#the day comes and nothing. no alert. no message. i make her travel to the auditorium and the event is going on WITHOUT HER?!?! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daegudrama · 28 days ago

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Title: Route 613

Pairing: Reader/Namjoon, Reader/Yoongi, Reader/Vmin

Summary: Reader wants to be the very best Pokémon trainer there ever was. Her first stop in that journey is Paldea University home to a myriad of higher education. Still working to get over her ex boyfriend, Yoongi, reader forms new connections while making a few questionable decisions along the way. Each battle bringing her closer to the glory she's always dreamed of. Will she succeed in becoming champion or will outside forces stop her from achieving her goal?

Word Count: 10.7k

Disclaimer: Real life ages mean nothing in this fic. Refer here for ages and my shitty graphics

cross posted to ao3 here

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Chapter 9

In the morning Yoongi makes you a quick breakfast that is easy to eat on the go. He wasn’t joking when he said he wanted to get back to school as soon as possible. The two of you are some of the first students to arrive back. He doesn’t say much on the trip back, but you think it’s better that way.

As soon as you are settled into your room again you send a message to the group chat. Everyone should be back tonight and a kickback in someone’s dorm is so needed after the intensity of break. Yunjin quickly offers up her dorm saying she’ll prepare the snacks. Jimin and Taehyung promise some local brews from their hometowns.

While the rest of them plan and prepare for the night you head outside your dorm in search of a battle. A few students are milling around and more than happy to battle you. After going three for three you walk around campus feeling a sense of peace. You are safe here. When that bores you it’s time to travel down the numerous steps into town.

Yoongi is buying pokemon snacks from a vendor you were looking for. When he sees you approaching he says something to the worker and she hands over another treat. He pays then hands you the extra he bought.

“I know it’s unreasonable to ask you to stay inside Mesagoza all the time.” Yoongi says once the two of you have sat down at a table far away from anyone else. “That would really stunt your training and mine. If you venture out into the woods just be on extra high alert. Okay?”

You call for Wooper, Bones, who eagerly waddles over once he’s free from his ball. As you unwrap the snack, you nod in agreement, absorbing Yoongi’s concern.

“Thanks for the snack,” you say, breaking off a piece and offering it to Bones. He takes it without hesitation. Bones chomps it down happily. “I’ll be careful. I‘ve heard how dangerous Team Rocket can be.”

Yoongi feeds a piece to his own pokemon, his gaze soft and attentive. “I’ve heard some things, but nothing concrete. Obviously, what happened has put me on edge. I need you to be prepared for anything.”

“I’ll make sure to keep my guard up. I can handle whatever comes my way, and if something seems off, I’ll make sure to come back to campus immediately.”

Yoongi’s eyes meet yours, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “I know you can handle yourself, but I don’t want you to have to. Just…be cautious. I can’t let them take something else from me.”

With that, you both sit in silence for a moment, the weight of his words handing in the air. The bustling town around you feels distant, but the warmth of the snack and the support from Yoongi gives you reassurance. You finish up your conversation, grateful for the concern and ready to head back to the dorm.

After sleeping for a few hours you head out once again to sneak in a little more training before you head to Yunjin’s down. As you make your way down the path towards the training grounds, eager to face more trainers, a familiar voice calls out to you.

“Out training again?”

You turn around to see Namjoon strolling towards you, hands tucked casually in his pockets, with that soft smile on his face that makes you question a lot of things. He looks relaxed, like he’s been spending the day reading or researching, typical Namjoon. The thought makes you grin.

“Of course,” you reply with a smirk. “Got to keep my team in top shape. The tournament is coming up. What about you? Not out for a battle I assume.”

Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m more interested in understanding them.” His eyes light up with that familiar spark of curiosity you’ve come to like. “Actually, I was working on a new genetic analysis for my research. It’s fascinating how certain traits pass down through generations of Pokemon. I’ve been looking at Eevee evolutions and how environmental factors influence their development. Have you ever thought about how much influence nature versus nurture has on Pokemon growth?”

You laugh softly, admiring his big brain. “You always come up with the most interesting stuff. Meanwhile, I’m just here thinking about how to get Bones to stop trying to eat every trainer’s shoe mid-battle.”

Namjoon laughs. “Well, that’s important too! Pokemon behavior is key. Plus, Bones just became your pokemon not too long ago. He has time to figure out his role on your team. I’m sure he’ll listen soon.”

You release Bones from his Pokéball, and as expected, your Wooper waddles over taking a curious sniff at Namjoon’s shoes. You wince, expecting the worst, but Namjoon kneels down and gently pats Bones on the head.

“See? He’s just curious,” Namjoon says softly, his tone calm and soothing. “I actually came out here to see if you wanted company while you train. I could watch, maybe help out with some recovery after your battles. I’ve been studying some new remedies.”

Your heart warms at the thought of spending more time with him. Namjoon might not battle much, but his presence is reassuring, and the way he cares for Pokémon is something you’ve always admired.

“I’d like that,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s always nice having someone around who doesn’t want to jump into a battle every two seconds.”

Namjoon’s eyes crinkle with a smile. He knows all too well how the rest of your friend group is. Specifically Hiyyih, all she wants to do is battle whoever is closest to her lately. “Plus, I’ll keep Bones entertained between rounds. We don’t want him snacking on anyone’s shoes, right?”

You both laugh, and as you walk together toward the training grounds, you feel a comfortable warmth between you. His arm occasionally brushes against yours as you walk, and those tiny sparks of connection remind you just how close the two of you have become over the past few months. There’s an ease to your friendship, a natural chemistry that sometimes feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something more.

As you reach the field, a few trainers have already gathered, ready for battle. Namjoon finds a spot on the side, leaning against a fence as you prepare to face your next opponent.

“You got this,” he says, his voice filled with quiet encouragement. “I’ll be here if you need any post-battle healing tips.”

The battle goes by in a blur, your focus sharp and your Pokémon responding to every command with precision. Namjoon watches from the sidelines, occasionally taking notes, though his attention keeps drifting back to you. His calm presence makes you feel grounded, even as you’re locked in the intensity of the match.

After the battle, as you recall your Pokémon, Namjoon approaches, handing you a potion bottle. “You might want to apply this to Bones’ tail. He took a pretty hard hit out there.”

“Thanks,” you say, grateful for his sharp eye. As you crouch down to treat Bones, Namjoon kneels beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours. You can feel the warmth of him, close and steady, and for a moment, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you.

“You’re really good at this,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not just the battling, but the way you care for them afterward.”

Your heart skips again, and you try to focus on Bones, but it’s impossible not to notice the way Namjoon’s gaze lingers on you a little longer than usual. You meet his eyes briefly, and there’s a moment—fleeting, but charged with something unspoken.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I just want to do right by them, you know?”

Namjoon smiles, and there’s something warm and reassuring in the way he looks at you. “You’re doing more than right by them. They’re lucky to have you.”

As you finish up, the two of you fall into step once again, heading back toward campus. The conversation flows easily, and despite everything weighing on your mind—Yoongi’s warning, the looming threat of Team Rocket—you find yourself enjoying the time with Namjoon. His presence feels like a safe space, and though you can’t talk about what’s really happening, for now, being here with him is enough.

As you part ways, with Namjoon offering a small wave and promising to see you at Yunjin’s later, you can’t help but wonder what this term is going to bring. Will you be able to balance it all?

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

The warmth of Yunjin’s dorm room hits you the moment you step inside. The small space is already packed with familiar faces Jimin and Taehyung lounging on the floor, drinks in hand, while Hiyyih waves you over to where she’s perched on the bed. Namjoon is by the window, chatting with Chaewon, who’s wrapped in a cozy-looking sweater and sitting beside Yunjin. They’re leaning into each other, looking as comfortable as ever in their little corner of the room. You smile at the sight of them. Yunjin’s always had that calming aura, and it seems to bring out a softer side of Chaewon that not everyone gets to see.

“Hey, you made it!” Hiyyih grins, scooting over to make space for you. She immediately pulls you into the space, offering you a drink she must’ve snagged from the stash Jimin and Taehyung brought with them. “You ready to lose at some drinking games?”

“Is that a challenge?” You laugh, settling in beside her and taking a sip from your drink. “I haven’t lost yet.”

“Oh, is that so?” Taehyung calls from his spot, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Then we better get started.”

Yunjin claps her hands, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Alright, what should we play first? ‘Never Have I Ever’ or ‘Kings’?”

Jimin raises his drink in mock seriousness. “Both, obviously. We’ve got all night.”

Everyone laughs, and soon enough, the room is buzzing with conversation and the clinking of glasses. You lean back against the bed frame, your drink in hand, and glance over at Namjoon, who has quietly slipped into a seat next to you. His presence is steady as always, but every now and then, you catch his eyes drifting your way, the soft curve of a smile on his lips. It makes your heart do that little flutter again, the kind that you’ve been trying to ignore.

The first game starts off harmless, everyone who wasn’t with you in Kanto sharing stories about their winter breaks. Taehyung is talking about how he visited his grandparents in the countryside, and how he managed to get lost in the forest trying to find a “legendary Pokemon” that only he seemed to believe in. The room bursts into laughter when he admits it was just an old Pidgeotto perched on a tree.

As the room fills with more stories of winter break, the drinks start to flow, and soon enough, the energy shifts into competitive fun. Yunjin suggests starting with “Never Have I Ever,” and everyone agrees, laughing as they prepare for the inevitable teasing.

“I’ll go first!” Taehyung says with a wicked grin. “Never have I ever…fallen asleep during a battle.”

Jimin groans, taking a gulp of his drink. “That was one time! I was exhausted.”

Everyone laughs as the game continues, the questions ranging from lighthearted to slightly scandalous. When it’s your turn, you glance around the room before saying, “Never have I ever…gotten lost in another region.” Namjoon takes a sip of his drink, a guilty smile spreading across his face. “Okay, that’s fair. I got lost in Kanto more than once when I ventured outside of my hometown.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you tease. “You are always so focused on your research.”

The playful banter continues, and the room is filled with laughter and warmth. Hiyyih leans into you, nudging your shoulder. “So, what was your favorite part of the Kanto trip?”

You pause for a moment, thinking about the trip. “Honestly, getting to train with the gym leaders was incredible. But the best part was probably seeing how much everyone’s grown. I feel like we all learned so much over break.”

“That’s true,” Namjoon says, leaning closer to you. “It was nice being out there together, working on what we’re passionate about.”

You meet his gaze, and for a brief moment, the room around you fades. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes your heart skip a beat. You quickly look away, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest.

As the game moves on, the drinks keep flowing, and the stories grow bolder. Taehyung teases Jimin about getting too drunk in the Lavender Town tower and scaring himself with a ghost Pokémon. Hiyyih tries to get you to reveal more details about your time in Kanto, but you steer the conversation back toward the group, knowing you can’t share everything.

Taehyung smirks when it’s his turn and says something that is clearly trying to stir the pot. “Never have I ever…hooked up with an ex.”

Your stomach flips as you send daggers with your eyes towards Jimin.

“Jimin!” You scold.

“YN, I didn’t tell him. He was trying to get me.” Jimin replies with a wicked grin. “But go ahead and expose yourself to everyone.”

Namjoon takes another drink and you follow suit. The man beside you looks lost in thought and you wonder if he’s preparing to answer questions from the rest of the room. Of course, you already know the truth, but you don’t think this is something he would offer up easily.

Yunjin and Chaewon look deeply confused and a little hurt that you haven’t already shared this information with them. It’s not that you wouldn’t have told them. You just haven’t really had a moment to think about who might want to know this information.

You start to offer the bare minimum of information when Namjoon grabs the bottle he was drinking from and stands up. He wobbles slightly and leaves Yunjin’s room without a word. Everyone in the room exchanges confused glances and Hiyyih nudges you.

“Follow him.” She says.

On your way out the door you steal one of Yunjin’s hoodies. You race out of the building looking for Namjoon. It’s not until twenty minutes later that you find him on one of the battlefields. He is lying on his back looking up at the star filled sky. The bottle he was drinking is empty sitting near his feet. He sits up as you approach looking up at you with a goofy smile.

“Hi, cutie.” Namjoon greets waving his hand.

“Hi, Joon.” You reply, taking a seat right in front of him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, dragging out the word. “It’s just a little tough hearing the person you like talk about another guy. I really like you and not a single one of the hints I’ve been dropping are landing, y’know?”

You feel your heart skip a beat because surely you heard him wrong. The casual way he says it is greatly contrasting with the weight of the confession. He is still smiling, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes. Like he’s been waiting for this moment. His timing is kind of hilarious. Is he so nervous to confess that he had to wait until he is probably blacked out? You blink, your heart racing as your mind is screaming for you to stay calm.

“Wait..what?” You ask, trying to keep your tone light.

Namjoon chuckles, swaying a bit as he sits up straighter. “Yeah, I like you. Really thought I was being pretty obvious, but you never notice. You’re so cute, though.” He leans forward slightly, his grin wide and unfiltered. “I even gave you snacks! Ones that took days to find. You’re so…amazing! Like, you don’t even get it. I’ve liked you basically since we first met. The way you’re so…determined. You care about people, and you never let anything stop you. I watch you with your friends and you always make everyone feel seen. You make me feel seen. You don’t even know how much that means.”

He pauses, his eyes unfocused for a moment before locking back onto yours. “And it’s not just that. You’re smart. And talented. And every time I see you, I get this stupid feeling in my chest because…because you make everything feel better. Even when I’m having the worst day.”

His voice softens, and you feel your heart pounding. “I’ve been trying to show you, but you don’t notice. I always try to find ways to be around you, or give you snacks when you look tired, or make excuses to talk to you, but…I guess I’ve just been too scared to say it out loud.”

You blink, the depth of his words hitting you all at once. He’s been carrying this with him, and even though he’s drunk, there’s a truth to what he’s saying that makes it hard to brush off. But you can’t ignore how intoxicated he is right now.

“Namjoon…” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm gently. “You really like me?”

“Yeah, like a lot,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly as if he’s trying to make sure you really hear him. “But it’s more than that. I admire you. You’re…you’re everything I want to be. Strong. Caring. And you don’t even know how incredible you are.”

You feel warmth spreading through your chest, but you know this isn’t the moment. He’s far too drunk to realize what he’s saying, and even though part of you wants to react, you need to hear this from him when he’s sober.

“I hear you, Joon,” you say gently. “But I want to talk about this when you’re sober, okay? I want to know you mean it.”

“I do mean it,” he says, his voice insistent but slurred. “But fine. Tomorrow. I’ll tell you again tomorrow.” His head tilts back, eyes drifting shut, his body swaying as he mumbles, “You’re the best thing in my life…”

You bite your lip, trying to figure out the best way to respond. Part of you wants to let your heart react, feel all the confusing things you’ve been feeling for weeks, but you know this isn’t the right moment. Not when he’s way drunker than you are.

“Joon,” you say softly, placing a hand on his knee to steady him. “You’re really drunk.”

“So what? I’m being honest,” he says, opening his eyes and matching your soft tone despite the state he’s in. “I like you, and I’ve been trying to tell you…but you don’t even see me like that.”

You sigh, your heart aching at how sincere he seems despite his inebriated state. You know you’ll have to bring this up again when he’s sober, when the words won’t be clouded by alcohol.

“I hear you, Namjoon,” you say gently, leaning in a little. “But I want to hear this when you’re sober, okay?”

He blinks slowly, processing your words. “Sober?” he mumbles, confused. “But I’m telling you now…”

“I know and if you remember this tomorrow I’ll buy you boba.” You offer a small smile. “If you don’t remember this then we’ll have this conversation again while you buy me boba. I have to hear it again when you’re not drunk so I know it's real.”

“It’s real. I’m going to remember this.”

After a few minutes of silence, you help him stand and ask him to text you that he will buy you boba if he doesn’t remember this conversation. That way you can’t chicken out because he will see the text message in the morning whether you want to have the conversation or not.

Namjoon stumbles a little, but you steady him, making sure he doesn’t fall. His arm wraps around your shoulders, his body heavy against yours as you walk him back towards his dorm. You try to keep the mood light despite the confession swirling around in your head.

Once you reach his door, Namjoon pulls out his keys, fumbling with them before he finally gets the door open. He leans against the frame for support, looking at you with soft eyes. “You’re really amazing, you know that?”

You give a small smile, brushing a piece of hair out of his face. “Thanks, Joonie. But I think you need to get some sleep, okay? I’m gonna head back now.”

He frowns, his lips pouting as he leans forward slightly. “Can’t you come inside? Just for a little bit?”

You shake your head, firm but gentle. Part of you wants to laugh at his confidence, but you know in any other situation you would probably be folding. “No, not tonight. You need to rest, and I need you to promise me something.”

Namjoon blinks, confused. “Promise?”

You reach out your hand, pinky extended. “You’re not going to leave your room until morning, okay? Pinky promise me.”

He looks at your hand, then back at you before hooking his pinky with yours. You can’t help but gawk at how tiny your hand looks next to his. “I pinky promise,” he mumbles, though his tone is more playful than serious. You give his pinky a squeeze before letting go.

Then, there’s a pause. A moment where his gaze lingers on you, and you can see the question forming in his head before he even speaks. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart jumps at the request, but you quickly shake your head, giving him a soft, almost teasing smile. “Not right now. Don’t you want to remember the first time we kiss?”

Namjoon’s pout deepens, his shoulders slumping a little. “But I wanna know how you feel.”

You place your hands on his biceps, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe we can make that happen. But not tonight, okay? Let’s save that for when you can actually remember it.”

He huffs but eventually nods, accepting your decision. There’s a moment of quiet before he opens his arms, gesturing for a hug. You step forward, wrapping your arms around him in a long, tight embrace. His arms close around you, and for a few seconds, the world feels like it’s just the two of you. It's quiet and still.

When you finally pull away, Namjoon looks at you with sleepy eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Okay. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” you promise softly. You give him one last look, making sure he’s steady before taking a step back.

As the door closes you let out a deep breath, your heart still pounding from everything that just happened. Tomorrow. You’ll figure it out tomorrow.

As you walk away from Namjoon’s door, the weight of the night’s events hits you all at once. Your heart races, and your mind feels like it’s spinning. Namjoon likes you, he likes you, and not in the casual, friendly way you’ve always assumed. He wants to kiss you. He’s made it clear that his feelings go beyond friendship, and now…what does that mean for you?

You continue walking aimlessly through campus, the crisp night air doing little to clear the confusion in your head. You do like Namjoon, of course you do, he’s becoming one of your closest friends, and you’ve always been drawn to him in ways you couldn’t fully explain. His kindness, his intelligence, the way he’s always so thoughtful and gentle. But until tonight, you hadn’t been forced to confront just how deep those feelings might run.

Part of you wants to run back to his door, to kiss him and let the warmth of his affection wash over you. But another part of you…another part of you is scared. Scared of what happens if you cross that line. Scared of losing the balance you’ve built in your friendship. And there’s Yoongi.

Your thoughts flicker back to the nights you spent together, to the way Yoongi had made you feel. That raw, unspoken tension between you two—the way he’d held you, touched you. There’s no denying that something is still brewing between you and Yoongi, too, something equally complicated and confusing. But it’s different with him. It’s familiar and easy, but the two of you broke up for a reason.

You stop walking, standing beneath a streetlight, its glow casting long shadows on the pavement. What are you even doing? How can you untangle these feelings when you don’t even know what you want? Do you want Namjoon’s steady, dependable love, or are you chasing something comfortable with Yoongi? Or maybe, it’s not about choosing at all—maybe you’re just not ready to define anything yet. You don't know. Not now.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to see a text from Namjoon. Just a simple, Goodnight. Talk tomorrow?

You smile faintly at the message. He’s always so considerate, even when he’s clearly just as confused as you are. You text him back a quick, Goodnight before putting your phone away. You’ll figure things out in the morning.

But right now, you can’t. You need a distraction. A reprieve from all the conflicting emotions swirling inside you.

Before you realize what you’re doing, your feet start carrying you in a familiar direction. Toward Yoongi’s dorm.

You tell yourself it’s just for comfort, that you need a safe space to think without the pressure of figuring everything out all at once. But deep down, you know that’s only half the truth. Yoongi has always been a safe haven for you. His calm, quiet presence somehow grounds you even when your world feels like it’s spinning out of control. Yet there’s something undeniably tempting about the way he makes you feel, something that pulls you toward him even when you’re not sure it’s a good idea.

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You walk down the hallway toward Yoongi’s dorm. As you reach Yoongi’s door and raise your hand to knock, the door swings open and Jungkook comes out, earbuds in, a bottle of water in his hand.

He pauses when he sees you. “Oh, hey,” he says, flashing a quick smile before he glances down the hallway, seemingly in a rush. “Yoongi is inside. Have fun!” He gives a small wave and practically scurries off before you can respond.

Jungkook disappears down the hall and a moment later, Yoongi’s familiar face appears in the doorway. His expression softens when he sees you, concern flickering in his eyes as he steps aside to let you in.

“Come in,” he says quietly, his tone gently but observant. “Everything okay?”

You step inside, taking in the comforting surroundings of his dorm. It’s dimly lit, and a soft hum of music plays in the background, making the space feel safe. You shake your head slightly, offering a small, tired smile.

“I just…need a distraction.” you admit, trying to keep your voice steady.

Yoongi closes the door behind you and motions for you to sit on the couch, but you ignore it, making your way to his bed instead. You collapse face down onto the soft mattress, the coolness of his sheets pressing gently against your cheek. The familiarity of it, grounds you in a way nothing else can right now. You let out a sigh, as if the bed itself is absorbing some of the tension you’ve been holding onto.

Yoongi watches you for a moment, his lips twitching in what you think might be a small smile. He sits on the edge of the bed, his body close but not imposing, giving you the space to breathe.

“So, what’s really going on?” he asks, his voice low and calm. “What would make you feel better?”

Lying face down in his bed, inhaling the familiar scent of him on the pillow, your mind races for something to say. But instead of rational words, something else slips out. You mumble into the pillow, “Your dick.”

For a split second, there's silence, and then Yoongi lets out a low chuckle. “My dick, huh?” He sounds amused, but there’s a slight edge of curiosity in his tone.

You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze, heat rising in your cheeks. “Yeah,” you mutter, a little less playful, a little more honest. “I need a distraction, and that sounds like a good one right now.”

Yoongi’s eyes darken slightly, his amusement replaced with something more serious. He studies your face for a moment, searching for any hesitation. “You sure that’s what you want?”

You sink deeper into Yoongi’s bed, the familiar smell of his sheets soothing you in a way you hadn’t expected. But beneath the comfort, a different kind of tension hums in the background—one you’ve been trying to ignore. Maybe it’s the warmth of his presence next to you, the way his body leans close but not quite touching yours.

“I just need a distraction,” you mumble again, but this time, your voice is quieter, more vulnerable. You’ve been carrying the weight of tonight, and as much as you told yourself you just needed to escape your thoughts, you realize there’s something more simmering underneath.

Yoongi looks at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours as if he can see what’s going on behind your flippant comments. The chuckle from before fades, replaced by a stillness, a seriousness that makes your pulse quicken.

He leans in just a little closer, his fingers grazing your arm in the most casual, effortless way, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “Are you sure that’s all you need?” he asks, his voice lower, more deliberate now.

You turn your head to the side, meeting his gaze from where you’re still lying face down on his bed. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that matches the heat building between you. The tension is thick now, and for a split second, you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something, the next move up to you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but it’s enough.

Yoongi’s eyes darken as he processes your words, and before you can second guess yourself, he shifts closer, his hand moving to your back, fingers tracing lightly over the fabric of your shirt. His touch is soft, teasing, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, his lips now just inches from your ear.

You nod, barely trusting your voice to respond. “I want you.”

There’s no hesitation after that. Yoongi’s hand slips lower, sliding under your shirt, his touch warm against your skin. He leans down, his lips brushing the back of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“You know what you’re asking for, right?” he whispers, his voice rougher now, more demanding.

You turn slightly, enough to meet his gaze, your body buzzing with anticipation. “I know exactly what I’m asking for,” you murmur, your heart pounding as you close the distance between you, your lips brushing his in a way that’s slow, deliberate, and full of heat.

Yoongi responds instantly, the kiss deepening as his hands explore your body, pulling you closer, his intentions clear in every touch.

Yoongi’s hands slide over your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with a grip that feels like both a promise and a test of control. The kiss grows deeper, more urgent, his mouth moving against yours as if he’s been holding back for far too long. You feel the weight of him above you, his body aligning with yours as his hands continue their exploration, skimming over the curve of your hips, your back arching slightly under his touch.

You shift under him, turning onto your back, and Yoongi’s eyes meet yours again, the heat between you practically crackling. His hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip, and the way he’s looking at you makes your breath catch.

“This what you need?” he murmurs, his voice low, rough with desire, but still holding that edge of control.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, but your hands move to tug at his shirt, pulling him down toward you. He obliges, his mouth returning to yours, kissing you deeper, harder this time. His hand slips beneath your shirt again, fingers tracing over your skin, finding every sensitive spot that makes you shiver.

You let out a soft sound against his lips, your body responding to every touch, every kiss, as if he’s the only thing grounding you. The way his body presses against yours is intoxicating, and you can feel his want as he kisses down the side of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

“Yoongi…” you breathe, your fingers threading through his hair as he continues his slow, deliberate descent, his mouth exploring, tasting, leaving no part of you untouched. Your body is buzzing with anticipation, heat pooling low in your stomach as his hands move lower, teasing at the waistband of your pants.

He pauses, his eyes locking with yours again, the question unspoken but clear.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need this. I need you.”

That’s all it takes. Yoongi’s hands move swiftly, expertly, pulling your pants down, the cool air hitting your skin before his touch is on you again, warm, insistent. He leans down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “I’ll take care of you.”

Yoongi's words send a shiver down your spine, his voice deep and filled with intent. His hands move with purpose now, every touch igniting something inside you. His lips press to your skin, working their way from your ear to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat that has you arching into him, craving more.

You gasp as his hand slips between your thighs, fingers tracing lightly over you, teasing but not yet giving you what you need. The tension is unbearable, and your breath comes out in short, shaky bursts as his lips find yours again, kissing you with a newfound intensity. It’s slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes your entire body thrum with desire.

You grip his shoulders, your fingers digging into him as you push your hips up toward his hand, silently begging for more. He chuckles softly against your mouth, sensing your need, but instead of giving in immediately, he keeps the pressure light, his fingers barely grazing you, making you whimper in frustration.

“Patience,” he whispers, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

His words send another jolt of electricity through you, and despite the aching need building inside you, you can’t help but want to surrender to him, to let him have complete control. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the way he’s dragging this out is both maddening and exhilarating.

Yoongi finally presses his fingers more firmly against you, his thumb circling in slow, deliberate motions, and you moan softly, your body arching off the bed. The pleasure builds quickly, like a wave threatening to crash over you, and you cling to him, your breath coming in desperate, shallow gasps.

Yoongi’s fingers slow, then stop completely, and you whimper at the sudden loss of contact, your body aching for more. He leans back slightly, his dark eyes watching you carefully, lips curling into a teasing smile. His touch lingers just out of reach, hovering, close enough to drive you crazy but not enough to satisfy.

“I think you’re avoiding something,” he says softly, his voice low and controlled, but his hands are still. Deliberately still. “Why do you need a distraction?”

You squirm beneath him, hoping to regain the pressure, but his hands don’t move, and it’s really infuriating. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, you’re tempted to dodge the question, to stay lost in the heat of this moment.

But Yoongi doesn’t let you off the hook. His thumb brushes against your thigh lightly, a small reminder of what you’re missing, and then he pulls his hand back altogether. “You’re not getting any more until you tell me,” he murmurs, his eyes flashing with amusement but with a hint of something deeper. Concern.

You groan, pressing your palms against the bed, trying to fight the frustration bubbling inside you. He is going to be the end of you. “Yoongi, come on—”

“No.” he interrupts, leaning down, his lips so close you can feel his breath against your neck. It takes everything inside you not to just kiss him. “Talk to me. What happened? Why are you needing this…distraction so badly?”

His words make your stomach twist, and you bite your lip, debating whether you want to open up or not. His hands move to your hips, holding you in place but not doing anything further. The weight of his question hands in the air, and despite the heat between you, you realize that’s really not going to let you escape this conversation.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding for a different reason now. “It’s…complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow, his fingers tightening slightly around your hips, reminding you of what’s at stake. “I’ve got time,” he says quietly, his tone soft but firm. “But you’re not getting what you want until you give me something.”

“Fucking the girl you love isn’t enough?” You ask looking into his eyes. When he doesn’t respond you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Yoongi’s always been able to read you, and now that he’s calling you out, there’s no use hiding.

“It’s Namjoon,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended. “He…he said some things tonight. Stuff I wasn’t really ready to hear. Stuff I don’t know how to respond to.”

Yoongi’s grip on you loosens slightly, his eyes softening as he listens. When he speaks his voice is cautious. “What kind of things?”

You sigh, feeling your chest tighten as you recall the confession. “He told me he likes me. Has for a while, apparently. He was drunk, so I didn’t take it too seriously, but it kind of threw me. He’s…so sweet, and I care about him a lot, but I just don’t know what to say.”

Yoongi is quiet for a moment, processing your words. His gaze never leaves your face, and you can feel his focus shifting from the playful teasing to something more serious.

“And you’re here because…?” he prompts, his fingers tracing light patterns on your skin now, but still holding back.

“Because I don’t know what to do with it,” you admit, frustration creeping into your voice. “I don’t want to sit with those feelings. I don’t want to deal with the confusion. I just want something to make it all go away for a little while.”

His thumb brushes gently against your most sensitive area, but still he doesn’t fully give in. His lips twitch into a knowing smile. “So you came to me,” he says, his voice laced with amusement but also a hint of something more—something softer.

“Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I came to you.”

For a long moment, Yoongi says nothing. His fingers finally resume their slow teasing movements. You shiver at the contact, but his eyes stay locked down on yours, studying you.

“You know I’m not just a distraction, right?” His voice is gentle, but there’s a weight behind his words.

You nod slowly, your heart racing. “I know.”

“Good,” he murmurs, finally pressing his lips to your neck, the warmth of his breath making your body arch into him. “Because I’m not going to let you run from this. Not from Namjoon, and not from me.”

With renewed purpose, Yoongi reminds you just why you came back to him. Yoongi’s words linger in the air as his hand moves with more intent now, reigniting the fire he had purposefully held back. You tremble under his touch, your mind momentarily distracted from the swirling thoughts about Namjoon, the tension between you, and everything that has been weighing you down. He's not letting you lose yourself entirely, not like you want to.

His lips are at your ear now, soft and deliberate. "You know, you're going to have to deal with this at some point," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ll give you what you need tonight, but you don’t get to run away forever."

Your heart pounds as you try to focus on the sensations, but his words cut through the haze, leaving you raw and exposed. It’s not just physical, not with him. Yoongi’s always had a way of getting under your skin, seeing past the walls you put up. And right now, he’s stripping you of every excuse, forcing you to confront the reality you want to avoid.

"Yoongi, I…" you start, your voice catching as his fingers press into you in a way that makes it hard to concentrate. But he doesn’t let you finish.

"Shh," he whispers, his lips trailing along your neck, making you shiver. "You don’t have to explain anything to me right now."

His hand moves faster, the pace enough to make your body react instinctively, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you struggle to hold onto anything but the heat building inside you. But Yoongi isn’t just offering you a distraction, he’s pulling something deeper from you. The more he touches you, the more he reminds you of the things you’ve been burying for too long. It’s hard to remember why you don’t want him back when he makes you feel so good.

"You came to me because you trust me," he says softly, his voice like a dark promise. "You know I’m not going to let you off easy. Not when it comes to this."

You nod, your body trembling under him as you fight to keep up with the intensity of it all. "I know," you whisper, barely able to find the words.

And in that moment, Yoongi’s hand stills again, hovering on the edge of giving you what you so desperately need, but just barely holding back. You whimper, your frustration mixing with desire as you look up at him, pleading silently.

"Do you?" he asks, his voice teasing but his eyes serious. "Because I need you to understand that I’m not just your escape. This—" he gestures between the two of you, his touch brushing your skin again, "—isn’t just about tonight. I know I said I could be whatever you want, but I think I should have a little more self respect."

You swallow, the weight of his words hitting you in a way that’s impossible to ignore. "I know," you repeat, your voice steadier now. "It’s not just about tonight."

Yoongi's gaze softens, a small smile playing at his lips as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s different this time, not rough or demanding, but slow and meaningful, as if he’s grounding you in the moment, reminding you of the connection between you. Part of you wishes you could forgot the deep connection the two of you share and just let him fuck your brains out.

Then, without another word, his hand moves again, this time with no hesitation. The pace quickens, and you feel yourself unraveling beneath him, the tension finally breaking as you gasp his name, your body giving in to everything you’ve been holding back.

Yoongi stays close, his movements controlled but unrelenting, guiding you through the waves of pleasure that crash over you. And when it’s over, when your body is spent and your breath comes in shallow, ragged bursts, Yoongi pulls you into his arms, holding you against him as you come back down from the high.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet, the only sound is your slowing breath and the faint hum of the music in the background. Yoongi’s arms are secure around you, his presence a steady anchor in the aftermath of everything that’s just happened.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

The next morning, you wake up to soft sunlight streaming through the curtains of your room, casting a warm glow on everything it touches. You blink a few times, disoriented at first. Anxiety comes rushing at you as you recall the events of last night.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, and your mind immediately floods with last night: Namjoon’s drunken confession, Yoongi’s steady presence. The tangled web of feelings and uncertainty you sort of successfully avoid dealing with for one night are now front and center.

Groaning softly, you reach for your phone on the nightstand. You have a couple missed messages. One is from Yoongi, making sure you got back safely, another from Hiyyih asking where the hell you went, and one more from Namjoon.

Namjoon: Good morning YN. Guess I owe you some boba? I don’t really remember much from last night, but I feel like I need to apologize for something…did I say something weird?

You stare at the message for a long moment, biting your lip. He doesn’t remember. Or at least, he thinks he doesn’t. You knew this conversation was coming, but you were hoping to have more time to prepare yourself. Maybe you should have done that last night instead of hopping in your ex’s bed. Namjoon’s message is the perfect opening, but it also makes your stomach twist with nerves.

Do you tell him everything now? How honest should you be? Or do you wait until you see him in person?

With a sigh, you start typing

You: We definitely need to talk. Do you want to meet up later? I think there’s a conversation we need to finish.

You hit send before you can second guess yourself. There’s no point dragging this out any longer. As you wait for his reply, you push the blankets off and get out of bed, heading to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. The cool water helps clear your head, but the knot of tension in your stomach remains.

By the time you’re back at your bed, Namjoon has replied.

Namjoon: Yeah, I figured. How about lunch? We can meet at the cafe on campus.

It feels like a good place to start, a neutral space where you can talk things out without too much pressure.

You: sounds good. I’ll see you there at noon

With that settled, you check the time. It’s still early, but the rest of your day feels like a countdown to the inevitable conversation. You grab your things and decide to take a walk around campus, hoping the fresh air will help ease your mind.

As you walk through the quiet campus, memories of last night come back in flashes. Yoongi’s gentle touch, his careful questions, the way he could see right through you. You wonder if you should tell him about the meeting with Namjoon later, if he’d want to know.

For now, you decide to keep it to yourself. There's no need to overcomplicate things until you have a clearer understanding of where your head's at. What would even be gained from telling Yoongi that? He might comfort you but wouldn’t it only hurt him to hear about Namjoon?

When noon finally rolls around, you find yourself standing outside the cafe. Your heart races as you spot Namjoon sitting at a table near the window, his head bent over his phone, clearly waiting for you. He’s got that nervous energy about him, the same kind of energy that was there last night when he drunkenly confessed. You smile to yourself, knowing that things are about to get interesting.

“Hey, Joon.” you say with a smile, trying to lighten the mood as you sit down on the seat in front of him.

Namjoon’s head snaps up, his eyes wide for a moment. A small, bashful smile spreads across his face, and you can see the relief wash over him. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I was just…thinking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Thinking about how you drunkenly confessed your feelings to me last night?”

His smile drops, replaced by sheer panic. “Wait, I…I did?”

You nod, biting back a laugh. “Oh yeah. Told me everything. How you’ve liked me for ages, how you admire me, how you think I’m amazing…” You trail off, watching his face slowly turn from pale to bright red.

Namjoon covers his face with his hands, groaning. “Oh god, no. Please tell me I didn’t say anything too embarrassing.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with a teasing smile. “Depends on how you define embarrassing. But you did make a deal with me.”

He peeks through his fingers. “A deal?”

“Yeah.” You smirk. “If you didn’t remember confessing, you’d owe me boba.”

Namjoon pulls out his phone, scrolling through the messages from last night. His eyes widen when he sees the proof. “Oh no. I really said that, didn’t I?”

“Mhm,” you hum, nodding. “So, I’m thinking you owe me that boba.”

He lets out a breath, laughing at his own expense, but there’s a nervousness behind it. “Okay, okay, fair enough. But…do we need to talk about it? About what I said?”

You pause, the weight of his question settling between you two. It’s tempting to keep the mood light, to just brush it off like you have before, but the truth is…you’ve been thinking about it too. Not just about Namjoon, but about Yoongi, about how your feelings are all tangled up right now. You care about both of them, but you haven’t figured out what any of it means yet.

You sigh softly, leaning forward on the table. “Honestly, Joon? I’m still trying to figure out how I feel. About you…about everything.” You look down at the table, fiddling with your fingers. “Last night, it kind of threw me.”

Namjoon stays quiet, letting you have the space to speak, but you can see the tension in his shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re going to say next.

You take a deep breath. “I wasn’t expecting you to say all that, you know? And I care about you, I really do, but I don’t want to rush into something just because I feel pressure to give you an answer right now.”

Namjoon nods slowly, his face softening with understanding. “I get that. I didn’t mean to put pressure on you, especially not when I was drunk. I just…I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

You smile a little at that. “Yeah, I kind of figured, but Joon, I want to take my time with this. I don’t want to mess anything up between us.”

He nods again, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. “I don’t want that either. I’d rather you take the time you need than feel like you have to give me an answer right away.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like a mutual understanding has settled in. Namjoon’s willing to give you the space you need, and you’re grateful for it.

“Thanks, Joon,” you say quietly, offering him a soft smile. “For understanding.”

“Of course,” he replies, his voice just as gentle. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, feeling the weight in your chest lift slightly. “And, you know…you’re still buying me boba, right?”

Namjoon laughs, the tension finally breaking. “Yeah, I haven’t forgotten.”

As you both stand to leave, Namjoon walks beside you, the easy, comfortable vibe between you two returning. But underneath it all, you know things are shifting. Your feelings for Namjoon are there, but what you do about that is still up in the air. And there’s Yoongi… his quiet presence, the way he’s always there when you need him. But is it healthy to keep going back to someone just because it’s easy?

You’re not sure what the future holds with either of them, but for now, you’re okay with letting things unfold at their own pace.

You and Namjoon make your way to his favorite boba place, the tension from earlier replaced by a lighter mood. It feels good to have cleared the air, but there’s still a nagging feeling in the back of your mind about last night. As you walk beside him, you decide to bring it up.

“So,” you start, glancing over at him. “There’s one more thing you might not remember from last night.”

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Oh no, what now?”

You smirk, finding his reaction endearing. “Well, after you confessed…you also asked for a kiss.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait—what? I-I asked for a kiss?”

You nod, your smirk widening as his face goes from surprise to sheer mortification. “You sure did, Joon. Drunk you is really bold.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair. “I really don’t remember any of that. What did you say? Did I—?”

You shake your head, cutting him off before his thoughts spiral too far. “I didn’t kiss you. You were not in the right state of mind for that. I told you we’d talk about it when you were sober.”

Namjoon lets out a huge breath, visibly relieved. “Okay, that’s good. I mean, not that I don’t want to kiss you, but…” His voice trails off, and he clears his throat awkwardly. “You know what I mean.”

You chuckle softly, appreciating how flustered he is. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s quiet for a moment as you both continue walking. You can sense he’s thinking hard about something, and before you reach the boba shop, he speaks up again. “I’m really sorry about all that, YN. I didn’t want to make things awkward or uncomfortable between us.”

You glance at him, his sincere expression making your heart soften. “It’s okay, Namjoon. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just took me by surprise.” You offer him a reassuring smile. “Like I said earlier, I’m glad you told me. I wouldn’t have figured it out otherwise. Even if it wasn’t exactly how you wanted to tell me.”

Namjoon laughs nervously. “Yeah, definitely not how I planned it. But thank you for understanding.”

You finally reach the boba place, and as you stand in line, the conversation flows more naturally. Namjoon is back to usual self, cracking jokes and making light conversation. But now, there’s an unspoken understanding between you. You’re both taking things slow, figuring out your feelings as they come.

As you take your first sip of your drink, Namjoon smiles at you. His dimples are on full display making your heart flutter. “So, what do you think? Does this boba make up for the whole drunken confession?”

You tilt to head to the side pretending to consider. “Hmm, it’s a start, but I think you’re going to need to buy me a few more drinks before we’re even.”

Namjoon laughs, shaking his head. “Deal. I’ll buy you boba every day if that’s what it takes.”

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

Later, you find a cozy spot under a large oak tree, where you sit on the grass and talk about everything from classes to future plans.

“So, have you thought more about the winter tournament?” Namjoon asks, his expression serious yet encouraging as he leans back on his elbows, gazing up at you.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” you admit, fiddling with the grass. “I’m nervous but excited. It feels like such a big deal this year.”

Namjoon nods, his face lit up with interest. “You’ve trained hard for this. I know you’re going to do great. Just focus on what you can control.”

“Thanks, Joon. It means a lot to have your support,” you reply, smiling back at him.

The afternoon passes quickly as you explore, visiting various shops and grabbing a few snacks along the way. The more time you spend together, the more relaxed you feel. There’s something comforting about having him around, even amidst the chaos of your feelings.

Eventually, the sun begins to set, casting a beautiful orange glow over the courtyard next to the dorms. You can hear laughter and chatter from nearby students winding down their day. After grabbing a few drinks from a nearby stand, you both find a bench to sit on, enjoying the cooling evening air.

“This was a really nice day,” Namjoon says, looking content. “I’m glad we got to hang out like this.”

“Me too,” you reply, feeling a mix of happiness and something deeper simmering beneath the surface.

As you reach the entrance of Namjoon’s building, you hesitate. Namjoon looks at you with a curious expression, sensing your internal struggle.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come inside? We can study together.” he suggests, his voice warm and encouraging.

You smile at him, appreciating the offer, but you shake your head. You aren’t sure your self control will remain strong in the walls of his bedroom. “I think I’m going to stay out here a little while.”

Namjoon nods, understanding. “Alright. Just text me if you need anything, okay?”

He gives you one last reassuring smile before turning to head back in, leaving you alone in the soft glow of the courtyard lights. You take a deep breath, the cool evening air refreshing against your skin. You sit back on the bench, letting your thoughts drift as you watch the stars slowly begin to twinkle in the night sky. It’s so peaceful here.

════════════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ════════════

On Tuesday when the Oak’s Club meeting has concluded Professor Oak asks you and Yoongi to stay back. Neither of you have any idea what this is about. Namjoon and Jimin raise an eyebrow but leave, promising to catch up later.

“I would like to be the first to congratulate both of you on being chosen for the winter tournament.” Professor Oak says, and your chest fills with pride. Yoongi looks over at you the same moment you look at him and the two of you lock eyes. Excitement is taking over every part of both of you. “This year is going to be a bit different than previous years. You have worked so hard and we want there to be maximum support. Tomorrow morning each of the sixteen trainers chosen for the winter tournament will receive a text message telling them to meet at a photo studio in town. There the rest of the trainers will be told they were chosen and there will be a photoshoot.”

The excitement still pulses in your chest, but it’s hard to ignore Yoongi’s discomfort as Professor Oak continues.

“A photoshoot, though?” Yoongi mutters, fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. “Seems unnecessary.”

You nudge him playfully. “Come on, this is huge! We’re about to compete for the chance to represent Paldea University against the gym leaders. People are going to want to know who the top trainers are. The more advertising we do, the bigger the crowd, the more support we get when we win.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but there’s a hint of a smile. “It’s still about battling for me. All this extra stuff feels like a distraction.”

Professor Oak chuckles, clearly enjoying the exchange. “That’s the spirit, YN! Though I assure you both, this year’s tournament is going to be bigger than ever. The whole school is buzzing about it, even if they don’t know why yet. I want the two of you to be ready for the spotlight.”

You can feel the weight of what’s ahead. The winter tournament isn’t just about winning a trophy—it’s about earning the honor of representing Paldea University in the prestigious challenge against the gym leaders. Sixteen of the best trainers on campus, but only two will get that honor. Not to mention the $7,000 and baskets full of top of the line pokemon equipment. The stakes have never felt higher.

"Any other surprises we should expect?" you ask, sensing there might be more.

Professor Oak taps his chin thoughtfully but doesn’t reveal much. “Let’s just say this tournament could open doors for both of you. Opportunities beyond Paldea. Sponsors, League scouts—there’s a lot of interest this year. You two have been recommended by staff members for a reason. You’ve shown incredible battling capability, and now it’s your time to prove it.”

You exchange a look with Yoongi. His usual nonchalant demeanor has shifted into something more focused, like he’s beginning to see just how important this tournament is. It’s not just about bragging rights—it’s about proving yourself worthy of facing the gym leaders. Technically, other students can still try, but if they can’t even defeat their peers, what chance do they have against the gym leaders?

"Careers?" Yoongi repeats, his tone more serious now.

Professor Oak nods. “If you impress the right people, there’s no telling where this could lead. But for now, focus on the battles ahead and tomorrow’s photoshoot. Friday, the school will meet their top trainers.”

As you leave the room, the magnitude of the challenge settles in. Yoongi walks beside you, quiet but clearly thinking.

“So...tomorrow, huh?” Yoongi finally says, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” you reply, already considering how you’ll prepare for the photoshoot, and the battles that follow. “Let’s make it count.”

He glances at you. “No telling anyone, right?”

You laugh. “Of course not. We wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, the weight of everything starting to sink in. It’s no longer just about the excitement of the tournament, this is your shot at representing Paldea University against the gym leaders, something most students only dream about. The thought of it sends a thrill through you, but there’s also a heavy sense of responsibility.

As you near the entrance to the building, Yoongi speaks again, his voice quieter than usual. “Do you really think we can win this?”

You glance over, surprised by the question. Yoongi has always been confident, even in the toughest battles. But now, his usual confidence seems tempered by the reality of the challenge ahead.

“I think we have as good a shot as anyone,” you say, trying to sound as certain as you feel. “We were chosen for a reason. We’ve proven ourselves.”

Yoongi gives a small nod but doesn’t say anything more. You know he’s thinking about the competition and the fifteen other top trainers in the school, each of them just as determined to win. But you’re ready for it. You’ve trained hard, and this is the moment you’ve been working toward.

When you step outside, the cool evening air hits you, and you take a deep breath. The campus is quieter than usual, with most students already turning in for the night. You and Yoongi part ways, promising to meet up tomorrow.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, you can’t help but replay Professor Oak’s words in your mind. The idea of winning the tournament and representing Paldea University feels surreal. The prize money and items would be incredible, but the real reward is the opportunity to take on the gym leaders.

Your phone buzzes, and you sit up, grabbing it off your nightstand. It’s a message from Namjoon.

Namjoon: Yo, what did Oak want? Everything okay?

You smile, knowing you can’t tell him the real reason, not yet.

You: Yeah, everything’s fine. He just wanted to talk to me and Yoongi about some upcoming events. Nothing big.

You feel a little guilty about the lie, but there’s no other choice. Not until Friday. The rest of the night passes in a blur of restless thoughts, and before you know it, your alarm blares. It’s morning, and today’s the day.

Hiyyih doesn’t try to talk to you about the text message she gets in the early morning. She’s also forbidden from talking to anyone about it. After getting through a day that felt like it was dragging on forever you throw on some clothes and head to meet Yoongi. When you spot him waiting near the campus entrance, you notice his usual laid-back expression is gone, replaced with something more focused.

“Ready?” you ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Yoongi adjusts the strap of his bag, his face set with determination. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

#route 613 #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x you #yoongi x you #route 613 chapter 9

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firstdegreefangirl · 2 years ago

Text

If Only In My Dreams

Theme: Day 10 - Travel @12daysofchristmas

Fandom/Character(s): Tim Bradford/Lucy Chen (The Rookie)

Word Count: 1221

Ao3 link here!

Four things happen at once.

One: Tim comes back from an airport kiosk with two cups of overpriced coffee in his hand. He passes one of them to Lucy, who smiles up at him, and leans back against the window railing next to their carryon bags. She rests her head against one of his calves.

Two: The speaker above them crackles to life and spits out some garbled announcement from the woman standing at the gate counter. At least, he thinks it’s from her; she’s holding a radio.

Three: Tim burns his mouth on his first sip of over-roasted coffee. Six bucks a cup, and they burned it. Figures.

Four: His phone and Lucy’s vibrate at the same time.

Four things happen at once, which means that Tim is trying to comprehend them all at once, which in turn means that he doesn’t make sense of any of them.

The first thing he registers completely is the sudden chill on his shin where Lucy has sat up abruptly.

“Tim,” she says, panic edging into her voice. “Did you hear what they said? Was it about this flight alert? I think we got canceled.”

She passes her phone to him, standing up as he squints at the screen.

We’re sorry! Flight 272/Dec 23 LAX to CYS is canceled due to heavy snowfall in the destination city. Please see customer service for assistance/rebooking. We apologize for the inconvenience.

He’s reading the message for the third time when the speaker comes on again. This time, he closes his eyes and listens carefully to the tinny voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we regret to inform you that heavy snowfall has closed the Cheyenne, Wyoming airport. All travelers booked on flight 272 for service to Cheyenne, please see the customer service desk for assistance. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

“Shit,” he whispers.

“No kidding.” When Tim opens his eyes, Lucy is wringing her hands together and pacing in short circles. He stops her, catching her hands in his.

“Hey, it’s OK. We’ll figure it out.”

“Figure what out? They canceled our flight, Tim! You saw the website; there’s nothing else until after Christmas! The whole point of this was to spend Christmas together, just the two of us!”

She’s right: they’d spent close to a month trying to balance half a dozen holiday plans. Her parents, his sister, Angela, John, Jackson’s parents, a weekend at the retirement community where his mother lives, the list had gone on.

There was no easy answer, no plan that made everybody happy. In the end, they’d been frustrated and overwhelmed, sitting on opposite sides of Tim’s kitchen table when Lucy had looked up and asked who ever said we had to spend Christmas with anyone at all? What if we just take the holidays to ourselves, make the rounds when we get back?

It had been appealing right off the bat – no juggling, no hurry, an extended holiday season for everyone, with more days to celebrate. So they’d found a direct flight to southern Wyoming, and Tim had booked a private cabin outside city limits. That only sweetened the pot: six days, alone with Lucy, in a secluded, rural cabin.

The first real vacation they’d take together.

There are tears shining in Lucy’s eyes now, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lighting of the terminal. Tim pulls her into his chest, rubbing one hand up and down her back in wide, sweeping circles while she collects herself.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

For a moment, it feels like Lucy has accepted the reassurance. Her shoulders aren’t shaking anymore, and he can't hear her sniffles. When she leans back far enough to look him in the eye, it doesn’t look like she’s crying.

But then her eyes go wide and she sucks in a sharp breath. In any other circumstances, that expression would mean something totally different, but she starts rattling off questions before his body can react.

“Tim, what are we going to do? Do we go home now? We can’t spend Christmas in LAX. You hate the airport.” He resists the urge to laugh – that's the only reason they can’t spend seven and a half days sitting in crappy vinyl chairs and sharing three electrical outlets with 700 people? “If we go home, we have to pick someone to spend the holidays with. And what about the cabin? Can we get a refund? We took time off work for this. We—” He cuts her off.

“Hey, Lucy.” Tim lets go of her hands, bringing his own up to cradle her face gently. He draws his thumbs along her cheekbones, wiping away the stray tears. “Sweetheart. It’s going to be OK. Alright? We’ll figure it all out.” He sounds like a broken record, he’s sure, but it’s the best he can do right now. He doesn’t have the answers, doesn’t want to lie to her about that, but this is far from the worst thing they’ve endured together.

They’ll figure it out. It’s the one thing he knows for sure.

“Yeah …" She trails off, like she doesn’t quite believe him.

“We will. I promise, OK? Maybe it won’t be Wyoming, but we’ll come up with something. I don’t care where I spend Christmas, as long as you’re there too.” Tim tips his face down to rest their foreheads together. Lucy sniffles.

“You say that until you’ve spent it with my parents.”

“OK, so your parents’ is out. We can work with that.” He stands back upright. “What are you the most worried about?”

“Um …" Lucy takes a deep breath, looking around as if she’s going to find the answer right there in the airport walkway. “Checked bags, cabin rental, and … and I really don’t want to go home, but I don’t want to stay here if we don’t even have a flight.”

“Easy enough.” He rubs her arm soothingly. “I’m sure they’ve got a plan for the baggage. We’ll find out what it is. I’ll call the cabin people; they usually have some weather cancellation thing. What if we found a flight somewhere else?”

“I … I don’t know … where would we go?” She bites her lip, and Tim reaches down to squeeze her fingers.

“We don’t have to. It was just an idea, if you don’t like it, we’ll do something else.”

“I just … I don’t know.”

“That’s OK. Let’s not worry about a last-minute flight. We could drive somewhere.” But Lucy doesn’t look excited about that either. “How about this: we’ll figure out the bags, I’ll find us a room at a hotel for the week. Not too far away, but nobody has to know we’re still in town. We have the cabin through the 29th. I’ll ask them about rebooking if things open up in a few days. Even if they don’t, we’ll be together. Just us, yeah? Wasn’t that the whole point of Wyoming?”

“Yeah …" She sniffles again but looks a little cheerier than she had two minutes ago.

“Yeah, it was.”

“How do you just … solve everything? Thank you. For … solving it.”

“Anytime.” He smiles at her, pretty sure she’s talking about more than just their Christmas vacation. He knows he is, at least. “I mean it, Lucy. All I need is you, and it’ll be a Merry Christmas.”

#katie writes #kw22 #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #the rookie #12daysofchristmas2022 #12daysofchristmas #day 10: travel

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vforvadersbitches · 2 years ago

Note

After several months of being shuffles around and moved to different bases at Ahsoka’s whim, I finally make friends with one of the runners, Zip. A cute kid, only fourteen. Old enough to help out as much as he can, which apparently means running letters to the Imperial spies Ahsoka has stationed.

I absolutely beg him to get a letter to the Emperor, having figured out his particular identity months ago, and he agrees. I manage to get a scrap of paper into an envelope with a message to Emperor Virgil. Such a Ben name to choose. God.

Ben,

It’s me, Lili. I have so much I want to tell you. First, I’m alive. Obviously. I hope after knowing me for twenty years you’d recognize my handwriting, anyway. Second, I had our baby. I know you knew I was pregnant but if you thought me dead I’m sure you thought her dead as well. Yes, she’s a girl. I named her Juliet like you wanted. She has your pretty red hair.

I am quickly running out of paper. I want you to write me back and tell me about your months. And, if you could, include paper for me to write a letter in return. Hand yours to Zip, he can get it to me.

-Lili

Zip ducks into the Emperor's office when the hallway is empty, willing himself to not shit his pants at the sight of the very angry... brutal man. "Em-Emperor sir?"

Virgil looks up, raising a brow. "Who are you? I don't employ you."

"I'm- uh- hi," he gives a shaky wave, holding up the letter, "I have s-something for you. Just- you have to read it and answer right- right now." He gulps. "Sir."

"A child, waltzing into my office, demanding something of me," he hums, pulling the letter from Zip's hand with the Force. "How strange-" he pauses at the handwriting on the envelope. "What is this."

"It's- please you just have to trust me and read it right now," Zip nods quickly, "I'm gonna uh- walk around the city and come back at- at three, sir. Three sharp. And I'll be here to collect your response."

He slowly backs toward the door as Virgil starts to open it, then ducks into the hallway once he knows he's safe. Holy shit... easily scarier than working for Ahsoka. Well- maybe not. No, definitely not. Silly thought.

Virgil shuts his office door with a wave of his hand and fumbles to get the letter open, shaking his head in disbelief as he reads through the writing.

He reads it through twice, until he can no longer see through his tears, and then quickly grabs some paper and his best pen. Always his best pen for letters- especially to... the love of his life, who is alive. With his child.

He quickly begins to write, being sure to keep any dripping tears far away from the pages so they don't wrinkle or smudge the ink.

Lili,

Forgive me, I'm in utter disbelief. I thought I felt you die that day. It's left an aching hole in my chest since. No matter what I do, I cannot dull it. But this letter... feeling close to you again... it helped a bit.

I don't know what to tell you of my past months. I don't want you to know any more than you already do. It's not worth sharing. Nothing I say could erase the pure monstrosity they've made of me in the news.

I miss you terribly. Where are you? If you are alive, why have you not come to see me? Why do you keep yourself and darling Juliet from me? You trust me enough to send me a letter and alert me of your existence... but not enough to come here yourself? You will be unharmed, I can promise you that. I want nothing more than for you to be here.

Please, send me a picture if you can. When you write back. I miss your face, your smile- and I want to see our daughter. Our daughter. Such a strange thing to be able to say with the knowledge that she's alive now. The darkness has made me hallucinate her several times, though I doubt she's as beautiful in the visions as she is in our very real life.

If travel is an issue I will come get you. I have more than enough transportation. Please, come be with me. I cannot stand this enormous place alone. Please.

I love you to the ends of this galaxy and back. Just as always. That part of me has not changed. Never will.

I am so sorry, for all I've done. For not looking for you. That mistake will haunt me forever.

~ Vir Ben

He sniffles and pulls himself together as he neatly folds up the letter, along with extra paper for you, then carefully seals the white envelope with gold borders.

When Zip comes back, he hands the letter off, giving Zip a hefty amount of credits for his delivery- and making him promise to give some to you as well.

Zip returns late that night, practically sprinting into your room. "H-Hey- letter," he holds it up, panting softly. "And- and credits."

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years ago

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Two)

2.9k words, rated E for everyone :)

Lando’s voice, amplified by the TV speakers, echoes around the humming Red Bull garage. “I’m fine but I’ve been better. I can say that I’m not in perfect condition, I’m not gonna lie. Some work to do mentally of course. I talk about that a lot, and mental health and mental strength is very important. I’ve not been sleeping that great and so on… not ideal and I’m feeling a bit sore, but I’m not the guy in the worst position after Wembley. I’ll work on it, I’ll make sure I’m in the best shape possible, and I feel like I can still go out and focus on what I need to do, and that’s the main thing.”

Your mind races as you listen to the boy plastered across the many screens revisit his experience at Wembley. He sounds awful; something about his cadence making it even more obvious that he is really, truly shaken up. The wavering pitch, awkward pausing, fumbling for words; everything about the way he presents himself is serving as a brutal reminder that being physically unscathed is no indicator that harm was not dealt. Even as the interview moves past the topic of last week’s Euro Final, you notice the shift in demeanor and your heart aches. You worry that bringing the watch to him is a bad idea, that it could prompt unbidden memories and disquieting feelings. You understand how big of an event Silverstone is from your dad’s tangents alone, especially for an English team with an English driver, so you reevaluate whether your decision to come was selfish, one made solely to alleviate your own sentiments of guilt rather than to verily right your believed wrongdoings.

On the journey to Silverstone, your dad had made multiple attempts at lessening your stress, even opting for variations of the if he steps out of line I will put him right back in his place father speech. Unfortunately fruitless, your father’s attempts mean you remain just as anxious as when you had first discovered that you managed to obtain a stolen wristwatch.

You’re not sure whether it’s the crisp morning air or your nerves that sends chills across your flesh, but your attempt to ground yourself subtly doesn’t go unnoticed by your dad as he passes you in the garage.

“Time is ticking,” he informs you, a smirk playing on his lips. “No pun intended.”

You roll your eyes in an attempt to downplay your apprehension, but your voice gives away any and all signs of the false confidence you hope to portray. “Can you do it for me?” you plead.

“I can’t just stroll on over to the McLaren garage without an invitation or proper reason, especially not a couple hours before free practice starts. It doesn’t look good.”

“It’s not like me walking in there instead would look any better,” you retort, gesturing to the Red Bull logo plastered across the chest of your black polo. “Your branding isn’t what I would call subtle.”

“Look, the McLaren team are a good sort. They’ll help you out if you just explain the issue and show them the watch. I’m sure Lando will understand too, he seems like a pretty nice bloke,” your dad reassures you.

Sighing, your eyes meet the floor, fingers intertwined with each other as you fidget incessantly. Before you can speak up in further defiance, however, an additional set of footsteps grow nearer and you freeze at the voice which speaks up.

“Christian, how much longer until our media slot?”

You lose your breath momentarily, locking your gaze onto your shoes as you wait for the person to pass by.

“About five minutes, Max,” your dad replies. “We were just about to head over.”

When you hear the footsteps grow fainter, you risk looking up, thankfully being met with only the observance of your father. You don’t even realize that you’ve tensed your body until your dad points it out.

“Relax,” he says. “He’s not going to say anything here, especially not on a race weekend.”

Nodding, you feel your shoulders ease up but you remain quiet.

“Anyways, like I said, our media briefing and interviews start soon and we’re after McLaren this weekend so they should already be back in their garage,” he says, realizing that you still appear troubled by the task ahead of you. “I promise you, everything will be fine. Just go over there and I’ll meet you back here when we’re done. The quicker you head over, the quicker you’re done with it and we can all move on." With that, your dad walks away and you reluctantly leave the Red Bull garage, adjusting your shirt as you straighten up.

You take a brief glance at your phone, turning it off after you try one last time to keep the picture of the boy imprinted in your mind. Eyes darting rapidly, you attempt to scan the paddock for anyone looking remotely like him while you make your way towards the bright orange and blue indicators of the McLaren garage.

The frequency of orange-clad individuals grows the further you stray from the safety of Red Bull’s garage, and you feel your heartbeat begin to increase. Worried that someone would stop you before you could approach the one person you had traveled all the way to Silverstone for in the first place, you quicken your pace.

You’re mere meters away when you spot him. Pushing past a few people while trying to keep your eyes trained on him, you watch as he turns around to talk briefly with the woman next to him.

Huffing, you muster up the little confidence you have and tap him on the shoulder.

His confusion is evident and the blonde woman next to him does not look pleased to have been interrupted. The silence is palpable as they stare at you, expecting an explanation for the abrupt ending of their conversation.

“Hi,” is all you can deliver. You’re at a loss for words while the woman next to him seems to lose what little patience she has with you. Everything you had rehearsed beforehand, gone. Your mind is foggy and your mouth feels dry as you try to compose yourself. “Um, can I talk to you for a second? It won’t be long, I promise.” Your voice breaks at the end and you wish you had never agreed to get on that stupid red-eye to Silverstone in the first place.

Lando offers a look of sympathy and then turns to the woman next to him. “Charlotte, could you just give us a second?”

Pursing her lips and turning on her heel, the woman walks away, heading towards the mouth of the McLaren garage. She’s far enough away that you’re out of earshot, but close enough that you feel her gaze linger as Lando turns back to face you.

“Hey, don’t worry,” he tells you with a smile. “We can take a picture if you want or I can sign some stuff for you.”

“What? No.” You shake your head, mentally slapping your palm against your forehead and forcing yourself to get a grip. Idiot. “Fuck, sorry, that sounded so rude! It’s just-” you rush to explain.

“Oh no, it’s okay!” he stammers. “I should’ve guessed from the Red Bull shirt anway.”

You both share an awkward laugh before you compose yourself and reach a shaky hand into your bag.

“This is going to sound so weird, but I was online shopping for a new watch the other day because I lost mine, and I’m pretty sure I bought the one that was stolen from you. I didn’t know anything about it, I swear. I just...well, here,” you say, offering the watch and its temporary box to Lando.

He looks at you, taking the box only to go wide-eyed at the contents inside.

“I have all the information that I was able to get, but the ad was taken off of eBay and I really wanted to do the right thing and give it back to you. Please don’t be mad.”

“What the hell?!” he exclaims, earning a few looks from people passing by and catching Charlotte’s attention once more. “Sorry, sorry. How did you get this?”

Amused, you laugh quietly while he studies the watch intently. “That was my dad’s reaction too. Basically there was a listing for it on eBay and it was sort of an impulse buy,” you explain. “I didn’t see the news coverage of what happened until afterwards and I felt awful. I’m really sorry you had to go through that, I genuinely had no idea.”

Shrugging, he plays it off. “Nothing I can’t handle.” It’s hard to miss his sudden change in attitude from the interview you watched moments ago and you can’t help but wonder whether he has your or the watch’s presence to thank.

There is a brief moment of silence between you both before he continues. “How much did you pay for it?”

“It was so cheap, honestly,” you say. “Nothing compared to the original price, I’m sure.”

Charlotte, alerted by Lando’s attention-grabbing reaction to being reunited by his watch, returns to where the two of you are standing. “Oh wow, did you find a replacement watch for him?” she asks you, clearly impressed by the apparent likeness.

“No, Charlotte”, he corrects her. “It’s my one. Look.” He hands the watch to his PR manager, who receives it so gently you think she’s afraid it might shatter in her hands. Flipping the watch between her fingers, she studies the small engraving on the underside of the face.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

Lando nods. “It’s the exact date it was given to me, there’s no way anyone else could know that and make a copy of it.”

You feel the need to justify yourself to her. “It was listed online and I bought it before I knew anything about the situation. I didn’t even really know who Lando was until I saw what happened on the news, I swear.” You anticipate her anger or disapproval, preparing yourself to withstand the lecture you’re about to receive and mentally promising that, as soon as it’s over, you can run back to your dad and tell him you just want to go home.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe it!” she exclaims. “We all thought we’d never see it again and you found it on accident.” The smile she gives you sets your mind at ease. “Technically, this is a police matter now, so I’ll have to hand it over to the right people, but this helps us tremendously. Did you get any information about the seller?”

You explain the situation to her, about how the listing was taken offline but you have a printout of the messages and address the seller gave you, which you hand her from your bag. She lets you know that someone may get in touch soon to ask questions but not to worry, that it’s only a formality. Eventually, she asks if you’d like to watch free practice from a spot in the mobile hospitality unit, but you politely decline, explaining that you needed to get back to your dad in the Red Bull garage instead.

Charlotte smiles fondly at Lando and presses the brim of his cap down over his eyes. “Come on, you, we have to go and get ready now anyway.”

He takes off his hat, cheeks flushing as he makes an effort to quickly brush the curls lining his forehead, placing it back on and dismissing Charlotte with a wave of his hand. “Okay, just give me a minute.”

Once the two of you are alone, he pulls out his phone. “Do you have Venmo? I’ll pay you back, it’s not fair that you had to waste your money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.”

Lando seems unconvinced. “It’s really not a problem.”

“Seriously, it’s all good.”

“Well,” he continues awkwardly. “I have to go, but are you here for the whole weekend or...?”

You shake your head. “Just today. I’m not into Formula 1, I find it a little bit boring.”

“Seriously?! The fastest cars in the world and you’re calling it boring? Why even come to something like Silverstone if it’s so boring?” he feigns offense, doing air quotes as he imitates your apparent disdain for the sport.

Laughing quietly, you shrug. “I have family at Red Bull, so it was basically just luck and convenience that you were in the U.K. this weekend,” you clarify. “I don’t really understand Formula 1, that’s all.”

“Fair enough, it’s not for everyone I suppose,” Lando replies. “So who in your family works at Red–” The end of his question is drowned out by the sound of his name called by an evidently disgruntled, impatient engineer.

He sighs. “I’m sorry, I’ve really gotta go, but, um,” he exhales with a nervous laugh. “I still feel like I need to repay you in some way. Do you want to go get a drink after the race on Sunday? I’m busy for the next few days but Sunday night I’ll be free. Only if you want to, of course, I don’t want to, like, pressure you or anything.”

You laugh, appreciative that the nervousness was shared. “That– Yeah, that sounds fine. I’ll give you my number.”

He types your details into his phone before apologizing once more, thanking you again, and rushing off into the garage.

——

On Sunday, you let your dad believe he’s the one who convinced you to stay for the entire race weekend, but it’s the promise of Lando’s company later that night and the endearing text messages on your phone that prompts the desire to see this weekend through. You had spent the previous nights on your phone, going through driver and team Instagram accounts, as well as the F1 website, to get an idea of what to expect. Typically, it would pain you to look through motorsport news pages, especially with so many of the reports centering around Max and his vie for the championship as of late, but you manage.

You notice almost immediately while settling into your spot at the back of the garage that the energy does not match your own. You are enthusiastic and eager, while the rest of the team is stressed and rushes around you. Presumably, it’s because race day impacts their livelihoods and paycheks whereas it only dictates your family’s dinner topics, but, nevertheless, your excitement refuses to simmer.

Unfortunately, if it was weird for you to be seen at the McLaren garage before the first free practice, it would be infinitely more suspicious for you to be lingering around on race day, so you were not able to catch Lando at all since your initial meeting on Friday. However, you made sure to message him good luck beforehand, to which he thanked you and expressed excitement for your upcoming night.

“If you need anything, just ask. I’ll be on the pitwall,” your dad says, snapping you out of your whirring mind. He notices your obscure behavior, quick to comment on it. “Is it weird? Being here after so long?”

You nod, shrugging. “Unusual, for sure. So much has changed since the last time I came and watched, but I’m excited, though.”

“Well, it’s always good to have you here.”

Reciprocating your dad’s grin, you silently send him on his way. He exits quickly and leaves you to your own devices. Though, your own devices look to consist of impatiently waiting for the race to start and scrolling absentmindedly through your phone. Ironically, your boredom with pre-race antics appears to create quite the dichotomy against the chaos exuding from the garage you find yourself encompassed in.

Regardless, your attention is regained when frequent cuts are made to the drivers in their cars, and you recognise that the race will be starting soon. You are temporarily startled when the cars begin moving without hearing an official announcement, but quickly realisee that it is merely a formation lap and no one else around you seems to be paying all too much mind to it.

When the cars return to their positions on the grid, you watch eagerly as the lights flash and the announcers begin yelling. You keep your eyes trained on the orange car towards the front of the grid, watching Lando so intently that you almost miss what happens to the cars in front of him.

Your eyes go wide as you watch the events unfold: the Red Bull car out front collides with what you identify as a Mercedes, spinning and slamming into the barrier. Gasps chorus across the garage as the screens replay slowed clips of the crash as an announcement states that the safety car has been deployed. They replay it from every conceivable angle, your astonishment at the severity is present upon your first viewing, but it’s only after the sixth clip that it clicks in your head that the person in the car is Max.

“For the second time this season, Hamilton and Verstappen clash and tangle on the opening lap, but, this time, it is ending in dramatic consequences for the championship leader.”

If you had perceived the pre-race behavior in the garage as chaotic, this was a whole new level of absurdity.

People rush around you while orders are shouted and frustrations are verbalised.

Your dad is angry.

The last time you recall him behaving like this was when your younger sister had broken the wine glasses he had bought for your mother on their honeymoon. You, however, ignore his yelling and remain encapsulated by the TV, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the events unfolding finally, finally register in your brain.

Car number 33 is in the wall and out of the race, and your ex-boyfriend is inside, silent and unmoving.

____________

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

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slaughtervoid · 3 years ago

Text

LITTLE DICTIONARY

this is an unfinished project that was started and abandoned in 2015. i enjoyed it enough on a reread to want to publish the part i did get done. i do want to specify that the narrative was always intended to eventually reveal that the plane landed safely and everyone is okay- i feel very strongly about the safety of passenger air travel in the modern day lmao

AERARCHIA: the concept of making yourself a priority so that you can help others effectively; putting your oxygen mask on first before helping others

AER-ARCH-I-A

noun

THE CONCEPT OF MAKING ONESELF A PRIORITY IN ORDER TO HELP OTHERS EFFECTIVELY

IN THE EVENT OF A PLANE CRASH, TO PUT ONE’S OXYGEN MASK ON FIRST BEFORE HELPING OTHERS TO APPLY THEIRS

The plane is going down and you can only think that you never replied to your mother’s text message. She won’t know what you wanted for dinner before you died. Your mask is on and you still can’t breathe

The co-pilot comes stumbling down the row. You see the flames on the wing reflected in his eyes. They are calm, still, deep

Passengers holding hands nobody here will die alone

AESTHFUNCTAL: a thing that exists purely to bring joy; a focus on comfort and happiness as the goals of life

AESTH-FUNC-TAL

adj., noun

A THING THAT EXISTS PURELY TO BRING JOY

THE GOALS OF LIFE BEING NOT FUNCTION BUT HAPPINESS, NOT SUCCESS BUT COMFORT, NOT LIFE BUT NOT TO DIE ALONE

Your father is at the airport. He’s brought your favorite blanket and pillow, and they wait in the car while he waits with the other families, the lovers, the businessmen, the strangers and strangely familiar. He’s playing a game on his phone and his earbuds are in. He doesn’t see the news alert scrolling across the airport TV

Your mother is at home. She’s reading. You never replied to her text, so she’s making your childhood favorite- chicken parmesan. Your sister made mashed potatoes for you. She loves you so dearly

There are hydrangeas and baby’s breath in a vase on the table

AGRAPHIAGRATIS: missing letters or misspelling while writing, but leaving the error in with fond amusement

A-GRAPH-I-A-GRAT-IS

noun; verb

TO MISS LETTERS OR MISSPELL WHILE WRITING, BUT LEAVE THE ERROR IN WITH FOND AMUSEMENT, SELF-COMPASSION

Your mother’s text reads “What do you want foir dinner tonight (a mistake! not perfect after all!)?”

Her phone has autocorrect. You know she overrode the spellcheck on purpose to show you her small error; you know she laughed a small laugh when she sent it and imagined you rolling your eyes

You’re texting her back, now, but nothing is sending

You tell you that you love her and miss the Sent!

ANEURIATRO: being opposed to medical treatment for one's neurodivergency or (generally neurological) disability, as in a deaf person who refuses a cochlear implant or an autistic person objecting to ABA therapy

A-NEUR-I-A-TRO

noun

BEING OPPOSED TO MEDICAL TREATMENT FOR ONE’S NEURODIVERGENCY OR DISABILITY, AS IN A DEAF PERSON REFUSING A COCHLEAR IMPLANT OR AN AUTISTIC PERSON OBJECTING TO BEHAVIOR ALTERING THERAPY

Your hands are held carefully still in your lap. Your voice is held carefully still in your head. Your body is a rusting ship rocking gently in the waves

It’s too loud. You are inside

You are wrapped up and taped shut

You are held carefully still everywhere except in your own heart

AUDIOSYNTH: a person who mainly stims with or prefers to stim with auditory stimuli

AU-DI-O-SYNTH

noun

A PERSON WHO MAINLY STIMS WITH OR PREFERS TO STIM WITH AUDITORY STIMULI

A PERSON WHOSE JOY IS CONTAINED WITHIN SOUNDS

Rain is your favorite. It’s always been your favorite

You put your hands over your ears and listen. Lava is flowing under your skin and between the gaps of your bones

It’s the song that plays in your flesh

AUTOCOGNATE: to ruminate on the self; one who knows themself deeply and intimately

AUT-O-COG-NATE

verb, noun

TO RUMINATE ON THE SELF

ONE WHO KNOWS THEMSELF DEEPLY AND INTIMATELY

DO YOU BELONG HERE?

WHY WERE YOU BORN? WHY ARE YOU ALIVE? WHY WILL YOU DIE?

DO YOU BELONG ANYWHERE? WILL YOU BELONG SOMEWHERE WHEN YOU’RE DEAD?

BENEBURS: a positive feeling that is kept to oneself, secret in the heart- “a purse of happiness”

BEN-E-BURS

noun

A HAPPINESS THAT IS KEPT TO ONESELF, SECRET IN THE HEART, UNSHARED

A THING LEFT FOR A RAINY DAY

While the plane falls out of the sky, you think about your life so far. There’s no flashing. There’s no big regrets. Mostly, it’s this:

All the times you slept in and felt no guilt; all the meals you ate for taste alone; all the romance novels sitting neatly in a box in the corner

All the people you’ve ever kissed, and not kissed

CANDOSPIRE: the sigh of one who is deeply content, glowing with happiness

CAND-O-SPIRE

noun, verb

THE SIGH OF ONE WHO IS GLOWING WITH HAPPINESS, DEEPLY CONTENT

TO SIGH WHILE YOUR CHEST IS LIT FROM THE INSIDE WITH JOY

You are twelve again. You are twelve for the first time- it’s your birthday. Your mother’s made your favorite meal: chicken parmesan. You take a bite and sigh deeply

She asks what’s wrong, brow furrowed. There’s a vase on the table full of lilacs and a small cake waiting on the counter. You asked to eat in, this birthday, instead of going to a restaurant, and she smiled

Nothing is wrong. Your breath is incandescent

CARNICAND: a happiness felt mainly with the body and not with the mind; a subtle joy experienced as warmth in the chest

CAR-NI-CAND

noun

A HAPPINESS FELT MAINLY WITH THE BODY AND NOT WITH THE MIND- A SUBTLE JOY, EXPERIENCED AS WARMTH IN THE CHEST

Here you are, glowing. Here you are, lit from within. Here you are, human

Here’s the rain, and here’s your sister, and here’s your mother, and here’s love, utterly content, glimmering

Here’s pomegranate juice, running through your happily trembling fingers, your smiling chin coated with red

Your silly little heart dancing, soaked with spring shower, eyes spilling over with joy and rain

CARNIDIS: a disconnection from the flesh; dissociation wherein the body is foreign

CARNIDIS

noun

A CERTAIN DISCONNECTION FROM THE FLESH; DISSOCIATION WHEREIN THE BODY IS FOREIGN

Your deer legs are distant and your head trembles on your neck

Where are your hands? Where are your hands? Where are your hands? You can feel them, you can see them, you can’t find them where are they where are your hands you don’t know

There is no such thing as pain. Your body is sending out warning signals but they never reach your brain you are locked in a white room with white noise

This is not your flesh. You have no body anymore

CARNIMERSE: to submerge oneself fully in the sensations of the body; when the mind ceases to think and all is input processing

verb

TO SUBMERGE ONESELF FULLY IN THE SENSATIONS OF THE BODY; WHEN THE MIND CEASES TO THINK AND ALL IS INPUT PROCESSING

NO THOUGHT NO MIND NO PERSON ALL FLESH ALL FLESH ALL

The power of love; the power of hate; the power of beating flesh with a baseball bat in an alley with neon glowing all around and rain dripping off your leather jacket

The deep water waiting at the bottom of your lungs. The deep water. The deep

And the crack of thunder waking you in the bottom of the night. The deep thunder. The bottom of the water. No thought no mind no person all heavy blanket and white noise and all that safety

CATACARDIAC: emotional experience wherein the heart seems too exhausted or damaged to love; esp as in depression or related to trauma

noun, adj

AN EMOTIONAL EXPERIENCE WHEREIN THE HEART IS TOO EXHAUSTED OR DAMAGED TO LOVE; ESP AS IN DEPRESSION OR IN RELATION TO TRAUMA

THERE IS NO MORE PROFOUND LONELINESS THAN THIS

Love does not have to be good. Love does not have to be permanent. Love does not have to oil the hinges on all your doors and fix your leaky bathroom faucet. Love is love and sometimes it is not enough

Sometimes it is too much

And all that guilt is too heavy to put anything on top of

CELERDICTION: the experience of one's thoughts coming for more rapidly than one's mouth can manage; esp. as in mania, ADHD, or talking of one's special interest

verb, noun

THE EXPERIENCE OF ONE’S THOUGHTS COMING FAR MORE RAPIDLY THAN ONE’S MOUTH CAN MANAGE; ESP. AS IN MANIA, ADHD, INFODUMPING, ETC.

THERE’S SO MUCH

CEPHALOCHROMY: to think in color or have many thoughts of color, esp as in synesthesia or psychosis; can also be used to describe the thoughts of an artist

DEMIHISTAL: being only partially made of flesh; the belief in more than a mortal body; angel-like

DICTICISE: the feeling that you have been robbed of your voice; esp. as in selective mutism or nonverbal episodes

DISCARNATE: to be disconnected from the body, as in dissociation wherein the body is foreign, or dysphoria

who is that who is that who is that who is that

DISDERMATE: the particular experience of looking in a mirror and having a disconnection between the sight of yourself and the concept of yourself as a person, as in dissociation, dysphoria or dysmorphia

DISTEMPIS: being disconnected from or unaware of time; having no sense of time or time passing; specifically as in the experience of being neurodivergent and having no sense of time

DONACARNIS: to accept the body fully- not with any particular love or delight, but tolerance

ENDOEGO: the inside, private self; the self shown only at home or in complete safety

ETHNAESTH: people of good sensation and beauty; people whose goal in life is to be in luxury and safety

ENDOSOPHIATE: “wise in the self”; knowing what makes you happy, knowing your limits

EUSYN: a sensation that brings pleasure and joy

FLORAESTH/FLEURESTH: a delicate, flowerlike emotion or beauty, which seems as though it will disappear if examined too closely

FORHISTAL: completely or fully flesh; the belief in nothing but a mortal body; being intensely connected with the sensations of the body

FLORUPT: an emotion that comes up from the gut into the chest and bursts there like a flower blooms

GRATHELIC: describing a movement pleasant to repeat; adjective for a stim

GRATISAN: a person who believes happiness is vital to health; a person whose goal is not to function, but to be happy and comfortable

HYPERGRATIS: an inexplicable, overwhelming joy in response to simple pleasures

HYPOLITHANT: the feeling that one is “beneath a rock” despite social involvement; isolation due to neurodivergency

KINEJUNCT: travel towards a beloved person or place; a journey taken expressly to reach a beloved person or place

this plane was supposed to take you home but instead it took you home

LOCUGRATIS: talking because it is enjoyable; relishing the sensation of speech, the feeling of certain words or phrases, as in echolalia

LOCUMAGNA/LOCUMAGNATE: to feel as though all one’s speech is vital and beautiful, as in mania or the flow of poetry

MANIAMOR: an appreciation of and indulgence in mania or senseless joy

MASSIAGRATIS: the whole and blossoming joy that causes one to gasp for air; usually implied to be caused by another person

MASS-I-A-GRA-TIS

noun

THE WHOLE AND BLOSSOMING JOY THAT TAKES THE BREATH AND OPENS THE MOUTH; IMPLIED TO BE CAUSED, MOST OFTEN, BY ANOTHER PERSON

Here you are, stood in his doorway with your hands dangling by your sides and your heart dangling in your throat. Your knuckles are scarred and your nose is running. Hymns clog your chest

Here you are, looking into his eyes with foreign body and foreign mind. There is no knife in your pocket. There is no knife in your back

Your head is swimming with praise

Your stomach is empty your fingers shake

MYOSYNTH: a person who mainly stims with or prefers to stim with physical action

OCUSYNTH: a person who mainly stims visually or prefers to stim visually

OMNISYNTH: a person who stims with a wide variety of stimuli, without any particular preference

OSTEOPATHENT: being a feeling that is extremely deep and muted, sometimes inexplicable

PALOSTEO: having an innate sense of great age regardless of youth

and your creaking joints and your tired eyes and your shuddering mouth and

PAROXY: a sharpness developed to protect oneself; a negative personality change in response to trauma

not a good victim. not a good victim. not a good victim.

PERIPEL: a feeling of enclosure that drives a person to escape a situation; esp. as in situational anxiety or romantic relationships

PHILOCARN: a person who loves their body viciously and unapologetically

PHILOPHAGEOUS: to thrive when loved deeply and openly

PHILOSOMN: the heavy and restful sleep experienced when one falls asleep truly happy or thinking of a loved one

PHILOSPIRE: the contented sigh of a person thinking of how they are well loved

PLAUDOPHAGEOUS: to thrive under praise and approval

PUGNAESTHIC: the beauty and joy found in a physical struggle or the more metaphysical struggle to live and succeed

RIDRRHOEA: an uncontrollable, flowing laughter that stops and starts over and over

SECTSERVE: to cut apart a thing for the purpose of saving part of it

SYNLINGUATE: wherein one communicates a sentiment through sharing a sensation or experience (eg. sharing a blanket or video)

SYNATE: a person with strong reactions to external stimuli; a person who stims

SYNECRATE: a person who does not stim; implied to be a neurotypical person

SYNOVE: the act of exploring new sensations

TELECOGNATE: to realize something distantly; to know one possesses knowledge of something but being unable to access it

on the tip of your tongue- no, further. on the back of your tongue- no, further.

ULTRACARNATE: very much of the flesh and of humanity; an antonym of divine

VERICOGNATE: to ruminate on personal truths

PLAYING JEOPARDY BUT EVERY TIME I SAY “WHAT’S ‘NOBODY LIKES ME BECAUSE ALL I DO IS TAKE’, ALEX?” AND HE KEEPS LOOKING AT ME WITH THIS SAD GLEAM TO HIS EYE AND GIVING ME THE MONEY BECAUSE I’M RIGHT

VIVISPIRE: to be aware of the breath without any attempt to control it

#mine #please be mindful of an implied plane crash and mentions of dissociation among other things #to clarify none of these are real words i made all of them up. if they already exist that is convergent evolution

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mymelodyheart · 3 years ago

Text

Save The Date Chapter 11 ~What’s Brewing Claire?~

picture credit

Previously in Stramash ...

Jamie pulled back to look at her face and tipped her chin up to survey the cut on her lips. "He did this?"

She could only nod as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

Jamie turned the gun in his hand and marched towards the door, shouting at the police ushering Jack out to wait. Before Claire could scream for him to stop, he brought his forehead down on Jack's nose in a head butt before handing the weapon to a nearby officer. The sound of cartilage crunching echoed in the tiny room, making Claire wince. Jack fell onto his knees with a loud thud, holding his bleeding nose, shouting improprieties muffled by his hands.

"Now, that was uncalled for, Fraser," an officer clucked, but his grin and the amusement in his eyes implied he wasn't too bothered over Jack's injury. "Now go and get some rest. I'll handle the paperwork and delay the statement for tomorrow morning. You both have done enough to save the day."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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Jamie studied Claire. She lay relaxed on the examination table, going through her phone and reading messages. She looked untroubled and seemed to have recovered from the ordeal this past weekend. The only tell-tale sign left of that hellish night was the tiny scab on her lower lip and bruising on her right cheek where Jack Randall had struck her. She was whole and safe, and yet here he was, having trouble letting go of that incident.

When he'd helplessly watched Jack shoved a gun against her neck and dragged her away from his sight, he'd felt the full gravity of her vulnerability and his inadequacy to secure her safety. But how Claire had handled the situation was nothing short of mind-blowing, albeit heart-stopping. She'd kept her presence of mind, aptly keeping Geneva talking while the tech specialist monitored the audio listening device. The moment they'd identified the voice on the phone, the administration in Broadmoor had been immediately alerted to make sure Geneva didn't go anywhere until the police arrived.

Geneva and Jack were in jail now, awaiting trial and most likely would stay there for a very long time. He really needed to stop fixating on what could have gone wrong and focus on the matter at hand, like their baby's condition and Claire's health.

He puffed out a breath and sprung onto his feet. "Ye comfy, Sassenach?"

"I'm good," she replied, without looking up from her phone screen.

"Ye ken, we can cancel the baby reveal for another day."

"I know, but I prepared so much food already."

They were having his family and closest friends over for afternoon tea to share the news of their baby. Claire had insisted on a celebration to invalidate the ordeal Geneva had put them through, determined not to allow recent events to cast a shadow over their upcoming nuptials. Jamie had thought it was too soon, but Claire had pressed that the sooner they moved forward from the incident, the better.

So last night, she'd spent the entire evening preparing shortcrust pastries, scones batter and making Victorian sponge cake. Apparently, she'd taken some lessons in baking and cooking from Mrs Fitz so that she could host parties like Jenny and his ma. It was as if her work, all the travelling she'd been doing, preparing for the wedding and recovering from trauma wasn't enough. She also needed to put up a brave front.

Though the doctor had given Claire an all-clear in London after a routine checkup, Jamie had insisted on another examination when she'd complain of spotting last night. He hadn't a clue what that had meant, but the concerned look on her face was enough for him to push her for another doctor's appointment. To his relief, she'd hardly put up a fight, and he'd immediately arranged a consultation with a private practice to speed things along since the NHS hospitals were notorious for long waits.

"I just want ye to be certain, Sassenach. That's all. I dinnae want this tea party putting a strain on ye."

Claire put her phone down and glanced up at him. "I'm pregnant, Jamie, not incapacitated. I know you're worried about the spotting, but I'm quite certain pregnant women gets them sometimes. I don't feel ill, but here we are, taking precautions."

Sighing, he moved to her side and took her hand in his. "It's just that I'm bothered about that bruise behind yer back. It looks vicious. I ken bruising looks a lot worse than it is, but I cannae help but wonder if the baby has been harmed when ye banged yer behind on those shelving units after Jack pushed ye. I'm concerned about any delayed complications. Or if the doctor in London overlooked something."

She squeezed his hand. "Your worries are valid, Jamie. The odds of miscarriage or complications might be highest in the first trimester, but I haven't had any issues." She shrugged. "Oh, well, except for the tiny spotting last night. I'm sure everything's fine. Try not to worry."

Easier said than done, Jamie thought. How could Claire sit there looking so calm? Now that she's pregnant, the world was suddenly full of threats: unpasteurised juice and dairy, soft cheeses that she loved so much, fish high in mercury, saunas and hot tubs, secondhand smoke, changing Adso's litterbox. Not to mention aunt Jocasta's bloody stories of baby-abducting fairies. He really needed to stop reading too much pregnancy information; otherwise, he'd go insane.

Claire gave him a look that said she could tell he was overthinking things.

He promptly kissed her on the lips. "Aye, I guess ye're right," he conceded. "I'm sorry for over-reacting."

The door suddenly opened, and in walked a friendly-looking middle-aged female doctor. "Hello, Claire! Dr Fiona Innes. How are we feeling today?"

"I'm good, just a bit nervous about the spotting," Claire breathed.

"Understandably." Then the doctor turned to Jamie. "And ye're..."

"James Fraser. The one who got her up the duff," he replied, taking the doctor's outstretched hand and giving it a firm shake.

"Jamie!" Claire gasped, her face crimsoning profusely.

The doctor laughed. "Hah! I like that! A good sense of humour will get ye through anything." She dragged the ultrasound monitor closer to the exam table and pulled up a stool. "So, let's get started so we can put both yer mind at ease, shall we?" She proceeded to put gloves on and prepare the probe that Jamie had the unfortunate luck of knowing already what it was for. "Now, Claire, I want ye to lie back and place yer feet in the stirrups."

Claire did as she was told while Jamie helped her ease down. He winced when he heard the sound of latex snapping over the probe. He looked away and took Claire's hand in his.

"Is this your first ultrasound visit, Mr Fraser?"

He glanced over his shoulder, thinking the doctor must have noticed the strain on his face. "Aye and no."

Dr Innes arched an eyebrow.

Jamie pointed at the probe and tried not to grimace. "I've seen a doctor used that thing on her when she was hospitalised a few weeks ago. I hadn't known what was going on then, so I walked away and let them get on with it."

"I see." The doctor refocused her attention back to Claire. "Now relax for me and big deep breaths," Dr Innes advised as she put lubricating gel on the blunt tip of the probe. "This will be a tad bit uncomfortable."

Claire shut her eyes and took a deep breath while Jamie whispered all sorts of nonsense in her ear. When her grip clenched into a tight vice, he pressed his lips on the top of her head.

A few seconds passed, and that's when he heard it. He stilled. It was loud, clear and steady. The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming from the monitor. It was their baby's. He let out a sharp exhale, realising he'd discovered something powerful in the tiny, vulnerable life form growing in Claire's womb.

His ma once said that the heartbeat was the first music that a child heard and that every bairn was born knowing the rhythm of their mother's song. To Jamie, this was the sound of their child's soul, the unspoken words already speaking volumes. It was as if it was saying, I'm alive and well, can you hear me?

"Weel, that sounds like a strong and healthy heartbeat there," Dr Innes remarked. "See right there?" Jamie and Claire stirred in their positions to take a better look at where the doctor was pointing. "That's yer baby."

Releasing Claire's hand, Jamie stepped closer to the monitor and tipped his head to the side, adjusting his eyes to discern the grainy image on the monitor. When he finally figured out the shape, mixed emotions began to bombard him in all directions. He felt the complexity of love at seeing a piece of himself and Claire on the screen, inspiring fierce protective instinct to kindle within him. Words like elation, joy and sobering responsibility were too meagre terms and did not give justice in describing how visceral all his emotions were.

"T-that ..." Jamie pointed an index finger at the image, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Is that a ..."

"It's not what ye think, Mr Fraser. That's the foot," Dr Innes responded briskly. She shifted the probe at a different angle to capture another image. "As far as I can see, everything seems to be in perfect working order. I can safely say ye have a healthy, strong baby, so ye can both rest easy."

Jamie continued to stare at the monitor, still trying to wrap the idea of impending fatherhood around his head. "The baby is no' missing any parts, is it?"

"The baby has everything it should have at this stage of the pregnancy," the doctor replied, amused. "Though I think we'll need another few weeks to be able to tell the gender."

"Thank you so much, doctor," Claire said gratefully, pushing herself upright. "We were worried about the spotting and thought it might have had to do with the stress and trauma of what happened last weekend. It was mad, really. I nearly got abducted and had a gun pointed at me."

The doctor threw the probe's latex into the waste and began peeling off her gloves, seemingly unaffected by what Claire had just revealed, making Jamie think physicians were used to hearing such stories. The doctor gave them both an understanding look. "Having a gun pointed at ye is quite jarring, so I understand why ye're both concerned. So how are ye coping mentally?"

"I try not to dwell on it and carry on as usual," Claire shrugged. "So far, I'm dealing with it fine."

The doctor looked at Claire curiously, her expression full of empathy. "Sometimes ignoring it isn't as cut and dried as you think. Try and get some counselling. Ye're going to deal enough with all the hormones impacting yer physiological, physical and mental well being. This is the time to be enjoying this exciting time in yer life, so counselling is just taking a precautionary step to ensure you are in a good place and prepared for what the next few months will throw at ye."

Jamie locked eyes with Claire, and a silent agreement passed between them. They both understood the impact of a traumatising experience, and he wanted to take the doctor's advice on board.

"I'll make sure she and the baby are well taken care of," he reassured the doctor, patting Claire's thigh.

"I'm sure ye will," the doctor smiled, pressing buttons on the monitor.

"Let's just hope he won't go over the top," Claire added. "He has a tendency to do that."

The doctor pulled out copies of ultrasound images from the printer and glanced up at Jamie. "I can understand the need to protect, but just bear in mind, us women are more resilient and stronger than we look," she pointed out. "And pregnant women aren't as frail as society perceives them to be."

Jamie laughed. "There's no question about that. After all, my wife-to-be here achieved what twenty-four specialist firearms officers could not."

"Oh?" Dr Innes looked surprised. "And what was that?"

"She single-handedly took down a maximum-security prisoner escapee, helped led the police to his psychopathic accomplice and in the process saved an innocent mistakenly imprisoned," Jamie explained. "I ken it was a foolish move with her being pregnant and all ..."

"It might have been foolish, but I happen to believe Claire's response is inherent in all mothers and mothers-to-be, and it's something almost impossible for the human brain to override."

"Och, aye?"

"It's called maternal instinct, Mr Fraser, and it's as old as life itself." Dr Innes got up and handed him an envelope containing the ultrasound images. "So woe to anyone who dares a mother-to-be or new mother harm because they're utterly more ferocious than any man wielding a gun when it comes to defending their nest." She looked between him and Claire and smiled. "Anyway, congratulations to you both on your coming parenthood." Then she faced Jamie and patted him on the shoulder. "And as for ye, congratulations on yer newly acquired bodyguard. Ye can sleep well tonight."

..........

Jamie walked in and placed the last of their shopping bags onto the kitchen counter. "Is there anything else ye need, Sassenach, before I go?"

Claire felt him approach and busied herself, placing apples in a large bowl and then lemons in another. "Umm ...I think I have everything I need." She felt his eyes boring into her back but tried her best not to get distracted. "Shall I make a sandwich to take with you?"

"No, I'm no' hungry."

"Oh, alright ...I guess I shall see you later then."

"I have a few minutes to spare. Want to talk?"

"Talk about what?"

"What ye're feeling. Ye haven't said much all morning ...since we left the clinic. And ye hardly talked to me while we went food shopping."

She took out a knife and honing steel from a drawer and went through the motion of sharpening the blade. "Oh ...I guess I must have been preoccupied with my mental to-do list. That's all."

A long silence ensued, and after what felt like an eternity, he let out an exasperated sigh. "Sassenach, can ye stop what ye're doing for a minute and look at me?"

Hot tears suddenly settled behind her eyes, but she fiercely blinked them back and breathed deeply, swallowing down conflicting emotions and refusing to let them fall. She didn't want to be the type of woman who cried at the littlest and inconsequential thing. She'd never been a crier before, and she wasn't about to become one if she could help it.

"I'm busy, Jamie."

"Please."

Bracing herself, she placed down her utensils and faced him. "What is it?"

"This ..." Jamie waved his hand at the shopping bags on the counter. "I ken what this is. Ye havenae sat still ever since we came back from our trip. Ye've decluttered our bedroom and cleaned out all the kitchen cupboards. And now an afternoon tea party? I ken what ye're doing. Ye're keeping yersel' busy to forget what happened in London instead of talking about it."

"No." She shook her head. "It's not that."

Jamie impatiently rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. "Weel, what is up with ye then?"

"Hormones."

"Hormones," Jamie echoed. "Why did you no' just say so?"

She felt her face heat up. "I don't know. Maybe I didn't know it at the time. Or perhaps, because it all seems so silly that I'm getting all worked up for nothing."

Jamie stepped closer and braced her cheeks with both hands, a calloused thumb tenderly swiping her lower lip. "Listen to me very carefully. Whatever ye're feeling or going through, hormonal or not, is never silly. Everything ye have to say is important to me. Trust me on that. I always want to know if something is bothering ye and be able to help ye fix it. Yer body is going through many changes, and it's normal yer emotions are all over the place. So no more self-deprecating thoughts about yer feelings. Am I making myself clear?"

She pursed her lips and nodded, tamping down the urge to cry.

"Very well then, tell me what's going through that mind of yers. At least we can clear the air between us before I go, and my whole family comes and start noticing that something isnae right. Today is supposed to be a celebration of our baby. I dinnae want anything to ruin this day in as much as I think we should delay this for another time."

"Fine." She shut her eyes to search for the right words, but no matter how she formulated them in her head, it didn't sound right. Saying it out loud would only make her appear pathetic. But there was no way around it once Jamie set his mind in extracting something from her.

"Sassenach?"

Her eyes flew open. "Yes?"

"Yer face is getting redder by the second. I'm beginning to worry."

"Very well, if you must know ..." She blew out a breath. "You haven't touched me since that night in London, that's what," she blurted out. "I feel like you're avoiding me. Every time it was time for us to go to bed, you always had some excuse, like you haven't walked the dog or you need to check the emails." Unable to hold it back any longer, she suddenly burst out crying. "I know it's hormones talking, and I'm acting silly. But I can't help but feel the way I feel because I'm hormonal and horny. That's why I'm keeping myself busy, so I will not overthink things. Because if I did, I'd start believing you don't want me anymore, even if logic says it's not true. Happy now?"

He blinked rapidly as if his brain was short-circuiting.

"Yeah, just the reaction I knew I was going to get. See what I mean when I said I was acting silly?"

"No," he groaned out loud. "Sweet baby Jesus! Ye cannae say things like horny when I have to go."

Claire slapped Jamie on the chest. "Jamie! You wanted to know what was wrong! Now that I've said it, you can't blame me for it!"

"Cancel the tea party, and I'll tell Willie I'll be late!"

"No!"

"Why no'?"

"Because!"

With a deep groan, he grabbed her neck from behind and gave her a hard kiss. There was nothing tender or playful about it, just a desperate act of trying to get his fill. He let out a frustrated moan as his tongue swept in her mouth, and a hand cupped her breast, his arousal hard and thick against her belly, letting her know how much he wanted her. When he finally broke the kiss, they were both gasping for air. He pressed their foreheads together, breathing harshly into her face. "How could ye think, even in yer hormonal state, I dinnae want ye any more? Damn it, Sassenach, I've been aching for ye these past few days."

"Then why didn't you touch me?"

He shook his head as he attempted to even his breath. "That night in London, after I took ye back to the hotel, I wanted to bury myself deep inside ye so I could remind myself that ye're really alive and back in my arms. But when I saw that bruising behind yer back and knowing what ye've just been through in yer pregnant state, I thought if I took ye right there and then, I might cause ye irreparable damage, physically and psychologically. I wanted to make sure ye're properly healed first and that our baby was safe. God, all those nights I was away from our bed, I've been doing push-ups to release all those pent-up frustrations of not being able to make love to ye."

"So you did want me all along ..."

He tapped her nose. "Aye, ye silly goose."

"Oh Jamie," she sighed. "You still don't get it, do you?" She placed a hand against his face and smiled for the first time that morning.

"Get what?" he asked, looking suddenly confused.

"You should know by now, lovemaking is the best stress reliever. I thought you knew that."

"Weel ..."

"Remember the times when you were all worked up and conflicted, and how much better you felt after sex?" When he nodded, she pressed on. "Whenever you and I have sex, whether it's fast, hard, long or a quickie, it always came from a place of love. And we've talked about this before ...love heals. The most wonderful thing about our lovemaking, it puts us in that intimate space where we can better connect, heal, open us to those hard conversations, helping us in the process to find closure and release. If sex worked for you to ease your stress, why should it be any different for me? I needed you most after that horrendous night, Jamie. I needed your body to ground me. But I understand now why you didn't touch me that night."

Jamie stared at the ceiling and sighed before looking at her with a mixture of wonderment and torment. He let out a pained laugh. "Weel, right now, I'm under a lot of stress and pressure." He took her hand and placed it on his bulging arousal to make a point. "How about we continue this in the bedroom and let off some steam? I'm stressed, and ye're horny. Ideal combo! Ye can use my body anyway ye want."

Claire clucked her tongue and planted a quick kiss on his lips. "Oh, no, you don't, you sneaky, Scot! You're running late as it is." She placed both hands on his chest and began pushing him out of the kitchen. "How about you let me get on with food preparation, and you finish what you need to do so you can come home as soon as you can in time for the tea party?" she proposed.

"How about my stress levels?" he grumbled.

"Your stress levels are fine!" She turned him around and smacked him on the bum. "Now go. Mrs Fitz will be here any minute to bring the Battenberg cake I ordered."

At the mention of Mrs Fitz, Jamie didn't need any more prodding. He gave her another quick kiss and left the cottage, muttering something about getting a new house before slamming the door behind him.

..........

The rest of the morning and early afternoon passed by quick, and something in Claire lightened even though she was a nervous wreck hosting her first traditional English tea party.

She looked at the kitchen counter laden with several tiered plates displaying the delicacies she'd meticulously prepared. She was ready, and everything looked perfect.

She'd made four different tea sandwiches to be on the safe side: pear and stilton, cucumber and cream cheese, egg salad, and smoked salmon and dill. And then there were scones, lemon curd tartlets, fruit tarts, and shortbread and Linzer cookies she was looking forward to gorge on. On the other end of the counter were Mrs Fitz's Battenberg cake and Claire's pièce de résistance, Victoria's sponge filled with jam, berries and double cream. Her teabox was neatly packed with Darjeeling, Earl Grey, and Assam, and the pitchers of lavender and elderflower lemonade were cooling nicely in the fridge.

Perfection!

She was about to wash the sink when she heard a rap on the window. She looked up and saw Jenny waving at her. Letting her in through the kitchen back door, she was surprised to see her carrying a stack of real estate pamphlets and magazines with its pages tabbed with colourful sticky notes.

"Jen! What's all that?"

Jenny shrugged. "Weel, after what happened to ye in London and with everything going on at the moment, I thought I'd make yer life easier." She plonked down her load on a nearby stool and picked up a magazine, leafing through the pages. "I heard from Willie ye and Jamie are looking for a bigger place. So I decided to grab all these. It has listings of every available property for sale in the surrounding area. Ma and I saved the pages we thought ye and Jamie might like."

"Oh, Jen!" Claire gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

Jenny waved a hand. "Think nothing of it!"

Feeling emotional, Claire gave Jenny a big hug. "That's very thoughtful of you. Thank you so much." When she finally broke away from their embrace, she noticed deep furrows on Jenny's forehead. "Jen? What's wrong?"

Jenny's usually brilliant blue eyes suddenly looked serious as they landed on the bruising on her cheek. "Does that still hurt?"

Claire touched her cheek. "Oh, this? No, not at all. It looks worse than it is. Poor Jamie getting all these weird looks when we're out and about. He was even accused by some granny of being an abuser. I can understand why but I had to step in and explain to the old dear."

Jenny wrung her hands and gave her a small smile. "Actually, I -I came early because I wanted to talk with ye. Just us two."

"Oh, do you want a drink first?" Claire offered, jerking a thumb in the direction of the fridge. "I have some lemonade ..."

"No! Please! I need to get this out before anything else."

Claire nodded. "Alright then, I'm all ears."

"I-I want to apologise for ..." Jenny's chin crumpled, seemingly attempting to blink back her tears. " ...for what happened to ye in London."

"Wot? Oh, Jen! Why are you apologising? That wasn't your fault."

Jenny raised a hand, which told Claire to let her talk. "It was in some ways my fault, Claire. Geneva was my friend, and I tried to push Jamie and her together. I shouldn't have told her last year there was a vacancy in the village, and then she wouldn't have come back and pursued her interest in my brother. I honestly had no idea she was capable of such horrid deeds. If I'd known, I wouldn't have taken her into my circle of friends and family."

Claire shook her head. "No one could have known, and no one knew. Even her work colleagues and peers were shocked when they found out what she's done. She's a master manipulator, Jen, and she probably manipulated you too under the guise of friendship."

"Still ..." Jenny insisted. "If it wasn't for my meddling ..."

"Stop right there!" Claire wagged a finger at Jenny. "We've locked horns on the subject before and moved on from that already. Alright? Past is past. We all make mistakes. The most important thing is we learn from it. So no more mention of Geneva."

This time Jenny's smile reached her eyes. "Fine! Just dinnae tell Jamie we talked about this."

"Whyever not?"

"Jamie has given everyone in the family strict orders, not to mention about London today."

"Really?"

Jenny nodded. "He didn't want to ruin today's celebration rehashing what happened. Unfortunately, I had to in order for me to apologise, but enough of that now." She clapped her hands. "So, how about that drink. I'm parched." She whirled around and stopped, her eyes widening when she saw the spread Claire had prepared. Walking over to the kitchen counter, she took in everything with a smile. "Goodness, did ye make all these?"

Claire smiled with pride. "I did. Except for the Battenberg cake. Mrs Fitz made it."

"Ye said, ye didnae know how to bake," Jenny said almost begrudgingly.

"Now I do, thanks to the wifey Bootcamp I attended, also known as Mrs Fitz's kitchen."

"These all look scrumptious. It's been ages since I had a proper English afternoon tea." Jenny glanced up at her and grinned. "So, what are we celebrating?"

Claire nearly blurted out the baby news, but she quickly caught herself. Sliding an arm around her soon-to-be sister-in-law, she walked Jenny to the end of the counter to show her the sponge cake. "Today, we're celebrating love, friends and family."

Jenny poked a finger into the clotted cream and licked. "I like the sound of that. That'll always be a perfect excuse for a celebration or a proper afternoon tea party."

Claire smiled. "I couldn't agree more, Jen. I couldn't agree more."

..........

Jamie came home from work and noticed all the sandwiches, tarts and cakes laid out on the kitchen counter. He was mildly astonished that Claire had been able to prepare so much in the nick of time. He glanced out the window and spied her and Jenny in the garden, busily arranging tablecloths on the long wooden table. Looking at his watch, he realised he had about fifteen minutes to get ready before their friends and family started arriving.

But first things first.

Stepping out into the backyard, he snuck behind Claire and wrapped his arms around her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck. "Mmm, ye smell of berries, lemon and lavender," he whispered, running his lips on her bare skin and ignoring Jenny's mumbling about getting a room.

Claire turned in his hold and smiled up at him. "And you reek, mister. You won't be served tea smelling like that."

"Fancy a shower with me then?" he suggested, feeling mischievous. "Jen's here to look out for guests."

"Nice try, but I had a shower already, and Jen is our guest today."

He leaned down and nibbled her earlobe, making her squeal.

"Jamie, you're going to get my dress dirty. Oh, fiddlesticks ..." She suddenly stilled mid-laughter and made a face, her hand covering her nose. "Urgh ...what's that smell?"

Jamie let her go and took a whiff of his shirt. "Oh, it's just a bit of wood stain I was working with. It'll come off in a wash."

Her face suddenly turned pale. "Oh, God, I think I'm going to be sick. Tell Jen I'll be right back ...and you ...you go have a shower before your parents arrive." With that, she spun around and ran back to the cottage.

Stunned, he watched her disappearing form and whistled under his breath. "What just happened?" he muttered, even though he knew the answer had to do with the dreaded pregnancy sickness. She'd been doing so well so far he almost thought morning sickness was nothing but a myth, even though Claire had revealed, she couldn't stand the smell of aniseed, star anise, fennel, and liquorice.

"Maybe, she's pregnant and suffering from sickness?" Jenny replied, walking past him with an armful of wildflowers to put into the empty vases dotted on the wooden table.

He hadn't realised Jenny had returned from wherever she'd disappeared to. He needed to be careful not to reveal their baby news too soon, or the surprise would be ruined. Jenny was simply someone who couldn't keep a secret.

"Ach, I should have known chemical smells always make her nauseous," he explained, not wanting to give too much away to his perceptive sister.

Jenny twitched her lips from side to side as she trimmed the bouquet's stems with pruning shears. "Aye, that will be right!" she smirked.

He glared at his sister. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged and gave him a knowing look. "Nothing! Now go have a shower, and I'll take care of things here until Claire feels better."

Jamie was about to say more when he heard the sound of a car parking in the driveway. As Jenny made a move to take a look, he quickly made a beeline back to the cottage before anyone saw him, hoping Claire had already recovered from her bout of sickness.

..........

Jamie leaned back on his chair and glanced around. It was a perfect summer late afternoon, and everyone seemed to be having a great time and enjoying the food Claire had prepared. The sun warmed his face and bathed the garden in dazzling light, making the different shades of green and the profusion of wildflowers more vibrant and alive. The chatter was lively, and funnily enough, no one complained about the lack of alcohol which was highly unusual for a gathering in Scotland. But, he suspected his godfather must have a flask of whisky or something similar tucked away somewhere as he was getting louder and more boisterous as time went by.

He took Claire's hand in his, and she turned his way and smiled. Her face looked pale, but there was an aura of tranquillity radiating from her that told him she was happy and content. Though her plate was full of food, it remained untouched, and if anyone had noticed, no one said anything. "How are ye feeling, Sassenach?"

She took a huge deep breath, held it in for a few seconds and then relaxed. "I'm fine," she sighed. "It's a lovely day, isn't it?"

He knew she was valiantly fighting back the sickness that must be creating havoc in her body but was too stubborn to give in to it. "Shall we tell them about the surprise so you can finally have a rest?" he suggested in a low voice, so no one would hear. "It cannae be comfortable sitting here when ye feel so unwell."

She shook her head as she gulped in more air. "I want to wait for uncle Lamb. He'll be here soon."

Quentin's plane from Athens should have arrived four hours ago but was delayed because of some mechanical issues. Jamie hoped for Claire's sake Quentin was on his way and wasn't dilly-dallying somewhere, like planning a grand entrance. Jamie kissed her cheek, hoping to sweet talk her to giving up this charade of wellness. "I'm pretty sure ye're uncle will understand once he finds out about yer condition."

"I know," Claire murmured. "But I want today to be perfect and complete. I want to see uncle Lamb's face when we announce it."

"But it's already perfect."

"Not without uncle Lamb."

Jamie prayed for patience and tamped down the urge to haul this beautiful but infuriating woman in his arms and carry her to bed. He squeezed her hand and yielded to her request, knowing this get-together was important to her. "Whatever ye say, Sassenach. Just let me know if ye need anything."

"I will," she replied between sharp intakes of breath.

Jamie decided not to press anymore. He knew this was one battle he couldn't win without creating a scene in front of their friends and family. But if Claire thought she was pulling this act off, Jamie was convinced, his perceptive family had already caught on with what was passing. Claire was a terrible actress, and she couldn't even lie to save her life.

Fortunately, their intimate tea party was animated and loud, and it diverted the attention from Claire. Directly opposite them, Tom and Willie were discussing the merits of owning a mini campervan for spontaneous weekend trips around the Highlands. On one end of the table, Murtagh passionately ranted and raved to Brian and uncle Duncan about the Tories and how SNP was the solution to Scotland's political future. Next to Claire, Annalise showed Ellen and aunt Jocasta how to work the Instagram app while Jenny, Mary and Geillis cackled over some celebrity gossip they've probably read somewhere. Grannie Annie had meanwhile fallen asleep in her seat with Adso in her lap and Rollo at her feet. At the far end of the garden, Finlay, Geillis' boyfriend and Ian were having a go at playing badminton but kept hitting the shuttlecock over the hedge to both their frustration.

Though Jamie was happy the tea party had gone as planned, he couldn't relax, too worried about Claire predicament. If it got to the stage where Claire lost any more colour to her face, he was sure no one would be able to blame him for whatever course of action he would take next.

"Right, does anyone want some fresh cuppa?" Claire suddenly announced, getting up from her seat.

Annalise immediately jumped to her feet. "I can do that."

Willie got up too. "I'll put the kettle on."

"I'll clear up the empty dishes," Geillis offered, already grabbing an empty tiered plate stand. "We dinnae want this stunning antique piece being knocked over, now do we?"

Ellen reached over to Claire from her seat and patted her hand. "Everything was lovely, dear. I couldnae decide which was my favourite. And that lavender lemonade was refreshing."

"Aye," Murtagh piped in as he got up and sat directly opposite Claire. "I bet it will taste even better with gin or vodka."

Brian frowned at Murtagh. "The lavender lemonade tastes good as it is. There's nae need to spoil it with alcohol. Besides, it's good for ye to give yer poor liver a wee break. If ye're no' careful, yer gene pool will soon have a swim-up bar."

"I dinnae drink that much," Murtagh grumbled.

"Aye ye do," Aunt Jocasta pointed out. "Dinnae think for one minute I didnae notice ye've been spiking yer tea."

Before Murtagh could retort, Geillis came back in time with a steaming mug and placed it in front of Claire.

"Ooh, what's this?" Claire asked, looking into her drink.

"It's ginger and turmeric tea," Geillis declared. "It's good for ye. I brought it with me from Glasgow. It's organic, and thought ye might like it."

Jamie couldn't help but smile to himself. He knew ginger tea or any form of ginger were effective in reducing nausea. Claire probably knew too because her eyes lit up and gave Geillis an appreciative nod. If he wasn't a hundred per cent certain earlier, everyone knew about Claire's condition, now he's more convinced than ever they were playing along. Jamie appreciated the gesture, but this had gone on too far. Where the bloody hell is Quentin?

"I'm back!" boomed a voice, waking grannie Annie up. It was as if Jamie's thoughts had conjured Claire's uncle from thin air, and there he was making a grand entrance as Jamie had expected. "I hope there are some leftovers. I'm famished."

Claire laughed, twisting around on her seat to watch her uncle approaching. Ellen got up and started plating some food for Quentin.

"There's plenty of leftovers," Annalise assured as she placed another platter of sandwiches on the table. "Claire made enough for the entire village."

Quentin gave Claire a quick kiss on the forehead before greeting the rest of the party, who'd gathered back around the table. "Sorry for the delay," he apologised, finally taking a seat next to Claire. "Our plane was stuck on the tarmac without any air conditioning. We had no choice but to sit there and stew in the heat while the engineers fixed the plane."

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Claire said, looking adoringly at her uncle.

Quentin stared at the bruising on her cheek. "I don't like the look of that. It looks ..."

Sounds of several throats clearing ensued, a signal to Quentin not to pursue the London topic any further.

"Very well," Quentin nodded in understanding. "I'm glad too that I'm here."

Claire smiled. "Alrighty, so now that everyone's here, Jamie and I have an announcement to ..."

"Hold that thought, sweetheart," Quentin interrupted as he bent down to retrieve the holdall he'd placed at his feet. "I brought a souvenir."

Jamie bit his tongue at the interruption.

"I hope it's not another ceramic plate," Claire groaned, unaware of Jamie's frustration.

"No. I got something better." Quentin waggled his bushy eyebrows as he unzipped his bag and proceeded to rummage through its contents. "Wait for it! Wait for it!" Suddenly he yanked out a bottle and held it up for everyone to see. "I got Ouzo!" he announced with satisfaction.

"Yesss, ya beauty!" Murtagh cheered happily, banging a hand on the table. "I love Ouzo."

Aunt Jocasta scowled at Murtagh. "Ye like anything alcoholic. Ye'll drink Listerine if it was placed in front of ye."

"What's Ouzo?" Claire asked as she stared curiously at the offering. "I mean, I've heard of it before, but I've forgotten what it is."

Jamie was about to fill in the information and tell her she wouldn't be able to stand the smell of it when Quentin expertly uncapped the bottle and held it under Claire's nose. Oblivious to Jamie's hitch of breath, Claire pressed her nose closer to the opening of the bottle to take a better whiff. Ah, shite!

"It's an anise flavoured liquor," Quentin described. "Mostly served as an aperitif in Greece.."

Jamie watched in awe as Claire's head jerked back and her face contorted when her senses registered the smell, and a low, gurgling sound came from deep down in her belly. He winced, half expecting any moment now a horrific scene of projectile vomiting, and the recipient would be none other than his godfather sat opposite her. But Claire jumped to her feet, startling everyone, and her hand immediately clapped over her mouth, golden eyes bright and tearing up. Quick thinking Jenny, grabbed a sprig of mint she'd put in the vase, macerated it in her hands and offered it to Claire. Everyone gasped and watched in fascination as Claire took the green leaves and stuffed her mouth with them, and began to chew, jaws working overtime, reminding Jamie of a cow feeding in the fields. Nobody said a word, waiting for the next scene to unfold or for someone to offer an explanation.

Swallowing audibly, Claire finally untensed and slumped back down to a loud hearty burp. And as if nothing had happened, she calmly drank a good measure of her ginger tea, put the mug down and then smiled. "Sorry about that. So where were we again?"

Eyes bulging almost out of his head, Quentin sputtered before he managed to string a coherent sentence together. "W-What the bloody hell was that? Was that some kind of weird side effects from what happened in London that I have no idea of?"

Claire looked at Jamie, looking suddenly exhausted. "Can you please tell them?"

"Tell me what?" Quentin bristled.

Jamie dropped his head on his folded arms resting on the table and allowed it to bounce once. Twice. Thrice. God must have taken pity of him because when he glanced up, everyone shouted in chorus. "Claire and Jamie are having a baby!"

Dear Readers,

Thank you all for the response and feedback I received for my previous chapter. I know it got a bit crazy; therefore, today's update is more subdued to allow everyone's breathing to go back to normal. Nevertheless, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much I've enjoyed writing it for you.

Anyway, I hope you're all keeping safe and taking care of yourself and mostly taking the time to enjoy the last days of summer. Keep up the good vibes and be well. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #savethedate #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

Text

I’ll just leave it at I love you

Summary: In which Hotch and the reader are holed up in a safe house to avoid a killer set on destroying the BAU. A tale of smut, because what else happens when two consenting adults are fighting their feelings, then get stuck in a house together?

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, female reader, domHotch, PIV, virginReader, oral sex, mildly rough, language. WC-3500

A/N: I have crushes on fictional men and I'm not afraid to take that energy and create shit like this for the hell of it! Edited but feedback appreciated.

Hotch was restless, his shower had done nothing to help him relax. He stood in the kitchen, staring into the fridge as if it would give him the answers he needed. He wished he could go for a run, let off some steam. His pent-up energy, this cottage, (Y/N) being so close-it was all too much. The lines of professionalism were bound to blur, but he felt as if they were so far gone in the dust, he couldn’t see them anymore, not in his mind.

Their argument that afternoon had been like a match being lit within a gas station. It had heated up too quickly and then burned away, leaving them both feeling angry and dejected. And she had been right that Hotch was being overprotective, but it didn’t mean the problem would go away, and to just let her go back to DC would only end up in her being hurt, or worse.

He wanted this purgatory to end just as much as (Y/N) did. He longed to be back with his son. And with the team, solving cases. But none of them could do that until the killer was found, and Hotch had no control outside of this cottage.

As thoughts of his control, or the lack thereof, came to mind, he slammed the fridge shut in frustration and sighed. (Y/N) had been challenging him since the moment they set foot in this place, which he could understand. There was no one else, and therefore she took out her anger and fear on him.

He could handle that, he had thought at first.

When she yelled that she should leave, go home, and then offered to be the bait to lure the killer out, Hotch had felt something inside of him snap. The final tethers of his patience and sanity disintegrating. The team were in this together, all making sacrifices to protect (Y/N) because she had been the one receiving the death threats and mysterious packages. She had been the one whose photos were displayed on the walls of the crime scene in DC, a clear message-(Y/N) was the target.

So why was she so determined to leave and put herself in danger?

He was leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the edges. The sound of her soft footsteps approaching alerted him to her presence. Hotch opened his eyes, meeting hers directly. She was standing next to the island, biting her lip and looking at him with dark eyes, her arms wrapped around her middle protectively. She still looked angry. Hotch just stared back at her and waited for her to speak.

“I...” She frowned, “I’m not apologizing.” (Y/N) said stubbornly, making him tense, furious. But he refused to respond, he simply glared at her. He was not going to fight again now, it wouldn’t do either of them any good.

But she stepped into the kitchen further, looking determined.

“You should let me go right now, let me go and lure him out and end this, please.” She looked so hopelessly desperate as she spoke. Hotch shook his head, gripping the counter more fiercely.

“You know I can’t let you leave, just as much as I can’t leave.”

(Y/N) scoffed at his words, pointing toward the front door, “If I decide to walk out that door right now, you can’t stop me, Hotch!” Her eyes flashed dangerously until Hotch stepped away from the counter, standing at his full height. He saw something behind the anger shift, a modicum of fear.

He kept his voice steady, low, “You are not leaving. End of discussion.” She watched him speak, her face twisting further in anger. She turned, abruptly, toward the front door, blind rage overtaking her sensibility, and she moved toward it.

She was in a sweater and jeans, and she walked toward the front door like she was in full combat gear, ready to take on the world. But Hotch was quicker, he reached out and grabbed her arm, jerking her first toward him, and then into the wall behind them. He wasn’t harsh, careful not to hurt her in any way, but her furious yell made clear that she was not impressed. “For fucks sake, Hotch!”

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), when did you become such a little fucking brat?” He spat, holding her against the wall, he stepped closer, looking down into her eyes, “When did you decide that it was you against the world? I’m right here trying to protect you!”

She stopped struggling and looked at him with wide eyes, “That’s why I want to leave, Hotch! Being cooped up here, knowing you aren’t safe-knowing you’re sacrificing everything for me, I can’t do this to you anymore, I can’t accept this kind of help.” She was breathless, tears burning at her eyes that she refused to let fall, arms pinned to her sides.

He shook his head, sighing, “How can I possibly make clear to you that I am okay with this, that I-I need to be the one to protect you, (Y/N)?” Hotch gripped her arms tighter, still standing so, so close.

“Why? What does that mean, that you need to?” She gazed up at him now, her wide eyes revealing her anger was disappearing, despite her frustrations. “Aaron?”

At the sound of his name, Hotch felt his anger dissolving into something much more powerful. His willpower shattered, and he dipped his head-surprised to find her expression was not of anger or fear now, but anticipation. When he captured her lips with his own, her reaction was instantaneous, her head lifting from the wall to deepen the kiss.

It was bliss, pure bliss.

Hotch slid his hands from her arms, gently cradling her head. He ran his tongue across her lips, and they opened for him, allowing him to taste her. He groaned as she slipped her hands up, gripping his shirt to pull their bodies together.

After a moment, he pulled his head back, panting, “I love you, that’s why. I love you more than I should, and I have for a while now. I think I’ve loved you since we first met, and every day I fall all over again when I see you, or learn something new, and I am never going to let you walk out of a door without me by your side if it means keeping you safe, because I’ve just found you and I never want to lose you, (Y/N).” The words rushed out of him, finally free, his shoulders lighter already.

“I thought it was just me.” She was looking at him in adoration now, tears falling, “I thought, a man like you...never, not for me, look but don’t hope.” She sniffled, and he wiped away her tears with his thumbs, kissing her forehead. “Aaron, I love you too.” At her words he brought their lips crashing together again, holding nothing back now.

He pressed (Y/N) into the wall, delighted at her gasp when she felt him hard against her stomach. He trailed his hands down, to her hips, behind her thighs. He had to stoop slightly, she was so short, and he scooped her up. Her heat made contact with him and they both groaned at the sensation before Hotch hastily carried her the few steps into the bedroom. Hotch laid (Y/N) down on the bed carefully, one hand sliding protectively behind her head. She kept her legs around him, holding him close and taking on his weight.

For a few minutes, they continued kissing, until Hotch broke away to begin exploring her body. Shifting his weight and kneeling, his hands travelled down, gently. She moaned softly, then whimpered when his hand traced over her breast, her nipple hard within her thin sweatshirt. Hotch sat up, pulling her with him so that he could pull the sweater over her head. She complied without hesitation, seeming to consent to his control.

But he was a gentleman, “Just tell me if you want to stop, okay, (Y/N)?” He breathed, pausing as he reached for her beautiful, bare breasts. She nodded, but Hotch needed to hear her say it, and she read that in his expression.

“I promise, Hotch.” She gasped out, writhing in anticipation. He began kneading her breasts, only to find she was sensitive here-his fingers brushing over her nipples caused her to jerk slightly, moans unending. He gently eased her back to lay again, before pulling his shirt off.

Momentarily, he became self-conscious of the scars scattered across his torso, now exposed. (Y/N) reached up, tracing one with her finger, “You’re perfect, Aaron.” Worry ceased at her words, his heart swelling. In response, he ducked his head and brought his mouth to her chest, his tongue flicking over her nipple. She reacted instantly, her back arching and a hand gripping his hair, encouraging him.

He took his time teasing her, moving between each breast, he ignored her hips seeking friction against him. For as long as he could stand.

A whimper escaped her lips, so full of longing it had Hotch glance up, meeting her eyes. Her pupils were blown out, desire flushing her face, lips trembling, “Hotch...”. He shifted again, this time slipping his thumbs into her waistband, tugging. She lifted her hips to help, and he swiftly removed her pants and underwear in one swoop, tossing them on the floor.

Automatically and instinctively, her legs closed. Hotch caught her left leg, pushing his hand down her inner thigh. She writhed beneath him, but her leg stiffened, and he looked at her closely, “What’s the matter, baby girl?” He whispered, concerned.

She peered up at him, looking shy, “I...I’ve never been able to cum that way, and I know men don’t really like to, you know, so you don’t have to.” Hotch gazed at her in surprise.

“Is that what you think? I don’t want to taste you?” He held her gaze, but moved his hand down, sliding a finger across her heat. Her hips bucked, “I’m going to taste you cum in my mouth, sweetheart. I’ll show you just how much I’ve been wanting this, okay?” She nodded eagerly, her breathing erratic, legs relaxing slightly.

Hotch pushed himself down the bed and hooked her legs over his shoulders, finally coming face to face with her; she was glistening for him. He groaned. “Sweetheart, you’re so wet for me already.” She merely mewled in response as his fingers explored her folds. She was well-groomed, her hair trimmed fairly short, giving him a full few of her; his mouth watered.

The moment Hotch felt her legs relax on his shoulders, becoming more comfortable with his face being so close to her, he dove in. He quickly moved his hands to grip her hips, holding her in place as he began to lick up her slit, then press his tongue into her clit. She bucked and writhed, fighting against his grip to no avail.

“Oh god, oh god, Aaron, please, please...”

He smiled against her, pulling back slightly, “Please what, baby girl? What do you need?” He licked her again, and she cried out, lifting her head to look down at him. She tasted divine, which only drove him to lick and suck more, waiting for her to respond.

It took her a few minutes to form words as his assault on her clit continued, “Need...I think I might...uh, cum, Aaron.” She groaned his name, and he laughed against her, which sent vibrations deep into her. He kept up his pace, felt her tensing more, shivering beneath him.

“Cum baby girl, let go for me.” He ordered, and it was like she’d been waiting for his permission. Her back arched up and he felt her throb against his tongue, a soft cry escaped her lips. She jerked in her orgasm, over and over. He sucked lightly on her and she trembled in response, tears spilling out of her eyes before she fell back into the bed, coming down from her high.

“Oh god, oh,” She breathed, and Aaron backed off, sliding up the bed to lay next to her. He watched her catch her breath, revelling in her blissed-out expression, her red cheeks. He waited a few moments, letting her come down. “I’ve never, ever had an orgasm like that, Christ.”

Hotch laughed, leaning over her and planting gentle kisses along her hairline, her eyes, the tip of her nose, “We can stop here if you want to.” He suggested, but of course, Aaron had forgotten her age. 25 years old, in good shape-orgasm or not, she wasn’t done yet. Her eyes flew open and met his, pupils fully dilated still.

“I want to keep going, but I have to tell you something first,” (Y/N) stayed laying, but drew her legs together, “And if you decide you think we should stop, then I fully accept that.”

He tilted his head, eyes exploring her worried expression, “What is it, sweetheart?” His hand had been roaming absentmindedly, but he stopped at her hip. He gazed down at her, brows furrowed.

She seemed to steel herself, taking a deep breath.

“I’ve, never-you know, had sex,” Seeing his shocked expression, she began to ramble, “It just never happened, with anyone I dated when I was younger, and it got to the point where it was an afterthought, especially after I bought an expensive vibrator, and I know that it’s weird or, whatever, to be 25 and this inexperienced, but-“

“(Y/N),” He cut her off, stroking her cheek gently, “Thank you for telling me. But it doesn’t change my mind, about anything. I would understand if this was far enough, for now, truly, so just tell me what you want.” He hoped he could spend the rest of his life making her feel better, happy, loved. They didn’t need to continue if she wasn’t ready.

“Hotch, I...I want you, I always have,” She shifted slightly, and he watched her breathing pick up in anticipation, “I’ve thought about it, so many times...when I shouldn’t have, especially.”

His interest was piqued. Hotch rolled over her, bracing his weight on his arm, pressing his erection against her, his pants still on, “Really? Tell me.” He said, noting how she flushed any time he ordered her to do something.

“The first time I thought about it, was back at headquarters after the first case we worked when you came back to work. You were in your office and I dropped off everyone’s reports,” Hotch remembered this evening, as he’d been surprised to find the newest team member picking up the slack and finalizing everyone’s notes for submission, “You had taken off your tie, and you’d been so good to me in the field, so kind. But when I knocked on the door you were deep in thought and at first, you glared at me and I thought ‘how much would I give to climb up on that desk and get rid of that frown’.”

Hotch hissed at her words, grounding against her harshly, “You wanted me that soon?” (Y/N) nodded, a breathy moan escaping.

“After that, I thought about you too often. I had to use my vibrator the moment I got home, every day. I had to bring it on the road, even. I wanted you to take me, everywhere, anywhere, as much as you wanted.” Hotch groaned, pushed her down and sat back, swiftly removing his pants and briefs. (Y/N)’s head popped up and looked at his erection, her eyes widening in shock, instantly licking her lips. “Holy shit, Hotch...” He laughed at her words.

“I’ve been wishing I could bend you over my desk for months now, but I had no idea you hadn’t ever done this before. I want to see your face, baby girl.” Something in his voice caused her eyes to widen, further. He lowered himself, reaching down with one hand to push his length along her folds, wetting it in her juices.”Oh fuck, you’re so ready for me baby girl, tell me you want this.”

She knew he needed to hear her give permission again, and she gave it instantly, “Please Aaron, please I need you, ple-oh!” She gasped as he pushed into her, hard. Stiffening, a low groan broke free, her eyes shut tightly. He buried himself completely inside of her before freezing, waiting for her pain to subside. Pleasure rippled through Hotch.

Hotch kissed her gently as she whimpered in pain, “You did so good, sweetheart, it’ll be okay in a minute, just breath for me,” He whispered, stroking her hair back, watching her face closely. For a few moments, her eyes stayed shut, screwed up against the sensation, and he gave her credit for taking her time to adjust. He knew he was larger than average, and she was so tight around him. He had to keep still for both her sake and his own, fearing her tightness alone would send him over the edge-he wanted to take his time and make her feel...everything.

He felt when her body had adjusted, the tension in her lower body relaxing, her eyes beginning to open. He tested the waters, moving his hips back slightly, and then sinking into her again. He groaned, watching as her face lit up at his movements; so he repeated them, moving further back this time.

“Oh fuck, Aaron!” That was all he needed to hear. He moved over her, bracing his arms on the bed on either side of her head, his hands near her face, and began to thrust quickly, long strokes that brought stars to his vision. And she was loud beneath him, one hand on his chest, the other gripping his shoulder, screaming his name. He pounded into her, groaning, and he buried his face in her neck, biting gently, which only elicited further shouts, her hips bucking slightly to meet his movements.

“Oh baby girl, you are taking me so well, fuck,” He bit her neck again, and she jerked in response, her walls squeezing him. “Such a good girl for me, such a good girl.”

“Sir, please, please don’t stop.” She whimpered, and Hotch’s eyes flew open in surprise, her words sending a shiver down his body.

He stared down at (Y/N), who seemed surprised at herself, but a small smirk quirked her lips, and he growled, a hand sliding behind her head and gripping her hair, the other grabbing her jaw, gentle but firm. “Say that again.” He kept his pace, pleasure building.

“Uh, sir, fuck me, please sir!” (Y/N) was a writhing mess beneath him, loving his reaction, his dominance, her eyes watching him in delight. She arched slightly as his thrusts became almost brutal, and began to call his name over and over, unable to stop.

Hotch leaned down and bit her neck again, leaving another mark, and she began to tremble beneath him, words escaping her when his thrusts bottomed out, hitting her deep, eyes-rolling. He kissed her, but she was so blissed out it barely registered, which only made him happier. “Fuck...Good, baby girl, so good...cum for me again okay? You can cum for me now, fuck!”

On his last word, he gave an almighty thrust and she screamed, her hands clutching his shoulders as the wave broke over her, her body tensing, squeezing him, and then, “Aaron!” It was his undoing and he came with her, spilling himself inside her as he moaned her name. He brought his head down and kissed her breasts, jerking wildly into her, his thrusts sloppy. Her body relaxed as she came down from her high.

“Oh sweetheart,” He breathed, slowly easing out of her, before collapsing on the bed beside her. He pulled her to him, and she obliged, rolling over and resting her head on his chest, while they both remained silent, catching their breath. “You did so well, baby girl.” He kissed the top of her head.

“That was-I mean,” (Y/N) stammered, struggling to find words. Inwardly, Hotch smirked, happy to know he’d rendered her somewhat speechless. “I think I’ll just leave it at I love you.” She began to giggle, gazing up at him.

Hotch joined her, months of tension and longing now gone, and in its place a happy new beginning. They still had forces outside of their cozy little hideaway that worked against them, but for the time being, he and (Y/N) could simply enjoy the clear air between them.

The rest of the world could wait.

“I love you, too, (Y/N)”

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

#reader insert #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x y/n #hotchner x you #hotch smut #hotch x y/n #smut #angst #fluff #bau x reader #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #Aaron Hotchner #fanfic #love

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just-lexy · 3 years ago

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Flatmates. Part 1.

Ok, Idk about parts. I am just going with the flow. Sharing for the sake of letting this go. Got some plot points but am open to brainstorming lol

So, under the cut the first installment of this WIP.

Characters: Julia Fernandez, Kai Hiwatari

Rating: I don't understand rating. Characters are over 25yo so they speak and act accordingly. There is ONE mature sentence.

Notes: Bey Universe, post championships life.

Ships: Nope, mention of past ships, though.

Kai Hiwatari is rich AF

Julia had pictured her arrival to be more triumphant.

After weeks of ass-kissing her boss, days of preparations, money invested in all the things her company wasn’t going to cover, she believed she deserved at least to spend her first night in Milan in a stylish bar, sipping on some fancy drink, surrounded by fashionable people. It was Fashion Week after all.

Instead, Julia was sitting on the steps of the building where her hotel was supposed to stand - that, spoiler alert, turned out to be nonexistent - venting in the best way a millennial woman can vent. Posting a story on Instagram.

To be fair, Julia had already tried to do all the crisis management possible without success. Her boss wasn’t answering her phone, the booking app customer service wasn’t able to find any solution within a reasonable price range, and there was no sign of divine intervention, be it a cozy bar or a gentle human.

So, Julia started adding some ironic caption about her bad luck, dramatic music to accentuate the picture of the dark deserted street, a filter to make her carry-on and her travel clothes bag containing her currently most valuable possession look as noir as possible, and posted the story.

Sighing and pulling her coat tighter to suppress a shiver, focusing on why she ever thought this could have been a good opportunity for her wannabe designer career, Julia was glad when her phone vibrated with a surprisingly fast response. Even more when said response didn’t come from an unknown follower, but from Hiromi asking what was happening.

Without lingering on the fact that Hiromi was on the other side of the planet, probably checking her phone before starting her day, Julia went on step two of the Millennial’s venting process. The voice message. And there she summed up the evening misadventures, from the delayed flight to the scam hotel to a little spur-of-the-moment mid-twenties breakdown.

H: Give me a minute.

Julia couldn’t fake being a bit disappointed at Hiromi’s dismissive answer even if she knew she couldn't pretend to be of any help from all the way in Japan.

When Julia accepted she had been ghosted even by her friend, Hiromi sent her a new message with a phone number demonstrating how she had been wrong.

H: Call Kai, he’s in Milan.

Julia blinked a few times matching the information given to her, even if in the confusion of the moment it didn’t make any sense.

J: Hiwatari?

H: Do you know another Kai?

No, she didn’t, but still, it didn’t make any sense. What were the chances that Hiromi was going to give her a solution? This solution? That of all people, the one in Milan was Kai Hiwatari? What was he doing in Milan? And how was Julia supposed to contact Kai Hiwatari and ask for help when they barely ever spoke to each other?

Another gust of wind froze Julia’s hands, convincing her to save the number and open a new Whatsapp conversation.

Joder, the hell she was going to just call him out of the blue.

It took all her goodwill and desperation to come up with a neutral yet polite request for help, caring to insert her name and surname, the fact it had been Hiromi’s idea to contact him, and the circumstances she was currently in.

The satisfaction on the well put-together message lasted just until the quick reply appeared in the conversation: a single address.

Julia waited a few seconds to see if Kai was going to add anything else, but nothing came. There was no typing, no indication of his online status, no last connection, no blue double tick, no profile picture.

Julia had an internal fight once again whether to trust the fact she didn’t mistype the number and was going to head into some weirdo trap - she checked and she didn’t - whether to accept the impolite help offering - he could have typed just a few recognition words after all - whether to just wait for her boss to finally pick up her phone and help her - she tried to call her once again without success confirming she probably hated her as she had been suspecting for months.

In the end, the choice was forced by a sudden rain threatening to soak her precious clothes travel bag. Cursing the fact Milan’s Fashion Week was held in February and her own stubbornness to be the first intern of her company to be sent to attend, Julia managed to call a taxi and give to the driver Kai’s address - supposedly.

The ride was short but Julia kept checking the route on her phone to follow the itinerary towards the southern part of the city. The taxi stopped in front of an anonymous-looking building, probably built decades before but recently renovated. Luckily, at the entrance, there was a concierge who instructed Julia how to reach the correct apartment - a sign that Kai must have warned him of her arrival.

The inner cursing continued all the way through the courtyard - it was still raining and there was that much rain the clothes bag could suffer - until she reached the elevator that would have led her to the last floor.

Giving a last glance to the mirror where it was clear her once perfectly constructed messy bun was now more of a collapsing bun, Julia exited the elevator and looked for the door number, her heels clattering and resonating in the otherwise silent open corridor.

She was still in time to turn back, batting her lashes at the doorman to convince him to keep her arrival a secret, and not having to owe one to Kai Hiwatari.

How were they supposed to interact? They hadn’t seen each other since his last appearance at a BBA dinner years back, and even when they were both still blading there had not been more than a few exchanges, all of those in the presence of Hiromi.

Hiromi. It was all her fault, her intervention now looking more like another curved ball.

Hiromi, who had tried to interject in Kai’s favor for years, justifying his smug and snobby behavior.

Hiromi, who sustained Julia and Kai were so similar she was surprised they didn’t get along.

Similar in what? What did they have in common? Apart from being both good friends with Hiromi? Ok, maybe they were both competitive, self-confident, slightly arrogant.

And they probably both sucked Yuriy Ivanov’s dick. Well, Julia knew she did, and given how long Yuriy and Kai had been a couple it was easy to assume they did go all the way as well.

And there he was, Kai Hiwatari, opening his front door and looking straight out of a magazine, wrapped in what appeared to be warm and expensive loungewear, so much that she wouldn’t have been surprised to find behind the door the set of a photoshoot.

And Kai Hiwatari was looking down at her from his million-dollar appearance in the exact moment she had let her mind wander to dirty thoughts for the first time that day. Lit.

Julia had been so intent in her inner monologue to not realize she had reached the door and ringed the bell. Any escape now impossible. Any try to not look like a poor drenched mouse useless.

“Fernandez.”

“Hiwatari,” Julia responded trying to copy his flat tone, but putting up her best confident smile and accepting the silent invitation to come in.

She tried to be cordial - after all, he was saving her ass - but Kai was not helping, simply asking her to remove her shoes and follow him in the apartment.

Julia would have snapped back at his coldness if only she wouldn’t have been rendered speechless by what she found beyond the corridor.

Even the apartment looked straight out from a design catalog. It was a duplex with floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the left wall. Some of the blinds were down and it was anyway too dark to understand how big was the terrace outside - but there had to be a terrace for sure. The rest of the space was an exquisite light-colored modern-decorated open living room with the kitchen opening at the far right corner and the staircase leading to the upper floor.

Kai’s voice woke Julia from her scanning and she followed him through the apartment while he gave her some basic information.

“If you are hungry there are some leftovers in the fridge, help yourself,” he stated indicating the kitchen before taking a lateral corridor where two more doors opened respectively to the bathroom and the guest room. “The sink it’s acting funny,” he added demonstrating how to turn the hot water on. “I still haven’t had the time to call the plumber.”

“And this is the guest room, there are extra blankets in the closet in case you’re cold.”

Julia stepped into the room taking in the simple and sophisticated decoration, thinking mentally the space would have needed some warmer colors, but at the same time, finally, in the safety and coziness of the apartment, it dawned on her how stressed she had been in the last couple of hours and how grateful she was feeling in that moment.

Sighing and putting aside her luggage, Julia turned and looked right into Kai’s eyes.

“This is perfect, thank you very much!” She started bowing slightly her head as Hiromi had taught her when they had visited Japan and she had introduced her to her parents. “I will be out first thing in the morning as soon as I reach my boss. You won’t even notice I was here.”

Kai looked stern as usual, piercing her with his deep gaze but nodding in agreement. Julia assumed she had been dismissed and started to turn to recollect her belongings when she noticed with the corner of her eyes Kai had stopped on his way out. She glanced at him hesitating on the threshold, curiosity surging on his next move.

“You are here for fashion week, aren't you?” he inquired, making Julia wonder how much Hiromi had revealed to him when she requested his help.

“Correct.”

Kai let the silence drag between them for another moment, patting twice on the doorframe as to convince himself of what he was going to say.

“If you don’t find any other solution you can stay here, I am not home much anyway.”

#my writing #beyblade fanfiction #bey flatmates #kai hiwatari #julia fernandez #wip #friendship fic

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os-hyoideum · 4 years ago

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Fake - Hawks/Takami Keigo x fem!Reader

Summary: Keigo wants to be there for his struggling love.

Word count: 3232

Content/Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst(ish), depressed feelings, mention of suicidal thoughts, self-indulgent, third-person perspective

a/n: I started writing it in March 🤡 but I felt like I couldn't abandon it, so here it is, finally! ngl kinda exposing myself here oop- idk if it's a comfort fic, but I hope you enjoy :)

During the late hours of the evening, the city below looked particularly beautiful. Colorful neon lights, emanating from dozens of advertisements and signs, illuminated the people who, without care, carried on with their evening tasks, be it a trip to a bar or the travel home from work.

Hawks stood on the roof of the building, looking down and just taking in the scenery. It was not a particularly special day, but the rain that poured earlier has left the ground wet and glistening. The lights, bouncing off the pavement and people, created a picture truly from under a hand of a masterful abstractionist. The pinks, the blues, the yellows, all the colors created the effect of a spilled paint from his point of view.

While admiring the city, Hawks’ phone vibrated in his pocket. Taking his eyes away, he took out the device and, when the screen lit up, was met with the face of his love.

It was his favorite picture in the whole world and he knew, deep down, that any professional photographer couldn’t capture anything better. Truthfully, it wasn’t really a masterpiece, just a simple selfie, but the memory connected to the photograph made it exceptional. He remembered the quiet moment (so little of them in his life) when he could take his partner away and just enjoy an ordinary day with her. A walk, a picnic, anything that made him forget about his everyday life. The smile he saw in the picture truly made him feel like the surroundings brightened a bit.

The message on his phone was simple, a request for him to come back to the office, probably to take care of the stack of papers that adorned his desk.

He put the device back into his pocket, took a last look at the city down below, and, after putting his goggles on, spread his scarlet wings to take off.

If he were being honest, he would say that, given the option, he would stay in the air, in the sky, far above the ground, forever. The wind, howling loudly in his ears, silenced the worries of his everyday life. The air flowing around his body, through every feather of his wings gave him a sense of freedom. In the sky, he was able to see the horizon and just let himself be carried.

There was just one thing missing among the clouds.

On his way back to real life, where he would need to take care of mundane work-related tasks, he took a little detour.

Maneuvering expertly over and around the buildings, he found himself in front of an ordinary apartment complex. The grey modern building had a few floors and, quickly locating the right window, Hawks flew over to where his partner’s apartment was. Some people looked at him, from the street or through their own windows, but they were used to his random visits and paid him no mind, for which he was grateful.

He stopped in place seeing the inside of his lover’s bedroom and peeked inside, as the blinds were open. Some crumpled clothes lying on the bed, along with a few books. Through the open door, he could see the light coming from the TV.

Normally, he would just knock on the glass for her to open the window, but suddenly he got a hunch that something was not right. Maybe it was the fact that her texts became drier as the day went by (just like the last few days) until they halted completely, or maybe the open blinds, usually closed soon after it got dark. Whatever the source of his uneasiness was, it made him fly down and go inside the building through the door. He climbed a few flights of stairs to get to the floor she lived on. The only sounds, keeping him company during his walk through the corridor, were faint voices from behind some of the doors and his own footsteps.

He reached his goal. The alertness in his mind only became stronger as he knocked and waited patiently for the door to open.

A few dreadful seconds later he heard the sound of the turning mechanism inside of the lock. Only for a split second was he able to see the cold numbness on the face of his love before she noticed who had visited her. Her expression changed immediately and she smiled, oh so brightly.

Moving and pulling the muscles in her face, she was always able to make Keigo’s days better. And she could do it in an instant too, and so well that others never noticed the difference between the fake and the real. But he had sharp eyes, trained from a young age to catch any irregularities around him. He noticed, every time, how she faked and he hated it, especially knowing that when he did the same, she always pushed just enough for him to give in and let her in, more and more every time. He would push a bit too, at least to let her know that, if she wanted to, she could tell him anything.

“Keigo!” she exclaimed, voice high in pitch to sound happier, “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I was on my way to the office and thought I could drop by for a moment… Can I get in?” He asked pointing to the inside of the apartment.

“Oh! Of course.” She opened the door wider. “I got back from work not long ago, so… I guess, it’s not that clean.” She added with a small laugh.

Keigo knew it was a lie. He knew when his partner worked; she finished three hours ago.

He entered her space and when he kneeled down to take off his boots, he caught the glimpse of her cheerful expression falling. Still in her work clothes, she looked like she would get crushed any second. He knew her mind could get heavy at times.

“Come here.” He outstretched his hand towards her and lightly pulled her into himself.

At first, she was slightly rigid in his arms, but relaxed a bit, feeling Keigo’s soft strokes along her back. She hid her face into the high collar of his jacket and he noticed how tightly she gripped the material with her fists.

“You should get changed… wear something comfortable.” He whispered to not disturb her too much.

“I’m so tired.” She mumbled, her face still hidden. He just held her for a little while longer, allowing her to let go of him first. When she finally straightened her back and looked at him, this time without a fake smile, he felt like his heart broke, for her. He lifted his hand and gently stroked her cheek.

Her face was virtually emotionless, but he noticed the tensed jaw. The eyes, that hypnotized him every time he gazed into them, were looking more into space than actually at him. Her spaced-out expression made it seem like she was sculpted in marble.

Keigo squeezed her arms lightly to ground her a bit into reality.

“Do you want me to help you?” He asked softly, giving her a way to back out, if she truly wanted to.

“I don’t need…” She looked down with hesitation. Being vulnerable was never easy, even with some of the closest people. Admitting the need or want for other’s presence was quite a feat. She sighed. “Yes.”

“Do you want to take a shower too? Or just change?” She saw not even a slight sliver of judgment in his eyes.

“I’ll take a shower.” She said quietly and took her arms away from Keigo’s. She turned around to go to the bathroom but stopped when he made a move behind her. “Alone, but… stay… please.”

He just nodded with understanding and watched her drag her feet to the other room. At first, nothing came out of there, but a few minutes later he could hear the water from the shower. Going into his partner’s bedroom, he looked briefly at the messy clothing laying on the bed, pushed them aside, and took the clothes he knew she used as pajamas and always put under the duvet.

After the water stopped running, he waited ten minutes before knocking on the door. After getting quiet permission to enter, he went in and saw her sitting on the toilet, wrapped in a towel, with her unseeing gaze focused on some point before her.

“Come on.” Keigo softly broke the silence in the bathroom and reached out to her with one, which she took. He pulled gently and, without saying anything more, gave her the clothes he was holding.

With no request for him to get out, he just stood in the doorway while she put on her sweatpants and T-shirt. It was strange for him to see her vulnerable because she always closed herself off in those moments. He knew it was important that she just let him be there.

“Do you feel… better?” He asked when she stood in front of the mirror slightly squinting at herself.

“Hmm…” she hummed, “Perhaps. Not any lighter, though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He felt like he was going through a field full of land mines. His training made him an expert at obtaining information, but he did not want to use his, masterfully crafted by the Commission, manipulation skills on her. He hoped that he was enough to bring her any semblance of comfort.

She shrugged and, after pushing him slightly out of the door, moved out of the bedroom and sat down on the couch, empty staring at the TV playing some meaningless show. Keigo took a place next to her, his wings hanging behind the backrest.

For a second, he cursed his lack of experience with human emotions. Of course, he was trained to observe and he knew when something was not right, but since he was never allowed to get close to anyone, his skills turned to nothing in the face of his love slowly getting pulled into the darkness of her own mind, all while maintaining the smile he adored so much.

After a minute of silence between them, the girl took a pilot and turned the TV off. She looked at him, the quietness becoming almost unbearable, but quickly, she broke it with a question:

“Do you really want me to… talk?”

And he just nodded.

Unable to look into his worried, gold eyes, she lowered her gaze. Leaning slightly on her elbows, she stared at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.

“Well… I haven’t been feeling… um, really good, lately. Mentally, I mean.”

“Yeah… I’ve noticed. Should’ve said something sooner.”

She turned to him and put one hand on his knee, which he gently covered with his own and started to stroke with his thumb.

“No.” She opposed, “I’m actually grateful that you took more of a, hmm, silent-observer approach. I had space… but still knew you were there, somewhere, for me.”

“Good thing then that I’m not completely useless here.” He tried to joke with a small smile that fell quickly.

“No, but I am.” Before he could protest she took his hand, the one he’s been stroking her with, into both of hers. “Kei, Keigo… I can tell you what’s going on up here-” she pointed at her head “-but it’s just, so hard. And you have so much of your own shit going on… I don’t want to worry and burden you with my... stupid mind.”

He sighed, brought his free hand to the back of her head, and put his forehead against hers.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah,” she said, “I think I do…”

She closed her eyes, letting her sense of touch be the center of her attention. She focused on the weight his head put against her own, the way his messy hair brushed her face and his slow warm breath felt against her lips. It grounded her mind, silencing (if even for just a moment) the annoying white noise constantly present in there.

“I don’t want to look at you,” she started, “when I’m talking. It’s just… I don’t want to be seen, only heard.”

Keigo shifted his head and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead.

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

She turned away from him, putting her legs on the couch to sit cross-legged. It took a few moments before she started talking. Organizing the thoughts and feelings plaguing her was not easy.

“I… I just feel so bad. And I don’t even have a good reason for these stupid feelings,” she said, sounding slightly annoyed, “Why the fuck do I feel like this? I have a home, I have friends, I have… you. I have everything I could hope for and yet… I feel so bad, so… so numb. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Keigo looked at her hunched back and saw that she put her face into her hands. He wished he could just take all her troubles away, be the hero that he was supposed to be, but of course, he couldn’t, and that - he hated.

“I’m so fucking tired. I have no energy for almost anything. Yesterday, before bed, I sat in front of my computer for hours. Doing absolutely nothing… Why am I even telling you this? It’s so stupid. You do so much for everyone and I’m just dumping my shit on you… saying how tired I am, while you’re so much more tired than me.” She straightened her back with a dry chuckle.

He leaned slightly towards her and put his arm on her shoulder. She turned her head to the side and looked at him from the corner of the eye.

“Don’t invalidate yourself. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Call it my… bird senses-” he smiled a little “-but I felt like you might need someone. And nothing you do or say is stupid. Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

“You… remember?” She asked with raised eyebrows, after turning her body sideways to him.

“Of course. I remember a lot of things about you,” he said with such tenderness in his eyes that, while looking into them, she felt like she could suffocate. But it was good, it wasn’t nothing. “The quote you like, how you make your coffee, what is the song you listen to on repeat… everything I see and know about you, I remember.”

Pushing away the shame and the nagging voice, saying that Keigo didn’t really care, she faced him completely and moved close enough for her knees to touch his thighs. He could see now how shiny her eyes became.

“You can cry, if you want to.”

“I wish I could… no matter how teary my eyes get, it’s just… nothing comes out of them. But on the inside, on the inside, I’m weeping.”

She talked mostly with a flat voice, little change in her tone, but he sensed the grief deep inside her. Grief for herself, grief for her crumbling mind.

“That’s okay. It will come when the time is right.” He really hoped he was doing it right. That he was able to give any comfort.

With slight hesitation, she touched his leg with her fingertips before resting her palms to play with the fabric of his pants.

“I don’t get it. Why you are so… here. You could just leave and I would be okay… in time.”

“I told you that I love you, right?”

“You did, but still…” Her eyes became unseeing again. She looked through space with a spaced-out expression. “If I wasn’t here you wouldn’t have to bother, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Are you saying that you’ve thought about…” He did not want to end that sentence, too scared to actually hear it.

“Death?” So she ended it for him. “Yeah, I do… from time to time. But I don’t think I’d do it. Even if I think it would be better without me taking up space, I’m too selfish to just let go of everything…”

Keigo was a bit shocked with how calm she was. Death was something that he himself contemplated in the past, but hearing it said by someone he loved was on a whole another level. Fright and relief washed over him.

He took both of her hands into his and brought them to his mouth. He put his lips on her skin, not kissing, just feeling, making sure that she was indeed there with him.

“I… am so glad. So glad that you trust me enough to let me into your mind.” He made sure to look her straight in the eyes. His (just barely) trembling fingers squeezing hers. “You are my Sun. The most important star in my galaxy, in my whole universe, even. And I will do anything in my power to prevent you from burning out. I… I just need you like flowers need the Sun.”

She did not expect such a statement from him, it wasn’t really in his nature to make proclamations of that stature. But she knew it was on purpose, another thing he remembered: her love for the stars. If he loved her like she loved the unknown universe… It was almost overwhelming. She also understood the implication of his power - he would try to help her and if she needed more, he would get anyone more suited for this particular job.

He sighed and put their hands down (never letting go).

“It sounds selfish, doesn’t it? You need me and I say that I need you.”

She gently pulled her hands away from his and changed her position to sit on her feet. Leaning forward, she cupped his face softly, fingers getting tangled in his messy blond hair.

“Do you know what is it about us, Keigo? Why do we even work?” She asked quietly.

“Hmm?”

“We’re fake. Both of us.” He knew what she meant. “We’re fake to the world. But we know the truth and need each other to tell it.”

He said nothing, instead just embracing her, the words still echoing in his mind.

The position they were in was uncomfortable. His arms around her torso, hers around his neck with her head on his shoulder, both leaning into one another a bit awkwardly. Still, they both savored the warmth the other provided.

“I will stand by you all the way, as long as you want me,” he whispered right in her ear.

“You’re betting on a losing dog…”

“A losing dog...? Then I’m losing by your side.” He felt her slight smile on the crook of his neck. “I’ll wait for the day when you sing along to songs again…”

She lifted her head to look at him from the corner of her eye.

“You know, that’s a bit cheesy.”

“Maybe,” he said with a sigh, “but when you do it, you always seem happy or content. When you stop singing, the silence is almost deafening…”

She hummed in agreement, he was right, after all.

“Hide me away, Keigo,” she whispered gripping the fabric on his back, “Just for a moment, please.”

His wings spread to the sides before enveloping tightly the two of them.

They sat in their own crimson bubble, a safe haven, while his phone lit up in his pocket with a reminder of forgotten reality.

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cherrysha · 4 years ago

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Conversation Hearts

Big shoutout to @ramwrites fr helping me clear out my writers block!! <3 This is just self indulgent valentines Todou and i dont have an explanation for myself

Summary: Todous relentless, a bully you’ve had to deal with since your freshman year of college. Unfortunately for you, it all comes to a head when you’re paired with him for an assignment that’s worth a substantial portion of your grade

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Yandere themes, choking, implied noncon towards the end

You’re early. Disastrously so. So early that you can watch the sun set in the charming little café Todou made you meet him at. It’s still winter, and the sunset isn’t too late in the day, but being early enough to watch as the sun slowly disappeared behind the tall buildings gave you the disadvantage of realizing how much time you were about to waste. Picking at the rim of the paper cup, you shake your head to try and clear the negative thoughts out, to no avail. You were about to spend an incredulous amount of time working with the person you hated the most. The person who seemed to make every class he had with you a living hell. How you ended up paired with him for this project is beyond you. One moment your partner was the girl sitting next to you in the lecture hall, the next she was gone and Todou in her place. Even though you both were in college, He was always so ruthless. As if he had made it his duty to make you feel smaller than you already did at such a large school. You don’t know why he singled you out. It had started after you’d taken an intro course with him your first year, still young and naïve enough to believe the man who sat beside you wasn't bullying you. At first it was little things, like stealing your notebook while you wrote, which turned into progressively bigger things like the time he drenched your shirt with his water bottle. A sleazy smile and an ‘oops’ that was insincere following the act. And now, you were stuck in an assignment with him that was worth half of your grade. At least the cafe was close to your apartment. It’d be easy to lose him once the work was done. Outside the wind began to howl, a bitter reminder that you could’ve spent this time cuddled up in your bed, watching a movie or something other than wasting your time with such a meathead. Part of you wanted to leave, just gather up all your school supplies and tell Todou you’d finish the project by yourself. Before you could think too deeply on that option, the door of the cafe swung open, letting in a gust of freezing air as well as the man you least wanted to interact with. Todou Aoi. A college student with muscles for brains who could laugh in the face of God himself. Even without saying anything he was always so boisterous, his presence alone just too big and loud. You hated it. “Y/n!” He called, alerting everyone in the damn place that you, unfortunately, were with him. Pulling the chair out and moving it beside your own he continues speaking “Early as usual! Y’know, that’s fine” he laughs “punctuality is a good thing! But you could’ve messaged me, and I would’ve come earlier too!” Why was he so happy all the time? It truly vexed you. Without so much as a word you got up to toss your half finished coffee away, sure if you kept it on the table the bastard would ‘accidentally’ spill it on your notes. It’s not like he hadn’t done it before. “Could we make this quick?” You sighed, scooting your chair away from his as you sat back down. “I already have a list of what you need to do. Just get it done and this’ll be painless for the both of us” Todou’s smile faltered at the end of your statement, but it quickly lit up again as you went to give him the paper. His hand shooting out to grab your wrist, a little too tight, a laugh escaping him at the way you struggled against his grip until he finally decided to let go. “Why do you always gotta do stuff like that?” you grumbled, rubbing at the dull ache that was settling into the skin of your wrist already. “Why are you always trying to run away from me?” Somehow, he made the statement seem as if it were only a joke but coupled with the aching in your wrist, it only served to piss you off further. As if you'd want to be around him, to interact with someone so dense that they couldn’t even tell when they were being a nuisance. You aimlessly rubbed at your temples, closing your eyes to try and stem off the headache that would only be exacerbated by looking at his face. Bluntly, you asked “Are we gunna work on this or not?” taking a moment to stare at the papers in front of you. You'd never get this done in one sitting, but as long as Todou understood what he had to do, you could finish the rest in the comfort of your own home. He laughs at that, something big and boisterous as his hand grabs the soft skin of your knee. It’s too comfortable, like you're an old friend and he’s enjoying the thinly veiled distaste as casual banter. “Yeah, yeah.. can I ask you something first?” his grip only tightens as you try to yank your leg away, ensuring more bruises and irritation on your part “Why the fuck not?” you say exasperatedly “What is it you wanna know Todou?” His eyes drift downwards to the work on the table, something akin to shyness ebbing through him, if it weren’t overwhelmed by the excitement that was practically buzzing through his body and burning you with a single touch to your knee. Quickly lifting his gaze up, he stares at you, sincerity in his voice as he asks “Wanna be my Valentine?” Shocked at first, you do nothing but return his stare with your own. It isn’t until he tacks on “Its not like that, I want you to be my girlfriend too, y/n… Not just for valentines! But for every day after –“ that you let out a laugh that’s louder than anything Todou has ever heard from you. After a few moments of this you quiet yourself, “Oh,” you wipe a stray tear from your eye “You're not joking?” Solemnly Todou shakes his head ‘no’ as he removes his hand from your leg. “Oh.. in that case..how do I put this delicately.” You sit for a moment before chuckling again. “No.” His stunned expression makes you laugh again as you diligently gather your things. It was obvious no work was going to be done here tonight. “Why not?” “Oh I don’t know Todou” the irritation mounting within you once again. “Maybe use that big brain of yours to figure it out for yourself.” With that, you shoulder your bag and make for the exit, still chuckling at where the night had led you.

Its still blustery as you quickly try to get back to your apartment. The weather does little to make you feel better, in fact, it seems to sour your mood even more. The first thing you'd decided to do when you got home was make a cup of tea, then after you'd email your professor and beg for a new partner. Even doing the assignment alone was preferable to seeing Todou again. The thought doesn’t last long before your being manhandled onto a side street, back hitting hard brick as Todou’s face is mere inches from yours. “You were lying right?” there’s a deep undercurrent of need flowing through him, palpable in the air around you Trying hard not to let his big frame intimidate you, you shake your head ‘no’, mouth too dry to even open as he peers down into your eyes. There’s no one on the street, no one to call you as you realize the severity of the situation. As if he expected this reaction, his hand shoots up with little hesitation as it grips your throat tightly.

“But I love you .. and you love me, right? You're just playing hard to get?” it’s a whine that leaves him as his lips press against your cheek, mumbling into the soft flesh he finds there. His grip around your throat gets tighter the longer you stay quiet “Just say it back.. say it back y/n” You couldn’t even if you tried. His hand was putting enough pressure to make dark spots form and blur your vision. Its frenzied, the way his body pins you against the wall, his free hand sliding against you. It easily trails up your dress, pressing against your stomach to keep you in place as his mouth wanders down to your neck. Before you could fully comprehend the situation, to understand where his hand was going as it traveled underneath the band of your underwear, your body goes limp. Eyes closing as Todou seeks your validation.

#todou aoi #yandere todou aoi #todou x reader #todou #yandere x reader

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absconditum-imaginaerum · 4 years ago

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Hyunjae | Vulnerable Words | 18.7K Genre | Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining Notes | Female!Reader x The Boyz Hyunjae, Post College AU. Mentions of alcohol, threats, unhealthy relationships, cursing. A whole shared brain written piece of work; Rainah and I wrote such eerily similar stories without the other’s knowledge, and here’s my rendition. This is a work of fiction, and any depictions of actions, behaviors, thoughts, and personalities of characters used in this story do not reflect reality. Summary | Hyunjae’s been gone for six years, leaving his family and friends behind to escape some painful feelings. Once returning, he realizes that those six years did nothing to help his feelings, and after running into you again, he’s convinced they’ll never go away, and that you’ve felt the same way all along.

Hyunjae hadn’t spent a summer vacation—or any vacation for that matter—in his hometown since leaving for college. He couldn’t place exactly what drew him back, but his parents were ecstatic when he arrived with a suitcase in hand and a shy expression on his face, hoping he still had somewhere to stay, even unannounced, with them. There was an air about his hometown that felt like a sea breeze on his face, like a breath of fresh air, a familiarity he couldn’t seem to find anywhere else.

His mother welcomed him with open arms, always thrilled to see her little boy, especially when she was never quite sure when she would see him again outside their visits to him. A fresh face he was surprised, but happy, to see was his older sister’s. She gave him a warm smile, waiting for her turn to embrace him after finally getting past their mother.

“You’ve been gone so long, you know,” she said to him. An explanation was queued in his throat transitorily just to hum in response, but for a moment just being welcomed by his family was calming.

“I always have classes in the summer and winter, and it’s a long way for a couple of days,” he explained. His father knew his ambitions, always studying extra hard at school, and was always encouraged to join extracurriculars or take more classes if he could—so he did.

“So, then, what made you take this summer off?” she asked.

It was an inevitable question he knew would be asked, but no matter how many times he thought to himself about the reason, he couldn’t come up with one other than he felt like he should, like he wanted to, like something was calling him back. Unable to answer, he shrugged it off before trekking up the stairs of a house he once called his.

Hyunjae got settled into his old room. Most of the things he didn’t take to college or didn’t ask to be kept were gone, and his bed was a full instead of a twin now, which must have meant that they used his room for guests—which he now was. For a brief moment, he sat on his bed, taking in the reality of actually being back in his hometown and seeing his family for the first time outside of FaceTime in a while. All the trinkets and pictures he’d asked his mom to save glimmered and glowered at him—maybe it was time to go through them to see what he wanted to get rid of. He reached over and gently plucked a silver frame from the dresser which encased a picture of himself and a girl he knew from a long time ago: his childhood best friend.

Hyunjae thought about you often, about what you were doing, if school had treated you well and how your family was— you both were that type of friends, the type that was close with the other’s family, the type whose families were basically your own. After moving away, he’d thought about you a lot through college in many lights; the good and the bad.

It was late enough in the evening that fifteen minutes into feeling nostalgic about his old life and friendships made it to dinner time. He was almost startled by the way his mom softly knocked on the frame of his door to alert him that dinner was ready, and although he didn’t feel overly hungry, he wouldn’t refuse mom’s homemade cooking or dare not sit down with them at the very least.

The evening wasn’t eventful, mostly just catching his family up on what life has been like for the time he’d been away, and similarly asked about things going on around there—about how much it had changed and become more accommodating to the younger crowd and how things had shifted around and all of the infrastructure that had been built. It was so much busier than he’d last remembered, with new shopping strips of immaculate and fingerprint-less glass storefronts with fancy chrome polished doors and neon signs that lit up the night; new bars and restaurants popping up in more populated areas he’d only glazed over while in the back of a ride-share on the way to his parent’s home.

His family stayed up much later than they had back before he left for college—he only knew because it was unusual for him to be tired before the rest of them, but when he took a peek at the clock, registering quarter to twelve, he was surprised.

“You’ve had a long day of travels, you don’t have to stay up for us,” Hyunjae’s mother commented, resting a hand against her son’s shoulder to bring him back to life, somewhat, as he was dozing off a bit in the corner of the couch. After moving to get up he gave her a soft smile, bid his family goodnight, and headed back to his room.

The bed and sheets were different, but somehow the way they slid over his body, the cool sheets meeting the warmth of his skin, something about it felt like home. Maybe it was the familiarity of the shape of his room, of the same furniture in the same spots, some trinkets still here and there he had fond memories of, or the comfort of the pillows that he sunk into like a sack of bricks. Maybe he really just was that tired from traveling and the somewhat mental exhaustion of being back and still not understanding what brought him here that any old bed may have felt like this. Despite that, he couldn’t help but glance over to the picture he was hanging on to previously. You both had just graduated high school in the picture, hanging on each other with playful smiles donning your caps and gowns. He wondered what you looked like now because he knew he looked quite a bit different.

Then he began to wonder if you ever thought about him, about how once he left for college the two of you quickly stopped talking... And now that he was thinking about it, he wondered if the number in his phone was even still your number.

Audibly sighing, he rolled onto his side to face away from the dresser from which that photograph was glowering at him, or so it felt. He closed his eyes and pressed his head deep into the pillow, tucking the sheets under his arm so just enough chill of the air conditioning would make it comfortable and somehow, despite his racing thoughts, he fell asleep.

Three days of summer ‘vacation’ went by agonizingly slowly, but he’d gotten the opportunity to look around some new shops that had popped up around the area with his sister before he was looking at your number in his contacts. Was it even worth reaching out to you? Would you even want to see him? Surely if he was having these feelings, there was a chance that maybe you were feeling them, too. So, as he sat across a bistro table from his sister after ordering lunch, his finger hovered over the message button before typing something quickly so he couldn’t change his mind.

An immediate notification came back from his service provider, notifying him that the number he had messaged was no longer in service, but that didn’t seem to ease his tension any as he looked back at the message with a displeased expression—shockingly upset in a way even he couldn’t understand.

“Who are you secretly texting under the table?” Hyunjae’s sister asked, not even remotely distracted with her food enough to not notice.

Hyunjae sighed, there was no reason to lie—it didn’t even really matter at this point, all hopes of him contacting you had been thwarted by the fact that you’d changed your number who even knew how long ago.

“An old friend from a long time ago, but their number is disconnected,” he replied with a sigh and all but tossed his phone against the rustic wood table, finally turning to his flavored tea for the first sip since it had arrived, and already their food was there. “I haven’t seen her since we both left for separated colleges… I figured if I was going to be here, it might be worth seeing her if she was still around.”

She looked at him for a moment; one name clicking in her mind right away and without thinking blurted it out. Hyunjae turned his gaze away from his plate, trying to wrangle his appetite, and up to his sister. Your name almost hurt him to speak out loud, but his look only confirmed his sister’s suspicions.

“Her family still lives around the corner, their old house…” she trailed off, trying not to step on any toes if there were toes to be stepped on, “I’m sure her mom would like to see you, she asks about you a lot.”

“Mom never told me that,” Hyunjae replied, appetite completely out the window that his point even if he picked around at the side of fruit on his plate.

“At the very least, you might be able to ease yourself about it.”

So, after a few more days of hanging around at home, helping his mom with some shopping, and exploring his some-what forgotten town with his sister, he pulled on a light jacket after dinner and announced he was going for a walk. His sister gave him a knowing look, almost promising she wouldn’t say where he was going as he stepped into his shoes and left out the front door. The way to your house was emblazoned in his mind, he knew it like the back of his hand—it was close and he couldn’t even count the number of times he’d been there over the years.

The yard was the same, littered with beautiful flowers as it always had been—your mother had a knack for gardening. All the flora was nicely groomed while the outside lights illuminated the walk-way a pale yellow color that glowed in the twilight air. He approached the door, a tight knot in his stomach; he hadn’t even planned anything to say to you, if you happened to be there, which almost made him turn back if he hadn’t already pressed the bell, listening to it chime loudly through the house before a quiet voice called back.

Hyunjae shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he listened to the locks turn before the door opened to a woman he was so familiar with, a woman who didn’t look a day older than when he’d last seen her at his high school graduation. A soft smile pulled at his lips, and his eyes softened just looking at her. She smiled back, although there was a glint in her eyes that told him that she wasn’t quite sure who he was.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

Hyunjae’s smile faded a bit, but not enough to drop from his face.

“I’m here to see my second family, after being gone for six years,” he replied gently, hoping that was enough.

She shook her head as her gaze cast away from him, which inevitably resulted in the smile dropping from Hyunjae’s face.

“Six years pass and your son from another family doesn’t even call you mom anymore,” she teased him as her eyes came back up to meet his disappointed gaze. “You’ve gotten so tall over the years, Hyunjae.”

His smile struggled to come back, and all he knew was the warmth of her embrace as she stepped just outside the door to wrap her arms around him. “I ask about you all the time, your mother always tells me how busy you’ve been and that you don’t even come to visit them.”

Somehow it made him feel guiltier coming from your mom than his own mom—maybe that was because his dad was always chirping in the background about studying hard, about how they’d always be there for him to come back when he was ready. His hands slowly pulled out of his pockets to embrace her back with words caught in his throat, a poor excuse of an explanation about why he hadn’t come back. It didn’t matter, the thought of you loomed in the back of his mind like a bad dream, and, as if her intuition could still reach him…

“She’s out at work tonight. Would you like me to let her know you dropped by?”

Now he was really on the spot. He could feel a shiver shoot down his spine and he thought about just asking for your phone number, but that felt like too much of a hassle. His hands shook a bit, and he was sure your mom could hear the way his heart raged against the cage of his chest just trying to come up with a response to a simple yes or no question.

“Yes, please,” he finally blurted, but it sounded unsure, there was no conviction. She reeled back to get a good look at his face, to see the nerves all over it, to see the frustration knitted in his brow.

“She asks me about you, which is half the reason I ask about you. When your mom said you never come around for holidays—”

“I wish she’d called me,” he interrupted; but did he mean it?

“You both were busy! She didn’t want to bother you—if you weren’t coming home for vacation, she figured you were doing other things. I’ll let her know you stopped by, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that you’re in visiting for a bit.”

Hyunjae slowly nodded and allowed your mom to return inside and bid him goodnight before he was turning away on autopilot. A million things were running through his mind—the most important seemed to be what would he say to you when he finally did see you again for the first time? He couldn’t even come up with something good to say even on the spot with you potentially answering the door to your childhood home. For certain he knew that he would be standing there, looking like a fool, stuttering for quite some time—he had no doubt you’d just look at him with that same patient look whenever he couldn’t come up with the right words for you.

After returning, he didn’t have too much to say as he headed up to his room, the same thoughts cycling his mind like a cropped film reel, but it wasn’t distracting enough to stop him from grabbing that same silver-framed photo of the two of you and plopped on his bed to look at it, hoping it would inspire some things to say.

At least he’d have three days before seeing you, finally, but it was fairly unexpected. His family was just getting ready to sit down to eat when there was a knock on the door. As the youngest and spryest, Hyunjae stood from the table to allow his family to start eating, but they were just as curious. An awkwardness loomed the moment his eyes met yours after tugging the door open; of course, he didn’t recognize you, really—it had been a good chunk of time since he last saw you.

“Sorry, maybe I’m at the wrong house,” you tried, a plate of baked goods in your hands as you looked back at Hyunjae before taking a step back to look at the address. There was a screech of a chair across the floor as it was being pushed out, followed by another one before the doorway was crowded by his sister and mother who greeted you enthusiastically. It didn’t take long for you to come to the ultimate conclusion.

Your eyes shot back to Hyunjae’s, who was still looking at you despite all of the commotion coming from around him which inevitably pushed him out of the way of the doorway. Somehow the plate was coaxed out of your hand with a million questions being asked about it and you were being tugged into the house with insistence that you join them for dinner. You couldn’t answer, your gaze remained locked with Hyunjae until the both of them realized that he was your primary focus, and quickly the chatter stopped and silence took over again.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something to her?” his sister asked, prompting him to come somewhat back to life and he shook his head, swallowing hard, but still nothing was in there to say—he wasn’t sure what to say, so he settled with your name. There was a burning within your face that you couldn’t contain, and couldn’t help the way your eyes trailed away from his face.

“Hyunjae… it’s been so long, I didn’t even recognize you,” you finally said, but still didn’t feel comfortable just yet looking back up at him.

Hyunjae swallowed the knot in his throat, and after some prompting from his sister in the background, finally found something good to say.

“Would you… would you please stay for dinner with us?” he asked. You could feel the nerves in the shakiness of his voice, and in the half-step he took towards you which you could only see because you were looking at his feet. “There’s plenty, and you’re not a bother, and… to be honest, I tried messaging you the other day, but I don’t have your number anymore and I went to your mom’s and—”

“I’ll stay,” you replied, finally finding the heart to look up at him with a soft genuine smile. You could hear his sister and mom behind you, but still, you were focused on the grown-up boy in front of you, who had grown so tall since you’d last seen him—you weren’t even heighted anymore. Hyunjae pulled out your chair at the table and got you a plate and some utensils. Naturally, he placed you between him and his sister where you usually sat when you stayed with them for dinner when you were younger.

Conversation ensued quickly between you and the rest of Hyunjae’s family since you were still far more familiar with them. You settled in next to Hyunjae again, and although there was a lot to talk about, a lot to catch up on between the two of you, you enjoyed the fact that the rest of the family was breaking the awkwardness and allowing you and Hyunjae to chime in when appropriate.

The conversation was mostly about you, about school, about how life had been since leaving for college since you and Hyunjae had pretty much broken contact by the end of the first semester. Honestly, it broke both your hearts a little bit, and you could feel the stinging of those same pieces even now. Hyunjae told you what your mom said, about you not wanting to call him, and all of the subsequent lack of communication that led to your complete separation. Conversation seemed to flow a bit more freely between the two of you again, deep somewhere there was an understanding about the hurt that the split caused the both of you. Unfortunately, after that, dinner went quickly and although it wasn’t getting too late, you felt like you needed to go.

“Thank you for the lovely dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Lee, inviting me in so unannounced,” you began, and then addressed Hyunjae’s sister and then Hyunjae.

“It’s always a pleasure to have you over, dear,” Mrs. Lee commented with that same full smile she always had. She always made you feel like a part of the family, like her own daughter.

“Let me walk you home,” Hyunjae offered.

“It’s not far,” you reminded him.

“It’s late and I don’t want you to go by yourself,” he insisted.

He could see the fight in your eyes, the same fight from the number of years ago when he’d say the same thing, when he’d walk you home no matter how much you insisted it wasn’t necessary. The way you dug in was noticeable, preparing to stand your ground against him because, who was he to be so concerned as someone who left? And maybe that was the wrong mindset to have about him because you could feel, even in the way he looked at you, that he still cared for you.

Hyunjae gave you that look where his gaze got a little more tender and there was an almost unnoticeable raise of his brows and a head flick towards the door. It had you swallowing hard, barely even noticing the silence before it was interrupted.

“Please, Hyunjae will walk you home! It’s safer that way!” Hyunjae’s sister chimed in and took a hold of your arm to bring you back to earth. You looked at her, blinking a few times before reluctantly nodding. She gave you a tight squeeze, reminding you how good it was to see you and to not be a stranger because she would always be around and Hyunjae was home for the whole summer.

Out of old habit, Hyunjae extended his elbow to you, and, to avoid being overly awkward, you took it, but not without looking up at him questioningly as he was pulling you out of the door. You walked slowly side by side once getting off the initial porch of his parent’s home, and he reached over to cup over your hand to keep it from slipping away.

“If you don’t mind too much…” he trailed off, asking you to keep your hand around his arm as he escorted you to your home. He didn’t look at you, even when you looked up at him. It was okay, though, because you could hear something in his voice that pained you a bit, so you tightened your grip around his bicep as you moseyed along the sidewalk. The street lamps provided dim light, barely enough to see the cracks in the slabs of concrete. Admittedly, you felt better that he was walking you home anyway—ever since all of the development in the area, it somehow felt less safe year after year that you’d come home for the summer or winter.

Hyunjae was silent the entirety of the walk; the only noise he did make was an occasional rough exhale of a somewhat held breath, and in the off chance that you attempted to sneak a peek of him from the corner of your eye you could see his chest contract with that exhale. Then, you were under the familiar light of your home’s porch before you were ready. You knew the walk was only a couple of blocks, but you’d hoped there was more time with the pace at which you were walking. There was so much stuck in your throat that you wanted to say, so much that probably wouldn’t ever come out unless he spoke first; but it looked like there was little to no intention.

You could feel his bicep flex under your hand, his whole body tensing up next to you as he took another rickety breath. With your eyes still cast down at the ground, you turned your head to him before your gaze fluttered up his chest to his throat and eventually his face; he had gotten so much taller since leaving. The numbers of your address next to it seemed to scrutinize him before he swallowed hard. Hyunjae carefully peeled your hand away from his arm and held onto it as he helped you up the step onto your actual porch landing.

“Hyunjae,” you tried as you turned to face him—leaving in complete silence seemed incomprehensible, unimaginable.

“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly, but his gaze was still cast to the side of you. “I guess just actually seeing you, actually sitting down with you at the table with my family like old times just…opened wounds I didn’t know were there…”

The tone in his voice and the look in his distant gaze was like putting salt in the wounds you knew were there, you knew had been there for years. It took a few moments of silence, but his eyes eventually found yours. He looked at you with a tenderness you’d never seen out of him before, and of course, over six years there was a lot of growing and a lot of changes, but this particular look put knots in your stomach, unlike anything you had ever felt before.

“I think if we’re going to do any mending, that’s a talk we need to have,” you answered, finally noticing the way his hand lingered in yours, the way it had been for the last few moments that you hadn’t registered his fingers playing with yours.

The moment his gaze turned away from yours again, you took a step forward and your hand left his to turn his chin back towards you. “That means you can’t run away again,” you reminded him, as if his first departure away to college was him running away in the first place.

He nodded in your soft grip, but you could see the way his brow ached to draw together.

“Go home, sleep on it, get the right words… we’ll talk,” you told him, hands both dropping back to your sides.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time you weren’t sure what for. Just as you were about to turn towards your door to leave him, he took you around the middle and dragged you into him, hulling you up against his firm chest as his arms tightened against you. Initially, you were surprised. The audacity, but also the guts it took to pull you into a hug when he was stumbling over his words like a dancer with two left feet. Your hands ghosted up his arms, slowly feeling his frame—tall and warm against your own—before your arms draped across his shoulders. Your head was turned to the side, pressed against his collar turned inwards towards the center, and, much to your own surprised, you relished the hug like home. This felt akin to the hug he gave you before you both departed to your separate cities, vowing that he would maintain contact which quickly disintegrated. Honestly, it had tears pricking at your eyes like you were saying goodbye all over again, but also releasing the gates on the emotions you’d stowed away for all those years with no thoughts that he’d ever come back.

His breathing was now even more noticeably rickety with your head pressed up against his chest. A few more times he apologized, still for reasons you weren’t aware of, and squeezed you even tighter for just a moment longer before he was finally releasing you.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said as you stepped back from him, and even still he wouldn’t look right at you.

“Go home safely,” you replied, stepping backward until your back unceremoniously hit your front door. You were pawing at the handle, watching him wait for you until you finally popped the door to let yourself inside. “Goodnight, Hyunjae,” you added.

“Goodnight,” he replied, and your gaze finally met his before you turned to close him away from you.

Hyunjae spent the next couple of days mulling over your brief conversation about a conversation that still was yet to be had. It was up to him to find you when he was ready; obviously, he had a lot to say to you which would undoubtedly be coupled with a bit of stumbling around for the correct words, no matter how many days he had to think about it.

At least, he attempted to think about it. He slowly kicked his way down the river-front walkway to the dock where you used to play around as kids. The river-front was full of all kinds of neat little local mom and pop shops that gave life to the town, especially when the sun was setting in spring or fall when it gleamed off the river just right and an array of purples and oranges and all the colors in between painted the sky so beautifully. It used to be an empty area, abandoned commercially with the docks left to be perfect ground to play pretend as kids.

He remembered the dock fondly as he stepped off the concrete path and onto the surprisingly preserved wooden boards that looked like they had been sanded and re-varnished recently. Maybe the dock was still in use for smaller boats, or maybe those people who owned the river-front stores kept it looking nice for tourism purposes. Either way, he was happy, because that meant he had to worry less about splinters.

The tide was out, so there was plenty of room for Hyunjae to dangle his legs off the side of the dock as he took a seat, looking out to the glittering seawater which was reflecting the aforementioned sunset colors. He recalled all the fond memories he had of this particular dock with you—it was where you spent most of your time together playing pirates and other silly little kids games and remembered one time very vividly when he was roughhousing a little too much and you ended up tumbling off the dock into the water. He was lucky his older sister was there to pull you out—you were maybe six or seven at the time; he remembered how bad he felt, how many times he profusely apologized and the way you smiled about it, laughed about it even and gave him a hard time for being too concerned. Looking back on it, he wouldn’t have changed anything.

Incessantly he gnawed at his bottom lip, doing a little more thinking of the way things used to be and less thinking about what he would say to you when the inevitable conversation came. Maybe he’d benefit from playing through his memories, and he would have continued to think of them if there wasn’t an iced drink being shaken right next to his ear.

He jumped, a bit startled by the sound, and looked over to a stout iced coffee being handed to him and followed the arm up to your face, where you smiled at him jovially with the straw of your own coffee comfortable between your lips.

“Did you know I would be here?” he asked you and tenderly took the coffee from you and scooted over to make a bit of room for you to sit next to him. You plopped down, hanging your legs off the side of the dock the same way his were for a moment, examining your coffee as you stirred it.

“I had a hunch… and then I stopped by your house,” you told him, implying that they had told you that he went for a walk, but how many places could he possibly go in a city that wasn’t his anymore.

“I’m not ready to have the talk,” he replied quickly as to not get your hopes up about it.

“That’s okay,” you said, “we don’t have to talk about that, we can talk about anything. Or we don’t have to talk at all.”

“But you bought me a coffee—”

“I could see you from the shop,” you laughed, referencing the river-front shop maybe fifty yards away.

Hyunjae just nodded, still too nervous to even look at you again since taking the coffee from you in the first place. He hadn’t even tasted it, just continued to spin the ice around the clear plastic cup as condensation built up on its sides before finally mustering the courage to thank you for the coffee.

A few moments of silence passed--if he didn’t have anything to say, that was fine, but you wouldn’t be the one to force conversation as you kicked your feet back and forth and continued to sip on your coffee. You found the nerves fluttering around in your stomach were also making it hard to look at him, which probably benefitted him anyway.

You wouldn’t, and couldn’t, blame him for being closed off, and gave him a pass for a couple of days ago, the affection and openness after the first time seeing you; the well of emotions was hard to ignore especially when the two of you used to be so close. But now that he had a few days to settle in, a few days to think about that… a different tune was expected. The imminent conversation that loomed in the background of both your minds (perhaps at the forefront of his) was only exacerbating the awkwardness you stewed in.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked after a moment; you had, after all, been the one to come second. It was his dock if he wanted it.

“No, I’m sorry. A million things are running through my mind, and I’m just trying to not say something stupid,” he replied, and finally, the blood rushing through him gave him enough adrenaline, faux confidence, to turn his head just enough to peer at you from the corner of his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make this trip so hard on you—”

“It’s not you, it’s me. It’s one hundred percent me, and that’s the part I’m grappling the hardest with. I just…” He sighed, taking a moment to compose himself as he ran his free hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead just to let it flutter back into place. “You must hate me, for treating you the way I did. For never bothering to check in with you, or even come back. For just leaving you behind like you were nothing.”

His words stung, indubitably. Although that was the fact of the matter, you’d always tried to make excuses for him, but when he gave it to you in total plainness, you understood his feelings a bit better.

“I was afraid to go, and part of me felt like I would be better off if I just… forgot about here and everything with it.” He paused for a moment, biting that bottom lip harder than ever before, and stifled a growl deep in his throat when he finally clenched his teeth together. “I’m sorry, for being such a… freaking jerk!” His voice raised volume at the end of his sentence, emphasizing the way he assumed you felt about him because that was how he felt about him. “There’s so much more I want to say to you but I just don’t… I don’t have the right words yet.”

He took a deep swig of his coffee to try to cool himself off after winding himself up, but it was mostly so he’d shut up before saying anything else harmful because he could already feel the shift in your aura that wasn’t so jovial anymore. Admittedly, his words clawed at the metaphorical stitch job over your wounds, pulling hard at the threads that closed them up, and you could taste a bit of that initial pain resurfacing. Emotionally, you didn’t want to have that coming conversation, but logically you knew that if you were going to heal completely about each other that it was entirely necessary.

“Thank you for being vulnerable with me,” you finally said after a few moments of silence. You knew how much it took to get just even that out, the amount of pride he undoubtedly had to push aside to admit fault in the first place. The fact that he openly admitted he was afraid was somehow unlike the Hyunjae you used to know.

He couldn’t even look at you again and took another sip of his coffee to effectively polish off the small cup before he discarded it to the side you sat on. Gingerly, you collected it intending to throw it away when you left, guessing it would be before him. The silence that loomed between you had you able to hear the way his fingernails scratched against the fresh varnish of the dock in frustration.

“Why are you even sitting here with me? I wouldn’t even have the patience to talk to me until it was time to hear me grovel at your feet about what a piece of shit I was and how I don’t even deserve you to still be in my life anyway and that it was foolish of me to even go to your house, to begin with, and—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, maneuvering both cups to one hand somehow just so you could set your now free hand down on top of his to squeeze it.

“But I just—”

“Hyunjae, stop!” you pleaded, and he’d finally turned to look you in the eye, entirely, for the first time since you sat down. “You’re not a piece of shit—”

“Only that could possibly do to you what I did; a spineless and weak little—”

“Enough!” you begged—now he was just making you angry, but only because you were hurt with the way he beat himself up harder than you ever would; that was something you found familiar about him. “You know I don’t think that!”

“Don’t sit here and lie to my face like this,” he almost growled. “I know what I did to you, and I would hate me—”

“Great, but you’re not me,” you fired back with matched ferocity, and so you exchanged your look between his eyes, noting the way they shimmered amber reflecting the sunset light off the water, noting the way they looked at you with such intensity, while trying to stave the tears that were pushing against his waterline. There was a bubbling against your throat, words you knew you didn’t want to say that burned like wildfire. You continued to switch between his eyes, knowing the things queued weren’t going to help the situation in any way and so, to avoid saying something you knew you’d regret, and since you knew he wouldn’t stop pushing you, you pushed up from the dock and took his empty plastic cup with you to leave him with the burn of your hand on top of his and that distinct lack of your gaze into his eyes.

Then, and only then, did the tears that threatened have room to fall. His nails scraped against the dock even harder as he clenched his fist, still able to feel the warmth of your hand on top of his as he stared through the ghost of your presence. His jaw was tight, and his tears were hot—they were angry, frustrated, discontent but not with you. The wounds were deeper than he thought, still more tender than he thought, and all that led him to a harsh conclusion—the final talk would be even worse hell than he initially imagined.

A few days away from each other allowed for a bit of cooling off. Hyunjae drafted a few notes of things he wanted to say to you but often scrapped them, knowing that it would sound ingenuous if he was reading off a cue card. Several crumpled half sheets of paper filled his trashcan, a sight that annoyed him even as he lay on his bed with his eyes closed, knowing he needed to get something to stick. It was already two weeks into summer break and while there was plenty of break left, the sooner you had this talk, the sooner he would stop feeling like complete garbage for being in the same town as you.

That’s really what it was; initially, it felt so good to see you again—although you’d changed a lot in six years, the familiar presence made home feel a lot more comfortable. But the more he settled in, the more he thought about it—thought about what you were feeling, thought about how you made him feel, thought about everything that went down before he said what he imagined was his last goodbye and quite frankly, for as much as he cherished and cared about you, the goodbye was sub-par to shit. And he knew it would come crashing down, that comforting euphoria of having you close to him again when those fateful words exited your mouth: that’s a talk we need to have.

He hated the feeling that was coursing through him now, touching every nerve ending he had, absolute dread. Now, he was feeling like it was a mistake to come back, although he was entitled to the town as much as you were as his family lived there also—the biggest mistake was trying to see you again.

A knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts and his eyes opened to look at it as it began to crack open. His sister had a tray with some cups and a kettle on that she was maneuvering through the door, pushing it back closed with her foot as she set the tray on the large dresser to the left. She looked at Hyunjae before noticing the pile of paper around his small garbage.

“What happened?” she asked, knowing it was something because Hyunjae seldom spent so much time in his room, plus he’d been off for a couple of days since he’d seen you at the dock.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hyunjae replied, gracefully accepting the freshly poured tea his sister was handing him.

“I don’t think that’s what I asked,” she replied—she usually didn’t let him get away with that, even since they were kids.

Hyunjae sighed and blew on his cup of tea for a moment. “Just marinating in the consequences of my colossal fuck ups,” he replied with a fake smile to the emptiness of his room, although the statement was directed at his sister.

“She doesn’t hate you, if that’s what you think,” she replied and took a seat on his bed. “She’s hurt about you; I’d be hurt about you. There’s a lot to process between the two of you right now, a bit deeper than you might expect to find. It’s awkward and tense and tough to swallow, but you have to do it if you want to salvage it. But I know she doesn’t hate you.”

He swallowed hard; he didn’t even want to look at his sister for the time being as he was having a hard time with the things she was even saying—they were true; he knew they were true. But about you not hating him? Maybe he didn’t believe that. He was slipping into his thoughts again before his phone started vibrating in his pocket. It was unusual, because seldom did anyone call anymore, and who would be calling anyway? He finagled it out of his pocket to look at the caller ID to see someone he recognized: Kevin Moon.

Hesitantly, he swiped to answer, leaving his sister to occupy herself about his room.

“Hello?” he muttered unconfidently.

“Hyunjae! I heard you’re finally back in town!” Kevin’s voice seemed a bit too jovial, jolting Hyunjae a bit.

“Ahh… yeah. It’s been a minute, huh?” he inquired less enthusiastically.

“A minute! More like a lifetime; you’ve been gone for six years! Anyway enough about that; I’ve planned a get-together for a bunch of friends from back in the day! You know, our high school group! When I heard you were back, I had to invite you! You should come by, I’m sure everyone would love to see you!”

It would be rude to ask who was invited, and then decide based on that; but there was certainly a handful of people he would do better not seeing again, perhaps. He had an answer queued in his throat, he wanted to say that he wouldn’t make it—

“You better go, you’re not doing anything and you need to get out,” his sister commented, loud enough for Kevin to hear.

The look on Hyunjae’s face dropped in an instant when Kevin confirmed that he heard and looked at his sister with daggers in his eyes.

“I’ll kill you,” he mouthed to her but she just smiled and sipped her tea. He composed himself with a deep breath before agreeing to be there and briefly negotiated the time and place and after Kevin hung up, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“There are so many people who are going to be there that I don’t want to see,” he grumbled.

“But there’s so many people who you do! Plus, people who would love to see you, and you can’t just mope around here all day, I won’t have it!” she exclaimed and took her seat back next to him. “You need to get out; sitting up here and thinking about what you’re going to say will make you age too fast. The right words will come, I promise.”

“I think you’re too confident,” Hyunjae said.

“I need to be confident for both of us,” she reminded him and filled her cup back up before leaving him with the rest of the pot in his room.

It was already late in the afternoon at that point, and Kevin’s party would be starting in a couple of hours. He sat on his bed with his legs crossed as he finished off the pot of tea, taking up another half an hour before finally deciding he would shower for the party and at least try to look more put together than he felt. What did the extent of the old group mean? Because you were technically part of the old group; asking about you outright would be too suspicious. There would be plenty of people there to keep you both distracted from each other especially since they’d undoubtedly seen you far more, which meant it was likely he’d be engaged the whole time.

He set the tray off to the side on his desk—he’d take it back downstairs later—and grabbed some things for the shower with a sincere hope that some hot water would help clear his mind. And perhaps he spent far too much time in there, because by the time he got out and checked the clock it was already twenty minutes passed when he thought it was. He rushed through toweling his hair somewhat dry enough to comb it a certain way and hoped it would stay, tugged on a black button-up and a light wash pair of jeans before he was heading out the door, mentioning briefly to his parents that he was going to Kevin’s, a name they were familiar with, and that he’d be back later.

When Kevin answered the door, it was nothing short of a party right there. It had been a long time since any of them had seen him, so the commotion was understandable, and then an actual genuine smile broke on Hyunjae’s face as he clapped hands with his buddy who was quickly garnering the attention of the other party-goers who had also missed him.

Hyunjae stepped through the door, a cup immediately put in his hand as he greeted all his old high school buddies amongst the dimly lit room. Kevin always knew how to set the mood of a get-together; this was no different, done up with candles and string lights that slowly faded to different soft colors with some low music in the background. There were a couple of yard games going on outside, corn hole and beer pong with tables of appetizers and coolers full of drinks of all varieties.

“Wow, Kev, you went all out,” Hyunjae commented and reached into his pocket for his wallet to try and supplement some of the cost, but Kevin stopped him immediately.

“You’re the guest of honor; you’re the whole reason I put this thing together,” he replied and encouraged him to put his wallet back. “When I heard you were back I knew the guys would be stoked to see you. It seems like you’ve been gone a lifetime!”

Hyunjae laughed nervously and hoped that he wouldn’t be asked why he never came back to visit. It was a thought he was still grappling with; a thought he knew half the answer to but the other half was something he’d rather not visit. He had mentioned it to you out loud that day on the dock and it left a burning in his throat ever since—he couldn’t decide if it was because it was the truth or because he knew he was only telling you part of it. Regardless, he tried to push it from his mind before taking a swig from the plastic solo cup in his hand: a hurricane tasting concoction that wasn’t quite right and a bit too strong.

As he expected, he was fairly occupied with the swaths of conversations, always being caught by someone new he thought he’d never see again to strike up a conversation about what he was up to and so far, he’d avoided the dreaded question about not visiting. It was safe to assume that he was just caught up in things; Hyunjae was always a hard studier; school was very important. In a fairly short time, considering the duration of Kevin’s parties typically, he’d gotten through most of the high school group who had come up to him in small circles to greet him and catch up a bit.

For a bit, he’d been roped into a couple of games of corn hole. It was fun while it lasted, although he couldn’t say he was any good at it. It was the bonding and laughing that counted, especially when someone’s throw was particularly bad and they all laughed at each other for never playing games like this in their college days—it seemed everyone turned out to be quite studious in their time at school and spent less time at frat parties.

When one of the rounds was finally over and Hyunjae’s drink had run dry, he found a replacement for his team and excused himself back inside the house to make something more his speed. There were a few small circles of people who seemed like they were all catching up—turned out he wasn’t the only one gone for an extended period. Hyunjae dug through a cooler for a can of coke to mix his own drink before he was overhearing some drama he probably shouldn’t have concerned himself with, but it was right around the corner from the kitchen and it sounded unwelcomed.

“Please just leave me alone,” a voice Hyunjae recognized sounded quietly. Suddenly his desires were conflicted when could tell they were trying not to make a scene but then recognized the voice as yours. On the one hand, he figured the two of you needed a little more space, but on the other hand, was he about to just stand by and let whoever was bothering you continue to do so?

No, he couldn’t let it go, and set his cup down on the kitchen counter, and carefully rounded the corner of the wall to find you sandwiched between it and Sangyeon, someone he considered to be close friends with at one point in time. The look on your face when you finally opened your eyes to see him was nothing short of desperate, but Sangyeon had you locked in tight.

Hyunjae wanted to verbalize his protest, but the look on your face caught his words in his throat. Instead, he stepped forward and took Sangyeon’s shoulder to pull him away from you.

“She asked you to leave her alone,” he was finally able to manage just as Sangyeon had stumbled back slightly, ready to give Hyunjae a few choice words before meeting eyes with the familiar younger male. In less than a second flat, you’d scrambled off the wall to take Hyunjae’s arm as he protectively tucked you behind him, expecting a confrontation. Sangyeon knew the history between you and Hyunjae well.

“Dude, it’s cool,” he tried, a friendly smile on his face as he reached for you.

“Dude, it’s not cool. She asked you to leave her alone,” Hyunjae fired back, taking a step back, and subsequently stepping you back.

“Babe, just tell him—”

“I’m not your babe anymore, Sangyeon. I thought that was clear,” you spat from behind Hyunjae. Although there was shock in his subconscious, he couldn’t let that display on his face. He kept his expression as stone-cold as possible as he glared down the older male who was gritting his teeth. It wasn’t hard to piece together the situation; you and Sangyeon used to date, you called it off and Sangyeon didn’t like it.

“I got it, Hyunjae,” Sangyeon tried again, as if trying to convince him that it was a situation he didn’t need to be a part of, but he could feel your grip tighten a little bit on his arm and he wasn’t about to abandon you—he didn’t care who to.

“How about you take a walk,” Hyunjae suggested, knowing what Sangyeon was implying. The older seemed shocked by his reply, and rightfully so. “She asked you to leave her alone; I don’t think she should have to do so again.”

There was an uncomfortable silence that loomed between the three of you, and you could see the look in Sangyeon’s eyes that you were pretty familiar with and so tugged yourself closer to Hyunjae. The younger raised his brow, prompting for a reply or for the older to move on. It was clear Hyunjae wasn’t going to back off, especially not as he tucked you just a little bit further behind him.

“Take a walk,” Hyunjae reaffirmed, a growl on the tail of his words and he stood firm until Sangyeon growled, attempting to glare past the other male to get to you, but Hyunjae consistently stepped in his view to make sure that would not be successful.

It hurt your pride a little bit, to be rescued from your ex-boyfriend by anyone at that party, but most particularly Hyunjae who you were not expecting to see, although you were expecting him to be there—and you really weren’t anticipating him seeing that. Surely he knew, and surely he gave you a couple of moments to decide what you wanted to do as you stood against him, against his back, waiting for Sangyeon to clear out and even beyond. Hyunjae’s rhythmic breathing was soothing as he made no moves and only looked forward; he could feel the way your hand still furled into his pressed black shirt, the way your forehead lay against his shoulder blade while his hands dangled at his sides.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a few moments. He was met immediately with a tightness of his shirt, as you gripped it a little harder. “Did he hurt you, physically?” he asked, since he could tell you probably weren’t okay, at least for the time being, and he could feel you shake your head against his shoulder.

“Let’s sit somewhere quiet,” he suggested and waited for you for a moment before you were peeling yourself off his back. You expected he wouldn’t look at you, just lead the way through the house that he had been in more times than he could count as he led you towards the back of the house, but not before being caught by a passerby. Feeling a tug on his arm as you responded to the tug on your arm, Hyunjae jolted to a stop.

“Are you okay?” Younghoon asked you. It wasn’t so far out of reach that you be put in a position you didn’t want to be in, but Younghoon couldn’t know that you’d just been rescued from one. Before you could answer, Hyunjae looked over his shoulder at Younghoon.

“O-oh,” Younghoon stuttered. Everyone around knew about you and Hyunjae. “Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologized, soothed only by the warmth of your smile as you pushed the threatening tears further and further so that you could finally get out of there as you were pulled into a back guest room—you could tell it was a guest room because of the décor and the dust on the furnishings. Hyunjae closed the door behind you as he found the light and flicked it on, giving you space to make yourself comfortable first and he would follow after.

You took a seat on the bed, first, letting everything soak in—starting with Hyunjae and your interaction at the dock for a short time before the situation with Sangyeon, how you would manage to make it through the rest of the party without more problems whether that be between you and Sangyeon, or Hyunjae. You watched as Hyunjae’s dark shoes made it into view in front of you as you looked down at the pristine wood flooring covered by an area rug.

The fray of your distressed jeans entertained your hands, picking at it nervously as you took a few deep breaths. There was an almost silent noise that came from him as he stuck his hands in his pockets, rolling his shoulders a bit before letting out a rickety exhale. He wasn’t sure what to say at the moment; between Sangyeon, Hyunjae’s blow up at the dock, the kind of bad terms you were on with each other.

“May I see your face?” he asked. He hadn’t seen it since the begging look in your eyes and he wanted to wash that away from his memory. Slowly, you raised your head to look up at him, but he wasn’t sure it was any better. The tears were cropped up against your waterline, tears you were desperately trying to fight off as your shaky fingers continued to pluck the threads on your jeans.

His jaw fell open, so many words queued at the front of his throat but none of them felt good enough to soothe the look on your face as you looked up at him, but also looked around him. Trying to decide if staying there or if reaching for you was the better option, he stood there with his fingers furled in his pockets. A few emotions swirled inside of him, feelings he couldn’t quell; he desperately wanted to avoid you once arriving, but the look on your face pressed firmly against his heart because he still cared deeply for you.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stuttered, “I didn’t expect it, him, any of it. I told Kevin, he said it would be taken care of and—”

Hyunjae gathered you into the warmth of his chest, wrapping both arms tightly around you to provide you some semblance of safety as he sat to your side on the bed.

“You do not have to apologize to me; I only wish I could have helped you sooner,” he reminded you, rocking with you a little bit before he sat more squarely on the bed and tugged you to hold you more firmly, more steadily, more securely. You hid your face against his neck, and the tightening in his throat at the feel of your warm tears against his skin was incomparable.

“I’ll have a word with Kev—”

“Please don’t,” you begged. “This was supposed to be a party for you and I don’t want it to be ruined because of me, because of Sangyeon; I should have never come, I knew it was a mistake, that there was no way it could be assured,” you explained, somehow finding your way to your feet after pushing away from him.

“Don’t…” he pleaded, reaching out to take your hand as he looked up to you now as you stood before him. “Don’t say that. I’m happy you came.” He was playing with your fingers at this point, not minding that you were looking down at that instead of at him.

“It will be getting dark soon and there will be tons of lights all over the backyard if you’ll accompany me to play some games,” he reminded you. Kevin had hosted many parties in the past with decorations just the same—twinkling multicolored lights hanging everywhere he could get them and then some to really set the mood. Hyunjae had clearly remembered how awed you were by the lights at night from the last parties you’d come to, and that in and off itself set a few butterflies free in your stomach. You looked up to him, meeting his eyes which looked at you so tenderly. It was a tough spot to be in considering, but he wasn’t about to send you back out there knowing uncertainly that Sangyeon was still looming around and would no doubt continue to cause problems if you were on your own.

He waited for your gentle nod before taking your hand fully, cupped flush against his as he guided you out of the bedroom, and shut the light off behind him to take you out to the backyard where everyone was playing games and mingling. Some conversation fell quiet as they watched you pass, others came up to speak with you more openly before he took you to a game you could play standing side by side, and he made a promise to you that he wouldn’t let you out of his sight until he knew Sangyeon was gone.

And thankfully, for both of you, the party passed pretty quickly with a handful of guests bidding farewell to Hyunjae, reiterating that it was good to see him and that he should come back and visit more often because they all missed him—you were not to be forgotten, as they all bid you farewell as well. Some whispers lingered, some sly grins and knowing gazes as they looked at the two of you, seemingly entirely blind to it.

The games had been put away as it got dark out, not even the twinkling fairy lights illuminated the backyard enough to keep the games going, but nobody seemed to mind. The fire pit was lit and a handful of folks sat around it with drinks in hand just letting the conversation flow. You were among those sitting around it, listening to the stories being shared, some about Hyunjae, but others just reminiscing about your high school times and how much some of them missed the simplicity of life back then. Sangyeon, from what you understood, had been long gone, so you felt comfortable sitting by yourself without Hyunjae’s watchful gaze as he fixed you both a drink in the kitchen before emerging with a plastic cup which was put into your line of sight in no time. You took it, looking up at him, but after his hand was emptied it continued to linger. He motioned his head out to the depths of the backyard where more lights were strung about the garden and it would give you some quiet time. Daintily, you placed your hand in his and let him lift you from the lawn chair—there was a missed beat in the conversation for a moment, but continued quickly to try and not look suspicious.

Hyunjae guided you to the exact spot at the foot of a large tree that was upending the wall that housed the backyard and disturbed some other brickwork of the nearby flower garden, but he knew a good spot where the roots dodged just enough for a plush place to sit and placed himself in it first. You looked at him, skeptical for a minute. There was a choice of where to sit, and he looked at you with no expectations that it would be like old times, so he was a tad surprised when you planted your knees in the grass in front of him and handed over your drink for a second to situate yourself, turning and placing yourself in front of him, between the cage of his legs that bent around you, and gently leaned back into the warmth of his body before collecting your drink.

“You didn’t have—”

“I could use some familiar safety right now,” you interrupted quickly, knowing exactly what he was going to say. Besides, he brought you out there for some peace which typically came from safety and you made the choice on your own.

Hyunjae hummed and leaned back against the trunk of the tree to slouch you a little deeper. Your head rested against his shoulder as you enjoyed the coolness of the evening air, the gentle sounds of crickets and other nightlife, the glow of the galaxy beyond, and the twinkling lights in the gardens around. The only unnatural sounds were that of ice melting in your cups, disturbing your drinks when the structure changed, and the way the cups sounded being moved around. It was quiet, and for the most part, you preferred it that way, but you knew another inevitable question was coming.

“You don’t have to tell me because quite frankly it’s none of my business, but what’s your history with Sangyeon?” he finally asked you. Your cup crinkled in your hand, flimsy under your grasp for only a moment while your other hand plucked a handful of blades of grass from the ground with some quiet pops. He didn’t want to make it too obvious that he didn’t like the idea of you and Sangyeon for reasons he could go on about.

“Long story short, we got together for… reasons… albeit not good ones, and he turned out to be entirely as controlling as you witnessed. I broke it off, he didn’t like it, and heard about this party and knew I’d be here… for you…”

“You should have told me,” he whispered, his voice right above your ear and you could feel the way his jaw shifted against the side of your head.

“We weren’t exactly on great terms,” you reminded him, noting the distress of his jeans against the knee, and mindlessly to distract yourself, you fiddled with the loose strands that were fraying, easy to reach with his knees bent to enclose you. “Besides, I heard there was a chance you wouldn’t show anyway. We all kind of determined that you intentionally hadn’t visited. Not that we thought you hated us, just that you wanted to move on.”

There was a tightening around Hyunjae’s heart he hated as you spoke those words. Hearing you say it hurt in a different way than him coming to grips with it himself. His legs couldn’t help but close on you a bit, a frustrated grunt squeaking from his mouth. Not here, he thought, not now. This was not the best place to be having that conversation, but little did you know that was the conversation.

“I owe you all an explanation, truly,” he said.

“You don’t, really. You have your reasons for doing things that are your own. You don’t owe anyone anything,” you said.

“I owe it to myself, then,” he retorted, “and I want to start with you. But that’s part of the big conversation and while I know you have granted me gracious time to collect my thoughts… it’s a conversation I’d rather have without prying ears as it only concerns you and me without the speculation of anyone else.”

“Hyunjae…” you trailed off, turning your head to fight against his, fluttering at the feel of the corner of his mouth and nose against your forehead. His eyes clenched tightly, once again trying to fight off the feelings, the thoughts, trying not to repeat the day on the dock. To steel his nerves, he turned to the side and took a large swig of his drink, feeling your hand wrap against the outside of his knee to tug it against your body. If it was one thing about Hyunjae you were really in tune with, it was his emotions—you tended to feel how he felt, to understand without him having to say much—and it held true even with six years apart.

“I don’t want you to feel rushed and I won’t force the conversation, but I know you want to say a lot of things, so when you’re ready…” you uttered, nuzzling your chin under his jaw. You were pushing, unintentionally, at the seams of his packaged distress. He was doing his absolute best to be there, to be the open and comforting Hyunjae he always was to you, and that was his ultimate demise. The very concept of Sangyeon put a pit in his stomach, and it didn’t even have to be Sangyeon, it just had to be anyone that wasn’t him. But how was he supposed to tell you everything? About why he left, about the things, the feelings, he wanted to leave behind without seeming insulting to you; and then how was he to address that those same issues never went away, that seeing you for the first time even after all that time stoked the same fire, if not more so.

But back then he was just a kid, and it felt stupid, all of it. The distance hurt like hell, but after a bit it became refreshing. Each year got easier to not come back; but he missed his friends, he missed his family, he missed you, but he didn’t miss the way he bit his tongue, the way he stowed his feelings, the way he’d dare not ruin the amazing friendship you had over what he called selfishness. He wanted you to be free without his burden, which ultimately started driving his choice to leave.

He never changed; he could still feel the tip of his tongue clamped between his teeth, still feel the churning in his stomach with the attempt to put his feelings away, the lump in his throat which felt like a swollen version of his heart, a hole in his chest which the alcohol wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“I think it’s about time we head home,” Hyunjae commented after a few moments of tense silence. You were trying to understand the emotions you were feeling via Hyunjae, the way he was feeling, the sudden tenseness of his body, the closed-off disposition. “I’ll walk you,” he added, a lulled whisper in your ear.

You both made your way to your feet, discarding your cups in the kitchen after bidding everyone goodnight and thanking Kevin for the hospitality. You all lived close, the same homes from the district which put you in close walking distance. Hyunjae offered his elbow to you the way he always did, and the both of you meandered rather slowly to your home where he could drop you off. You wrapped both hands around his bicep, a million thoughts running through both of your heads, putting you in seemingly different worlds than each other while walking right next to one another.

Needless to say, the two of you arrived at your front porch far sooner than either of you were ready. Hyunjae took your hand to help you up the step onto your landing, but the lingering way he gazed at you let you know that he was feeling the same way; that for some reason you weren’t quite ready to leave now that you were really alone. But it was already late, had to have been past midnight, and lingering on your landing could look suspicious.

Still, you turned to look at him, not so much at his face, but at his throat, at the undone button of his black shirt, at the way his throat shifted as he swallowed hard. His thumbs were hooked in his pockets as he stood as attentive as he could muster, waiting for you like he always did. You, on the other hand, fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you thought of what to say, what to do, if it would be best to just say goodnight and be on your way, or if you had something more to say.

Your gaze finally landed on his face, looking over his features. He must have been able to feel your gaze, because slowly his eyes flittered up to meet yours, glimmering in the dim porch light. With you up on the landing, the two of you were closer to the same height—you smiled, remembering how much he’d matured since you last saw him. It seemed like the only thing that could roll off your tongue was his name, so almost silently it did so once more. You watched his gaze shift between your eyes, his feet shuffled forward to bring himself closer to the landing. Slowly, your hands came up; an innate desire to put them against him had you placing them gently on his shoulders. His breath shuttered against your face, jaw tightening as your brow furrowed a bit.

He was so close to you, your arms were entirely folded at the elbow, you could practically feel the warmth radiate off him, his face had to be no further than a couple of inches now that his eyes were peering slightly down at you and still glimmered like the galaxy captive. It took a second for you to realize that his face was sinking closer to yours, that his head tentatively tilted just as his nose brushed against yours. You took a deep breath, fingers anticipatorily furling against his shoulders as his lips fleetingly brushed yours. He waited a moment for you to object, one of his hands freeing itself from his pocket to place tenderly against your hip while your breath was caught in your throat, but when you did not attempt to move away or verbally object, he leaned in further.

It took only a second for you to fall entirely into his grasp, feet shuffling forward just a tad as he slipped his hand around your back to put your body against his; your arms slid around his neck especially as he stepped up onto the landing, and guided you backward to gingerly press you up against your front door with a few readjustments. You couldn’t quite place the mix of flavors you were tasting, but it was clouding your better judgment—many factors were in play between the kiss, the way his fingers pressed into your lower back, the way he had you arching against him, the Sangyeon panic, the alcohol, the distance, which all made the experience surreal. But you couldn’t deny the way your chest was exploding, the way your nerves were all on end, the way it felt so right after so many years.

You almost sighed, the way his tongue flicked against your bottom lip before your subconscious was pinging on the Sangyeon panic, and your arms retreated from his neck to weakly push against his shoulders. He tugged away, the tender sounds of a broken kiss ringing in your ears like a train whistle before those same warm lips were pressing soft kisses against your jaw, and only after a successful few did you find any words to push from your throat.

“Maybe don’t,” you uttered, more as a sigh as your head tilted back to quietly hit your door, “my breakup is still fresh, and we still need to talk.”

Your voice was a whisper of the wind, but still enough for him to ease off, to pull back and press his forehead against yours after noticing your eyes were closed. His hands tugged your hips into his since your hands were still flittering somewhat across the nape of his neck. Your tongue darted out to flick across your lips, remnants of rum and coke lingered before he took a whole step away from you, and that meant the protective grasp of his hands against your hips was gone as well.

“I’m sorry,” you uttered, “I’m sure I’ve been sending you strong signals all night, and when you stepped in and… your safety and your scent and your touch and charm…”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to come back,” he muttered under his breath, looking up at the cracking paint of your porch covering. He hoped it wasn’t loud enough for you to hear, but unfortunately, it was. You looked at him, queueing a couple of replies in your throat that never seemed to fit the situation and adequately explain how you felt at the same time. You waited only long enough for his gaze to cast back down to you, almost expecting you to say something, but you had twisted the knob to your door and disappeared into the darkness of your home without another word. Could you say it was the best decision? Perhaps not. But in that moment you feared that you would say something that would damage an already delicate situation. If you had just left it at the bit about the breakup and about needing to talk, he would have understood. Everything else just confirmed his fears about you; that you liked the idea of him. He shook his head and turned to head home, ignoring the prying questions of his sister who was surprisingly still awake and, without turning a single light on, closed the door to his room and crawled into bed.

Hyunjae was quiet for subsequent days—too quiet, really, and under the prying and watchful eyes of his sister to look for anything to start a conversation about. Hyunjae was a brick wall. As stoic as anyone could be, almost emotionless, and that, in and of itself, was enough to break the ice about it.

“What’s turned you into a zombie?” she asked, closing the door behind her as she entered Hyunjae’s room. He was reading on the bed, but maybe he couldn’t even call it reading; it was more like his eyes were scanning the same ten sentences a hundred times, never once comprehending what any of it said only to start over from square one again. His brain was scattered, the was no arguing that. But while he thought that his scattered brain would provide him with at least some thought about how to handle the situation, there was no such luck for that either. He had become zombie-like between the lack of emotion and disregarding actions.

His eyes shifted over to her—he looked tired; dark circles around his somewhat reddened eyes, but maybe that was for a reason yet to be clear. He took a deep breath, closed his book, and turned to her.

“The same reason I left in the first place,” he replied, not anticipating that she would have an immediate response—she didn’t. She wasn’t confused, she had a pretty good idea why he left even though she never pressured him to say; he had to do what he had to do for himself and no one would stand in the way of that.

“Should I tell her you’re napping, then?” she finally said.

Those few words dropped on Hyunjae like a bomb. The gears ground in his head for a moment, trying to comprehend how incredibly dire the situation was seemingly suddenly. He blinked a couple of times.

“What?” he asked.

“Did I stutter? Do you want me to ask her to leave? She’s having tea with mom downstairs, I said I would come see if you were available since apparently you haven’t been answering your phone.”

He looked over at the device on his bed, remembering the decision he made right before he closed his eyes for the night to block your number. His heart simply couldn’t bear dealing with anything you had to say, if you did even dare attempt to contact him.

A deep sigh fell between his lips as he stared past his phone and at an undesignated imagined hole in the wall. He all but slapped his book down on his bed and dropped his face into his hands, running his fingers deep in his hair just to tug at it.

“Are you serious,” he growled. Was it not enough, what happened? Was it not clear enough that he wanted to just disappear back into the night like he had never shown back up in the first place?

“Whatever problem you’re having with her, you need to solve it before you leave again, if that’s what you decide to do. If that means closing that book, then do it; but leaving it open is only going to hurt more,” she advised, reaching over to take one of his hands after it fell slack at his side. He looked over at her, but he could tell by the look on her face that she was serious. Not closing the back cover left the wounds wide open and he had already experienced once just how painful that could be.

There was a knock on the door, followed by his mother’s voice, and before he even had time to object the door was being pushed open, and there you stood, looking like you’d slept as much if not less than himself.

Hyunjae let out a disappointed and frustrated sigh as he rolled his eyes away, his sister gave a displeased growl while you looked directly at him. Although Hyunjae’s sister harbored no ill will towards you, she cared immensely for Hyunjae which made the situation that much harder. She couldn’t stand to see him like this, but she also didn’t know the whole story, just that it was about you as so many things had been in the past. She stood and turned to Hyunjae for a moment.

“Do what’s best for you,” she reminded him, glanced at you, and side-stepped you to bring her mother away from the situation.

“Great,” Hyunjae growled sarcastically as he turned to sit on the side of his bed and meet your gaze to the best of his ability. Slowly you stepped in, closing the door behind you. The last thing you wanted was for this to turn into a blowout, but you knew things were rough between the two of you, and you could tell he was suffering just as much as you were about the entire thing.

“Hyunjae,” you greeted, not pleasantly nor firmly. He could see the quiver in your jaw just saying his name, but that didn’t stave off his fiery feelings in the slightest.

He muttered your name back, a greeting somewhat in return.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me—”

“Then why are you here?” he asked, almost barked.

You sighed, slinking against his door. Hyunjae tended to get rough when he was wounded, like a cornered dog who had no choice but to bite back.

“Because I gave you as much time as I could but it obviously can’t wait anymore,” you replied, trying to force confidence into your voice. You needed to stand your ground with him, even if you were never particularly good at doing so.

“You’re right, I don’t want to talk to you. Not only that, but I don’t think there’s anything to talk about anymore. So, sorry you came all the way here for nothing, but I don’t have anything left to offer you,” he snapped, standing from his bed and approached the door, and you, and reached out in an attempt to tug it open.

You pressed against it harder, forcing against his pull to keep the door closed. He scoffed and looked to your face containing the most determined look you could muster since you had arrived. You glared up at him and growled his name.

“You’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be. But we spent many years being the closest of friends, and whenever we had a spat, we always worked it out. And even if things are a bit rocky right now, and it looks like I’m not your friend, I’m at least here as someone who cares so deeply about you—in whatever way you want to interpret that—to try and work through this with you, the way he always have,” you almost pleaded, but with a conviction that made it sound more like a statement for the first time since you’d arrived.

“I know you’re hurting, and I know I’m the cause of that. But to think that I’m here for any other reason than to try and make it right…” you trailed off with the shake of your head, gaze trailing away from his for only a moment, “you know me better than that. And if I know anything about you, you left for a reason, so let’s start there.”

“What is this, freakin’ honesty hour?” he asked, taking a step away from the door, almost attempting to convince you that this was ridiculous, but your reply jarred him.

“Yes, it is, that’s the whole purpose of trying to solve something, being transparent.”

“You want me to be transparent?” he almost roared.

“I want us both to be transparent, Hyunjae,” you fired back, although quite a bit calmer than him.

He paced for a moment, trying to figure out how he was going to approach this—the best way didn’t matter to him, he just wanted to express his feelings at the expense of anyone else’s feelings, because everything to that point had been at the expense of his. You stayed pressed up against his room door, watching him pace, watching him think, watching the frustration build on his face until he finally got some words out.

“The other night,” he started, pausing his pacing to look at you, “when you just let me fall into a bear trap…” He laughed, but it wasn’t because it was funny—his brow was furrowed in disbelief as he looked at you, a hurt on his face you’d never seen before. “I left because I couldn’t take it anymore.”

You swallowed hard, having a good idea what he was talking about already, but you still wanted him to say it out loud—you still wanted to have a conversation.

“Couldn’t take what, Hyunjae?” you asked delicately.

“You,” he replied, jaw clenching for a moment, fists following before he took a deep breath himself. “The way we were. How… connected we were. How open and honest and upfront we were, how deep we were,” he explained, or tried.

“And the other night is related because?”

He bit his tongue, you could see it peek out from behind his teeth before he turned his face away from you, clenching his eyes before his hands found his dresser, holding him up in a sense as he leaned into it. A few deep and rickety breaths followed as he composed himself enough to say something.

“It confirmed the fears I struggled with, suffered with, that you only liked the idea of me. Confirmed the fears that you wanted me in theory, and how strained that made my ability to maintain a friendship with you. I left because it seemed easier to forget about the feelings when you weren’t right in my face. I left because I thought it would be easier to move on. You said the other day you sent me strong signals, and you did. They were strong signals; they were wrong signals—”

“They weren’t wrong,” you interrupted, “I was torn between respecting my relationship space with Sangyeon and being elated that you were back and willing to treat me like we’d never skipped a beat,” you tried to explain in return.

He spun to face you, tears already pushed off his face. His heart hurt unbelievably, fiery but in a negative way, squeezing in his chest as he formulated his reply.

“So you think it’s cool to just lead me on? To not only let me but encourage me to kiss you on your front porch and lean into it like you welcomed it, just to hit me with all that shit about my safety, my scent, my charm and in essentially the same breath tell me that I’ve crossed a line? I’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re just the one I won’t ever get over, but you don’t have to make it so damn hard for me the one time I do decide to come back!”

“Hyunjae—”

“Do not. Do not try to charm me with those pretty little eyes, with the sweet way you say my name—” he growled, unable to finish before you had something to say.

“I’m not!” you retaliated. “I am not trying to get out of what I did! I am not trying to discredit how you feel or play the victim in any way. I know my approach wasn’t great, and I will be the first to admit that. But if we could go back and redo the situation… if you hadn’t kissed me, I probably would have kissed you,” you expressed to him.

“I don’t like the idea of you, Hyunjae. I’ve always liked you. And when you left, it took me a few years to get in the game to try and move on… I got with Sangyeon because it felt, in the beginning, like he understood me. Like he empathized with my loss, which was you, and I had an aching, a pit that needed to be filled that I thought he could fill. But that pit is shaped exactly like you, and I realized that nothing else will ever fit it properly…”

You tried so hard to maintain your resolve, but the way getting all of that off your chest made you feel in combination with the look on Hyunjae’s face, you weren’t sure how long you would last. You couldn’t tell if he thought you were lying or not.

“What a jerk I’ve been to you,” you continued, “This is why I get so mad about you saying stuff like how mean you’ve been to me; like you think I thought you left without a purpose. I didn’t know, exactly, your purpose at the time, but I knew it was one you needed for yourself. So, why would I think you were a jerk for that? When you didn’t reach out, I saw the signs like freeway billboards—”

“I loved you,” he interjected. “And I was so scared that if I had admitted that to you, that I would lose you, but I ended up losing you anyway because I was too weak to swallow the fact that I did love you. That I do love you. That those six years away did nothing to help me move on,” he replied, pouring it all out for you, finally saying what he needed to say for so many years and a weight lifted off his chest, but it didn’t stop the squeezing feeling.

“I got too worried trying to respect the relationship with a man who never respected me; who took advantage of me knowing I was vulnerable without you; and if I had come to that conclusion on the landing that night… Hyunjae, I may have not let you leave. It was like my favorite coffee on a cold day, like the sun on my skin in the late spring, like the spray of the water on the dock—nothing has ever felt more like home.”

Hyunjae let out a deep sigh, blinking back the tears that pushed at the outer corners of his eyes as he slipped to the floor. His gaze looked out but didn’t find anything in particular, clouded anyway. He took a moment to reflect on the way the hardwood panels felt underneath his fingers, the way breath filled his lungs, the way his eyes stung, the sound of you sliding down to the floor yourself against his room door.

There wasn’t much else that needed to be said, so the two of you sat across the floor from each other in relative silence for quite a few lingering moments. The both of you were trying to regulate your breathing, trying to quench the fire that burned deep down.

It took a moment, but he crawled across the floor of his room to sit up in the corner of the wall and the door and asked for your hand only to coax you over to him, between his legs to rest up against him as he settled his chin on your shoulder. From then, it was a matter of time and healing, and he wanted to spend the initial healing time with you in his arms in the quiet of his room as the both of you processed everything that was said.

All that could be heard throughout the room was perhaps gentle breathing, silently the continued refusal of tears that stung both your eyes. Hyunjae dug his face in the crook of your neck, even if you were turned away from him; he didn’t want you to see it. But even if you couldn’t see it, you could feel the way his rickety breath fell across your shoulder, the way he trembled against your back, the warmth of his tears against your skin and even though things were on the mend, that, in and of itself, stung like hell.

Hyunjae’s pain had always been your pain, and vice versa—his happiness, his burdens, his struggles, his successes and triumphs; they had always been shared because of your dynamic, and it was clear things weren’t about to change. It had always been a love the both of you were too afraid to admit because there was a very real chance it would drive you away from each other.

“I love you, Hyunjae…” you muttered. It was the only reassuring thing you hadn’t said.

His arms tightened around you, fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your shirt that furled in his grasp. There was a mumble into your skin—you didn’t hear him, but you had a decent idea what it consisted of.

It was contemptuous to even consider moving for a bit. Relishing each other’s presence seemed cathartic, to a point; it felt as though as you sat there with each other, after laying it all on the table, that the healing was somewhat fortified. As the time passed, your touches against each other were different, softer in a way, more calculated, and genuine. Millions of things were still running through each other’s minds—even though there was nothing left to say, you both were over thinkers to the core, so that occupied most of the silence between you. At least, until there was a knock on Hyunjae’s door. He hadn’t realized the time, or how much time had passed, but he helped you to your feet before tugging the door open to reveal his sister.

“We’re getting ready for dinner, you’re welcome to stay…” she hesitated, noting the look on both your faces. Your eyes were noticeably still red and swollen—you never had a quick recovery after crying, even if it was somewhat tame. Hyunjae was still pushing at his own tears, too.

“Thank you, but I should get going,” you replied, a sad smile on your face as you looked to Hyunjae who understood that not only would it be incredibly awkward, but that you both probably needed some time alone with your thoughts. He nodded encouragingly, agreeing with your conclusion before he began ushering you through his door. After following his sister down the stairs, you quietly greeted both of their parents, thanked them for the offer for dinner, and had Hyunjae show you out.

“I’ll walk you,” he asserted, but you quickly shook your head.

“Your dinner is hot, you should stay; it’s still light, I’ll be okay on my own,” you replied as you turned to face him, to look up into his somewhat swollen eyes, to catch the fleeting tremble of his lip as he looked back at you. Before he could nod in reluctant agreement, you reached out to take his hand and gently squeeze it. You used that hand to pull him closer to you, the half a step distance you needed to stand high on your toes to press a soft kiss against his cheek; it was sticky but you didn’t care. His eyes fell closed as you lingered there for a moment then you drifted back to the flats of your feet, gave his hand another squeeze, stepped off the landing of his house, and turned down the street. A few trickling moments passed before his sister collected him at the door, encouraging him back inside to try and eat something even if he wasn’t hungry. Surely, he would hear from you soon enough.

It was a weird type of limbo to be in, unknowing when it was appropriate to contact the other, and sheepishly waiting around for the other to do the dirty work. This inevitably led to another few days of silence, but that didn’t stop you from calling up Younghoon—your new closest friend since your falling out with Hyunjae—to ask for his advice, since he never seemed to give it unsolicited.

Nervously, you turned your iced coffee between your hands as you sat across the café table from him. Patiently, he continued to wait for you, never forcing a word out of you or a move of any kind. When you had called him up saying that you wanted to talk to him about Hyunjae, especially considering the look he gave you at Kevin’s party after Hyunjae had helped you out of a precarious situation, he was eager to meet with you—not because he had dirt or anything to spill, but because he knew, somewhere in there, you agonized over Hyunjae; sometimes in unhealthy ways. You had always been friends with Younghoon, so he was the natural next best to Hyunjae; expressly since he’d watched your friendship at its peak and watched the way it splintered into nothing—admittedly, he was the only one with your actual best interest in mind, particularly when you concluded that Hyunjae’s absence crushed you in ways you couldn’t explain initially.

“Sorry,” you muttered, a rickety diffident to your voice with another shaky exhale.

“I’m in no rush, you know I’m here for you,” he replied. “Why don’t we start with this; you mumbled hurriedly over the phone about how things had been solved, and then unsolved,” he prompted, giving you somewhere to jump off from since it appeared you were having a hard time finding somewhere to start.

A tough swallow broke down your throat as you thought about the instance in which he reached for your arm and asked if you were okay, your hand laced with Hyunjae’s.

“About that—he caught Sangyeon being… well, Sangyeon,” you answered. Part of you figured Younghoon would be offended you didn’t tell him about the incident with Sangyeon, and you honestly weren’t even positive he’d been seen by Younghoon or Kevin for that matter.

Younghoon’s eyes perked a little bit; the situation was a little different now that he knew you had been in Sangyeon’s clutches only to be rescued by Hyunjae. It seemed right, in all fairness.

“We’d fought a couple of days before—not really a fight, a small disagreement, and weren’t on the best of terms. It was a weird situation that went from bad to good to bad all in one evening…” You had to trail off, thinking about the events as they replayed in your mind. But it was salvaged now, right? You blew off your steam with each other and found a ground with equal footing, but things were still awkward.

“The point is, I’m here because we finally had a talk, and while it wasn’t really talking and more like yelling at each other and then breaking down into mutually pathetic messes, I came to ask you what you think is the best way to approach him now. We haven’t talked in a couple of days, I think we’re both kind of hinging on the other being the first to reach out for contact,” you explained.

Younghoon sat in contemplation for a moment. There was no correct answer to your question, and he couldn’t even say there was one approach that was better than the other. Even something as simple as texting him to ask how he was doing could be enough to open the door, so he didn’t take long to come up with that to say to you.

“I suppose you think it’s weird to just text him to ask how he is.” Apparently, the situation was a little more complicated in your eyes than he initially thought.

“I had six years to do that,” you replied, your plastic cup crinkling under the pressure of your fingers furling against it.

“Of course,” he answered, understanding the situation a little better. “To be completely honest with you, you both have overcome a lot already, if you consider. Between the frontages, the distance, the coming back together, and all the drama that came with all that, you both have managed to sort something positive out, right? I’m sure there’s nothing you could say that would have a negative impact short of telling him you wish he’d leave again, and I doubt you’re going to say that.”

A slight laugh escaped from your throat, but it could have been mistaken as a scoff just as much. It was ridiculous for Younghoon to even suggest that, because he was completely right—only if you became possessed would you consider saying that to him.

“I know it feels like a delicate situation, but I’m positive it’s far less delicate than screaming at him in the middle of his bedroom about how dumb you both were being after re-shattering his still splintered heart.”

“Ouch,” you responded, even if it was true, and it was never like Younghoon to pull punches when you needed to hear something. And he had always known of Hyunjae’s feelings for you, so that didn’t make this conversation any less brutal.

“Also, I’m not saying it will be instantaneous, but I’m also certain that deep in there he’s elated to have you back, too, and in the state he’d battled with himself about for some time. You might be best off asking to meet on neutral turf so there’s no awkward looming—I know how nosey Hyunjae’s sister can be,” Younghoon laughed and took a swig of his coffee, relaxing back into his chair which, inevitable, had you relaxing back into yours, letting his words sink in as you picked up your phone to type a message to Hyunjae about meeting up the next day.

The late evening sun glimmered off the water, stretching left and right as far as you could see. The soft ripples of the water catching the light to produce a river of diamonds while your legs hung off the edge of the dock. Your phone was tucked deep in your pocket, an unread message about Hyunjae being on his way to meet you sat in your notifications bar. There was an unexplainable tightening in your chest, but maybe it was just because it was the first time you were getting to see him after the tipping point. An unreasonable voice called from the back of your mind to back out; that it had already been a rough time with him, maybe it was better to just let it go—a voice you had to really try to push away.

Another rigid breath—how many had come in the last few days, you would have a hard time counting—as you steeled your nerves, clutching the edge of the dock as you tried to wait patiently, at least until a small cup jingled with ice from the side of your face. Hesitantly, you looked over and slowly followed the arm up to a familiar face. He smiled delicately, his lips barely tugging at the corners to produce it, but it was detectable by your trained eyes.

“Hi,” he almost whispered as you faltered a bit in taking the flavored iced tea from him; it was a little late in the evening to be having coffee—not that it had ever stopped you in the past. He took a seat next to you, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the dock next to yours. To say that he was sitting comfortably close was an understatement; his hip was effectively pressed up next to yours, just like old times, but there was a new sense of comfort that washed over you from the fact, even if the nerves were bundling in your throat.

“Hi,” you choked back, eyes never breaking their contact with his being even when he settled. “I’m going to apologize in advance if this is extremely awkward.”

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you,” he laughed, looking out over the water to notice the same sea of diamonds you’d been entertaining yourself with since you took a place on the dock yourself. “Can’t say I’ve been through this before, so it’s definitely new and rocky terrain.”

“You seem jovial, nonetheless,” you replied.

��One of us has to try to keep a good spirit,” he joked, elbowing you in the side, reminding you that you weren’t exactly the mood-maker of your duo, before he took a swig of his tea. You followed suit, uttering your gratitude, before forcing a bit of confidence into your bones. All of the times you’d sat on the dock with him in the past in this very setting came rushing back to your immediate memory, and with it, all the times you’d begged to loop your arm around his. So, with a bit of hesitancy, you moved your tea to your hand opposite of him and swiftly stuck your hand under the crevice between his arm and torso to wrap your hand around his bicep, additionally leaning your head against his shoulder to avoid the imminent gaze that would no doubt scout your embarrassed features in half a second flat. Hyunjae did, in fact, turn to look, a more noticeable smile tugging at his face as he pulled that arm tighter to his body, acknowledging your courageous display of affection, and gave you the satisfaction of relishing it without some signature sassy remark from him as he leaned his head against yours.

The way you clenched your hand against his bicep was indicative of looking for something to say, scrapping any ideas you had in your head a handful of times. He knew you weren’t the best with words, especially after having a fight—that’s what he’d call it, because it kind of was—but that didn’t stop him from waiting for you to say anything. Instead, you opted to nudge your head up a little bit, wedging it between his head and shoulder a little further before a somewhat exasperated noise slipped from between your lips.

Hyunjae discarded his tea gently against the finished dock, turning his full attention to you. His slender fingers gently prodded against your jaw, prompting you to lift your head from his shoulder. It was always like him to take control of the situation, and to be completely honest, you had banked on that for this entire meeting. You were pleased to look at him per his will, tilting your chin up so that his face could slip by yours and press a lingering kiss against your cheek, the way you had to his at the end of your last meeting. Perhaps the most important meeting.

Again, you wanted to speak with nothing really to say. Your eyes fluttered at the feel of his supple lips against your cheek and remained closed when his delicate fingers flittered away from your jaw and his hand cupped against the back of your neck, craning up only slightly to place another kiss against your forehead, and another against your cheek—you had to chuckle, nervously nipping at your bottom lip as you tried to read his intentions.

“Just let me marinate in the fact that I have dreamed about this for eight years, and I’m finally here,” he mumbled against your skin, knowing that you were laughing at him.

“I’m laughing at you because you keep missing,” you replied, eyes fluttering open to meet his as he pulled back. The gentle smiles fell from both your faces as your gaze teetered between each other’s eyes, noting their glimmer, their depth, the absolutely homey look you gave each other. Your breaths mingled just a few inches from each other between the two of you before you noted the way his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips—in nervousness or preparation, you couldn’t tell. When he noticed the way your eyes fell past his nose, he couldn’t help but speak up.

“Is that so?” he asked nearly inaudibly.

“As a matter of fact…” you trailed off, anticipating the way one of his hands reached across you to help you settle your tea against the dock so you could place that hand wherever you’d like as his mouth descended on yours, delicately eclipsing yours in a softly meshed kiss that felt worlds different from the one on the landing of your home after Kevin’s party. It felt like a plug had been pulled, and all the tension that culminated between the two of you was swirling away into the abyss as you melted into his touch, gingerly cupping your cheek until his lips broke away. A silent protest came in the form of an exasperated exhale, that shy smile returning to your lips noting he hadn’t pulled far enough away to be out of reach, so you took it upon yourself to lean in for another quick peck.

“Somewhere deep in the back of my mind,” he began, waiting for a moment for your eyes to open so he could look into them once more, “I had always hoped I would get to kiss you on this very dock with the sun going down and glimmering against the water, exactly the way it is.”

You placed your hand down over his, which was pinning you somewhat against the dock as he rotated to face you. The look on your face was enough, he didn’t really need a reply; everything that needed to be said had already been said. Even still, you had something for him.

“Me, too,” you replied, leaning up to nuzzle your nose against his for just a moment, “so, I’m glad you came back to figure it out. I needed you more than anything.”

Hyunjae chuckled; the thoughts he had been battling with for so long about why he was returning all suddenly made sense, like a message in the stars, a secret nudge from the universe telling him there would be something special about him coming back, pushing through the dread he had cut with your hometown. He remembered letting it marinade for a week after the idea first crossed his mind. Maybe he was feeling homesick, admittedly he missed his parents and his sister, but he could tell there was something more.

“Something in the vast infinity delivered your call,” he whispered to you.

“I owe whatever mystical message that led you back to me a great debt.”

“Why don’t you just say you missed me?” he teased.

“The way I missed you is beyond anything I could string together with words, Hyunjae,” you replied, pushing him back a little bit to put him physically on the defensive for only a second before he took the opportunity to pull you across his lap so he could have you as close as possible.

“And showing you feels a little more vulnerable; maybe we needed that all along, instead of putting on that tough face for each other,” you told him, your smile saying something different as your hand gingerly stroked through the tresses of hair on the back of his neck, tilting his head to look at you before your foreheads met, eyes fluttered closed once more.

A moment relishing this closeness was much needed and long-awaited.

#deobiwritersnet #hyunjae scenarios #hyunjae fic #hyunjae oneshot #tbz scenarios #tbz fic #tbz oneshot #hyunjae fluff #hyunjae angst #tbz fluff #tbz angst #hyunjae #tbz hyunjae

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gold3nfics · 3 years ago

Text

Anachronism {Chapter One}

Author's Note: So this is my first written work on here, and I am really excited about this story! This chapter was really just to allow you guys to gain insight into what the story is about and who the boys are. I promise you that Y/N will make an appearance in the next chapter :)

Word Count: 3,814

Our story begins with one man, a man who went by the name Haneul.

Haneul was admired and sought out by many for not only his sharp attributes, but also his magical abilities. He came from a long line of sorcerers before him who had served and protected the realm he resided in.

While he was the one to keep everyone safe, many wondered why he refused to assume leadership, or even live in the nicer part of the land. Instead of living in luxury and riches, he chose to live in the forest away from the bustle of the town solely because he preferred the quiet lifestyle compared to one where many would invade his space and distract him.

One early morning, he woke to frantic knocking at the door of his small cottage.

“Hello?” he opened the door to find that it was one of the royal guards.

“Your presence is requested at the castle immediately.” the young guard says with urgency evident in his voice.

“What happened?” Haneul says now concerned,

“The queen, we believe it is time.”

He grabs his medical supplies and jumps into the carriage heading towards the castle. Once they arrive, Haneul is immediately taken to the royal chambers to begin his work.

Upon entering, his eyes immediately caught sight of the queen writhing in pain surrounded by many servants trying to relieve the pain she was feeling. He approaches the queen with a reassuring smile on his face,

“And how is this young beauty doing?”

“She is not at her best right now.” the queen responds with a weak smile. Haneul releases a sigh of amusement then asks her for permission to check her dilation, after she nods he checks and realizes it is time.

“You, my queen, are about to be a mother in a matter of minutes,” he looks to the servants “bring me warm towels and water.” The servants leave and he focuses on the queen, “I am going to need you to push, but not too hard alright?” She nods and begins to push.

After only seven pushes, the baby is out and the sorcerer carefully wraps the child in a blanket, “Would you like to hold your son my queen?” he says without looking away from the child. When there was no answer, he glances up only to see her going in and out of consciousness.

He immediately hands the baby off to one of the servants and examines her only to find that she has lost too much blood. He does everything he could to revive her, yet she has already passed. He bows his head in shame while holding her cold hand and apologizes, part of him hoping her soul is still lingering around to hear.

Now, there was indeed a ritual he could have done to revive her; however, it is forbidden being that it is far too dangerous to bring a soul back from the underworld.

He stands back with his head hung in sadness, “Alert the king at once.” Just as the servants were gathering to cover the queen's body and filtering out, he approached the servant holding the tiny prince, “May I take him? I need to examine him.” the servant nods and leaves the room.

As he seats himself in a chair behind a divider on the other side of the chambers, he gently looks over the child for any issues. Just as he was almost finished, the child stirs in his slumber raising his small hand to rub his eyes. As the child does this, Haneul catches sight of a white circle on the inside of the child’s hand, at first glance, it appeared as if it was glowing.

Haneul furrows his brows, gently tracing his fingers over the mark. “What is this little guy?”

As he moves to look closer, the servant comes back to collect the young prince to give to the king. He slowly gives away the child and he is soon left to himself to think about what that mark meant. He decides to shake the thought out of his head, and just travel home to rest.

As he rides home on the carriage, he mourns the passing of the young queen. He was quite fond of her, just as everyone else in the realm was. She was not only beautiful, but was also very caring. She would always make jokes and tease others just to have them feel entertained.

Her husband is bound to be heartbroken, he thought in his head. It was no secret the king had worshiped the ground she walked on; not that she didn’t deserve it. The number of times Haneul had overheard the young couple whispering childish jokes to each other, and them arguing over tedious matters were more than he could count. It will be hard to find a woman as kind and unique as she was. I hope her son takes after her. Haneul smiled sadly at this thought.

* * *

As the years passed, Haneul noticed that there have been more and more children who were born with the same white mark that the young prince had. There had been seven boys born throughout the past few years, all of which were born with the same mark and had lost their mothers during childbirth.

“Godammit!” Haneul yells in frustration as he slams his fist onto the table. The table was cluttered with scrolls, books, odd writings, and drawings that even Haneul didn’t even remember taking out. The stressed sorcerer moves over to his bed and faceplants directly onto his pillow.

Not only was he tasked with acting as a teacher to the young prince, keeping the people safe, and being one of the main healers; but he also took it upon himself to figure out what was going on with the seven boys who shared the same mark.

He may have been tired, stressed, and confused; but most importantly, he was worried.

Haneul was a man who believed that there was a reason for everything; death, births, happiness, sadness, there were reasons for all of it. Therefore, he knew that there was a great purpose that followed the seven young boys with the peculiar markings.

* * *

“He follows him as if he was a stray and he threw him a bone. I am surprised Namjoon hasn’t grown irritated.” the young woman says with a tired smile.

“Well Namjoon is quite patient, and I feel that he's the one to keep Jungkook out of trouble,” Haneul responds while packing up his things, “and Yuna, do not forget they both need to meet at my home before dawn.”

“The others will be there, right?” Yuna asks with a glimmer of concern in her eyes,

Haneul grabs her hand as a way to comfort her and stares into her eyes, “They will be there Yuna, they have no choice.” he turns his head to look at the two young men joking around and skipping stones across the foggy pond, “For now, just spend time with the two of them. Okay?”

Yuna’s eyes filled with tears, “Okay, thank you Haneul.”

“Of course” Haneul smiles and bows respectively before departing and starting his journey home.

Haneul has aged considerably throughout the last 20 years, his hair had become greyer and his eyes duller; but his mind and heart were still drawn towards helping people, and to the seven boys with the odd mark, and after many years, he found the answer.

A few months before now, Haneul had stumbled across an old poem.

The world is calm and crops are ripe

Yet underneath its surface lays a darkness waiting to strike

When the circles of seven come to light, so will come a long and frozen fight

A being will propose an idea that the seven circles will see as an answer to end the fight

It is up to the seven circles to decide what path they take, and which is for light and dark

The answer lays at the heart of the one who descends from pure light, for their heart and the seven circles must all reunite

After reading the poem he realized the importance of the young men The poem itself acknowledges a traumatic event that will happen in the time that they are alive, yet it had been months since he found the writing and nothing has happened. However, Haneul knew that something was coming and he came to realize what that was.

You see, two nights prior Haneul had a vision. The vision was not clear, yet it showed a figure whose presence exuded sadness and wisdom. All the figure did was deliver a message that was the following,

“In two days, a frozen death will fall upon your realm. Those seven under the protection of the circle will survive; while all the others will temporarily perish. They will be presented with information that involves seeking another being of pure light to end the frozen death. However, there are two paths they could take with this, but only one being the right one. Do not let them fall into trickery, for that will be their downfall and everything will cease to exist if the wrong path is taken.” and with that, the vision was no more.

Waking from his vision, Haneul knew that he must gather the boys and prepare them for what was to come.

* * *

As Haneul waited for the boys to arrive he put together all of his writings, they were not much but they gave small insight on what was to come. Just as he finished up sorting everything, he caught sight of lanterns and heard the sound of multiple footsteps outside his home.

“Jungkook, if you do not stop stepping on the back of my boots I swear I’m gon-” the voice was cut off by a loud laugh, “What are you going to do Jin? Send your one of the so-called guards after him?” a lazy voice replies.

“Oh that’s rich, coming from a farmer.” a cocky-toned voice chimed in.

“What is that supposed to mean Jimin?” a new deep voice says back, “Guys! Stop it, Haneul is probably hearing everything and I am pretty sure the last thing we want is to embarrass ourselves in front of him.”

Haneul had heard everything; and the last voice was right, they were embarrassing themselves. But the older sorcerer had been rather entertained by their interactions. Putting a sly smile on his face, he opened the front door coming face to face with seven men whose faces varied from shock, embarrassment, to dumbfounded.

“You boys have not changed much, have you?” he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe. Namjoon forms a tight-lipped smile, “I am afraid not sir.”

Haneul gestures for them to come in, “Well, let’s not waste any more time.”

Once the boys were led in and settled into Haneul’s study, they began to ask questions. “So why are we here?” Jin asks while the others looked at Haneul.

Haneul looked at them and sighed before speaking,

“Have you ever wondered why you all have those marks on your hands?” Silence.

“Why all of your mothers passed away during your births?” Silence again.

Haneul notices the confused expressions and continues, “Well I did. I knew that there was a reason for those markings and,” he stands and gets a small book, “I found the reason why.”

Haneul gives the book to Namjoon and takes a seat in front of them.

“I spent years gathering, reading, and learning everything about what is just so special about you boys, and all of the knowledge that I have gained can be found in that journal. You boys are a part of what is known as the circle.” The boys look at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain more.

“There was a tale that spoke of seven men being born with the same markings that you boys have. They all possessed special abilities that varied with each one of them. These men used their powers to protect those of their realm and were the ones to keep balance within their realm. However, as time had passed tensions had risen between the seven and because of it, a big fight had happened. Their fight had destroyed not only their bonds, but also ended many people's lives. No one knew the true reason why the fight had happened, but many did not wish to know. Because many innocent people had died as a result of the fight, the people, who were the ones that the seven had sworn to protect, had seen the seven protectors as dangerous and a threat. So they decided to kill them.”

Jimin perks up and scoffs, “I doubt their attempts would have worked, you said they had powers right?”

“Jimin,” Namjoon said, “be quiet and let him continue.”

“Anyways, one of the seven had been informed about the people’s plan to assassinate them and told the other six. That night they had decided to willingly sacrifice themselves, and their lives, to no longer cause suffering and sadness among their people. Now, it seems that the gods have decided to pass on the tale by blessing you seven with the marks.”

“So, we are now the protectors of our realm?” Seokjin asks in a tone that gives the impression he is not thoroughly convinced.

The older man sighs, “Yes, and I know this sounds odd but-”

Yoongi cuts him off laughing, “Haneul, please. We are not people of importance, except for Jin and Jimin. Most of us have grown up struggling and some despising one another. Now you say that just because we have similar marks, and our mothers are dead, it makes us special?”

“Yoongi hear him out, you-”

“Oh Jungkook please, we are nothing and have been nothing for most of our lives.”

“Yoongi,” Haneul starts, “you do not have to believe me right now. None of you do, but something is about to happen and you need to understand what to do.” He gives Namjoon the poem that he had found, which related to the prophecy of the seven who all sat before him.

“After finding that poem, I had a vision where a figure appeared to me and spoke of a ‘frozen death’ that will fall upon our people.” the boys' faces grow concerned, “To end it and bring back the balance of our realm, you boys are to venture outside our realm, find a certain being, and bring them back here.” the boys erupt with multiple questions in response.

“Wait, how do you travel outside our realm?”

“How do we know it's them?”

“What do we do once we find them?”

“What about our families?”

It seems that after that last question, everyone grew silent. Taehyung’s eyes had begun to grow watery, “What about my dad? Will he be okay?”

Haneul grew somber, “Your families, as well as everyone here, will be okay with whatever happens while you are searching for the being. However, their lives depend on what path you take once you are all back here together. In the book that I gave you, it tells you how to get to and from the realm in which the being lives.”

Haneul gets up and notices that the sun is almost up. “I do not have much time, but there is one last thing.” he turns towards the boys, “My vision also said that you would be approached with an idea and to be awar-” Haneul’s breathing had grown rapid as he fell to the ground while clutching his heart.

“Haneul!” Junkook had yelled before getting up and running towards him along with the rest of the boys. “Can you hear me? Haneul?” Namjoon asks while kneeling beside him, feeling for a pulse.

His breathing starts to slow down and he reaches out to grasp Namjoon’s hand; the boys are shocked to see a layer of frost had begun to form around his hand slowly moving up his arm.

“B-be caref-ful, d-do not allow yourselves t-to be fooled. Trust your h-hearts and e-each other. Rememb-ber,” Haneul moves his gaze towards the book he had given now in the grasp of Jungkook, “everything is i-in that b-book.” and with that, the frost overcomes his body and his breathing stops.

The boys stood in shock as the man, who had been a role model for all of them and helped so many people, become absorbed by ice and had fallen into a death-like sleep.

Namjoon stands up and takes the book that was in Jungkook's hands, and he began to head out of the house. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Jin exclaims following after him.

“To do what we’re supposed to do. I am going to find a way out of this realm, find who I need to find, and do whatever I need to do to get everyone back.” Namjoon states without stopping.

Yoongi scoffs, “You? In case you don’t remember, Haneul said ALL of us have to work together to resolve this, not just you.” Namjoon stops and turns and furrows his brows, “Weren’t you just going on about how you don’t believe in any of this and how we couldn’t do anything?”

“Yes, but that was before I saw Haneul become a block of ice. I still don’t believe we have powers, that seems rather far-fetched.” Yoongi crosses his arms, “Are you saying that Haneul is a liar?” Jin challenges.

“Not entirely.” Yoongi replies in a cold tone, “I am more confused than anything, I mean how the hell are we supposed to know who this being is once we enter their realm?” Everyone is silent, and Namjoon sighs in defeat, “Does anyone have any idea?” Yoongi asks with frustration evident in his tone.

“I have an idea.”

The boys all turn towards the front of Haneul’s house and see a young woman leaning against the doorway. Jimin steps in front of all of them with a hand on his sword, “Who the hell are you?” the woman raises her hands in defense and smiles calmly,

“My name is Ara, I am a friend of Haneul. It would be best not to harm someone who is here to help you.” The boys grow suspicious and Hoesok speaks up, “Haneul didn’t mention you.”

Ara lowers her hands “He didn’t need to,” she tilts her head glancing at all of the boys, “did you really think that he was the only magical being?”

She snaps her fingers and Jimin’s sword appears in her hands making the boy move forward to retrieve it, “Look, I am not here to harm you, and you having a weapon against me will not solve anything.” She moves her wrist to make an invisible force push Jimin onto the ground. Some of the boys stifle a laugh upon seeing the young guard get huffy and brush off his clothes.

“Your marks.” Ara states, the boys look at her in confusion.

Namjoon looks at her, “What? What do you mean by our marks?”

“Your marks, they will help you find who you are looking for.” Ara leans back and looks at him lazily, “Your marks are similar to magnets, they will lead to one another due to their bonds. As for what you need to do with the being once you get them back here; you must bring you eight and your marks to me to restore the balance.”

Jungkook grows confused, “Why would we do that?”

Taehyung steps forward “Yeah, and what about the story?” Ara furrows her brows, “What story?”

“The one about the seven men who were marked and the protectors of their realm.” Taehyung pauses, “There were seven men in the story and now you're telling us that there are eight?”

Ara stills and sighs while her expression grows serious, “Do you know why your people have frozen into a deep sleep?” The boys shake their heads, “Because there were only supposed to be seven of you, seven protectors. But it appears that an eighth being has been born with the mark as well; however, they are not of this realm meaning that your bonds are not entirely connected. It was a mistake, so you boys and them must come back here and break the bond from them, and then peace and life will be restored.” Ara finishes.

The boys are silent for a moment as if to fully grasp the information they had just been given. “So we travel, find, and bring back the being, then you will break the bond?” Jin asks, “Yes.” Ara responds with a comforting smile.

“And everyone will come back perfectly fine?” Taehyung asks in a hopeful tone. “Yes, everything will go back to how things were before. Except for you now being the protectors of this realm.”

“Wait, what about our powers?” Ara turns her head towards Jungkook, “Aren’t we supposed to have powers?”

Ara grins mischievously, “You will need to figure that out on your own, your guy’s powers will come to you naturally.” She stands, “For now, you boys must travel and find the being.” Ara gives Jimin his sword back and begins to walk away towards the path that leads to their town.

“Where are you going?” Namjoon asks and Ara stops and turns. “Someone has to make sure things here remain okay until you get back.”

“Wait a second!” Hoseok yells out, “Why aren’t you frozen? I thought everyone in this realm would fall into a frozen sleep?” Upon hearing this the boys got curious and all stared at her. Ara’s face grew serious, “Because I am not of this realm.” and with that, she vanished into thin air.

The boys all stand there in silence. Namjoon turns his gaze to the book and opens it trying to find out how to transfer them out of their realm.

“I found it,” the boys look towards him, “the book says that we must join hands and visualize the portal into existence.”

“Yeah right, I’m not holding any of your hands.”

“Oh shut up and take my hand Jimin.” Jin says annoyed while grabbing both Jimin and Taehyung’s hands.

“Alright, everyone close your eyes,” Namjoon states and closes his own, “okay now focus on visualizing the portal.”

“How do you even visualize?”

“It’s like imagining, but more detailed.”

“That's confusing, and it also sounds hard”

“Shut up Jimin!” Everyone says while Jimin sighs dramatically.

After a few moments, the seven men felt their marks stinging slightly and a large gust of wind had blown in front of them. Once they all opened their eyes, they saw a large circle of light in the middle of all of them.

Namjoon steps forwards and looks to the rest of the boys, “Here goes nothing.” and with that, they all walk through the portal.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #au #bangtan ot7 #ot7 x reader

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