absorbed in dreams of deep love and deeper kisses, Nesta doesn't notice the sun going down until she can barely make out the words on the page before her. Glancing up with sore eyes, she realizes she needs to leave soon if she doesn't want to take the wooded path back home in the dark.
“Damn,” she sighs, but she gets up and shuts the window firmly.
She keeps her nose in her book all the way down the hall and down the stairs, and doesn't sense anything off until a large shadow flashes in the corner of her eye. Her head whips up, and the face that greets her looks just as surprised as she is.
Nesta freezes.
“Um,” the guy says. He’s maybe a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen, and tall with shaggy dark hair. The front door of the house is still cracked open behind him. “What the fuck?”
Nesta unfreezes. And then she runs.
All the way through the main hall and to the back door, while the boy’s shouts chase her through the house. “Hey, wait up!”
They weren't supposed to be here this early—
Her hand wraps around the back door handle and she flings it open, shoving through the second screen door and shooting right down the porch steps. Heavy steps behind her ignite a panic in her, and she gains a burst of speed.
“HEY!” he calls again. Soft grass becomes dirt and twigs beneath Nesta's feet, and she knows she's reached the tree line. Dark shadows fall over her as she darts into the safety of the woods.
Still standing on the back porch and waving a raggedy pair of Converse, Cassian tries calling for the girl one more time. “You forgot your shoes!”
Cassian wakes up at five in the morning to the sound of the house’s pipes creaking, a telltale sign that someone is using one of the faucets. Blinking his eyes open, he hears the distant sound of the shower running.
Who would get up in the freezing cold at this hour just to take a shower? He checks the time once more to make sure he isn't imagining things, and gets up to peek his head out of his bedroom. Sure enough, light leaks out from under the bathroom door.
Cassian walks up to the bathroom and listens closely for any sound beside running water. He knocks hesitantly. “Nesta?”
Her muffled voice calls back to him, but he can't make out a thing.
“Are you alright?” he asks. “How long have you been in there?”
There’s no response, and now he’s concerned. Raising his voice, he says, “I’m going to come in to hear you better, is that okay?”
A soft affirmative answers him, and he tries the doorknob. It’s already unlocked, which is odd, but he pokes his head into the steam-filled bathroom cautiously. “Nesta?”
From behind the curtain of the shower, a pale, tired face appears. She’s sitting on the floor of the tub, he realizes. “Hey,” she attempts a feeble smile at him.
Cassian fully enters the bathroom, the humidity dampening his skin. “Are you okay? When did you get up?”
“I’ve only been in here for an hour, maybe.” Her voice is weak enough that he has to move closer to hear her. “Don’t worry about your water bill. I’ll pay it, I swear.”
He shakes his head, confounded. “I don’t care about the water bill. You still haven’t told me if you’re okay.” He moves to crouch beside the bathtub, the opaque shower curtain the only barrier between them.
Nesta rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed. “It’s just cramps. I get really sick on my periods, and I would have warned you that they suck ass, but that would imply that my period could affect you. It doesn’t have to affect you— if you just leave me to myself for a few days, I won’t even be a bother.”
Cassian blinks, not really knowing where to start with that, so he just says, “But why the shower?”
Nesta shifts uncomfortably behind the curtain. “Sometimes hot water is the only thing that helps with the pain. I already tried getting out of the shower, but it hurt so bad— I had to go right back in. I’ll get out eventually, don’t worry.”
Cassian frowns. This all sounds incredibly worrying. “This is normal for you?”
She’s about to answer when her face pinches in a look of discomfort. “Cassian,” she says, strained.
He leans closer, wanting to help. “Yeah?”
“Get out.” She doesn't look like she has the energy to add anything else.
Cassian wants to defy Nesta and stay right there, but that would require arguing with her, and she clearly is no longer in the mood to hold up a conversation.
Reluctantly, he nods. “I’ll be right down the hall. Yell if you need anything.”
Nesta is already sinking lower into the tub, trying to get more fully under the burning hot spray. Her eyes drift closed and she hums in answer.
Cassian doesn't return to his room like he said he would, but heads downstairs instead. He spends a good ten minutes reading the drug labels of various painkillers from the medicine cabinet before carefully arranging a nonlethal cocktail of them on a tray. He adds a cold glass of water and various handpicked snacks before returning upstairs to set the tray by Nesta’s bedside, and turns the heat all the way up to combat the chill in her room, just in case.
Then he goes back to his room and waits. He tries to listen closely for the sound of the shower stopping, but he’s not used to being up this early on a Saturday, and his bed is so warm…
He falls asleep waiting.
***
Nesta stumbles out of the shower long after Cassian leaves her and downs a handful of pills without thinking too much about who left them for her. She already has an idea of how the next few days will go, and she just hopes Cassian will allow her the dignity to suffer through it alone.
She crawls into bed exhausted and shuts her eyes tight. The next time she opens them, sunlight is streaming weakly through the windows. Jarring pain lances through her abdomen, and she brings her legs all the way up to her chest and whimpers. From the edge of her consciousness, she notices the snack tray has been replaced with lunch— some leftover lasagna from the night before. Sneaking out her hand from her mountain of blankets, she goes for her phone. A text sent nearly an hour ago waits for her.
Cassian: please eat.
Nesta glares at the lasagna because she knows better. She might have spent this morning eyeing the bathroom tiles to determine if they were clean enough for her to curl up there and die, but she's not at a point to abandon her dignity just yet. The last thing her roiling nausea needs is solid food. Instead, she gathers the focus to text back Cassian: Leave me alone today.
It's only after she sends the message that she realizes it sounds harsh, but she can't bring herself to explain further or to soften her tone. Her pain always has a way of stripping her of any defenses and formalities and leaving only a primal creature behind.
Turning her phone off, she closes her eyes and inhales tightly through her nose. A wave of cramps that feels closer to what a brutal stabbing victim would feel like overtakes her, and— no, she has to get up.
During times like these, the bathroom is Nesta’s favorite place in the whole world. Cool tiles to rest her head on, hot water just a foot away, and a spacious tub if she ever feels like passing out. Heaven. Naturally, she escapes there first.
After maybe another hour of restless writhing and moving about, Nesta decides the suffering isn't worth it and hobbles downstairs in search of some Nyquil to knock her out. She’s got the medicine cabinet halfway open when a broad hand slams it back shut, and she turns to find Cassian standing behind her with a stern look. “You haven’t eaten anything all day. You can’t take meds on an empty stomach.”
Nesta wants to cry at the denial of pain relief, but she grips the counter behind her and manages a glare instead. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I will absolutely tell you not to wreck your liver, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
A desperate whine escapes her, and she can’t believe Cassian has to see her like this. Even worse, she sees sympathy soften his face as his hand slips off the cabinet next to her head. “I made soup,” he offers. “Can you have soup?”
Nesta hesitates. Her insides don’t hate the idea of soup. She nods.
***
Nesta insisted on avoiding Cassian for the rest of the day, and Cassian graciously eased off her back once he knew she’d eaten. He kindly pretended he didn’t hear her running back and forth from the bathroom all day because she couldn’t sit still, and only interrupted her once to make sure she took more Tylenol before bed.
Now, long after night has fallen, Nesta is truly alone. Her medicine either hasn’t kicked in yet or isn’t strong enough to do its job tonight. She can barely think straight, and this is when the most primal part of herself comes out.
Despite her age, despite everything, she still cries. She cries as if anyone would bother listening, physical pain intertwining with the pain and humiliation of being ignored. “Papa,” she calls into her pillow, again and again.
She hasn’t trusted her papa in years, and yet she still expects him to rescue her. She still waits for him to show up and make everything better.
A hot tear leaks from her eye, and the catharsis of it distracts from her cramps. She curls up into a ball and cries harder, as if she can weep out everything that’s wrong with her body.
A soft knock interrupts her helpless whimpers, and Nesta hears the door open a moment later. “Nesta? Were you calling for me?”
Somebody came. No one’s ever come for her before.
A sigh of relief escapes her, and she forgets to put her walls up. “I’m just—” she tries to say, “so tired.”
She hears Cassian come farther into the room and curse. “Fuck, it’s an icebox in here.”
A hand nudges at her mound of comforters, giving Nesta’s shoulder a shake. “You should’ve told me the heater wasn’t working. Are you okay?”
That question sets her on edge. “Do I look okay?” her voice cracks. She wants to cry even harder now that he’s here, for some reason.
“Obviously not,” he mutters. “You’re staying in my room tonight. Get up.”
Nesta groans and burrows further into her freezing cocoon of sheets. “Don’twannamove.”
“It’s either that or I’m carrying you. I’m good either way.”
Nesta finally cracks her eyes open, glad that Cassian is only a tear-blurred figure in the dark. She doesn’t want to read whatever is on his face right now. Gathering her heavy comforter around herself, she gets up and lets Cassian lead her down the hall to his room.
Toasty warmth hits her as soon as she’s inside, and she makes an exhausted sound and drops the comforter. In a blur, she’s tucked into Cassian’s bed, enveloped by his scent and his lingering body heat on the sheets. Under the dim lamplight, Cassian seems to finally take notice of the tear tracks on her face. Clicking his tongue in sympathy and concern, he rubs his thumb over the sensitive skin under Nesta’s eyes. Her whole body shudders under the gentle touch. Who knew just the pad of his finger could combat this inescapable agony?
“This isn’t normal,” he murmurs. “I’m taking you to a doctor as soon as this storm clears.”
If Nesta was in the right state of mind, she’d tell him absolutely not. However, she’s barely comprehending his words as it is, so she watches him click the lamp off in silence. Darkness fills the room, but she can hear him moving.
“I’ll be right back,” his voice rumbles, and then she’s alone again. More tears leak at the feeling of abandonment. She’s so sick of herself.
After what feels like an eternity but is only a few minutes, she hears Cassian return. The mattress dips behind her as he climbs under the blankets with her, and then Nesta feels something hot and dry being pressed to her side. A towel. “Does this help?” he murmurs, his voice surprisingly close to her ear.
Wordlessly, Nesta reaches down and takes his hand holding the hot towel, dragging it beneath the hem of her sweater so the heat burns against her bare skin. She sighs and allows her tensed body to sag, leaning back into the hard cradle of Cassian’s chest and arms.
In her ear, Cassian’s breathing has gone shallow. His hand slips from her side, only to find her back and start rubbing up and down.
Her eyes flutter shut.
“My mother was a Muslim immigrant from Algeria,” Cassian whispers out of nowhere. “And whenever I felt sick as a little kid, I would crawl into her lap and she would rub my back just like this, and say some prayers and blow on my face, and I would feel better.”
Nesta makes a weak sound of acknowledgment. That sounds nice, nicer than anything she ever knew growing up.
“I’m sorry I don’t know any prayers,” Cassian says. Then, Nesta feels a whoosh of breath tickle the side of her face. “Does that help?”
It feels weirdly good, and Nesta's shoulders start shaking. She doesn't know if she's holding in a laugh or a sob. Cassian’s hand stills on her back. “Nesta?”
A sharp wave of pain sets her straight. After she breathes through it, she tells him, “You don't need to pray. Just… keep talking to me.”
His hand resumes drawing circles on her back. “Alright.” And he whispers stories into her ear for the rest of the night, until she's fallen asleep and long afterward.
The next morning, Nesta is feeling much better. Cassian knows this because she’s sitting in the living room when he comes downstairs, straight-backed instead of hunched over in pain, and she’s regained the energy to glare at him.
Cassian’s relief at seeing Nesta okay hesitates at that glare. He slows on the bottom step. “How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”
“Don't call me that.”
He blinks, not sure what he did wrong. Before he can ask, Nesta says, “You didn't listen to me.”
“Excuse me?” He strolls deeper into the living area.
“I told you to leave me alone while I'm on my period, and you didn't listen. You dragged me to your room and made me spend the night with you.”
“You were crying for help,” Cassian says in disbelief. “What was I supposed to do? Ignore you?”
“Yes.” She looks even angrier. “It’s humiliating for me to have you see me like that. It's humiliating to have my own family see me like that.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, but you’re—” He almost says overreacting, but some deep instinct tells him that word won’t fly well with Nesta. “You’re wrong,” he decides. “Whatever you think I’m thinking of you after last night, you’re wrong.” Cassian has no problem going into caretaker mode for Nesta; it's his natural state of being most of the time anyway. Besides, last night was… a new experience for him. For a multitude of reasons. “You can't tell me you go through that every month and have never had anybody take care of you.”
“I haven't, and for good reason,” Nesta seethes. “You had no right to see me like that.”
Cassian leans on the arm of a chair and crosses his arms, considering her. “Have you ever seen a doctor about your period?”
“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. Here is the Nesta that Feyre is always talking about: quick to anger and always on the defense, to the point that she comes off as unreasonable. Nothing like the helpless woman in tears from just the night before.
It brings out a rougher side of Cassian, one that wants to nip and bite at her boundaries instead of letting her be comfortable all the time. “That’s no way to talk to someone who stayed up all night to wait on you hand and foot, you know.”
“Don’t you dare hold that against me.” Nesta’s voice is dangerously cold.
“I’m not holding it against you. I’m taking you to a doctor.”
“No.”
“I already made an appointment.”
“Cancel it.” Her voice is brittle and she’s now trembling with restrained rage. Cassian doesn’t know if it’s because he’s refusing to give her a choice or if she just really doesn’t like doctors. Either way, it doesn’t change how Nesta ran out of bed at four this morning to puke her soup up. If it wasn’t for all this snow, he would have dragged her ass to the ER by now.
“I don’t have health insurance,” Nesta admits when she sees that Cassian won’t back down. “And I’ve made it this far without any cause for concern; there’s no reason to go.”
“Then I’ll pay for it,” he says simply. Her lack of care for her health astounds and angers Cassian at the same time. How is it that nobody, not even her family, has looked at this woman before and said You’re not okay, do you need help? How many times has she cried in pain with no one to listen?
Nesta has now stood up and is turning red in the face. “Absolutely not. Stop it.”
“Stop what?” Cassian smirks and straightens up.
“I’m not going to the doctor,” she barks. “Cancel the appointment.”
“No.”
“DO IT!”
In that moment, Cassian sees it. He sees how beneath the adult manner and adult words, the carefully crafted facade of cool, there is an explosive, tantrum-prone child. And he’s about to reveal her for good.
“It’s this Wednesday. I hope you don't mind skipping class.”
An enraged shriek shatters the air in the room, and before Cassian can even be shocked Nesta is verbally pouncing on him, yelling, “How fucking dare you, you complete shithead—”
“Nesta.”
“You have no right to— You’re so useless, this is why I didn't want to stay with you, this is why I never talked to you—”
“Nest—”
“You egomaniacal manipulative bastard— just because you let me stay in your house doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do—”
“Damn it Nesta, can you just shut up and LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!”
Nesta freezes and blinks, taken aback. Cassian immediately snaps his mouth shut, wondering if he’s finally crossed that line he’s been so cautiously toeing this whole time.
He watches her face closely, looking for signs of upset— or worse, fear. She only says, “Fine.”
He’s confused. “Fine, what?”
“Fine, I’ll go to the doctor’s.” Just like that, her fight is gone and the facade is back in place. She sets her jaw, but a hint of surprise and newfound discovery lingers in her eyes. “But I’m not letting you pay for it. It’ll have to come out of my own pocket.” She doesn't look happy about that part.
Cassian wants to argue her, but he knows how to pick and choose his battles. For now, he’s just baffled that he demanded Nesta to do something, and she listened.
He raised his voice at her. God, he yelled at her in anger and she only blinked in response, and now she’s listening to him. What kind of sick alien shit is this?
***
a/n: i love talking about these characters so if you ever get sick of waiting for part 5 just shoot me an ask and ill gladly discuss nessian with you
tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx
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simpsiren · 4 years ago
Text
closer to you
lee jeno x reader
main masterlist
the sequel
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description. you’re in a 2 year relationship with jaemin. the two of you know very well that you arent each other’s soulmates but you still felt that jaemin was the right one for you. that is until you are celebrating your 2 year anniversary with jaemin that memories of you being with someone else in your so called “past life” starts coming back to you, as if wanting to make you realise that your soulmate is still out there.
genre. soulmate au, strangers to lovers au, fluff and angst
warnings. none? except for the fact that reader becomes violent in their words when they’re stressed i guess
a/n. literally got this idea from the flashback tiktoks thats been appearing in my fyp. like ive seen it so many times that i just had to write about it HAHA alrighty thats all enjoyy :D
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when the idea of soulmates was first represented to humans, humans deeply believed in it, and would follow the idea of it religiously to find the one that they are truly meant to be with. however, now in the modern day, the idea of soulmates is slowly disappearing. people still believe that the number engraved on the side of their right foot is the time and date that they’ll meet their soulmates, but people of this generation start ignoring that fact, marrying someone that isnt even their soulmate. it left their actual soulmate to either die alone, or having to force themselves to love and marry someone else other than their soulmate.
and now here you are, surrounded by your friends with jaemin sitting next to you, your boyfriend of two years who’s number on the side of his foot does not match yours.
“blow out the candles already!” you hear johnny screaming. you and jaemin turn to look at each other at the same time, giving a smile before blowing out the two candles on the red velvet cheesecake that signified your two year relationship with jaemin.
you laugh loudly as everyone claps for the two of you. jaemin quickly places a peck on your cheek, making everyone smile widely. “i love you.” jaemin whispers into your ear.
“i love you too.”
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“do you really not care who your actually soulmate is? you know very well jaemin isnt yours.” you purse your lips into a thin line as you find jaehyun leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom.
“does it look like i care? who the hell even cares? ill be with who i wanna be! i aint gonna follow some ‘oh you’re destined to be with this guy’ type bullshit.” you giggle to yourself as you took a sip the whiskey in hand, despite already being in a very drunken state.
jaehyun walks over to you and snatches the glass away from you. you whine and beg for it back, but you know all too well that jaehyun is not going to give you what you want. you let out a huff in response.
“my god, evaline. how drunk can you be?” jaehyun takes a seat on the chair that faces your bed, in which you are currently rolling on and mumbling to yourself about god knows what.
jaehyun sighs as he looks at you. he’s been your friend for almost forever yet he still cant get over the fact that no matter how hard he tries to persuade you that jaemin isnt your soulmate, you give zero fucks about it.
“i really hope he comes in your dreams or something. if i can’t convince you, then why isnt the world doing anything about it?” jaehyun whispers to himself, resting his chin on his palm as his elbow is placed on the arm rest of the chair.
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you wake up with a sharp pain in your head. you wince as you slowly tried to sit up straight. you rub your eyes and try looking around your room. everything is normal, except for the fact that jaehyun is sleeping on your chair. you shrug your shoulders as you let out a long sigh and stare at the door in front of you, spacing out for a little. after at least five minutes of you doing nothing and staring off into who knows what, you gather up your strength to stand up from your bed. you stagger your way over to jaehyun.
“jae, wake up already. make me something to sober up- ouch!”
your foot suddenly hurt, making you stumble back and fall onto the floor. you flinched in fear when you realise the number on your foot is glowing. you scream in pain as you feel as though something thin and sharp is constantly stabbing your foot. the spinning in your head only made it worse. jaehyun wakes up from all your screaming and drops down on the floor to assist you quickly.
“evaline? eva! what’s wrong? wait why’s it glowing..” jaehyun eyes travel from your scrunched up face to your leg, noticing the number that’s glowing.
suddenly, your vision became blurry. you lost sight of what’s happening around you. you dont see your room and jaehyun in front of you anymore. you struggled as you try to squint your eyes to get your vision to be clear. it took awhile for your vision to come back. and when it did, something wasnt right.
it was like you were having a flashback. a flashback to a time you were unfamiliar with. you didn’t remember experiencing it at all. but the flasback looked like memories that you feel a sudden strong connection with.
the flashback was vivid. you couldn’t tell exactly what was going on. you saw a guy, estimated to be around your age, who’s smiling widely till his eyes form a thin line and holding up a polaroid camera to your point of view. you heard him laugh as snaps a picture and the camera’s flash shined your view. you soon focused your vision again onto the guy. he’s waiting for the film to develop. and that’s all you saw. a small snippet of a far distant memory which you arent even sure if it happened.
after that, you snapped out of your odd trance. you feel jaehyun shaking your shoulders with the look of extreme concern on your face. you bring your hand up to your head and scratch it slowly as you tilt your head in awe. jaehyun stops his actions as looks at you wierdly.
“what the fuck did i just experience?” you mumble to yourself, trying to process what you just went through. you look up from the floor to see jaehyun blinking his eyes rapidly.
“you saw what?”
you were this close to slapping jaehyun in the face.
“how many times do i have to fucking repeat myself?! i got a flashback of a memory of some random dude that i dont even know about!”
jaehyun’s mouth remains open in shock and confusion. it took him a few seconds to process your words. and when it did, he places both his hands on the table.
“its a sign.” your forehead creases as you look at him weirdly.
“the fuck you just say?” you pick up your fork and stab it into your freshly cooked fried chicken meal.
“is this the first time you experience it?” jaehyun asks you as he takes a sip of water. you took a moment to think about it.
“yeah it is.” you breathe out. jaehyun only nodded his head. he starts thinking about what he wished for that night had something to do with what happened to you.
“you know what? forget it. i need to meet up with jaemin for our date. ill see you around.” you finish what’s left on your plate, waving to jaehyun before leaving the restaurant.
jaehyun watches your back as you slowly disappear into the distance. “it cant be... can it?” jaehyun shakes his head and continues eating.
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“hey, babe. how was lunch with jaehyun?” jaemin wraps his arm around your waist as he leans down to peck your lips.
“it was good. let’s get ice cream.” you give off a wide smile and dragged jaemin to the famous ice cream shop that you were dying to try.
by the time you were halfway to finishing your ice cream, it was already 8pm. you’re weekly ice cream date with jaemin never fails to be extended as your chats with him grow longer and longer with every date.
as jaemin was talking, your mind goes back to the time you had that odd flashback. you wonder what it meant, or whats the significance of it. why did that suddenly happen to you? what can you do to make it go away? because for all you know, you have everything you need right here, in front of you. you had jaemin.
“eva? hello~?” jaemin waves his hand in front of you to snap you back into reality. you shake your head vigorously. “oh shit im sorry jaemin what did you say?” jaemin smiles softly as he repeats over what he say.
it was about 10pm and you decided it was finally time to go home. you would have taken the train alone but jaemin insisted on accompanying you home and going back by himself after. you and jaemin were walking down the street that will lead to your apartment when jaemin sudden opens his mouth to ask you something.
“did you ever believe about the soulmate thing?” you stop walking and turn your body to face jaemin. jaemin does the same, shoving his hands in his pockets.
you shrug your shoulder and placed your weight on one leg. “i used to, but i slowly started to think it was ridiculous and that i should be able to love who i want, not someone im destined to be with.” you reply, slowly reaching your hand out to run your hand through jaemin’s hair. he smiles at your touch and pulls you in with your other arm, hugging you gently.
“im glad to be the one that you love, despite the fact that im not who you’re destined to be with.” jaemin strokes your hair and digs his head into the crook of your neck. you rub his back slowly. “me too.” you kiss jaemin on the cheek and pull away, smiling softly. “come on, we’re almost at my apartment.” your hands trailed down to meet jaemin’s, interlocking your fingers with his and you both continued walking down the long street.
however, for the first time, it felt as though jaemin’s hand didn’t sit right with yours, like his hand didnt belong to fit in yours. you look down at the interlocking hands. you never felt this way before. why did it occur to you only now?
“something on your mind, eva?” you hear jaemin ask. you shot your gaze up from your jaemin’s hand to his eyes, shaking your head as you faked a smile.
weird
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a week has passed since that weird encounter of yours. you couldn’t get it out of your head. every hour of the day you’ll spare a few minutes thinking about it. why did you feel so connected to it? you felt eager to know about what i meant. why did a few seconds of experiencing a distant memory would be etched into your mind as you constantly replay what you saw that time?
you found it funny how you were already so deep in your thoughts early in the morning. you lay in bed looking through your social medias for awhile before getting out of bed to head to the living room.
you see jaehyun sitting on the couch, immensely concentrated on whatever’s on the television screen. you take a seat beside jaehyun, looking down, you see him munching on a bowl of popcorn.
“popcorn for breakfast. really?” you raise an eyebrow as jaehyun nods his head and offers the bowl. you take it regardless of your comment and stuffed popcorn in your mouth.
“you didn’t shower yet?” jaehyun asks. you only shrug in reply. jaehyun looks at you with a disguested look.
“i bet you didn’t shower either, now did you?” jaehyun kept quiet as his eyes widened yet still glued onto the screem. you observed his reaction and scoff, rolling your eyes. “idiot.” jaehyun glances at you and chukles, reaching out to take a handful of popcorn.
“what are you even watching?”
“a movie that i didn’t finish last night.” that explains the popcorn then.
you focus your mind on the movie, despite not knowing what it’s about. everything seemed normal until you see a couple suddenly come on screen. they’re apparently at a amusement park.
almost instantly, you lost sight of your surroundings. oh no.. it’s happening again. you shut your eyes tightly as your vision became blurry once again. you opened your eyes widely to find yourself at an amusement park. a flashback is now occuring, this time it was different.
the flashback. it wasnt a memory you’re unfamiliar with. its jaemin. you see jaemin come into view. it looked like you were taken back to your third date where jaemin brought you to an amusement park. you see him running in front of you happily. jaemin was about to turn around, and you remembered that exactly after that he smiled at you. but he doesn’t. you realise that its not even jaemin.
the one you’re seeing now is the guy from your previous flashback. the polaroid guy. he smiled the exact same way he did when he took the picture of you in the flashback. the guy reaches out to take your hand and you’re being pulled towards him. why does it feel like you’ve seen him somewhere? or maybe you haven’t, but feel like you would some time in the future.
“eva? god, evaline! wake up please!” you hear jaehyun’s voice.
“did it happened agai-“
“it happened again.”
you look around. everything was back to normal. you look at jaehyun. but his eyes were fixated on your foot, he looks shocked. you slowly tilt your head down to look at the number on your right foot. it changed. the number.. reshuffled themselves?
“you’re seeing that too right..?”
you nod your head slowly. its getting more weird. the number on your foot said that you’ll meet your “soulmate” on february 12th, 2020 at 7:06pm. but now, it changed itself to become december 6th, 2020 at 2:19am.
basically it went from 12.02.2020 19:06 to 06.12.2020 02:19
“did i space out again?” you look up at jaehyun as he nod slowly, still looking at your foot in shock. you couldn’t blame him. what happen? did it somehow extended the time you’re about to meet your soulmate? why did it happen? what does it mean?
you told jaehyun what happen. and he almost fainted. you let out a long sigh.
“im telling you its a sign. probably the guy you’re seeing is your soulmate.” jaehyun says lazily and he muched on some strawberry pocky.
“then why was jaemin in the flashback too? isnt it weird?” jaehyun nods his head quickly. he puts down the pack of pocky on his lap and blinks a couple of times. you see the gears turning in his head as you assume that he’s trying to come up with an explanation.
“maybe jaemin’s tied to the guy? like maybe jaemin knows him. or the dude’s from your past life and somehow jaemin is representing the guy in your present life.” jaehyun looks down to see his pocky was stolen from you. you nod your head and you continuously stuffed each stick into your mouth and eating them. “urgh i dont fucking know what to do about this!” you groan in frustration. suddenly, something hits you.
“wait. what’s today’s date?”
jaehyun lifts his phone up to check. “30th november. why?” jaehyun asks. “oh wait.”
“you’re telling me i have a full week until i meet my so called soulmate that i dont even know where ill meet him?!”
you scoff in disbelief. jaehyun doesnt respond, only staring at your face like he’s seen a ghost.
“can i somehow break someone’s neck and slam it on the wall for like i dont know, 5 hours?!”
no reply from jaehyun once again.
“oh for fuck’s sake i cant do this! im heading to johnny’s tea shop for my depression tea. meet me there if you want, i’ll probably be there the whole day as my head constantly spins.”
you quickly got up from the couch and get ready. jaehyun sees you coming out of your room with a hoodie and plain wide legged jeans. you only grab your phone and keys and waved jaehyun goodbye before leaving the apartment. jaehyun sighs.
“i might have set her temper circuit short.” jaehyun whispers to himself and sighs, getting off the couch as well to head over to johnny’s tea shop. “literally could have drove her there but oh well.”
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when you enter the shop, johnny face lit up with a huge smile. he runs over to hug you but his smile soon fades away and into a confused look when he sees how pissed you look.
“that’s very... interesting.” johnny comments. you sigh and nod, fiddling with the teaspoon in your drink. “yeah well its not going to be fun once jaemin knows.” johnny stops in his actions and looks up at you. your eyes glanced at johnny before tilting your head up from the drink that wrapped around your hands.
“yes i haven’t told jaemin. i didn’t think it meant anything at first but now...”
“you have to tell him! soon! its a sign!” johnny exclaims. you smacked your hand onto your forehead lightly. “i’ve heard that phrase countless of times by jaehyun and now you too? can you please explain?” you whine, scratching your head vigorously as you argrily take a sip of tea.
you were stressed, very stressed. life was going so well until this happened. you dont know who the mystery guy is. you dont know why he’s “memories” with you suddenly come back, especially when you’re in a really intimate relationship with jaemin. the same question keeps repeating in your head over and over each day and it gets more stressful when you try to think of an answer for them.
“no no listen. it happened to my relative. she was 3 months away from marrying her boyfriend who’s number doesnt match hers. and then she started getting weird flashbacks and she said that the number on her foot changed so that she wouldn’t miss a chance to meet her soulmate in the future instead of the past. and the so called memories? they’re memories that you’ll make with your soulmate once you meet them. the world is trying to make you realise that the guy in your flashbacks is your soulmate and not jaemin.”
you kept silent. so what jaehyun said was right. it was a sign to encourage you to find your real soulmate instead of settling for the one you arent meant to be with. you let out a sigh of relief as you finally know the background information to your whole situation.
“that’s a lot to take in.. how am i suppose to tell jaemin?” you frown as you look out the window. you love jaemin, very much. but to be honest, for the whole 2 years of your relationship with him, everything felt perfect, yet something was off. you never managed to pin point what, until now.
“oh i texted him just now when you were talking to me and he’s coming since he wants to see you.” great. you arent mentally prepared to tell jaemin yet and he’s going to arrive here in 15 minutes.
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“evaline! johnny texted me saying you were here and i immediately rushed over.” jaemin comes up from behind and kisses your cheek. you purse your lips into a thin line and you look to johnny leaving his seat. he nods his head, in a way to give you confidence to tell jaemin about the whole ordeal.
“jaemin.. i have to tell you something.” when jaemin takes the seat where johnny sat, you reach your hand out to grab his, slowly soothing your thumb over his skin. “mhm yeah what?” you look up from his hand to his face.
“ive been getting um.. signs lately. flashbacks. jaehyun told me that the guy, who’s always the main subject of my flashbacks could be my soulmate. and i might be meeting him soon, on 6th december.” you whisper to him, biting your lip.
jaemin swallows his own saliva, blinking at you a few times as he tries to process what you said. he lets out a long sigh and painfully puts on a soft smile.
“i knew it was going to happen to one of us sooner. ive heard about the flashbacks. its bound to happen sooner or later.” you nod your head in response.
“im sorry, jaemin. i love you very much-“
“its fine. i understand. im glad the world made you realise that you’re soulmate is still wondering around somewhere, and that it isnt me. im happy i got to spend 2 years loving you.. it made me feel good.” you interlocked your fingers with his, smiling softly before letting go.
you could tell jaemin was hurt. like a knife was stabbed into his heart. you see it behind his smile, his eyes. you knew him all too well.
“we’ll still be friends. and i hope you’re soulmate will come to you.”
jaemin only nods. you lean in and give one last passionate kiss on the cheek before hearing the bell above the door ringing, and noticing that jaehyun has arrived.
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december 3rd, 2020. you’re three days away to meeting your soulmate. where? you werent sure.
“good morning, evaline.” you hear jaehyun say. you just got out of bed and you were walking to the kitchen when you see what jaehyun was doing. he’s reading a book. your vision went blank.
its another flashback. you start to mentally prepare yourself as yoh want to absorb as much information as possible on your soulmate in the small portion of the memories.
“the book’s is interesting.” you’re hearing your soulmates voice. you try to figure out if you’ve heard it or not, but shake it out of your head when yoh remember your goal of gathering information. you registered the tone of his voice.
he’s sitting on a bed with round gold glasses on, in his pajamas.
your soulmate laughs. the same way he did the first time. he turns the book to you and it showed his phone betweem the pages of the book, resting there. “just joking!” you hear him say. you take a look at the wallpaper of your soulmate’s lockscreen. it was a picture of him kissing your cheek. it looked oddly the same as the picture you and jaemin once took together. however, there was a text above the picture. evaline heather and lee jeno
lee jeno. that’s the name of your soulmate.
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december 5th, 2020. you’re starting to mentally prepare yourself. you dont know where you’re about to meet him. you tried coming up with all possibilities. to be frank, you were more excited about whether the places you thought of might be the place you meet your soulmate rather than being nervous.
the three flashbacks you had. it felt all too familiar. like you’ve known this lee jeno person forever. you feel the connection each time.
when the clock strikes 12am, your mind unknowingly decides to go to the park. the park where you and jaemin first met. you dont know why. it felt like your body was urging you to go there. you lazily got ready and headed out the door, of course you told jaehyun about your outing before leaving the apartment.
you had your hands shoved into your pockets with your hoodie on as you yawned. you breathed in the night air, admiring it dearly. when you reached the park, a quick glance at your phone told you that its 2am. you sigh and took a seat on the bench mindlessly after walking around the park.
you sat there for a few minutes, looking up into the sky and staring off into the distance. suddenly, you felt a presence next to you. you turn your head over to see a guy.
“you seemed pretty lonely so i brought ice cream-“
that voice.
“what’s your name?” you interrupt
the guy pauses and smiles. his face, his smile. its just like the one in your flashback.
“lee jeno. you?”
you didn’t reply. its him. he’s your soulmate, he’s here.
“why does it feel like ive known you for a very long time..?” you slowly started to ask as your eyes looked at him up and down.
jeno chuckles. “maybe..” you see jeno taking off his slipper on his right foot and lifting up his foot. you see the exact number that’s engraved on your foot.
“im your soulmate.”
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gebtoons · 4 years ago
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my contribution to the bapo timeline discourse bc i’m just gonna propose a timeline and will not be taking criticism <3 (under the cut bc this is gonna be a long post probably) 
ok disclaimer I am quite stupid, however I’m gonna use my knowledge from my own 12 years in american public high school and what little info I have about american boarding schools/catholic schools that I have from my friends lol. so. idk. 
i’m also gonna date songs/major events and i’m gonna be taking some “just trust me bro” liberties bc y’all are right it does NOT make that much sense. 
January 6: Epiphany; this is like an actual holiday lol. like its always on the sixth. idk its good that this is the starting point bc its an actual date yknow? For the purposes of this timeline were going with that its early in the week, so lets go with Monday idk
January 6-13: You and I, Role of a Lifetime; so we’re all kinda in agreement that this timeline (at least the beginning) only really makes sense if you and i/role of a lifetime aren’t like. a singular moment and are instead multiple days. so yeah, of this first week, this is like. monday-next sunday ish yknow. 
January 14: Auditions, Plain Jane Fatass; ok so having auditions for a spring musical right after kids get back from break actually makes perfect sense to me, like i can see it being like “ok take break to prepare so as soon as you come back we can have auditions so we can jump right into rehersals” yknow? and since the rave is clearly on a friday (”we’ll meet in tanya’s room on friday night”) so i’m going with the monday before.  
as for pjf, i know it doesn’t make a ton of sense for them to get a two week late birthday package their first few weeks back from school, but hear me out it makes sense. the implication throughout this entire show is that the twins have decently shitty parents. from bits of dialogue (in this song in particular lol) i’m kinda inferring their the “only concerned with how their kids make them look to others” kind of neglectful. so I don’t think it’s too outside the realm of possibility that they went away for the holidays, didn’t bring the twins, and instead mailed them a birthday package and having it show up two weeks late. realistically the timing of this isnt that important and the explicit “two week” time frame could’ve been an exaggeration on nadia’s part to mock her shit parents (idk its in her character) basically ppl are a little two fixated on this imo but anyway. moving on. 
January 18: Wonderland, A Quiet Night At Home, Rolling, Best Kept Secret; a very agreed upon point in the timeline. its the friday following the auditions. moving on. 
January 21: Confession; also very agreed upon. the monday following the rave. moving on again 
January 23: Portrait of a Girl; the date here is kinda arbitrary, but bc sister chantelle says “ok lets try to put yesterday’s rehearsal behind us” and i for the life of me cannot think of a scene she could be referring to (there’s none in the script either) that implies it wasn’t the same monday as confession (bc even in a boarding school i think holding extracurriculars that aren’t sports over the weekend (especially when they are no where near crunch time lol) is weird and not common) so i just picked a random day during the week
January 25: Birthday Bitch!, One Kiss, Are You There?; from matt’s line in wonderland, ivy’s birthday is a week after the rave. in my timeline that’s january 25th (an aquarius queen). 
btw given all grown up’s “17, how will i manage?” ivy is 16 during 17 at her party, which is strange given shes a high school senior and seniors are typically 17 during 18. so either a) she skipped a grade, not an unheard of thing. or b) shes not a senior, shes just a junior who hangs out with a bunch of seniors, which is also pretty common. and looking through the script i can’t find any mention that she is also a senior, other than yknow she graduates with them, but she isn’t mentioned during the class ranking scene? so idk not that it really matters just a fun detail 
February 3 (at night): 911 Emergency!; ok controversial. i know i like the joke about how its funny that peter having a weird dream when he was high prompted him to want to come out and really ruined his relationship with jason. BUT. i think the dream (despite it’s weirdness) would have a lot more meaning if it wasn’t the result of being really high, but if it was a dream he had like a week later as a result of a building sense of guilt/anxiety bc he told matt. also it fits better given later timeline things. (this timeline literally only exists if there are weird jumps in time that don’t make a ton of sense) (EDIT: I forgot one line about Jason crashing at ivys but fuck it forget that bitchass line this makes for more drama its staying this way)
February 4: Reputation Stain’d, Ever After; the next day following peter’s dream, idk what else to say, moving on. 
February 25-28: Spring; another jump! i’m sorry but the only way for this to make sense logistically is for there to be quite a few time jumps! however, i also think this one works bc i think it gives time for everything from around ivy’s party and peter and jason’s break up to stew emotionally. like obviously a musical only has so much time to tell a story so the audience cannot see every realistic beat, but honestly i think it makes the whole thing a little more dramatic™ if there’s space for everything to settle, and for ivy to come and apologize and such. also, the reason it’s multiple days is bc in the script, ivy is trying to study (presumably for some sort of midterm) while nadia is playing, so that probably takes place a few days before they move out, so before finals. but in the script, jason and peter are packing and peter is leaving, so that part of the song/staging takes place on the 28th. yes, that’s weird, but we are clearly thinking more about the logistics of this school than the writers were so. 
March 1: One; assuming st. cecilia’s works kinda like boarding schools here, they probably do staggered move out/move in, just bc that would be a lot to have people coming and going at once so it makes sense that peter left the day before, while jason and ivy are leaving the next day. also, given that peter is trying to call jason while he and ivy are banging, it’s probably been a hot minute since the actual break up, since peter was clearly very hurt by the whole thing, it would make sense (at least to me) that peter would reach out a month ish later, rather than like a few days later (you have to make so many assumptions to make this timeline work granted they aren’t super out there assumptions but still this is annoying) 
March 1-25: Spring Break. the coworkers I have who are in boarding school work over their school breaks, which are longer than the public school breaks (which are only a week) so i put their spring break at 3 weeks. it makes sense, and it makes the later part of the timeline make sense. 
I know i’m already halfway through this, but to me it makes sense for their to be quite a few time jumps in the story bc its a musical. they cannot show every day. there are a lot of other shows (particularly shows set in high schools) that are set over a whole school year, but if you just look at the events of the story that doesn’t make sense, so you have to imply that obviously they are not showing every little detail. moving on. 
March 25: Wedding Bells, In The Hallway, Touch My Soul; peter wakes up from his nightmare in the church, so im assuming he fell asleep in church (like he almost did during epiphany). also it makes sense that class ranks are announced in late march-early april, I know my school announced ours in like, the first week or so of april? so yeah. moving on.
(from this point on i was giving myself a headache trying to make it make sense so its all weird from here!!)
April 4: See Me, Warning; the date doesn’t really matter here, I picked a random day in early april. the script said peter is calling from him and jason’s old dorm room, as he was picking up the last of his things, so he clearly made the roommate switch after school started (makes sense to me). 
April 15-20 (approximately): Ivy finds out she’s pregnant. look google tells me on average people find out they are pregnant around 5-7 weeks after conception. i went with around 7 just so this timeline makes a tiny bit more sense given the later stuff, so yeah here we go. 
May 4: Pilgrim’s Hands, God Don’t Make No Trash, All Grown Up, Promise, Once Upon A Time, Cross; a rough night for our heroes. so given sister chantelle saying “again? wonderful.” and nadia saying “i can’t believe you missed rehearsal again”, clearly ivy has been missing quite a few rehearsals, so for dramas sake maybe from when she found out she was pregnant? also i know i’ve been saying they wouldn’t have rehearsals on weekends, and given my weird timeline this would be a saturday, but its tech week so i’ll allow it. 
May 5: Two Households, Bare, Queen Mab, A Glooming Peace; pretty self explanatory, and it makes sense to have the spring play in early may. rip jason. 
May 11: Absolution; the day before graduation peter goes to confront the priest. gives him a small amount of time to start processing, and it makes sense it would be the night before, at least to me. 
May 12: No Voice; i fucking hate this. “peter, we graduate next sunday” i hate that stupid fucking line. do you know that this timeline literally would be fine if it weren’t for that stupid fucking line? bc then, the school play would be in early may and graduation could be in late may-early june (when most high schools hold graduation) but no. keeping with continuity, they have to graduate the sunday following the school play. “peter we graduate in a month, are you really never gonna talk to me again?” would have been fine. but no, now we have beef. literally everything else about the end of this timeline being kinda weird would work itself out, except for the fucking graduation. god damn. anyway, may 12th, the graduate on may 12th which is really fucking weird bc of that one fucking line. whatever. i didn’t write the damn thing bc if i did i wouldn’t have written that fucking line. (i’ve been at this for over an hour and a half, so i’m a tad annoyed, can you tell?) 
anyway, that’s it. that’s my long as hell proposed bare timeline. if there’s anything glaringly wrong with it i don’t care bc this timeline literally cannot make sense. but honestly, now that i think about the Popular Tween High Schooler Musicals (heathers, bmc, deh) the timelines of those (especially heathers and bmc) don’t make tons of sense either. that’s just the way it is, that’s the way its gonna be. and we have to live with it. 
this post is so long it is actually slowing down my laptop as i type it
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mrs-mikko-rantanen · 4 years ago
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Uhm, my day was decent? I mean aside from the fact that mornings exist and I did not want to wake up in time for my shift at work. But. And the end of the day when I have literal hours to do stuff after.. it works out cuz. Usually I get off and its oh shit I have enough time to halfway emotionally recharge and then its time for bed.
But. I got in and E^2 had put like. My name down on the schedule, and. That was great really. And we had this sheet for sign up of, basically what areas you want to be personally responsible for. And I signed light and it was great. And I dont think anyone really noticed cuz the manager wasn't there and no one else really looked at the schedule or anything else. But. It made me happy.
Still haven't gotten my name tag changed and honestly I dont think I'm going to. Cuz. I feel like I'm just being a bother asking again. But. It is what it is I guess.
I got off at five and its now nine and ive just been vibing in the car listening and singing to Spotify since I got off just trying to keep the sad at bay. And I should probably go home but. I dont want to. Cuz I know I'm just gonna wallow in the sad and self destructive tendencies if i go home.. If I ask nicely will the fae take me in as one of their own and I can become a cryptid in the woods?????
I have a three day weekend coming up and im considering doing a touch up on my hair since its really washed out. But I cant decide if I wanna keep it fully red or try and do like an ombre double tone thingy.. but I'm not sure what other color I'd try to do to the tips? Idk
I kinda wish my hair was longer so I could do like. The galaxy hair thing? Where its various shades of purple and blue and some pink and it looks different depending on how you style it. But I also know attempting to grow my hair out longer than I already plan to is a bad idea, cuz the sides and back are already getting too long and I hate it. But I wish I could do fun stuff with it too
Oh well. The duality of man i guess..
Uhm. I bought a giant plastic egg the other day, that reminds me of a dragons egg kinda. And I'm trying to decide if I should keep a hoard of dice in there or a hoard of crystals. Cuz. Dice and the clacky math rocks. But. Also shiny crystally gems
Speaking of dice I also really kinda want to try and get into a dnd group, but social anxiety and I have zero idea where to start with that so. That's fun.
Im currently resisting the urge to go and get more holes and metal in my head too. I just. The red hair makes me feel cool and powerful and I wanna look punk and
Sorry I've been rambling for like half a novel. I'll stop now before I get annoying. I mean I definitely already am. But you asked for asks and distractions and 👉👈 I love you
Id ask about your day but you seem to want a distraction from that sooo. How about, got any fun headcanons to share??
Thats awesome on the name front!!! I saw that and I got really excited for you when you posted the picture this morning, honestly I think you should bring up the nametag again, esspecially if its showing up on the schedule too. (Oddly enough I kicked around the idea of using a new name with friends and sruff today which is weird mostly bc like i like my name irl, its fairly androgynous and it makes me happy and i love my online name bc it means me :))
My vote is two tone!! I almost did a pink/purple ombre with my hair this round so I say do ittttt (that's also what I say about the extra holes and metal. Do itttttrrr)
That would be a hard choice but u do really like the idea of a giant dragons egg full of dice ngl. I need to find some people to play with too. I'm trying to get b and c in on something but idk if its ever really gonna pan out the way I want it too. My town actually has a pretty active dnd community but I am way too new and way too socially anxious to ever join something like that so I feel you there.
100% not annoying, each paragraph made me smile more. :)
My day was actually mostly ok, i just sorta ruined it with Danny at home. I just pointed out that the idealized dream band life that I wanted and thought I had was what she got and that it made me kinda jealous and she pointed out (correctly) that I'm jealous of so many aspects of her life that she now has a list of things she can't talk to me about for fear of setting me into a spiral and just. Yeah. That wasnt fun.
But work was ok. The kids all were really tierd so there was a fair bit of crying going on, but the weather was really nice so we got to go outside with them for a long time and that was very nice. I also got some really sweet cuddles from a few of them that made me very happy.
Oh! I also have a funny story about them!! So I was squatting (my main position is almost like Spiderman bc I'm down on the kids' level but i can also get up and move if I need to pretty quick) and one of the girls goes and gets a book, then stands right in front of me and points at the floor and says "sit" in the most authoritative voice I have ever hear from a 1 1/2 year old 😂 as soon as I sat down she was in my lap and opening the book so I could read to her.
As far as headcanons.... Sadly my brain is bouncimg mostly art ideas for the Tamgled au and not anything of substance so I may take a crack at that later. Otherwise I keep thinking about whumped up Will crying on the floor and Maurie finding him. Really I'm just thinking about Maurie and Will being bros. A lot. So much. God I love them.
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tiliamericana · 4 years ago
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Muay Thai: 1.04
Read From Start | Read Ahead | Home Site
It was amazing just how quickly Nairi got used to waking up and finding texts from Cherry waiting for her.
Cherry seemed to be up and on at all hours of the day; she was awake in the morning well before Nairi’s eleven o’clock alarm, but also worked well into the small hours of the night and put in long hours at the day job. Nairi had managed to ascertain that it had something to do with art—Cherry had strong opinions on grades of paper (something about absorbency), colour theory (people were stupid), watercolours (they were bad), and on the one occasion she’d come upstairs had informed Nairi that her walls were driving her mad and that she’d be painting something to stop the encroaching insanity.
When she wasn’t inserting herself into Nairi’s life she was sending Nairi pictures and selfies with her other friends; grad students with brightly coloured hair, a grinning bartender showing off his flair, baking with a short woman in glasses. And now this:
C: youre closed on tues y/y?? C: which means yourf free tonight right?
Nairi sent her back a quick “yes” and set her phone down before pulling herself out of bed to face the day. Not opening the dojo meant she was able to take a little longer with her morning, but she still preferred to do her prayers before she had to think about anything else, and Cherry was prone to showing up if Nairi indicated she had free time. Which she apparently had a lot more of than she realised.
Maybe she should look for a new style to start training in. This was the first time she hadn’t been focused on a new one since she… Well, for a while.
When she came back upstairs her phone was lit up again. Maybe Cherry had ideas about lunch? It would mean she’d have a reason to go out and eat something.
C: great!! C: dn you wanna come out tonight?? dinner C: on me if i need to sweeten it ;) edies just moved back fr work and if its just me her and nick im go6na die from them being old folks who disapprove all night C: also i keep talking about you at nick and he wants to meet you lol
Nairi had initially assumed ‘Nick’ was Cherry’s father, just based on the way she talked about him. But then Cherry had mentioned her father later, just calling him ‘Dad’, so maybe he wasn’t? Either that, or she was very discreet about their being gay. Or she just went back and forth between ‘Dad’ and ‘Nick’ arbitrarily. ‘Edie’ on the other hand was a name Cherry had mentioned in passing once and then never again, so Nairi had concluded she was one of the colourful grad students. Apparently not.
She sent back a “sure”, and then after a moment, asked for a place and time.
C: yay!! thank you!! C: its this fckn italian place edie loves but theres a ok bar so not all bad C: edies fatal allergic to being on time but nickll be 7 minutes early
The next message was a sticker, a little pair of eyes rolling across her phone screen when she opened it.
C: meet at 7? C: i checked the menu has good veg C: pasta heavy but good :p
Nairi smiled a little at that and sent her another “yes”. After a moment she added a “thank you”. Cherry sent her back three hearts, and Nairi put her phone down to go and get some lunch.
She didn’t think anything of it until she showed up at the restaurant. Cherry had driven and was already parked, leaning against the side of her obnoxious little two door to wait. It was bright red and nearly vintage, and she’d obviously put a lot of care into it. Nairi had half expected vanity plates, but they were a normal registration.
Nairi waved as she approached and Cherry visibly perked up with a wide, glossy smile, waving back. Cherry had dressed up a little nicer—dark skinny jeans and a pretty sleeveless shirt with a modest v-neck. The heavy Docs were gone, traded for heeled ankle boots, and she had delicate pearl bob earrings to match her golden cross. Not a paint spatter in sight.
“Hi,” she said as Nairi drew to a halt just out of arm’s reach. “Didn’t we pick an interesting night to go out?”
“We sure did,” said Nairi, her brow furrowing as she looked past Cherry to the road between them and the restaurant. “What the hell is going on?”
The stretch of asphalt was filled with a flock of young adults, all of them shirtless, yelling along together in an incomprehensible chant as they ran up and down between two unmarked points on the road. They were arguably being directed; a young woman with a reflective coat and a manic grin, holding a megaphone in one hand and an airhorn in the other, was standing on a shopping cart in the middle. Standing next to her on the ground, was another woman in reflective orange with a clipboard.
Judging by the amount of honking and the lack of anything resembling city signage, this wasn’t an official event.
Cherry glanced down at her phone as one of the women held up the airhorn to the megaphone. Charitably she waited for Nairi’s ears to stop ringing before she spoke. “Flo did a round on the facebook pages—apparently it’s some dorm flash mob from a hall at her college.”
“Which one’s Flo? Did she have the blue hair?” asked Nairi as she lowered her hands from her head and gladly pulled her attention away from a panting eighteen-year-old who had something pink painted on his heaving chest.
“Nah that’s Mason, he’s finishing up his sociology honours. Flo has the green hair, she’s doing her psych PhD,” said Cherry, craning her neck to look around Nairi. “Nick’s here! Right on time, like I said.”
She started waving, and Nairi turned to see the tallest man she’d ever seen waving back across at them. She raised an eyebrow, the muscles in her forearms tensing, and she tried not to feel too uneasy about it.
Cherry hummed happily, picking herself up from where she was leaning on the car door and reaching in through the open window to grab a thin cardigan from the seat. “Oh, and just a heads up,” she said casually, “Nick like, really hates it when people call me Cherry, it’ll probably be better if you just use my real name in front of him.”
Nairi opened her mouth to remind her that she’d never actually gotten around to saying what the was exactly, but Cherry was already halfway across the lot towards the man. “Nick!” she called out as she approached, closing the distance and leaning up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his shoulders.
He said something to her, pausing to hug her back before continuing over to Nairi. He drew to a halt next to her while Cherry returned to perching against her car. “You must be Nairi,” he said, voice alarmingly deep, hand outstretched. “Linden’s told me so much about you.”
Nairi took his hand and shook it once before dropping it, resisting the urge to take a step back once she’d done so. “Likewise. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Nicholas was close to seven feet tall and probably in his late fifties or very early sixties if she was any judge. His hair had landed firmly in the ‘grey’ zone just past salt-and-pepper, though he’d managed to keep rather a lot of it, close cropped in a very standard short back and sides. He had broad shoulders and a carefully ironed shirt that looked worn but cared for. He had a firm grip, muscle swelling ever so slightly in the lines of his shirt, and there was a furrow in his brow that made him look deeply concerned about something.
Though, from what she’d learned being friends with Cherry—Linden—if she were an older adult in her life she’d probably be deeply concerned as well. Or maybe it was the students.
“Do either of you know what’s going on here?” he asked after a moment, nodding at the crowd.
“Youthful hijinks keeping us from our dinner,” said Linden, grinning easily. She’d released some of the tension in her shoulders since Nicholas’s arrival, but at the same time seemed a little more on edge, like she was anticipating something. She took a deep, exaggerated breath, and pushed her hands into her jean pockets. “Do you know what that smell is?”
Nairi exchanged a faintly puzzled look with Nicholas, though his looked a little more exasperated. “Cheap beer?” she tried.
Linden sniggered. “Yeah, we called it ‘Eau de Freshie’ when I was in school,” she said, tossing her head to give the students behind them a speculative, almost mean look. They were still yelling enthusiastically, and she gestured at them. “It’s no longer funny, anyway. How many of these assholes do you reckon I have to beat up to let us get through?”
“I’m sure it doesn’t need to come to that,” said Nairi, her mouth twitching a little at the side.
Nicholas shot her a grateful look. “From the looks of things someone has already called the police, I’m sure they’ll be dispersed presently,” he said with a nod towards a pissed off looking woman standing by the crosswalk, phone jammed up against her ear.
“The cops always take fucking forever,” complained Linden, running a hand through her hair, foot tapping impatiently. “Come on Nick, you actually like, made a reservation and now we’re gonna miss it.”
“Linden I’m reasonably certain the staff can see what’s happening from where they’re standing,” said Nicholas, irritation creeping into his tone. “A little patience will not kill you, please do not start a fistfight with a teenager.”
Linden grinned at him, stretching her arms out in front of her chest. “I’m like, pretty certain the one with the airhorn is at least twenty.”
“Linden.”
“Well, I mean,” said Nairi speculatively, eyeing the students. “All you really have to do is be flashier than them.”
One of the running students fell out of pitch with their friends, and someone complained in her peripheral. A car door slammed and there was the crunch of footsteps on gravel followed by a huff as someone else joined the spectators. Linden turned her grin back to Nairi. “Yeah? You got an idea?”
“Yeah,” said Nairi, stepping up to Linden and reaching past her into the car window.
The other items she wanted were on the front seat, and Linden’s grin only widened as Nairi pulled them out. The baseball bat was wooden and well used, with a long crack threatening to split it clean open and letter stickers in the world’s ugliest font spelling ‘LINDE’ down the length. There was a clean spot amongst the built-up grime under the ‘E’. The bottle of lighter fluid was about half full, and Nairi held the bat out in front of her to squirt the contents over it liberally, splattering the asphalt in front of them as she did so.
She reached around Linden, extending the same familiarity she’d been receiving from her for the last two weeks, and pulled the lighter out of her back pocket.
The bat lit up easily and Nairi twisted it around to hold it upright, offering it to Linden. Linden looked at her, wide eyed, and took the bat. She placed her other hand on Nairi’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “You get me,” she said with warmth, before throwing her head back and cackling loudly, sprinting towards the crowd of students with the bat raised over her head.
Nicholas, next to her, made a faint, strangled noise. Behind her was a scoff and a loud voice. “Well. I’m guessing you must be Nairi.”
She turned and came face to face with an older woman in a rumpled men’s dress shirt and glasses who was glaring at her. She had red hair, natural as opposed to Linden’s box dye, and it was plaited out of the way to keep her tired face clear. Grey blue eyes stared down Nairi under her stern brow, and she uncrossed her arms to step forward into Nairi’s personal space. She was stocky and only a little shorter, barely having to raise her chin. “Just for reference,” she said, tone acerbic, “If I hear a single piece of news about young adult burn victims in the local urgent care facilities tomorrow? I will track you down and hold you personally responsible.”
She stepped away without waiting for an answer, glare sliding over to Nicholas. “You’re so right, Nicholas, I can see how much of a model presence she is,” she said in a way that even Nairi could read the sarcasm. “You remain a uniquely terrible judge of character.”
She strode across the street in the wake of Linden’s chaos. The students had mostly scattered with cheers and yells, and the girl with the megaphone was doubled over laughing in her shopping cart.
Nicholas was very slowly turning red, staring at Nairi with an unreadable expression. She coughed slightly and spun on one foot to follow the others across the street, trying to swallow her irritation at their judgement.
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mnthpprt · 5 years ago
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Chapter 17: The Sound Of Friction
“Where should I put this?” I ask Sebastian. 
During the ride back to the mansion, I explained the ordeal at the coffee house and told him how Arthur had helped me. He was less than impressed, promptly declaring that he would find another vendor of the product that does not display such unacceptable behaviour. I told him how I had met Shakespeare and been invited to a ball, and he said he would let le Comte know so he can get me a proper evening dress.
Upon arriving, I started helped him organize the shopping, which I am still doing now. This sack of flour is the last of it, it seems.
“Up there in the pantry. Make sure it’s high so mice can’t get to it,” he instructs. When I open the cabinet door, he immediately corrects me. “No, no, the other one! To your left.”
I have to climb on a stool in order to push the heavy sack into the shelf. Just when I am about to close the cabinet, I spot a jar of cocoa powder and grab it before jumping down onto the floor.
“I’m making hot chocolate,” I announce. “Would you like some, Seb?”
“No thanks, I still have a lot to do.” He hands me a small pot as I gather the rest of the ingredients, which is easy now that I am better acquainted with their location in the kitchen. “You know who would love some? Mozart. He practically lives off that stuff,” he says. “Now that I think of it, it’s almost his feeding time. Would you mind taking him a bottle of blanc with it?”
“Gotcha.” I haven’t seen the musician since I arrived here, though I know he has not left the mansion because I keep hearing him play. I wouldn’t mind seeing the famous music room for myself, especially given the fact that I have nothing else to do for the rest of the day.
Sebastian leaves to do laundry, leaving me to prepare the hot chocolate. When I finish, I pour it into two cups, and put them both on a tray, along with a bottle of blanc I find on a shelf.
I knock on the door to the music room only for it to open upon my touch. I could swear I just heard Mozart playing as I walked down the hallway, but now he is nowhere to be seen. Taken over by curiosity, I set down the tray on a small side table and slowly approach the piano. It is the most beautiful instrument I have ever seen, pure white and pristine like its owner. Before I know it, my hands are running along its smooth edge. I can’t help but sit on the bench when I spot the music sheet resting above the keys, and with unsure hands, I try to play what little I can decipher.
“Do not touch my piano!” Mozart must have heard me from wherever he was, because barely a few seconds after I played the first note, he barges into the room, frantically barking for me to step away from his precious instrument.
“I’m sorry, you were gone, and-”
“I don’t care,” he rudely interrupts me. “I do not want your filthy hands anywhere near any of my instruments, or my sheet music, or anything at all, for that matter. I knew you would be a bother the moment you stepped into this house.”
My eyes narrow in indignation. Had he been nicer, I would have apologized and vowed to never touch his belongings again, but he’s acting like I chose to be here. Like my sole purpose in life is to be a nuisance. Naturally, this just makes me want to annoy him more, and I know just the way to do it.
I turn back to the piano and, before he has time to protest again, my hands begin gliding over the keys, forming a melody he will surely recognize as his own. The tempo is slightly off, and my fingers slip on a few notes due to the lack of practice, but this is undoubtedly an arrangement of Leck mich im Arcsh. I taught myself how to play this canon in B-flat major when I was a teenager, for no other reason than the fact that I found it hilarious when I learned of it existence. Thank you for the laughs, Mozart, but you can kiss my ass.
To my surprise, he has grown quiet. I stop playing and glance at him over my shoulder only to see a puzzled expression on his face, accompanied by what looks like the faintest hint of a smile. Am I hallucinating right now?
“I am surprised you know that,” he states. His voice is devoid of all trace of emotion, which is quickly disappearing from his face as well. I simply shrug.
“Serves you right for being a mean, stuck up prick,” I say nonchalantly as I get up. “Anyway, I brought you this. You’re welcome.” I reach for the bottle of blanc I was meant to deliver and hand it to him.
“Blanc? No way I am drinking this garbage,” he exclaims, disgusted. Seriously, somebody needs to teach this man some manners.
“Okay, then.” I pick up the tray with the hot drinks still on it and make my way to the door. “No chocolate for you.”
Mozart’s eyes widen at the mention of the sweet drink, and I watch him reluctantly open the bottle and take a sip. The childish resignation on his face makes me laugh, but as promised, I turn around and return the tray to the table, before grabbing my own cup and sitting on the single armchair next to it. He quickly downs the blanc and exchanges the empty bottle for the hot chocolate.
“It’s... good,” he says after trying it. I suppose that is the closest I’ll get to a “thank you” from him.
“Uh-huh. Sebastian told me you liked it, so I made you some, because I am a nice person who doesn’t deserve to be yelled at like that.” I raise my eyebrows and proceed to punctuate that statement by sipping my chocolate, but I almost spit it out when he speaks again.
“Your playing was awful.”
He is not exactly wrong, but I casually give him the middle finger. I doubt he knows what it means, because he briefly looks at me and completely ignores the obscene gesture before sitting on the piano bench. He begins playing the exact same melody, and I am not sure if it’s his way of telling me to fuck off of if he just wants to show me how it’s done properly. Either way, he makes it sound incredibly and ironically beautiful, and I soon find myself enjoying just watching him play.
Halfway through the canon, he seamlessly changes to a new melody, one I have never heard before. It could be one of his lesser known pieces, but seeing the neatly stacked papers on every flat surface I am inclined to believe it is a new composition. 
I relax into the plush comfort of the armchair and close my eyes. I think Mozart has already forgotten I am there, but I don’t mind in the slightest. I enjoy listening to his music, and I am happy to find out my presence does not bother him as much as he led me to believe.
Eventually, someone knocks on the door. It is hard to tell how long I’ve stayed in this position, but it has been a good while since I finished my chocolate. Mozart stops playing and gets up to open.
“Sorry to interrupt, Wolf, but-” Jean’s eye lands on me, lounging in the back. I raise my eyebrow at the nickname, but I guess it makes sense that those two are friends. I can picture them being quietly judgemental together. “Anaïs. You’re here too,” he softly states, surprised. I smile and give him a little wave. “Le Comte wants to see you both.”
Mozart and I look at each other. I assume he is as intrigued as I am, although his face is completely expressionless, unlike my own. He silently nods and exits the room with Jean. I follow, and we part ways with the soldier to walk to le Comte’s study.
The door is open when we arrive, clearly awaiting us. I sit across from le Comte’s desk, and Mozart stands beside me. The nobleman acknowledges us with a solemn nod and a smile full of old world charm.
“Anaïs,” he finally speaks. “Sebastian tells me you have been invited to a ball, correct?” I nod. I wonder what this has to do with Mozart. “It is my understanding that Mozart here will be performing at the same event. He needs a suitable companion for someone of his status, and I think you would be perfect for the occasion, ma chérie.”
Well, that explains it. And I do not like it one bit. Mozart and I exchange another look, his face mirroring the indignation on my own this time. He opens his mouth to protest, but is cut off by le Comte.
“You both need companions for the same ball, yes? This is the best solution to this problem. Any reasonable adult could see that.” His tone is almost fatherly, full of gentle authority. Damnit, I can’t say no to him. I sigh, defeated by the way he looks at me.
“Ugh, fine! I’ll do it,” I give in. “But only because I intended to go anyway.”
Mozart takes longer to answer, but eventually cracks too.
“Remember our deal, Comte. You owe me. And you,” he turns to me, “you better learn how to dance properly. I will not be humiliated by my companion’s lack of etiquette.” There it is. That stupid mean attitude of his. I was beginning to wonder where it went.
I roll my eyes, and he purposefully storms off. With Mozart gone, I turn to le Comte, and give him a pleading look that practically says “why are you doing this to me?”.
“Well, that was disappointing. And terribly awkward, you know he is not the easiest person to get along with.”
“Forgive me, ma chérie,” le Comte laughs. “You two arrived together. Were you having an argument?”
“Something like that,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I touched his piano.”
“Oh my. I am glad to see you made it out alive and well, in that case,” he jokes. “You know, I had to bribe him with a new bench just for him to agree to perform. The host of the ball is a dear friend of mine, and he has been begging me to invite Mozart on his behalf ever since he heard one of his new pieces. Of course, he knows him by a different name.”
That explains the mention of their deal. In the few days I have been here, I have not seen Mozart so much as step outside of his room, so it does not surprise me that he needs to be bribed in order to leave the mansion at all.
“Speaking of friends,” I change the topic, “Sebastian must have told you I met Shakespeare today. Did something happen between you two?”
“Well...” le Comte begins, leaning back into his chair. “We have our differences, but I am his sire, after all, and I care for him dearly. He simply decided he did not wish to live here anymore, so now he has his own house in the outskirts of Paris,” he explains. “Vincent visits him quite frequently. They are good friends.”
Of course Vincent would be the one to befriend the playwright. Much like the sunflowers he paints, that man is the physical embodiment of a ray of sunshine.
“Back to the ball, however... I must get you a gown fit for a princess, ma chérie. Do you have a particular style in mind?” he inquires.
“I trust your good taste, Comte,” I shake my head with a smile, but I perk up as something occurs to me. “Actually, there is something...” I unbutton the cuff of my sleeve and roll it up as far as I can, exposing the tattoos that litter my pale skin. “Anything that can cover these. They go pretty high up, so sleeves and gloves, maybe? I am not very familiar with the evening fashion of this time.”
Le Comte’s eyes widen at the sight of the dark ink on my arm, reminding me that he had not seen them until now, not to this extent. To be fair, the sleeves of my chemise covered most of them when he assisted with tying my corset.
“Gloves will do just perfectly,” he declares. “The very long ones are quite the trend with the ladies, nowadays.” 
“Great.” I roll my sleeve back down, and catch him staring intently. The way he watches me is reverent, rather than uncomfortable. I can tell he is simply admiring the tattoos, but he refrains from voicing his curiosity, I presume to avoid being indiscrete. “Thank you, Comte.”
“It is my pleasure, ma chérie,” he smiles.
Before I leave, I stop to look at the large hourglass in the corner. The pile of sand at the bottom has become the slightest bit taller since I arrived, but most of it remains the same, what looks like an eternity resting on the top portion of the glass, barely trickling down.
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mrsalwayswrite · 5 years ago
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The Difference Between Champagne and Rum Part 4 (Alfie Solomons x OFC)
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Thank you everyone for your patience with this. Finally!! Here is the next part! I am not sure when I will have Part 5 & 6 done but I promise they are already plotted out...just got to write them. So this takes place in Season 2, so we get to see our beloved Alfie in his gangster glory. 
Warnings: Swearing, some racial slurs, mild sexual content, nothing major
Words: 10k 
The Difference Between Champagne and Rum
Part 4- Chance Encounters and Necessary Libations 
~1922~
“Fuckin’ Italians.” Alfie Solomons muttered as he pushed through the door of Darby Sabini’s club in London. The obnoxious mixture of perfume, cologne and cigarette smoke assailed his senses making his throat close up. For the briefest of moments his mind returned to the smoke-filled, blood-saturated fields in France, with that nauseating smell making his throat constantly feel like it would rather seal itself closed than force more of the poisonous air into his lungs. Bombs going off. Piss running through the trench, mixing with the fresh blood. Men, boys really, screaming for God or their mothers…or crying out for death. Quickly Alfie shook his head before the memories could escape the locked box in his mind that was reserved for them. No, he had a different kind of pain in the ass to deal with currently.
He moved just off to the side of the main entrance, eyeing the swarms of men with slicked-back hair, women in flapper dresses and pearls, and the workers hovering in the shadows waiting to assist the guests. Realistically, the pause was also to give his hip a moment’s respite before he had to pretend the pain radiating like a flare out of his right hip was nothing. He would rather suffer then give Sabini one hint of weakness. The man was a shark, sniffing blood in the water and attacking anything weaker than himself. He scanned the place, noting the gaudy décor, bold colors and the aura of alcohol and lust infused in the air seeking to corrupt the mind with every breath. This was definitely Sabini’s place. Alfie sent a silent prayer heavenward that he never had to cross this threshold again. This place was certainly far from kosher. After he left, he might have to repent of sins he had not even committed just to cleanse himself of the stench of this place. 
“Fuckin’ hip.” He rubbed a hand over it for a moment before straightening. The sooner he met with Sabini, the sooner he could leave. “Let’s get this shit done.”
Black hat on, long black coat hanging off his wide shoulders, scowl on his face- he stepped out of the shadows and moved forward. The guests parted before him, like Moses parting the Red Sea. Not that he minded, he actually got a thrill out of seeing people’s reaction when in his presence. He could be the personification of intimidating when he chose to be. His cane tapped on the floor with each step, only taking some of his weight. It could be its own added force of intimidation. A solid strike with it had taught many people it could be used for more than just a handicap.
“Mr. Solomons!” One of Sabini’s men finally approached him. The pinstripe suit, slicked back hair and thin moustache were enough of a giveaway before the man even opened his mouth to speak in his thick accent. “Mr. Sabini informed me to meet you at the entrance.”
“Yeah? Kinda hard to do that when you got your fuckin’ tongue down that girl’s throat, eh?” Alfie pointed at a girl walking by in a cream-colored dress, attempting to adjust it back into place. “Where is Sabini? He said to meet him here.”
The man attempted to wipe the lipstick off his lips, causing some to smear on his cheek, never mind the few spots on his neck he seemed oblivious too. “Mr. Sabini had an important family meeting come up. Once that is finished, he would meet with you. It should not take long.”
Alfie grumbled, rubbing a hand over his mouth and jaw, his beard prickling the skin. The idea of waiting for Sabini sounded awfully boring and insulting. Yet he needed to have this meeting. If for nothing else then confirmation that his new alliance with those gypsies was still worth his time.
Somehow the man seemed to sense Alfie’s decision to stay and gestured for him to follow. They passed the dance floor, nearby tables being used for both alcohol and snow, and the band at the head of the room. There was a slightly elevated section that the wop led him too. Only a handful of others sat at the tables, too focused on their own conversations and drinks to pay any attention to Alfie.
“I’ll inform Mr. Sabini of your arrival, he will be out soon.” The man gestured to a table in which Alfie took a seat. “All drinks are on the house.”
Alfie watched the man scurry off before ordering a whiskey when a server approached. If Sabini had not shown his ugly face before Alfie finished his drink, he would leave. Fuck this waiting-power game Sabini was playing. The truce between the two of them wavered like a flickering flame, some moments stronger than others but this newest insult was too much. He was affecting Alfie’s business and that was something the Jewish gangster would not tolerate.
His thoughts turned to his schedule for tomorrow and what needed to get done. Ollie had been harping on him to get a secretary with how business and paperwork had been expanding and piling up. Each time Ollie tried to bring it up, Alfie’s glare would shut him down. He did not need nor want someone else sticking their nose in his books and affairs.
About halfway through his whiskey he heard footsteps approach from behind. They were not Sabini’s usual cocky stride. No, they were light and with a clip from high heels. Alfie internally rolled his eyes. He wondered if Sabini sent a whore to distract him, he would not put it past the arrogant wop to try that.
“Is this seat taken?”
Her soft, sweet voice swept over him, causing him to tighten his fingers around his glass. His plan to be rude or ignore her flew out of the window. Her voice was a siren’s call, a lingering song from his past that he had never truly forgotten.
The chair across from his slid out and she gracefully settled herself. Light caught and danced off all the silver beads on her sleeveless gray flapper dress. Long gray gloves covered her hands that held a flute of champagne. His eyes traced up her form to her red, plump lips and delicate features to stare into her hypnotic gaze with gemstone eyes. The biggest change was her shortened hair, a bob now, very fitting with the current style apparently but a part of him lamented the loss of her long, sleek, blonde hair.
The air froze between them. Time and space no longer mattered. Their eyes beheld one another as if a magnetic force refused to let them escape. Trapped in this disbelieving look. Trapped in this moment. Yet there was nowhere else Alfie would rather be. Even after all this time, even after all the shit he had seen and survived, even though it had years since he last saw her…she was still the most beautiful woman to him. He doubted that was something that would ever change.
“It is you.” She breathed out as if momentarily in awe.
“Angel?”
A small smile tilted her lips up. “Damn. Alfie Solomons in the flesh. This must be my lucky day.”
A sound between a snort and a laugh emerged from his own mouth but never once did his eyes come off of her…not did hers leave his. A bubble of silence encased them but it never felt uncomfortable. They just stared at one another as if seeing the moon for the first time. His mind struggled to convince itself that the woman sitting before him was the very same woman he had pinned after for so long. Eight years had passed since he last laid eyes on her. Eight years in which he went to war and returned to expand his empire and reputation. The year before the war ended, her letters stopped. One of the only sources of light and joy in that fucking war ceased and it hit him harder than the bomb blast that sent him to the hospital. All his hopes, dreams and promises of reuniting with her ended then. Yet here she sat in front of him now.
His brain finally decided to start functioning again and he asked the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doin’ here? Your last letter said you was in America.”
She tensed minutely, barely anyone would notice but his eyes were trained on her and did not miss her reaction. After taking a quick sip of her champagne, she answered him. “I have been. I am currently traveling for business.”
“Business?”
“Mmm…I am not sure if you have heard but over in America, this awful law was passed and now alcohol is illegal. Apparently, it is the root of all evil, if you listen to some of the old women.”
“And where does business come in?”
She shrugged casually, peering over the dance floor for a moment. “There are some people willing to pay for alcohol, especially those with money…they just lack the connections to grant them this great evil.”
“So that s’where you come in. You’re a supplier of an illegal substance.”
“I prefer to think of it as a supplier of the finer things in life and good times.”
He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Even after all these years, she still continued to surprise him. “So what you sayin’, yeah, s’you still a trouble maker.”
“My dear Alfie,” she gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest in mock horror, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Yeah, yeah, you s’fuckin’ angel. What are you doin’ at this club?”
She rolled her eyes, glancing around quickly. “My business partner and I were supposed to meet with Mr. Sabini but we have been waiting over an hour already.”
“Why the fuck you meetin’ with the likes of him?” He narrowed his eyes at her. Something within him roared in anger at the idea of her meeting with scum like Sabini.
“My partner thinks he has connections we could use. I disagree. With what I have heard, he is not a man to trust easily.”
“Yeah, you s’right, love. Stay well away from ‘im. What kind of connections you lookin’ for? Maybe I can help.”
“I actually planned on calling on you next week. Between us, your reputation may have…frightened my partner. He does not want to utilize your resources. He says you are too volatile and unpredictable.”
“Fuck ‘im too.”
She laughed shamelessly, eyes crinkling as she tilted her head back.
Heaven above, that sound was like music to his ears. He could not help as his own lips turned up at her amusement.  Every fiber in his body demanded he snatch her up and leave with her, never let her out of his sight again, beg her to smile and laugh for him because he had forgotten how it warmed him from the inside out. Although, if he somehow doubted that she would approve of his idea of kidnapping her. That idea made his smile broaden slightly. They both may have changed since they last saw one another but he doubted her independent streak had abated much.
“Come to me bakery tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll show you me bread and give you some names to check out.”
“I would like that.”
“Right! S’settled!” He clapped his hands together loudly, drawing the attention of the few other patrons sitting nearby. “Stop by in the mornin’. Mmm…yeah. I’ll have Mrs. Liebgott in the front expectin’ you.”
“If I may be so bold…” She gestured to his hands. Curious, he nodded and watched as she changed seats to sit next to him. Hesitantly she pulled his left hand closer and seemed to be examining it.
“S’you a gypsy now? Gonna read me palm for me fortune?”
A small smile appeared, the only indicator that she heard his tease. Now so close, her scent taunted him. That same lavender scent, even after all these years, still hung around her like a pleasant aura. As subtly as possible, he inhaled deeply, wishing to permanently brand his nostrils with her scent. Fucking hell, what was happening to him? He was starting to sound like some kind of miscreant stalker.
“Is that…from the necklace I gave you?”
He glanced down to see her finger gently touching one of his rings. “Yeah, the chain got damaged during…” he swallowed thickly, “…during a fuckin’ blast. Kept it in me pocket until I got back to London. Eventually had the gold melted from the chain to form the ring and had the star put on it.”
He wondered what she thought of it. The star was no longer perfect like when she had given it to him. There were dings and scratches on its surface. One of the star’s spikes was dramatically shorter than the others. Yet it still was the same star and same gold, just now a thick gold band encasing the simple gold northern star.
“I can’t… I am surprised you kept it.”
Unsure if those were really tears in her eyes or just a reflection off the club lights, he placed his other hand over hers. Her hands were now sandwiched between his.
“Course I kept it. It was the company’s fuckin’ good luck charm, given to me by me angel, yeah? Why the hell would I get rid of it?”
A genuine smile appeared as she squeezed his hand. “I am glad it brought you luck. From what your reputation says, even the devil himself could not have taken you down, Mr. Solomons.”
“Fuckin’ hell, he tried a few times. I had a promise to keep though. An angel told me I wasn’t allowed to die.”
“You certainly are a man of your word.”
“Mmm…yeah, yeah. That s’me.” His thoughts seemed to move sluggishly when he realized how close they were. Hands clasped between the two of them, bodies leaning forward. It felt surreal. She was truly here…in the flesh. All he wanted to do was pull her into his lap, wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Yet it had been eight years. He had changed, and he suspected she had too. Did she still want him like he wanted her? Could she? Or was this all a dream sent to torment him?
A voice destroyed their peaceful moment. A figure coming to stand near them. “Sarah, I think it’s time we leave.”
“Of course, Hector.” Sarah squeezed Alfie’s hands one last time before releasing him and standing up.
Alfie stared at the man who helped Sarah slip on her fur-lined coat. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man kept his hand on her lower back.
“Who is your friend here?” The man asked, his American accent easily recognizable. His blue eyes peered through his thin-rimmed spectacles, an intelligence there that was undeniable.
“Yes, my apologies. Hector, this is Alfie Solomons. Alfie, this is Hector Richardson, my business partner.”
Hector nodded slightly. “You seem to know each other well for how long you were talking.”
“We s’old friends, yeah. Haven’t seen her in years.” Alfie said, drumming his fingers on his cane.
“Old friends.” Hector repeated slowly. “Well pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solomons, but as I stated earlier, Sarah and I need to leave.”
Alfie grumbled, an unintelligent consent, wishing for this Hector to find himself at the bottom of the Thames. He did not like the look of him. He could not be much older than himself but this American carried himself like somehow Alife had insulted his mother. He had a handsome enough face, minus the slightly hooked nose and thin lips pursed in annoyance. What bothered Alfie the most was the possessive touch he had on Sarah. The idea to do some digging into this- Hector Richardson- sounded worthwhile.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel?”
“Yes, I promise.” She winked at him, furthering the scowl on Hector’s face. The two walked away, getting lost in the midst of the crowded club.
Her heady scent of lavender lingered behind like a pleasant memory. The feel of her hands in his brought a warmth to his soul that had been cold for a long time. In all reality, he knew he was overreacting to her reappearance. It had been eight years since he last seen her and truthfully at any moment she could vanish once again. Yet the irrational piece of his brain he usually silenced chirped that it felt like a missing piece was back in his life.
Grumbling to himself, he rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, thoughts now turning to tomorrow and their meeting. He could not help but smirk at the knowledge that she was getting into the illegal liquor business. Even after all these years, the girl who should have been a princess and high above the rest of the peasants was still rolling in the mud with them. Even if she still carried a dignity and grace about her that made others turn heads and take notice. She may be in the mud with the peasants but she was a queen, no one could deny that.
“Mr. Solomons.”
Alfie turned to the wop from earlier who approached, now cleansed of lipstick.
“Mr. Sabini can see you now.”
Quickly Alfie slammed the rest of his whiskey back, that familiar burn bringing him back to the present and this god-forsaken meeting.
“A’right, lets get this done, mate.”
 *****
-The next day-
 “So you see sir…that’s…that’s what ‘appened. Just an accident.” The young man stood quaking under Alfie’s gaze, eyes darting around as if any of the other bakers would step in and help him.
Alfie grunted, turning to stare at the large spill of rum soaking into the floor. All he could see was money wasted, laying on the ground. Sure the other lads had managed to save most of the rum in the broken barrel but that did not alleviate one of the newest bakers from learning to be careful with the goods. Normally the foreman on the floor would be dealing with this mess but unfortunately Ishmael was out checking a new batch of cane sugar from Jamaica before bringing it back to the bakery. So that left dealing with this imbecile to the boss.
“Clean this fuckin’ mess up.” He demanded, paused a moment to see the young man nod erratically then turned to head back to this office. The shit that needed to get done today kept piling up without any signs of a reprieve in the future for him. This was something he really did not need to happen today. A shipment was supposed to go out tonight that he wanted to look over once more then there was that pub owner he needed to address for his late payments along with…
“I’m sorry, sir… I won’t spill no more rum. Thank you, sir…”
Before the young man finished uttering his sentence, Alfie turned around to tower over the lad. He glared, summoning all his repressed anger and intimidation, then poured it like hot oil over the lad.
“May I remind you…that the distinction between bread and rum, yeah…IS NOT DISCUSSED!” Alfie ended roaring into the quivering lad’s face. “GET IT THROUGH THAT THICK SKULL OR I’LL FUCKIN’ CRACK IT OPEN!” Without waiting for a response, he turned and started towards his office. If the smell of piss was any indicator, he guessed he would not have any troubles again with that one.
Back in his office, he slammed the door shut, startling Cyril from his nap on his bed on the floor. The bull mastiff looked up at his master before laying his head back on his front paws, watching the muttering man, unaffected by his foul mood.
Shuffling around his cluttered desk, Alfie checked his pocket watch and groaned. It was only 9am and already he wished for the day to be over. He dropped down onto his seat to stare at the paperwork before him. It was an unending pile that he seemed unable to escape no matter the number of late nights or early mornings. Slipping his halfmoon spectacles on, he started again on the notice he had been reading earlier. Someone must have dropped it by late last night. It was from one of the police officers on his payroll, saying how they were getting a new captain and a few new recruits with a list of names. Alfie made a mental note to have the captain checked out, see if he could be of use before Sabini got to him.
A gentle knocking brought Alfie out of his thoughts but kept his eyes glued to the paper before him. “Oi! What s’want, Ollie?”
The creaking of his door alerted him to Ollie’s entrance.
“This better be good, yeah, or you can just fuck right off now.”
“Would you prefer for me to come another time?”
The teasing, sweet, feminine voice had Alfie almost giving himself whiplash with how fast his head jerked up. Ollie stood just inside the office, keeping the door open, meanwhile Sarah stood in the doorway looking like a vision as usual, a mischievous smirk on her lips.
“I like the spectacles by the way. They make you look…scholarly.”
Alfie snorted, taking the glasses off before rising. “Fuckin’ hell, love. I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“I said I would. I always follow through with my promises.” She stepped further in, her heels clicking on the wood paneled floor. “I can come back another day if you are busy.”
“No, no. S’fine.”
“Ollie,” she turned back to smile at the man, “perhaps that pot of tea and scones would be beneficial right now.” She started to peel her fur-lined coat off, the same from the prior night if Alfie was not mistaken. Ollie immediately jumped to her aid, taking her coat and hanging it up on the hooks near the door. Sometimes Alfie wondered at the true intelligence of his assistant but the lad was certainly raised well in how to treat female guests. Probably due to his mother who was a tyrant when she wanted to be but would tear down governments for anyone she cared for.
“Of course, Mrs. Bondurant. Anything else I can do, Alfie?”
“No, just that.” He leaned on the edge of his desk, running a hand over his mouth and jaw. “Then we aren’t to be disturbed, yeah? When Ishmael returns, he can leave the papers with you for now.”
“Yes, sir.” Ollie gave one quick nod, his shaggy hair shaking with the movement before closing the door behind him.
“Mrs. Bondurant, eh? You married?”
She smiled slyly before taking time to look over his office. “Would it change things if I was?”
“Well that means I’ve been having inappropriate thoughts about a married woman, yeah, very inappropriate.” He watched her, wishing he could read her mind. He wondered what she thought of his office. It was cluttered with bookshelves and files. A fireplace sat abandoned in one corner, only used on the rarest of occasions in the dead of winter. There were a map London on one wall and a couple drawings from an local artist he admired. He also did not mind admiring her in the cream calf-length skirt and plum blouse, a very sophisticated and modern look. She looked ready to take on the world, especially in those heels that made her legs look like a divine treat but were sharp enough to stab someone with. He wondered if she wore them because of how they looked or as a weapon. Probably with her, both reasons.
Slowly, she moved from where she had been admiring a drawing to stand before him. “And if I am not? If I am simply Sarah?”
“You ain’t never been just Sarah to me.”
Her lips twitched as her eyes trailed over his face and eyes, reading and weighing out his words. One of her hands came up to brush through his bristly beard, her thumb rubbing across the scar just above his jaw.
“France.” He answered her unspoken question. “Shrapnel from a bomb.”
“I heard you were made a captain.”
“Not noteworthy, love.”
“I disagree, I like the sound of Captain Solomons.”
There was that teasing, mischievous look back in her gemstone eyes that he remembered so well. Standing so close, even in her heels, her eyes were level with his chin. A strange realization that so much had changed since they last saw one another except for this. She was still the perfect height in his opinion. Her hand on his cheek, he drew his own hand over her cheekbone before running through her shortened hair.
“Why you cut your hair?”
“Are you not aware? It is the latest fashion.” She batted her eyelashes and pouted her lips, the perfect image of a spoiled aristocrat.
He chuckled, running his hand through more slowly this time. At least it did not feel full of product like some women wore their hair. “Sure it is. Never guessed you’d be one to follow the rules.”
“Maybe I will grow it back out. It does help me not to stand out.”
“Love, you are a beautiful angel. Anyone who don’t see that is a fuckin’ fool.”
“I see you still have that charmer’s tongue and honeyed words.”
“I am a man of many talents.”
“Mmm…I seem to recall a few of those talents, especially involving that tongue of yours.”
“Only a few? S’shame, yeah, gonna need to fix that, yeah.” His hands landed on her hips, holding her close. Their gazes remained locked, a heat spilling out between them to fill the air. This teasing, flirtatious banter they so easily fell into felt different this time. Maybe it was because they were different people now. Maybe it was because the time spent apart. Yet Alfie guessed it was because they no longer were hindered by her family and his limited time before the war. No, now they were free. He hoped.  
“Please tell me you s’unmarried, I don’t need to be fightin’ no angry husband later.”
“Afraid you will lose?”
“No, Angel, its cos if I kiss you, I ain’t lettin’ you go again, damn your husband.”
“How do I know you are not married?”
“Been too busy.” He dragged his lips over the shell of her ear, loving the way her hands gripped the front of his shirt like a safety line. “Now answer me question, love.”
“No, I am not married.”
“Mmm…good, good.”
“What now, Captain Solomons?” One of her hands reached down to gently cup his growing erection. “I thought I was here to talk business and see your bakery.”
He suppressed a groan, trying to keep his thoughts in line. It was hard to think beyond this bubble of lust they were creating. The lock on the office door had been replaced lately, so being disturbed was not an issue. There was nowhere to lay her down though. If memory served him correctly, she did not mind being pinned against a wall (although his hip may protest). He wondered how she would feel about utilizing his desk. It was very sturdy. His hands slipped down to cup her ass, pulling her closer as he lightly kissed a trail down her neck. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
And of course that was the moment Ollie chose to reenter with the tray of tea and biscuits. Opening the door, his eyes fixated on the two, his mouth gaping slightly. In all honesty, he probably did not expect to see his boss caressing this strange woman as one of her hands cupped his cock, her other tangled in his hair, pulling his head closer. That would give anyone a shock.
“Ah, um…I can come…”
“That is alright, Ollie.” Sarah stepped away from Alfie, somehow disentangling herself with ease and speed that astounded him. Probably did not help all the blood had rushed from his brain down to his cock. “Tea sounds delightful. I have been missing a good pot of English tea. Soothes the soul.” She peeked over her shoulder at Alfie, who had a scowl on his face. “Business before pleasure, sweetheart.”
Ollie almost dropped the tray on Alfie’s desk with that last comment.
Grumbling, Alfie tried to subtly adjust himself and get his mind off the feeling of how good her body felt under his hands. God, it was like the best wet dream and a nightmare simultaneously; having her so close and ready, yet then it being ripped away suddenly.
“Oh? And who is this handsome boy?”
Alfie straightened, fear coursing through him. So lost in her he had forgotten about the dog. “Sarah, wait-“
It was too late, she knelt down on the other side of Alfie’s desk near Cyril’s bed. Even Ollie momentarily looked horrified. Alfie expected to hear a cry or a growl, yet the immediate sound that greeted him was her cooing and a tail thumping. Coming around to the other side of his desk, shocked did not even begin to describe how he felt at the scene before him. There lay his massive dog that had torn men to shreds in protection of Alfie, who normally disliked strangers and even then was choosy about who he let touch him….now lay on his back, legs sprawled, tongue lolling as he got his belly and chest scratched. Sarah knelt on the floor, facing him, her voice low and cooing at him like he was the sweetest puppy. It would have been comical if Alfie could wrap his head around what his eyes were seeing. Exchanging a look with Ollie only mirrored his own surprise.
“Didn’t know you s’dog person.”
She looked back at Alfie, the widest, genuine smile on her face he had ever seen. “I love dogs. They are the most loyal companions and great for cuddling.”
“Mmm…” Alfie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and jaw. He watched a second longer, transfixed by the sight in front of him. Glancing to his side, he suddenly remembered Ollie standing there, who now was staring at her with a dreamy look. “Oi! Keep those eyes in your head, boy. Now fuck off!”
He did not have to be asked twice, most likely knowing Alfie was pissed at him already for interrupting…whatever was happening before he arrived with the tray. Ollie stumbled an apology, along with a parting before scurrying out of the office, closing the door behind him.
“Are you always so harsh with him?”
“Didn’t like ‘im starin’ at you.” He reached a hand out to help her back to her feet, much to Cyril’s dismay. Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Before he could get his hands fully back on her, she evaded him to glide over to the tray.
“Now, tell me the tale of how Alfie Solomons became a distiller of rum and owner of such a fine bakery. I must confess I tried one of those honeyed scones with Mrs. Liebgott, who is a delight herself, and it was delectable. I may have to come back just for that.” Sarah poured herself a cup of tea while she spoke then sat to blow gently on the steaming liquid. At her last comment, a soft whine came from around the side of Alfie’s desk. “Precious boy, I will come back and see you too. Oh! What is his name?”
“Cyril.” Alfie shook his head at the strangeness of this encounter, but then again, when had him and Sarah ever met like normal people. He rounded his desk to sit in his seat, shuffling some papers out of the way to not spill tea on. “Why you askin’ ‘bout me business?”
“Curiosity…perhaps I am impressed and am trying to see how the young man I once knew with bloody fists has now become such a successful businessman.”
“You forgot to mention dangerous gangster.”
“You would not be the first of those I have encountered.”
He squinted his eyes at her, disliking that comment. Gangsters were not to be trusted. Who else around here besides Sabini had she ‘encountered’? Had she somehow met the Shelbys? The fuckin’ Russians? Why could she not stay out of trouble?
As if reading his thoughts, she waved a hand dismissively. “In America. Apparently it is a growing trend. Now, I am still waiting for my story.”
“A’right. First,” he pointed a finger at her, “where this ‘Mrs. Bondurant’ business start? Then you’ll get your fuckin’ story.”
Several silent moments passed, her holding her tea cup against her lips as she stared off to the side. Softly, just above a whisper, she finally spoke. “My father disowned me, said I was a disgrace to our family name. I never fit into the mold that he wanted.  Do not look at me with that pity, it truthfully was not a surprise to anyone. Once he realized I refused to be married off to benefit his business and position, he no longer had a need for me. Besides, he had my brother who was beginning to follow in his footsteps. So I went back to stay with some distant family in America…”
“That’s why your letters came from there. The men thought I had me an American sweetheart.”
She chuckled. “I remember you mentioning that. Ishmael wrote me a letter about how you got into a fight when one of the men called me a ‘whore’ or something. Still defending my honor even in the middle of a war.”
“Fuckin’ hell…he did?”
She nodded slowly, smile growing on her face.
Grumbling about useless friends under his breath, he motioned for her to continue her story.
“I traveled around some, New York City, Chicago, Charleston. I have some cousins who got into the liquor business of distribution to places willing to pay for the stuff even though it is illegal now. Apparently I have a good mind for business and numbers so they convinced me to help them.”
“That man last night…”
“He is a distant cousin, a business partner. Him and his brother are the ones I work with.”
He shook his head, secretly pleased the man was not a suitor. “Why the fuck he so possessive of you?”
“We have had a few encounters with gangsters who…who wanted me to be part of the deal. They have become a bit protective of me since. And also his wife is one of my good friends. Before we left to come here, she told him if anything happened to me, she would cut his cock off.”
He laughed, not expecting that.
“He has a valid reason to be afraid. You do not mess with Southern women, they are usually sweet and kind but they can be brutal if they want too. Anyway, after an…incident, I had to lay low for a while. Hector had me stay with some friends in Virginia who are moonshiners. Actually one of them reminded me of you. It was uncanny. His name was Forrest Bondurant. I guess at one point while I was resting, some men came to the house asking questions about me. Forrest told them I was his wife…and it just stuck. It certainly kept the men in the area from trying anything. It is not like I wanted to go by Sarah Byron anymore.”
“Mmm…what was this incident?”
She shook her head. “No, I answered your question. Now I get my story.”
Fiddling with the rings on his hands, he found himself pouring out about life after the war. Only two women in his life had been able to boss him around, his mum and the angel staring at him with eyes of interest and affection. He talked about how coming back he noticed how many men could not get work, their families forced onto the streets. Plus while he was gone, his mother started to get sick. Without proper care, because she could not afford it, she began to deteriorate. Seeing this, he began to figure out ways to make money to pay for her care. Thus the rum business began. He still had all his prior connections, memories of how everything worked and now the man power to make it a business. The idea of the bakery had actually been inspired by his mum who complained that he always came home smelling of molasses and rum. He managed to afford her the best care until she passed two years ago. Now his life consisted of his business. He still “ran” Camden, giving protection to those willing to pay for it and trying to keep the wops off his turf. He dabbled with races some but that was more Sabini’s territory. With the growing popularity of his nephew, he was thinking about getting into boxing matches more instead of it just being recreational. He was unsure how long he spoke for, her asking questions along the way. The tea and scones were long gone. Cyril had gotten up at some point and sat next to Sarah, laying his head on her knee so she could pet him absent-mindedly as she listened to Alfie.
Dramatically, the office door opened. Ishmael entered, a surprised and smug look on his face.
“What the fuck, mate?” Alfie demanded.
Ishmael glanced at his boss and friend before turning back to Sarah. His eyes scanned over her like she was a new species he had discovered. “Damn, Ollie was right.”
“Ishmael?” Her eyebrows rose as her mind seemed to connect his face to her memories.
“Yeah, love. It’s me. What you doin’ here?”
“Just talking history and business.”
Ishmael leaned against Alfie’s desk, ignoring the glare being sent his way by Alfie, focusing on her. “You comin’ down to the floor to see the bakery? I’d give you a tour.”
“Oi! You got somethin’ important cos if not then fuck off, yeah?”
“Seein’ the lovely woman who holds me friend’s heart is important.” Ishmael winked at Sarah before looking over his shoulder at Alfie, a shit-eating grin on his face. “And I came to tell you that one of our lads got in a fight with one of them Pikey boys and now that big fella, the red-head, is demandin’ to speak to you.”
“Fuck.” Alfie groaned, rolling his eyes skyward. He needed all the patience to deal with that particular man, who was good at his job but just continued to rub Alfie the wrong way constantly. Looking over at Sarah, he could read the amusement and understanding in her eyes. “Love, I’m sorry…”
“It is fine, Alfie. I am sure I have taken up more than enough of your time today. You do have a business to run.” She stood up, brushing out her skirt.
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
“What?”
He rose, coming around the desk to stand before her. A sudden desperation in him that he could not let her leave without knowing he would see her again soon. “Lemme take you out tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight. I still didn’t hear none of your time in America and we never talked business.”
She paused a moment, eyes scanning his face. “I would like that.”
“Mmm…good, yeah, good.” Before she could grab it, he reached over and snagged her coat, helping her into it. “Ollie! In ‘ere!”
Ollie stepped in, seeming to have been waiting just outside the door. Probably expecting to get chewed out for letting Ishmael in.
“Good. Take Mrs. Bondurant to the hotel she is staying. Use me car, yeah, have David drive you.”
“Alfie…” She started to argue, hand placed on his chest.
“No, that’s an order, yeah?”
She cupped his cheek, before pressing her lips to it. “Of course, Captain. See you tonight.”
He mumbled something unintelligent, brain suddenly on hiatus with the feeling of her lips on his skin.
Giving a brief smile to Ishmael, she followed Ollie down the walkway, looking like a goddess amongst the dim and dusty bakery.
Alfie shook his head, dragging his eyes away from the door to Ishmael to ask him a question. His foreman and friend just stared at him smirking. “What?”
“Gonna propose proper this time?”
“Ah, fuck off.”
Ishmael laughed, pushing off Alfie’s desk. “Bout time you married and started having a house full of babies. Me wife is sick of making dinners for you all the time.”
“I’m just waitin’ for you to finally die then Ruth knows I’ll marry her right after your ass is buried in the ground. ‘sides, your ankle biters like me more.”
“Well you be waitin’ around a while…don’t plan on dying yet.”
“Good, good. I need you still, you fuckin’ bastard. Now let’s go crack some heads, yeah? Cyril, c’mon boy.”
Ishmael clapped a hand to Alfie’s shoulder quick before walking out of the office. Straightening the rings on his fingers, he allowed his boss persona to rise to the surface. Alone with Ishmael, they could joke but out in the bakery, he was the boss you did not fuck with or your blood spilled on the ground. Cyril at his side, he strode out of his office, wanting to deal with this mess as quickly as possible. He had a pile of things he needed to do still but nothing would stop him from seeing his angel tonight. He cracked his knuckles. Like she said, first business then pleasure.
 *****
Unfortunately business took longer than Alfie wanted. It was closer to nine that evening when his car pulled up in front of the hotel Sarah was staying at. A nice place with brick walls, banners and an attendant at the door to greet guests and provide information. Alfie let his driver go home claiming to need the drive to clear his head, when truthfully he just did not want to be around anyone. That afternoon had been exhausting from dealing with the Pikeys working in his bakery (damn Shelby for convincing him this was a good idea) and then trying to catch up on paperwork. Parking the car on the side of the street, he hopped out, almost getting hit by an erratic driver before heading towards the hotel.
“How can I be of service, sir?” The attendant politely asked when Alfie approached the double doors.
“Um, lookin’ for a friend. She s’stayin’ here.”
The attendant glanced him up and down quickly as if assessing Alfie’s worth of being allowed through his doors. Before Alfie could give him a piece of his mind, the man spoke up. “Would you, by chance, be a Mister Solomons?”
“Um…yeah.”
“Ah. A Mrs. Bondurant said she would be waiting for you at the bar, sir.”
Grumbling to himself, he nodded to the man before slipping past the double doors and heading off to the bar area on the right. His eyes shrewdly scanned over the patrons before landing on her. What should of brought elation only caused a shot of fiery anger to course dangerously through him. Sitting next to her at the bar was a man who was much too close and much too focused on her in Alfie’s opinion. He was fully turned facing her, holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand and the other draped across the back of her chair.
Sarah was only turned slightly towards him but one of her hands were carefully holding a wine glass and the other a lit cigarette. Her dress was a deep red, V-necked so her cleavage peeked out enticingly, and two strands of pearls hanging over her chest with black heels that were sharp. She looked positively beautiful and sinful at the same time.
The man brought his face closer to hers, whispering something before leaning back and chuckling about whatever it was. Sarah laughed along but it seemed fake to Alfie. To his growing rage, he witnessed the man place a hand on her thigh as he continued talking casually.
Without warning, Alfie stormed over and practically yanked the man out of his seat, causing him to spill his drink all over the counter. “Keep your fuckin’ hands and eyes off ‘er, yeah? Or I’ll cut ‘em off. Got it?” He growled into the man’s face.
“What the fuck?” The man scrambled to stand up straight, made impossible by the way Alfie was gripping the man’s suit jacket. His own voice rising to meet Alfie’s anger. “We were just talking. Who the fuck do you think you are? Get your bloody hands off me.”
Permission granted and uncaring of the amount of stares he was receiving, he pulled the man upright to get into his face. “I’m Alfie Solomons, that’s who the fuck I am.”
Alfie watched the lightbulb go off in the man’s eyes as his name sunk into his thick skull. Where there had been irritation and rising fury, now was doused away with the realization of who held him and pure fear at the unknown of Alfie’s actions.
“Good, good. Anymore questions? No? Then fuck off, mate.” He released the man, who stumbled back before righting himself. He opened his mouth as if to say something but with Alfie’s pointed glare, he clamped it shut and briskly walked away without even looking at Sarah.
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Alfie turned back to Sarah. She had not moved, a single eyebrow raised as she took a sip of her wine.
“You look like you need a drink.”
He chuckled darkly. “More than one.”
Taking the man’s seat, he plopped down and ran a hand over his eyes. He signaled for a whiskey from the bartender, who quickly cleaned up the spilled drink. “Sorry, ‘m late, love, I had some unforeseen business…”
“Was that necessary?”
He stopped at her abrupt interruption. Turning slightly to face her, he eyed her. “What?”
Pursing her lips, she took a drag off her cigarette before speaking, the smoke dancing out of her lips and floating above her head. “Was it necessary to come after William like that?”
“William, eh? You two s’friends?”
“No, I just met him.”
“Then pardon me but what the fuck is the problem then? You didn’t seem to enjoy none of how close he was to you or was I readin’ that wrong? You tryin’ for his attention? Hopin’ to fuck him?”
With that, she turned to face him, emerald eyes glowing with unbridled rage. “You listen, Alfie Solomons,” she spat out, keeping her voice low but no less deadly. “I can talk to, spend time with and fuck whomever I want. I am not some innocent posh girl you need to protect anymore. Nor am I yours in any way. I am my own and I can do whatever the hell I want. If that affects us then you can be on your way and do not expect to hear from me. Am I making myself clear?”
Alfie’s own anger rose up instinctively. No one had talked to him like that in years and he remembered how much he hated it. His own blue eyes met her emerald, flames practically flickering between them with the surrounding air thick with tension. He did not flinch nor look away when the bartender hesitantly slide his drink in front of him. This battle of wills between them, staring purposefully into her heated gaze made him notice something. There was a darkness that lingered in the edges of those beautiful, gemstone eyes he had always loved so much that had not been there the times prior they had met. No, this was something new and it broke his heart. It was the same darkness that lingered in himself, in returned soldiers, in people who had seen far too much violence and their minds could not forget. She was haunted, just like him. Whatever anger he held crumbled like dust at this realization. All he could think of was pulling her into his arms to protect her from her own pain. What had happened since he had last seen her those eight years ago?
“A’right, love, a’right. You s’right. Just don’t want to see you hurt, yeah?”
After a long pause, he could see the tension drain from her posture. Slowly, she brought a hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his scar. “Why do you still care? Why are you still looking out for me?”
“Cos you s’me angel. You deserve it.”
A hint of tears glistened in her eyes as she held his gaze once again, but with a very different emotion this time.
“Now, it’s been a fuckin’ long day after you left. Me temper may have gotten the best of me. Here we are and this mornin’ you promised to tell me your story…mmm…so…”
“Is that so?” She chuckled, pulling her hand back to grasp her glass, and there was that twinkle in her eye that meant trouble. “Perhaps I want to see if you will beg for it?”
He leaned forward, invading her space intimately, as he whispered in her ear. “There is only one reason I would beg…and we will both be naked before that happens.” Returning to an upright position, he witnessed her pupils dilated slightly and lick her lips subconsciously. A jolt of desire shot through him at her action.
“An interesting proposal, Mr. Solomons. There is one thing I have heard that I am most curious about.”
“Mmm?”
“Some new friends I have made informed me that at the Paradise you regularly pay more for blonde company.” She smirked, lifting the cigarette to her lips again.
“Fuckin’ hell, what are you doin’ at a whorehouse?”
“I told you, I thoroughly research those who I may be doing business with.”
“You s’still trouble, Miss Sarah. Fuck…what you learn ‘bout Sabini?”
Shaking her head, she laughed making a smile appear on his own face. The prior tension between them fully gone.
“When you start smokin’?” Not that it bothered him terribly. During the war, he had become used to the smell. It was one of the few ways a soldier could attempt to relax while in the trenches. He never acquired the taste for it personally, much to the amusement of some of his men.
She shrugged, “I cannot rightly say. It just happened.”
He nodded, taking a sip of the whiskey. Not terrible stuff, surprisingly. Opening his mouth to tease her about it, the words died on his tongue as a different voice called out to her.  
“Sarah? Sarah Byron, is that you?”
The tightening of her hand around her glass was the only give away of emotions. Gracefully she turned to face the man now standing behind her. Alfie’s ire returned, especially with the look this man was giving her. In his crisp suit, cropped hair and smug smile, he looked the part of an arrogant aristocrat. He practically smelled of money from family inheritance.
“Yes…Joseph?”
He smiled broadly, eyes trailing over her body. Quickly he took that last step forward, plucked her hand and kissed the back of it. “My dear Sarah, it is a true pleasure to see you. I do believe your beauty has only grown since I last saw you. Unfortunately I have a brief meeting I must attend now but after, could I take you out for a drink or food? There is a splendid restaurant not far from here my driver could take us.  It has been far too long since we were able to talk without any preconceived notions and expectations.”
“Sorry, mate, she s’busy tonight.”
For the first time, the man turned his focus on Alfie. Meeting his narrowed eyes, all Alfie could think of was a serpent.
“Oh? Is she? And who are you?”
“Alfie Solomons.”
The man’s eyebrows rose. “The gangster?” He looked back at Sarah. “Fascinating company you keep, my dear.”
“And who the fuck are you?” Everything in Alfie screamed at him to stand up and have this bastard’s face meet his fist…repeatedly.
“I am Joseph Coventry, Earl of Lancashire.” Keeping his sly gaze on Sarah, he pulled the single red rose out of his suit jacket’s pocket. He held it out for her, who took it somewhat reluctantly as he spoke again. “Truly a shame I must leave but I will call on you soon. Have a pleasant evening, Lady Sarah.” After a quick peck on her knuckles this time, he headed towards a far table already containing three men dressed similarly and with an air of high class.
“What the…”
Ignoring Alfie, she turned to the bartender. “Whiskey, a whole bottle, yes that one will do. Two glasses. Put it on my tab, please.” Snatching the glass bottle and glasses, she stabbed her cigarette out and left it on the ashtray before she got up and started towards the nearby stairs.
Alfie stared at the men a moment longer…this Joseph Coventry…an arrogant bastard if he had ever met one. It might be prudent to ask around about him. Alfie could usually get a good read on people, those that were trustworthy or not. Everything about this prick made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his hand to unconsciously twitch to grab the pistol under his jacket. There was something there…something dangerous and deadly just under the surface…and the man had his eyes on Sarah. No, Alfie would not tolerate that.
After taking that moment to memorize Coventry’s face, he followed after Sarah up the stairs. He had a few new questions for her and with her purchase of a whole whiskey bottle, he was unsure how much longer she would be sober for. Although the idea of seeing her drunk did amuse him slightly, he wondered if she would be the angry type or the giggly, excessively talking type. Personally he hoped for the cuddly type but he would never take advantage of a drunk woman. He may be a low life gangster with too much blood on his hands but he did have some morals.
He quickly caught up to her on the second floor as she opened the door to room number 16. Without a word or a look back at him, she walked through and into the hotel room, leaving the door wide open. He followed, closing and locking the door behind him before scanning the place. The room certainly had an upscale feel with its floral wallpaper, wood accents and gaudy still life paintings. There were only two other doors, one he guessed led to the washroom and the other to the bedroom. His focus though turned to the woman who had collapsed onto the couch, her high heels kicked to the side, and pouring two fingers worth of whiskey. Within moments after pouring it, she slammed it down and poured another. So many questions resided on his lips but he kept them closed. Moving around the room, he tossed his coat onto a nearby wingback chair and joined her on the couch. He sat on the opposite end, allowing her space. To his surprise, she poured him a glass and wordlessly handed it to him. After pouring herself another glass, she leaned back and closed her eyes. He could not help his wandering gaze, eyes drifting to those sleek legs with more skin exposed as her dress had ridden up with her unladylike posture, and the swell of her breast, straining against her dress.
“Do you remember…” she stopped, licking her lips as of to encourage the words to come out, “…last time we saw each other. I told you I was back because I was supposed to be getting married.”
“Yeah.” Then it clicked and his eyes widened momentarily. “That…that bastard? That s’who?”
She took a tentative sip of her drink this time, still leaning back and keeping her eyes closed.
“Fuck, love, think you dodged a bullet with that one.”
A snort escaped her but it was her eyes opening and turning to look at him that caused him to finally relax.
“Tell me, Sarah.”
And so she did. He could tell she glossed over much of her story and skipped certain parts entirely. Yet he let her talk, sharing about her past eight years and things she had done. He sat mesmerized by her and her story. After the “insult” perceived by her father, he disowned her, kicking her out of the house no matter her mother begging for him to reconsider. More determined than ever to prove herself and to never let a man control her, she got on a boat and traveled back to her mother’s distant family in America. Finally America decided to join the Great War and many men were sent over to Europe. During this time she became more involved in that family’s business and proved herself to be an asset. Once the war was over, she continued with the work but settled more behind the scenes. Prohibition happened which only proved to make business a challenge she thrived in. Her brother died in France during the war and with the grief of losing her son and disownment of her daughter, her mother fell into a deep depression and eventually died. Her father died last year, the only reason she felt confident in returning to London after all this time.
Somehow during her retelling, their postures changed. Alfie had shifted to sit closer to her, feet still planted on the ground and a glass in his hand. Sarah laid stretched out on the couch, her legs over his lap with her head on the arm rest and a glass in her hand. Together, they were slowly working through the whiskey bottle while she spoke. His hand skimmed up and down her legs, the feeling of her stockings and skin under his hand was intoxicating.
When her story ended, he asked something that had been gnawing on him for years. “Why did your letters to me stop?”
She threw back the rest of her glass, turning to look at the large window they faced. “I did something stupid and got thrown in jail for a short time before family could get me out. The sheriff was not a fan of me.”
Something about the way she tensed and refused to look at him made him wonder what happened to her while in jail. Nothing good. The thought of this sheriff laying a hand on her made his blood boil and he wondered if the man was still alive so he could kill him himself. Slowly and painfully.
Reaching a hand over, he gripped her free hand and entwined their fingers. There was nothing he could say or do to take away the pain no matter how much he wanted to. He changed the subject, hoping to bring her out of the solemnness that she was wallowing in. “How long until you head back?”
“Two weeks? A month? Depends on if we decide to go to France and meet some connections there.”
“That s’it?”
He could not disguise the sadness nor longing in his voice. Emerald eyes turned to meet his, mirroring his emotions. Slowly she sat up, setting her glass down before placing one hand on his shoulder and another on his cheek.
“I will not leave unannounced. I can promise you that.”
“Is it selfish for me to want all your time while you’re here?”
She smirked, dragging her thumb across his lower lip. “Something particular in mind to occupy our time?”
“I’m sure I can get creative.”
“Promises, promises, Captain Solomons.”
In a heated rush, his lips claimed hers. Whatever slow building fire that burned between them suddenly turned into an inferno and Alfie swore he felt like his blood was aflame. Unexpectedly  she moved to straddle him, hands tugging on the buttons on his shirt. His own hands fumbled between cupping her ass and undoing the buttons on her dress. He sipped on the sweet ambrosia that was her mouth, drowning in the taste of her tongue and the heat between her legs over his straining cock. It was heaven. It was torment. There was one thing he knew, he could not stop. Whatever self-control he had flew out the window once their lips touched. He was fully under her control and had no intentions of going anywhere else. In one last draw of strength, he pulled away to meet her lust filled eyes. They had been drinking and he did not want her to regret this come morning.
“Angel, you sure?”
Slowly, she blinked as if awakening from a fog. Then she pulled off his lap to stand before him. A piece of him died when she turned and started to walk away. Did she regret this? Had he pushed her too far? They were certainly different people and with everything she had shared tonight, perhaps this was not what she wanted.
His breath caught in this throat, hope and fear warring within him when she stopped at the bedroom door. Meeting his gaze, she reached back and undid the last few buttons on her dress. It slipped down to pool at her bare feet, leaving her standing there in a sheer shift that left nothing to the imagination. She looked like both the angel he called her and sin wrapped up in a body that begged to be worshipped and ravished until she could not move. His blonde, green-eyed siren regarded him, a smile growing on her lips as he stared.
“Coming, soldier?” Turning around she strolled into the darkness in her bedroom, the slip coming off and dropping onto the floor like a trail for him to follow.
He did not think he had ever scrambled off a couch so fast. His shirt fell onto her dress on the floor, symbolic of their owners just a few feet away.
The rest of the night was spent in a haze of lust, laughter and contentment. Neither brought up the new scars scattered along both of their bodies. Pleasure was the purpose of the night. Something they certainly succeeded at if how sore they both were come morning was any indicator.
 *****
-The next day-
 Alfie sat at his desk, massaging his sore hip. He had been forced to use his cane more than he cared for today but thinking of the prior night and the reason why…completely worth it.
A knocking on his door had him looking up. “Come in.”
One of his men came in, a fellow soldier from France and now a baker, when he was not needed as protection on the streets.
“John, good, good. C’mere.”
John shut the door behind him and took the indicated seat, the chair creaking slightly under the weight. John was a large man, muscular and thick with a bushy beard and watchful eyes. Although Alfie would never tell him out loud, John was one of the few he trusted most that worked for him and found him indispensable. But Alfie did not want to boost the man’s ego more than it was.
“I got a task for your lads.” Alfie rubbed his hand over his jaw and mouth for a moment before continuing, damn the consequences. “There’s someone I need your lads to keep an eye on for me. A Mrs. Sarah Bondurant. Don’t let ‘er know, yeah. Just report who she s’been meetin’ with and make sure no one harms her.”
“This the woman who came by yesterday?”
Alfie raised a single eyebrow.
John shrugged. “Ishmael been talkin’.”
“Fuckin’ hell, that ugly bastard. Yeah, yeah, it is. Think you can do it?”
“Course.”
“One last thing. See what you can find out about a Joseph Coventry.”
“The earl?” John asked, clearly surprised.
“Yeah, I gots me a bad feelin’ ‘bout him.”
“Yes, boss. I’ll stop by in two days. Should have somethin’ by then.”
“Good, good. Thanks, John.”
After John left, Alfie toyed with the gold star ring on his left hand, lost in thought. After hearing everything from Sarah and seeing some of her scars, it only increased his desire to protect her. She would certainly be livid with him if she knew he had men looking out for her. He both loved and hated that independent streak in her. For now though, he needed to focus on work. He had managed that morning to draw a promise to see her again tonight, and this time he planned to take her out proper…maybe go back to his place after? He smiled at the thought of her writhing beneath his sheets. Maybe they should just go straight to his house?
A loud bang sounded from outside his door drew his attention back to the present and a scowl formed on his face. No rest for the wicked.
“Oi! The fuck is goin’ on out there?!”
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pixiegrl · 4 years ago
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prompts! maybe “I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm, and I didn’t want to wake you.” with maybe malum? it feels like a malum prompt to me
Maggie! I love this so much! @tirednotflirting wrote about a malum wedding last week and it made me think of this! I hope you enjoy it! (also shout out to @pushkinalexander who read it and then yelled at me for never showing her the 5sos dogs lol)
As always, its on ao3 too (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958740)
Michael is peaceful when he sleeps. It’s nice getting to watch him like this, face relaxed as he nuzzles into his pillow. He looks young and soft, burrowing into the warmth that’s coming off of Calum. He reminds him of Moose like this, hair fluffy and soft, curled up with his head resting on Calum’s arm. Cal has lost the feeling in his arm about 20 minutes ago from where Michael has been laying on it, but he can’t bear to tell Michael to move.
Cal doesn’t want to wake Michael up. He looks so peaceful and this is probably the most sleep either of them have gotten in the last few weeks with the prep going on for Luke and Ashton’s wedding. They’ve been left in charge of all the last minute changes: the freak out Luke had when he realized his suit pants were too short, when Ashton had a meltdown over the flight for his mum, when Lauren and Harry got delayed and he thought it was going to ruin everything. There had been one moment when Luke had called Michael and Ashton had called Calum, the both of them freaking out about the wedding, the possibility that the other doesn’t love him as much, that this whole thing is just a long joke waiting for the punchline. They’d been talked down and reassured that they already have almost 10 years of love between them and the wedding is just an extension of their love. 
Helping them plan their wedding; ironing out the kinks, fixing the problems, had reminded Calum of how much he loves Michael. He’s loved Michael since he was a kid and he loves him even more now, as his boyfriend, getting to watch Michael doing things like scrunch his nose up in his sleep like Moose does or when he yells at his video games or whines when he’s been awake for too long. It’s sweet and wonderful and Calum wants to spend the rest of his life with Michael.
Michael peaks one eye open, looking up at Calum. Calum smiles down at him.
“Morning sweetheart.”
“What ‘ime is it?”
“Almost 8am.”
Michale groans, trying to burrow further back into the pillow. Moose perks up at the end of the bed, realizing that Michael’s awake and excitedly makes her way up the bed to lick Michael’s face. Michael half-heartedly tries to bat her away, giving up and scratching her head when she starts to lick him even harder, tail wagging.
“Why do we have to be up so early?”
“The wedding’s today. We gotta get up and eat something. God knows how long everything is gonna be and when we’ll actually get to eat dinner.”
Michael looks at Calum, wide-eyed and confused. “You mean I’m awake and there isn’t even food yet?”
“I would’ve had breakfast ready, but you were sleeping on my arm, and I didn’t want to wake you.”
Michael whines, flopping onto his back and covering his eyes. Moose gives up her licking, snuggling down into the open space between Michael and Calum. Calum sits up, trying to shake feeling back into his arm.
“If you’re not up in 10 minutes I’m going to send Duke after you,” Calum says, getting up and scooping Duke up from where he’s been sitting at the end of the bed, head cocked to the side, watching them. Michael grumbles, waving his hand at Calum.
Calum sets Duke down once he’s made it to the kitchen, rummaging around to find something he can make that he knows Michael will like and will also stop him from getting hungry and cranky halfway through the ceremony. He sets about trying to make eggs and the tea that Michael’s taken to drink instead of coffee. He gives Michael 5 minutes before he sends Duke in to wake Michael up. He hears a shout from the bedroom and Michael stumbles into the kitchen mumbling that he’s up. Moose and Southy follow closely behind him, barking for breakfast. 
Michael comes up behind Cal, dropping his head down into Calum’s shoulder, and wrapping his arms around Cal’s waist.
“Do you think Luke and Ashton will let me out of the wedding if I tell them I don’t feel good?”
“I think Luke would have a meltdown in the middle of the room and Ashton would immediately hunt you down and drag you to the wedding if you made Luke cry.”
“Can’t I go back to sleep? It’s not even 9am. Why do I have to be up so early?”
“We have a whole day ahead of us. We have to run interference on the set-up. Besides, if you had gone to sleep at a reasonable time instead of playing games all night you wouldn’t be so tired.”
Michael huffs lightly, burying his face into Calum’s neck, and pressing a gentle kiss to Cal’s shoulder. Calum tries to turn his head slightly to press a kiss to the top of Michael’s head and is only vaguely succeeding. Calum can feel Michael smile anyway where his face is still pressed to Calum’s skin.
Standing like this, curled up in each other and making breakfast,  Calum is struck by how domestic it all feels. He’s been doing this with Michael for years ever since the guys moved from London to LA and bought separate places, but it strikes him in that moment how at home he feels doing this. Making breakfast for Michael while he whines about being up so early, getting ready to go see Luke and Ashton. Calum has never felt more comfortable or at peace than he does right now.
“Hey, Mikey?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you ever thought about getting married?”
Michael lifts his head to look at Calum, “You mean as a concept or as in ‘do I think about us getting married’?” Because my answer depends on the question,”
Calum frowns. Surely, Michael and he are on the same page. They’ve been together since they were fifteen and realized that “just friends” don’t have thoughts about kissing their friends and holding their hand (although 5sos may be unique. Luke’s been holding all of their hands since long before he and Ashton started doing it. He still does it, whining until someone grabs his hand and squeezes it). Calum’s thought about marrying Michael vaguely over the years, but they’d all been too busy between tours and albums to really talk about it. Now, they’re on a break between WWJ and releasing CALM. It’s the perfect time for them to sit down and talk about their future. Calum wants to get married. Wants to be able to wear a ring and show everyone that Michael is his and he is Michael’s. Get to gush about him in interviews and on stage. Get to kiss him in public. Calum thought Michael wanted that too, but now he’s unsure.
“You’re doing it again Cal.”
“Doing what?”
“Overthinking it. You’re doing that thing you do where you take my words and over analyze them until you’ve created the idea of what you think they are instead of just asking me. So, ask me the question properly this time.”
Calum takes a deep breath, “Have you, Michael Clifford, thought about marriage or marrying me?”
Michael smiles softly, “Of course I have, darling. As a concept, I think marriage is silly and the whole point of it is to have an excuse to throw a party and spend money and you shouldn’t need something big and flashy to tell your family and friends how much you love another person,” Calum’s heart sinks, “But marrying you? I’d do it tomorrow if you’d let me. I want to get up there and tell everyone how much you mean to me. That I want to spend the rest of my life with you, making you smile. I want you to get me up far too early in the morning and drink your too strong tea. I want to keep making music with you and writing songs about you and getting to stand on stage every night and tell everyone how much I love you. I want to have a wedding that’ll be better than Luke and Ashton’s because they don’t get to be cuter than us, we’ve been together longer. I want to get up there in front of everyone we know and tell them I want to spend everyday with you because you’re like another half of my soul and I can’t live without you. So yes, Calum Hood, I have thought about marrying you and I would love to do that.”
Calum turns back to the stove, blushing slightly. Michael always seems to know exactly what Calum’s thinking, what he’s feeling. It really does feel like they’re half of each other's souls. Calum is never alone if he’s got Michael there, telling him what sounds best in a song or what they should eat for dinner or what movie they should watch. He’s always had Michael, will always have Michael, but the idea of getting to publicly say it, to tell everyone how he feels, is overwhelming and comforting. 
“Have you thought about marrying me?” Michael asks.
Calum pauses, “Every day since the first time we kissed I’ve thought about marrying you and what it would be like. I want to get up there and give a cheesy speech about how you mean the world to me, so that our moms will cry. I want to tell the whole world every night on stage about how you’re the love of my life. I want to listen to you play your games and yell at Luke when he makes you lose and get to wake up next to you all the time. I can’t imagine it would change our lives that much, but I want to do it. I want to get married.”
“Did you just propose to me?” 
“Haven’t asked the question yet. I don’t even have a ring.” That’s a lie. Calum has had a ring since Ashton asked him to go ring shopping for Luke. It’s hidden inside one of the cases for Calum’s bass, where he knows Michael won’t go poking around. He even has a vague idea of how he wants to propose. He’s just waiting for their anniversary to roll around.
Michael hums lightly into Calum’s shoulder. “How long do you think we have to wait after the wedding to get engaged so Luke won’t say we did it on purpose to take away the spotlight?”
“Well, if I tell you it won’t be a surprise, now will it?” Calum says, smiling when Michael whines in response. “Besides I have to come up with something romantic to do. You said you didn’t want Luke and Ashton to be cuter than us. Now come on, the food’s ready and we have to start getting dressed.”
Calum manages to get Michael to eat something, to feed the dogs, and get them out the door with enough time to get to the wedding. It manages to go off without any issues and it isn’t until later, while Michael and Calum are sitting watching the first dance, that Michael leans over and says, “You know, if we have the dogs be the ring bearers we’d already win for cuter wedding.”
Calum huffs out a laugh and kisses Michael softly. “Only if you let Moose be the flower girl.”
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thesunnyshow · 4 years ago
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Name: reya
Writing Blog URL(s): @chu-ni
Age: 19
Nationality: african-british
Languages: english, swahili, korean
Star Sign: libra
MBTI: enfp/entp (it always changes lol)
Favorite color: purple!
Favorite food: i really love chicken burgers
Favorite movie: princess and the frog
Favorite ice cream flavor: vanilla!!
Favorite animal: elephants
Go-to karaoke song: fancy - twice
Coffee or tea? What are you ordering? caramel frappe with whipped cream, in general i prefer tea though
Dream job (whether you have a job or not)? secretary general at the UN….or an author
If you could have one superpower, what would you choose? making anyone agree with me and do what i want them to do
If you could visit a historical era, which would you choose? ancient egypt!!
If you could restart your life, knowing what you do now, would you?.....no.
Would you rather fight 100 chicken-sized horses or one horse-sized chicken? neither if i could lmfao but i’d go for 100 chicken sized horses
If you were a trope in a teen high school movie, what would you have been? the nerd who’s actually really pretty after she gets a cool makeover 
Do you believe in aliens/supernatural creatures? im not sure about aliens, but i definitely believe in ghosts and spirits.
What are some small things that make your day better? when i can have moments to myself to enjoy my own company. or when someone asks me what i want to eat and they bring it for me 🥺
Fun fact about yourself that not everyone would know? uhm…...probably the fact that i write fanfiction lol..but outside of that! i sing in the shower. and i talk to myself a lot.
What fandom(s) do you write for? nct dream currently, but in the future i want to expand to other groups!
When did you post your first piece? 17th of June 2018.
Do you write fluff/angst/crack/general/smut, combo, etc? Why? i can never write just one genre. predominantly i write fluff with a dash of angst for spice simply because i love a story that has an issue and then having that issue be resolved for a happy ending. when i started my blog i was 17, and so i said i wouldn't write smut. now that i'm older im feeling more and more comfortable writing suggestive content at the very LEAST.. so maybe in the future i might write smut, who knows? i like writing fluff because i like making people feel good, but i like adding angst to it because i feel like the contrast between the two is very *chefs kiss* to me.
Do you write OCs, X Readers, Ships...etc? i only write x readers!
Why did you decide to write for Tumblr? i first got tumblr when i was 13 years old and i was a fresh kpop fan lmfao. i wanted somewhere that shared my interests. of course i discovered x reader fics on here and i was in awe, i guess of how much power writers had in contributing to fandom content and keeping readers satiated. i’d always loved to write and so i’d always wanted to start my own writing blog, and for 2 years i did write for other blogs! it wasnt until 2018 that i finally took the leap and decided to start my own, because i wanted to impact people's emotions and take them on a journey through my writing.
What inspires you to write? what inspires me….teen movies, music!! music is a big one for me, and also the books that i read. i also grew up playing otome games so the plots and writing from those influence my writing a lot.
What genres/AUs do you enjoy writing the most? i really enjoy writing royalty!aus as well as exes!aus. i love to do them cause they require me to build a world and with royalty aus specifically i love weaving together bits of political intrigue, or arranged marriages, etc. its so much fun!!
What do you hope your readers take away from your work? that if this world is too rough or too much, you can always escape from it. it might not be physical, but immersing yourself in a universe that's entirely different for a little while can help soothe you.
What do you do when you hit a rough spot creatively? usually i try and take breaks. the problem with that is that my breaks can go on for longer than i’d like and im trying to fix that. so my other solution is to read read read!! read as much as i can, or go back to books that i loved. ask myself what i liked about the writing, what are some parts that i thought were amazing examples of good writing - i note them down then see if i can apply that to my own work. another thing i do is take a break from writing my longer, fleshed out works and write blurbs! blurbs are a great way for me to write but not feel like its tedious because i don't have to spend as much time on them and it gets me into the groove of writing without feeling stressed out.
What is your favorite work and why? Your most successful? my favourite piece of work is miscommunication. it took me months to write that, even after i lost all the work halfway through, and its the longest piece of work i have written so far, so its kinda like my baby. my most successful is candy jar. its also the work i owe my blog exposure to - it was the first piece i published, and it was also the first piece of writing i did in around 4 years.
Who is your favorite person to write about? i don't have much out for them, but i really enjoy exploring mark’s and jeno’s characters. they're people, but in my work i enjoy analysing them and judging how they’d act in different contexts.
Do you think there’s a difference between writing fanfiction vs. completely original prose? the only difference for me is that fanfiction (depending on the fandom) has some of the stuff fleshed out for you already, such as the world its in. if youre the type to write AUs then the only thing you already have is the characters - the planning, the writing, the drafting, and everything else is still the writer's responsibility. therefore there isn't much of a difference between the two for me.
What do you think makes a good story?  a good story, to me, is one that takes me on a journey. it could be any genre, but i like to feel immersed and connected to the characters and the world in it. also aside from the obvious, like good grammar, a good story feels natural to read. i don't feel like skim reading half of it.
What is your writing process like? my writing process consists of me getting inspiration - usually from a song, or a film or a book ive read or a game ive played - i note down my idea and who i want the story to be about, and then bullet point the whole story, with some snippets of particular dialogue i want the reader or the other person to say at certain scenes. i then open another document ( i have a writing app on my phone, called werdsmith, so i use that!) and set a word count goal i want to hit so i can track my progress and start writing the fic, with fleshed out language and exposition. when im done (usually after a couple weeks up to a few months, depends on the length of the plan) i read through it to fix any mistakes, then i transfer it to docs so i can read it again and italicise any areas i feel need it.
Would you ever repurpose a fic into a completely original story? i...don't think so. mainly because the original fiction i read and would like to write for myself is predominantly fantasy, whereas the fanfic i write on my blog is usually non-idol, normal fics. 
What tropes do you love, and what tropes can’t you stand? im a SUCKER for enemies to lovers, royalty ofc, “and they were roommates”, and i think superhero aus are really cool but there isnt enough of them :( idol/you as member aus....not feeling her… also abo/werewolf/vampire aus….not feelin em
How much would you say audience feedback/engagement means to you? a LOT. a HUGE amount!! i said before how i like giving my readers somewhere where they can immerse themselves as an escape, even for a short while. hearing about how my work affected them, made them feel, makes me feel less insecure about what im writing and thus more confident to publish it.
What has been one of the biggest factors of your success (of any size)? i’d say reblogs. and also putting out more content. when i first uploaded candy jar i went to my one of my favourite writers (jaeminlore) and asked her if she'd be okay with reading it and giving feedback. to my surprise she loved it and her reblogging it to all her followers is literally what gave me a bunch of followers all of a sudden who loved what i’d written. to keep that momentum i created more and more content, and while i haven't uploaded as often as i've wanted to or written as much as i’d wanted to, i can say i have a good amount of work on my masterlist for people who are looking for more to read.
Do you think fanfic writers get unfairly judged? 100%. fanfic has an unfair reputation for just having bad writing and cringey fics (and i feel like this is because of the way society views the demographics who predominantly consume and create it), when in reality i feel like those who write fanfiction are extremely talented and selfless people. they're on the internet creating content for free for people to enjoy and like any other work of art they're putting time and effort into it. i think it should be respected. any form of art is going to have its good and bad sides.
Do you think art can be a medium for change? hmmm….yes. i feel it can be a way to reflect the thoughts of people and also be a way to inspire people to do more.
Do you ever feel there are times when you’re writing for others, rather than yourself? sometimes. sometimes i feel like i'm forcing myself to write because i feel like if i don't then people will forget about me or they’ll forget about my blog. while what i choose to write about is for me, i feel like the speed of my writing and what im writing isn't to the quality i want it to be cause i feel like i gotta get it out for people to read.
Do you ever feel like people have misunderstood you or your writing at times? i've never felt that way!
Do your offline friends/loved ones know you write for Tumblr? only 2 of my friends know, and i only told them like. a week ago!
What is one thing you wish you could tell your followers? i wish you guys would message me more! i'm quite a sociable person, and i’d love to have regular anons who talk to me 👉🏽👈🏽
Do you have any advice for aspiring writers who might be too scared to put themselves out there? i think one common thing amongst all writers is that we write what we want to read. so don't feel like nobody's gonna read your work, cause somebody will. you gotta act like your work is top tier even if someone says it isn't - always write the best you can, and just do it! like don't even give yourself time to overthink it, write that fic, make it look pretty, upload it onto tumblr and do not be afraid to ask your favourite fic writers to read your work once its up!! i’d be happy to read and give feedback for any fic writers as well so don't feel afraid! 
Are there any times when you regret joining Tumblr? ive been on here for 7 years….i grew up on this site lmfao. but i don't think i regret joining tumblr once.
Do you have any mutuals who have been particularly formative/supportive in your Tumblr journey? shes not very active anymore and i miss her very much but user hyuck-s was so supportive and i love her!!
Pick a quote to end your interview with:
she believed she could, so she did.
BONUS ROUND: K-POP CONFIDENTIAL 
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until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years ago
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Into the Hush: Chapter One
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Into the Hush Masterlist
Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones
Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.
(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)
Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.
If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!
A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!
---
 Wyoming, 1872
The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again. 
You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter. 
All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree. 
You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.
And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores. 
Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun. 
A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now. 
You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover. 
You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary. 
Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone. 
He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields. 
You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below. 
You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness. 
So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly. 
He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to. 
Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.
You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.
You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase. 
And there’s  certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you. 
“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.” 
Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others. 
“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way. 
“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path. 
“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms. 
You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess. 
You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground. 
Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.
You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads. 
Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet. 
You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon. 
You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.
You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness. 
Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest. 
Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight. 
You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.” 
She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.
“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.” 
“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.
You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.
It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine. 
Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth. 
“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.
“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it. 
“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body. 
There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.
Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.
Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you. 
“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers. 
“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble. 
His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent. 
Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.  
“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.” 
You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging. 
“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce. 
Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--
When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.
He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed. 
And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.
Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match. 
And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.” 
“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.
Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”
And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it. 
“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills. 
You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.  
“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him. 
“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes. 
“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!” 
You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long. 
“I don’t--” You try to protest. 
“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.” 
“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle. 
“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off. 
Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water. 
But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes. 
You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox. 
You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.” 
“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t. 
Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it? 
And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.
You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts. 
“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin. 
Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning. 
And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.” 
Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.
You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.” 
His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.
So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips. 
Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon. 
---
Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited. 
Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders. 
“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel. 
You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?” 
She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug. 
 “Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress. 
You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two. 
“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun. 
“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.
She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her. 
With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did. 
“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes. 
“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.
You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful. 
She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow. 
And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back. 
------------------
Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home. 
And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.
You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders. 
You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right. 
“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house. 
“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him. 
He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.” 
“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.” 
You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild. 
Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.
“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.” 
You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”
“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.” 
There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house. 
Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.
And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it. 
Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?” 
You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping. 
“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. 
“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.” 
You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.
He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps. 
And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together. 
You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.” 
Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses. 
And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.
---
You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity. 
Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in. 
Eventually, you sleep. 
And you dream. 
You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground. 
A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s. 
The ground trembles. 
Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone. 
Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t. 
Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--
Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.
You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.
And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.
When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart. 
“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--
You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.
You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you. 
When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying. 
And there is no breeze, you think. 
And Bucky’s lips are at your neck. 
And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--
It’s all wrong. 
He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground. 
But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him. 
Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice. 
He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--
You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.
You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling. 
When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--
There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there. 
You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--  
You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. 
But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No. 
But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all. 
You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.
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