#the best books are the ones with creaky spines that you find at your local library

[pieridae-art]

Now for something I read that I adored: The God of Endings by Jacqueline Holland!

I almost cried at the end when Colette was talking with Dave about Leo. I love the twisted story of Katherine and the entire Hardman family and how unreliable everyone was. Vano and Anais somehow ended up some of my favorites which I think is because of how Anna told us about them through her bias of them. Anais felt raw and open in her vulnerability while Vano felt so much like someone only meant to be interacted with in hindsight. And the open ending? I’ll never stop thinking about it! Did she make the right decision? How will she ever know?

Beautiful prose, fantastically written characters, intricate themes of parenthood and loss told through unconventional means. I loved Colette and her story and I miss them already.

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

i.changkyun / reader

genre: yandere!changkyun, librarian!reader (sex worker!changkyun)

warning(s)!!!: clubbing, mentions of sex/sex work, obsessive behavior, stalking, ‘love at first sight’ but messed up, masturbation (male), implied violence/murder, manipulation, changkyun plays the nice guy role but isn’t, changkyun is also pretty messed up (oops), y/n is oblivious to an astounding degree, implied drugging, chains/collars, confinement, kidnapping

w.count: 12.3k

Series | One-shot | Two-shot | Drabble [Rated: M] 

synopsis: im changkyun is a prime sex worker at a local club.  nothing gets his pride swelling more than any poser off the street willing to come into his club and pin bills between the elastic of his fishnets and skin. what he finds more exhilarating than any show, pole climb or heated one-night stand, however; is the one sober woman sitting among her group of wasted friends in a velvet, vip booth. he’ll do anything to know everything about her; putting on a friendly smile was only the first step. 

a/n: you can blame DAZED for this mess (hi, just in case you need a reminder, this is purely fiction and not at all who changkyun rly is as a person. nothing about this is okay in irl) 

This was nothing new.  This was just the way his life always played out.  An exhilarating erotic number on a stage with a pole, fishnets and teasing personality followed by the highest bidder to continue his line of work in a more secluded section of the club. 

Fantasia Dyed may have been a newer club against its competitors that have been around for years, but the workers and staff inside raised the bar previously set.  While clubs can be shady to begin with, what with the use of alcohol at every turn, murmurs of drugs, and agreements to met up for a quick money job- Fantasia Dyed had a reputation of the best line of sex workers you could get your dirty hands on. If you had the money, that was. 

Im Changkyun was the front man of that line up. Wanted by men, women and anyone in between- if you had the cash he demanded for his services, he was yours for the night.  He had no qualm so long as you paid and used the protection he required to keep your own STIs to your damn self.  He really wasn’t picky, and he never stopped to ask himself as to why.  

So, this- crawling out of some random woman’s creaky, box spring bed and pulling on the clothes he had lost earlier- was nothing new.  He looked over his shoulder as he ran his black painted fingers through his blond hair.  

The woman was passed out, a fuzzy, brown blanket covering her body as Changkyun turned away from her.  Throwing his shirt back on, flinging his jacket over his shoulders and thrusting his arms through the sleeves, he shimmied on his black skinnies and boots.  Grabbing his abandoned black, clutch bag from the stranger's couch he unclasped it to look at the envelope of bills he had received just hours earlier from his ‘client’.  

Throwing himself on the couch, he crossed his legs and counted the bills, smirking when he was adamant he was paid in full- with even a small service tip he assumed- to cover over his asking price for the night.  Satisfied, he got up and left that small apartment he had stumbled into. 

It was only when he entered his own home- the top floor penthouse of some wealthy building- did he wonder just for the briefest of moments if he was truly satisfied. 

-x-x-x-

“Y/n, if you don't come with me to Fantasia like you promised you would 2 years ago when it opened now that I finally have the money and the chance for my birthday, you’re being grounded.” 

You, who was busy replacing books that you had been wheeling around on your return cart back on the shelf, had the lovely company of your best friend sitting behind you at a library table as you worked.  She’d been going on and on about her birthday plans and while you were happy she was excited about them, she was adamant on adding you to the attendee list.  

Maybe it was cliche, but the oh-so-thrilling life you lived as a librarian of your local public library painted a rather ‘stay at home’ picture of you; and that is exactly how you wanted it.  The whole reason you took this job opportunity was because the head librarian noticed you come in every other Wednesday for a new list of to-reads to rent and offered a position after she got to know you a bit better.  

Had you had the choice, you’d stay cooped up in your house with a good book, a nice warm drink, a rainy day and peace and quiet for the rest of your life. But, of course, that was a fantasy.  Your social life was barely breathing, with Halie-the insistent best friend behind you- being the center of your social solar system.  

You were a prime recluse, you didn’t even keep in touch with your parents as often as you should since they were so utterly upset you were throwing so much ‘potential’ away when you decided to be a librarian instead of going into some out of this world career field. 

You had Halie and Halie had connections with just about everyone ever.  She was easy to adapt to personalities and was generally kind to anyone she meets unless they’re rude first.  She was a prime example of a modern ‘dream girl’ that people had.  Though, she was still your friend no matter who she is with anyone else.  

Was that naive of you? 

“Y/n, I’m telling you, you’ve gotta cooooome,” she whined.  Sitting backward in her chair, leaning back and pulling on the back of the chair. You sighed, pushing a spine of a book into its rightful you had just mapped out.  “Please,” she begged in a pathetically, high pitched voice. 

“If I go, will you stop whining?” You asked with your back still towards her, but you could practically see the smile on her face with the small, over-dramatic gasp she let out.  You almost immediately regretted your choice, and wished you could take it back. You knew Halie wouldn’t let it happen though.  You’ve spoken and now her selective hearing will kick on and she wouldn’t hear you even if you changed your mind.  

“So, you’re going?!” She screeched as you turned around and shushed her.  She was in a library. With a few more accepting statements from you solidifying your attendance to her birthday, she left happily as you finished stocking your shelves in dread before sitting behind your check-out counter with the same dread- only 10x stronger. 

You watched the time tick by on the computer screen at work, the watch around your wrist on the way home, the hanging clock on your living room wall and the alarm you set on your phone for 9 pm when you were set to get ready.  Time passed far too fast for your liking- you couldn’t even squeeze in a nap to help the nerves. 

Before you knew it, you were walking out of your home, locking the door behind you with the only acceptable club outfit you could think of as you made your way to Fantasia Dyed, texting Halie that you were dreadfully on the way. 

-x-x-x-

“Hey, Kyun! Take ten, dude!” Changkyun, who had just stepped down off of the high perched stage covered in sweat ruffled his blond hair that clung to his forehead in strands.  He nodded as he grabbed his bottle of water, slouching in a nearby domed-stool.  

One of his ankle high, black platform boots propped up on the stool’s ring with the other on the ground.  The white tank top he had personally cut off to end at his rib cage and expose his stomach drenched in spots of sweat.  Black skinnies clinging to his toned legs and his fishnets showing loud and proud through the open knees of his jeans and wrapping around the perfection of his waist.  Having left his faux fur coat in the employee lounge for the night.  

His dark eyes scanned the floor level he was currently occupying the best he could from his seat at the juice bar- for the lameizoids who wanted something non-alcoholic at his club.  He glanced at the wristwatch strapped onto the inside of his wrist and checked the time.  It was only just past 10 as he smirked.  

The night was still young.  

From not too far off in a different area than he was, he heard a small commotion starting to murmur.  From the looks of what he could see over his sips of water and his bangs hanging in his eyes as he flipped them annoyingly out of his way over and over, it may have been someone’s birthday.  Guest after guest going into the same area with the same woman in stockings and a cocktail dress hugging and greeting them.  

A VIP birthday reservation; that did ring a small bell somewhere in the overbooked mind of the club worker.  Perhaps it would pay off if he did some of his work within their sights.  Birthday crowds almost always paid off in terms of after work lip service and bonus pay.  

Stepping his foot off the lower ring of the stool he had been comfortably sitting on, he stood as he set his bottle on the juice bar. The tender at the particular unpopular drink selection area took it and tucked it away under the bar where Changkyun always asked him to put it so no one tried to get creative with it.  

Walking around the venue area, he strutted by the lower ground VIP booth surrounded by thick, velvet ropes.  Whoever this birthday diva was, she sure went all out to keep her and her group uninterrupted.  A lower level 10 person booth, a table full of booze and a secure perimeter to keep outsiders rightfully out of her hair.  Just from the set up, she must’ve been some spoiled princess.

However, what really caught his gaze was one particular woman.  A woman dressed in a tank top, a cheap looking fake leather jacket and dark jeans.  Perhaps not ideal for Fantasia’s club etiquette and whatever she was sipping on in her clear glass certainly didn’t seem like any alcoholic beverage to his trained eye.  His pierced brow ticked up as he walked fully by and the table of rambunctious party-goers left his sight around the wall.  

“Must be a prude,” he murmured but somehow, he almost felt guilty when the words left his mouth.  He couldn’t fathom at all why. It stalled him physically as he stopped in his tracks for just a moment before strutting further away from the booth to scope out a good area to work his magic.  

The moment midnight hit Changkyun was being flagged over by the absolutely smashed table he had passed earlier that night.  The VIP birthday booth had confidently called him over.  As he moseyed his way over, with a few of his coworkers already there to entertain the group, he was greeted by some drunken man hanging off his shoulder. 

Among the group of drunk or passed out party goers, there was the same woman from earlier who still seemed completely sober.  Changkyun raised his eyebrow as he shook the man on his shoulder off as he stumbled around and clung to the next nearest bod. He walked over to your side and sat himself down beside you on the velvet booth.  

Crossing his legs, he watched you flinch when he plopped himself down, his elbows rising to rest on the back of the booth, his hand hovering close to your face.  He sure made himself comfortable. He had to admit though, as you sipped on yet another refill of something nonalcoholic, you were pretty easy going on the eyes. 

“You sure don’t seem like you’re having any fun, lady,” he chided as he lifted one arm off the back of the booth to push his hair back out of his eyes for only the millionth time that evening.  He heard you nervously chuckle beside him and something about the sound of it stirred pleasantly in his chest. 

“Well, this isn’t exactly my scene,” you told him.  Your voice was soft like Christmas bells, but it erupted in his ears, making the background of sounds and voices and bass all drown out.  He was solely focused on your lips and the sound they produced when you spoke he couldn’t hear anything else.  

“Not your scene, but here you sit in mine,” he teased as he smirked at you.  You tapped the side of your glass that had become a slipping hazard from it’s condensation. Changkyun looked at the friends around you who seemed to be having the time of their young lives.  “You’re friends seem to be enjoying themselves.” 

“Well, they go out a lot. I really don’t like these kinds of places,” you told him before you looked at him with a slightly apologetic smile.  “No offense.”  

“Club scenes aren’t for everyone, I understand that. If you hate it so much, why did you come here?” He asked as you sighed, dipping your chin.  He felt a small spark of panic rise in his throat as he saw you suddenly even more forlorn than you have been.  Did he put that look on your face by asking your dumb questions? 

He mentally halted himself, once again wondering why it affected him so much what you did and did not like or how you acted.  

“It’s my best friend’s birthday so she pretty much begged me to come with her tonight,” you lifted your head and looked over to where she was, downing yet another shot.  You’d have to remember to book a cab for her to go home- if she doesn’t go home with the staff member she keeps clinging to.  “I probably won’t stay much longer since she pretty much forgot I’m even here,” you pouted.  

Changkyun’s eyes swelled at the precious pout to your lips as you whined about being forgotten because you were sober and weren’t partying like an animal.  What was wrong with him? 

“Do you like coffee?” He suddenly blurted out.  He couldn’t stop the words from forcing their way out of his mouth before his brain could functionally filter them or even stop them.  He gulped when you turned to look at him in the eyes for the first time that night.  Maybe it was the neon lights in the club or maybe it was the dim atmosphere that made them so enticing to gaze into, but he was locked in your gaze- unable to break away from you.  His jaw nearly dropped open as he explored the color of them surrounded by the club's aura.  

“Coffee?” You asked in clarification. He just clamped his teeth together before nodding once. “Well, I’m not the biggest coffee fan in the world, but I like teas’ and I can handle a frappe if I’m in the mood for it.” 

“I get off at three,” he told you as he desperately tried to keep eye contact. “If you find the stomach to hang around another three hours, we can get some?” He pitched as his voice that was normally always confident- as it should be for his line of grade-a work- shook just slightly with the booming club bass. 

Your eyes shifted when he put the offer out there, and he started to internally panic.  Would you say no? Would you politely decline him and try and carry on like he never said a word? Or would you turn him down and leave?  Then, it hit him.  You were in a club; a club popular for sex work and Changkyun happened to lead that gaggle of workers. It’s pretty damn obvious you were assuming he had some ulterior motive. For once, he didn’t. 

He dropped his elbow from the back of the booth as he turned towards you slightly, scooting forward to the edge of the booth seat.  

“I don’t mean to hook up or anything,” he clarified, “I just want to get to you know, so I wanted to get coffee at an ungodly hour.” The hands he waved around to try and help convince you quickly settled onto his jean torn, and fishnet covered lap.  “If you want to.” 

You sat and considered his offer.  It was Saturday, and the library was closed on Sundays so you could technically afford to be out later than you typically would.  And a late night chat with someone other than your wasted party of friends did sound tempting.  He seemed kind enough, even with his get up and the flashes of a performance you had glimpsed earlier with him on the lifted stage and poles.  You should never judge a book by it’s cover, just because he seemed like someone who slept around all the time, didn’t mean he was a bad guy, right?  

You smiled at him and his breath left him in one fell swoop.  It was like your smile materialized into a pro-boxer and just gut punched him. And he loved it.  

“A three am frappe sounds great,” you told him.  He smiled back wider than he knew he could. He thanked you before he excused himself to go back to work.  However, before he went back to the floor, he practically sprinted into the single employee bathroom and locked himself inside. 

He slammed his back against the door as his knees wobbled and he grew weaker. His breath was staggered as his chest heaved in unsteady shudders.  His fingertips shook and he had shivers running up his back from the memory of your eyes and that smile.  He started chuckling to himself in the empty bathroom as he felt his cheeks flush.  

God he felt so euphoric in the moment, it was practically erotic.  Whatever was wrong with him, he started questioning if it was really wrong if it made him feel so good. 

-x-x-x-

It was ten till three in the morning when Changkyun did one last check to make sure you hadn’t left yet.  Almost your whole party was passed out, had gone home by cab or with someone else at this point.  The club was nearly ready to shut down for the night as they started to chase people out. You saw him peek around into the VIP booth area as you smiled and waved to him reassuringly.  That same tightness coiled in his chest as he rushed to the employee locker room. 

A fellow pole dancer who was peeling off his skintight, laced finger-less gloves perked an eyebrow up at the rushing blond.  He hadn’t seen the worker so eager to get out of there before. 

“Some kind of big surprise waiting for you outside those doors or something, hot stuff?” He asked. Changkyun shook his head, too busy searching for his clutch behind his fur coat so he could meet up with you.  Yanking on the furry sleeves that felt almost too warm all of a sudden, he snatched the no longer hidden clutch from his locker shelf and slammed it shut.  

“Something better,” he breathed in promise to himself more than his coworker as he jogged out, his long coat bouncing off the back of his knees.  He came out of the room, seeing you standing and in the company of a different worker who was still relatively new to Fantasia Dyed. A rookie at best and his eyes hardened as the man spoke to you. 

Leaning far too close to you, breathing too close to you and smiling far too seductively at you. He was clearly looking for a bed to crash in, but Changkyun hated it.  Loathed it even as he felt his lips pull back in a grimace mimicking a defensive mutt.  He stomped towards you and inserted himself between the nuisance and yourself. 

Pushing his palms against the worker’s chest, he harshly shoved him backwards and took a few steps back himself towards you.  He felt like he was on fire, feeling you standing directly behind him.  He thought he could feel your warmth radiating onto his back like sun rays and it almost made him sweat.  He felt torn between feeling ecstatic that you were so close to him or completely pissed off at the man who stood shell shocked after being pushed away.  

“She’s taken already,” Changkyun growled.  He shocked even himself with his tone, something coiling further and beating in his chest so violently he swore he felt his chest jerk forward with each beat of his heart. 

The coworker raised his hands. “Chill out, man. ‘Didn’t know she was yours.” Something ignited the coil in Changkyun’s chest and sent sparks in his mind at the man's words. His? Yes… that sounds exactly right. 

It sounded blissfully perfect as the man walked off and the blond turned around to see you and properly escort you out of Fantasia Dyed. He watched your back as you left in front of him- ladies first- and he let a grin crawl across his face.  Unaware of how his eyes looked as they burned into the silhouette of your body.  

His. 

Changkyun led you out of the club, but neither of you expected it to be raining at three o’clock in the morning.  You gasped as you instinctively brought your hands up above your head. You were wearing makeup and if it got wet, it was all over.  Changkyun was quick to rip the coat from his shoulders and sling it around you.  It had no hood, but he placed the collar of it above your head as you grabbed the edges of it to pull it around your body.  

He nearly gasped when his finger brushed your hand, handing off his coat before he was pulling his keys from his clutch and pushing buttons to unlock his car that was parked just around the corner on the side of the building.  He reached around your shoulder and started directing you in the rain.  

It was only when he sat you in his car, nice and dry, when he ran to get into the drivers sid, slam the door shut, start the car and crank the heat to get rid of the wet shivers you had due to the rain, did he realize he had just touched you again.  Although his coat was under his arm, so were you as you ran through the rain.  He had to contain yet another delightful shiver. 

You shimmied the coat off your head to around your shoulders before you pulled it out from behind you and placed it on your lap as you pulled the seatbelt across your chest.  You looked at Changkyun who was already looking at you, but flinched and started fidgeting with his wheel and knobs for the radio in his car to distract himself. 

“I didn’t realize there was rain in the forecast this morning. I wouldn’ve have brought an umbrella.” You briefly blessed the idea that Changkyun asked you out because you had taken the bus and walked the rest of the trip to Fantasia, so getting home would have been a long walk considering the buses don’t run at three freakin’ am. 

Changkyun cleared his throat, whipping his blond, wet bangs out of his face and onto the top of his head, clearing his forehead as he shifted out of park. 

“So,” he started, “where do you want to go?” You tossed ideas around in your head and it was so early, hardly any place would be open except the occasional fast food place or gas station.  Offering him the choice between an open, probably dead lobby for some fast food or grabbing a drink and hanging in the car in the rain, he was driving off to the closest food location.  

As nice as it sounded being secluded in a car with coffee and the sound of rain, he wouldn't be able to look you in the eyes as you spoke as well. 

Changkyun took you to the place he would often stop for some after work food before going home or meeting up with someone. Because he knew the manager so well (and because the manager was always in store by three to start preparing for the staff to come in at six) Changkyun was allowed an early entrance. 

Even though you offered to get your own drink, Changkyun wasn’t allowing you to pay for anything since it was him who asked you out. Besides, it wasn’t exactly expensive to buy some caffeinated drinks- especially since he got a special discount too. The manager who always got him his food or drinks ready at this hour was shocked to see him with company this time around. 

Time seemed to become truly nonexistent to Changkyun as soon as the both of you sat down at a back corner table- away from anyone's eyes from outside as to not cause the manager grief if someone should come demanding entrance because Changkyun was inside. You both talked about anything and everything he could think to ask you to get to know you better.  

He learned that you were a librarian and that you didn’t go to school- forgetting about any further education after high school because you weren’t sure what you really wanted to do with your life. He found out bits and pieces about your family situations- gathering that you weren’t close and that you had no siblings to speak of. Your friends were small in number and that you weren’t really close to anyone aside from Halie- the proffered birthday girl at the club. 

He mentally thanked Halie for begging you to come to the club, considering if you hadn’t Changkyun would have never laid eyes on you. 

In turn, he shared what he could in return for your stories.  He had been working in the sex world for a few years now, quickly and unfortunately getting roped into it after a nasty breakup when he had just turned 21. When he realized just how desirable he could be, he started working out and eating better to keep his physique so business kept rolling in for him.  He was actually scouted by the assistant manager of Fantasia Dyed to work there- but it was the pay and benefits that really dragged him in.  He didn’t dislike his career, so he had no reason to say no anyways.  

At least with Fantasia Dyed, he had benefits to get himself into the doctor if one of his clients ever lied and gave him some gross sex disease- then of course he’d sue them into the ground for not following his work guidelines. He told you about why he pierced his eyebrow and even the stories behind the tattoos on his back. 

Oddly enough, despite your absolute opposite backgrounds, you both spoke and got alone brilliantly.  It was a balance of lifestyles and Changkyun basked in everything you had to say.  You didn’t shun him or sneer at his life as a sex worker and maybe it was the lack of disgust and prejudiced that really flipped something in his head.  

You did not judge him. You did not hate him. You laughed at whatever joke he pitched.  You blushed at whatever lame pick up line he slid into conversation. You groaned playfully at his equally playful flirting. You were making him fall and he did- hook, line and heavy sinker.  

He was absolutely, unbelievably head over heels for you and he felt like he was on fire. 

You both talked and talked until you had noticed that the sky started to change color and the rain had stopped. The sun was rising and you were suddenly overly aware of how exhausted you really were.  Changkyun saw you stifle a yawn and although it felt like his heartstrings were going to tear in his chest, he was quick to get up and offer you a ride home as the manager started to truly open the lobby for business as nearly all morning staff were present.  

As you sat in the car with him, directing him on what roads to take to get to your home, he found himself memorizing every turn. When you told him to keep it slow and then pointed out your small little apartment duplex, he looked at every crevice his eyes could see from the car window.  The neighborhood was somewhere small, but there was a small park just across the block so he expected it to be fairly busy during the day. 

As he bid you farewell, and watched you get safely inside before driving away, he struggled to contain his breath.  When he rolled into the apartment parking lot and up to his penthouse, he was quick to lock his door and lift his coat to his face.  

It smelt different than usual.  It had your shampoo’s scent embedded into its fake fur. It had the smell of your perfume and the smell of you inside of it.  He fell asleep that morning until afternoon with his coat curled around him instead of a blanket.  That feeling of euphoria chasing him until he finally fell asleep- only to have a set of specific dreams involving you in one of his reserved back rooms at Fantasia Dyed. 

-x-x-x-

Over the course of the next week, Changkyun did his damnedest to keep his eyes on you at all times he possibly could.  He’d wake up in the afternoon and find a way to enter the library you worked at and slip into a corner behind a bookshelf with a book to disguise his obvious staring of you.  When you’d leave the desk to replace books, he’d move to avoid your eyes, when you’d help a guest with their books to check out, he’d growl when it was a man that you smiled at.  When you got off work, he’d trial behind you just enough to stay unnoticed. He’d watch you get home every afternoon and one night he even put a small camera on one of the fake branches of your fake bush you hand sitting in a pot on your porch.  

He’d sit in his car or in his penthouse and watch the feed on his phone if it buzzed with a notification of movement.  If you were leaving, he’d jump into action to try and find out where you were going if it was an unusual time.  He’d watch you go to the store to shop or into some food place for something to eat. 

He’s even seen you meet up with Halie a few times and each time he did, he hated that wench more and more.  That obviously spoiled princess wasn’t good enough to be around you, acting like a typical romance villain and obvious snake.  You were smart, so he was curious as to why you trusted her so much. She was clearly brainwashing you and keeping you around as a tool. 

Changkyun had a mental list of enemies and people he hated, and she was ranked number one among that list- along with all the men he saw speak or flirt with you.  He wanted to get them away from you, throw them out of the picture and clean your mind of their filth. 

During his work hours, and after even, he’d still get randoms to get into bed with him- but his mind would be filled with everything about you.  The person underneath him would disappear and your face and body and voice would take hold in his brain like some sort of spell.  He’d fuck into man or woman with such fervor he’d be getting calls from his manager that he was requested for service back to back.  

He hit euphoria and erotic highs with you just in his mind, he nearly came undone when he thought how it would feel actually fucking you.  He’d go home from work, from another sex session and he’d lay on his bed, on his couch, sit at his table or collapse in his doorway and wear himself thin with his hand at the thought of your touch instead of his or someone else.  

He sat on the cold floor of his front door entrance, his leather, skintight pants unzipped and cock slipped through the hole in his boxers.  His hand squeezed his length as his fingers rubbed and pinched and squeezed around the head and slit. It was so dry as his hand slid up and down painfully on his shaft.  His hips bucked to meet his hands motions and his legs twitched in their perched, spread position.  His stomach was tight as his opposite hand came to pinch and twist his nipples- his shirt discarded as he slid down the door upon his entry earlier. 

It was so dry- it was hardly enjoyable- but it was painfully erotic. He couldn’t stop and the precum leaking from his cockhead wasn’t nearly enough for his hand to not pull on the delicate skin making him hiss.  Taking his lip between his teeth and breathing so heavily he stuttered, he watched his hand abuse his cock. 

The hand that played with his nipples shot down to hold his wrist as he finished himself off, cumming with the sound of your name spilling from his lips in lewd, breathless moans.  He lay on the floor, slouched and exhausted as cum stuck, drying to his chest and pants. 

He was so utterly, disgustingly, blissfully obsessed with you and he felt like he was losing his mind. His mind was filled to the brim with you, you, you.  He spent every waking hour he could preparing.  Yes, he had to make sure that everything would be perfect for when you’d finally come to him.  

You deserved nothing short of perfection- and Changkyun would fuck anyone, get paid anything and obtain whatever it was you desired to make sure you got exactly that.  However, it would take time- much to his dismay. 

He knew he had to get ready before he could possibly have you.  He started cleaning out a room he used as storage in his penthouse and got to work.  

It was ten days after your three am date that Changkyun decided to play innocent and ‘bump’ into you at work one day.  He was impatient and couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you again, to hear your voice directed at him again and not at someone else.  

He entered the library confidently that day, dressed in blue jeans, low heeled boots and a tee that was stretched just a bit at the collar.  His hair unstyled and glasses on his nose with his clutch under his arm.  He didn’t want to go over the top in style, so he tried to match your neutral style of dress.  

He took a moment to look at you before he took a breath and walked up to the desk, placing a fake smile of shock on his face when you looked up to see him.  He nearly fell to his knees when he saw your eyes shine and your mouth split into a smile and wave at him.  If he could, he would’ve ran the rest of the way to the desk instead of walked.  

When he walked at the desk, he leaned and laid his arms in front of one another on the desktop, bending and crossing his ankles together and grinned at you.  

“Well, fancy meeting you here, madam librarian,” he greeted, acting as if he hadn’t been here daily for the past week just to see you work.  

“It’s been a little bit, it’s good to see you Changkyun,” you said and he felt himself shift sinfully.  “I’d ask you why you’re here, but it’s a library, so,” you chuckled at yourself.  Oh, how he missed the sound of that laugh.  “Did you come looking for something specific?” You asked as he jut his lip out in thought.  

“Not necessarily. I just felt like cracking open a book, and what better place to start looking? It's a pleasant surprise you work at this library. It’s close to where I live.” That was true, there were two other libraries in town and this one was the closest to him. You hummed at him. “Could you recommend something to me?” He grew giddy when you smiled widely and stood from your desk chair and started to walk around the desk, motioning for him to follow you. 

As you asked him what he liked and disliked, leading him down the isles and scanning book after book, keeping small conversation he wished he could push you against a bookshelf and have his wicked way with you. He knew better, however; you needed to be taken care of in a specific set of ways and against a bookshelf wasn’t it- tempting as it may be. 

“Here,” you told him as you spun around and placed a book in his hands.  As he took it, he quirked a small, teasing smile as he looked at you as if you were playing a joke on him. 

“Twilight? Really, Y/n?” In his hand sat the book that sprung up the cheesy, cliche and overall, not so great movies he watched with one of his old friends for gags one night in his teens- completely drunk he may add.  

“Hey, don’t judge a book by it’s cover- or it’s movies. It’s better than you think.” You shoved the book closer to his chest. “Just give it a chance, please?” When you ask so adorably with your lip jutted out just enough for him to fantasize leaning down to bite into it with his teeth, he had no choice but to comply.  He’d read this book cover to cover, backwards even had you asked.  He’d do whatever you wished. 

He spent the afternoon halfway reading at a table near the desk and halfway watching you work until your shift concluded.  When you were packing up, he scrambled to get his clutch and mark the page he had to reread over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate and rushed up and over to your side.  

“Are you finished for the day?” He asked although he already knew the answer.  You nodded as he touched your arm, grabbing gently around your elbow.  “Do you want to go on a date with me?” He asked as he saw your cheeks grew in the most vibrant color of rose. 

“I, uh,” you cleared your throat and rubbed the back of your neck with your free arm. “I’m not dressed for a date though,” you pouted. Changkyun licked his lips, desperate not to let you get away from him just yet.  

“Then, tomorrow,” he pitched, “when you’re free tomorrow we can go out.” Tomorrow was Wednesday, and he knew that you always left work early on Wednesdays.  He watched you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as you licked your lips before rolling them over your teeth and then opening your mouth. 

“I can do tomorrow,” you muttered, face fully flushed with redness flooding into the tips of your ears.  He released your arm with a giant smile.  He flicked his bangs out of his face as he felt his glasses slip just a bit further down his nose.  He reached into his clutch as he dug out his phone and handed it to you with the new contact screen up. 

“Let’s swap numbers then, and we can work out everything through the phone.” You didn’t hesitate to place your number into his phone before sending yourself a text with ‘it’s changkyun’ attached to the message.  You promptly added him in your contacts as well.  Offering you a ride home, which you took, he dropped you off and when he walked into his penthouse that afternoon he pumped his fist into the air.  As well as stared at the palm in which held your arm earlier, gazing at it as if he had just touched the blessed body of a holy messiah. 

As he sat in his living room on the couch, he felt himself harden in his sweats he wore before changing into his work attire. He had actually called in to take the night off since he had to be well rested for his date tomorrow. This hand had touched you, touched your skin.  He was sure it would feel magnificent on his cock too.  

-x-x-x- 

Tomorrow didn’t come fast enough and Changkyun was bounding out of bed at the ass crack of dawn to figure out what he was going to wear.  How would he style his hair? Would he fill all his ear piercings or change the stud in his eyebrow to a spike? Which shoes would he wear: sneakers, heeled boots, sandals? He couldn’t waste another second in bed, he had far too much to plan for the day to worry about sleeping any more. 

He dove for his phone the moment he heard the specific notification he set for you. He talked to you a bit and you both decided on a time to meet up.  Meeting up at noon for lunch and then he’d take you to a movie and then he’d walk around with you window shopping, talking about the movie you both saw and then he’d take you for dinner.  That’s what he wanted to happen.  

He showed up at the meeting place half an hour early.  Wearing a black, white spotted button up tucked into a pair of black jeans with a thin, white belt around his waist, he adjusted the buttons at the cuffs of his sleeves.  A simple, thin silver chain to show off his neck as his shirt was unbuttoned just enough to show off his collar bones.  The heels of his shoes clacked just enough on pavement or tile to let people know he was coming.  

“Changkyun!” He heard from behind him.  He raised himself off the bench had had been sitting cross-legged on, staring at his phone and debating on texting you.  He quickly spotted you waving to him from among the crowd of people on the hunt for lunch before their work break ends. 

His mouth nearly dropped when he saw you.  Running up to him with the cutest, apparel on. 

A summer dress of pale pink with small white dots that wrapped around your chest and fell loosely at the skirt to hit your thighs.  The sleeves off shoulder and sheer all the way down your arm until it wrapped around your wrist in sheere frills.  Black, thin straps to keep it all up. A pair of white sandals that wrapped around your foot and ankle with the smallest heel to keep you from twisting your ankle.  Hair done in two little buns on either side of your head, but still kept some down with a black, stretchy choker around your neck. 

The pink, circular satchel at your waist that hooked over your shoulder probably contained your phone, wallet and the pink gloss that covered your lips as you came to stop in front of him.  You were like a flower as he gazed at you.  You quickly lifted your wrist to check the thin watch you wore, making sure you weren’t late.  You weren’t. 

“I hope you weren’t waiting here too long for me,” you giggled and he felt his heart try to burst from his chest. He shook off his stupor the best he could in front of you before he smiled and quickly denied it.  

“I haven’t been here long,” he assured. You made a small jest about the both of you wearing something with small polka dots on it and he felt like he was going to fall to his knees at your noticing his attire and complimenting it.  You were far too precious. 

Throughout the day, he found out that you weren’t only exceptionally kind, but you were probably the biggest pushover he’s ever met.  You’d follow after him like a little lost duckling and whatever he recommended doing, wherever he wanted to go, you were quick to agree and comply.  With your ease of compliance, he was able to mentally go through the check list of plans he had set with little to no difficulty.  

It was miraculous how easily you obeyed him. 

Changkyun made note of everything your eyes lingered on, everything your fingers brushed, everything you expressed just the slightest interest in- he would remember.  Changkyun wanted to spoil you, wanted to give you everything you desired- everything you deserved. You were an angel walking, cursed upon the earth and nothing anyone could say would change his mind about it. 

The entire time you were out with Changkyun that day, you were smiling at him as he hung onto every one of your words.  Every interest, every detail, every idea or opinion you had- he grabbed it and held it deep inside his chest. 

It was coming close to around ten that night when he was finally getting around to dropping you back home, as he could see the exhaustion in your eyes and the slowness in your steps. He had half a mind to just drive you back to his home, but he couldn’t- not yet. 

He walked you to your door as he bid you a final goodnight and as you unlocked your door and pushed it open just a crack, you turned back to him and smiled.  He froze when he felt your fingers on his cheek before you stood to your toes and kissed his cheek.  You rushed inside before he could say anything and before you could regret it. 

The blond sat dazed and only managed to drive a block away before he pulled into a parking lot of a closed, daytime store.  His cheeks were flushed, his skin burned and his breath was staggered.  He could still feel the feeling of your lips on his cheek and that shiver of delight attacked his spine and spread until he was finishing himself off in the front seat of his car- the sound of your name on his lips over and over again as his fingers brushed his cheek trying to feel the essence of you in his skin. 

-x-x-x-

Changkyun had the privilege of taking you out on two more dates over the course of the last two weeks (along with his library trips to visit you) and it was today, when he once again frequented the library- where he noticed you weren’t in your usual high spirits.  He pulled you aside on your break and into a back corner library table as he made you spill your guts on what could be plaguing your mind.  

It took all of his will power to not scream when you told him you had been being harassed by some library guest who always comes in.  He always wants the same book renewed over and over and he always tried to pry your number out of you.  Even after clearly telling him no and explaining to you that you were traveling among the silver lining of a relationship with Changkyun- he was persistent.  It came to the point you were looking over your shoulder and even jogging to and from work. 

“So, he’s stalking you?” Changkyun clarified, as you nodded weakly.  He grit his teeth, his jaw tightening.  Didn’t other people know that his woman was off limits, especially when it came to following you around? He kept you under his watchful eye, but these men were after something far worse and in his sick, demented mind- they were the offender and they were a disease.  

Changkyun reached across the table and gently held your hand, trying to convey that he knew that you were scared and that he’d do anything to keep you safe.  He could see the tears glisten around your eyes and a taboo sense of arousal shot in his stomach at seeing your so utterly weak and vulnerable.  

He spent the remainder of the time with you on your break as he consoled and shushed you as he promised that he’d stay until you got off and when you did, he’d take you home.  You were quick to agree.  

That afternoon you rushed to Changkyun’s side and were discreet to point out the man who was hanging outside the library entrance with his nose in his phone.  According to you, that was the perpetrator and source of your fear.  You clung to Changkyun as he gently wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you to his chest, walking out with you. 

When he dropped you off and kissed the top of your head as he sent you inside, the gentle eyes he had been gazing at you with disappeared as you shut the door and he heard it harshly lock.  

Turning around and stuffing his hands inside the pockets of his jeans, he waltzed back towards his car, but never got into it.  His dark shirt allowed him to dip below the hood of his car as he started walking around in the shadows the street lights created.  He stood behind a post as he watched the figure move from the side of the building to the front porch where he crouched below the windows.  

You had pulled the curtains and shut the blinds just as he had reminded you to as he was quick to walk up behind the stalker and hook his arm under the man’s chin.  The gasp that was pulled from the man was cut off as Changkyun’s arm tightened around his neck and he started to quickly drag the man backward and away from your doorstep. 

The blond shoved the man into the backseat of his car, slamming the door as he quickly rushed to get into the driver's seat.  Not bothering with his seatbelt, he started the car with tangible rage and started off.  

“What the fuck, man!” The man from his backseat scowled as Changkyun only reached into his center console and pulled out a small, black handheld device, pressing the button on the side of it as it zapped.  A stungun.  The man in the back hissed as he instinctively shut up. 

Changkyun’s aggressive driving made the man in the backseat fall back and forth along the seats before he finally gripped the passenger chair to steady himself.  Changkyun drove and drove until he was well outside of city limits before he stopped and parked his car. He peered up into the rear-view mirror, seeing the man behind him look around anxiously.  

“Get out,” the blond ordered as he stepped out of his car.  The man didn’t move, too shocked to process his words and was then yanked out by his shirt clad shoulder when he didn’t listen quick enough for Changkyun’s liking. The club worker threw the man on the ground as he rolled to his back just quick enough for Changkyun to stand over him.  His feet on either side of his hips, a glimmer in his eyes that was menacing to witness- even in the darkness of night. 

The man on the ground shuddered as he weakly tried to crawl backward on his elbows.  His heels kicked and dug into the ground, threatening to pull his shoe off, as he tried to get away from the look in the blond’s eyes.  

Changkyun’s foot came to the center of the man’s chest as he stomped, pushing him flat onto the ground.  He knelt, coming closer to him as he gripped the collar of his shirt.  Changkyun eyed him around- he certainly wasn’t a looker that's for damn sure.  

“You really thought you had a chance?” He asked lowly, almost in a growl.  “I’ll offer you a bit of last moment advice for perhaps your next life,” he got closer to the man’s ear, before telling him something.  “Stay away from things that don’t belong to you,” he seethed.  

Over the course of the next few days, Changkyun was delighted to see you smiling again when you told him that the man who had been stalking you seemed to finally leave you alone. 

He made sure that a week later when he saw missing person posters out in the streets, your eyes stayed off of them.

-x-x-x-

After a month of dates, library visits, phone calls and good morning and good night texts, Changkyun was finally- finally- able to call you his girlfriend. He was currently out with you at some cafe where you wanted to stop and get something to drink and he decided to walk in and sit down with you for a while. 

You were on your phone, tapping away before placing it down and repeating.  You were obviously talking with someone on the other end of your text thread, which already ground his gears, but the twisted brow on your face made him more curious than not. Someone was upsetting you and he already knew how to deal with someone who upset you. 

“Hey,” he called, gaining your attention. You looked at him, placing your phone back down.  “Who’re you talking to, Sweetness?” 

“Oh, just to Halie,” you told him. The name of your ‘best friend’ making his skin itch.  That fake fraud of a friend couldn’t even leave you alone while you were out with him? The audacity of the woman made him jittery. His knee began to bounce as he pressed further. 

“Are you two fighting? You look annoyed.” 

You sighed, solidifying that she was indeed bothering you. “She’s mad that I’m out on a date,” you grumbled.  Changkyun cocked his head. 

“Excuse me?” His resentment slipped out just a small fraction as he wanted to know immediately what this witch was putting into your precious little head.  “She’s mad at you for what?” 

You groaned again, placing your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm, you huffed.  “I think she’s just upset that I have a boyfriend before she does since she knows more people.” The tone in your voice made your annoyance apparent to Changkyun who had spent the last month of his life learning every little quirk in your day to day life- including your vocal tone. “She’s got a whole list of friends and while I have just enough to count on one hand, she's mad about my relationship.” 

Changkyun watched you toil the situation around in your head, trying to justify her words and actions, but he couldn’t let you do that.  This was a prime opportunity.  The perfect time to finally get that wench out of the picture and away from you. 

He reached across the table where he sat in front of you, careful not to knock into your drink. 

“Darling,” he cooed, gaining your teary, stress filled eyes, “maybe you shouldn’t be talking to her.” He watched your brow quirk and turn inwards at his suggestion.  He readjusted his grip on your hand, holding it tightly. “If she’s so angry about something like us, then maybe you should go on a little break at least.” 

“But-”

“I know she’s your friend,” he fought back before you could try and save Halie’s snake skin, “but every time you talk about her with me, it’s all things that stress you out or things she’s done that make you uncomfortable.”  He vividly remembers the club night of her birthday.  “Pressuring you into clubbing, then not paying attention to you at all even though you weren’t enjoying yourself.  Never talking to you unless she needs something or someone to bother.  Now, she’s angry because you’re happy with me? She’s just using you, Sweetheart.” 

“I know she seems bad, but-” 

“Y/n,” he breathed in a small, soft scolding tone.  “You can’t keep defending her and giving her what she wants. She has to learn, one way or the other.”  He watched your lips turn into a pout as he ran his thumb over your knuckles and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.  “I just want the best for you, you know that.” 

He bit back a victorious smirk when you told him that you’d take his suggestion and advice to heart and think about it.  A little more nudging and you’d drop Halie like a hat. He just had to wait until she brought something else up again that put a target on her back.  

It didn’t take but three days for that to occur.  

You were home, off on a Sunday, just sitting in your home, on the phone with Changkyun while he just woke up from resting since he had work at Fantasia Dyed that evening.  He had some private show booked up so he couldn’t afford to flake out either.  He needed the cash for his personal project he always teased, and this coming party was sure to deliver.  

You both were chatting happily until you were cut shut but someone pounding on your door.  You told Changkyun to hold on a moment as you set your phone down on the arm of your couch and went to the door.  Changkyun on the other hand went and immediately opened the camera footage of your front door he had from that camera in your bush.  

He growled and jumped out of bed when he saw the back of Halie in the frame.  Her arms were crossed and her leg was bouncing as she slouched.  When you opened the door, her crossed arms flared out and she was clearly shouting at you from the hiking of her shoulders and the fact that he could hear her obnoxious voice through the call line. 

He jumped out of bed.  Nothing but sweats on as he threw on a jacket, leaving his chest naked before he was out of his penthouse, racing down the stairs and in his car on the way to your home.  He kept the call live- as much as he didn’t want to hear her voice- so he could hear the venom she spat at you as he worked her way inside. Stomping around and screaming like the bitch she was.  

When he showed up to your home and jumped out of the car, he finally hung the call up as he stormed inside, knowing the door was unlocked from Halie’s tempertatrum.  When he came in, he saw you against the wall with your ‘best friend’ not a foot away from you still screaming at you like you were deaf. 

He worked his way over before he was grabbing Halie’s shoulder, shoving her away and placing himself in front of you, walking back into your space until he felt your hands push on his shoulders.  He glared at the party animal blonde in front of him.  

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He seethed as she seemed taken aback by his language towards her- a lady. 

“Excuse me?” She spat. 

“I suggest you leave, or else I’ll make you leave.”

“You can’t make me do anything. This isn’t your home either. I’m just talking to, Y/n.” Changkyun stepped away from you, turning the woman around by her shoulders and started pushing her.  

“Yeah? And you’re done now. Get out.” He told her, shoving her out the doorway once he worked her through the front room.  Before she could fight back, he got close to her ear and told her one more thing before shutting the door in her face and locking.  “Stay away, or I’ll make you.” The look in his eyes, the crazed dangerous gleam, made his threat very, very real. 

When he turned back around, he saw you on the ground, curled up as you cried.  He rushed to your side, rubbing your back and trying to get you to lift your head to look at him.  He cooed when he saw your swollen eyes and fat tears rolling down your cheeks.  

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here,” he shushed as you just wordlessly nodded with choked hiccups and sputters.  You were seriously an ugly crier, but what could you do? Your best friend broke your heart.  

Changkyun shifted to hold you to his bare, jacket clad chest as you cried and he shushed you.  

“Don’t worry. You don’t need anyone else. I’ll always be here.” He promised.  

-x-x-x-

All it took was one more month, and everything was finally falling into place for Changkyun. Halie had officially left your side, with one or two more scraps between him and her before she finally called it quits.  And with the queen bee of your circle gone, the rest quickly fell apart and you were left with no one but Changkyun- as you should be.  

He was in his extra bedroom, setting up his project more when his phone rang. He jumped to it, knowing it was you calling after you got done with your shift at the library. He had told you to call him when you had the chance, since he wanted you to come somewhere tonight. 

“Hello, darling,” he purred into the phone, hearing you slightly chuckle on the other line.  “Did work go well? No annoyances?” He asked and he knew that you’d tell him about the computers or the receipt machine or the squeaky wheel on the return cart; but you never knew that he really meant to know if you were being bothered by any other man again.  “Well, if your evening is cleared up, why not swing on by Fantasia tonight?” 

He heard you pause on the other side of the phone call as he was walking out of the room, shutting the door softly behind him. It was almost perfect.  

“I’m not sure,” you drawled.  

“I’m working the floor tonight, bar-tending for staff out sick. You can sit at the bar with me.” Your hesitation was loud and clear for him as he continued.  “I’d really appreciate the company, but if you’d rather not-” he quickly heard you try and reconcile and save the conversation but agreeing to his proposal.  You were a sucker for guilt trips. “Really?” He asked in faux concern as he grinned, throwing himself back across the length of his couch. 

“Yeah. I’ll come, just promise that you’ll stay at the bar.” 

“I’ll do my best. If I have to leave, just hide in the bathroom until I’m back,” ‘so that you won’t be in contact with anyone other than me’, he added silently in his head. You agreed and he said a quick goodbye before he hung up the call.  He sat up and peered down his hall, picturing the door of his extra room.  Soon, you’d be with him always. 

It was an hour after his shift started and he had just served yet another waiting patron when he felt his phone buzz in the back pocket of his pants.  He wore a mesh shirt at the bar that showed off his torso. His tattoo in the middle of his back was on display when he turned around. His eyebrow piercing was a black ring this evening and he wore silver hoops in his earlobes. His knee high, buckle punk boots lifting him three inches higher into the air. 

‘I’m here, where do I go?’ Your text read with a nervous emoji beside it.  He told you the location of the mini side stage bar and soon your head popped out from among the mass of alcohol driver party goers.  As you got to the bar and slid into a stool in front of him, he leaned on the counter and whistled at you. 

“Well, look who dressed up for me tonight?” He asked, a purr in his voice as your cheeks flushed.  He recognized this get up, it was a piece he picked out for you one night. It wasn’t something he thought you’d ever wear out, since you were rather reserved, but he thought you deserved it anyway. 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but even a simple, black cocktail dress with lace running up the sides of it and looping around your neck and back looked good when placed on someone as breathtaking as yourself to Changkyun’s eyes. He could faintly hear you clicking your heels together underneath you as they were hooked on the metal foot ring of the stool. The bracelet and earrings were a nice touch. 

“I thought it was appropriate since you bought it for me,” you muttered, unable to look at him in the eyes.  He chuckled since it wasn’t hard to guess why. His entire chest was on display to see with only lines of fabric separating his entire torso from being nude.  He halfway wished he had gotten his nipples pierced when he was on the fence about it months ago just to see how you’d react to that.

He stood back up and turned his back and he could feel your eyes scan the tattoo that rested between his shoulders. Large and taking up a good portion of real estate on his skin. He smirked as he felt you stare, a shiver wracking up his spine just as it always did with you.  When he turned around, he offered you a glass of water he had so neatly prepared for you. 

“I know you don’t drink, sweetheart,” he told you as you graciously thanked him for the drink.  Throughout the course of his shift, he was tending to people left and right.  His charisma between patrons and ways of addressing person to person just by acknowledging how they seemed to looked amazed you.  

You could never hope to be the people person he is. He was bold enough to get on stage, strip and get behind closed doors for his way of life.  He was fearless in your eyes and you admired him for it.  He had told you that he would stop sleeping around for money since he was in a relationship with you now, but you just told him it was alright.  

You trusted him, and although the idea of him sleeping around did grind under your skin like ice and salt, you knew that was his job. He worked in this industry- the sex industry- so that was the end of it.  He had started to dwindle down in client numbers though, never wanting to have the sex he was getting paid for last too long. 

The clock struck midnight and Changkyun turned back to you the moment he had an opening to.  He leaned over the counter and towards you again, just so he could talk to you clearly over the loud bass and whistling from the stage work. 

“What do you say I make a drink for you?” He offered. You looked at your half empty glass of water he had refilled at least three times now.  “Just one, I promise. It’ll be on me too. I just want my girlfriend to taste some of my work since I don’t get to work the bar often.” 

“Well, when you say it like that,” you whined as he just chuckled and stood up, turning his back and started mixing.  It was three minutes later when he was sliding a cocktail glass gently towards you. Inside sat a liquid of pink that resembled the color of pink lemonade, but you knew whatever was inside that wasn’t lemonade. “Voilà,” he told you. “That’s something new I’m trying out. You get to be the first to try it.” 

His smile looked innocent enough to your eyes and as you started taking sips of it with a smile and a nod; however, you missed a sinister glint in his eyes.  You complimented him on it and found yourself sipping on the drink, making it last until well after one since you didn’t want to have him make another. It was half after when Changkyun noticed you starting to sway in your stool seat. 

He placed the towel he had in his hands on the bar before he rounded the bar to your side.  

“Darling, come with me. You look like you’re about to pass out,” he chuckled. You couldn’t get your mouth to move or your voice to work as your mind was just as fuzzy as your eyesight.  Were you really that much of a light weight? He took you back into one of his private rooms before he placed you on the bed. He sat beside you, brushing your hair from your face and running his fingers around your face, skin and shoulders down your arm.  “Sleep. I'll come get you later,” he told you softly- the totally opposite tone of the smirk on his face. 

You were in and out of it for the duration of Changkyun picking you up from the bed you vaguely remember placing you on.  He picked you up and took you out of the room. The bass of the club had stopped and you only heard him speaking briefly with coworkers before he loaded you into his car. 

It felt like he was taking you home as he removed you from the car again and heard the jingles of keys before a door was opened.  You only remembered being placed in a bed before you felt him kiss your forehead and you were out for good. 

You groaned as you were finally waking up. Your head hurt and you felt like your throat had sandpaper in it.  You coughed lightly as you reached your hand up to rub your throat, but something was around your neck. 

Feeling around, it felt like a collar or something. It was thick and leather, a small loop in the front of it. You also thought you felt tags near the loop that jangled.  Groaning and moving among the mattress you realized that it was pitch black in the room.  You were sure your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see a thing.  

Sitting up, you felt around your body.  Your cocktail dress wasn’t on you instead it felt like a nightgown was. Did you own nightgowns? IT feel off your shoulders to wrap around your chest and biceps with frills as it bunched around your thighs on the mattress. 

Your head pounded as you rubbed your eyes.  You moved to try and crawl from the bed when you felt something tug on your ankle. Feeling around, whatever was on your ankle was thick, cold and hard.  At first you thought it was some anklet, but then you felt something protrude from the cold metal. 

Pulling and tracing your fingers around it, you started to panic.  It felt like a chain. 

You got off the bed you were convinced wasn’t yours as you walked around like some cheap, budget-movie zombie in the dark room.  You found a dresser first. Feeling around, you felt the knobs of the four drawers and on top it had what felt like boxes. Reaching further, you found the dresser had a mirror attached to the back of it.  

Moving around in the opposite direction, you reached a closet door. Pull it open, you feel all sorts of soft fabric. Silks, satin, fur, cotton, linen- you felt all sorts of clothing. 

You looked around the dark room in panic before you trusted your voice.  

“Changkyun,” you called softly. You were going to call him again, but stopped short as you stepped on the cold chain that was around your foot. You screamed as you fell backward and before long, you heard someone padding up to the room and the door swung open. 

You scrambled back, covering your face with your arms as you soon felt the foot of the bed push against your back, keeping you from going back any further.  

“Sweetness, are you awake already?” Your arms that were up slowly lowered as you looked to the open doorway.  It was so bright outside of the dark room, you had to squint from the stark contrast.  Whoever was in the doorway sounded just like Changkyun, but- it couldn’t be. He walked closer to you. “Darling, can you talk?” His hand came to your throat, touching it with the pad of his fingers above the collar around your neck. “Are you thirsty? It has been half a day.” 

You were speechless as Changkyun stood up from in front of you before he walked out of the room. You moved to your knees and looked around. The dresser and closet you found were indeed what you thought.  

The bed was a canopy bed. A white frame with pink fabric hanging from it. The covers were red and white with a plethora of pillows at the head of the mattress.  There was a rack of four wood dowels by the bedroom door, and three of them a different kind of leash, and the fourth had a pair of handcuffs. 

The one window in the room was covered with black out curtains- you couldn’t tell if it was daytime or not outside right now.

Looking down now that you had the light from outside the room, you indeed did have a shackled ankle. You began to pull at it, the cold metal yanking around your skin- pinching and shafting it painfully. You hissed as your yanking was stopped by Changkyun shouting. 

“Don’t pull on that!” He cried, dropping to your side to pull your hands from your shackle. “I need to put felt and fur on it before you can move around in it safely. It’ll ruin your skin, but bear with it for now.” 

“Changkyun, what?” You squeaked.  He smiled, but it was twisted in some sort of menacing light. Maybe it was the light from behind him into the dark room that made him look sinister.  You felt yourself begin to tremble. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he told you, patting your head and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Changkyun will take care of everything. I told you to remember?” He caressed your hair, tracing his finger down your face and under your chin. He then moved to hook his finger through the hoop in your collar.  “I told you, you don’t need anyone else. I’m all that you need. You are the princess, and this is your tower.” He flicked at the tags on your collar, one labeled ‘Princess’ and the other engraved with his initials. 

He then reached to his side to the discarded glass of water he went to get for you earlier for your throat.  He gently gripped around your neck and used the back of his hand to tilt your chin up. 

The mixing of emotions in your eyes made him shiver and when you blinked out a small tear he gently moved to place his lips over it. The salty taste made him groan as he leaned back and kissed your nose to see your eyes glossy. He smiled at you as he brought the glass to your lips. 

“Drink up, Princess.” 

a/n: i’ve never ever written a yandere fic before in my life, and as my first try- i rly dont think i did all that bad LOL. Let me know what you think bc it’s very rare I post Monsta X fic content and I need to know if you guys are still into it ;n; (especially with Wonho’s debut days away and a fic for him in progress LOL) 

[niallsstainedcoffeecup]

The Muses

           The bus traveled across town, humming down the street.  Harry silently drew on a recently bought sketchbook. People filtered in and out of the rickety bus.  Men and women trudged down the aisle, passing the quiet man.  Harry once hid behind his long, chocolate brown curly locks, but during his winter break, he decided to chop off his curls.  Harry lifted his head, eyeing the nearing campus.  The heavy clouds hung above the town, mimicking Harry’s inner turmoil.  Harry’s passion was art.  Harry enjoyed the art courses, but he despised the whispers around him. Classmates created hurtful jabs toward Harry’s silence, mocking his shy exterior.  Harry survived until Christmas break.  Harry traveled home, coming back to life with his family.  Harry wasn’t always quiet, but in most social situations, Harry chose to sit and watch rather than partake in conversations. Harry slinked down the bus stairs, stepping foot on the harsh campus concrete.  Harry breathed in, prepping himself for the long day.  Harry shuffled across campus, keeping his eyes locked on his boots.  Harry opened the heavy glass door, shivering in the rush of cold air that met him.  The art building constantly felt like a tundra. Harry cursed, wishing he brought the sweater his mom bought him for Christmas.  Harry climbed the stairs toward his first class.  Harry chose a seat in the first row since most college students avoided the first two rows of desks.  Harry opened his worn leather satchel, tugging out his sketchbook. Students dragged themselves through the door, hissing at the bright fluorescent lights.  Harry chuckled, tracing another outline of a bluebird he saw on his windowsill this morning.  The professor strolled in, sipping a large cup of coffee.  He faced the board, huffing as he scribbled his name across the chalkboard.   “Good morning, my name is Dr. Reed.  I will not answer to anything but Dr. Reed. You are currently in painting 2301. If you are not supposed to be in this room, then I suggest you leave now.”  The man smirked as two young students ran out of the room.  Dr. Reed passed out the largest syllabus that Harry had ever seen.  Harry flipped through the pages, regretting his choice of professors.  “This class will focus on many artistic elements.  I found a student willing to model for certain pieces we will paint.  If you are not good at drawing people, then I suggest you start practicing.”  Harry gulped, glancing down at his bird. Harry focused on the abstract rather than drawing humans and detailed objects.  Harry’s sweaty palms gripped his pencil, wondering if it was too early to drop the class.  Professor Reed stopped at Harry’s desk, smiling evilly at the nervous student.   “The model should be here any minute.  I asked her to meet the class before we draw her. Some of you may know the model since she is a student on campus,” Professor Reed continued his spiel, waiting impatiently for the model.   A loud, abrupt knock on the wooden door jolted the entire class.  Dr. Reed grumbled, stomping toward the door.  The door swung open, revealing the most beautiful woman that Harry had ever seen. Her wide eyes shined like stars, her blushed cheeks were like soft rose petals, and her hair cascaded down in soft waves like a goddess.  Harry held his breath, watching the woman follow Dr. Reed toward the front of the classroom.  “I asked that you be here fifteen minutes earlier,” Dr. Reed complained.  She blushed, fidgeting with nerves and embarrassment, “I understand.  My car broke down, and I had to run across campus.  It will never happen again.”  Dr. Reed nodded, “Class, this is our model.”  “My name is Y/N.  I am a biology major.  I am excited to be the class model,” She stated, cracking the widest smile.   Harry grinned, admiring the inviting warmth that Y/N carried with her.  Her eyes landed on Harry, causing his eyes to widen like saucers.  Y/N giggled, watching Harry’s cheeks burn under her gaze. Harry would have assumed that she laughed at his shyness, but Harry knew that wasn’t the case.  Harry knew that Y/N was not the type to laugh at someone’s differences.  Dr. Reed allowed the class to end early.  Harry packed his sketchbook in his satchel, waiting until everyone left the room.  Harry stood up, stretching his sore muscles. Who built classroom chairs, and why did they use the hardest plastic?   “I liked your bird,” Y/N spoke up, scaring Harry.  Harry thought everyone left the room, but Y/N’s small figure proved Harry wrong.  Harry flipped around, smiling sheepishly.   “Thank you.  I’m Harry,” Harry held out a shaking hand.  Y/N grinned, shaking Harry’s sweaty hand, “I’m Y/N.  You already know that though.  I’m sorry if I seem like a creep.  I couldn’t help but notice the bird when I walked in the room.  You are talented.  I wish I could draw like that.”  Harry shrugged, “I’m sure you could.”  Y/N snorted, “I draw like a five-year-old.”  Harry chuckled, shifting awkwardly on his feet, “Well, I look forward to seeing you in class.”  Y/N smiled warmly, “Me too.  I’m glad that I made a friend.  I worried that people wouldn’t talk to me, but now I have you.”  Harry’s stomach flipped at her words, but Harry rolled his eyes at his eager heart.  Why would a beautiful girl find an awkward guy attractive?  Harry’s phone beeped with a reminder about his next class. Harry groaned, realizing his conversation with Y/N had to end.  “Well, I have class.  I’ll see you around.”  Y/N waved, “I’ll see you, Harry.” Harry waved, tripping over his large feet. Y/N covered her laugh with a cough, acting as if she hadn’t seen Harry nearly fall.  Harry blushed, leaving the room before he embarrassed himself even more. Harry’s heart fluttered at the thought of Y/N.  Perhaps Harry found his muse.  

           Three weeks passed without seeing Y/N.  Dr. Reed lectured about style and accurate supplies.  Dr. Reed started off easy, presenting the class with a bowl of fruit.  The weeks progressed, but still no model.  Harry’s daydreams included Y/N.  Her eyes imprinted on Harry’s mind.  Harry practiced drawing people around campus.  A tired, young student in line at the coffee shop.  An overweight, angry professor, yelling at a class.  A bright-eyed student, strumming her guitar at the quad. Harry’s portrayal of people became better with practice, but there was something off.  Harry ached to draw Y/N’s eyes; however, Harry felt strange drawing a woman’s eyes after meeting her only once.  Would that classify Harry as a creep?  Harry walked down the dingy hallway, avoiding the creaky floorboards. The stained metal door read Dr. Reed’s office, sending chills down Harry’s spine.  Harry breathed in, knocking quietly on Dr. Reed’s door.   “Come in,” The older man grumbled. Harry twisted the knob slowly, opening the door to hell.  Dr. Reed’s office contained multiple paintings to cover the boring beige walls, overflowing boxes of past student’s failings, and one silk, red chair.  Harry stood near the door, waiting for the perfect time to escape.  Dr. Reed faked a smile, pushing his lunch to the side.   “What can I do for you?” Harry cleared his throat, “Dr. Reed, I have practiced drawing people.  Could you look over my art?  I feel like something is missing.” Dr. Reed nodded, dropping the smile.  Harry passed his beloved sketchbook to the grumpy man.  Dr. Reed flipped through the pages, humming and sighing with disapproval.  Dr. Reed shut the book, eyeing Harry’s fidgety figure. “Harry, you are talented.  I have seen your other work, and you are right. Something is missing.  You lack the passion.  I see the passion in your abstract work, but when it comes to people, you only draw them for a grade.  I do not pass people who do not create art with passion.  Find someone or something that sparks that passion for you.” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, “Thank you.” Dr. Reed nodded, waving Harry out of his office.  Harry shut the door, wiping a tear that slipped down his cheek.  How could Dr. Reed accuse Harry of not having a passion for art?  All Harry wanted was to be the best artist he could be.  Was Harry meant to be an artist?  Was all of his art terrible?  Harry sighed, controlling his emotions.  Where would Harry find inspiration?

           Harry walked into a diner, cringing at the loud clang that sounded when he released the door.  Harry shuffled past elderly couples eating an early dinner.  Harry chose a barstool, eyeing the mint colored menu. Harry squinted his eyes, reading over the items.  Harry’s stomach growled once he read onion rings.  Harry decided a side of onion rings and a chocolate milkshake would settle his cravings for something greasy.  Harry pulled his satchel onto his lap, yanking his sketchbook out and onto the counter.  Harry grabbed his colored pencils, flipping to his favorite piece.  Yesterday,  Harry attended a local poetry reading.  Harry chose a messy red table, sitting alone in the crowded bookstore.  Harry enjoyed poetry, spending his summers reading poets like Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, and W.B. Yeats.  Harry scrolled through random apps, waiting until some brave soul took the stage.  His head shot up upon hearing Y/N’s honey-sweet voice.  She sat a few tables ahead with a group of girls.  She sipped on the mug, causing Harry to wonder what coffee she drank.  Did she order extra drizzles and sugar?  Maybe she only drank black coffee.  Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by her melodic giggle that forced Harry’s stomach to flip.  Harry cursed to himself, finding it ridiculous that he was crushing on this woman this badly.  Harry noticed her long locks were pinned up with a shiny blue clip.  Harry’s hands ached to draw out her beautiful features. Was it weird to draw someone that Harry found attractive?  No, he was simply people watching.  Y/N silently watched each performer, wiping away tears after one sorrowful poem.  Her friends tugged on her arms, begging her to read something.  Harry raised his eyebrows in amazement.  What couldn’t she do?  What poetry did she write?  Did it rhyme? Was it slam poetry?  Was it about heartbreak?  Harry raced home after the reading, focusing on his art.  Now, Harry waited for a waitress to take his order. Harry tapped his feet to the beat of an older song that happened to be popular during the fifties.  Harry switched between pastel pencils, filling in the details on her hair.  Instead of drawing Y/N’s normal complexion and hair, Harry decided to keep an abstract element with this portrait.  Harry’s mint green pencil pressed lightly onto the paper, digging deeper when the older woman popped up in front of Harry.  Her hot pink dress burned Harry’s eyes.  Her short gray hair spiked up in every direction.   “Good evening sugar, how may I help you?” The woman asked, voice scratchy from years of smoking.   Harry smiled, “Hello Josie, I’ll take one chocolate milkshake and a small order of onion rings.” Josie nodded, scribbling Harry’s order down on a pad.  Josie darted toward the kitchen, leaving Harry to fix his mistake.  Harry hummed along with the music, erasing the darker mark of pastel green.   “Y/N, how are you?” An older man spoke up, causing Harry’s heart rate to increase.   Harry spun around, catching sight of Y/N adorned in a similar hot pink dress that Josie wore.  Her wide smile lit up the room.  The elderly couple acted as if they had known Y/N forever.   “I’m doing well, Mike.  How were the grandkids?”  She asked, placing their order on the white table. The older woman next to Mike giggled, “They were amazing.  Little Mikey learned how to ride his bike.” “That’s great.  I still have not learned how to ride a bike,” Y/N laughed, crossing her arms. Mike chuckled, “That’s fine.  How is the boyfriend?” Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, “I don’t have time for a boyfriend.  Between school, this job, and my second job, no one is willing to date me.” Harry gasped, how could no one want to date her?  Harry dreamed of spoiling her with gifts that he bought with his art money.  Mike scoffed, looking over at his wife. "There are plenty of handsome men around you, waiting for their chance with you.  There's a handsome man behind you," The older lady pointed at Harry. Harry’s eyes widened the minute Y/N turned to find Harry watching the conversation.  Harry’s face burned red like a rose.  Y/N’s pale cheeks pinkened with embarrassment.  She assumed that Harry only caught the end of that conversation, which made her want to run and hide.  Y/N found Harry very attractive, but why would someone with his level of god-like looks want to date her?  Last night, she swallowed down the rising panic attack she nearly had when she saw Harry at the poetry reading.  She wrote a poem about finding a new love, and planned to read it that night but decided against it in case she fainted in front of Harry.  Now he sat in the diner she worked at, drawing a beautiful girl. She wondered if the girl happened to be his girlfriend. “Harry, hey, I’m sorry about Lucy and Mike. They constantly try to set me up,” Y/N rushed out. Harry smiled sheepishly, “It’s fine.  How are you?” Y/N smiled, “I’m well.  How are you?” Harry nodded, “I’m well.  The class has been rough.  When will you model for us?” She giggled, “I think I’m set to go in next week.  Why?  Do you miss me?” Harry’s blush darkened, as he choked out an awkward laugh.  Y/N cursed in her mind, noting Harry’s tense reaction.  Had she pushed it too far?  Of course, he wouldn’t miss her, he barely knew her.   “I better get back to work.  I love the art.  She is stunning,” Y/N grinned, racing toward the kitchen. Harry leaned forward, opening his mouth to speak, but sighed whenever she disappeared before his eyes.   “It’s you,” Harry mumbled. Harry groaned, covering his face with his hands.  Harry wondered when he became so pathetic.

           Harry carried the canvas across campus.  The large blank canvas attracted more attention than Harry desired. Students stared him down, searching for an answer as to why he had such a large canvas.  People on the bus ride over complained about the size.  Harry entered the classroom, choosing an easel closer to the stool where Y/N would pose.  Harry practiced drawing her face, covering page after page with different interpretations of her beauty.  Harry decided to use watercolors for his portrait since the delicate paint would fit her personality.  Students piled into the classroom, some running back to the bookstore to purchase a canvas.  Dr. Reed arrived five minutes early, discussing the recent news with a student. Harry’s heartbeat quickened, his palms gathered sweat, and his cheeks felt warm with the idea of seeing Y/N.  The clock ticked down until Harry heard an exasperated sigh fill the room.  Harry turned to find Y/N jogging through the door.  She apologized to a glaring Dr. Reed, avoiding eye contact with Harry.  Harry’s heart fluttered at her outfit choice. Her long hair sat neatly in a bun atop her head, a baby blue short sleeve dress covered her fit figure, and a pair of eggshell white flats sat on her feet.  Dr. Reed positioned her on the stool, advising her not to move.  Y/N nodded, taking one last deep breath.  She glanced at Harry, smiling at him.  Harry grinned back, but not without somehow tangling his teeth and lips together.  Y/N giggled, blushing whenever Dr. Reed yelled at her laughter.  Y/N winced, but her smile never fell from her face. Everyone began drawing the beautiful model.  Harry focused on every detail, taking his time with the portrait.  Harry barely finished whenever Dr. Reed dismissed everyone. Harry packed his supplies in his satchel, ignoring the students that awed over his work.   “Harry, hey, how did I do?” Y/N’s nervous voice broke out against the rest. Harry spun around, nearly knocking over his easel.  Y/N squealed, helping Harry catch the easel.  Harry blushed while Y/N chuckled lightly. “You did very well.  You are one beautiful model,” Harry stuttered out. Y/N blushed, “Thank you.  Can I see what you painted?” Harry froze up.  What if she recognized the resemblance between this portrait and the one at the diner?  Would she call him a freak?  Would she even know it was her?  Harry couldn’t say no the beautiful girl batting her eyelashes at him.   “Sure,” Harry mumbled. Y/N cheered, scooting closer to Harry. Her eyes widened once she saw the painting.  Tears pricked her eyes as she noticed the extra detail that Harry put into the portrait.  Harry painted her as if she were a goddess. “Harry, I’m beautiful.  Thank you,  this is the nicest thing that anyone has ever created for me,” Y/N gushed. Harry blushed, smiling as she bounced with joy, “Thank you.  I am terrible with portraits, but ever since you showed up…you made it easier for me to draw people.” Y/N giggled, “I guess you can say I am your muse.” Harry laughed, “I guess you could say that. That portrait you saw in the diner was you.  I hope that isn’t creepy.” She shook her head, “No, why would it be? I thought it was your girlfriend. I am flattered.” Harry blushed, toeing at the ground, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” “Well, whenever you find one, she’ll be lucky.” Harry breathed in, “What if I asked you on a date?” Y/N’s eyes widened because she didn’t expect Harry to ask her out.  She figured that Harry was out of her league. “I would say yes,” Y/N grinned. Harry nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well, what are you doing Friday night?” Y/N hummed, “I think I am free.  Would you like to grab dinner?  Or we can watch a movie.  Everyone is talking about the new Chris Pratt movie.” Harry chuckled, “I would love to grab dinner and movie.” Y/N blushed, “I can’t wait.” Harry walked out of the room with Y/N. Harry might not talk a lot, but it was okay.  Y/N tripped into Harry’s life and changed it for the better.  

[inuashnar1]

Happy Hunting

CHAPTER 1

This summer was slow. Ending with a whimper rather than a bang. The quiet moans of wasps and creaky yawns of trees began pillaging the symphony of summer, beckoning the lag of fall. This summer was very, very, very, slow. 

Today, you received a package in the mail. From whom? You cannot tell. There is no address, and no sender. Your suspicions start to get the best of you as you assume the worst - unknown package. No sender. Suspiciously shoved sideways into your mailbox. But… your curiosity gets the better of you. Your hands move on their own accord, and tentatively grab the object, and make your way to your room. It isn’t until you have hastily closed your bedroom door that you realize the breath you had been holding in. The exhale is immediately followed by a gasp in; you are out of breath, but not that out of breath. 

The package. You remembered you were holding it in clammy hands. 

Upon inspection, it appears to be a lightweight box that is dusty and worn, wrapped in royal blue velour. The cubic box has no opening, just a few scuff marks around the 8 corners of its shape - you surmise it might have been used as a paper weight at one point during its life, since it’s sized and weighted well enough to comfortably hold in your left hand, but if you were to hold it with both, your fingers would overlap by their 2nd knuckles. Examining further,  a small string in the velour wisps out by a corner of the box. You pinch it between your index and thumb and tug, not anticipating the unsheathing that occurs. 

As if barely hanging onto it’s skin by that single strand, the rest of the velour blossoms open. Strings of soft royal fabric splay away in a wave reminiscent of an electromagnetic charge. Inside the sea urchin-like display, the box is revealed to be wooden, and fitted together with sliding workable pieces. Easy to take apart. 

Inside the wooden box is a small note. The paper looks old, its edges are soft but it’s body is rigid and pliant. To fold it in half would not produce a perfect crease. The writing is illegible, but there are faint scratches in the parchment that you can make out. Indentations. Curiosity gets the better of you, and you find some pencil lead to happily waste upon the mysterious scrawl. 

_ _ _ , _ a _ _a n

The spaces are peculiar. As if the person or thing that wrote this encryption, managed to forget the letters, and offered indented horizontal lines as a supplement. Hangman puzzle.  A wave of disappointment washes over you. Is that it? A scrap of paper and some chicken scratch? Ridiculous! You feel exasperated as a wash of frustration pinkens your cheeks a gentle plush red. 

Suddenly, a gust of wind hits the side of your room, violently knocking at the flimsy frame of your window. It’s rapid and menacing. You dash to the window to steady it’s flimsy wooden structure, pressing your palms into the glass and the bottom frame. And it stops. You start to drift into thoughts about how this happened. How did the wind localize itself to just your window? How come it left just as abruptly as it arrived? Why is the window freezing even though it's still late summer? 

You're almost fully tunnelled into your thoughts when something on the sidewalk outside catches your eye. A figure no taller than an 8 year old child with a giant wicker brim hat upon its head, stands steadfastly with a royal velvet green cloak that seems to be spreading and growing in a circular pool covering the ground in front of your house with a shimmering deep green pigment.  

Who is that? What is that? you wonder. You hastily grab the note and dash downstairs, neglecting to close any doors on your way out. When you reach ground level, the velvet green cloak is tickling your feet the moment you swing the door open. Seeing no need to put on shoes, you gently pad onto the extending cloak with your bare feet. It’s indescribably soft to the touch. As if you were walking on a warm beast made of silk. When you make it to around a meter before the figure, you realize you will have to crouch down to investigate who is underneath the wicker brimmed hat. It is obsensibily large, and just by the look of it, it seems brittle to the touch. 

“You can come closer you know,” a voice creaked from under the wicker hat. And by creaked, I mean, it whined and grinned like an old woman with a secret sweet tooth for Werther's Originals and Scotch Mints. You crouch down, carefully and softly, for the cloak was still ebbing beneath you, and to just suddenly drop down seemed disrespectful to it’s regal feeling. One look at this figure and you confirm your suspicions. An Old Woman. The wicker hat fully engulfing the top half of her head, in a way that made it fit her like a thick BMX helmet. Her eyes were not visible, for years of existence seems to have sealed them shut. Too many wrinkles. Wisps of silver grey, and jet black hair spiral down in front of her ears, but not anywhere else. An underbite with thin sealed lips. White skin, with brown spots of melanin. Ears that were visible and the size of half a pear each. A nose that was pushed in, but not pig like. The cloak was zipped up to her chin, so you couldn’t see any semblance of human shape, besides the almond shaped cascade of cloak that showered downwards and revealed two large clasped hands, littered with jewels. Jade, Emerald, and the biggest, Sapphire crusted rings, with varying gold and silver bands, clinking together like flamenco castanets. A bedtime melody wafted through the air as late summer sun sprinkled this woman hitting the right side of her face. The wicker hat barely doing its job of sun protection. 

“Dear beloved, I see you have received a note; May I see?” she asked, with a jewel encrusted hand extending out to you. You remember - ah! The mysterious note - and all but drop it as your hands fumble to grab it and reach to meet this old woman’s gesture. She sighs when she touches it, coaxing the sheet, whispering sweet nothings to it, as if it were a baby bird that was in need of a long nap. She smiled and her eye creases stretched and curved into a soft coo, thumbs gently caressing the parchment. 

“Ohhh, how exciting. You will have to solve a riddle. Three riddles to be precise. A short day’s work of investigation if my suspicions are correct - you’re quite the detective aren’t you?” the woman toothlessly spoke. Her hands, huge in comparison to the paper, started to roll it and muss it into a ball. 

“The first riddle is with me. Then, the next will be up the road to the temple, and the final one will find you.” She continued to roll the paper into a tightly packed ball. Then, she wrapped her heavily adorned hands around the paper, enclosing it inside wrinkled clunky digits. 

“I doubt it will be too difficult for you,” she chuckled looking(?) back up at you. Her eyes are unseen between her old folded skin, but you still feel them upon you. “You will have to travel to a few places - are you up for it?” 

You nod vigorously. An adventure? A wild goose chase? A treasure map? 

“Very well,” the woman rumbled, “Here is the puzzle I propose to you - 

Inside of me is a golden treasure. I have no lock and no key. 

Who am I?”

_________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 2 

She chuckles, shoulders hitching up and down, emitting ripples down through the velvet cloak. She softens her smile and opens her hands. A golden egg lies in her palm. The fiery sunset, striking the surface, pushing you to admonish your eyes for a moment as it’s glistening reflection glared into your pupils. It’s sheen stung and bore black imprints into your eyes, and you turn away, palms pressed into your sockets with eyes feeling burnt. You blink to gain some semblance of vision. And when you do. It’s finally beautiful. 

“An egg. That’s right. A golden treasure, with no lock or key. Quite hilarious when you figure out what it is - many people don’t assume that the humble egg yolk is gold, let alone a treasure.” She gives you the egg, and you cradle it like she cradled the note before. “It’s all about perspective,” she admits, watching as you cuddle the golden nugget. 

It’s warm. Deliciously smooth and that kind of ‘smooth soft’ that only worn down objects get if they have been loved and taken care of. The soft worn of an old cotton shirt, or the wrung spine of a well read book. When you look back up to the old woman, she gestures for you to crack it open; she mimes holding the egg in one hand, and then motions it to the knuckles of her other hand, seeming to hit the median of the egg to her knuckles, not the traditional butt or nose that I was taught as a child. You oblige and crack it against your knuckles, shattering it into pieces that could never be reassembled. The egg is obliterated - the fragility is shocking. Inside, the note, with a single additional letter remains undeterred. 

_ _ _ , _ a G _a n

“Now, you have two more riddles to solve. Hop to it now! Make haste.” the old woman croaked, “ My cloak will guide you, follow its velvet path and you will arrive at the next riddle.” And with a yawn, she started to soften downwards, sinking into the ground until all that was left of her was the wicker brim hat. Witchy. 

Follow its velvet path her voice echoed in your mind, and you set off padding down the billowing fabric tail. 

*********************************************************************************************************

When you arrive at the end of the velvet path, it’s late. The moon is high, bright and a soft robin’s shell blue. The clouds couldn’t be bothered to appear, and the chill of a summertime evening wraps around your spine. It’s not a bad chill, but it in-prisons your core like a snake coiled around your stomach. The path whimpers out underneath your feet, and you realize how cold your toes have become as you step onto cement and not the velvet plush. You hope frostbite doesn’t make you it’s next victim. Imagine having only 9 toes. You feel yourself itching to punch the ‘abort’ button of this charade. Impatience brooding and burning the whites of your fingernails and itching your inner ear. 

There is a temple. Well, more like a shrine. But, it is temple-esque, borrowing an aesthetic from eastern architectural monoliths. 4 pillars made of wood, prop up an overhead awning that has clay tiles mimicking the skin of a snake. It doesn’t tower over you, but it is high enough that if you reached up to touch it, you would still be half an arms length away from it’s bough. Concrete steps lead up to a candlelit shrine around a tapestry that glinted orange and black when it’s embroidery caught flickers of the several lit fires around it.  A faded blood red paint coats every surface. It’s dusty to the touch, weathered by the elements it resides in. If you took a finger to the dusty paint, your finger pad would be coated in grey-brown dust revealing a fresh blood finish. 

You need warmth. The candles seem to be a good refuge at the moment and you begin to climb the steps to the shrine. You take note of the paintings walling the left and right sides of you as you ascend. Dozens of black and white watercolour paintings of foxes adorn every single painting. Foxes running, fighting, eating, howling, snarling, sleeping, digging, sitting, sneering, and most peculiar; following you. The foxes seem to be watching your every move. Their frozen bodies masterfully articulated in each canvas, with each of their faces fading in and out of the black ink to turn to watch you as you pass. Curiosity strikes the dozens of pairs of eyes that stick to you as you make your way to the top of the shrine. 

The heat from the candles is overwhelming. Just standing at the top, a bit out of breath, the heat hits you as if it were a bonfire, not just a handful of candles sprinkled around a wide hanging tapestry. If this temple wasn’t to worship foxes, you can’t imagine what else it would be used for. The tapestry was of a giant brilliant fox. Vertically hanging, gravity charging the fox’s paws to reach down to the concrete floor, claws just scratching the smooth polished grey laden stone. Bright orange with black lines, the fox was seeming to leap towards whomever chose to stare it down. 9 distinct tails feather out from the fox. It is direct and poised - elegant and wild. Vicious yet, stoic and undisturbed. It’s eyes were made of onyx coloured beads, the size of your thumbnail, that caught the multiple fires of the candle lit shrine. You felt like you were looking into the everlasting expanse of the night sky as the reflections multiplied the longer you stared. Enraptured by it’s sublime brevity. 

DO YOU WISH TO HEAR THE NEXT PUZZLE ?

A deafening sound! The candles flames whispered shiveringly, and the foxes in the paintings began to yip and laugh - where is this sound coming from?? 

I HOPE YOU KNOW WHY YOU ARE HERE. I DO NOT SPEAK TO THOSE WHOM ARE UNPREPARED TO HEAR MY PLIGHT.

The tapestry, laden with all of its intricacies of hand bound embroidery, curdled in front of you. The fox, writhing in weaving threads, displaying it’s full length, stretched wider upon the woven fabric. It did not bulge out of the frame, it was courteous to the borders of its cage, but it’s beady onyx eyes vibrated at a rate that magnetized the skin of the fox’s face, pulling its features forwards. It’s nose began to push out, cheeks springing forth with perked ears that seemed to move independently immediately after finding reprieve from its confines of embroidered stasis. A fully woven fox face was now close enough to smell you, and you smelt it. A wash of hot air, that could only be described as “musty”, wrapped itself around you. Salty, sweet, musty, heat with a tinge of burnt willow wood caressed your skin. It was mesmerizing and intoxicating - intensely addictive. 

The fox’s 9 woven tails swished back and forth on the canvas, softly swinging the rectangular length of the curtained tapestry, side to side. 

HMM. ARE YOU CURIOUS AS TO WHY I AM HERE, BELOVED? 

Yes. You nod. Warm sensations filling your cold toes, not fast enough to cause an indelible bought of nerve pain, but slow enough that the urge to itch and scratch the cold away was a giddy realization. 

YOU HAVE A LOVELY SMELL. YOU SMELL OF THE COLD. THE FRIGID OUTDOORS FROM WHERE I AM UNABLE TO TREAD ANYMORE. YOU SMELL OF MY PAST. 

The fox’s nose sniffed you, tickling your belly, the slope in-between your breasts, the tip of your chin, and finally the muss of hair upon your head. It is an animal after all, you muse, enjoying the curious massage winding its way up and down your body. The exploration stops, and you find yourself taking in the fox’s face. He is gentle, you realize with an exhale. You had been holding your breath while the prodding happened, and you shakily catch your breath. Your hands are clammy, but covered in cool sweat. The fox shifts even closer to you, nudging your hand to cup it’s threaded nose. It sighs. 

I WAS A FOX OF THE WILD. I SHARED FOOD WITH MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS. WE WERE SCAVENGERS AMONGST THE OTHER FOXES. RARELY ACCEPTED INTO OTHER GROUPS, AND CONSTANTLY AT WAR WITH OURSELVES. 

AT A CERTAIN POINT, I BECAME THE LAST. THE FINAL SCAVENGER AMONGST THE REST. I LEFT MY HOME, THE TERRITORY MOST FAMILIAR TO ME, AND I TREADED FAR EAST. FARTHER EAST THAN ANY OF MY KIN BEFORE ME. 

WHEN I CROSSED WINDING RIVERS, FROST TIPPED FORESTS, SANDY DUNES WITH DRY GRASS, I BECAME TRANSFIXED WITH THE MOON. HE SPOKE TO ME EVERY NIGHT. GUIDING ME FORWARD AND COAXING SECRETS OUT OF ME NO ONE ELSE HAD KNOWN. WE DANCED WITH EACH OTHER UNTIL IT PAINED ME TO NOT TO SEE HIM AND ONLY HIM. I WOULD SLEEP THROUGH THE DAY AND SING TO HIM AT NIGHT.

WE WALKED TOGETHER FOR A CENTURY OF EARTHLY TIME. 

ONE NIGHT, I COULD NOT CONTINUE ANY FURTHER. MY BONES ACHED, MY TEETH HAD ALL FALLEN OUT, AND THE FUR ON MY BACK WAS RIDDLED WITH BUGS AND NAKED PATCHES OF FUR. I WAS OLD. I WAS TERRIBLY ANCIENT. OLDER THAN ANY FOX BEFORE ME. 

I REMEMBER CLOSING MY EYES, MY LEGS TOO UNFIT TO CARRY ON, AND I SLIPPED INTO A DREAMLESS SLEEP. WANDERING THE FOG OF THE WORLD BETWEEN HERE AND THERE. 

WHEN I AWOKE, A BEAUTIFUL MAN WITH LONG SILKEN BLACK HAIR DRESSED FROM HEAD TO TOE IN THE FINEST OF LINENS GREETED ME. BAREFOOT, AND LENGTHY, HIS HEIGHT WAS SOMETHING I HADN’T EXPERIENCE IN MY EARTHLY LIFE. THE TONE OF HIS SKIN WASN’T TRANSLUCENT, BUT IT WAS FILTERED WITH SHADES OF GREY AND BLUE HIGHLIGHT. HIS HANDS WERE LONG WITH PINKY FINGERNAILS THAT WERE POINTEDLY SHARPER THAN THE REST. HE HAD A LONG KIMONO THAT SLUNK DOWN THE LENGTH OF HIS BODICE, WITH A ROPE AROUND HIS WAIST, HIS CHEST WAS BARE AND BONEY. A KIND FACE THAT WAS NOT WITHOUT WORRY, BUT WITH SERENE PURSED PEACH LIPS. DEEP ONYX EYES. 

HE BENT DOWN AND I RECOILED. THIS CREATURE WAS UNLIKE ANY HUMAN I’D ENCOUNTERED, AND IF HE WAS LIKE THE HUMANS I HAD ENCOUNTERED, I WOULD NEED TO RUN. I CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN. FEAR HAD FROZEN ME, AND MY BODY WAS STILL TO WEAK TO MOVE. I RESIGNED MYSELF TO THIS BEACON OF DEATH BEFORE ME. 

AND YET. 

I REMEMBER FEELING HIM SCRATCH THE BACK OF MY EARS AND REALIZING THAT THIS WAS HIM. 

THIS WAS THE MOON. THE MOON I CALLED TO EVERY NIGHT. WANING, WAXING, HIDING, I ONLY EVER CHASED HIM. 

HE SMILED AND TOLD ME THAT I HAD LIVED LONG ENOUGH. IT WAS TIME TO MOVE ON. HE KNEW HOW TIRED I WAS. HOW FAR I HAD TRAVELLED. HE ASKED ME WHAT I WISHED THE MOST OF IN MY EARTHLY LIFE. 

 I REPLIED, TO FIND A HOME WHERE I COULD STAY. 

HE SHOOK HIS HEAD AND ASKED, DID YOU FIND THAT HOME? 

I PEERED UP AT HIM AND BREATHED, YES, WITH YOU. 

The fox was lost in thought. Nose removed from you, and staring up at the roof. You turn your gaze skywards with it, and see a skylight through the shrine’s red wooden roof. The moon, cooly, watching and illuminating a box of light around the tapestry and yourself. 

MY BELOVED. I SEE HIM EVERY NIGHT. FOR ALL TIME. MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE WITH ME AS WELL. I FEEL THE WARMTH OF HIS LOVE UPON ME. ILLUMINATING ME.  I DON’T REQUIRE THE BLAST OF THE SUN. THE HEAT OF THE ELEMENTS. I LONGED FOR THE QUIET SIMPLICITY OF HIS GENTLE GAZE. FOR I ALWAYS KNEW. MY BODY BELONGED TO THE MOON. 

The fox shuddered. A withering moan rising from it’s voice, that boiled into a gentle howl. An aching surrender to a distant love, as if gesturing to some unknown tongue spoken only by the two of them. Communicating past space and time, and humming gently with a constant steady magnetic pull. 

Do you miss them - you manage to find your voice to ask. Throat, coated with mucus, the words sputter out of you, like a car engine stumbling to life. The fox blinked, and regarded you with its onyx eyes once more. They are up there. And you are down here. You say, throat still congealed with phlegm, Do you crave for their touch? 

WHY WOULD I MISS THEM, WHEN THEY HAVE ALWAYS BEEN WITH ME? WHY WOULD I CRAVE SOMETHING THAT IS A DELICACY TO BE BEHELD? 

WORRY NOT ABOUT THE DISTANCE THAT SEPARATES US, MY BELOVED. WORRY NOT ABOUT THE STRIFE THAT THE SUN BRINGS MY WOUNDS. WORRY NOT ABOUT THE CLOUDS ON STORMY NIGHTS THAT SHROUD HIM FROM ME. 

WORRY ONLY ABOUT YOUR FEELINGS. THE MIND CAN PLAY TERRIBLE GAMES WITH YOUR HEART. ITS TRICKERY CAN DRIVE ONE MAD, CONFUSING ALL CONVENTIONS OF FEELING AND REPLACING THEM WITH LOGIC AND CHASING AWAY THE HEART’S BURN. THE SHAME THE MIND BRINGS UPON A GENTLE HEART IS SO TRITE. SO SPITEFUL. 

FOR ANYTHING CAN BE REAL, IF YOU FEEL IT SO. IF YOU BELIEVE IN IT WITH EVERY OUNCE OF YOUR SOUL. 

The fox finished it’s reprieve with another gentle howl. Woven neck pursed upwards and melodic song rolling through the temple. Tentatively, other howls joined in from the black and white canvases adorning the temple hall. A cacophony of yowls rose up from the chamber of the temple; the fox shrine and tapestry, hummed in accordance. The symphony reached a peak, erupting in howls of ecstasy and laughter. A song for the moon! 

The moon responded in kind, beaming brighter than before upon the fox shrine. And the fox, bathed in moonlight, looked so happy. 

ARE YOU READY FOR YOUR NEXT PUZZLE? BELOVED, IT IS LESS OF A RIDDLE AND MORE OF AN ANSWER. USE YOUR DEDUCTIVE REASONING FROM THE STORY I HAVE SPAKE. 

 The fox shrine inquired, tilting it’s moonlight baked head towards you. You nod in kind, and it spoke softer than it did before. 

‘ 百 ’

What? You wonder with delight. The fox grinned, and repeated :

‘ 百 ’

You shake your head. This was a language that was foreign to you. What could it mean? 

The fox smiled and sweetly said, 

I WANDERED THIS EARTH FOR MANY YEARS. HOW MANY YEARS DID IT TAKE FOR ME TO BECOME THE SPIRIT OF THIS TEMPLE? TO BECOME A TSUKUMOGAMI? A KITSUNE? 

_________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 3

100 years 

100 years, your mind wraps it’s soft squish around this ‘concept’ of time. It’s confusing, to be filled with wanton. To fully devote, for 100 years of your life, your entirety to something, and expect nothing in return but a gentle scheduled validation. But, it’s hauntingly simple. Uncomplicated and pure. 

The fox purrs. Heady warm air fills the void around you as the moonlight hits the paper you were gently holding. You keep forgetting about the small 4inch by 4inch slice of parchment. It dangles from your fingers, threatening to slip out and fly away. You readjust your grip on it’s thin frame and look upon the inscription once more. 

1 0 0 , _ a G _a n

A number! The number 100 inserted into the code, freshly pressed like how the ‘G’ was pressed after you solved the egg riddle.

You devour the new letters on the paper, reading the inscription over again, and again, and again, and again but...It’s still nonsensical. A jumbled mix of letters and numbers that you are unable to pursue. Your brain is growing slow and sleepy.  

You really start to feel your impatience set in. If it was here before, it’s back in full force, and accompanying it is a cup of fear. It’s time to go home. You swiftly thank the fox, and all of the fox family, bowing your head repeatedly to the shrine and every single fox, hoping that a short ‘bow’ was respectful enough of their space and their time. As your feet stamp down the temple’s concrete stairs you hear the fox shrine call out; 

I HEAR THAT FULL MOONS ARE WHEN GHOSTS COME OUT OF THE WOODWORK. DO TAKE CARE OF THE GHOSTS IN YOUR HOME, MY BELOVED. 

You spin to shoot one last bewildered look at the fox shrine - Ghosts?? No one said ANYTHING about ghosts - but when you look back, the temple is an abandoned barren. The candles, blown out. The walls no longer hold their black and white canvases, and the tapestry of the Kitsune is missing - void and black. That dusty grey look is back, coating the red wood of the temple’s pillars, buttresses, and awnings. The air feels dewey and cold - you’re missing the heat of the tapestry instantly as regret heats your gut for not putting on shoes when you first left to follow that hobbit of a woman. If you could curse that witch, you would curse her to have frostbitten toes forever. Low rumbling sounds beckon you to look skywards. Notice that the clouds have shuttered close, stifling the moon’s light. The clouds -  a grey omnibus of condensed frothy pillows, threatening to unleash downpours of rain upon an unsuspecting victim. You walk. Then you run. You run towards home, leaving this facade and everything before it. You can’t remember if you still have the piece of paper. It begins raining. 

*********************************************************************************************************

The trail you leave as you walk through your house is reminiscent of the trail that a slug would leave. Slime filled and viscous, the rain water was mixed with a metallic ingredient that would hit the ground with sharp PINGS and PLOKS and CLANGS and CLINKS. You ran quickly under the bellies of large deciduous trees, and managed to avoid the onslaught of the rain’s wrath: cars and houses looked as if they had just been hit by gunfire from a clash of gun toting armies. The world around you was being buffeted by a non-stop shower that wasn’t going to end any time soon. 

You shake your golden yellow hair, and remove your glasses to wipe your face. Squeegee the rain from your eyelids and catch a glimpse of yourself in a mirror down the hall, adjacent to your room. 

God. You're tired. Your eyes slightly sag on their outer edges, creasing your cheeks and creating an expression rarely seen on your face. It’s a solemn stare. Your freckled cheeks are pale white in tone, lips a fade of bruised purple, and eyelashes spotted with tiny rain particles. You squeegee your eyes again, and drag your limbs to your bedroom, bare feet leaving puddles of rainwater that have a distinctly aluminum taste and odor.  You open the door, and collapse on your bed with a THWOMP, duvet catching your body in a fluffy embrace. You roll onto your side and hear a crinkle coming from your right pocket. The note. This fucking note. You huff and go to reach for it - 

“Are you looking for this?”

You freeze. Someone else was in your bedroom with you. You slowly look up, anxiety coursing through your veins and damp cold skin. In front of you, a young man with a scruffy unkempt beard sits in the way of an illuminated desktop. He is looking over his shoulder at you. His fingers happily tapping on a keyboard and he shifts slowly slighting the office chair, causing it to squeak and curse in short abbreviated tones. In his right hand, between his index and middle finger, sits the slip of parchment paper with the indentations on it. He is in a simple white shirt and faded blue jeans. He could be your local grocer. Or your cousin. Or your friend that moved to switzerland when you were 6 and he was 10 - “It’s just a family vacation! I’ll be back after December, wait for me okay?”

You can’t believe your eyes. You sit up. He turns back to the desktop monitor and waves his right hand beside his face, gusting the piece of paper upwards and around the room's atmosphere. It gently dances in between the two of you, hovering, suspended, until the fan from the computer’s tower nudges it into your lap. 

You scramble to find words. Apparently they are hard to come by these days. But something’s blocking your throat. 

“Oh. Don’t worry. I’m just here to see an old friend,” the young man says, he hunches over his keyboard again, typing away furiously giving you no more clues as to why he is here, in your room, unannounced. 

You try to speak again, but he holds a hand up to stop you - 

“If you speak before you think, you might end up asking something you regret. I would advise you to get a glass of water first,”  he asks you. Annoyed, you get up to go to the kitchen, and as you breach your doorframe he pipes up, “ Oh - can you also grab me a glass of water too? Thanks,” and he returns to his desktop, eyes glazed over, reflecting the blue screened glow back and forth, and back and forth. 

****************************************************************************************************

For the second time tonight, you find yourself stomping down a flight of stairs. You walk through your living room and arrive in the kitchen. Pulling random mugs down from the cupboards, you settle on a mug that has an ambiguous tech logo on it, and a fat little mug with beige indentations. You fill them up at the sink - Brita filter be damned - pass back through the living room, and arrive at the foot of the stairs. And then....

You stop. 

The young man in the chair. 

Your thoughts wander and spiral again. Toes, squelch underneath you on the hardwood floor. You still haven’t dried off and unfortunately your soaking wet clothes are filled with copious amounts of hard water. It's uncomfortable and you are starting to recognize the signs of sickness in your body. You flick your feet sideways before you take each step on the stairs. A feeble attempt to dry your pruned toes. You hear the keyboard slapping away and you hesitate taking the next stair. He seems... human in appearance, but something is off. As you muster a will to ascend, you sneak a look at him. 

He’s still there, but he’s faded. Not ‘stoned’ faded, but his body was see-through. The gentle tapping of the keyboard is still there, and you see him crunching on his inner lower lip. Neck jutting forward like a tortoise in a shell, his face is a face of many. You feel as if you have seen him before, but you can’t seem to pinpoint when. Was he with you during the 1998 heatwave? Maybe you recognized his face from one of your dad’s old war photographs - the 67th legion; sepia toned polaroids with black inked signatures from the company’s soldiers. Or, perhaps you just have seen him on the street. A passing face you never bothered to investigate. 

His familiarity is uncanny. You aren’t scared by him. But, his apparition from apparently nowhere in particular has left you with a lump of dry coal in your throat. You take a sip of water from the beige mug, desperately wanting to swallow the tumour down. Pushing the uneasy feeling you have back down into the depths of your stomach. 

In post-haste, you regret which mug you have drank from - you wanted the fun sleek black mug shaped like a mortar shell and polished with a slick black blue glean. Not, the beige handicraft work that (you realize) YOU MADE when you were 5 in kindergarten for Mother’s Day Brunch. As you set the shiny mug on the table, he stills in his typing. 

“Thank you... did you get this water from the kitchen?” he asks. You nod. The lump in your throat, unshrinking in size, as you sip another bit of water. 

He nods back, smiling, and goes to grab the glass, his fingers tentatively grazing over the black handle, only to pass through completely. He sighs, and closes his fingers into a flat paddle and at a speed that could only be described as aggravating, begins penetrating the mug. His fingertips, then palm, then wrist all but glide through without push-back. By the time he had stilled, the mug was comically displaying a rooster crown of 5 pink fingers horizontally splayed sideways, with his thumb vertically horned out of the mug’s mouth. 

Hand still passed through the mug, he looks at you, 

“You didn’t drink from this mug did you?” eyebrow hitched up, bright blue eyes stare at you, playfully offering you to respond. It felt like a taunt. You shake your head and lift the beige travesty of Mother’s Day devotion you were currently nursing, miming a response that hopefully said, ‘This’, is my mug.

“Oh? You picked that mug? I remember the day when you came home with it! Mother’s Day - right?” 

You see him smile sweetly, and he slides his hand out of the mug it was suspended within. 

“I still remember when you came home - you were so small. And you were so fat!” he chuckles in his chair, and his shoulders shake like the old woman’s did. It’s a wild deja vu that you weren’t suspecting, but you aren’t surprised by. He still feels familiar to you. 

His laugh filters out, and switches into a gentle cough. Then a cough with a seal-deep sounding vibrato. His eyes widen comically. With one hand over his mouth, the other begins to furiously fiddle with the various cables extending out from the tower, as he swivels his chair across your wooden floor. 

Rolls his fingers over a deep red cord. 

Coughs a bit more. 

Nimbly weaves over to a black wire with a silver input. 

Coughs and gags a bit, covering his mouth with his whole hand. 

Slides his thumb and index down a green cord and plucks it up by it’s end. 

His eyes are tearing up now, hand sealing his entire mouth and nose, beard peeking out in between torsioned fingers. 

Inserts the pointed end into his inner forearm and slaps the keyboard ‘space bar’.

A pulsating light emanating from the tower, crawls up the green cord and hits the young man’s veins, dissipating up into his body. 

He relaxes instantly. Breath a bit more shallow than before, but eyes softly closed. He could be a patient after a Post-OP. White shirt and cable feeding him sustenance. The computer beeping, piping in once in a while - maybe a monitor of some kind. His breathing finally slowed and he mumbled and fumbled at his state as he readjusted his ass in the chair. 

After finding a well adjusted position, he looked back at you. His eyes, slanting downwards, forehead a bit moist with sweat, and his face looking… solemn. He looks like you. Like how you did when you got back from that wild excursion. The shared features that you seem to have are starting to pile up, and - 

Oh.

He sees the look of recognition flash across your face and murmurs, 

“Took you long enough sis.” 

Oh. 

It is him. It’s been years since he left and never came back. Switzerland. December. Years have passed. He was 26, and you were 10. He looks exactly the same as when he left, if not a bit more worn down. You stare at his translucent form. Time has taken its toll on both of you. In different ways. 

“If you haven’t noticed by now - I’m a ghost,” he remarks, swivelling the chair again, coaxing more squeaks of high joy to stutter out, “ And I figured that you were waiting for me, so I had to come back.”

“ I hitch-hiked on a few objects on the way. I became a pair of shoes to cross the Alps. Then, I was a postcard from a young man to his mother from Cork Ireland, to BadAxe Michigan. And then, I was a few other things along the way - a keychain, wrist watch, pacemaker, table. Until I finally took on this mug,” he gestures his hand to the sheened black and blue mug, gleaming in the computer light, “ and made it back home.” 

“As a ghost, I had a hard time talking to you. You couldn’t hear anything I said, nor would any sort of cosmic disturbance truly spook you. You’re too logical for psychic anomalies to have meant anything suspicious.”

“And - I can’t really pick up anything real. Anything tangible. So, I realized I had to get crafty. I could conduct electricity. Being a ghost still gives you the advantage of getting electrical shocks from time to time, so I started building a computer. Each day, I would connect another piece of wiring, or insert new code, to build a machine to fuel my body. To build up my ghostly tolerance to electrical currents and become a bit more physical. More real. And finally, well. Here we are. I’m an electron dependent poltergeist with a chip on my shoulder to see my little sis.” 

You can hardly believe it. 

“I told you I would come back.”

The tears come suddenly. Quickly. And you struggle to wipe them, as they seem to be leaking like a faucet; when one eye is done, the other begins, and then the other, and then the other. 

“Do you still have that piece of paper?” he asks gently. Coaxing you from the shuddering sobs wracking your body. You nod, and fumble with the mug in your hands and the tears, and the paper in your pocket. When you pull it out he asks to see it, and you flip it around to show him. 

“Well sis. I have the final riddle for you. And once you answer this, you will have to travel in the real world. Not just on paper anymore. Can you do that?” 

You nod. It’s finally coming to an end. Maybe you will get to spend more time with him when you get back. The lump in your throat is dissipating, but it’s still lodged deep. Words be damned, you can’t be bothered to speak. You’re much better at body language anyways. 

Your brother squints at the sheet and leans forward. He murmurs under his breath for a bit, and then sits back into his chair, which squeaks in excitement, “Okay - here is your final riddle.” 

“What room do Ghosts avoid?”

_________________________________________________________

CHAPTER 4

“The Living Room” you manage to say. Finally. Words finally happened. 

Your brother grins with glee, “Yes! That’s it! HAHA!” He claps his hands together 3 times, creating electrical shocks that skitter across the hardwood floor with each percussion. 

“Look at the note!” he persuades. You peer down to see, the full sequence finally laid out. 

1 0 0 , R a G L a n

“This is where you need to go - it shouldn’t take you too long, but you have to get there for 630. No earlier. Can you do that?”

You nod. What is happening? Where will this take you? 

“When you get there, you should call your friend, Claire? Then, you will get the next instructions okay?” He shimmies back into his seat, and pops the cord out from his forearm with an audible FFFT. 

“Make sure you pack a bag. And, maybe a coat. I think it will get cold by the water.” he muses, returning to the keyboard. Water? It’s late summer, why would anyone want to go by the water? 

“Well, hop to it! 630! No earlier!” he skirmishes you, and waves you out of the room, a giant grin plastered on his face, his scraggly beard curling up and out by the corners of his smile. 

“I’ll see you around,” he waves. Sombre now. Not solemn.  

You head out. 

*****************************************************************************************************

*you bike north. to 100 raglan street. you expect to see your friend, Claire, but instead run into a bellhop named Ryan who bumbles around the apartment lobby, until he realizes you are you. A note is given. A number. You read it out loud, and Ryan says,” Call the Wizard.”  When you do, a majestic voice appears on the other side -  “I am now changing my audio using ancient wizard magic technology called speaker phone magic. If our audio is altered, please know the cause“  “Sugar beach it is close to Just east of the beach, you travel Benches you shall sit Far away from the beach they are Shade and quiet you shall exist A view of the water your eye views Street math: 6*6 - 11 dockside drive“ you bike south. to the coordinates given. A final note is whispered to you - Look for the Lady in Red.*  ***************************************************************************************************** Clarke, 

Beloved.

I hope you enjoyed this hunt. The time I spent making this, felt like I was making time to be with you. At a playful distance. In the space that separates us, I have found that time is something I have grown fond of. The time I take to consider my next steps, as I cater to my heart. It feels like a small dog who won’t stop whimpering until it sees its rightful owner. The one it trusts. I seek patience within myself to just let things be. But I am forceful. And brash. Impatient in ways that you will maybe, eventually, come to know. I hope this wasn’t too much. I know myself well enough to accept that I am in love with ‘love’. And, oh me oh my, it does things to me. 

If I were with you, I would hum, 

the melodies that you inspire, Deep

inside my old rattling bones. 

If I were with you, I would stare 

at your soft flaxen hair, and gently poke

the tip of your nose.

If I were with you, I would watch 

as you go about your day, and as I 

roll through my endless calendar.

If I were with you, I would hold, 

your body, ever so close, to warm up 

my cold, fingers against your bosom.

 If I were with you, I would kiss, 

every freckle and your lips 

would be Sore and swollen from my feverish antics.

 If I were with you, I would smell, your shampoo, your hel-

met hair and get to know your intimate spots of rapture.  

If I were with you 

right now, 

I would ask you, if I sounded   

like a fool, falling for a ghost 

or a spectre. 

For you see,

if I were with you, 

I would see the same water, 

And be next to you, 

and I would ask you to 

Show me your world with 

All its glory and splendour. 

Until we meet again Clarke, 

Yours, 

T