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donteattheappleshook · 2 years ago

Text

Not Broken At All Chapter 14/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Sorry for how long this chapter took - It was literally just writer’s block this time. Strap in friends we’re getting into the dark(er) parts of Neverland.

Thank you thank you thank you thank you always @the-darkdragonfly and @elizabeethan for your help with this feral fic 😘

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Part 14

It’s silent as they make their way back through the jungle, none of them finding words to fill the quiet, not in the wake of devastation of the day’s events. She’d forgotten her son. Killian had forgotten… something. Something he’d never even know to miss now - because of her. He’d done it for her. And for Henry.

Emma looks back at where he trails behind them, the flowing robes of the fairy court replaced with his usual leather, his hook silver once more, a faint glimmer in the darkness. He’s lost to his thoughts, not looking ahead as he follows the unmarked path back to the Jolly by memory.

Hardly any light makes it through the canopy of trees, the darkness playing tricks on her mind, time losing meaning. How long had they been in the fairy court? How many hours - days even? With the way time works here, Emma thinks she might never truly know the answer.

She watches as he casts a glance over his shoulder, staring at where they came from, the faint glow of the Solstice lights long faded now, then turns back, brow pinched tight in confusion, frustration tugging at his jaw - like he’s forgotten something, left something behind in that forest and aches to go back for it. Her eyes burn. Wendy sees it too, watching Killian with a sorrowful expression, grieving in his place - because he can’t and someone should mourn what he’s lost.

Tinkerbell stumbles, sweat beading her brow, pale with exhaustion and Emma winces, nodding when Wendy insists they need to stop - just for a minute - she promises when the fairy tries to protest. But the sigh of relief she lets out when the young woman - now once again in her disguise of matted hair and shadowed features - helps lower her down into the grass and leaves.

It takes Wendy a moment to coax Hook into sitting on a fallen log, flinching when she first touches a gentle hand to his arm, resisting a light tug as she guides him away from the path - still looking back. “It’s okay,” she promises. “I kept them safe for you- every single one.”

He looks at her then and something passes between them, something private and intimate that Emma doesn’t think she’ll ever understand, born of centuries of friendship and trust. Wendy’s voice is low when it weaves through the grove to her ears, so soft she wouldn’t have heard it were it not for the deafening silence still wrapped around them.

“They can’t be forgotten so long as someone remembers, right?”

“I don’t know which parts of her are missing,” he confesses. He sounds scared, like she’d been when she’d felt Henry fading away and she wants to help him, even if she doesn’t know how. But he has Wendy. It’s not Emma’s place to comfort him.

“It was a year after you met her in the tavern - almost exactly.” Emma looks away, feeling she’s intruding, hovering awkwardly in the middle of the field. “You promised yourself you wouldn’t ask her again, that you’d stop after the last time she said no - not when she’d be leaving Bae behind. You wanted to be selfless for her.”

She shouldn’t hear this, it’s not meant for her. But the words find their way to her regardless and she’s lost for a moment to the faint memory of a heart inked onto skin, a dagger run through it, a portrait of dark hair and laughing eyes. The name he’d given up in that cave. Milah.

Killian gives a single huff of self-deprecating laughter. “I suppose I failed.”

She considers sitting with Tink, but the glare the fairy gives her when she takes a hesitant step towards her, makes her think better of it.

“No. You were going to let her go and make the decision for her - like an idiot. You didn’t even go to the tavern.”

“But she did come. We had ten years, didn't we?” The fear creeps into his voice again.

She finds Will, sitting a few dozen feet away, watching the two of them, longing in every line of his face, and plops down beside him, wrapping her arms around her leather-clad knees, missing the flowy skirts more than she expected.

“Oh yeah. She found you. Barged onto your ship and cussed you out for being a coward.”

“That sounds about right.” The gentle grief and the longing in such a simple sentence aches deep in her heart. Whoever she was to him, he loved her completely.

“You’re pining again,” Emma teases, trying to block out their voices.

His eyes are fixed on the captains whispering softly across from them, heads bent low and close, voices still finding them in the quiet.

“You fought. Or at least she yelled at you until you finally told her why you didn’t come, why you were leaving. Then she yelled at you more.” Emma chances a glance at them, catches the small smile tugging at his mouth.

She nudges Will’s shoulder with her own when he doesn’t answer.

“He abandoned her.” William’s hissed words catch her off guard, his eyes still glazed, but they’re clearer than they’d been in the Fae realm, and she thinks that maybe his high has taken a downward turn. “He just left her here. Alone.”

“... She asked you to take her with you.”

Emma glances at Wendy and Killian again. She doesn’t think they can hear, or at least they aren’t listening, too wrapped up in their own conversation. “I know.”

“She hears the Lost Boys now.”

“I know.”

“...She asked me?”

“Do you remember why?”

“No…”

“She hears them because of him. And still he gets to be… I’ve never abandoned her. I’ve been here. I’ve -” he doesn’t finish, but it’s not hard to guess. “She’s never let me in. I’ll never know her like he does. No matter how long I’m by her side, how many times I try to prove it to her…”

“... Because he’d never have let her go. But you would.”

“I’ll never be him.” He looks down at his hands, pulling apart a stray leaf with intense concentration. “So it’ll never be enough.” It takes her a moment to realize what exactly she’s seeing in his expression.

“If it made her happy, if it was what she wanted.”

“You’re jealous?”

“You’re not?”

She’s about to argue - that it’s absolutely ridiculous that she could be jealous of Killian’s relationship with anyone. She’s only known him a matter of days, and he and Wendy’s relationship is completely platonic anyway. But Will knows that. It’s the depth of their relationship he longs for, the complete trust and openness they share.

“You’d choose her. Even if it meant losing her.”

She’s never trusted someone so completely, never let someone know her so intimately. She nearly did, once. But Neal’s betrayal had only reminded her how dangerous trust could be, shown her how vulnerable being vulnerable could make her.

“You loved her. More than he’d ever even tried to.”

“I…” Emma doesn’t even know what she’s feeling.

Will freezes, alert for the first time since this morning. “Where’s Tink?”

Emma turns to look at where the fairy had just been, the patch of grass empty, Wendy and Killian suddenly on their feet, hands at their swords, tension rolling through the jungle. A hand comes over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist as she’s dragged back into the trees, fighting only for a moment before she hears Will’s voice low in her ear. “Quiet.”

Kneeling in the dirt, he keeps his hold on her, doesn’t move his hand from her mouth, hiding them behind dense trees and tall grass, his body stiff against her back, his heart pounding so hard she can feel it. It’s not until she hears the rustle of leaves, of twigs snapping under footsteps that she realizes what’s made him so terrified.

“Pan. To what do we owe the displeasure?”

Pan. She can’t fully see him - straining against Will’s death-grip to try to get a better view - but there’s a laugh, young and cruel, that floats through the darkness.

“I heard you were back and I had to see it for myself.”

“Aye, well, now you have, so you can take your leave.”

“Is that all the time you have for your old friend?”

“We were never friends,” Killian reminds him grimly.

Pan tuts, like they are old friends, like it’s an old, inside joke. “Captain Darling,” he greets Wendy. “Or is it lieutenant now? I must say I’m almost disappointed by your demotion. I’d grown quite fond of having you as an adversary.”

“That makes one of us.”

Another laugh. Emma twists against Will’s arm, tugging at the hand over her mouth, but he’s unyielding, and she glares into the darkness because she can’t glare at him, debating licking his palm like a five year old.

“What do you want, boy? I’m in no mood for games.”

“So defensive. And after I helped you find your revenge you’d been after for so long.”

Killian scoffs, biting out his answer. “You didn’t do anything but send me to a swift death.”

“I sent you with everything you needed.”

“You lied.”

Emma does lick Will’s hand this time. It only tightens against her.

Pan sounds almost offended, but his amusement is thinly veiled. “I didn’t lie. I told you your villain was in a realm without magic and gave you the poison you wanted.”

“He was supposed to be powerless.”

“I never actually said he’d be powerless. You assumed he would be. And I take it you assumed wrong.”

Killian doesn’t answer for a long moment. “You cheated.”

“You didn’t pay attention to the rules. I’d think you’d be better at making deals, what with all that time spent in the Fae lands.”

“Have you just come to brag? Because I believe that could have waited until morning.”

“I merely came to thank you for delivering the boy to me. You fulfilled your duty admirably - Though I’d have preferred not to wait a decade.”

Henry. He has Henry. Emma squirms, trying to break free, to stand and demand Pan bring her to her son - or just wring his stupid, sadistic neck. She jabs an elbow into Will’s ribs and he lets out a shallow grunt before pulling her against him, squishing her arm between them.

“The time passed was Neverland’s doing, not mine. Though I must say I’ve found it much changed. The jungle seems to have taken on a life of its own.”

Shut up, Killian, she wants to warn him. But she can’t. She can barely even move. How the hell is Will this strong? He’s like a hundred pounds soaking wet. Is there some Neverland gym she isn’t aware of? She’d be impressed if she wasn’t so pissed off. Pan hears the mocking in Killian’s words too, his answer less friendly than before.

“Things in Neverland don’t change - but the minds of grownups easily are. You must be misremembering after so much time away.” He’s lying. If they didn’t know it for certain before, they do now - he’s losing control.

“Aye, that must be it.” There’s pause, the three of them staring each other down, Wendy’s hand still braced on the hilt of her sword. “Was there another reason for your visit? Or were you just here to corroborate my return and deliver your thanks?”

Pan lets out a tisk. “I came to let you know that you should expect some new additions to your crew soon.” She feels Will’s harsh breath against her ear, his hand slackening over her mouth and despite her earlier struggles, the absolute terror she can feel in the stillness of his body makes her keep her mouth shut, keeps her rooted to the spot. “There’ll be a hunt tomorrow. I trust you’ll make the necessary preparations to receive the survivors.”

Killian doesn’t speak, and for a moment silence hangs between them. Emma doesn’t dare to even breathe. Wendy finally answers, the word heavy. “Aye.”

“Excellent,” Pan says, all that false friendliness back. “I’ll leave you to it then. I’ve preparations to make myself with it being the new boy’s first hunt and all. Always so much more exciting to see how they do the first time, isn’t it?” Will’s hand is immediately firm on her mouth again. What hunt? What survivors? What the hell is he having Henry do tomorrow?

“I wouldn't know,” Killian answers darkly.

“Ah, but lieutenant Darling does - And so does young Scarlet,” he adds, casting a glance in their direction and Emma tenses, finally able to see him properly.

He’s so much younger than she expected, small and thin with wide eyes and a tanned, rosy-cheeked face. He looks like a child, soft blonde curls falling over his eyes, just a little boy, not much older than Henry, incapable of the cruelty she’s been told about.

“... Wherever he is,” Pan finishes with a wry, boyish smirk. “Not like him to miss a Solstice.” He turns back to Killian and Wendy. “Until tomorrow then,” he promises, before disappearing into the trees.

No one moves for several minutes after he leaves, watching the forest and the sky, waiting. It’s not until Tink returns that Will lets out a breath, finally dropping his hand, looking at it and then her in disgust before wiping his palm over his shirt, muttering something about ‘disgusting’.

“What’s the hunt?” she asks him. “Will,” she presses when he doesn’t answer. “What was he talking about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” he says, standing and making his way over to the others. She follows - not letting him ignore her.

“He mentioned Henry.”

“Are you alright?” Killian asks her, looking panicked and relieved at the same time.

“No. What’s happening tomorrow?” she demands. “What’s it got to do with Henry?”

“Your boy’s not in danger, Swan,” he promises. “Pan won’t harm him.”

She knows he’s not lying. But he’s hiding something. “Killian…” He scratches his nails through the scruff at his jaw, avoiding her gaze. “What’s the hunt?”

Tinkerbell answers her at last, blunt and to the point as she’s come to expect. “Every few months, whenever some of the Lost Boys have gotten too old, or there are too many of them, Pan thins them out.”

“Thins them out?”

“It’s vile and barbaric,” Killian hisses.

“Tell me.”

“The older boys are forced to find their way from the camp to the beach while the younger ones try to prevent them from reaching it. Those that make it, become members of the crew, like the men you saw yesterday.”

“And the others…”

“Are killed,” Tink says flatly. “It’s called a hunt for a reason.”

She’s not sure she’s breathing - images of a cruel massacre painted as a game flashing in her mind, growing worse with every one.

“Swan,” Killian tries carefully, standing and shortening the distance between them. “Henry is only ten - and Pan chose him for a reason. He won’t be hunted.”

“No - but Pan said - he’ll want him to… he’ll be expected to hunt won’t he?” Panic sets in, unable to steady her shaking hands and racing heart, unable to fill her lungs, constricting in her chest. Pan’s going to make Henry hunt other children - he’s going to make him kill other children. She thinks of her son, so young and kind and happy, imagining all the ways Pan could twist that thirst for life and adventure into something dark and sinister. She turns towards the jungle. “We can’t let - we have to stop him - I -”

Will grabs her again, stopping her from running she doesn’t even know where - wherever Pan’s camp is, if she could even find it. “Let me go,” she orders. But Will’s hold on her tightens.

“I swear to god, if you lick me again…”

“Let me go.”

“You can’t go after him, Emma,” Wendy says, having the decency to make it sound like an apology. “Not yet. If you try to stop Pan now it’ll be the last thing you do - and everything we’ve done will be for nothing.” Wendy levels her with a look. “Henry needs you alive.”

“I can’t just let him kill someone!” she shouts, refusing to accept his reasoning, fighting Will with everything she’s got, but he’s a goddamn marble statue, her nails digging into his arms not seeming to bother him at all. She can’t stop seeing it: Henry with a blade in his hand, blood - his or someone else's - staining his clothes, his skin, children being chased and cut down, her son being the one to do it. If Henry does this, if Pan makes him do this - even if he thinks it’s a game… it’ll destroy him. “I have to stop him,” she sobs. “I can’t let him -”

It’s only when Will finally lessens his hold enough to let her sink to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her, that she realizes she’s crying. She can’t stop, her emotions not her own anymore, body shaking and stomach burning. Killian kneels down with her in the grass and the mud and the dirt, arms coming around her, pulling her heaving and shaking against his chest.

She pushes against him, words barely coherent. “Please. You said you would get him back.” His hold on her tightens, both a comfort and a restraint, holding her together as best as he can and she finds herself leaning into it even as she wants to run. Henry’s in danger. Henry needs her. And she’s helpless. “You said you’d protect him.”

“I am,” he says softly. “Henry has a good heart, love, and a strong will. He knows right from wrong.”

She wishes she could believe them, knows that her son is a good kid, hopes that what they’re saying is true, that he won’t participate, that he’ll stay out of it. But Will hasn’t said a word, his silence unsettling as he stands stoically looking at the ground, jaw tensed and knuckles white against the handle of his cutlass.

“Will?” she asks, pulling herself from Killian’s embrace, the cold on her skin matching that in her veins.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t answer. How long did he say he was on the ship? Seven years? Eight? And Pan had nearly killed him when he decided to leave. The hunt can’t even be a distant memory for him yet, and his refusal to comment makes her think it might trouble him even now. Wendy puts a hand on his arm, comforting and instinctual and he drags his gaze up to look at Emma properly.

He sighs. “Pan won’t force him. He’s got this thing about free will - or the illusion of it.” She can tell this is the good before the bad and she braces herself, waiting. “He likes the boys to follow him because they want to. But he can be convincing. And Henry might not know what he’s doing until it’s too late. He might not know that it’s real.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a game. Some of the boys don’t understand that their arrows are real, that their spears are sharp until they’ve killed one of the other kids. And even then…” He hesitates, a pained frown pulling at his brow and Emma reaches for something to hold on to, finding the brace of Killian’s hook that stays steadfast in her grip. “We didn’t know. Or maybe we did but we chose not to believe it, to believe that it was just a game, that they weren’t really hurt, that they weren’t really dead - that it was all pretend.” He winces and her heart breaks for the memories he must be reliving. “Neverland is a place of belief, and Pan can make someone believe nearly anything if they trust him enough.”

He grows more loyal to the boy with each passing day. I fear soon he will give Pan what he wants if he is not stopped. Tiger Lily’s words echo in the silence as a fear she wasn’t prepared for creeps in. What if Henry becomes a Lost Boy not because he thinks she’s abandoned him, but because he chooses Pan? She looks at Wendy and at Will, both kind and brave like her son, both of whom had been under Pan’s spell at some point in their childhoods.

“We have to stop it.”

“We can’t,” Killian shakes his head hopelessly. “We’ve tried before and all he did was decide not to give any of them the chance to run for the ship.”

“Then we have to stop Henry - make sure he doesn’t play this fucked up game.”

“How?” Wendy asks, but it’s not really a question, she knows there isn’t an answer.

“I’m going out there. I’ll stop him myself.”

“That’s suicide, Swan,” Killian tells her harshly. “If he saw you, if he found out what you are - who you are - he wouldn’t risk you coming between him and whatever he has planned for Henry.”

“Well we have to do something!” she snaps. “If Henry does this then we’ll have lost him already.”

“I’ll go.”

The three of them turn, staring at Will in shock.

“No you won’t,” Wendy argues.

“Did you not hear the part about it being a suicide mission?” Killian snaps, annoyed.

“For her it is. I know the jungle. I lived there for decades. You forget I was Pan’s right hand for a long time before joining your crew,” he reminds Wendy. “I know how Pan thinks, how he plays his games.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Killian glares.

Will returns it. “Look, I’ve got the best chance out of all of us of getting to the camp. I can warn Henry not to listen to Pan, no matter what he tries to make him believe. I’ll make sure he doesn’t take part in the hunt tomorrow.”

“You’re not going,” Wendy insists again.

“Wen,” he starts, and Emma sees Killian notice the ease with which the nickname falls from his lips, the familiarity in it.

“It’s too dangerous. If there’s anyone on this island Pan wants dead, it’s you. The fact that you’ve survived this long -”

“Probably means he’s got a plan for the day I won’t. And this isn’t it."

“You’re not doing it,” she snaps, the authority in her voice slipping. There’s fear in her eyes now, a desperation turning her order to a plea. “If he finds you - if he kills you I -”

“Wait until morning,” Killian says and Wendy turns to him, betrayal plain on her face. “He’ll be on his guard tonight, perhaps expecting a retaliation for his visit. Go tomorrow when they’ll be busy preparing for the hunt. He’ll be distracted.”

Will gives a solemn nod tinged with surprise. “Aye.”

Wendy’s eyes dart between the two of them - hurt, fear, anger - before she storms off, disappearing into the woods towards the shoreline.

“Great job,” Tink sneers, glaring at Hook before following after her. “I’m going back to my treehouse. Send a message when it’s time.” Emma feels guilt twist her gut. It should be her. Henry’s her responsibility. But she knows Killian would never let her go. He’d probably lock her in the damn brig if she tried. And she doesn’t think she’d survive crossing the island on her own - no matter how much she insists she could. But it can’t be no one. Someone needs to warn Henry, to protect him.

The two men stare off after Wendy, wearing matching expressions of shame and determination. Will, while still resolute, hangs his head before turning to head back to the beach, but Killian calls his name and he pauses, looking back at the captain.

“Are you sure about this, Scarlet?”

Will glances at the path Wendy disappeared down before meeting Killian’s gaze. “I know what you think of me, Hook. And you’re right,” he tells him. Fifty years, wasn’t it, that they’d said he’d been with Pan? “I can’t change the past or what I did, but I can bloody well try stop it from repeating itself.” He looks at Emma then, a promise unspoken between them and she mouths a silent ‘thank you,’ a small, self-deprecating smile offered in return.

“You’re right,” Killian tells him. “You do know what I think of you.” Emma’s about to turn on him, to tell him off, when he adds. “But the boy I knew wouldn’t have risked his life for anyone, let alone a stranger.”

The look that passes between them, the small nod exchanged before Will follows Wendy to the ship is almost one of understanding. She wouldn’t go so far as to suggest they like each other, but the animosity that they’d both stubbornly clung to until now gives a little, teeters carefully towards a begrudging respect.

And then there’s only her and Killian left, the forest quiet once more.

“I need you to promise that you won’t try and find Henry on your own, that you’ll stay away from Pan’s camp.” Emma doesn’t have a chance to voice her protest before Killian continues. “They’re risking their lives for you, Swan, all of us are - for you and for your son. Don’t let it be for nothing by getting yourself killed and taking away their chance at restitution.”

Her frustration at being told what to do leaves her in a breath, deciding not to argue with him. But she doesn’t promise anything - she can’t, no matter how much she might want to. Henry is a blind spot for her, she can’t always explain her actions or the decisions she makes when it comes to him, the instinct to keep him safe, to put him first and protect him at all costs overwhelming.

Killian only nods at her silence, jaw tensing like he knows the lack of a ‘no’ is the best he’ll get from her, the most she can offer. “Alright,” he sighs, accepting, heavy. “The beach is about a half-mile that way,” he tells her, gesturing towards the direction the others disappeared into. “Don’t stray from east and you should reach the ship shortly. You can probably catch up to Will if you hurry.”

“Where are you going?” Emma frowns, he’s barely let her out of his sight since they arrived.

“To keep your boy from the hunt. I know where to find Pan’s camp.”

“But, I thought Will -”

“Will is… noble, more noble than I thought. But he’s wrong to think Pan won’t kill him if he’s angry enough, regardless of his plans for him.”

“What about you?”

Killian gives a small, confident smirk, one that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve had more practice evading death than young Scarlet.” Not quite a lie, but not the truth either. He sighs again, like he knows she sees through him. “Wendy cares for him. I won’t let her lose another person she loves - not if I can prevent it.”

Emma doesn’t answer, a knot tightening in her throat, making it impossible. His display of devotion to the girl he took in when he didn’t have to, risking himself not to protect her, but to protect someone she couldn’t bear to lose - someone he doesn’t even like… Will’s jealousy rings even truer now that it had before. No one’s ever put her first. What must it be like to be loved by Killian Jones? She banishes the thought, Killian nodding at her once, smile weaker now, before turning back to the woods.

“Wait!” I can come with you. The words don’t make it out, stuck in her chest while he watches her in question, halfway between staying and going. She knows he won’t let her, that she’d just slow him down, put him in danger just by being there - someone who doesn’t know the jungle, someone he feels the need to protect. She can’t do that to him, not when he’s going out there for her, for Henry.

She crosses the space between them, the few steps he’d made towards the darker part of the island. Fingers sliding over his cheek, turning his face to hers before either of them can think too long about it, she presses her lips to his, catching the bottom one between her own, sighing softly when he returns her kiss. Mouth warm against hers, his tongue teases gently at the seam of her lips, but he doesn’t reach for her, doesn’t press himself against her like he had in that fairy glen - letting her set the pace.

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back, fingers sliding to his neck, his breath warm on her cheek, “What was…”

“Just don’t die, okay?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth - a real one this time. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving.” Emma rolls her eyes and his grin widens in amusement. He better be.

******

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ayda--demir · 2 years ago

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İpucu Üst Terzi

Feb 6, 2023

“Nehir, bu acıttı.” Ayda swats the girl’s hand away from her side where a pin just poked her. This was the last thing she thought she would be doing. Auburn orbs glanced into the mirror to watch the artist at work.

Nehir Demiric was the most talented designer she had seen, perhaps a little bias. The young girl had finished her degree at Kingston University, ready to dip her toe into the fashion world when tragedy struck home. That was how it usually was for those trying to get out of Haringey – trying to do it the proper way. Mr. Demiric had a stroke, a bad one that had him in the hospital for months, losing all feeling on his left side. That ended his career as the tailor in their borough.

He begged Nehir to let him sell the business. That there was no need for her to give up her dreams to stay in a place that was far too good for her. She was unable to watch a staple of what made Haringey slide into the wrong hands. This was a business that had gone through five generations of Demiric’s. She feared that it would become property to what was tearing their beloved borough apart.

Ayda heard about what happened to Mr. Demiric and she came to offer her help and from that moment, a friendship was formed, and she became a model, little to her knowledge. Her sewing skills were not perfect, it was something she was taught at a young age before her teacher was gone from her life at nine, but managed to keep up a little. With Nehir’s help, she was able to help when it came to the basics for hemming and measuring was easy.

It was when the shop was closed mostly that the two of them would get together, or when trouble stirred during the day. that Nehir needed help with.

“This is a beautiful colour.” It was a rich midnight blue that seemed to compliment her skin tone. The dress she was making was simple and elegant. An a-line ball gown, fitting in all the ways that hugged her curves.

“Teşekkürler, I was able to get the fabric for a good price.” Nehir beamed, going back to work to pin at certain spots that would need to be sewed.

At night, the tailor’s daughter was able to work on her dreams, designing clothes and making them. She wanted to add to the shop, make it work for all genders and sell her own pieces. Ayda knew it would be hard for the girl at the start, business’ thrived at best to survive in Haringey, but she would be her number one supporter.

She would find ways to get Nehir’s name out that business would find her.

“I think I’m good. You can get out of it now.” The young Turk steps back, letting her eyes fall over her creation, trying to see if she missed anything. This design had taken her some time, but seeing it come alive off paper was giving her those exciting jitters.

Ayda stepped down from the small platform and moved into the changing room to carefully undress, putting on her oversized sweater. There was no need to get fully dressed until Nehir told her it was good.

She came out to find Nehir back behind the sewing machine, going to sit down in the chair that was across from the other. “You’re almost going to be done. I know you’ve been working on this for a long time.” She had been there through the whole process from drawing to being sewn. It always left her speechless when it came to watching the other work. The intensity she would see in her eyes and the goofy smile when it all came together.

It was like she was looking into the face of herself when she stepped into her bar for the first time. An empty shell that she was able to transform into anything, and everything, she wanted it to be.

That feeling was euphoric.

#community #haringey #İpucu Üst Terzi #character development #char dev

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libraryofloveletters · 2 years ago

Text

Dr. & Mr. Vettel

Sebastian Vettel x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of hospitals, alcohol and the consumption of, Seb gives reader a mini heart attack by accident (not really), fluffy soft husband Seb, top level cheesiness.

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: I was dancing around my kitchen and here we are. -- I know the time logicals don’t really work but go with it.

---

The shift ended an hour ago, you were laying on the couch in the lounge as you clicked through the tv. It was just past 2 in the morning and you were so sleepy but you refused to go home to the empty house again.

“Dr. V?” One of the nurses, Sammy, called for you when he noticed you on the couch. “Why are you still here? Your shift was done..” he glances at his watch, “like an hour ago.”

“I know,” you yawn, sitting up to sip on the now cold coffee. Sammy sits next to you on the couch. “Is he away this weekend?” He asks.

Nodding, you glance at your phone that was on your lap; a photo of you and Sebastian in Germany last summer. He's holding you and your legs are wrapped around his waist as you both laughed at something his brother said to you before he took the picture.

“From Singapore straight to Japan.”

“Oh man,” Sammy sinks back into the couch. “That sucks big time, Dr. V.”

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, running a hand down your face.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Sammy offers but you shook your head, “you should go home. I’m sure Johnny is waiting for you.” You smiled, patting his leg.

“You should go home too. I don’t think Mr. V would want you killing yourself here just ‘cause he’s not home.”

Sammy gets up and walks to his locker, gathering his stuff. You mirror his actions, “how are you getting home?” You ask him from your side of the lockers.

“Probably the bus,” Sammy answers.

“Nonsense, I’ll drive. Took Seb’s Aston this morning.”

You had started at one pm today, your shift was from one pm to one am. Usually you liked to be done by ten pm and start at ten am so you did the full 12 but with Seb’s race, you pushed your start time; much like the race.

Seb placed P8 and you were beyond happy for him. You wanted nothing more than to hug him and kiss him but alas, you settled for a FaceTime call on the way to work.

Sammy made small talk with you as you drove him home, he also gave you the rundown about the other doctors and the gossip floating around the hospital because everyone knows nurses have the best gossip.

Johnny, Sammy’s husband, was waiting at the door for him when you pulled into the driveway. You wind down the window, “Thanks for the ride.” Sammy smiles when he gets out.

“No problem, I'll see you on Tuesday ?”

“Of course.”

“Hey Dr. V! Nice ride,” Johnny smiles, walking down to meet Sammy halfway. “Thank you!” You shout back, “you kids have fun!” You smile.

“I’m older than you!” Sammy shouts to you as you pull out the driveway.

It was only a 10 minute drive to your place from Sammy's if you took the direct route but because you were avoiding going home, you took the longer route which was double the time.

Your car was pulled into the garage seeing that you took Seb’s to work so you pulled in, parking next to yours.

You sit in the car for a few minutes, checking your phone and seeing what you missed during your shift.

It wasn't much, a few messages from some friends talking about Seb’s race and catching up for some drinks. You ignored all of them and texted Sebastian, it was almost ten am for him with the time difference opposed to your near three am.

To Seb: How’s Japan ? Send pics! Also, give Mick a hug for me.

To Seb: Love you, both of you lmao

You finally get yourself out of the car, walking into the house through the garage door and locked it behind you. You made your way into the basement to change out of your scrubs, you stripped off and tossed them into the washing machine. There’s a basket of folded clothes you’ve been neglecting to bring upstairs so you dig through until you find something to wear, which happened to be Seb’s shirt, one of his old Red Bull ones that he can’t seem to get rid of.

Heading upstairs again, you walk straight to the kitchen. You were home alone so there was no rush to get dressed or shower, plus to be quite honest, you hated sleeping alone.

Sebastian insisted on getting a king sized bed, even though you two sleep in each other's sides the whole night.

Most nights when Seb was away, you tried to work double shifts but if you couldn't, you slept on the couch; less space means less chance of you missing him during the night.

There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge and you were off tomorrow so you pour yourself a glass, setting it on the counter as you head over to switch on the tv. You search through the menu, clicking on Spotify and letting whatever playlist you had running before play.

Humming to yourself, you go back to the kitchen and with the glass in hand, you search the freezer for the sweets you knew you had in there. The box was buried behind a few other things but you found it eventually.

The little box of lava cakes sat on the counter, you turned on the oven and waited for it to heat up. Setting one of them onto a pan, you leaned on the counter as you waited.

Occasionally sipping on your wine, your forearms on the counter as you scrolled through your phone. Your hip bounced from side to side, matching the beat of the song playing.

The music was loud, you thought you were home alone so there was no one to bother.

You had also come through the garage door when you came in, meaning you didn’t see the white sneakers by the door; your husband’s sneakers.

Sebastian had changed his flight after your call to him. You looked so sad on the phone despite your happy tone of voice. He knew you missed him and he missed you too.

He had come home, even if it was just for 2 days; he missed you too much not to see you.

When he didn’t see your car in the driveway, he assumed you were at work. It didn’t even occur to him to check the garage. He was exhausted because of the time zone changes and went straight to bed when he got in.

He just figured you’d find him in bed.

Instead, he woke to music being played and the smell of something chocolaty. Sebastian very quietly made his way downstairs to find you standing in one of his t-shirts, dancing along to the music as you drank.

He leaned on the wall, arms folded across his chest and he watched you. He didn’t dare say a thing to you.

You had your back turned to him, leaning down to check on the dessert in the oven. You had the half empty glass in your hand, reaching into the freezer to get the ice cream and when you turned around to set the ice cream on the counter, both the glass and the container fell from your hand.

Seb bit back a laugh, watching the horror on your face go to relief. “Sebastian what the fuck?!” You sigh, your hand on your chest.

“Hi honey.” He smiles, walking over to you and you shake your head, now rubbing your eyes.

“I’m sleep deprived and it has to be the wine.” You tell yourself, trying to convince yourself that your husband wasn't actually there.

You bend down to pick up the tub of ice cream and you feel a hand land on your ass with a smack. You stand up and Seb’s chest pressed to your back and he wraps an arm around your torso.

“I’m here,” he tells you, kissing your shoulder. You turn around, your hands coming up to rest on his cheeks. “You’re here.”

“I am.” Sebastian smiles, kissing the palm of your hand.

“I- what, how are you here? I thought you were in Japan.”

Seb turns you, your back hitting the counter before he lifts you onto it. He bends down to pick the broken glass and you nudge his butt with your foot, making him laugh. “I took a flight, obviously baby.” He answers your question, being difficult.

“Haha,” you roll your eyes, “no but seriously. Mick told me you were there when he called earlier.”

“You talk to Mick?” Seb asks, tossing the glass in the trash. You nod, “he just called to say hi because I texted him after the race.”

“You two text?”

“We do but that is soooo not the point right now, Sebastian.”

“You looked sad,” Seb tells you, “on the phone, so I came home. I mean you know, that’s so bad for the environment.. all the traveling.” He waves his finger around in a circle before he shrugs, “but my love for you comes first.”

His words tug on your heart, you looked sad so he came home. He’d put himself through 3 different time zones just so he could spend a day or two with you.

Sometimes it’s hard for you to believe that the fluffy blonde haired, shy, jokester of a boy turned into the incredibly remarkable man standing in front of you.

You never forget why you married Sebastian but days like today were a reminder.

“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask, your hand on his cheek when he steps closer to you.

“I wonder the same thing.. you know, how you got so lucky.” He says with a smile which makes you laugh.

“Such a dork,” you give him a nudge, sliding off the counter to get the cake out the oven and Seb cleans up the spilt wine for you. You set the pan on the stove to cool down for a moment.

“Oh,” Sebastian sighs, looking over at you. “I love this song.” The opening notes of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli began to play.

“Our wedding song.” You hum, smiling at your husband.

The song became your wedding song by accident; the deejay lost the original set list you had given him and was winging it off what he could remember. You were trying not to send yourself into a panic attack so no one cared to mention to you that he wasn’t going to play the right song for your first dance.

Micheal took it upon himself to pick a song, stopping the deejay from looking for you because he thought it was better for you to not go to jail for murder on your wedding day.

He picked the first song that came to mind; also happened to be the same song you had danced to with Mick in their backyard earlier that summer. Mick had to be maybe 13 years old the year you and Sebastian got married, so Seb’s whole notion of you two texting wasn't weird at all because Mick was like a baby brother to you at this point.

That year was eventful besides the wedding, Sebastian won his third championship that year and you completed medical school.

“Dance with me,” Seb grabs your hand, spinning you around the kitchen.

You end up back in front of him, a hand on his shoulder and the other holding his free hand, Sebastian’s free hand rests on your back.

The two of you replicated the steps of your first dance perfectly, a little tradition you had for your anniversaries but today was just special for no reason in particular. When the song came to an end, Sebastian kissed you softly before letting you go.

You move away for a moment to get the cake and set the pan on the counter, you open the ice cream container and hand Seb a spoon. You hum, your craving for sweets satisfied by the cake.

“Wait,” you look over at him, “how long have you been home?”

“Got in around 10, figured you were at work and went to bed. I thought I'd surprise you in bed but you didn’t come upstairs.” He says between bites.

“Hm, sorry. I thought I was home alone.” You chuckled.

Seb smiles, reaching over to write away some of the chocolate from your face, “Happy anniversary,” he hums.

Your brows furrow, “our anniversary was in July.” You tell him, confused.

He nods, “I know, our wedding anniversary; but when did we start dating ?”

You think back, that was over 12 years ago. It was a long time to think back to be honest. Your parents were investors in Red Bull and you had joined them at a few races over the season in 2010. You met Sebastian in April and you two didn’t start seeing each other until August but only made things official in.. October.

“Seb,” you coo, “oh baby, you remembered?”

“How could I forget? You’re the woman of my dreams.” He smiles, a hand cupping your cheek.

“Even after I nearly had a heart attack just now and probably am in need of a shower?” You ask him, smiling at him.

Sebastian smiles, “The good and the bad, honey.”

“Good, I love you.” You tell him, your hand on his cheek before you kiss him. Sebastian’s tongue runs across his lips, “chocolate,” he hums, making you laugh.

----

taglist: @timetoracewrites @diorleclerc @lickmeleclerc @halsteadssneakylink @dragon-of-winterfell @benedictscanvas @elisaa-shelby @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco @dr3lover @troybolton14 @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit @somanyfandomsbruh @damnyoulifee @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles @barzysreputation @thybulleric @valkyrie418 @ricsaigaslec @idkiwantchocolatee @sessgjarg

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byunbaekby · 4 years ago

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title — the things i know pairing — soccerplayer!jisung x female reader genres — angst, fluff, high school au, strangers to lovers au, first love au, long distance relationship, hurt and comfort, coming of age overall warnings — underage drinking, cancer, character death, language, mentions of hickeys, fainting, mentions and descriptions of hospitals, soccer inaccuracies, lots of angst (you’ve been warned!) word count — 14.8k summary — jisung has never been keen on growing up, or even understanding what adulting means. at seventeen, all he knows is: he loves soccer (and he’s damn gifted at it), and girls are very pretty but also plenty scary. then he met you, his first love who turned his life upside down and made his stomach roll like the soccer balls he loved to kick around the field. but when your cancer comes back after years in remission, jisung thinks, he doesn’t really want to grow up anymore. playlist — falling, harry styles ; your guardian angel, red jumpsuit apparatus ; my first and last, nct dream ; bye my first, nct dream ; orchid, jeremy zucker

additional — for the heartbreak hotel collab hosted by @nct-writers. my concept in the five stages of grief was “acceptance and hope.” thank you to my babes @suh-insane and @astroboy-lele for proof-reading!

The thing about knowledge is that you never know when or what you’re going to learn. There’s no way for you to predict what will be of your mind when you fall into bed that night, surrendering to the moon. In the morning, there’s no telling what knowledge your brain will choose to store away for remembrance over the course of the night, and what your brain will decide is unnecessary. What you decide not to remember is a memory you can’t even miss.

When you wake up every morning, you don’t know if you’ll go to bed having met someone who will change your life forever.

At seventeen, there are two things that Park Jisung knows. One, he loves playing soccer (and he’s damn good at it, the way his long legs carry him across the field in what seems to onlookers like seconds). Two, girls are very pretty but plenty scary as well.

The day starts out normally, like any other away game that the team plays.

He wakes up at six o’clock on the dot, and eats a large breakfast to hold him over for the game, then packs a few granola bars into his soccer bag and lets his sister know he’s leaving before he jogs the way to the park where the bus is waiting for his team. The ride is normally an hour long, so he either tucks his earbuds into his ears and tries to get in a short nap or he converses with his teammates.

Today though, the bus ride is three hours long. Crossing his hoodie-clad arms across his chest to act against the cold air of the bus, he focuses his gaze outside and watches as the town goes by.

“Yo, Jisung, check this out!”

At the sound of his name he turns his head, blinking when he sees a number of his teammates in the surrounding area nudging him closer. A few of them are leaning in towards a particular teammate, who displays a proud expression. “What’s up,” asks Jisung as he too leans forward toward his team member, curiosity slightly piqued.

Jaemin, the teammate in question, tugs the collar of his jersey down to reveal his skin. On the milky white curve of Jaemin’s collarbone, he sports a dark purple bruise, surrounded by a perimeter of yellow where the skin seems to be healing. There’s no question as to where that mark came from, and it definitely wasn’t from soccer.

“Ew, man, that looks sick!” comes from Donghyuck, along with a few comments from others, either approving or disturbed.

“Where’d that come from?”

Renjun slaps Mark on the chest, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Obviously, it was from Anne! Didn’t you see the way they were all over each other at last week’s game?” Jaemin grins, eyes going lovesick at the thought of his girlfriend.

Jisung’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “That’s disgusting, man,” he comments, nose still scrunched in distaste as he leans back into his original spot on the bus seat. Another thing he’ll never understand is why people are so desperate to grow up, as if giving hickeys and sneaking vodka into their Hydro flasks makes them somehow more adult.

He slips his earbuds into his ears, playing some light muzak to lull him to sleep with his head leaned rather uncomfortably against the cold window.

Jisung doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart; he’s gotten passing to above average grades his entire life. He’s not musically talented, nor is he particularly a smooth talker.

But hearing people call him gifted is a feeling he relishes every time.

With his long legs and strangely large and spacious lungs, soccer called the boy’s name from the time he could run. He dominated the peewee league, then the club teams until this point, at the ripe age of seventeen waiting to be scouted for college teams.

He wasn’t usually one to brag but today, he had shot the winning goal.

Everyone has their thing, the one thing that they excel at. For Picasso it was painting, for Yiruma it was piano, for Renjun it’s spending four hours every night researching alien conspiracy theories. For Jisung, it’s soccer. But he’s never been exceptionally good at speaking to people.

“What’s your name?” He hears a voice, cheery and upbeat, behind him as he’s grabbing his bag on the side of the field. The game is over, and the crowd begins to dissipate while the team members are gathering their things to return to the bus. Turning over his shoulder he sees you, wearing a bright smile. Cautiously he responds, “Jisung Park.”

“Oh, so you’re Korean then. I’m gonna write that down, okay? How long have you been playing soccer?” You ask next, and now Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Write what down?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible. Even so, how is he supposed to react to a random person at a game suddenly appearing to ask him questions? As he wipes his forehead with his towel he adds, “Who even are you?”

Quickly you say, “I write in the high school newspaper, and wanted to get a close-up of today’s star.” It’s then that Jisung realizes the camera slung around your neck and the notepad in your hands.

“Why are you writing about me? I don’t even go here.”

“Because,” you say, a slight sigh creeping into your voice now. “Our team sucked today. You straight up stole the show, and no one wants to read about a team that lost. I’d rather give them a peek at the star.”

“14!” His coach yells his number once, causing Jisung to look over his shoulder to the source of the voice, where his teammates are already beginning to pile onto the bus. The boy in question slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks his soccer ball under his right arm before finally getting a good look at you. “Shouldn’t you be writing something to raise your team’s spirit or something? Giving them support, maybe?”

You shrug. “I don’t like underdogs. Don’t like writing about them. I’d rather read about the heroes. So how long have you been playing soccer again?”

“Jisung!” Now it’s Chenle calling after him, and he really needs to go. Eyes flickering to the street where his teammates are gesturing for him to hurry, he looks back to you. Your eyebrow is raised expectantly, right hip popped out as you wait. Before he starts to run off, he manages a small, “I’ve been playing eleven years. Um… bye.”

Then he turns away and his long legs carry him to the bus a few meters away. Even so, behind him he can hear your loud, proud voice yelling after him with the name of your high school: “Check the online newspaper! You’ll see my article!”

What a weirdo, he can’t help but think as the team cheers for their star player getting on the bus back home.

A week later, it’s another Saturday night following a victorious win against another team in the local area when Jisung gets a call from Chenle. “What’s up,” he asks immediately, leaning back in his desk chair to throw his soccer ball up in the air and catch it with one hand.

“Wanna party tonight? Celebrate our win a bit?”

“Where?” asks Jisung. He’d never been big on parties. For one, his long legs that were great for running weren’t exactly skilled in dancing or anything of the like. Secondly, he’d definitely be expected to talk to girls and he’s not really in the mood to make a fool of himself.

“Taeyong’s house. Me, Mark, Hyuck, and Jaemin are going. Renjun’s busy, and Jeno wants to spend time with his cat. What do you say? Wanna join?”

Jisung sighs. He was honestly just exhausted. “Think I’ll pass. My sister’s been getting on me about my bio grade.”

Chenle groans on the other line. “Lame.”

“Next time, promise,” says Jisung.

“Fine. Have fun studying, looooser!” This is the last thing Chenle says before hanging up, leaving his best friend alone to shake his head with a small laugh. Then he remembers something, some words that a stranger had yelled out to him a week before.

Sitting up at his desk, Jisung opens his laptop and types in the name of your high school, along with your town. A few clicks around the website finds him at the online news section, plus a scroll or two past some questionable articles, there it is: a picture of him mid-kick, the winning one if he remembers well enough. His nose is scrunched in concentration and strands of dark hair cling to his forehead.

Soccer Superstar from the opposing team steals the show and the win!

A small scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, trying to humble himself as he reads over the first few paragraphs.

Our school’s boys soccer team faced a devastating loss on Saturday in the face of the opposing team’s ace player (pictured above). The game ended promptly when the superstar player confidently kicked in the final shot, though the result had been clear from the first half of the game.

A short interview with the hotshot player revealed that he has been playing soccer for eleven years! A senior from Neo Culture Prep, it is clear as day that the school is very lucky to have such a prodigy on the team.

Who is this superstar player, you ask?

His name is Jisung Park.

Geez, Jisung thinks. He knew he was good but not that good. The article did a good job of spicing him up, making him look like he was a lot better than he really was. There’s too much fluff; sure, he’s skilled and he knows it, but—he touches his cheeks. They’re warm—the article makes him sound like a soccer god, and it’s beyond embarrassing. Who even are you?

A scroll to the bottom of the page tells him all he needs to know.

Article written by: (Name) (Last Name).

He doesn’t return to your town for almost two months. There’s a tournament today, the hours lurching between games giving him more than enough time to psych himself out about how he’ll play.

It’s noon, the sun shining overhead causing a sheet of sweat to amass on Jisung’s forehead. His team has just won their second match of the day, and in waiting for their next game, his eyes are scanning the bleachers set up for observers on the side of the field. It’s not hard to find you, same camera hanging around your neck.

With his long legs, he jogs over to you towel in hand. You’re not at all focused on him, eyes pressed into the camera’s viewfinder as you attempt to capture a good shot of the current game.

“I don’t like the stuff you said about me in your article.”

His deep voice suddenly intrudes your thoughts, and you jump in your place. As you turn to him and drop your camera from your face, he catches sight of the way your eyes widen at his appearance. A flood of recognition replaces the shock before you tilt your head. “Why? It was all good stuff.”

Patting at his forehead with his towel, Jisung responds, “Yeah, exactly. I’m not that good. I could’ve played better that day.” This brings a small snort from you. “Really! They were narrowing the angle on me, I should have flanked or lofted.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s—”

You cut him off before he can explain. “You’re good. Why are you so shy to accept that?”

“Why do you keep trying to paint me as the main character of the team? Everyone works hard together.” He questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“Because you are,” you respond matter-of-factly, focused enough to press your eye into the viewfinder again. A few seconds pass, and Jisung recognizes the click of the camera as you capture something on the field. “You’re clearly the best player on the team by a long shot. You’re the main character, the hero.”

At your response, Jisung shakes his head in disbelief and scrunches his nose. There’s really no getting through to you. “I’m more than the hero you think I am.”

You turn to him, facial features contorted into a mischievous expression. “I’m sure you are.” Jisung realizes then that you’re holding something out to him. Taking it, he observes it. A… business card? With your name and number on it. “(Name). Aspiring journalist.”

“You have a business card? Aren’t you like, seventeen?”

You shrug, smile tugging on your lips. “Never hurts to be prepared. Call me.” It’s the last thing you say before you flitter away on quick feet, leaving to interview the team which has just won their match. He watches you leave, wondering if you know what kind of effect you have on people.

“I don’t know, man. She seems kinda crazy,” says Hyuck from the seat next to him, leaning his head back. However, a sudden bump in the road causes the bus to jump, startling the boy a bit. Jisung had just shared his thoughts about asking you out with his friend, who immediately made a face and shook his head.

“Crazy?” Sure, you’re a bit forward and maybe slightly reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re… crazy. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you and from the conversations you’ve shared over text and phone… he thinks he likes you. Like, really likes you. It’s goddamn terrifying.

“Yeah, we all saw her article,” Chenle speaks up from the seat behind him. “She’s obsessed with you.”

Jisung rolls her eyes. “It was one article. That doesn’t mean she’s obsessed.”

“I think you should do it. It’d be funny to get on camera in case you fail,” snorts Renjun.

Jaemin pipes in from in front of them. “But if you do ask her out, she lives three hours away. That’s a lot of distance.” He’s the only one in a relationship, so maybe he has the only opinion that Jisung trusts.

“Other people have done more distance.”

Now, it’s Jeno’s turn to pipe in. “But you’re not other people, you’re Jisung Park. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” Should he feel insulted? Chenle also adds, “Jeno’s right. You’re a senior! It’s your year, and you wanna spend it tied down to some girl who lives three hours away?”

But you’re not just some girl. Mark’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, and most of the time, he’s the most level headed. Jisung turns to him with a sincere expression and asks, “What do you think?”

Though he had been trying to stay quiet throughout the conversation, he stretches a bit in his seat before finally saying, “I think you should go for it.”

“I think you should too!” Jaemin says. “But I think you should be prepared for what it means.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll hype you up.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jisung asks. “If she rejects me, at least she’s three hours away, right?” There’s murmurs of agreement around the seven of them. He tries to sound relaxed, but the thought of asking a girl out for the first time causes his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Oh god… should he do it?

“So?” asks Hyuck after a few seconds of silence, and it’s then that Jisung realizes everyone’s looking at him. “Are you gonna do it?”

He gulps. “... No idea.”

A collective groan emerges from the group of boys. Hyuck, ever the genius, straightens his back with a glint in his eye. “How about this? If we win, you ask her out. You’ll be riding on a winning spree and it’ll give you confidence. If we lose then… there’s more girls back home.”

That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But oh god, he doesn’t know which option he wants.

For the first time, Jisung feels like his legs are knotting into each other, tumbling over his feet.

Soccer had always come easily to him, like breathing. But for some unknown reason, he’s totally off his game today. He knows the play, his strengths, and even the weaknesses of his opponents, but he trips over his feet.

No, that’s a lie. He definitely does know the source of his nervousness, and it lives in the form of a girl with a camera and a notepad sitting in the bottom corner bleacher. His breath is frantic as he zips back and forth across the field. The sounds of the game are ringing loud in his ear, and he can hardly even focus on the black and white ball being kicked around, let alone what the coach is screaming at them. They’re so close, one more goal should do it.

He knows what’s going to happen. Jisung Park had always been known for his ending kicks.

But what if he messes it up? What if he fumbles the kick or whiffs it?

Then again, does he even want to win? That’s a dumb quesiton—of course he does—but the question is: is he ready for what comes with the win? He really shouldn’t look, shouldn’t peek for just one look at you, but he does. You’re scribbling in your notepad, and he swears in that millisecond that you look so pretty.

Yeah, he wants it. He really wants it.

He’s ready, and—oh god, Sungchan is passing the ball to him. Suddenly Jisung is on high alert, winding up toward the goal. He captures Sungchan’s ball with ease, no longer tripping over himself as he makes his way to the end goal.

One kick, just nail this one kick.

He winds up, turning his body to the correct angle; he kicks it and…

Please go in, please go in, he’s begging.

The ball flies in straight past the goalkeeper, who jumps toward it but there’s no use. It all happens so quickly, and suddenly his team erupts into celebration when the referee blows his whistle. Still standing there, Jisung catches his breath and stares into the goal.

He won.

That means… He glances at you. You’re wearing a huge smile on your face, and without noticing it himself, Jisung has his own proud smile on his. His momentary peace is interrupted by his friends running toward him, nearly knocking him over in their celebration.

“Yeeahhh, Jisung Park, you’re the man!”

A few minutes later, Jisung tries to calm his nerves after thanking the opposing team for a good game. When he returns to the sidelines where his stuff is, he can barely get some water down his throat before Chenle is pushing a soccer ball into his hand. “Good luck, dude,” he says, and Jisung can feel the others’ eyes on him. Oh no, it’s time.

He steals a glance at you, and—Oh. You’re looking at him too. A bashful smile spreads over your lips and you turn away, focusing back to your conversation with your friend. His heart is beating so loud, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s because of the soccer game. Turning back to his friends, he groans, “I need a pep talk.”

“Okay, uh,” Mark attempts. “You got this, you know you’re the man. Um… if she rejects you, then it’s okay, there’s other fish in the sea!” A groan erupts through the group. “That’s not a pep talk, Mark!”

“Listen,” says Chenle suddenly, grabbing Jisung’s shoulders to stare at him. “She’s not gonna reject you. You’re Jisung freaking Park! The star of the team and my best friend! Go get ‘em, and don’t take no for an answer!” With this, he gives Jisung a small push in the girl’s direction.

“Actually, uh—I think no means no,” pipes in Jisung but everyone cuts him off with a collective, “JUST GO!”

Pink spreads across his cheeks as he slowly walks in your direction. At a good distance away, he places the coveted soccer ball down on the ground and winds himself up for a kick. Okay, he just shot the winning goal of the game. If he can do that, he can do this. Running forward the slightest, Jisung gives himself a silent pep talk as his foot taps the ball. It goes moving from its spot, flying through the air… and that’s when Jisung realizes his mistake. Instead of gently tapping against your ankle like he had planned, the ball flies straight in the air, knocking the side of your head rather harshly.

“Not that hard, genius!” Chenle chastises from behind him, and Jisung has to hold back the desire to actually groan in that moment. He immediately runs toward you, hands out in surprise. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, reaching out for you. You’re rubbing the spot on the side of your head where the ball had hit, and he wants to disappear right there.

He never should have done this.

Why was he born again?

“I’m so sorry,” he says again for the nth time, feeling shame and humiliation speed up his spine at the way you wince when you touch the side of your head. “Oh my god, go get me an ice pack,” he demands over his shoulder at his friends.

“No, no I’m okay,” you reassure everyone. Now all the eyes are on the two of you.

A few moments of silence pass as you eye the soccer ball which has rolled some distance away, crouching down to pick it up. Ball in hand, you scan the outside of it… and destroying all of Jisung’s hopes and expectations, you burst into laughter.

You laugh so hard, the boisterous sounds leaving your lips so vehemently that you have to cover your mouth with your hand. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “I just kicked you in the head and you’re laughing?” Oh god, he must have done more damage than he thought. You don’t answer, the only sounds leaving you are giggles and guffaws. It’s only making him feel worse; geez, he wishes he wasn’t so tall so he could positively disappear right now.

You finally look up at him and meet his gaze, your own eyes crinkled in delight. Flipping the ball over in your hands, you present to him the ball. Written on one of the large white spots reads a firm, “Go out with me?” in black marker.

“This is why you kicked me in the head?” You ask, still chuckling the slightest. Bashfully, Jisung nods. You laugh again. Every time you do that, he feels like getting smaller and smaller. “Of course I’ll go out with you.”

Wait, really?

He says these words aloud, eyes wide at your ease. He hadn’t expected you to actually say yes! “Sure,” you respond with a smile. “Though I could’ve gone without the head injury.”

This brings a laugh from the both of you. He really had been worrying so much about nothing. His frame instantly relaxes, taking the ball back from you. “You sure you don’t need the ice pack?”

“No, I could definitely use an ice pack.”

The first date happens two weeks after that game, and it’s his first real date so he has no idea how to act. Everything goes fine—he takes you to the local arcade in your town, and though he’d deny it to the ends of the earth, you beat him in foosball.

“Ha!” You had screamed. “Superstar soccer player Jisung Park, and you can’t beat me in table soccer?” His cheeks had burned pink at the sound of your voice reverberating around the public arcade, but honestly the mirth in your eyes was worth it.

His cheeks are red but the air is cold on the walk home to your house. He had promised to have you home by nine, and it’s—he checks the time on his phone—8:45.

A look at you, holding the giant stuffed teddy bear that you had won (he hadn’t won it for you, because lord knows he’s horrible at skee-ball), and Jisung can see the air leaving your lips. “Hey, you cold?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, though you scoot closer to him on the sidewalk. His tongue laves over his bottom lip quickly, and he almost wants to hold your hand. But that wouldn’t do much to keep you warm.

He purses his lips, then immediately his hands are working at taking off his hoodie. That’s a cute thing, isn’t it? Boyfriends giving hoodies to their girlfriends? “Here, take this.”

When you take one look at the hoodie in his hands and roll your eyes, Jisung knows he’s in for it. “Seriously? You can’t fool me with some cheesy rom-com moves,” you laugh.

Ouch.

That hurt his pride. He was just trying to be nice, maybe a tad bit romantic, but you clearly weren’t having it. He should have known you would be so tsundere, and maybe he does.

He knows you act strong, like there is no way on the face of the earth that you would ever swoon for his lame attempts at flirting. But when you reach upward on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you step into your house, he knows you like it just as much as he does.

For the longest time, it’s been just him and his sister Naeun.

His parents passed away shortly after his birth, so they stayed under the custody of their aunt. When his sister became an adult, she became his legal guardian. Since then, it’s been the two of them against the world.

Though kids had sometimes made fun of him for not having a mom or a dad, Jisung never paid those kids much attention. Sure, he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to drive or a mom to attend his parent-teacher conferences, but he had his sister and she was all he’d never need. Naeun gave up everything for him: she didn’t go to college, she traded nights out with her friends to help him with her math homework, she worked two jobs so he could play soccer. She had worked so hard, perhaps sheltered Jisung so much that he had always lived a comfortable life.

It never occurs to him just how much she had struggled until the morning she asks him to get a job.

She sits across the dining table at breakfast, and over his cereal, Jisung notes how shaken and guilty she looks. There must be something on her mind, but that’s how his sister’s always been; she doesn’t like to worry him, and speaks up when she’s ready. When she finally tells him, he blinks, confused.

“I can’t pay the bills alone. Not with soccer getting more expensive, and the landlord raising the rent—that bastard,” she mumbles under her breath, surprising Jisung. She hardly cursed. “It’s… It’ll just be for a short time. I promise.” She has tears in her eyes. Jisung furrows his eyebrows; she must feel guiltier about this than he thought. Immediately he nods in understanding. “It’s fine, Noona. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, go out looking this weekend.”

He takes another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, thinking that the conversation will end there. But it doesn’t, his sister’s quiet voice reaching his ears. “Promise me you’ll go to college, Sung. Promise me you’ll make it. Make it all worth it.”

And it’s in that moment, in the way that his sister’s voice is on the edge of breaking, that it occurs to him just how much his sister has sacrificed for him. How quickly she had to grow up, having become his parent at eighteen, just a few months away from how old he was now. And he was nowhere near as responsible as her.

He swears in that moment that he’ll uphold his promise. He’ll get a scholarship, he’ll help his sister out. He’ll pay back everything she’s given up for him.

Finally, today you’re in town.

It’s the first time you’ve come to visit him in his town, and he’s so excited to show you everything: his school, his favorite ice cream place on the corner of the street from his apartment building, and even the park he grew up kicking soccer balls at. Even after all these years, him and his friends still came here to practice their soccer technique.

Today, the two of you are sitting underneath a tree at said park, his head in your lap. You’re running your hands through his dark hair, and wow, he’d never admit that it feels so good.

There’s a small laugh heard from you as you comb through his locks. “You should dye your hair.”

“Suddenly?” He asks. “I don’t even know what color I’d dye it.”

“You should do like, a blue or something. Oh, purple! Purple would be nice!” Your excitement causes him to roll his eyes promptly, sitting up. “I’ll dye my hair purple if you dye your hair purple,” he retorts to you.

“Maybe I will,” you say, standing onto your feet now that he’s gotten off of you. Wiping the grass from your legs briefly, you nod toward his soccer ball a few feet away. “C’mon, let’s play.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play soccer.”

“Yeah, is that so surprising?”

“Um, yeah, a little bit considering the fact that you said it’s boring and that you complain having to get up to go to the fridge at two in the morning,” quips Jisung with a laugh. You only roll your eyes in response. “I never said soccer was boring, I just said it’s only interesting when you play. And you’re gonna teach me right now, so stand up,” you say, extending a hand to him.

He takes your hand, rising to his feet before picking up the ball. “Fine,” he relents, a smirk making its way onto his face. “Try to keep up.”

For fifteen minutes, the two of you race up and down the park’s open grass field, chasing the ball in every direction. He evades you, long legs carrying him and the ball while you chase after him.

“Wait,” you say mid-sprint, slowing to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and slowly Jisung stops his running also. “You good?” He asks from a few feet away.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, reaching a hand up to wipe at your forehead. “Just… gimme a sec.” A minute passes of you catching your breath, but Jisung doesn’t pay it much attention—a person who didn’t play soccer and have trained lungs like him would struggle.

“Okay, okay,” you finally say, shaking your head a bit. “Let’s go again.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, worry seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, yes! Just—just go.”

So he does, beginning to kick the ball down field as he chases after it, stopping past center field to pass the ball to you. You’re racing after him, and though the ball is coming your way, you trip over it, falling straight onto the floor.

Your head hangs low, and he immediately rushes over to you.

“Hey, hey! You okay?” He asks, kneeling down but your eyes are closed. He swipes a hand over your forehead, and it’s that moment when he realizes your eyes are closed. Did you pass out? Had he pushed you too far? “(Name)?”

No response. Oh god, what is he supposed to do?

Is he supposed to check if you’re breathing? Where can he check for a pulse again? In his moment of inadequacy, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.

She’ll know what to do, but it pains him that he doesn’t.

His sister arrives quickly, and immediately takes you to the hospital. According to her, you do have a pulse and you probably just had heat exhaustion. He sure hopes so…

For a few hours he sits in the waiting room as he awaits the arrival of your parents. They rushed over from your town, four hours away, and this definitely was not the impression he wanted to have on them. Head in his hands, he can’t help but worry about you.

You do wake up, eventually but he can’t see you until your parents arrive.

They take you back home. You’re walking and talking again, but as you shoot him a weak smile from over your shoulder, walking down the hall and out of the hospital, Jisung can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong.

He swears he’s never been so tired.

Working at McDonald’s isn’t horrible, per se, it’s just different. But it definitely takes more out of him than soccer ever did. The second he walks into his room Jisung drops his backpack on the bean bag next to the door and almost collapses on his bed. Throwing his work cap on the floor, he runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone.

The best thing about coming home from work, is coming home to you.

He immediately fishes for his phone from his pocket and opens it to speed dial. Pressing on your contact, Jisung presses the phone to his ear and waits for his girlfriend’s voice on the other end. The line picks up.

“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips without him even knowing.

“Hi…”

Something’s wrong. Your voice is missing its signature excitement, the snarkiness he had grown accustomed to. He sits up in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

Yes, you’re supposed to say. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just peachy.

But you don’t. “I got a call from the hospital.”

After you had fainted the other day playing soccer with him, the hospital had run a few tests to make sure you were okay. He knew this, you both did. They were supposed to say that you had been dehydrated, that you hadn’t eaten in a few hours. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Jisung…”

“What, what is it?”

There’s a momentary silence on the other side, then a shaky breath. “When I was ten… I got really sick. I was always having nosebleeds, always tired—some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed. They took me to the doctor and they told me that… I had leukemia.”

Jisung releases a heavy breath, staring into his sheets. No… don’t say it.

“I fought it for two years, and I beat it. God, it was… it was really hard, and I got through it. It’s been five years now but—but the hospital called and…” Please, no. “My cancer came back.”

Jisung’s never felt this way before; like all the air in his lungs have been pulled from his chest, lost to the universe. Not even when he sprinted across the soccer field, not even when he had gotten punched in the chest. All those times, his chest burned with fire, be it anger or passion. But now… his chest feels empty and hollow and numb. He manages to spit out a few words.

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be okay, you’re supposed to go to prom together. Graduate. He’s supposed to get a soccer scholarship, you’re supposed to study journalism at the same school, and the long distance would cease to exist. You were supposed to be happy. “But it’s gonna be okay, right? You’ve fought it before, you can do it again.” Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him to ask for consolation when you were the one with the illness. But you were a journalist, never a liar. Your voice is weak, like you’ve already given up.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s up with you?” Chenle’s voice is almost worried, but Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell because his eyes are focused on the ground. He’s been kicking a soccer ball around with Chenle and Mark for a while now, but there’s clearly something very off about the teenager today.

“Yeah, is something wrong?” Mark asks.

Jisung blows some air into his cheeks. Should he tell them? It’s your private information but technically, you’re his girlfriend right? The news has been troubling him for a few days now, and he’s had no one to talk to. Surely, he can’t talk to his sister about it.

He should just spit it out. “(Name) has cancer.”

It’s like the world stops, his friends taking in his words. “W-What? What did you just say?” Chenle speaks first, then Mark quickly follows. “Did you say (Name) has cancer?”

Keeping his gaze on the ground, Jisung nods and gives the ball a small kick in Mark’s direction. “Yeah. She had leukemia when she was younger, and… the other day she went to the hospital and they said that it came back. Her cancer came back.” When he looks up, both his friends are looking at him with genuine concern etched across their faces.

“Seriously? Cancer? And you’re still dating her?” Mark asks, causing Jisung to raise an eyebrow in confusion. Did he just insinuate what he thinks he did?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Chenle speaks up next, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “Jisung, you guys have only been dating like, a couple months. It was just like yesterday that you kicked her in the head asking her out!”

“And?” Jisung asks pointedly. Suddenly he’s in front of Chenle, and though he technically towers over the latter in height, Chenle’s chest is straight as he makes his point.

“Is it really worth it to stay on a sinking ship?”

Jisung’s voice reaches a new level of low, erupting from a place deep inside of him that he’s hidden away. It’s a place of rage, of anger sizzling and bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly they’re both chest to chest, unwilling to back down. “Now, I know you’re not talking about my girlfriend.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mark interrupts, hands coming between them to tear the two boys apart. “Calm down. Both of you.”

“He started it,” accuses Jisung quickly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is not a sinking ship. Neither is my relationship, and I don’t need you to comment on it.” He looks to Mark for guidance. Mark had always been the most logical one, the one he would look to for help, and though he thinks that Mark will agree with him, he almost looks guilty.

“But it’s true, Jisung. We’re worried about you. She’s just a girl. Is she really worth hurting yourself over?” He had trusted Mark to be on his side, but now Jisung just releases a scoff. He had been hoping for his friends’ support, but it seems like he’ll be going through this alone, then.

You’ve been avoiding him.

Of course, there’s not much that can be done to avoid him when you live hours away from each other. But you haven’t been responding to his texts, and when you do, they’re mostly short and taut. You’ve been cutting your phone calls short, often saying that you’re tired. Maybe you really are, but it hurts hearing the line cut off, not knowing how you’re really feeling.

Jisung can’t help but feel like he’s failing. He should be doing better.

It’s like your relationship is an hourglass, running out of time with every day that he spends going to school, work, or soccer practice. Like you’re getting further and further away with each short text message.

His entire life has been spent running. Speeding forward center field like a lightning bolt, long legs carrying him far ahead everyone else. But for the first time, Jisung feels like he’s falling behind.

It only takes a three hour bus ride (four, with the added stops) but in Jisung’s mind, it’s all worth it. It won’t be the first time he’s gone over to your house, but it is indeed the first he’s ever showed up unannounced, which is a strange appearance given that he lives three hours away. But with everything happening, he’s willing to give up the day and six hours worth of travel for you.

Sitting on the bus, he pulls out his phone. It’s early, like nine in the morning, but he knows you have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours so you’re definitely awake. He presses the facetime button, but you quickly reject his call. His eyebrows furrow, but lighten with an incoming text from you.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : jisung, i’m using the bathroom rn. call you back in a bit.

He nearly rolls his eyes, but it’s a sweet one. You’re always so candid.

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : you act like you’ve never facetimed me on the toilet before.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : wow, call me out more why don’t you

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : pick up my call, brat ♡

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : no, You pick up My call :p

Seconds later, his phone is lit up with an incoming facetime screen. A laugh almost leaves him at your tenacity before accepting the call.

The call opens up to the visual of his girlfriend, you in your PJs fixing the phone up against the mirror in the bathroom. He sees himself reflected in the mini screen, hoodie on and earbuds in wearing a boyish grin. “Hey pretty girl. Make sure you wash your hands.”

You roll your eyes at his remarks. “Hey ugly boy. I’m already doing that. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure, because I don’t think you brushed your teeth after you fell asleep on call the other night,” he teases, clicking his tongue as you’re the only person he can tease so easily. “I’m on the bus to practice.” A lie, but a white one at that. “What are you up to?”

You wack your still dry toothbrush in front of the camera, nose scrunching up in the slightest. It’s a habit of his that you’ve picked up. “I’m also doing that right now.” You wet the brush, putting some toothpaste on it. “I thought you didn’t have practice this Friday? Or was that next Friday?”

Your actions bring a low laugh to his lips, and his eyes momentarily focus on the passing landscape outside the bus window as he’s now three hours out of his normal perimeter. “Uh, Coach wanted to add in a practice today. Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

You nod at his answer, toothbrush in mouth. “I do, I think it’s like, in a hour or something.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies simply as the bus comes to a stop, your house only a short walk away. He stands, gathering his bag. “Gotta go, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, pumpkin honeysuckle,” he snorts, making his way to the front of the bus.

Your brows furrow as you give him a disapproving look through the screen, shaking your head slightly before moving to rinse your mouth. “Talk to you soon, don’t get hurt at practice or I’ll fight you.”

He scoffs as he steps out of the bus, into your neighborhood. “Like you could take me. Later.” You probably could, given your determination, but he gives you a nose scrunch before ending the call. He’s only taken a few steps when his phone rings with a text message.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : you and i both know i could take you :)

A snort leaves him. Classic (Name).

When he arrives a few minutes later, he hesitates at the door, only praying that the person who opens up is you, not your parents or god forbid, your brother. It only takes a few hard knocks before he hears your voice on the other side, determined to see just who the hell had the nerve to interrupt your laziness this early in the morning. “Who the fu—”

He tsk’s in distaste. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the first words to leave his girlfriend’s mouth are cuss words. “You potty mouth. I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, opening his arms.

Jisung’s not quite sure what he expected. For you to jump in his arms? What a delusional boy. You blink for a few seconds, then suddenly you’re throwing yourself at him, fist first to land a deserved punch to his arm. “I thought you had practice? What are you doing here and why do you look so much cuter than when I last saw you?”

“Well, I lied,” he snickers, patting your head. “I’m here to annoy you, obviously. But you look too. For a—” A person dying of cancer, but he can’t say it. He won’t. “—person who barely got up twenty minutes ago.”

Your hand immediately begins rubbing the spot that your fist landed, worried that it might actually bruise in a bit. Jisung asks, “So are you gonna invite me in, or?”

“What are you, a vampire or something? I’m pretty sure you weren’t given permission when you entered my heart so just come in and cuddle me before my appointment.”

Your response catches him off guard so he blinks before entering in silently, sticking his hands back into the loose fitting pocket of his hoodie. Even after six months, he’s still not used to you saying those kinds of things. Hell, he still gets sweaty holding your hand.

“Hey Mom! Dad!” You’re grabbing onto his arm, tugging him into the kitchen. “Jisung’s here!”

After a small breakfast and conversation with your parents, he’s given the permission to go with you to your doctor’s appointment. The two of you take the bus, hands interlaced as you sit, and Jisung smiles awkwardly when an elderly woman compliments the two of you, calling you a cute couple.

He’s never really been in a hospital before.

For an arduous soccer player, he’s lucky enough to never have suffered a pain great enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, nor had he ever been sickly enough to send him there. It’s for that reason that he feels slightly out of place, tucked in his hoodie whilst trying his best not to gaze at the others in the waiting room. Instead, he tries to keep his gaze focused upon his girlfriend as you remain bright despite their surroundings. Your hands intertwined, he feels a comfortable warmth seeping into his veins, gold in color and feeling. Gold like the ring on your finger, and like your heart.

He’s so lucky to have you.

“I don’t really have anything planned,” he says softly, giving your hand a slight squeeze. It’s true that your itinerary is next to nonexistent for this impromptu date, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, a hospital is a strange starting destination for a date but your relationship is a bit strange. Quietly, he says to you, voice low in the hopes that no one overhears, “Don’t hospitals scare you?”

He knows that you spent a good portion of your time here; surely you must have grown accustomed to it, but Jisung was not. Hospitals were cold… white and bleak and much too quiet.

“Nah, not really,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Except for all the souls wandering around.”

Jisung blinks. “Souls?” He gulps.

“Yup. The souls of the passing.” You click your tongue, along with a wink in his direction now that you’ve successfully managed to creep him out. Do you ever stop making jokes?

The door to the waiting room opens and a medical assistant calls your name. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell him, standing and releasing his arm. He gives a hesitant nod, watching as you leave through the door and disappear down the hall.

When you emerge, some forty-five minutes later, the mirth is gone from your eyes.

He knows right away: you didn’t get good news. His heart is pumping in his chest, like he’s waiting for you to collapse right there. Years could pass, and Jisung swears he’d never be able to erase that memory of you. “Are you—” Okay, he wants to ask. But you just give him a small smile and shake your head. It’s not the time. He cuts himself short, reaching a hand out to you with a small, albeit forced, smile. “Let’s go on our date.”

It’s a long afternoon, spent in the arcade where you had had your first date—this time, for memory’s sake, he gets another ring from the claw machine—then McDonald’s and ice cream. He treats you to lunch, courtesy of his employee discount, and the entire day is filled with laughter and mutual teasing. Everything feels like it’s okay again.

Jisung enjoys these moments the most.

The moments where he doesn’t feel like he has to be anybody: not the star soccer player, not the kind understanding younger brother, or a kid trying to look grown up at an adult party. With him he’s just you, awkwardness and quirks altogether. You’ve never hid yourself from him, and now he doesn’t have to hide himself either.

Now that the day is touching evening, the two of you sit at a park, relaxing mindlessly on the swings next to each other. Now that the romantic buzz is gone, the two of you have fallen into a comfortable silence.

“Thanks for coming this far, Ji. This was… nice.”

A small smile spreads over his lips. “It was nothing. I wanted to do it for a long time.”

“No, really,” you say, turning to him with a thankful smile. Your eyes are serious now, and Jisung feels the sunlight seep into his skin. “I really missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. This moment feels heavy, like he’ll remember it for years to come. “... I missed you too. A lot.” You both turn back to face the sunset, watching the sun fade behind a hill. It’s setting, streaks of gentle reds and soft-spoken oranges staining the empyrean firmament. It’s then that Jisung feels his heart begin to sink, like the sun, into the pit of his stomach.

“Are you scared?”

A moment passes without you saying anything, then you speak up beside him. “Not really. I mean, it’s just the hospital. The only thing that’ll suck is not being able to leave. I never thought I’d say it but, I’m really gonna miss going to school.”

Did you think you were never going to return? “Are your chances good?”

The implications from earlier at the hospital return. What are the chances that things aren’t looking up? “They say so,” you breath out.

That’s not good enough. Anything could happen. Jisung needs clarification, confirmation. He doesn’t want to lose you. “What if you—”

“I might.”

A beat of silence.

Jisung feels like crying. It gathers in the back of his throat. “What would I do without you?”

There it is: the implication that you’ll be gone. That one day, Jisung will have to wake up and face a world without you in it, a world with less happiness and less passion. A world where there isn’t someone who will call him ugly when really they think he’s the cutest to walk to the earth, or where there isn’t someone to make fun of him the way you do. A world with less love.

Your voice is dry as you speak.

“You’d move on.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever love anyone like you,” he finds himself saying.

“L-Love?” You suddenly say, voice the smallest he’s ever heard. You’ve always had the loudest voice, most prominent in his brain, but his words seem to have caught you off guard. “Do you? Love me?”

He doesn’t know what love feels like. He’s just a teenager, what is he supposed to know about love? About loss? Is it all-consuming, like in the movies? Is it meant to hurt? “... I think I do. I think I love you.”

There’s a sniffle next to him, and he turns immediately, alarmed that he may have made you cry. There are tears in your eyes, but they don’t fall. Being a writer, you talk too much. Your words are eloquent and true, though sometimes Jisung has a hard time getting you to stop talking. But this time, you choose to abandon words altogether, instead leaving your swing to stand in front of him. Compelled by nature, he stands too. Instead of speaking, you reach upward on your tiptoes once more. Except this time, you kiss him.

Your lips meet, and everything is golden.

And against the backdrop of the setting sun, it feels like the closing scene of Jisung’s very own romance movie. But this isn’t the end, he knows.

When he walks you home, he offers his sweater again.

This time not out of obligation or the desire to appear more romantic than he is, but because you’re cold. Really cold. You’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself not giving enough warmth.

“Here,” Jisung says, already beginning to take off his hoodie, but you stop him with a hand and a pointed look, though your chattering teeth cause you to stutter. “S-Still trying to woo me with cheap rom-com tricks?”

You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn and he hates it.

“Just take it,” he says, pushing it into your arms.

“No,” you argue. “You have a three hour ride home, it’s late and you’ll be cold.”

It’s obvious your illness has made you even more sensitive to the cold, and for that reason, Jisung’s fine facing the biting cold as long as you’re okay. “You’re freezing, please just take it.”

“Jisung, I said no.” Your voice is stern now, and he gets the feeling that he’s upset you. He gives up, gnawing on his bottom lip in deep thought. He just wants to make you feel better, doing what he thinks will help but with you, it never does. You’re so independent, too much so and much too stubborn to admit you need his help… “Fine,” he says before putting his hoodie back on. If you won’t take his warmth, then he’ll give it to you.

He lifts his arm, placing it fully around your shoulders and pulling you to him so your bodies meet. “At least let me hold you,” he mumbles. Your frame freezes in his for a moment, until you wrap your arms around the circumference of his chest.

Burying your face into his side, you relent into him. “Okay, fine.”

And later, he finds that you’re right. When he sits alone on the dimly lit train, he realizes that the warmth he had been feeling earlier, bathing in the sun’s rays with your lips, is long gone. All he feels now, is cold.

“You skipped practice the other day.” Jisung looks up from where he had been sitting on the bleachers, tying his shoes after practice. It had been a tough practice; he had missed quite a few passes and whiffed more than just a couple shots. He can only blame himself. He’s been distracted; alongside his worries about you, he also has a job to attend to and even more, the results for his dream school’s soccer scholarship is supposed to come out soon. His gaze falls on all six of his closest friends, looking down at him.

“Yeah, something came up,” he says easily.

“More like, someone,” retorts Donghyuck easily. “We know you ditched to go see your girlfriend.”

“And what about it?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, man. You never want to play ball with us anymore, you don’t want to hang out with us. Whenever you invite you to a party, you raincheck. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Chenle spits out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Chenle,” says Renjun carefully.

“No,” interrupts the boy in question. Chenle looks straight at Jisung, who stands now to meet the others’ heights. “He needs to hear this. Ever since that girl came around, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You used to be all about soccer and friendship. Now you always have her on your mind, and—did you see the way you played earlier?—she’s messing you up. Your head’s not on straight.”

“Chenle, stop.” Donghyuck speaks up now, voice low as he tries to stop the younger from going off. “You’re not the same Jisung I met in peewee camp, and I don’t know if I like who I’m seeing,” Chenle finishes.

That’s enough for him. His voice comes out before he can stop it.

“You know why I never party with you anymore?” Jisung suddenly says, voice booming and clearly at his limit. “Because I’ve always hated partying. Because I have a job now, and because I don’t want my sister to stay up worrying about me while I’m getting piss drunk. I hate drinking, I hate trying to look cool while actually looking fucking stupid, because I don’t know how I can even think about partying when my girlfriend is fucking dying.”

A hearty scoff leaves his lips, as though he can’t even fathom the words he’s faced today. “You don’t even know me anymore? That’s where you’re wrong, because you never knew me. Not all of me. You only see me as the star player who’s gonna get you your win. She knows me, she knows all of me, and she doesn’t try to change me. Well, sorry that I’m not the same kid you met years ago who let everyone walk all over him. I thought you guys were my friends, but clearly you only want me around for as long as I can play.”

Those are the last fiery words to leave Jisung’s mouth before he turns on his heels, storming off the field and away from everyone else. He just needs to get out of here, away from everything before he ruins it. Mark and Hyuck follow after him, while Jeno and the rest hold Chenle back.

“Don’t listen to him,” Mark says, ever level headed. “We know what you’re going through.”

Though he appreciates their concern, Jisung spits, “No, you don’t.”

Both of them stop walking, no longer chasing after him as Jisung pulls out his phone.

A new email.

He immediately opens it, eyes glazing over the text.

Dear Jisung Park,

Thank you for applying to our university’s soccer scholarship. We reviewed every application with our utmost dedication and attention. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your application at this time. Our soccer program is one of the most competitive at this school, however we encourage you to reapp…

What a load of shit.

The past few weeks have been horrid.

Soccer is as tense as ever, though Jisung would be lying if he said that his fight with Chenle didn’t fuel him to work even harder during practice. His job sucks, especially after someone spilled a bucket of old oil on him (it was cold, thank goodness but still gross nonetheless). So far he’s gotten another rejection. Who knew that getting into college would be this hard?

He wishes that he could say his relationship with you is the saving grace, but it’s really not. You’re in the hospital now, and the two of you have been talking less and less. Even now with his feud between his friends, he feels even more alone. Today when he calls, you sound even more tired than usual.

“Hey, chocolate honeycomb bunny,” Jisung says, giving his absolute worst at giving a cringe-worthy nickname. It seems you’re too tired to even give a repulsed response.

“Hey.” You’re quiet for a moment, only your breathing heard across the line. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” sighs Jisung, running a hand through his dark locks. “Just exhausted. My coworker is getting on my last nerve.”

“The same one you talked about last week?”

“Who spilled the dirty oil on me? Yeah,” he responds with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve both been working the same amount of time, I just want to know why he’s so slow to pick it up.”

It’s characteristic of you to agree, seeing as complaining is one of your favorite past times. But you don’t, voice only coming out softly across the call, “Maybe just give him some time.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”

“About the same,” you respond truthfully. God, you sound so tired. He almost feels bad for making you talk to him when you clearly sound exhausted. “Any more results?” You ask, regarding his college acceptances.

“No,” he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He’s a good student, he’s done community service. Just what more do they want from him? “You said I was special, but I don’t think the colleges see that.”

He can almost see your small smile in his mind. “You are special. Just ‘cause they don’t see it doesn’t you aren’t.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Jisung says, playing with a loose thread on his bedsheet.

What you say next catches him off guard. “Maybe we can both be college-less, together.”

“What?” He asks, brows tightening in confusion. “Didn’t you get into the journalism program at that one university?” He’s caught you. You’re silent on the line for a few long seconds, but the quiet is deafening for him.

“I did, but Jisung, I…” You hesitate. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He asks.

“I… I don’t know if I want to.” In a small voice, you continue, “I don’t know that I’ll make it that long.” What are you saying? What are you implying? Heart racing, Jisung tries to decipher these words in his mind. To him, it just sounds like the end.

“You’re giving up already, I hear it in your voice.”

“I’m not,” you say, a broken promise. “I just… want to be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst isn’t coming. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to beat it. I know you are.” It becomes blatantly clear in this moment that the person Jisung is trying to convince, is himself.

His pleas fall upon deaf ears, because you argue back in what seems like the strongest voice you’ve made in months. As though you’ve amassed all your remaining energy for this conversation. “I’m not a hero, Jisung. I’m not cut out for this. The doctors said it’s not looking good.”

“Then prove them wrong. You’re gonna beat it.”

“I don’t want to be the underdog either, Ji. You know I hate them.” What you say next has his blood boiling. “I don’t deserve it anyways, no one would want me to come back.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung raises his voice now, volume growing with each word.

“No one likes me,” you spit out across the line, and he doesn’t need to see you to imagine how incensed you are at the moment. “I’m rude, I’m loud, I cross boundaries and I say things that hurt without caring about who it touches. And before you yell at me that no one thinks of me like that, these are things I’ve heard from other people.” Your voice breaks, as does Jisung’s heart. “If this were a movie, no one would root for me to survive.”

“I do,” Jisung says, voice strong. “I’m rooting for you. Every. Single. Day. And who cares about how other people see you? You’re rude? You’re crass? I like you because of those things, because you’re different from me. Am I not enough?”

“You’re different,” you relent, voice tired. “You’re the only one who matters. But I—“ You choke up. “I’m just tired of fighting. I don’t want to go to sleep every night not knowing if I’ll wake up the next morning. I want to be strong, and I want to face every day knowing that it could be my last… I don’t want to leave anything behind—”

“You’re not leaving,” he cuts in.

“—and I can’t go through every day letting you think that everything is okay, because they’re not. But I’m ready to let go, Ji. Because I’m happy with what I had, with what we had, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Tears are falling down his cheeks now, suiciding off the surface of his face and staining his bed sheets. He doesn’t know if the tears are the result of sadness, anger, or the pain of loving someone the universe would never let him have, yet it hurts all the same. “But I love you! I told you that I loved you.”

“I love you too,” you cry, and the sound is heartbreaking. “But I just wish that were enough.”

A pregnant silence consumes both of you. All that can be heard is the sound of your mutual crying, along with your breathing that Jisung had learned to fall asleep to. When you speak again, your voice is steady. You had always been the stronger one. “I don’t think you should call anymore.” A few sniffles. He can’t even speak. “Goodbye, Jisung.”

Then the line dies.

It’s Christmastime. He knows it’s cold, probably even colder in the hospital where you are.

Now, Jisung knows you don’t want anything from him. You don’t want him around. In the past weeks he must have become someone even he wouldn’t want around. And though he gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again, he figures you could use a sweater. It’s nothing much, and really he thinks it could be better.

A hoodie, not fit to your size but slightly larger because he knew you well enough to know you’d like it like that. On one sleeve, near the wrist, a patch of a soccer ball. He had learned how to sew it on himself. On the other, his initials. JS.

He sends it in the mail, in a box to the hospital with your name and room number on it. There’s no letter, nothing. Just his bare soul in the form of an oversized cotton hoodie. He’d send it himself, appearing at the door to your hospital bed, but something tells him he’s run out of things to say.

His phone rings at three in the morning.

He knows what it means.

February 2nd, at 2:39AM. The world lost you.

It would never be the same again, and neither would he.

Grief is an interesting thing, someone once told him.

He doesn’t quite remember who it was, whether it was his sister comforting him after the death of their goldfish, the guidance counselor at his school giving him a required appointment after the passing of a student, or yourself. But as the hours go by, it feels more and more like a weight in his chest that has been sitting on a hollowed place in his heart.

Grief is indescribable, and Jisung doesn’t know if this is because his limited seventeen year old vocabulary hasn’t collected enough fitting words to even begin to verbalize his emotions, or if because it really is indescribable.

The first few days had been hell.

He had almost become someone that he didn’t know, barely stepping out of bed and perhaps worrying his sister out of her mind. It was his way of ignoring the world, dissociating himself from the irrefutable truth that you weren’t really gone. You were still laying in bed, three hours away as usual, struggling but still fighting. If he could lay in bed, sleeping the days away and ignoring his text message condolences from his friends, he could pretend for some time that things were the way they were, eight months ago.

Eight months before it.

Eight months before he lost you. Before your relationship, a burgeoning dandelion in the nook of spring. But dandelions represent rebirth, the reappearance of hope like a beacon after an arduous winter, and you would never have another spring.

He could not pretend, because every morning the sun rose again, and he would have to reach his head out from the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. He would need to face it for himself that he woke up, and you didn’t. His friends texted. His sister knocked on his door and begged him to eat, even going as far as to cook his favorite foods as a means to lure him from the darkness of his corner. He ate. But it was never the same.

Messy bedheads, earbuds tucked in with muzak playing gently like the thrum of his heart which beat enough for the both of you, tear-stained pillow cases, knees to the chest, light failing to shine in through the blinds which remained closed, counting the seconds between each breath, dreaming insubordinate dreams.

The first few days went like that. Empty.

Then he was angry.

Angry because the world had given him a love worth changing for, then ripped it from his inexperienced hands. He had never had anything in his life! Not a mother, not a father. Could he not have this one lily, this flower which sought to remind him of the fragility of life? And even more so, he was angry for you. You were a fire—you were a bottle of passion bursting at the seams, a well of untapped potential, a boldness which no one else could emulate—and the universe crushed you beneath its foot.

And suddenly, the emptiness of your hollow space reflected upon him.

He should have been better, should have done more. A soccer ball proposition? A sweater? It was laughable; that was the least he could give? If only he had called, if only he hadn’t listened to you like the meek child he was, things could be better.

And above all, he was sad.

What would he do without you?

Moving on seemed useless. A light at the end of a dark tunnel which stretched for ages. An epiphany that you would never reach.

He just hoped that it was not cold. That you left the world in a ball of light, surrounded in the warmth of family and love, not the rigidness of the unforgiving world. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped that the soccer ball sleeve had been clutched to your chest, and that his hoodie could have provided just a little bit of that warmth.

The walking pattern outside his bedroom door is different from his sister’s. So is the knock on the door; his older sister’s is much more quiet, reserved, as though she was afraid to wake him. This one is harsh, and it reverberates through the room before the door opens.

The air in the room is still for a moment.

“Jisung.”

It’s Chenle. And Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, as well as Jaemin. They all take their seats either on the end of his bed, the floor, or his beanbag, but Jisung doesn’t move from his place underneath the blankets.

“What do you want?” He manages to groan out in a small voice.

Someone places a hand on his leg, a comforting gesture. He thinks it’s Jaemin from the gentle touch. “We’re here for you.”

Donghyuck comments, “You haven’t been to practice this week.” Of course that would be what they would mention first. Jisung scoffs. “I’m kind of going through something.”

“And we’re here.” Mark’s voice.

“We wanted to apologize.” Chenle speaks now, and despite being best friends since they were five, he’s the last person Jisung expected to say sorry. In their decade-long friendship, Chenle was the confident one, the one who charged forward without consequence while Jisung trailed behind, cleaning up his mess. “We’ve been… assholes, simply put.” Had he been in higher spirits, Jisung would have snorted. “We thought we understood what you were going through, and we thought it was dumb. To let yourself get hurt over some random girl… but we were wrong. We didn’t understand your point of view.”

“Not even a little bit,” says Donghyuck, head hanging low.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be your friends. Your team! We’re supposed to lift you up when you’re down and… well, we haven’t been doing that. And we’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Chenle says. Slowly, Jisung lifts his head from below the blanket to face his friends. They all wear a variety of expressions, all somber. “And we know now… she’s not just some random girl.”

Yeah, they’ve all been assholes, some more than others, and Jisung can’t exactly say that they were any help in his struggle. But perhaps this was something he needed to go through alone. At the time, he needed you. But now… he just really needs his best friends.

Tears sting at his eyes for the nth time.

“Come here, you crybaby,” says Jaemin, opening his arms.

It’s Monday, meaning he has to go back to school today. He’s not ready, how could he be? It hasn’t even been a week since you… left, but he knows he has to go back. His sister, God bless her, had let him take the first few days off but now that the weekend has ended and school has rolled back around, he has no choice.

“You look like shit.”

Donghyuck has always lacked a filter. It would hurt if Jisung didn’t know that Donghyuck meant that in the best way possible. You look like shit, he says. So I’m glad you found it in you to come to school, is what he doesn’t say.

Jisung closes his locker with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” snickers his friend, and Jisung turns his head to find Mark and Jaemin approaching. “Morning,” greets Jaemin as he taps the top of Jisung’s head, despite being shorter.

“Hi,” responds Jisung quietly, clutching his chemistry textbook to his chest. The three of them look at him with quiet and somber eyes, but don’t say anything. Mark places a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a small rub.

“You got this.”

The truth is, he can’t do this. The world feels quiet and empty, lacking a particular passion that you used to always embody. It could be worse. Thank goodness your relationship was rather private; he doesn’t know how he’d be able to function at school had there been curious eyes on him, if you had gone to the same school as him.

The day goes rather slowly, and Jisung busies himself with catching up on his work that he had missed. He could almost pretend like things are normal. It’s not until fifth period calculus that something strange happens.

An office TA pokes her head in and scrambles over to the teacher, who was in the midst of a very enthralling lecture on integrals that Jisung was definitely not paying great attention to. The TA whispers something into the teacher’s ear, then hands her a piece of paper. Mrs. Huang nods, then suddenly Jisung finds her eyes on him. “Jisung, Mr. Moon wants you in his office.”

Him? Why him of all people?

Mr. Moon is the guidance counselor at their school, and Jisung has a moment of internal panic—had he somehow found out about you? Should he prepare himself for a lecture about grief and moving on?

With a gulp, he nods.

Mr. Moon is a fairly nice man, with a friendly smile and a reputation for being a pushover teacher. Jisung had met with him a few months ago to discuss his desire to pursue a soccer scholarship but he highly doubts that’s the case now.

When Jisung enters Mr. Moon’s office, the first thing he sees isn’t Mr. Moon but a tall man with a stoic expression standing behind his desk. In contrast to the stranger, Mr. Moon wears his trademark smile. “Jisung, good to see you. Still getting a kick out of that old ball?”

Of course, Mr. Moon doesn’t know that Jisung skipped practice all last week to mope in his bed, but Jisung nods politely. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” responds the teacher with a smile. “Take a seat.”

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and cautiously does Jisung take a seat. The tall, bruff man is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, having not yet said a single word. Somehow the atmosphere is tense, and Jisung’s quite sure he knows what this is about.

“Now, Jisung, I’ve called you in today because—”

“Is this about (Name)?” Perhaps it’s a bit rude of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to be prodded at, at least not by people who think they know him. The last thing he wants is pity.

Mr. Moon’s eyebrow raises just the slightest, and he leans forward on his desk. “Why, yes, it is. How did you know?”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, but it’s much weaker than he would like. “My question is, how did you know? Who told you?” Who was it that shared information on his personal life? Was it his sister? His friends?

“Nobody had to tell me, Jisung. (Name) sent the letter to me herself.”

Wait… what?

Jisung blinks, hands falling slack on his lap. “W-What? What letter?”

Perhaps his staring is a bit too obvious, for Mr. Moon gestures to the stranger in question with a hand. “Jisung, this is Johnny Seo.” Finally, the intimidating stranger has a name. “Johnny is the head coach of the soccer team at Greenwood University—” Wait, Greenwood University? That’s Jisung’s dream school—well, it was his dream school, until they rejected his application for a soccer scholarship. What would they want to do with him? “—and he wants to offer you a full-ride scholarship.”

What?

Jisung’s mouth falls open. What? What the hell? Hadn’t they just rejected him three months ago? His eyes must be bugging out of his face, so he blinks repeatedly, trying to find the words to say.

“W-Wait, what? A… A full ride?” He stammers, unable to find his tongue.

The man named Johnny only nods. “Full ride. Covered tuition, dorming, and soccer costs. All you have to do is keep your grades up and keep scoring those fancy goals of yours I’ve heard about.”

“But—But, you rejected me… why now?”

For the first time, Johnny gives a small smile. “Because of the letter.” There it is, that letter again that Jisung has no idea about. He looks to Mr. Moon for guidance. All the counselor does is open his desk drawer and pull out an envelope, which he slides across his desk. “(Name) (Last Name) wrote a recommendation letter to the university, and honestly, it was stunning. It was enough to make the admissions board… bend a little, to say the least.”

Reaching forward, Jisung grabs the envelope and examines it in his hands. It’s opened, but yes, on the front is your handwriting. He’s cried so much this past week that he doesn’t know how many times tears have touched his eyes, but they sting once more. This time, he doesn’t let them fall.

“She… wrote a letter. For me?”

“That she did,” responds Mr. Moon.

“She’s right,” says Johnny suddenly. “In our work at the university, we’re always looking for the best of the best. We should look deeper, sometimes.” The words sink in the room, and Jisung finds himself staring down at the envelope in his hands. What things had you had to say about him?

Honestly, all he can think about is his failure. How he failed to be there for you, how he cowarded in your presence when you told him to leave you alone. He bites down on his lip.

“So? Will you accept our offer?”

Jisung looks up again, meeting Johnny’s expectant eyes. “I…” His mouth suddenly runs dry. “I don’t know, I… I need to think about it.”

“You’re not graduating for another four months. Take your time.” Slowly, still in glassy-eyed disbelief, Jisung nods. His fingers find the edge of the envelope, tracing its pointed edge. You wrote that for him. From across the desk, Mr. Moon speaks up. “You should read that letter, Jisung, and realize what’s coming for you: good things.”

To Whom It May Concern,

Hello. My name is (Name) (Last Name), and I am a high school student writing this letter to appeal a rejection by your university. Not of my own application, but of an extraordinary person with the name Jisung Park. In my humble opinion, I believe that your institution has made a grave mistake in not offering a scholarship to Jisung. So, I write this letter to appeal such a rejection, and to do something that he hated, though it was what I always did best: write about Jisung.

Now, Jisung is a humble person who never speaks up about his struggles, but the truth is that of all students, I believe he is the most in need of this scholarship. His parents passed when he was young, and he grew up in the care of his older sister who raised him. Their small but strong family made sacrifices, gave up luxuries, and endeavored to survive.

In the midst of this crisis, Jisung found his one savior: soccer.

He is, without a doubt, the best soccer player I have ever seen in my entire life. He can sprint across the field in half a normal player’s time, and I’ve never seen him miss a goal or a pass. But his soccer prowess isn’t what makes him great. Moreover, Jisung is the person you want on a team. He believes in teamwork, but is always striving to be better. He doesn’t want to stand out, but does so anyways. He is never arrogant, nor boastful. If there is one person who deserves this, it’s him.

But, I am sure that you are thinking: why should this letter mean anything to you? I’m not a highly valued individual in the community, nor have I done anything significant for my name to mean anything. I’m only a seventeen year old student, a struggling journalist.

The answer to that question is, I know Jisung Park. You only see his grades, the shallow things on his application. You will never get to see the Jisung Park that I knew and loved.

In my time alive, Jisung Park made an impact on my life that will never be forgotten. Even when life seemed the darkest, not a beam of light in the field's view, Jisung picked me up and made me see the sunset. I know now, the sunset is beautiful, warm, and comforting—everything that Jisung is. He never left my side, and never for a single moment did I ever feel alone in his presence. The world often overplays the saying “a heart of gold,” but the truth is that Jisung has one.

I used to think that love would be red, like the burning of one’s lungs racing down a soccer field, or black and white, made to be simple. But the truth is, love is golden. Golden like the sunset painting streaks against the floor, golden like Jisung. It’s a warmth that covers you from head to toe, relenting into a future that you don’t know.

He is my golden boy, and he can be yours too.

I may not have a future, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Jisung deserves one.

I’m a journalist. I don’t write love letters, but perhaps this is the closest I can ever get. And should Jisung ever read this letter, I hope he knows that with this, I dedicated my last spark of sunlight to him.

Sincerely,

(Name) (Last Name)

Your funeral occurs on February 13th, a week and four days after your passing.

Jisung stands in front of the bathroom mirror, nose scrunched in concentration as he makes a feeble attempt on his necktie. This is surely not as easy as throwing on a soccer jersey. “Ugh,” he groans, fingers getting confused again.

“Need help?”

His sister’s dainty voice calls him from the bathroom door. Dressed in all black, she’s ready too. Turning his head, Jisung sighs. “Please.” She makes his way toward him, fingers coming to work on his tie already with steady hands.

“You’re too tall now,” she says softly, with a chuckle. It’s true; he used to look up to her, physically and figuratively, but now he’s an entire head above her. “You’ve grown up a lot.”

It was his eighteenth birthday just a few days ago but to be quite honest, he hadn’t had the heart to celebrate it. If anything, he had always thought that his eighteenth birthday would be like an epiphany for him. As though he would wake up the morning of, feeling like an adult with all the answers to the world.

The truth is, he’s eighteen now and he still feels like he has no idea what he’s doing.

“I don’t feel any different,” he admits. “I thought eighteen would mean something.”

“You’ll get there, trust me. And anyways, I always told you not to grow up too fast.”

For a moment there’s a silence as his sister swoops the tie in and out, weaving it to form the perfect knot. Feeling something scratch at the back of his throat, Jisung speaks. “... I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, silly? I was the one who never taught you how to knot a necktie,” she chuckles.

“Not for that,” he says. “For last week. I… probably scared you.”

Suddenly, his sister is wearing that demure smile of hers again. The one that is small and polite, but always seems to carry more weight in it than he can see. “No. It’s okay, I knew you’d be better.”

Naeun finally finishes the knot, tightening it the slightest around Jisung’s neck. “There you go.” He offers her a small thanks as he turns to look in the mirror, and she begins to leave. A sigh leaves him; there’s no avoiding it now, he’s ready to go.

“You know, Jisung,” she suddenly speaks up from the doorway. “I’m glad that you met her. Even if it ended up like this… you’re different. In a good way, and I think she had a lot to do with it. Even if you don’t feel different… you are.”

In the months of your relationship, Jisung had come to learn your insecurities. You were loud and proud, but with that confidence came an unwavering insecurity that you were unliked by those you spilled your tongue to. At the funeral, Jisung sees that that’s not at all true.

People give speeches for you, place flowers on your grave. The school newspaper had even written an article to commemorate your presence on their team, and the president of the club reads it aloud. A number of hospital staff make their appearance.

Even Jisung’s friends show up, despite the clear memory of them calling you crazy early on. Maybe they were right, maybe you were crazy. But he probably was too.

It doesn’t rain a single drop, though it had been pouring for three days before. Instead, the sun peeks through the overcast clouds, gifting sunshine.

Jisung smiles.

He probably looks like an idiot, carrying the soccer ball around the entire funeral but he knows what it means to him, and what it means to you. When he places it on your grave, the grass still fresh, his eyes catch the carefully written words on a singular white spot.

I love you.

He knows that he means it.

At eighteen, there a lot of things that Jisung still doesn’t know. But even so, there are a handful of truths that he can hold onto forever. One, he’s still an incredible soccer player and girls are still very scary. But like soccer, maybe that just takes time and practice.

Two, growing up isn’t about a number. It’s not about partying or drinking, nor is it about rushing into relationships that have little meaning. For years Jisung had wanted to grow up, to face the world with no fears and be able to cruise through. But he knows now that growing up is about being strong in the face of sadness, pain, grief. About waking up every morning even if you feel like you have no reason to.

Love is the same.

Love isn’t about making out on the bleachers after practice or trying to copy the coy clichés seen in romance movies. It’s about the sacrifices, like four hour bus rides. It’s about communication and connection, like a recommendation letter traced in gold. Because of you, he’s moving forward. He can go to college, and the day will never come when he stops being grateful toward you and everything you’ve done. That’s love, and he will spend the rest of his life loving you. Maybe the love will change but it will always be love.

It hurts that you’re gone, it really does. Jisung doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.

But the last thing he knows is that things will be okay.

Life moves on, and he will too.

#neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #nct-writers #neohbh #neothestars #park jisung angst #jisung angst #jisung fluff #park jisung fluff #park jisung fanfic #jisung fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct angst #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 3 years ago

Note

Could I please get a Tommy fic where he's not the one who's possessed (idk who instead) but anyway him and the reader both make it onto the bus but like not without a struggle and maybe the reader gets injured, not life threatening but bad, and he comforts them as they drive away. And maybe this injury also elicits a confession from them like they knew each other before and are friends but they both like each other but won't say it. Confession could be words or just an abrupt kiss or mix of both. Anyway they're both camp councillors and borderline flirt with each other all the time. Thanks!

OH HO HO MOTOR IS RUNNING

I Thought I Lost You For a Sec (Tommy Slater x Reader)

Warnings: angst, murder/blood/violence/gore, major and minor character death, attempted murder, major character injury, Arnie was chosen!au, kissing, confessions, applying first aid written badly, Alice dies (i’m so sorry queen), Arnie dies (sorry king)

Word Count: 1.9k

"How much Tylenol did you take, asshole?" Alice asked, stepping closer to her boyfriend. She'd been looking around the shelves, busying herself while the three of you explored on. Arnie wasn't feeling well, apparently. He'd just sat on the bench, and closed his eyes.

You, Tommy and Cindy had gone into the room with all the creepy witch shit, and your flashlight shined on Arnie's name carved into the wall.

"That isn't funny. Alice will freak." Cindy said, looking to you. As if you'd carved into solid stone with your fingernails. And, really, this wasn't how you'd prank your friends. You'd known them all for forever, holding them all together like one single piece of string as they grew apart. You and Tommy glanced at eachother, and then you gave her a small shake of your head.

"I didn't do it." You told her. Tommy had been standing right besides you as Cindy looked at the books, found that the cave went deeper. The three of you looked towards the entrance to the room, your heart sinking.

Alice stepped right in front of Arnie, snapping in his face to try to get his attention. She even shook his shoulders, saying,

"Earth to Arnie. Earth to Arnie." Before she walked away with a sigh. She wanted to get out of there. This witch hunt had been a deadend, and now she was stuck babysitting. She looked over her shoulder when she saw her boyfriend get up, and head towards the wall. She watched him pick something up, and she asked, "Arnie? What the hell are you doing?"

Your flashlights shined in the dark, shined the curly, brown haired figure holding an axe. Tommy was behind you, but you and Cindy had gone through the tunnel first. And, before any of you could tell Alice to step back, to run across the room to where it was safe, you all watched as Arnie swung his axe into her head. You and Cindy screamed as you watched him split her head open, but Tommy was grabbing you both by the shoulders and saying,

"Shit, go! C'mon!" Before Arnie was even done. He pushed you guys through the hole, following you both back into the room. The three of you looked around, trying to find an exit, when Cindy looked at the altar. She ran over, trying to tip it, before she yelled,

"Tommy, help me!" And Tommy was right behind her. He helped her knock it over, all of the books and candles landing with a crash. Tommy grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and making you go first through the hole as Cindy yelled,

"Go, go, go!" You ducked down and crawled as fast as you could, Cindy pushing you to make you go faster. Just as you reached the end of the short tunnel, you heard Tommy yell. You turned and you saw that Arnie had followed you. And had grabbed Tommy's ankle. You screamed,

"Tommy!" And you watched as Cindy turned to try to grab his shoulders, and you scrambled to help. You watched as he was yanked back, quickly moving to lie flat and try to kick the brunette away. He kicked him once, twice, before he finally kicked him against the cave wall, and the pair of you dragged Tommy out before the cave could close around him.

You clamoured out, nearly falling as the rocks fell behind you. You could feel tears burning your eyes, from either the events of what had just happened or the dust that fell when the cave finally closed. Cindy sobbed, and you reached to grab onto the boy besides you. You held onto his arm, burying your face into his coat. Tommy held you close, smoothing his hand down your back before he paused and asked,

"Do you hear that?" He asked, and the three of you listened. It was a slow steady breathing, loud in the silence of the cave. Finally, Cindy asked,

"He's still alive?" And you ran a head over your face. You tried to keep it together, tried to keep yourself calm as you quickly said,

"He- He can't get us. He can't get us." You said, and leaned back into the warmth of the boy besides you. "He can't get us." You repeated one more time, like a mantra to yourself. You closed your eyes, trying not to cry as you buried your face into the shoulder of his coat.

***

"Tommy, take them to the bus and Ziggy and I will-" Cindy had started to say her plan. She'd gotten herself a shovel and Ziggy a trowel. The four of you had been discussing the witch, how you were finally going to break the curse. You'd each gone through hell, with Ziggy nearly being killed by Arnie, Cindy having to kill Arnie, Tommy nearly being crushed in the cave in, and you breaking your leg in the cave below, making Tommy have to carry you everywhere you went. But, you'd found the hand. Both you and Tommy's noses had started to bleed when you sat in the moss, and it only took a quick passage reading from Tommy for you to realize where you were sitting. The two of you had dug and ripped up the moss, before you finally found the skeleton hand of one Sarah Fier.

"What?" You yelled, staring in disbelief at her. You couldn't believe she was side-lining you. You looked to her sister, and then to Tommy. He grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. You scoffed. "So, that's it? Tommy and I find the hand and we don't even get to see it through?" You asked, and Cindy gave you a look. You knew that wasn't just it. She said your name quietly, her tone even as she said,

"You can't walk. Tommy- Tommy had to carry you here. And you need to get to a hospital." She said, and you frowned. You knew she was right. You knew that, perhaps, you were being a little unreasonable. That it would be even more unreasonable to make Tommy carry you all the way to the Sarah Fier tree. But it sucked. And, plus, you felt stronger with all of you together, even if Arnie laid in a heap in the kitchen. Even if there wasn't an axe murderer chasing after you now. Tommy reached over and gave your hand a squeeze, and you looked away. It was hard to say no to them, especially when Tommy was looking at you like that. He said a soft,

"It's okay. It's basically already over anyways. We just get to go home sooner." He said, and you couldn't deny that getting to see your bed, most likely a hospital bed first though, was compelling. And, well, you supposed you'd be alright if Tommy was the one coming with you. Sighing, you said,

"Fine. Fine." And you gave a defeated gesture. "But, you better not take all the credit when you talk to the papers." You said, cracking a half-attempt at joke. Cindy and Ziggy smiled, and Tommy gave your hand another squeeze. And, really, that was all you needed to make you feel better.

***

Tommy had chased down the last bus, yelling,

"Wait, wait!" As it started to drive off. It came to a screeching stop, and it's doors hesitated before they opened. Tommy had been carrying you bridal-style, so he had to turn sideways as he stepped onto the bus. "Thank you, thank you." He told the bus driver as he carried you on. He panted, and you would've felt bad if you weren't gritting your teeth in pain.

Running had led to jostling your leg, and every step Tommy had taken had felt like a searing hot-iron pressed to your skin. You were gripping his jacket tight, trying to get a grip on yourself. It wasn't like you could've told Tommy to slow down, otherwise you would've missed the bus.

Tommy grabbed the front seat, one that was quickly evicted by its previous taker the second they saw your leg. You tried not to let out a curse as Tommy sat down, your grip on his collar so tight that your knuckles were turning white. Instead you let out a pained noise as you buried your face into his neck, moving to grip his shoulder instead. Tommy rubbed a hand down your back, doing his best to help you rest your leg and to ease your pain. You grit your teeth when the bus started moving, already hating the ride. Softly, he said,

"In hindsight, maybe I should've grabbed the Tylenol." And you let out a pained, half-laugh. You slapped his chest lightly, telling him.

"Don't make me laugh. It hurts." And he chuckled in response. Then, his hand was brushing your thigh. Tommy had been the one to wrap the makeshift bandages around your wound. He'd used the end of his sweatshirt, and had made a makeshift crop-top of it. He checked it gently, made sure it was secure, and turned around to ask,

"Can someone pass me the first aid kit please?" And the counselor across from you went to get it. They passed it to you, and he opened it. It was full of Band-Aids and Neosporin, and the only thing helpful was the clean bandages. You watched him as he untied them, and you winced as he pulled them off. As gently as he could, he wrapped clean ones around your leg. He said, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Every time you even made a face. Once he was done, he brushed a hand over your face, tilting your head to look up at him. You did, glancing over his features.

Tommy was one of your oldest friends, and, well, part of you had always liked him. He was sweet, caring, kind, and maybe you spent most of the summer flirting with him. He'd proven that he was all of those things and more tonight. He'd stuck by you in the cave, carried you up the hole, and got you on the bus before it left. He cared for you in a way that made your heart skip a beat, and, as you stared up at him, you couldn't imagine how you would've gotten through this night without him.

"Y'know, when you first fell- well, I thought I lost you for a sec. It scared the hell out of me and, the entire night, all I could think about was making sure you were safe and-" And you didn't let him finish. His words were too sweet. He was too sweet. You couldn't stand it anymore and you reached up to cup his neck, pulling him in by it and pressing your lips against his. He seemed surprised for a moment, but he was quick to kiss back. He cupped your cheek, holding you close and stealing your breath away. His kiss was slow and soft, addicting in the way you could barely think about anything else. And, for a moment, you didn't feel an ounce of pain.

When you pulled back, the two of you were silent for a beat. Before Tommy softly chuckled.

"Well, if I had known running away from an axe murderer was the way to get you to kiss me, I would've-" And you cut him off again, pulling him in for another round of kisses.

#fear street #fear street 1978 #fear street tommy slater #tommy slater fear street #fear street tommy #tommy fear street #tommy slater #tommy slater x reader #thomas slater x reader #thomas slater

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xxreader-writerxx · 3 years ago

Text

Already Won

Word count: 2.1k

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Cursing, angsty, Cheating Mentioned, Blood Mentioned, Knife Kink Mentioned, Reader nearly cuts finger off, Panic Attack-ish (Fred), Poor Plot, Snogging at the end, and Abandonment Issues

A/n: This isn't amazing it was just to kick my arse into writing again lol, fighting writers block atm

Y/N= Your Name L/N= Your Last Name Y/H= Your House

I'm cutting vegetables in the kitchen for dinner when I hear the door unlock. I smile to myself and grab the coffee I made, reheating it with a quick spell. "Baby! Did you get the creamer while you were out?" I ask, turning the corner. "I was supposed to?" I hear a different voice than what I was expecting respond. "Oh its you." I say plainly, annoyed by the sight of my ex boyfriend Draco. "Hey darling. I missed you." He says, walking to try to give me a hug but I push him away disgusted. "Didn't I dump you like what five months ago? After you cheated on me with Pansy?" I ask, turning to go into the kitchen. "Your still on that? I'm back so everything can go back to normal!" He says and I scoff. "Nope." I say when I hear the door open.

"Baby, the witch down the street ran out of creamer but, I got coffees down the street. Then I dropped them on myself trying to get inside." I hear Fred ramble. I walk out chuckling and see him stripping as he walks into our room. "The coffee burns." He says, still distracted by getting clean clothes on. I walk over with Draco tailing behind me. "Honey, someone's here." I tell him and he whips his head around, grabbing his shirt to cover himself. "Shit. Sorry sorry.... Not sorry what the hell is he doing here?" He asks, seeing Draco. "Figuring it out myself- Oh my god Freddie, how hot were those coffees?!" I ask, seeing a burn mark forming on his shoulder.

"I wanted them to be hot enough to make it home." He says sheepishly. I walk over, grabbing the burn medication I conjured after discovering having Fred Weasley as a boyfriend means a lot of burns to heal. I pull down the sleeve and rub the ointment on. "Ow..." He moans and I nod sadly.

When I finish I put a bandage on him and take his hand. I bring him to the fridge and grab a lolly. "Suck on this while it heals, it'll cool your body." I say and he winks, placing the lolly on his tongue. "While I suck on this why don't you- Why are you still here." He says, breaking his flirty behavior to look at Draco who is glaring at Fred. "Name's on the lease." He says with a smirk. "You're kidding. He's kidding." He says looking at me upset. I freeze trying to think of a solution when I finally sigh. "He's right..." I say, I shove my face in his chest and he glares at Draco angrily. "You are going to leave." He says through gritted teeth. "Where would I go huh?" He asks, still cocky. "Do I give a shit? No. Now your things are in the hall closet, take those bags and leave." He repeats, keeping me against him.

"I don't remember your name on the lease." He says with a smirk and Fred nods. "Yeah but I have my initials on-" He says as he start to raise my shirt trying to reveal the initials he cut during an exciting night two days ago. I slap his hand and he looks at me cheekily. "Anyways, I guess you can stay in the guest room and I'll go unpack." He says and I grab his jacket before he can leave the kitchen. "Fix it." I say sternly and he groans. "I'll stay in the guest room." He mumbles and I nod promptly.

***

I wake up next to Fred and look for whatever woke me. I get up realizing its 5:37 and shake Fred softly. "Baby we need to get ready for work. I'll go make breakfast." I whisper and he nods into the pillow, golden ginger hair surrounding his freckled face softly. "Baby, if we told George what happened he'd understand, let's sleep in." He offers and I sigh. "If I had another owner to take care of my shop then I would jump in your arms but..." I say and he groans nodding.

I make my way into the kitchen to make us omelets when a figure makes me jump. "Fuck." I mutter as Draco takes a sip of his coffee. "Honey?" I hear from behind me and I turn to see Fred fiddling with his tie. I walk over smiling to myself at his loose tie and messy hair. "Stupid Blood Traitor can't even tie his own tie." I hear Malfoy mumble as I tied Fred's tie, getting angry I nearly behead Fred on accident but he stops me with a soft hold on my hips. "Here's the thing, Malfoy, I'm doing this... To do this." Fred says smirking pulling me in for his signature kiss. I sigh into the kiss almost forgetting about my troubles until they cough to signify they're still there.

"I'll make our breakfast, you work on tea?" I ask and he salutes cutely. I start chopping up onions when I feel myself get enveloped in a hug, Fred's face snug in my neck. His lips threateningly close to my neck, butterfly kisses every now and then. "What are you up to?" I giggle as his hands tickle my sides. "I just love you..." He whispers and I smile. "I love you more." I whisper and he kisses my cheek. "I'll cook the omelet, you go watch your program. It's on." He whispers and I turn, placing my hands on the counter behind me. "I can take care of the food. Don't worry about me." I whisper back and he kisses my lips softly. "Please? When else will your show be on this early?" He asks and I smile. "If you insist. But at least let me cut the peppers." I say and he nods.

***

I'm cutting dough in my café when I hear the door open. I smile warmly, keeping my eyes to the counter. "Hello! I'll be with you in a moment." I say when someone pushes my chin up softly. "Hey darling." Draco says and I groan. "Malfoy, I'm not your darling anymore. I'm dating Fred." I state, my entire body growing warm with anger. "I know, I know... But I wanted to try and win you back." He states, holding up a gold necklace. "You think I can be bought?" I ask, seething with anger. His face looses color as he shakes his head. "N-no! I meant this as a sorry-" He begins but I slam my knife down. "Get out."

I walk into the twin's shop, unusually tired, I see George and walk over lazily. "Hey- What the hell!?" He asks and he grabs my arm, tugging me to Fred's office. "Where are we going?" I ask lazily. "FRED." He yells banging on the door. Fred opens the door angrily but the anger turns to worry when he lays his eyes on me, or to be specific my finger. I cut it, deep. "Oh look at that..." I say and he scoops me up. "Oh god oh god..." He mumbles as I lay my head on his shoulder. "You smell nice." I whisper and he shakes his head. "What the hell happened?" He asks and I frown. "Draco came to my shop and gave me this." I say and I show him the necklace and he looks at it upset as he buckles me into the car. "You've lost a lot of blood..." He whispers, tearing up a bit. "I'm fineeee." I tell him and he kisses my forehead softly. "Just stay awake..." He whispers and I nod softly.

I wake up in a hospital bed and Fred is holding my hand. "Baby?" I ask roughly, my throat burning from sleep. "Thank god." He exclaims, holding me close to his chest. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?! You don't understand how happy I am to see your eyes open." He tells me, clutching my shirt tightly.

***

Ever since the accident Fred kicked Malfoy out and I got someone to take over the shop while I heal. Fred's been clingy since because he says he nearly lost me and every time I remind him it was only a bit of blood loss but he always responds with "same thing". Malfoy has been sending flowers, expensive gifts, and baskets each with a note begging me to take him back. I laugh at every package because they come from Pansy's apartment. Now its two months later both me and Fred going strong, and Malfoy hasn't given up.

I walk into the house back from groceries with Fred nowhere to be found. I hear shaky breathing from our room. I walk in and see Fred in the corner crying silently. "Freddie?" I ask and he hides his face in his arms. "I'll be out in a minute." He whispers and I sit next to him on the floor. "What's wrong?" I ask and he cries again. "Nothing, don't worry about it." He whispers and I tug his hand to wrap around it. "Tell me..." I whisper back and place my free hand on his cheek. He leans into my hand, closing his eyes happily. "I love you..." I tell him and he sighs. "I'm sorry." He tells me and I furrow my eyebrows.

"Did you break something?" I ask and he laughs, wiping his nose. "No... I'm sorry I can't provide for you." He tells me and I finally am able to sit on his lap, his hands resting on my hips as he places his forehead in the crane of my neck. "What?" I ask and he digs his head further. "Malfoy gets you all these fancy gifts and I know I'm not enough. I don't have diamond necklaces, my flowers are always picked, and he has so much to offer... And I'm here being the idiot who has a joke shop instead of a stable job. Its a matter of time before he finally wins you back and I would understand, who'd want me over Malfoy..." He cries into my neck and I run my hands through his hair softly.

"No... Baby I don't care about jewels or money. I love your flowers, how you tell me why each one reminded you of me... I love you Freddie.... I could never be won by Malfoy wanna know why?" I coo into his ear softly. "Why?" He asks, looking up at me with his soft hazel eyes. "Because you've already won. A million times, you've won. When we became best friends at 8, when I saw you on the bus, when you left school, when you moved in with me after my break-up, not letting me ignore help by saying you needed a place to stay because George and Angelina were moving in when we both knew you could live at the burrow... Every day you have won me. How can I prove that?" I ask and he smiles sweetly. "You just did... I love you so so much." He whispers and I smile, kissing his nose.

I hear the doorbell ring and he looks towards the door upset. I groan getting up and open the door. Draco is there crying holding flowers. "Please." He whispers and I go to slam the door but he stops me. "I know I don't deserve it but please give me another chance. Weaslebee could never care for you, not like I can. So please take me back." He says and I get angered by those words. I grab his collar and shove him back. "Do not talk of Fred that way." I say and he scoffs. "You know he won't. I have money we can land on, he doesn't. So cut the bullshit and take me back." He spits and I punch him right in the nose. "Leave. And I don't mean my door, I mean my life Malfoy." I tell him as he doubles over, flicking him off.

I walk back into my house and find Fred smiling at me, eyes still puffy but I couldn't care less, he's beautiful. "I love-" Is all he can say before I grab his collar, pulling him into a long kiss. He leans into it after recovering from the shock. I wrap my arms around his neck as he pulls me to wrap my legs around his torso. He sits on the couch, pulling me flush against his body. "I love you so much..." He mumbles as we take a second to get air. "I love you more." I say, diving to attach my lips to his. He pulls away after a while and smiles, moving hair from my face softly. I smile back, a giggle escaping my lips. "What?" I ask and he kisses me softly. "I guess I did win." He whispers and I kiss him again.

#fred weasley #canon #Fred Weasley Fanfiction #Fred Weasley Fic #Fred Weasley x Y/n #Fred Weasley Story #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #slytherin #smut x reader #fred weasley x reader #love #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #OlderWeasleyTwin

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9tzuyu · 4 years ago

Text

children of tragedy [pt.2]

note: hi. i totally did not mean for this to be a filler chapter but thats what it ended up being :(. i hope you guys still like it though. this is mostly natasha x reader (platonic), so maybe that’ll make up for it? lmk your thoughts!

mistakes are mine as always.

warnings: talk of alcohol abuse

pt. 1 | pt.3

🏷 @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (tagged since its nat centric)

when you left in the middle of the night while wanda slept in the other room. you didn’t bother waking her to say your goodbyes, instead wanting things to be quick and simple. telling wanda goodbye would only prolong that process.

you did, however, leave one last sticky note on the kitchen table for her to see when she woke up. it was nothing over the top, just a reminder to make sure she ate and took care of herself.

(and of course your signature smiley face at the bottom of the paper. she loved your odd little version of a smiley face.)

you packed a bag separate from everything wanda put together and stuffed it to the brim with bare necessities. clothes were replaceable. what you had with wanda was not. besides, she probably wouldn’t mind keeping a few of your sweatshirts. they were always her favorite.

rummaging in the side pockets of your jacket you found the last twenty dollar bill you had and used it to catch the next bus across town.

in all honesty you would’ve texted natasha to tell her you were on your way, but your phone had been dead for three days and you didn’t bother charging it after last night’s conversation. natasha wouldn’t mind though, you’ve been friends with her for over seventeen years. she was the only person who knew about your upbringing and all the abusive relationships between. she’d been there countless times to pick you up from the hospital your exes put you in, never once blaming you for what happened.

similarly to wanda, natasha never judged you for your decisions or ways of coping. she worried just as much as wanda did, but knowing you hated having to talk about things she kept silent. there were only a handful of times natasha could think of where you talked to her about what happened.

with a deep breath in, you slung your backpack over your shoulder and stepped off the bus. the walk to natasha’s house from your drop off area was only about fifteen minutes, but within that short amount of time you managed to get worked up over wanda. your thoughts were so loud that by the time you made it to natasha’s door step you had tears streaming down your face, your nose red from wiping it with the sleeve of your jacket.

natasha was quick to answer, but she hadn’t expected you of all people to be standing right in front of her. snapping herself out of shock, she pulled you in for a hug before moving back to check you for any signs of bruising.

there were a few, but they were fading nicely against your skin. and the cuts she found looked like they had been treated with care, which only confused the redhead. she hadn’t heard from you in over eight months, so it wasn’t surprising that she missed out on hearing about wanda.

what a shame, you thought to yourself. she would’ve loved her.

natasha closed the door behind you and brought you over to her sofa. you laughed remembering that you were in this very same position last night; although it wasn’t like natasha could break up with you or anything of the sort.

“stay here, i’ll be right back.”

you glanced at the clock on natasha’s wall seeing that it was three in the morning.

it was only when natasha came back when you noticed her disheveled hair and chapped lips. it was clear she was sleeping prior to you knocking on her door. she immediately noticed the guilty look on your face and quickly went to stop you from overthinking.

“none of that now, i don’t care at all that you woke me up at three in the morning. i haven’t seen you in over eight months, i’d be angry with myself if i hadn’t heard you knocking.” unsure how to reply, you nodded solemnly.

she smiled, “are you hungry?” you licked your lips, food hadn’t crossed your mind in hours. “very.”

you followed her to the kitchen where she brought out a can of soup and set it to cook on the stove.

“i don’t have much, i keep forgetting to go to the store.” she shrugged, leaning against the counter top.

“s’okay.”

you awkwardly stood in the middle of the room, arms folded as you stared off into space. natasha took this opportunity to really get a look at you.

she could see the outlining of a bruise on the side of your cheek, and judging by the size, you had to have taken a pretty bad hit. there were also a few bruises around your neck as if someone had tried to choke you.

she bit her lip, wincing internally at the thought of you getting choked so violently that it left marks as dark as the nail polish natasha once used as a teenager. it hurt her even worse knowing that this person was supposed to love you.

you caught natasha’s gaze and shifted yourself further away from her. she tried not to frown, but you saw the slight downward movement of her eyebrows before she had a chance to look unbothered.

“the soup, tasha. it’s going to burn.” you reminded her.

“ah!”

she stirred the liquid content with a spoon and brought it to her mouth. “just right.” you watched her pour a safe amount into a bowl before giving you a spoon she hadn’t wrapped her lips around.

“lets go sit down so you can eat, yeah?”

you followed her like a lost little kid back into the living room. if it hadn’t been for such serious issues at hand, natasha would’ve commented on how adorable you looked clutching the bowl with two hands while you unconsciously bit the insides of your cheeks because you were scared of breaking something.

she gave you time to finish eating. you ate slower than she remembered, but she didn’t think too much of it. the last bite was when natasha when noticed the large scar across your hand.

(god did she hate herself for not seeing it sooner because what the hell?)

you moved to go put the dish in the sink, but natasha stopped you, gently grabbing the scarred hand to keep you from leaving.

“don’t worry about that right now. set it on the coffee table and i’‘ll take care of it when we’re done here.” her voice was soft enough for you to feel safe, an affect only one other person could do.

natasha didn’t say anything else, she wanted you to feel in control, to feel comfortable enough to talk about it.

the crack of your knuckles could be heard after a few short seconds of silence. there was no reason for you to feel so nervous. it was just natasha after all. she would never hurt you.

(you were brave. you were okay. you can do this.)

“she was so good to me, nat.” the redhead scoffed, but you were quick to defend your now presumed ex.

“she was! this time i really mean it, and i know that sounds redundant but i would put the love i have for you as a friend, as a sister, on the line.” she seemed to believe you after that. the look in your eyes told her everything she needed to know.

“what happened?”

your lip started to quiver, “i ruined it.” natasha moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around you so that your body rest against hers. “how’s that?”

“i can’t stop drinking, couldn’t, and she had to do the right thing for herself.” her grip tightened around your frame. she hated not knowing you were drinking again. the first few times weren’t too bad, but she had a feeling this time was more than she could help with.

“she was so good to me, tasha and i ruined it. i fucking ruined every bit of it because i’m too weak to-”

“stop. do not finish that sentence or else i’m going to give you a sisterly lecture for the next three hours about every good thing that makes you who you are.” her threat came off as a joke, but if needed, natasha would actually hold herself to her own word.

you sighed and visibly deflated, natasha allowing the tiniest smile grace her lips from behind you.

“what was her name?” your eyes found their way to natasha’s hands and the rings that clung to the base of her fingers. “wanda.”

“how did she treat you? i mean really treat you.”

you fiddled with her rings, twisting them back and forth absentmindedly, “she used to bandage my wounds with like, five layers of gauze, i swear. i always thought she was just being over dramatic, but sometimes the bleeding would even seep through that.”

your breathing began to slow down. “she would always come when i needed her, whether that be when i blacked out from drinking or if i was sick and needed help taking a bath.”

“she sounds like a good person.”

“she is.”

natasha hummed, “you really scared me, you know?” you moved to try and face her, but she kept her arm wrapped securely around your torso. “i didn’t hear from you in over half a year and now you’re here. you’re my best friend and i thought you were dead.” there was a crack in her voice. god knows she didn’t want you to see her cry.

(that’s why she held you in place, but most of all because she missed having you close.)

“i’m sorry, tasha...”

“just don’t ever do that to me again or i will kill you myself.” you rolled your eyes at her reply. “i’m not, i promise.”

you moved off her lap, turning your body so you were face to face with her. “where do i go from here, nat?”

she thought dor a second, “can you make it through tonight without a drink? or will withdrawls be too bad?”

you paused, surely you hadn’t gotten to the point where withdrawls were as serious as you’d seen in all the medical shows and documentaries. “i think i’ll be good.”

natasha nodded in approval, “do you want help?”

it was the question of the century for you. the answer should be a simple yes, but it never failed to amaze you how much weight could be carried behind a three letter word. there was a chance for you though, something you might not ever get again. and honestly, natasha’s heart couldn’t take another relapse like this. eight months of not knowing if you were alive or not was bad enough, she couldn’t imagine not seeing her dearest friend for the rest of her life.

“yes,” you exasperated, “yes, i wan’t help.”

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel fanfiction

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ah-ga-seven · 4 years ago

Text

Till’ The End of Summer - Chapter 9

<< series masterlist >>

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

In a Nutshell: College!AU, Rich Kids, Friends to Lovers, Fuckboy athlete Yeonjun, Overprotective Best friend Soobin, contains all of TXT and other Idol cameos, Omnipresent perspective.

Synopsis: You and Yeonjun are caught up in a cat and mouse game because of unspoken feelings and endless pining for each others’ attention. With the summer break approaching and lots of college parties, will you finally get a chance to explore your feelings for each other; even though the world and Yeonjun’s reputation makes things complicated?

Word count: 11,5K

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of a broken family, abusive parents, conflict and death.

Yeonjun followed his mom inside of the house he used to call home before he left for college. The familiar scent of amber and vanilla welcomed him as he stepped inside.

The heels of his shoes made a loud ticking noise on the luxurious black marble tiled floor with each step he took. The place hadn’t changed much. The only thing different being the flower arrangements and the emptiness of the massive Villa.

It used to be way more lively in here. There were always all sorts of visitors in the house, if it was staff, family members, or friends of his dad’s; there was never a quiet moment during the day, which made the silence even more confronting and saddening.

He sighed putting his bag down, stretching his aching body as a result of the long drive.

“Your room is exactly how you left it.” His mom says timidly. “I guess somehow I wished you’d return home someday so I didn’t have the heart to change anything about it.”

Yeonjun looks at his mother a little puzzled. All of the emotional confessions are taking a toll on him and he isn’t quite sure what he should be saying to her.

Just as the silence was starting to get awkward, they get interrupted.

“Yeonjun? Is that you?” a voice sounds from across the hall.

Yeonjun’s ears perk up and as he makes eye contact with her, his lips curl up into a loving smile.

“Yes, Lita imo, it’s me…” he says shyly as he let the older woman hug him tightly. Lita is the head housekeeper who has been working for the family since Yeonjun could walk.

She’s the one who packed his lunches and sat with him at the dinner table when his parents were too busy working. The only person he truly missed from the household was her. So, seeing her again after all this time made his heart swell.

He just wishes the circumstances were a little different.

She sighed as she held him at arms-length and studied him for a second. “Did you grow even more? When does it stop? You’re getting scary tall. And where did your baby cheeks go huh?” she says pinching his cheek, making sure to baby him like she used to.

“Ah-ah-ah” he whines as she let go of his cheek. They were beaming at each other and his mother noticed. A faint smile also on her face as she watched their dynamic.

She never really noticed how close they were until now.

“I’ll go make your bed. You must be tired from the trip.” Lita says, patting his shoulder before she makes her way up the stairs and into his old bedroom.

Yeonjun watched her go up with a small smile and sighed contently.

He followed his mother into the formal living room and sat down on the couch, letting his fingers graze over the velvety material.

“So…where is he?” he asks looking at his mom.

“He’s in the hospital.”

“Do we go…tonight?” He asks, uncertainty evident in his tone of voice.

“Yes, but let’s have some dinner first alright? I told Lita to make your favourite.”

“I can’t believe you stole the tournament bus,” Taehyun says clicking his tongue.

“It’s not stealing if I have a key.” Soobin argues back. “Besides how else were we all going to fit in the same car.”

The small bus had space for exactly 7 people, so you were glad it was even an option. Soobin being the team captain and all had its perks. He has keys to almost every facility and even the fucking school building.

“I hope this little stunt doesn’t get me suspended,” he says nervously biting his lip.

“No one will notice it’s missing hyung, it’s summer break.” Hueningkai retorts as he leans forward to pat Soobin on the back. Hueningkai was seated next to Taehyun in the middle row, while you and Beomgyu cozied up together in the back seats as Mia assisted Soobin with navigating in the front seat.

If the situation was any different, this could have accounted for a fun road trip with your friends, but the reality of things was a lot more somber.

“No, baby no! It’s a left here.” Mia panics as Soobin misses the exit.

“You said the next one!” he whines, slightly raising his voice.

“This is the next one!”

“Ugh, great. That at least an hour detour,” Taehyun states yanking the phone from Mia’s grip to inspect the route.

“Don’t get annoyed with each other already, we’ve been driving for only an hour,” you say interrupting the couples’ arguing.

Everyone was tense. None of you knew what the fuck you were even driving towards, where you would stay, what you would do when you’d see him. It was a permanent decision made on temporary feelings and you were anxious, to say the least, and given everyone’s attitudes, so were they.

“Well originally it was only 5 more hours, but thanks to someone it turned into 6.” Soobin says, which made Mia glare at him venomously.

“We’ll be lucky if we arrive before midnight with breaks included.” Taehyun states calculating quickly as he passes the phone back to Mia.

Beomgyu was asleep with his head on your shoulder, ignoring all the banter. You envied his ability to fall asleep anywhere at any time and sighed as you fixed a piece of his hair.

“It’s not the end of the world guys.” Hueningkai says calming them down. “I know we’re all nervous and every second counts, but we don’t even have a plan for when we get there,”

“The plan is to be there for him.” Soobin says tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

“No matter what.”

Yeonjun stood frozen on his feet with his hand on the doorknob to his fathers’ private hospital suite. The amount of security he had to go through was of insane proportions. If his mom wasn’t there to confirm that his dad indeed had a son, he was sure he wouldn’t even be able to enter on his own.

He let go of the knob and inhaled sharply before turning around to face his mother.

“I can’t do this,” he says with a shaky voice while his enlarged pupils dart to his mothers’ equally dark ones.

“Do you want me to go with you?” She asked putting a comforting hand on his shoulder as her brows furrow in concern.

Yeonjun thinks about it for a second but shakes his head in reply.

If he’s gonna do it, he’ll do it by himself. Though the presence of his friends would have helped, that wasn’t an option.

“I’ll be right here if you need me.” His mother assures, and for some reason, that small sentence of encouragement was all he needed. Hell, it was the most encouragement he’s gotten from his mom his entire life, so he took it with both hands.

He nodded to himself, his demeanor shifting to a much more confident one as the look in his eyes changed while twisting the doorknob.

He peaked his head through, knocking on the door softly. The view of his father was blocked by the figure of a nurse but as she turned to look at who was at the door, his father was in full view.

His mom was right, his condition was bad.

The once so powerful and unbreakable businessman Daniel Choi looked everything but those things.

He had lost a lot of weight, his cheeks sunken, hair gray. His lips were chapped and dry, as was his skin. All in all, he looked sick, and far more dead than alive.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened at the sight. There was no way that Yeonjun wanted to show empathy towards the man but somehow, he felt bad for him.

“Yeonjun, right?” the nurse says as she smiles at Yeonjun warmly.

He just nods in response and notices how his dad has only been staring at the wall in front of him, not responding to anything that was going on.

Yeonjun closes the door behind him and walks towards the nurse, keeping his eyes on his dad.

“He’s sedated to cope with the pain. He can hear you and see you. He responds if you get close enough, though it might take some time for him to process what is going on around him.”

Yeonjun nervously bit his lip, the sudden wave of emotions he was feeling becoming too much for him. He didn’t anticipate this, he thought he could have at least had one last normal conversation with him.

“Does he even remember me?” Is the first thing he says, the sound of his voice made Daniel’s head snap into Yeonjun’s direction and it startled Yeonjun.

His father’s fingers started to twitch in response. His movement became more demanding and the nurse immediately went over to him to calm him down.

“All he’s been asking for the past few weeks is you, Yeonjun. I think he’s surprised to see you too,” she says as she gives your dad a slight smile, patting his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down.

All Daniel was looking at was Yeonjun. He kept trying to lift his hand to motion to Yeonjun that he should come closer, but the message wasn’t quite clear.

Yeonjun didn’t know what to do, he stood awkwardly frozen in place as he watched his dad become more and more restless.

“Do I need to leave?” He asked a little distressed.

“No, I actually think he wants you to come closer, it’s okay. You can sit next to him on the stool. He’ll appreciate it,” she says holding out her hand as she motions for him to approach.

He took a deep breath and looked his father in the eye once more as he walked towards the bed.

His dad seemed to calm down as Yeonjun sat down beside him. His eyes scanning his son's face. He was able to grab Yeonjun’s hand, which surprised him, but he didn’t have the heart to pull away.

“I’ll give you two some space, if anything happens; press that button above his bed” the nurse says pointing toward the rectangular looking remote.

Yeonjun nodded, giving her a last look as she walked out. When the door closed behind her, he averted his attention back to his father. Sighing loudly as he looked at their intertwined fingers.

“You must really be out of your mind if you’re voluntarily holding my hand.” Yeonjun thinks out loud, speaking under his breath as he stares at their hands.

He felt tears prickle his eyes. His bottom lip trembling as the first tear escapes his eye.

He felt his father squeeze his hand, which made him look up at him.

“I really do hate you.” Yeonjun says in between sobs. “I do. I hate you.”

His father just looked at him, blinking a couple of times to show that he understands.

“So why the fuck am I even crying,” he huffs. This is a rhetorical question of course. He knows exactly why he’s crying. He’s crying because he’s powerless.

Yeonjun tears turned into frustration as he yanks his hand from his dad’s grasp. Angrily wiping his tears away as he collects himself.

“You can hear everything right?”

No response.

“Can you blink once for yes and twice for No.”

One blink.

Yeonjun sniffed nodding to himself as he organizes his thoughts. “Ok. So, we can communicate,” he thinks out loud.

His confidence returned, he rolls his shoulders back and places his hands on his thighs as he straightens out his posture.

“Why did you want me here?” Yeonjun asks getting straight to the point.

Daniel cocked his head to the side to show confusion, but his fathers’ confusion to the question only confused Yeonjun more.

“You wouldn’t tell mom why you wanted to see me. So why did you.”

His father tried to speak, but it was to no avail as he gave up quickly. Sighing in frustration at the fact that he couldn’t form words.

“Right, that’s not a yes or no question.” Yeonjun realizes, crossing his legs as he buries his face in his hands, lightly massaging his own scalp to release the tension in his brain.

After a few seconds he looks up, catching his dad staring at him intensely. Yeonjun uncomfortably shifted in his seat, noticing how his dad was getting more restless as he tried his best to form words.

“T-t-table.”

Yeonjun’s mouth fell agape to the sound of his dad's voice. “The table? Which table?” he asks getting up. Looking around frantically to catch any clues to what his dad is trying to tell him.

He followed his fathers’ gaze and quickly walked towards the expensive-looking mahogany table in the left corner of the room.

His eyes fall on an envelope with his name on it. His fingers ghost over the paper material, scanning it thoroughly as he picks it up.

He looks back at his dad who was still staring back at him. Yeonjun nodded. Taking the envelope with him as he sat back down on the stool.

“You want me to read this?” he asks, which earned one clear blink.

“Alright.” Yeonjun sighs as he opens the letter.

“To Yeonjun.” he reads aloud.

I don’t know whether or not you will read this when I’m dead or alive, but that’s not the point. After you’ve read this, make sure no one else does.

Even if you think I didn’t show interest in your life, I watched your every move. I know about your schoolwork, your team, your friends, the girl you like. I know it all.

I’ve had people watch you for me ever since I found out I was dying. Which has been years now. I made them write me reports on your character, your skills, and the way people perceive you and I have to say, I was surprised, to say the least.

You have proven yourself to be a leader rather than a follower. You are passionate, hard-working, smart and competent and will do literally anything to fight for your goals.

The only reason you are all of these things is because you had to work for it. You were never emotionally cradled as a child and from an early age you were aware that success is something you don’t just gain without a bead of sweat

You have seen the world at its darkest before you could feel what true happiness is, and that was not done unintentionally.

Your upbringing might have been tough. But it’s what you needed to become the ruthless and determined person that you are today.

That same ruthlessness and determination are what Choi Enterprises needs. Which brings me to the point of this letter.

There is no other person on the planet that I entrust with the future of Choi Enterprises other than you.

I don’t trust your mother and therefore I cannot let the company fall into the hands of your mother and her cunning family.

For your entire life, all I did was make sure you were ready for this moment. And even though it came earlier than anticipated, If you sign the attached documents. It’s all yours effective immediately.

Power comes with a price that I was willing to pay.

And I hope that you will too.

- Daniel Choi.

Yeonjun blinks a couple of times to let it all register to him. He lifts his head from the paper and looks at his father's hopeful expression.

“You spied on me.” he says in disbelief.

“You spied on me, but you couldn’t send me a birthday card?” It was a figure of speech, though his dad got what he meant.

Anger filled Yeonjun’s senses. The audacity this took from his father is on another level of crazy.

He got up, kicking the stool he sat on aggressively, making it fall to the floor with a loud thud.

His dad didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring at Yeonjun with the same look from before.

“Tell me.”

Yeonjun says as he inches his face closer to his father.

“Do you regret it?”

Daniel cocked his head to the side in confusion and waited for Yeonjun to continue.

“Do you regret being an abusive piece of shit? The whole, you needed to live through it to become strong shit isn’t cutting it for me. Do you regret it? Yes or No.”

Yeonjun was seething. He was inches away from his dad, fists balled, wrinkling the letter and attached documents in his left hand as a result of his strength as he anticipated his fathers’ answer.

The look in Daniel’s eyes went cold followed by two blinks.

“No.” Yeonjun scoffs. “Of course, you don’t.”

Yeonjun took a step back, clearing his throat as he swallowed his anger with it.

“Well in that case…” he says inspecting the papers in his hands. He held it in front of his line of sight, making sure his dad can see what he’s about to do.

He held on to each side of the pile of papers, ripping it in half slowly.

“Take that contract to your fucking grave.” He spits as he throws it into the nearest trash can.

His dad started to panic, convulsing aggressively in his bed. Gulping for air as he tried his best to move and speak at the same time.

Yeonjun pressed the distress button and stormed out of the room, not bidding his dad another look.

He slammed the door behind him, startling his mother who was waiting for him in the hall.

“Yeonjun!” she yelled after him. She quickly looked back to the room her husband was in, shocked with the sight of multiple nurses trying to hold him down.

She didn’t hesitate to run after Yeonjun, catching him in the hallway.

“Yeonjun wait a second!”

He halted his long strides, breathing heavily as he turned around on his heels.

“What happened in there?” his mother asks wide-eyed as she lays a hand on his shoulder in order to calm him down.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says clenching his jaw, shaking his mothers hand off of his shoulder.

“Okay…whenever you’re ready.” she tries carefully, trying not to tick him off any further.

“Let’s go home. You’ve been through enough today.”

“Hyung are you sure you put in the right address?” Hueningkai asks wide-eyed as he got out of the van first.

“This can’t be it,” Taehyun says with his mouth agape. “This isn’t even considered a house. It looks like a damn palace.”

“I knew Yeonjun’s family was loaded but this…” Mia remarks.

You get out of the car, your mouth going dry as you look at the biggest house you’ve seen in your life. It was modern, yet rustic. The home had huge windows and white pillars and there was a huge stone staircase that lead up to the front door.

“How many bathrooms do you think they have?” Beomgyu gulps, his eyes darting from one side of the house to the other.

“Really? That’s what’s important right now?” Taehyun argues

“I’m just curious,” Beomgyu says rolling his eyes.

“Well..let’s….knock?” Soobin says with uncertainty peeking through his voice.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves as you didn’t know what you would walk into. You weren’t sure how Yeonjun would feel to see you again or to see any of you right now. You had hoped the 6 turned 7-hour drive wasn’t for nothing, and that you could talk to Yeonjun with a clear mind.

Soobin took the lead with the rest of you trailing behind him. He sighed looking back at you guys before he built up the courage to ring the doorbell.

All of you were dead silent, anticipating for the door to be opened.

After a few more seconds, the large double doors open automatically, with a timid rather small lady standing in the doorway with an equally confused expression on her face to match yours.

That can’t be his mother? Right? They look nothing alike.

“Ehm…can I help you? It’s close to midnight? You do realize this is private property?” Lita says looking at the group with suspicion.

“Ehm, Hi mam, my name is Soobin, these are my friends…well…Yeonjun’s friends. We kind of…followed him here.” Soobin stammers incoherently. “But with good intent! We just…want to be there for him because…well…we think he’s having a hard time and-“

“Soobin.” You say shutting him up. “I think she gets it.”

Yeonjun heard multiple voices at the front door and came down the stairs out of curiosity. As he turns the corner, seeing a raven-haired tall figure at the front. He knew exactly who it was.

His eyes widened as his pace quickened, walking towards the voices a little faster.

You saw Yeonjun emerge from behind the lady, and when his eyes landed on all of you, he stood frozen on his feet next to her. The first one he made eye contact with is you.

The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds before the smaller lady interrupted the moment.

“Yeonjun, do you know these people?” She asks with a much kinder tone as she speaks to him.

“Y-yes, these are my friends,” Yeonjun says breaking eye contact with you, looking at the rest.

“How did you find out where I lived?”

“Y/n found out actually…there was a box in your room with the address on it…under your bed,” Mia says jumping in.

Yeonjuns eyes landed on you once again, giving you a small smile which you reciprocated, not knowing what else to do.

“Hyung, if you don’t want us here, I’m so sorry. But the way you left, we were worried and-”

Soobin couldn’t finish his sentence before Yeonjun pulled him towards him with a hard pull. The two hugged for a few seconds before Yeonjun let go, putting his hand on Soobin's shoulder as he looked at all of you with pure affection.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here…I don’t know what to say,” he says scratching the back of his head, still a little lost for words.

“How about, come in. It’s freezing.” Beomgyu says giving the older one a bitter smile as he chatters his teeth dramatically to show that he was cold.

Yeonjun chuckled, stepping aside so all of you could enter. And so, you did.

All of your jaws dropped at the interior and detail that went into the decoration of the place. The hall was huge and connected all of the separate rooms and wings together. Apart from the dark tiled floors, the colour scheme was light. Different shades of whites and nudes made up the interior. It was stylish, yet classic at the same time, with pops of colours from different flowers in huge vases.

“Do I need to prepare the guest rooms?” Lita asks a little flustered at the sudden appearance of 6 more guests.

Ah…so she’s the housekeeper, you think to yourself as you snap back to reality.

Mia nudged you, mouthing a subtle ‘Marry him’ to you, which you roll your eyes at.

“Uhm, yes. If you don’t mind. Thank you, Lita.” Yeonjun says bidding her a quick nod as Lita walks off quickly.

Yeonjun’s attention focused on all of you again, and Hueningkai barged his way through, ready to hug Yeonjun tightly.

“Hyung, are you okay? What happened?” he asks as he rubbed the older one’s belly while he still clung onto him like he always does.

His mother stood at the top of the stairs, unnoticed by any of you. She looked at the dynamic of all of you, especially looking at how clingy Hueningkai was with her son. She didn’t peg Yeonjun to be the type for physical affection like this.

A smile crept on her face, moved by the fact that his friends would go to these lengths to be there for him.

She tied her robe around herself, making her way down the stairs. And as she did so, Beomgyu noticed. He nudged Taehyun and motioned for him to look up, so he did, followed by all of you as you fell silent.

Yeonjun looked in the same direction all of you were focusing your gazes on, and immediately understood why you fell quiet like that.

As she made her way down the stairs, you got a closer look at her face, and the resemblance she had to Yeonjun was almost scary.

“Yeonjun? Who are these people?” Her voice was clear and warm, a little raspy cause she was probably asleep before you invaded her home.

She scanned everyones faces but when her eyes landed on you, they lingered on you, and it made you feel incredibly self-conscious.

Your paranoid ass started to get insecure, thinking she knew something about your relationship with her son, but her attention was quickly averted as Yeonjun spoke up.

“Is it okay if they stay here?” he asked politely.

“Of course, make yourselves at home. Any friend of Yeonjun’s is welcome here. If you all move to the living room so you can talk, I’ll go make some tea.”

“Thanks, mom.”

This whole dialogue confused all of you. To your knowledge, their relationship was questionable. But this seemed like a regular Mother and Son dynamic.

His mother disappeared in the massive hall as Yeonjun motioned for all of you to walk towards the living room. He knew he had a lot of explaining to do but he was dying to know why you were here after everything he said to you.

He was sure that no matter the circumstance, you’d never want to see him again. Yet here you were, looking at him with those big doe eyes of yours.

As the rest of the group admired the rest of the house, walking towards the living room, Yeonjun stopped you by tugging at your elbow lightly.

Your heart raced as he touched you, you looked down, hooking your pinkie in his before you looked up at his face.

His eyes were sad, apologetic, and insecure. “I…didn’t expect you to come with them…” he says looking at your intertwined fingers.

You sighed, rubbing comforting circles into his palm with your thumb. “Let’s talk later ok?” you say giving him a small yet reassuring smile. He nodded, letting go of your hand, leading you into the formal living room.

He caught Beomgyu playing with an antique object and Yeonjun’s brotherly side immediately kicked in. “If you break that you’re gonna have to work all of your life to repay my mother,” he says sternly as he sat down in the chair opposite from the couch all of you were seated on.

Beomgyu quickly let go of the weird-looking object and cleared his throat. “Ok, spill the beans hyung. What’s going on?” He asks as he sat down on the armrest of Yeonjun’s chair.

Yeonjun sighed, not quite knowing where to start.

“First of all. I owe all of you an apology,” he starts choking up a little.

“Hyung…” Taehyun says, his eyes getting sad as he watched Yeonjun protectively.

The mood in the room suddenly shifted as Yeonjun sighed. You could swear his eyes were getting watery, and there was nothing more that you wanted than to hold him in your arms right now. You wanted to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but you had no idea what was going on yet.

His mother emerged from the entrance with a tray full of teacups and cookies. She put down the tray and stood beside Yeonjun in silence.

“I’m sorry for acting the way I did on the night of the party. The way I acted towards you guys was uncalled for, especially towards you… y/n.”

You lock eyes with him again, and you feel his mothers’ eyes on you as well.

Hueningkai sat down in front of Yeonjun on the floor, putting a comforting hand on his knee.

Yeonjun gave him a small smile. Out of nervousness, Soobin grabbed Mia’s hand and squeezed it as all of you anticipated his next words.

“That night, I stayed at my uncle's house. The next morning my mom showed up to talk to me. It took some time but…we found some type of middle ground and I agreed to come back home with her for a while.”

“So…what was the family emergency?” Soobin asks a little confused.

Yeonjun inhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. He fell quiet for a second, suddenly noticing the room full of people that cared enough about him to drive all the way across the country to comfort him in a situation they didn’t know of, even though he was being a complete asshole.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve them. He looked at them individually and his heart started to swell with the intense amount of love he felt for them.

He looked at Beomgyu’s arm around him, Hyuka’s comforting hand on his knee, Soobin’s worried and glistening eyes to match Taehyun’s, Mia’s protectiveness, and your patient yet scared facial expression.

He bit his lip, getting emotional and he felt Beomgyu pull him closer.

“My dad is counting his last days,” he says looking at the floor.

You didn’t know about anyone else, but this was the last thing you expected.

The room fell silent apart from a few gasps. Your heart sank to your stomach and tears start to prickle your eyes as you watch him struggle to contain his emotions. His lip was slightly trembling, his hand covering his mouth as his eyes were big and sad.

“Oh, Yeonjun…” Mia sighs as she rubs Soobin’s back to comfort him as well.

Soobin isn’t one to cry but seeing the people he loves the most go through pain is absolutely heartbreaking to him. He wiped a single tear from his eyes and so did Taehyun as he sighed loudly.

Yeonjun huffed, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes to look at his friends. “Don’t cry. Stop, please.” He starts.

“It’s going to sound awful, but I’m not sad that he’s dying. My dad was…is a horrible person. He was abusive, manipulative, and unreasonable. There was no one I feared more than that man. Every time I closed my eyes at night I wasn’t scared of aliens and monsters under my bed, I was scared of him coming into my room to yell at me or hit me. I think I’m sadder about the fact that I’ll never get an apology out of him for ruining me. I’ll never hear him say that he was wrong for the things that he did to me as a kid and that’s the hardest pill to swallow.” Yeonjun confessed all in one go.

You swallowed harshly, trying to suppress a sob. Taehyun noticed that you were having a hard time, so he put his arm around you, making you lean into him by subtly pulling you towards him.

“I went to see him today, and even though we couldn’t really communicate the way I hoped we would, he made it clear to me that he wasn’t sorry.”

“What…” Soobin says in disbelief. “He wasn’t remorseful at all?”

“No.” Yeonjun shook his head, contemplating if he should tell them about the contract and the company, but given the fact that his mother was in the room; he decided against it.

He didn’t know if he could trust her, for all he knew she could be after the money and the company herself. Knowing his mother, she could be just as ruthless as her dad when it came to business matters.

“Yeonjun, we’re here for you. Seriously. If you need anything at all just tell us. We won’t be leaving unless you tell us to.” Soobin states confidently as they look each other in the eye. His words made Yeonjun feel assured, and he bid Soobin a small smile. It was nice knowing that he wouldn’t be going through this alone.

He took a deep breath, shaking the sadness off of him. “Thank you guys for coming, seriously. I think I needed all of you more than I thought I would.”

“Of course,” Hueningkai says.

“Anytime, we’re family,” Beomgyu says as he squeezed Yeonjun’s shoulder.

You heard a small scoff from the left corner of the room and saw his mother with her arms crossed.

You narrowed your eyes at her, raising your brow.

“Friends are friends, family is family,” she says, genuinely believing her own words.

Everyone was looking at her by now, as was Yeonjun who just sighed, ignoring her.

You don’t know why, but suddenly you feel a surreal amount of anger boiling in the pit of your stomach. You scoff at her statement which made Mia give you a warning look.

“We’ve been more of a family to him than you have been his whole life,” you say clear as day before you can think of the damage that you’ve just done, and just like that the atmosphere turned cold.

Yeonjun’s eyes widened, looking at you in shock.

Soobin uncomfortably shifted in his seat and Taehyun gave you a ‘bitch what the fuck was that’ look.

“Excuse me?” his mother’s tone changed completely. The once so soft-spoken woman turned into the ice queen herself and gave you a look that would normally make you run the opposite direction, but you held your ground by staring back at her fiercely.

“What she means is…” Taehyun jumps in quickly. “That we truly are a family, we’d go to hell and back for each other and that’s a fact…mam,” he says as politely as humanly possible.

You try your best not to roll your eyes, which Yeonjun noticed. He had an amused smile on his lips, which his mother then noticed and suddenly it clicked to her. You were the girlfriend who wasn’t his girlfriend. The girl that stole her son’s heart, and the girl that talked back to her in her own home.

“It’s getting late. I suggest everyone gets some sleep. You all must be tired from the long drive. We don’t know what is waiting for us tomorrow and if you are sticking by his side like you all say you are, then we better get some good night’s rest.” She says almost diplomatically, perfectly enunciating every word as if she rehearsed it.

You honestly didn’t even think of sleeping, you wanted to talk to Yeonjun, clear the air between you two, and comfort him to your best ability. He just told you his dad was dying, and his feelings were disregarded so quickly that it shocked you.

In your household, a revelation like this would result in hours upon hours of talking about your feelings, whereas in Yeonjun’s home. Feelings are seen as a temporary burden. It was scary how quickly the mood switched from emotional to almost business-like, but Yeonjun didn’t know any better. He was wired the exact same way as his mother because that’s how he had learned to deal with his feelings.

It’s like he only allowed himself to feel true emotion for a little while, seeing it as impractical to be vulnerable. This household really did feel like a business deal, which made your heartache for Yeonjun even more.

Soobin was the first to get up, stretching his tall body before he helped Mia to her feet as well.

Lita emerged from the entrance to lead all of you upstairs to your respective guest rooms.

Soobin and Mia shared a room, as did Hueningkai and Taehyun. Beomgyu and yourself, however, got rooms to yourselves with attached bathrooms in a whole different wing than the others.

From the outside, his house looked enormous, but from the inside, it was even bigger. You were already getting lost in the halls even though you were in a group. You had no idea where you came from every time you turned a corner and Yeonjun noticed how lost you were, chuckling to himself a little as he walked closely behind you.

You were the last one to be appointed to a room, as everyone else was already settling down.

“This is where you’ll be staying miss.” Lita says as she points to the door across from Beomgyu’s room.

You nod sheepishly, turning the doorknob. Your mouth fell agape at the sight of the room. You could swear it was as big as your apartment. The interior was classic, yet modern. And looking at the way the bed was made you were almost scared to wrinkle the bedsheets.

You swallow harshly, trying to act as nonchalant as possible.

“This will do, right? If not, I have a bigger option at the end of the hall.”

“N-no, this is fine, more than fine,” you stutter.

Yeonjun stood behind Lita, leaning against the doorframe with a shit-eating grin on his face.

He was enjoying your flustered state, as it took a lot to get your smart-ass anywhere close to dumbfounded.

You saw the playfulness in his eyes, and you cursed at yourself for being so obviously impressed with everything.

“If you need anything just give me a call with the house phone. The number is on your bedside table. Goodnight.” Lita says giving you a warm smile.

“Goodnight…” you mutter timidly as you close the door behind you after you watched Yeonjun walk off with her.

You lean your head against the doorframe, your mind spinning with all of the things that happened in such a short time frame.

You sigh, throwing your bag on the bed. You decided to take a quick shower. The attached bathroom looked like one out of a magazine, so it took some time for you to adjust and figure out how to set the right temperature for the faucet.

You really needed that shower to clear your mind and relax your muscles. You were basically clenching your butt cheeks the whole night out of nervousness, and you could already feel the muscles in your body getting sore. You sigh, finishing up your routine and slipping into an oversized shirt to sleep in.

During your whole routine, all you could think of was Yeonjun, and how badly you wanted to be alone with him right now.

You stare at the ceiling as you laid on your back, completely engulfed in the soft sheets and pillows of the bed.

You were wondering how he was doing, if he was thinking of you or if he was asleep.

You sit up, turning on the bedside lamp as you reach for your phone, ready to text or call him but your actions were interrupted as you heard soft knocks on your door.

Your eyes widened, knowing damn well that it was him.

You put your phone aside and crawled out of the bed with lightning speed.

When you opened the door and locked eyes with him, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his frame to hug him tightly.

He was surprised by your affection, wrapping his arms around you as well to hold you even tighter.

He closed his eyes as he buried his face in your hair, appreciating the moment.

God, he missed you.

You walked backwards, still in his hold as he closed the door behind him skillfully with his foot.

He let go of you slowly, grabbing your face as he searched for answers in your eyes for questions he hadn’t asked yet, but when you looked at him with the same longing facial expression as his, he knew enough.

He inched his face closer to yours, pulling you in for a soft and needy kiss that you yearned for so much. You stabilized yourself by holding on to his wrists as he kissed you with so much passion and hunger, that your mind went foggy. He pulled away slowly. Leaning his forehead against yours as you both try to catch your breath.

“Hi,” you say shyly, smiling up at him.

Your cuteness made him chuckle softly. “Hey,” he replies, letting go of you reluctantly.

You sit down on the bed and pat the spot next to you as a way of telling him to sit there. He complies and you face him, looking into his tired eyes.

You remove a stray piece of hair that was prickling his eyes and sigh.

“Tell me how you’re feeling, honestly,” you say taking a hold of his hand.

He takes a deep breath, knowing he can’t bullshit with you. “I’m not sure,” he confesses.

“It’s like one second I’m fine, and I forget what’s happening and the next I’m sad and angry. I feel bipolar,” he says letting himself fall flat to the bed.

You sigh, scooting closer to him. “That’s perfectly normal. I’m glad you’re still able to feel something given everything you’ve been through.”

He sighs loudly pulling you down with him, so you were situated on his chest. You comply, knowing that he needed you close for comfort, and to be really honest with yourself, you missed the feeling of having him close like this. You stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s presence in the silence before he decided to break it.

“I’m so fucking sorry y/n,” he says in almost a whisper as he plays with your hair, lost in thought.

You stay silent, getting sad as you think back to your explosive fight. “I should have never slapped you,” you admit choking up. The fact that you did was something you couldn’t get out of your mind nor forgive yourself for. Especially after Soobin told you about his abusive childhood, all you could do was hate yourself for it.

Yeonjun noticed the crack in your voice and sits up immediately with you still in his arms.

“Y/n if I was you, I would have done more than just slapped me in the face, I deserved that. It’s okay,” he says shushing you, caressing your cheek in order to calm you down.

You take a deep breath, blinking away the fluid in your eyes before you start to speak. “No, it’s not. And let’s not sugar-coat it. We were both wrong, and we were both right at the same time. I just don’t understand how we go from paradise to hell in a matter of seconds Yeonjun, it’s what scares me about us.”

He just nods, not being able to counter act your statement because you were right.

The not being able to live with or without each other was a level of toxicity that you swore you’d never fall for. But yet here you are, wrapped up in the arms of the man who basically told you his best friend could have you now that he’s done with you.

You can’t even tell him how many times those words rang through your head like a painful mantra, but that’s the last thing that you want to burden him with right now.

“I forgive you,” you say breaking the silence. “I really do. I know you only said those things to push me away because you’re afraid to let me in, but you’re not the only one that’s scared Yeonjun. So am I. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about anyone and that’s just…’

“Scary,” he says, finishing your sentence.

“Yeah..”

Yeonjuns shoulders fell, giving you a kiss on your forehead. “We can figure out what all of this means for us later, but for now I’m just really, really happy you’re here right now.”

You nod in agreement, kissing his jaw affectionately before you wrap your arm around his waist again, and suddenly his mind flashed back to the little altercation between you and his mother.

“I can’t believe you talked back to my mom like that.” He snorts as he pulls you back down again, making himself comfortable with you laying across his chest.

“I’m sorry but it was the fucking hypocrisy that did it for me,” you huff a little annoyed as you think back to the moment.

Yeonjun just chuckles, and you feel his chest vibrate as he does so. “I don’t know. I get what you mean but she’s been trying. I can’t move forward with her if I don’t give her a chance to change but…I don’t trust her yet,” he says lost in thought.

“What don’t you trust her with?”

Yeonjun bit the inside of his cheek, contemplating if he should tell you about the whole ordeal with his dad this afternoon, but since he wanted your opinion on the matter, he decided to tell you.

“I told you guys I went to visit my dad, right?” He says rubbing your back absentmindedly.

You nod, looking up at him. “What happened?”

“He wrote me a letter saying that he’s been keeping tabs on me, and that he wants me to take over the business because he doesn’t’ trust my mom.”

“Wow, wow, wow. What?” you say sitting up again.

“Yeah, that was a very rough summary,” he says propping himself up on his elbows to look at you.

“He kept tabs on you?”

“He had people spy on me. It’s scary baby, he even knew of you.”

Your eyes widen in shock. It’s like you were suddenly involved as a pawn in a very complex game of chess and you didn’t know what to think of it.

“And he wants you to take over Choi Enterprises?”

Yeonjun just nods, looking up at the ceiling.

“Well…are you?”

“It’s never what I wanted. And It’s not like I want to grant his dying wish or anything like that but…”

“But?”

“It is my birthright.”

You blink a couple of times, letting his words register. If Yeonjun was seriously contemplating whether or not to take the position of acting CEO, you were sure he wouldn’t need some lame college degree to back him up. He’d drop out of school; move back to his hometown and you’d never see him again. Selfishly it’s not what you wanted, but it wasn’t about you. It was about him.

“If I just let my mom run the company, I could always roll in if I wanted to, but if I would go behind her back and acquire the position myself, it’d break the little trust we built.”

“What if your mom is just using your good heart to get to that position herself?” You ask thinking out loud.

“You think she’d do that?” Yeonjun says genuinely interested, not offended at all by the assumption. If anything, he was happy to have someone to talk to, so he could look at the situation from multiple perspectives.

“I mean…what do you really know about her?” You ask tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers to keep yourself occupied.

Yeonjun looked at you, biting his lip as he got lost in thought again.

“My dad did mention something in the letter about her, and her quote ‘cunning family’ being after Choi Enterprises, but I don’t know it just…seems like a stretch. My mom knows I don’t have interest in the company.”

You halt your movements, laying back down on his chest as you make yourself comfortable.

He looked down at you lovingly, giving you a quick kiss on your lips when you looked up at him again.

“Maybe ask him about it. I can come with you if you want. First thing in the morning.”

Yeonjun’s brows raised in surprise. “You’d do that?” he asks a little baffled at the fact that you’d voluntarily throw yourself in a lion’s den for him. This wasn’t just like visiting a relative in the hospital, there was so much more at stake that even Yeonjun himself couldn’t fathom right now.

You nod, not having to think twice about it. “Anything for you.”

The two of you fell asleep like that, wrapped up in each others’ warmth with your arms and legs tangled together. It was the best sleep both of you had gotten in the past couple of days. Though it was a short night, you were well-rested.

At around 8 AM you texted Soobin that Yeonjun and yourself went out to talk to each other in private when in reality you were going to visit the hospital to see Yeonjun’s dad. You were sure everyone was still in deep sleep and that you’d be back before they’d notice, but it felt better to at least let someone know that you left the house together.

The car ride was silent, nerves eating at the both of you as you held hands while he drove. He was nervously biting the inside of his cheek like he always does, and never let go of your hand the whole way.

As you walk through the endless halls of the hospital and pass security to the VIP section; you started to get more intimidated by the level of security present. They let Yeonjun through without a word and you trailed behind him with big eyes as you held onto his hand tightly.

He sighed, turning around to look at you as he stops in front of a massive double door. “Last time I saw him I stormed out in anger. Even when he’s not responsive he makes my blood boil and I honestly don’t want you to see me like that if it happens again.” He confesses as he looks at you seriously.

You sigh, squeezing his hand as reassurance. “I don’t care. I’m not leaving your side.”

Yeonjun nodded, taking a deep breath before he prepared himself as he opened the door to his fathers’ VIP area, but the sight he was welcomed with, was the last one he expected.

You noticed how he froze, and you frowned, standing on your toes to peek over his shoulder but your heart dropped to your stomach as you saw and heard what was going on.

Doctors and nurses were frantically trying to resuscitate Yeonjun’s father.

“CLEAR!”

The loud and continuous beeping of the heart monitor, followed by the charging sounds of the defibrillator was all the confirmation you needed to know that he was flatlining.

Panic was evident, and you knew that despite all the efforts of the doctors, chances were little to nothing that they’d be able to bring him back, given the state he was already in.

Your gasp was noticed by a few nurses and doctors which made one of them groan in disapproval.

“How did they get in here!? No one is allowed inside.” The doctor huffs before he charged the defibrillator again.

“CLEAR!”

Yeonjun watched his father’s body contort as the joules of electricity were charged through his chest, but it was to no avail.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” One of the nurses says as she blocks the view.

Yeonjun pupils darted from his father to the doctors. He was in pure shock and unable to comprehend was going on before you lightly tugged at his hand.

“Yeonjun,” you say in almost a whisper, trying to snap him out of it as you squeeze his hand.

“I-I’m his son,” Yeonjun says in an attempt to stick around. The same nurse from the day before gave him an apologetic look as she slowly pushed him out the door, while another doctor closed the curtain.

“I’m really sorry Yeonjun, but it’s protocol. You have to wait outside.”

She closed the door behind her and left the two of you completely paralyzed in the halls of the VIP ward.

Yeonjun turned around, leaning his back to the wall as his legs became weak. He slowly crouched down, and the sight broke your heart into a million pieces.

He wasn’t crying, he didn’t even look sad. He was just frozen.

He looked into nothingness as he listened to what was going on inside of the room.

You quickly crouch down with him, not knowing what to do other than hold his hand and caressing his face with your free hand.

He still stared at the wall across from him as you pulled him close, making him rest his face on your shoulder as you whispered sweet nothings to him while he had to listen to what was going on in the other room.

The continuous beeping noise of the heart monitor followed by the sounds of the defibrillator sent chills down your spine as you held him to your best ability.

He didn’t respond to you or react to anything else, and when the noises halted after a minute or so, you knew they called it.

He closed his eyes, suddenly tightening his arms around you as realization struck him.

“Time of death, 8.43 AM.”

You were seated in the family room of the hospital, handing Yeonjun a plastic cup filled with water.

He snapped out his thoughts and accepted the cup, taking a sip from it while avoiding eye contact with you.

He hadn’t quite looked at you yet. He was continuously staring into the void and it was starting to become scary. You wished he’d just say something, but he wasn’t able to, so you gave him time.

You promised you wouldn’t leave his side, and you were keeping that promise by handling the communication with the nurse, so he didn’t have to. You had called Soobin to tell him what was going on and you were sure they’d all be here in no time.

You sat down across from him, trying to give him some space to gather his thoughts but it was like he wasn’t even in the room with you.

You sigh, taking a sip of your own cup of water and just as you were about to speak, his mother walked in followed by your friends.

She stepped aside as the boys enveloped Yeonjun in a tight hug, while Mia stood beside you, squeezing your shoulder lightly to show support.

Yeonjun sighed into the hug, loosening up a little and his frozen state seemed to vanish.

Again, he wasn’t getting emotional, but he closed his eyes, letting his friends hold him in silence for a while.

The sight made your eyes water a little, but you choked back your tears, not wanting to be the one to start crying when no one else was.

His mother turned her attention to you, and you looked back at her while Mia was protectively standing next to you, still with her hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you for handling the communication with the staff. That must not have been easy, and I apologize for the fact that you had to do that. That should have been me. I’m sorry.”

You were taken aback by her apology and quickly shake your head in response. “No, no, please. Don’t mention it. It’s the least I can do.”

She gave you a simple nod and averted her attention to Yeonjun. He got up from the chair and walked over to his mother, opening up his arms for her.

She hesitated but went for the hug anyway, closing her eyes as she inhaled his scent, letting him hold her for a bit. The physical affection making her tear up.

He rubbed her back, patting her hair.

“It’s ok mom, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Everything happened so incredibly fast that you weren’t even able to process what the hell was going on around you. The Choi family had people for people who worked for those people, which meant that the funeral was basically held within the next day.

Lita made sure that the boys, Mia, and yourself had something appropriate to wear for the ceremony and you were in Yeonjun’s room, dressed and ready just half an hour before the service would start.

You were seated on his bed, watching him fix his tie in the mirror.

He had been super quiet and detached, and you wanted to give him space, but he was adamant about the fact that he wanted you around. He hadn’t shed a single tear and didn’t even really talk about what happened. It was mostly you doing the talking for him.

Having to explain what you saw was rough, and you were worried it’d trigger something inside Yeonjun, but it didn’t. He kept himself composed and strong, and you were curious how long he could keep that façade alive.

You snap back from your thoughts and watch him struggle with tying his tie. A small smile crept upon your lips and you get up from the bed, walking towards him to do it for him.

He looked at you lovingly, holding on to your waist as he watched you tie the knot expertly just like your father taught you.

“What can’t you do?” he asks amused, looking down at you.

You look up at him through your lashes and scoff. “Get you to open up apparently,” you say as you finish up, giving him a soft pat on his chest to let him know you’re all done.

He blinked a couple of times, biting his lip.

“I love you.”

Your eyes snap up to his in shock, making sure you didn’t just imagine that.

“W-what?”

“I love you,” he repeats, giving you a small smile as he fixes a piece of your hair.

“Y-Yeonjun I-” you stutter.

His confession was loud and clear, though it took you some time to process. You had no idea where it was coming from, but as you looked him in the eye; all he showed was confidence and sincerity.

“I think I knew the night of our fight, I wanted you as far away from me as possible to protect you from myself, and my uncle out of all people made me realize that that’s something you do out of love.” He explains making sense of his words.

“I don’t know what love feels like y/n, but when I look at you…the way you handled this whole thing. Sticking by me and supporting me emotionally even though I see you struggle with your own emotions it’s just…” He sighs, organizing his thought before he spoke again.

“I couldn’t put into words, how much I care for you and appreciate you, and that’s when it clicked that there’s a whole ass expression for that feeling,” he says, letting his hands travel to your waist again.

“I love you y/n. So, fucking much that it hurts,” he admits, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead to yours.

You sigh contently, letting your hand travel up to his cheek, softly caressing it before you peck his lips softly.

“I love you too.”

Yeonjun didn’t expect you to say it back to him, but you meant every word you said. His eyes snapped open and a huge boyish grin crept upon his face, his eyes glistening with pleasure as he pulled you towards him roughly, which made you yelp in response.

“You do?” He asks beaming at you.

“Yes Yeonjun, now wipe that grin off your face. We have a funeral to attend,” you say as you playfully roll your eyes.

He snorted, letting go of you reluctantly, stealing a chaste kiss from you before he opened the door to his bedroom.

“After you, my love.”

You were warned beforehand that the funeral would be more like a business event rather than a private family gathering. The ceremony took place in their back yard, so luckily you didn’t have to worry about running late.

The number of people you were introduced to, given the fact that Yeonjun paraded you around like an accessory was overwhelming. The only people that really stuck out to you were his uncle, Namjoon, and his wife Hye-Jin.

They were so happy to meet you that it felt like they already knew you personally.

Yeonjun basically had his game face on the whole night, it was a side to him that you hadn’t seen before and you realized that you missed the carefree, peer pong playing college boy from before.

As Yeonjun was talking to some stockholders, you decided to find your friends again.

“So…you and Yeonjun hyung are officially a thing now?” Taehyun asks as you join their table, completely exhausted from fake smiling to all the people you just met.

“Don’t think I don’t notice how he sneaks into your room every night y/n. Your room is literally right across from mine.” Beomgyu says as he gives you a bitter smile.

You roll your eyes at him as you smack his arm, earning a small yelp from him.

Soobin looked at you expectantly waiting for you to answer Taehyun’s question and you just nodded.

“We worked things through, I’ll tell you the details later but…we haven’t had the boyfriend, girlfriend talk yet.”

“Well, the timing is a little…” Mia starts.

“Yeah, exactly.”

Hueningkai sighs, throwing his head back in annoyance. “What is going on, first Soobin hyung and Mia, then Beomgyu hyung and Ryujin and now Yeonjun hyung and you? Is there something in the air that I don’t know about?”

The group started snickering softly, trying not to be rude given the fact that you were at a funeral.

“Maybe I should just start dating Taehyun.” He says jokingly nudging his friend.

“Actually, I’m kind of talking to someone too,” he says waving off the confused looks of everyone as he smiled at all of you.

“If it’s Yeonjun’s mom, I swear to god.” Beomgyu says.

“Ew, no. What the fuck.”

“Can all of you please behave? Please. Just one night.” Soobin begs as he rubs his forehead, which made Mia chuckle, patting his back in comfort.

Soon after the music stopped. A spokesperson of the family took the stage, telling everyone to take a seat. Yeonjun’s eyes found yours, and he basically told you in sign language that he couldn’t join you guys, as it is expected that he sits at the front with his mother.

The ceremony was simple and short. There were multiple speakers and every once in a while, you checked Yeonjun’s facial expression to see how he was holding up.

You noticed how the same hollowness returned if he didn’t have to act like the perfect son to all the attendees, and it worried you.

After his mother took the stage, shedding a few rehearsed tears, they lowered the casket, and the ceremony was basically over with. Watching his mother put on such an academy award-winning performance, made you realize that apart from you, your friends and the immediate family, no one knew what kind of person Choi Daniel really was.

It made you sick to your stomach that he was being honoured as if he was some type of hero.

A few hours pass before the last guests leave the house. Your group was seated together in the formal living room, and when Yeonjun enters with an exhausted look on his face, all of you fall quiet as you stare at him.

He let himself fall onto the lounge chair and loosened his tie, slouching down in his seat as he threw his head back.

“Are you okay?” Mia asks, being the first to speak up.

“I’m just drained I guess,” Yeonjun says rubbing his temples.

“Well, we are leaving tomorrow, so we can go back to our normal lives asap. I feel like I’ve walked into some K-drama.” Taehyun retorts as he sits down as well.

Yeonjun lifts his head, biting his lip as he looks at the group of people he cares about the most. “Right, about that…”

His eyes find yours and you can already see that he’s sorry about something.

You cock your head to the side, waiting for him to continue, and then he sighs.

“I’m not coming back with you guys,” he says apologetically. “At least…not for a while. I can’t just leave my mom in the midst of all of this. There's so much more that needs to be taken care of…”

Your heart sank a little, but it was understandable for him to stick around longer.

Mia narrowed her eyes at Yeonjuns words, and the guys just hummed understandingly.

“How long will you be gone for then?” Hueningkai asks.

“Till the end of Summer I think,” Yeonjun replies, his eyes finding yours.

You understood the circumstances, but you were shocked, to say the least. Even though you’ve been together non-stop since the incident, he hadn’t talked to you about it.

He gave you a sad look when you avoided his gaze, which Mia noticed as she looked at you two.

Yeonjun decided he had enough of the gloomy atmosphere and decided to crack open his fathers’ expensive collection of aged wines and scotches.

Since they were at home, he let the minors indulge a little too. Everyone was letting loose a little. The old playful group dynamic returned slowly but you were still lost in thought about Yeonjun’s decision to stay behind.

He noticed how you sat far away from him and sighed. He walked towards you. Asking you to come with him to the kitchen and you agreed. Feeling that it was best to talk about this before you make matters worse by overthinking.

You took a seat at the breakfast bar, waiting for him to start talking, but he just looked at you with concern.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says.

“I was just…speaking to so many people today and I realized I can’t just pretend that this part of my life doesn’t exist anymore. Especially now that he’s gone.”

“Yeonjun, I’m not mad. I just…don't get why you would tell me you love me when you knew that you weren’t going to come back with us," you say as you play with your fingers

His eyes widened and he got closer to you. Taking a hold of your hands after he made you look up at him by tugging at your chin.

“Hey, It’s just a few weeks. Nothing will change the way I feel about you; I promise. I just need time to unravel all of these family secrets. I never got to ask him why he didn’t trust my mother and after today I just…I have to figure it out.”

You nod, understanding completely. Somehow you wanted him to ask you to stay here with him for the rest of summer, but the fact that he didn’t was all that you needed to know.

“Don’t be sad okay, we’ll stay in contact,” he says as he caresses your cheek.

You nod and lean into his touch which made him smile. He inched his face closer to kiss you softly.

You didn’t know what, but something was off about him. He looked at you with affection but at the same time, his eyes were hollow, almost soulless.

A small knock on the wall snaps both of you back to reality, your heads snap back to see Mia in the doorway looking at you both seriously.

“Y/n, Soobin needs your help with something.” She says as she gives you a small smile.

You frown, and so does Yeonjun, but you decide to go see for yourself, not thinking much of it.

“Alright then?” you say as you get up from the barstool, walking towards the formal living room.

Mia’s gaze followed you out the door, and before Yeonjun could walk back to the living room with you. She stops him.

“You’re not coming back are you?” She asks, looking him in the eye sternly.

Well, fuck.

Yeonjun sighs. He should have known. Mia sees through anyone’s bullshit; and given how protective she is of y/n. He knew he had to tell her the truth before she beat it out of him.

“I’m not sure yet,” he admits, avoiding eye contact with her.

Mia’s shoulder fell, her eyes getting sad. It was just an assumption she had, but she didn’t expect him to tell her the truth this easily.

“Yeonjun…you can’t do that to her.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” he says raising his voice a little. He glanced through the hall at the group, making sure you didn’t hear him before his gaze returned to Mia.

She stared back at him in disbelief, waiting for him to explain himself.

“I just…I need time. I can’t be what she deserves the way I am now. It could take weeks, months, maybe even years but you have to believe me that I’m doing it for her,” he says trying to make Mia understand.

“If there was another way, I’d do it, but after today my world turned dangerous. There are too many people after the company. Money makes people do crazy things and I don’t want her anywhere near it. Y/n has to be protected at all costs. I have to handle this on my own.”

Mia exhaled loudly, trying to gather her thoughts as her hand lands on her forehead.

“I love her more than anyone Mia. I do. You have to believe that I’m doing this in her best interest.”

Mia just shakes her head, swallowing harshly before she makes eye contact again.

“What about the guys.”

“They have each other, and y/n has you. You have to promise me you’ll be there for her.”

“Yeonjun...I-”

“Promise me.”

Mia sighs, defeated in a game she never even played. She closes her eyes, nodding at his request.

"Ok, I promise.”

Chapter 10

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prfctethereal · 4 years ago

Text

My Everything - Tom Riddle x Reader

pairing: tom riddle x reader

word count: 3,175

a/n: uhh this is my first one shot imagine thing so i hope it doesnt stink. I’ve already posted this on ao3 but i thought i might give tumblr a try. -kennedy

***

A cold winter’s day was nothing as the potions classroom steamed up in the heat. Stressed students in their last year of school fumbled with their cauldrons, scribbling notes onto their parchment, trying to remember everything they would need for their NEWTs coming up in June. Smokey fog misted the room, suffocating the students. If only someone could crack open a window - too bad they were in the dungeons.

On today’s agenda, Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in the world. It was only revision but since I had done so poorly on it last year, I was determined to get a higher score this year. Luckily, we could choose our potions partners in our seventh year, so I partnered up with my best friend, and exceedingly talented potions maker, Tom Riddle.

I’ve known Tom ever since year one. My nervous self lost on a train in a sea of strangers, unsure of where to go, unsure of where to step. Everyone seemed so intimidating and daunting; I struggled to even speak up and talk to anyone. Alone I sat, in an empty compartment, scanning my new textbooks so I wouldn’t seem so daft.

It was hard being muggleborn. I thought I would’ve been behind everyone academically, only just learning about the wizarding world last May when I turned eleven and got my Hogwarts letter. Of course, I was ecstatic - who wouldn’t be? The idea of magic had always fascinated me, growing up on fairytales and myths. But then, I traded in Snow White for Standard Book of Spells: Volume One.

Yet, as I saw the compartment door open and I locked eyes with a reserved, charming boy, I sat my book down and gave a small smile. He returned the smile with a wave, before turning his attention to the spell book in my lap, cocking an eyebrow up.

“Getting a head start?” The strange boy had asked. At that moment, I had to decide what to say. I could tell the truth and reveal that I was a nervous muggleborn who was afraid of knowing nothing in my classes, but I had already heard about the prejudice around muggleborns. Many people believed they were inferior to pureblood wizards and I wasn’t sure if this boy was one of those people. I was in no position to pass up a friendship. So I lied.

“I was just so happy to be going to Hogwarts that I just wanted to get right into the learning. I mean, I've been waiting to go for my entire life.” I stuttered out, praying that I had said the right thing. The strange boy’s face relaxed as he heard that and held his hand out in front of him, waiting for me to shake it. Hesitantly, I leaned over, taking his hand in mine. His fingers were cold and slender, curling around mine in a menacing manner. All my thoughts told me to get out of there, to run away before anything bad could happen, but I was so alone. I wanted a friend more than anything.

“My name is Tom Riddle.” His voice was smooth like melted silver, enchanting me. I could feel a pink tint rise on my cheeks, encapsulating my face in a blush. Looking down to avoid his piercing blue eyes, I smiled softly. I shook his hand as he wanted, pulling away. His hands were foreign and they felt strange wrapped around mine. Yet, so alluring.

“I’m [Y/N L/N].” I blurted, placing my hands in my lap nervously. Regret flushed into my veins as I watched his mind process what I had told him. Was my name too muggle-like? Had I given away my secret already? Yet, he smirked. A good sign, I had decided.

We talked casually for the rest of the train ride. Avoiding as many questions about my family as possible, I noticed Tom doing the exact same thing. So I never brought it up and he didn’t either. He seemed interesting though. Like his last name entailed, he was a riddle and I was curious to solve him. I was never going to get anywhere though with just small talk. I wanted to be closer to him.

At the sorting ceremony, I watched as he went up to the sorting hat. Immediately after the hat was placed upon his head, it exclaimed “Slytherin!” I had at least read up on the different houses at Hogwarts. I knew what Slytherins were about; their pureblood propaganda was almost impossible to avoid when reading Hogwarts: A History. As I saw the glint of passion in Tom’s eyes when he heard the house, I realised I had made the right choice to lie about my blood on the bus. He was ever so pleased to be a Slytherin.

When my name was called, I begged not to be in Slytherin. Tom would find out my secret if I was around him too much, so I asked the sorting hat not to place me in the house of serpents. The most I remember from that sorting ceremony was hearing “Ravenclaw” come out of the sorting hat’s mouth and fainting onto the cool ground.

Waking up in the hospital wing, my eyes fluttered open to see none other than Tom Riddle sitting in the chair next to me. He was looking out for me and at the moment, he became my best friend for the next seven years.

But now, we were seventeen years old, sleeves rolled up, sweat beading at our foreheads. I wiped it away panting heavily. I couldn’t mess up Amortentia for a second time; I would never hear the end of it from Tom. We were both top students in all our classes but in potions, he was definitely on top. As I shrugged my cardigan off, I heard him snigger under his breath, shaking his head while chuckling. I gave him dagger eyes before turning back to my potion. I knew he was mocking me for being stressed. Not everyone could be so calm while potion making.

“Do you need some help?” I heard Tom’s voice from behind me, as I flicked my head around, revealing his cocky grin, watching me from over my shoulder. My lips were pursed tight as I gave him a small smile, trying not to reveal that I was struggling. Yet, as I was about to add bat wings to the cauldron, Tom put his hands on mine, pulling it away from the bubbling mixture. “I think you do if you’re going to add uncut bat wings into the potion.”

Frantically, I looked over at my potions book, seeing that Tom was correct - they needed to be roughly chopped. Taking a deep breath, I listened to his laughs as I grabbed my knife out, chopping them up into big chunks before adding them into the deep, velvety mixture, and stirred it three times anti-clockwise. All I needed now was to wait for it to simmer, so I sat back in my chair, tying my hair up to get it off my face.

Joining me peacefully, Tom sat beside me, a smug look on his face. His potion was simmering now too. We were both very quick at making potions, even if his potions were of a better quality than mine. I closed my eyes, taking a whiff of the aromas in the room. Nothing distinct could be smelt by me, except for the boy sitting next to me. All I wished to do was fall asleep right now, but I knew that I couldn't do that, so I sat up to take the potion off the heat. It should be finished by now.

Tom followed me up and I looked into my cauldron, unsure if it was any good. Questionably, I turned my head over to Tom, hoping he could smell it and test if it was working right. Tom trusted me with the information that he was born out of a love potion and couldn’t love anyone, so if he couldn’t smell anything, it should be perfect. As I gestured to my finished potion, I offered him to smell it and he leaned in. When the fumes raised up to his nose, his eyes widened in shock, his pupils dilating.

“Well, I can smell something in there.” He laughed, but I just sighed, on the verge of tears. I really needed to make it correctly but I had messed up again. Tom noticed that I was about to break down and placed his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a small hug. His soft hands came to my cheeks, taking his thumb and rubbing my flushed cheekbone. “Hey, hey, hey, it's okay. Maybe we can restart it before Professor Slughorn comes to check on it?”

But, it was too late. Professor Slughorn had noticed the lack of us doing anything and had wandered over to us, excitedly. I tried to hide my scarlet cheeks from the old man, burying myself in Tom’s torso, yet Slughorn had arrived, eagerly wanting to smell my potion. Reluctantly, I took the lid off my cauldron and moved out of the way to let Professor Slughorn smell my Amortentia.

Surprisingly, Professor Slughorn smiled as he smelt my potion. Confused, I tried to study his face and find out what he was smiling about. My question was answered soon after. “It’s perfect, Miss [L/N], it’s absolutely perfect. I can smell my late wife perfectly. Outstanding work! A big improvement from last year, aye?”

I was so shocked by what Slughorn had just said that I just nodded and gulped, looking over to Tom next to me. He looked even more nervous than me, avoiding eye contact with me as Professor Slughorn walked off. “You said you could smell something,” I asked Tom, “so why did you lie?”

“I didn’t.” Tom said quietly, leaning over his own cauldron. He took his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing nervously. I wasn’t paying much attention though, as I bent down over my own cauldron, taking in the aroma of the Amortentia. Old parchment, fire, and -

Tom caught my eye. His face looked pale, as if all the colour had been drained. Shyly, I looked away, turning my attention away from Tom and towards our teacher, folding my hands awkwardly in my lap.

“So, that’s the last lesson of the term. Over the holidays, I would like two rolls of parchment on the effects of Amortentia on a person. You may go now.” Slughorn said, before dismissing us. I grabbed my book bag before heading swiftly out of the potion classroom. As I left, I was met with a great gust of wind, sending shivers down my spine, cooling me down immediately, to a point where the sweat felt like icicles. Opening my bag, I searched for my cardigan, realising I had left it in the classroom.

Clumsily, I reentered the classroom, to see that the only one left in the room was Tom. He turned to me as I walked in, so I flashed him a calm smile. Strolling back to my seat, I took my cardigan in my hands, wrapping it around my cold body. Leaving the class, Tom followed after me, catching up to me and engaging me in conversation.

“So, everyone leaves tomorrow for the holidays.” Tom started, “What do you want to do first?” A dangerous smirk raised on his face, waiting for my answer. As a tradition, every year we stayed at school together, two of the only people who stayed, and caused mayhem to all the teachers and remaining students. It was the most exciting time of year. It always ended with us falling asleep on Christmas Eve in the Astronomy Tower, watching all the stars into the night. Unfortunately, this year was different.

“I have to go home this year.” Tom’s face fell as I said these words, his eyes filling with sadness. Before he could ask why, I answered his question. “I’m going to be eighteen soon and that means I’m going to get married. My parents want me to go home and meet my new fiancé that I’m going to have to marry. I’m sorry Tom.”

“Y-you’re getting married?” Tom stuttered, and he never stuttered. I looked away from him ashamed. He looked at me like I was some foreign person, someone who he didn’t know. I couldn’t even look at me.

“I’m sorry.” I spluttered out, as I turned the corner towards the Ravenclaw tower, leaving Tom down in the dungeons. I turned back towards him before quietly saying, “goodbye Tom.”

***

Morning broke and I woke up early to pack my suitcase up. Of course, I didn't want to go home. I didn’t want to be a victim to some muggle arranged marriage. In all honesty, my parents were ashamed of me being a witch. That’s why I never returned home each winter holiday, only going back to them in the summer holidays, when I needed to. Hoping that it would squash out the magic in my blood, my parents were forcing me to marry the blandest, most normal man they could find.

I decided to skip breakfast this morning, being unable to even look at Tom. Last night at dinner had been sufficiently awkward enough, even while ignoring him as much as possible. Yet, I could feel his eyes burning the back of my head the entire time. I couldn’t handle that again so I decided I could just get something to eat on the train.

It was currently nine o’clock in the morning. The train was scheduled to leave at ten so I had to hurry up, shoving as many as my muggle clothes in my bag as possible. If this day couldn’t get any worse, outside my window I could see the clouds closing in, small raindrops falling onto my window pane. Sighing, I pulled out an old sweater that I had given to Tom to borrow earlier this term. It still smelt like him - the smell was alluring.

The plan was to get out of the castle and onto the platform as soon as possible. I could talk to Tom one on one again once I had gotten back from my trip, but I was still terrified of what would happen. He was my best friend, surely he would understand?

Taking a carriage out of Hogwarts, I arrived in Hogsmeade, ready to take the train. With my suitcase in hand, I reached up to grab onto the train, yet I was pulled back onto the platform. 9:50am. The train would leave in ten minutes and I needed to get on. Also, it was raining harder now, and I wasn’t happy about getting soaked.

I knew it was Tom who pulled me away and I couldn’t disagree with his feelings. I had left him with nothing. I had ignored him for the past sixteen hours. I was being a bad friend, I know, but I couldn’t stand to see him sad and miserable. It hurt me. It hurt him. I hated seeing him hurt

9:52am. We had finally reached our destination. A small secluded area away from the platform. It may have been quiet but I was still being pummeled by the rain, shivering in my thin sweater. I looked up through my dew-covered eyelashes up to Tom, who stood much taller than me. His normally perfect curls were damp and limp, clinging tightly to his pale face. His eyes had a look of disappointment and confusion in them. His hands were resting on the sides of my arms, not letting me go. For a few moments, we just stood there, staring at each other, breathing heavily, until Tom finally spoke.

“Don’t go.” Tom finally said. 9:54am. I couldn’t find the words to say, the only thing coming out of my mouth was incomprehensible sounds.

“I have to go. My parents-”

“I don’t care about them. Stay here. With me.”

“What about my marri-?”

Tom looked away and I stopped talking. Out of instinct, I took my rain-sodden hand up to his cheek, turning him towards me. I leaned in closer to him, trying to get him to see where I was coming from. Yet, my heart fluttered at our closeness. He no longer felt cold, like when I first met him. His hands were warm. His eyes were kind. He was different.

“You will regret it if you go.” Tom muttered. “I know you will. I know you. And no man will ever know you like I do.”

9:56am. I really had to go, but I couldn’t leave Tom here. Slowly, I released him from my grasp and went back in, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him into a warm hug. His arms fell perfectly around my waist, pulling me in tighter. I never wanted to move, but I felt his hand leave my waist. My heart fell for a moment until he reattached his hand to my chin, tilting my head upwards. That’s when his lips connected with mine.

His lips were soft, something I didn’t expect. Truthfully, I didn’t expect a kiss at all. It was innocent as small as first, slowly releasing me, but it wasn’t enough. My heart wanted more, so I cupped his cheeks with my hands and pulled him in for another kiss, more passionate than the first. Our lips were synchronised perfectly, our touch igniting each other. It was as if I had never been happy before and Tom filled me with all the joy I needed. Then, he pulled away, placing a piece of my wet hair behind my ear. “Don’t go.”

9:58am. “I have to go. I can’t stay here. I’m not enough.” I looked down but Tom’s hand pulled me upwards again so I could feel his breath on my ear.

“I love-”

I pulled away before he could finish. He was making a mistake. He had no idea who I really was and it seemed like time to finally tell him.

“Tom, I am not who you think I am.” I started, feeling Tom’s eyes watching me intently. “I’m nothing more than a muggle born witch. I’m a mudblood. I’m nothing compared to you.”

9:59am. He didn't hesitate. He didn’t say anything. I was waiting for him to say something, to end this awkward silence, but instead, he just pulled me into another kiss.

“[Y/N] [L/N], I do not care that you are muggle born. You aren’t nothing. You are my everything and I love you. I love you so much.”

For one last time, he pulled me into a tight kiss and none of us let go. The rain poured down, keeping us in a tight bubble of our own heat. I could never let go.

10:00am.

I heard the train’s horn go but I didn’t care.

I pulled away, much to Tom’s despair, but whispered something, almost inaudibly.

“I love you too.”

#harry potter #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle angst #tom riddle fluff

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years ago

Text

❛ INTRUDER ❜

WORDS: about 950.

warnings: swearing, a little bit of angst (?).

Summary: while Angel is on a run with the club, an intruder break into his house.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. This work also contains some words in spanish —pet names. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ GIF credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl✨

❚❙ ANGEL REYES MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

📱: “can i call you and tell you good night?”

📱: “i want to hear your voice before going to sleep…”

Probably, Angel isn’t going to respond to you. He left your hometown almost a week ago for a run with the club, and you were starting to miss him too much. He was only allowed to send you a text every two days, but it’s been three since you knew something about him for the last time. You are worried. It’s not a feeling you can run away from.

Sighing, after five minutes looking at the screen of your phone, waiting for a text back or a call, you lock it to leave it over your nightstand. Today has been a hard day in the hospital, having to attend more emergencies than normally because of a multiple accident with a bus and two SUVs. The only thing you wanted was to know that he was okay, just too busy to answer your messages.

Covering your body with the fluffy blanket impregnated in his strong scent, you wrap his side of the pillow with both arms, trying to push away from your mind all the possible sceneries where Angel could be hurt. It’s painful. You were conscious of his job when you two started to date three months ago. But you’re not used to yet, and you didn’t think it could be this difficult sometimes.

The vibration over the nightstand behind your back catches your attention, before your phone starts to sound. Quickly turning around and sitting up, you answer the call with a bunch of tears in your eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry… We’ve been through some… unexpected shit. But ‘am good”.

“I miss you”.

“So do I”

His cold and dry tone, with no feelings in it, gives you shivers. Is he tired? Is he lying? Has he even thought about you?

“When are you coming back?”

“Dunno. You know, unexpected shit”.

“Okay… I ju-”.

“Listen, ‘got to hang up. Go to sleep, it’s late”.

You can’t say not even a weak good night, Angel, when you hear a metallic tone before ending the call. The twinge within your chest crystals your eyes, as the tears roams your cheeks down to the line of your jaw. That wasn’t the kind of communication, or talk, you were waiting for. Yes, he's alive. But seemed like he didn’t care about your worries and your fears. For a moment, you are about to toss away the blankets and leave for your home, driven by the rage of his lack of interest. But cleaning your tears with the back of your hands, you try to justify him thinking that he has to be tired after not sleeping many hours and eating junk food on the road.

Grabbing your bottle of water to have a sip, you calm yourself breathing in and out slowly. Putting away the bottle and your phone, you cuddle again the pillow under your arms, sinking your face in it. But you can't help, breaking into tears when his scent fills up your lungs squeezing your heart, only containing it when you hear some noises out of his room. Raising your face to the closed door, you stretch a hand to the baseball bat next to the bed. Getting up trying to be silent, you walk towards it with your dangerous weapon lifted up in front of your eyes. Ready to beat a home run.

Opening the door, you stick your head off of it, but you can't see anything. Only hearing some heavy steps at the entrance.

“He—Hey, you, motherfucker! You better leave my house, bec—because my boyfriend is about to come… And he's gonna kick your ass!”

Not even you are convinced of your words, hearing some rough chuckles from nowhere.

“He… He… He's tall and strong, and… He's crazy! So you better go now!”

You don't dare to step out from the room, carrying the bat but standing under the frame. More laughs. You're starting to shake, having to grab better the piece of wood ready to hit the intruder, when the light of the living room turns on.

“Yeah, and he's handsome, and ho—”.

Angel can't finish the sentence, closing the distance in a second and jumping onto his arms. He almost falls, having to take a step back with a leg, as his laughs become louder and you cry again. You were so scared of someone breaking into the house, but that sensation has gone to the background with the happiness flooding your body.

“The hell is wrong with you?!”

Putting your feet on the floor, you punch his chest feeling now somewhat angry and frowning at him.

“I wanted to try to surprise y—Stop hitting me!”

“You scared me!”

“Lucky you didn't use the bat against me. Nor your crazy boyfriend came to kick my ass”. Angel hums with that funny grin he draws whenever he feels ashamed because of your compliments. “I've missed you, loca”.

Welcoming again into his arms, the younger Reyes warms your skin with his tight embrace, placing kisses all around your face.

“Can't believe you didn't hear my bike”.

“I was occupied crying for my stupid boyfriend, thinking that he didn't care a shit about that I was worried for him”.

“Yeah… surprise”. Angel tilts his head slightly, watching you rest your chin on his chest and pouting at him. “Came back a couple hours ago, but I had to go to the club first. But now…”

Raising you up between his arms as the most pure bridal style, he carries you to his bed making you laugh finally.

“Got all the time in the world para mi reina”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes

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heyitsyn · 4 years ago

Text

HALLOKNEE

Manager!Seijoh

a/n: a halloween special with our boys and the mess it is

summary: lets just say,, things get weird during halloween

okay so first of

halloween isnt a favorite holiday of most of the boys

like they all ltr are towers and skyscrapers but these kids are absolutely terrified of it all

but you just really like the holiday bc of yanno, candy, scary stuff, and omg costumes!

so you were basically very hyped and excited about it and you were excitedly humming to yourself as the date grew closer

the boys were confused as to why you were actually happy and in a good mood but they didnt complain bc they love seeing you happy

the flowery aura makes them heart eyes

HEART GOES DOKIDOKI

oikawa ran over and he stood behind you as you were distractedly humming to your clipboard

‘watcha doing, y/n-chan?’

he whispered to your ear

normally, you would shriek or flinch but you didnt and instead, turned and flashed him a grin

‘checking our schedule! i have a surprise for you all and i want to make sure theres nothing happening to stop it from happening!’

the boys grimaced and held a hand to their heart at your joy and they didnt even question what was going on or why you were so excited

all they know is you were happy

lmao oikawa got the hardest shot to it

he was front seat and his eyes widened and he froze

then he pulled you to his chest and nuzzled his face into your neck

‘aawwww~~!!!! youre so cute y/n-chan!!’

these idiots are so whipped and simp for you so hard that they completely forgot everything

your happiness continued for another week and my god that was probably the best week of their life bc you were just fluttering and giggling and skfjdslkjfdlflfkjs

to be fair though, you mentioned halloween being close and you were looking forward to a family night of watching scary movies in tv and duh these boys were already arguing with each other on who would protect you

‘I WANNA SIT NEXT TO Y/N-CHAN!’

‘WHY?! SO YOU CAN HAVE AN EXCUSE TO HOLD HER?! YOURE A PERVERT SHITTYKAWA!’

‘AS IF YOURE NOT ANY BETTER IWAIZUMI!’

‘HANAMAKI STAY OUT OF THIS!’

ltr its just a big warcry between the third years while the second and first years already were getting head pats from you for being brave boys and were comfy right next to you

‘my boys are so cute~’

ITS A LOVE SHOT! NAAA NANANANANANANAANANAAAAAA

by then, the surprise was getting closer and you were already jumping in your toes

the night before, you texted the group chat to meet you at the school by 8 pm tomorrow

they all sent replies saying okay with no questions

‘okay love you y/n-chan! <3′

‘got it! good night!’

‘sweet dreams darling!’

at around 7:30, you were standing by the school bus since coach mizoguchi omg bless his heart was going to drive you all

the boys were all dressed in warm clothing and my gosh they all looked like models what the heck

we’re just going to ignore and forget that hideous infamous oikawa outfit

but you didnt focus on that and instead waved at them happily

‘you guys!’

oikawa jumped joyfully at your voice before naruto running over to you and scooping you in his arms

‘y/n-chan!’

he shouted and you didnt mind being twirled around since you were giggling and laughing

after iwa punched his head, oikawa had to let you down and they continued bickering so you took this chance to go over to the others by the side

‘are you all excited?’

you asked and they smiled softly

kunimi ruffled your hair and you grabbed his hand

‘it’s really sweet you planned something for us, y/n’

watari reached over to pat your head and you wholeheartedly accepted the affection

‘oi, just tell us’

kyotani grumbled but you cutely smiled and held a peace sign

‘nooo~~!’

you checked your watch and you jumped

‘oh my! we need to hurry on the bus now!’

you herded everyone to sit in their seats and oikawa raised an eyebrow at the driver

‘oh? why is-’

‘your dear manager wanted to have a bonding exercise for the team. how could we refuse? oh, coach irihata said to make sure you know how to breathe and calm down’

the last sentence made question marks appear on everyone’s heads but you waved it off

‘oh come on, mizoguchi-san! dont ruin the surprise!’

you whined from your seat and the elder caught your eye at the rearview

‘just making sure to warn them, especially oikawa’

‘me?’

but he went unanswered

the team gave up trying to ask you bc you would just mischieviously smile and shake your head cutely

‘nope~! not tellingggg~!’

but oh my they were answered

mizoguchi dropped everyone off in front of a building where there was also other people at

owo the people just simply stared bc omg like 12 boys? thats freaking great and i have finally lived and can die peacefully now

the team blinked as they got off the shuttle bus and they were so confused that you waved mizoguchi off to make sure the boys wouldn’t run back to the bus if they figure it out

ofc our ever smart baby kunimi was the first to figure it out and his mouth opened

‘why,,, do you hate us, y/n-chan?’

slowly the light bulbs turned on in everyone’s heads and they all had the same shocked look

DKFLSJDKFJLDKFLJ LIKE IN OHSHC WHEN THEY FIGURED OUT HARUHI’S A GIRL OMG I MISS THAT SHOW

‘nope! im going home!’

kindaichi started to walk but you hurriedly grabbed his arm

‘nooo yuu-kun!!! noo!! please stay!! i worked so hard!!!’

you looked up with your puppy dog eyes and kindaichi scrunched his face up

no no no fight it kindaichi

but ofc hes weak to you so he sighed and went back with the group

‘oi, are you insane or what?’

kyotani, despite his tough facade, wasnt exactly the greatest with any jumpscares in movies so having a jumpscare in real life wouldn’t exaclty be,,,, not violent

but you trust he can handle it and leave the place without a charge for assault

it was clear the others were already regretting it and you got sad bc you did work hard on getting a reservation since this haunted house was the most haunted in this part of japan

your figure in front of them made them tear their eyes away from the scary windows which they swore had someone staring at them

‘come on, you guys! we’ll have fun! i promise! its not that scary!’

you assured but they still didnt look convinced

‘you know, i just,,, i wanted everyone to,, bond and,,, have fun,,,,,, and because halloween is my favorite holiday,, i thought i could share it with you all. but im sorry that i was selfish and,,,, did it even though you guys dont like it’

not at y/n being totally manipulative and using their affections and attraction to her to help her case

your downcast expression and sad eyes snapped them out of it and they just sucked it up and they all shared a look that practically meant

‘suck it up, and make sure y/n is having fun. forget about us, its her time right now’

this led to you guys standing in front of the door guy and he cracked up at the sight of this cute little girl bouncing in her shoes with a group of guys who looked pale and nauseous

‘reservation name?’

‘seijoh!’

you exclaimed and he looked in the list before nodding

‘okay. so first, the rope is what guides you all. make sure, whatever you do, never lose grip on it bc you might get lost. keep in mind, this is an actual abandoned hospital and is known to actually be haunted so unless you want to go ghost-hunting and meet unknown people or spirits, dont stray off’

that warning should’ve scared you like the boys but you just agreed with a bright grin

‘yep!’

the doorguy chuckled before reaching into the box beside him

ngl oikawa was already so scared that he flinched, not knowing what was inside of it

‘a flashlight to help you guide yourselves’

you held it tight and yahaba was already holding on to your jacket sleeve

‘also, phones in the bin, please’

‘hah?!’

iwaizumi started but you placed a hand on his chest

‘its to make sure no one films anything and ruins the surprise’

you assured and he stopped but continued glaring

everyone hesitantly placed their phones into the bin where they saw it being locked into a locker and the key was given to you

‘you can get it back when you exit so dont worry’

you nodded and the team rolled their eyes but nodded anyways

brats

‘all set? okay! go on in! happy hunting!’

omg you were slightly regretting it already

kyotani refused to not be away from you so he was holding your hand while yahaba remained clutching you

the third years wanted to appear all tough so they took the lead but oikawa was screeching and screaming at the littlest things which caused makki to scream and mattsun to also scream and then iwa and everyone else

it was like a screaming train

you even heard kyo gasp multiple times and you tightened your grip on his hand to assure him he was okay and you were right there

everything was going smoothly excused the screaming and everyone was actually having a little bit of fun since it was funny watching everyone scream at the littlest things

‘NOOO!!!!!!’

‘WAAAAHHHH!!!!!!’

the many rooms had the actors and dear god they should be emmy winning by how they just stared at you all and still sent shivers down your spines

then the unthinkable happened

the flashlight that iwaizumi was holding started to flicker and eventually died, leaving you all stranded in the pitch-dark

there wasnt even any light above you so everything was just black

everyone stopped, your breathing being paused and no one made a sound

‘RAAAA!’

someone from beside you shouted in your ear and you screamed so loudly and in instinct, everyone bolted forward with no direction on where to go

kunimi and kindaichi were holding each others hands and ran also dragging along watari since he was holding kunimi’s sleeve and also yahaba and you and kyo

‘IWA-CHAN!!!’

oikawa instinctively shouted and they all held on to each other

mattsun expected to catch ahold of watari’s hoodie since he was behind him but there was nothing but air

‘uh, you guys?’

he wished and prayed and hoped your voice would answer back but there was silence

‘oi! l/n y/n!’

he shouted and makki trembled in fear

‘iwaizumi? oikawa?’

‘h-huh!’

iwaizumi grunted and my goodness was this really happening

everything was going too smoothly that something bad happening shouldve been seen from the get-go!

the 4 third years were thankfully with each other since they were already huddled up at the front but their kouhais were nowhere near them

‘iwa-chan! what do we do!’

oikawa cried and iwaizumi hit him to keep him quiet

‘shut up shittykawa!’

‘oi! stop fighting and think about this!’

mattsun quieted them down into shaking forms

‘the team is gone. theyre somewhere in this hospital and there’s a chance theyve strayed off the path’

makki shakily breathed

‘so what should we do?’

iwaizumi bit his lip to think of a plan

‘should we just go around and shout and scream for them?’

oikawa suggested but makki turned it down

‘no. that would ruin it for everyone else. we’re not the only ones in here’

oikawa blanched

‘i dont care about the other people! who knows what happened to y/n! i give no fck about strangers when she could be lost somewhere in this big ass hospital!’

they were stumped with no solutions so they just agreed to iwa’s suggestion

‘lets just hurry and get this over with and meet the people outside and get their help’

‘or! we can ask the staff in here, the actors, to help us! this is an accident’

‘you stupid or dumb? you think they would help us? its an us problem, not theirs, so theyre not going to abandon their post and look for them’

ltr maybe its the panic thats making them all crazy but they just settledon hurrying up and finishing the maze so they could get help

but the moment they turned to what seems to be a corner, they already managed to get themselves lost

iwaizumi felt around for the familiar texture of the rope which is supposed to be at his right but in the end, his hand reached nothing

‘fck!’

he shouted and scared the other 3

‘WHAT?!’

makki yelled

‘the rope. the rope’s not here anymore’

silence

then oikawa sobbed

‘oh my god im going to die’

he whimpered and makki sniffled

‘i wanna go home’

mattsun and iwa were the only at least stable ones and they finally resigned to defeat and grabbed their friends and walked to nowhere

on to your side!!

you and the others finally stopped running but the beating of your hearts still pumped at a fast speed

‘are we safe now?!’

kindaichi shouted and there was a chorus of confusion amongst the others

‘iwa-san?’

you checked and usually he would grunt but there was just silence

it was quiet and the familiar voice of oikawa was nowhere in sight

‘i dont know about you guys but my oikawa sensors just shut off’

yahaba pointed out and you gasped

‘where are they?’

kyotani refused to let go so you felt around with your left hand for the rope

to your relief, it was still there but the feeling of the missing boys outweighed it and made your anxiety levels spike up

‘should we call them? lets call them’

yahaba started but kyotani bonked his head

‘baka. they took our phones earlier’

the reminder of the confiscated form of communication meant that there was no other way you could contact the others

panic bubbled over kindaichi watari and yahaba while you kunimi and kyotani were busy thinking of something

‘i think theyve strayed off. if they didn’t, they wouldve heard us from up there’

kunimi mumbled

‘but where else could they have gone to?’

you asked and kyotani huffed beside you

‘we cant see anything. hell, i cant even see you. obviously theres probably a hallway they ran down to without even knowing they went there’

‘so youre saying theyre lost? without any way to contact us? what do we do?’

you whimpered, finally realizing and the idea of the others being gone settling in

‘this is all my fault. i shouldnt have dragged you here. i made a mistake-’

‘hey, dont freak out. im right here’

even though you couldnt see him, kenta maneuvered his way to cup your face and you felt his forehead press against yours and his nose nuzzling your cheek

the smell of cherry blossoms and vanilla with the slightest hint of sandalwood

kyotani’s scent comforted you and you were able to calm down

‘we’ll figure this out. its okay, you got me’

he whispered and you nodded

‘youre right here. we’ll be okay, okay?’

you giggled a little bit at the repitition of the word but smiled when he pulled you close to his chest

ugh i mightve already written a kyo route but that doesnt stop me from putting in kyo moments :”)

the other 4 were figuring out a plan that was eerily similar to the 3rd years

‘lets just finish this and ask the staff for help later’

they all agreed to kunimi’s idea and hurriedly gripped the rope to start going back to the path

you were in between kindaichi and kyotani with the former in front and the latter behind you

‘im right here. you got this’

kyotani would occasionally whisper and you were so grateful to have someone to be there

then the lights flickered and your eyes caught sight of something down the hallway to your left and you noticed a shadow

a shadow of a tall figure that was kinda familiar

‘y/n-chan~’

you flinched and the voice of your blocker filled your ears

‘mattsun-san?’

you were too focused on the voice to hear the others questions of what was happening

‘over here, y/n-chan~’

there it was again

‘mattsun-san!’

you shouted and bolted to the hallway where you were sure the voice was at and you were ignoring the shouts of the others and kyotani hurriedly ran after you

‘mattsun-san!’

you shouted again and you ended up at the hallway, with the lights still flickering but there was no one

kyotani panted as he caught up to you before snatching your hand

‘oi! dont run off like that!’

it seems the others were too scared to let go of the rope that they were fine if kyotani went after you bc he was strong so he could protect you both if needed

right?

kyotani is a bark bark woof woof boy not a priest

you felt his warm hand grip your again as if to signal that you werent running off alone again

‘i heard him i swea-’

‘to your left, y/n-chan~’

ok ngl im getting chills writing this

the flickering lights allowed you to see the shadow again and yep there it was

it was at the end of the hallway to your left and once you turned and saw it, it ran to the right

‘mattsun-san! wait!’

as you were going to run, kyotani refused to let you go

he placed strong hands to your shoulders and you looked up at him, your eyes manic

‘listen to me, y/n. youre hearing things’

he firmly said

‘i dont hear matsukawa or anyone’

you started breathing heavily, the air seemingly getting colder and thinner

‘you dont understand! he was right there! his shadow-!’

‘let her play a game, boy!’

matsukawa’s voice this time took a harsh tone and even kyotani jumped, holding you to his chest protectively

‘oi! matsukawa! its not funny anymore!’

your eyes looked over kyo’s shoulder and you saw the shadow again from behind him

‘please trust me, kyo! hm?’

you begged and he sighed

‘im holding on to you. im not letting you go again’

this wouldve been romantic if you werent in an actual paranormal story

you chased after the ghost and it would occasionally whisper in your ear to keep your attention until you ran into a pitch-black hallway

‘what do we do now, y/n?’

kyo whispered and you trembled

‘mattsun-san!’

you weakly cried, knowing there was a strong possibility he wouldnt answer back

but a loud screech from the far right brought hope into you

‘Y/N-CHAN!’

is that-

‘oikawa-san?!’

you shrieked and there was a trample of footsteps running over to you and naturally, kyotani pulled you behind him

then a hand made you shriek

‘relax. its just me, y/n-chan’

mattsun’s voice sounded clearer this time since he was right beside you and you hugged him

‘come on. everyone hold hands so that no one will get lost. we’ll take about this later’

iwa commanded and as the true leader of the gang, everyone followed his lead

there was a red sign with the most amazing word on top of it

‘EXIT’

it looked like a door that was only meant for staff but at this point, you all were desperate to just leave

as you reached the handle, the voice came back

‘aw~ leaving so soon?’

you turned around, halting mattsun and kyotani as they held your hands and felt you stop

‘show yourself. i know you’re not mattsun-san so stop using his voice’

you demanded and you turned, feeling a chilly air rush behind you

‘boo~’

it whispered to your ear and you eyes widened at the sight from further down the hallway

you could make out a mass of a body and at the top, there was bright red eyes and white teeth smiling menacingly

‘oh my god’

you whispered and the boys saw exactly what you were seeing

‘what is that’

oikawa whimpered

its mouth obviously moved as it spoke

‘are you leaving me, y/n-chan? so cruel~’

its voice was sickly sweet and sounded like a teenage boy’s but was so mean and hate-filled

you started sobbing and oikawa turned the door to run but it stayed put and didnt budge

‘you were so fun to play with~ are your friends fun too~?’

it looked like it was coming closer with a hand outstretched and you started shivering and your voice ripped into a scream

‘stop! go away!’

iwa mustered all his strength and ran against the metal door but it opened on its own, leaving the boy to land on the grass from outside

you were pulled by the others before it could touch you and you were already hysterically crying before the first and second years ran over and engulfed you to a hug

you were being hushed by the them and you tightly held on to someone’s arms

‘sshhh its okay, we’re right here’

you reduced to hiccups before looking around

‘w-where’s the other people?’

you asked, taking notice of the empty field

‘are we at the back?’

the boys shared a confused look

‘huh? what are you talking about, y/n?’

you looked at yahaba like he was crazy

‘the other people! the other people wanting to go in! and the doorguy! the haunted event! the haunted house!’

their eyes flickered everywhere to try and make sense of what you were saying but in the end resulted to just pure confusion and fear

‘y/n, we’re not at some event’

iwa started and your eyes widened

‘w-what?’

makki shakingly placed a hand on your shoulder

‘y/n, you dragged us here to go ghost-hunting. and there’s no doorguy’

your eyes flickered down as your mind tried to wrap itself with what was going on

‘what do you mean? i took you here for a haunted attraction! the doorguy took our phones and locked them in a locker, remember?’

you wildly waved your arms around but they still didnt understand

‘and the flashlight! and the rope! w-we had to hold on to the rope! the rope made sure we didnt stray off the path! bu-but the flashlight! the flashlight died!’

kunimi noticed the beginning of a panic attack so he pulled you close to him and made sure you could feel his heartbeat

‘listen to me, y/n. you took us here because we all lost a bet with you and this was what you wanted since its halloween and we trespassed to go here and there was no doorguy who took our phones because all our phones died the moment we got here and we saw a rope hanging from the ceiling and we had no flashlight in the first place’

he whispered to your ear and you pushed away from him, curling your arms around yourself

‘no! what bet?! i took you here for bonding time for our volleyball team! you were getting busy for inter high so i figured this could help you have fun!’

now that took the cake

‘what volleyball team?’

your eyes finally settled on your ‘captain’

‘what do you mean, ‘what volleyball team’, oikawa-san?’

totally disregarding the fact that you just called him by his last name instead of his first, he focused on what you were talking about

‘if you wanted to bond with the volleyball team, then you brought the wrong sport team over then’

oikawa scoffed, feeling rage bubbling inside him at the familiar players of the volleyball team

‘you shouldve brought over nagisa and rin and them, then, y/n’

makki bitterly mumbled and you were just so exhausted and tired and confused

‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT’

you bursted and started crying which ofc prompted the others to calm down and focus on you

‘y/n, love, we’re the swimming team, not the little ball playing game’

mattsun reminded and you shook your head, disbelief and utter fear present in your face

‘then-then! oikawa-san! give me your right knee!’

you ran over and he questioningly raised his leg

‘uhh,, what are you doing, y/n?’

kunimi asked but you waved him off, determination in your eyes

‘this should prove hes a volleyball player’

then you punched it really hard which resulted with a sickening pop

oikawa screamed

a/n: idk if the concept is clear enough but uwu send in a guess and ill answer if you got it right

191 notes · View notes

221castiel · 3 years ago

Text

If You Love Me, Don’t Let Go

Read it on AO3 Here!

She was two years old when her "dad" Dean Winchester had been sentenced to twenty five years in prison.

Now, fifteen years later, he's being released early and Claire's only sure of one thing; she doesn't want him back.

Everything seemed to fall back into place the moment he’d stepped through the front door. His chair in the morning was used as if it had never been empty, his coats hung on the hangers alongside their own and his car soon found its place in their driveway as if it had always parked there. It was like he’d never left, or at least that’s how Claire should have felt, but sitting at the kitchen table watching as Dean made breakfast felt wrong. Not comforting and definitely not familiar.

Everything about the situation was wrong, stiff, awkward, forced. Yet no one else seemed to notice or maybe they just didn’t care, as Cas leant against the kitchen counter watching his boyfriend cook and Jack sat at the other end of the kitchen table flipping through a comic book like the dork he was.

Dean himself stood at their stove saying something to Cas as he made them pancakes. He wore a pair of grey sweat pants and nothing else, letting Claire stare at the burn that covers the majority of his upper back. The burnt skin continued along his right shoulder, and down his right arm just stopping above his elbow. It was an older burn, the skin wrinkled and brighter than the rest of his pale skin, keeping Claire’s attention no matter how many times she tried to look away.

She could ask about it.

Was it part of the reason he’d gone to jail? Did he get it at jail? Were there more? All bitchy questions, but it wasn’t like Claire was above being an occasional bitch.

She opened her mouth, though before she could get the words out Dean was turning her way and her gaze quickly dropped to the plate in front of her. The sounds of footsteps came then from the corner of her eye Claire watched as Dean set a tray of pancakes onto the table.

“Still like blueberry pancakes?” Dean asked as he took the seat on her right, and her dad took the one to her left. Which was incredibly wrong, Cas had always sat on her right, but it wasn’t like Dean cared about what they normally did.

She looked up, meeting his gaze. Dean had a smile across his face, one that wasn’t completely easy, more cautious as if he was trying to bargain for her trust.

“No,” Claire replied, hoping he could hear the annoyance in her tone. “Not since I was five.”

“Well I do!” Jack cut in. Dean’s features dropped for a second, in maybe even defeat before he was once again smiling and had turned his head to talk to jack.

Leave it to her brother to try to play peacekeeper, even though just last week they’d both agreed they weren’t happy about Dean returning.

Fucking traiter.

She gave her brother a quick glare before pushing her chair back with a more than satisfying screech, and walked across the kitchen to grab cereal. The conversations continued on behind her as she grabbed a bowl and filled it with milk and cereal, a blur of words that she didn’t really care about or want to hear.

It was too early for conversations, especially with a stranger that she was supposed to just pretend was part of her family. She preferred when it was just her and Jack in the morning, Cas working one of the hospitals morning shifts or still asleep after a late shift. When it was quiet, and more important when it was without Dean.

She grabbed a spoon and shoved a mouth full of cheerios into her mouth before she went back to her spot at the table.

“Claire,” Cas said as she sat down. She hummed in response. “Dean has offered to give you a ride to school today.”

She glanced to Dean before looking back to her dad. “I’m fine taking the bus,” Claire said, “I’m sure he’s busy.”

“He offered.”

“I like the bus.” She liked walking the forty minutes if it meant not sitting in a car with Dean.

“I can give you a ride,” Dean insisted. Clenching her teeth Claire glared at the other man, “it isn’t that big of a deal, I’ve gotta stop at the courthouse anyway,” he continued.

“Schools in the other direction,” Claire argued through clenched teeth. Dean’s gaze darted to Cas as if looking for some kind of helping and Claire couldn't help but be proud of herself. Causing Dean to be speechless, to lose his easy smile for not once but the second time that morning.

“I have a math test today!” Jack suddenly declared, causing everyone to look over. Claire rolled her eyes before looking back to her bowl of cereal and poking at the cheerios floating in the milk.

“Shit” Dean hummed through a mouthful of food, because apparently eating with your mouth closed was too hard of a concept “that sucks.”

“I like math.”

Dean raised an eyebrow looking to Cas, “what the hell did you do to him.”

Claire’s grip around her spoon tightened. Other than actually raise him, and work every hour the hospital offered him to pay the bills, and make sure they were both happy and nopt fukcing leave. The list of things her dad did was endless.

“Math’s interesting,” Jack insisted. “As long as you do it right the numbers just work!”

“And what about you?” Dean asked, Claire raising her eyebrow as he looked towards her, “got any weird interests?”

Claire pressed her lips together. How long would it take for him to realize that she didn’t want to talk, or that she didn’t even like him. A week? A month? She didn’t think she could handle another hour of his constant talking.

“We should get ready,” Claire said, looking back to Jack, “or we’ll miss the bus.”

Without waiting for an answer Claire stood grabbing her bowl and carrying it to the sink, the sound of Jack’s chair filling the silent kitchen. She then walked quickly to the kitchen door only stopping at the sound of Cas’ voice.

“Claire, are you sure you wouldn’t like a ride?”

Chewing at her lip Claire looked back meeting her dad's gaze. His expression sat emotionless, though Claire could hear in his tone how much he wanted her to take it. He wanted her to pretend as if the first fifteen years of her life didn’t happen, as if they were a family, as if Dean hadn’t left them.

Maybe Cas could forgive him, but she couldn’t.

“Yah,” Claire replied, biting her lip harder as Cas’s expression dropped just for a second. “Thanks though.”

She turned away not waiting for a response and instead walked into the hallway Jack on her heels. “I wanted a ride,” he mumbled as they turned up the staircases, and Claire rolled her eyes. Of course he wanted a ride, he also wanted them all to be happy and be a family and sing songs or some kind of buillshit like that.

“Stop whining,” Claire mumbled, “the bus won’t kill you.”

Dean must be deaf, or stupid, because despite every argument she’d made over breakfast he’s waiting for her at the end of the school today. The impala unmistakable in the row of other parents' cars with Dean sat in the drivers seat waving her over.

Maybe she could get hit on her way.

She isn’t so lucky and manages to walk to the passenger door without any fatal injuries. She pulled it open with as much force as she could muster before slamming it shut with a satisfying noise, hopefully causing some kind of damage. A small dent or even a scratch, anything to mess up the untouched paint.

“Coffee,” Dean offered as Claire turned to grab her seatbelt.

She glanced at the to go cup in his hand then to his face, that easy, incredibly punch smile still across his lips. Was giving up so hard, could he not just be thankful that Jack liked him (not like that was hard).

Pressing her lips together she looked down to the seatbelt and buckled it into place. “I don’t like coffee.”

Tuesday was the same. The impala was parked in the row of parents, as if he was their parent, and when Claire sat down into the passenger seat Dean offered her another to go cup. Hot chocolate, he said, and with the same clipped tone Claire mumbled an ‘I don’t like hot chocolate.’

Wednesday he offered tea, and on Thursday Claire knew he must have talked to Cas. When she took her spot in the passenger seat she immediately recognized the blue to go cup from her favourite coffee shop -a coffee shop twenty minutes past the school-

“Caffe Mocha with almond milk”, Dean said as he offered her the drink.

Claire clenched her jaw, twisting her body to look out the passenger window. There was nothing to look at there, only the school's parking lot but anything was better than Dean. “I’m fine.”

On Friday when Claire stepped out of the high school the impala was nowhere in sight.

No matter what her feelings were towards Dean it was impossible to ignore just how much Cas loved him. Long lasting looks that left Claire rolling her eyes, quick kisses, always touching in some way or another. He smiled constantly, and it was hard to even imagine that this Cas was the same dad she’d grown up with. Always optimistic, always loving but tired from work and raising kids. Worn down from life.

Why hadn’t Dean seen that Castiel?

Why couldn’t Dean have seen all the pain he’d caused?

Claire’s grip around her pencil tightened, jaw tense as she grinded her teeth together. It was all she seemed to do the past week, clench her jaw push down the bubbling frustration, hope that Dean would just fucking understand that he wasn’t fucking wanted.

She forced a breath through her nose glaring down to her math homework before she looked out their living room window. The neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday morning, not a person in sight other than Dean and Cas, who were out cleaning the impala. Both drenched head to toe, covered in bubbles, but smiling, laughing as in between spraying the car they’d spray one another.

Happy. Castiel was so incredibly happy, and it only made everything more frustrating.

After glaring at the two men Claire looked back to her homework, scratching her pencil across the page in dark lines that only partially satisfied her frustrations. It was better than nothing.

She worked slowly down the page, keeping her head down as she solved each equation until the sound of the front door opening broke the silence and she looked up.

“Having fun?” Claire asked as Cas, still dripping wet, stepped into the living room.

Cas smiled, “I am.”

Well that made one of them.

Claire looked back down to her homework, clenching her jaw as her gaze wandered across the page. None of it made sense, of course none of it made sense it was math, but it was still better than looking at her dad. At her genuinely happy dad, who was happy because of Dean.

The sound of Cas’s footsteps came, then paused. “Somethings wrong?” He said.

“No,” Claire mumbled.

“Did something happen at school?”

“No,” she insisted, “I’m fine.”

She shoved her pencils back into their case, then closed her binder before pushing the desk chair back in a loud screech that definitely scratched the wood floors. She’d apologize for that later, for now she needed to be away. Away from Cas, and away from fucking Dean. Away from the pretend.

They weren’t a family.

Families didn’t fucking leave each other.

“Claire,” Cas whispered as she walked past him, stopping her in her tracks. “You’re able to talk to me.”

“But I’m not,” she snapped, turning towards him. “You chose him, after everything that fucking happened, after everything that he fucking did, you still chose him,” the bubble of emotion burst through her chest as her words became more frantic, fists clenched at her sides. “Why aren’t you angry at him?”

Cas tilted his head, his gaze holding Claire’s, filled with so much concern it made her sick. “You want me to be angry at Dean?”

“You should be!” Claire cried. Was it that crazy of a concept? “He left you with two kids, he left you and you're just letting him back into our life!”

“Claire,” Cas said so gently it made Claire want to scream. He stepped closer and she stepped back, keeping the same space between them despite the pained look that crossed her dad's face. “Dean- he didn’t want to leave, I understand-“

“No you don’t understand shit,” Claire spat, “he knew he had a family, he knew that,” her voice shook, and she inhaled sharply, “and he still- you just let him come back, after everything.”

“It wasn’t his choice.”

“Yes it was!” Claire screamed, “you don’t just get arrested, you did shitty things and be a shitty person, and-“ She clenched her jaw, holding her dad’s gaze. “Why are you choosing his side?”

“There are no sides,” Cas replied slowly, “and Dean, he isn’t a bad person”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Claire mumbled.

Cas pressed his lips together, eyebrows furrowing as Claire stared back. They’re was more she wanted to say, a mix of insults and swears that she’d been holding back over the week yet they stayed stuck on her lips. Her voice was suddenly gone as Cas stared at her, not carrying to hide the hurt that was clear across his face, and yah Claire knew it was her who caused it. Her words. Her actions. Her feelings, but it was Dean who’d caused all that.

Why couldn’t her dad see that?

“I’m going to my room,” Claire finally mumbled.

She turned away, no longer able to hold her dad’s gaze and instead walked out of the living room, ignoring Cas as he called for her to wait. Her footsteps were heavy as she stomped up the staircase, and she made sure to slam her door before she fell across her bed and squeezed her eyes shut.

A knock came though she didn’t move instead choking down a breath as another soon followed.

“Claire?” Cas asked softly, voice muffled through the door. “Could we please talk?”

Claire buried her face into her pillow, forcing another breath. No, they couldn’t, not now, after all the anger had faded leaving a throbbing pain in her chest.

She knew how the conversation would go, exactly the same as every other time. Cas would swear Dean was a good person, Claire would try not roll her eyes and agree to make her dad happy, then they’d pretend they were a happy family until she couldn’t handle it again.

She couldn’t do it.

Not after years of being alone.

At the sound of Cas’s disappearing footsteps Claire opened her eyes staring quietly at the photo on her bedside table. It was of the four of them Cas holding Jack who was only a few months old while she herself at only two was sat on Dean's shoulders with a wide smile across her face.

She’d always hated that photo, yet had never had the heart to replace it.

Now she wished she had.

She isn’t sure whether Cas told Dean or not about their fight, and she wasn’t sure which she prefered, but when she finally leaves her room that night for dinner, nothing seems to change. Dean still attempts to coax conversation out of her while Jack plays moderatore, making sure nothing becomes too tense. Even at the end of the night when it’s only her and her dad left doing the dishes Cas doesn't mention anything.

Sunday is the same, and when Monday comes they fall back into the same annoying routine of Dean picking them up, trying to win Claire over with drinks and baking. He really seemed to think she was that easy, that she’d let things slide like the rest of her family.

By Thursday Claire had enough of the awkward car rides, and at the end of the day found Jack outside of his locker and dragged him out the back entrance, rather than the front.

“Claire!” Jack cried as she dragged him across the teachers parking lot by his wrist. His footsteps were uneven trying to keep up with her long strides and his backpack dangled from her one shoulder yet Claire didn’t stop. She needed to put as much distance as she could between her and that stupid impala, she couldn’t spend another second listening to blaring music or he rattling of the air conditioning.

“Claire!” Jack insisted. “Please! Stop!” He gave a harsh tug pulling his wrist from Claire’s grip and causing her to stop and turn around meeting her brother’s glare. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Claire snapped, clenching her jaw. “I- just- I thought we could see grandpa.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, and yah Claire knew it wasn’t the best lie but Jack was gullible and like hell she’d tell him the truth. He'd just be pissed that she was tearing their family apart, or some dramatic statement like that.

“You want to go see grandpa?” Jack repeated and Claire nodded. “Dean could drive us.”

“Why? Your legs don’t work?”

“They work!”

“Then you can walk”

Jack gave her a glare but followed her as they walked across the parking lot and onto the sidewalk. They walked shoulder to shoulder, a silence hanging around them as they made their way down the familiar neighborhood, past the houses Claire had long ago memorized and to Chuck’s.

“Claire?” Jack asked, as they turned off the street and into an alley. “Is everything okay?”

At the softness in his voice Claire glanced to her brother, meeting his gaze for a second before she’d looked forward again. “I’m fine,” she replied, clenching her jaw.

“Are you sure?”

Could Jack not take a hint? She didn’t want to talk about it. “Yes.”

“You don’t seem okay.”

He really couldn’t take a hint.

Claire forced a breath through her nose, glaring at the parked car ahead of them, as if it would solve her problems. It was either that or Jack. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, “you’ve just been kind of…”

“A bitch?”

“I was going to say a jerk,” Jack whispered, “but yah.”

She scrunched her nose looking down to her sneakers before looking back to the car ahead of them. “I don’t like Dean,” she finally said, the words sounding even harsher than they had in her head.

Jack frowned, looking to her, though she kept looking forward. “Why not?”

Claire shrugged. “He left us, he hurt dad, and I just-“ she took a slow breath. The words weren’t sassy to say, there were too many thoughts, too many reasons, and too many of them she wasn’t willing to say out loud.

He left Jack.

He left Cas

He left her.

And she was terrified he’d do it again.

“I don’t think he should just get to walk back into our lives as if nothing happened,” Claire finally said.

“I think you should give him a chance,” Jack replied softly, a comment Claire decided to ignore and instead look back to her feet, letting the silence once again fall between them. It thankfully stayed that way for the rest of the walk, until they reached Chuck’s house and made their way up the back porch.

They were greeted with a wide smile and a tight hug each that Claire may have held onto a bit longer than normal, before Chuck offered tea and they both accepted. They then made they’re way into the living where Jack took a seat on the one couch while Claire remained standing instead studying the photos that lined the fireplace.

Most were of their family, her aunts and uncles with her cousins though it’s the center one that she stared at. One at her aunt Anna’s wedding maybe twenty or so years ago. It was of all her aunt’s uncles at the beach, arms slung over one another’s shoulders with Anna and her husband standing in the center. At one end Dean and Cas stood together, younger but definitely them, Cas laughing at something someone had said, well Dean grinned at Cas.

Even in photos it was impossible to ignore how much he loved her dad.

“And how are my favourite grandkids?” Chuck hummed his footsteps filling the silent room followed but the sound of cups being placed onto the table. The sound of her grandfather sitting down came though Claire didn’t turn instead continuing to study the photo.

“I’m good,” Jack said as the sound of the teapot being poured came, “soccer starts next week, and I’m doing this really cool project in socials class where we get to plan a city.”

“And what about you Claire?”

She shrugged, “I’m fine.”

When no one continued speaking she turned around, just getting a glimpse of the questioning look her grandpa gave Jack. “Claire is uh-“ Jack began causing Claire to glare at him. God help her brother if he decided to keep speaking, “her and Dean aren’t getting along.” She was going to kill him.

Chuck stopped pouring the tea, his gaze immediately looking up. “Dean’s been released,” he said in a clipped tone, placing the teapot back down before he picked up his own cup. “I forgot that was happening.”

Claire pressed her lips together, her gaze darting over her grandfather's features which sat in an unreadable expression, though definitely not a pleased one. “You don’t like him?” She finally decided.

“I-“ Chuck looked down to his cup, seeming unable to decide whether he should tell the truth or not. God Claire hoped he would. “I’ve never been fond of him,” Chuck finally said.

“Why?”

“Growing up he had… problems, getting into fights, skipping school, stealing, he was always looking for attention,” Chuck said. He brought the cup to his lips, taking a small sip before continuing. “I didn’t want Castiel around that, he was a nice kid and too trusting for his own good, but your father is incredibly stubborn and wouldn’t listen to me. I don’t know how many times I’d found Dean climbing through his bedroom window.”

Claire pressed her lips together, waiting for Chuck to say more as he leant forward and grabbed the spoon from the sugar bowl. Each movement was far too slow, getting a small spoonful of sugar, pouring it into his cup, stirring it in, testing the drink, then adding more.

“I’d assumed,” Chuck finally continued leaning back into the couch, “after the most recent arrest Castiel would come to his senses but-“ he shrugged, “here we are.”

“Most recent arrest?” Claire asked.

Chuck hummed, “there are a handful of times when he was a teenager, and I believe three or four as an adult.”

Electricity seemed to buzz under her skin, the information blurring together. It was more than she’d ever heard about Dean from anyone. She’d learned from a young age not to talk to her father about him, it only ever made Cas sad, and even when he was willing to talk about a Dean it was rarely ever much more than how much Dean loved them. It was certainly never about his arrest, or apprenalty multiple arrests.

It was addicting. She wanted to know more, here everything her father had refused to tell her. Everything that confirmed her suspicions. Dean shouldn’t be released, he shouldn’t be in their house, and he definitely shouldn’t be pretending to be a part of their family.

Claire took a seat next to Jack, continuing to stare at her grandfather who sat on the couch across from them. “Do you know why he got arrested?”

“Claire,” Jack whispered, voice uncertain, though she only ignored him.

“Your father never told me the full story,” Chuck replied, “I believe a fight may have been part of it, though anything is possible.”

Claire pressed her lips together. She had more questions, endless questions though they’d all become a blur, unsure which ones were more important than others, or which ones Chuck would refuse to answer.

Her lips parted and Jack shifted, “please stop,” he whispered.

“What did dad say about it?”

Chuck lowered his cup though before he could reply Jack stood and without a word walked out of the room.

The walk home is quiet, Jack always a few steps ahead refusing to look at her, and maybe she should care but she didn’t. Hell she was thankful for the space for the silence that allowed her to replay everything Chuck had told her. She’d been right, or at least the unease she’d felt around Dean was right.

There was a reason she couldn’t trust him.

So why couldn’t her dad see that?

When they get home still without a word Jack goes to his room, leaving Claire to quietly walk through the house and into the kitchen. She opened the kitchen cupboard looking for something to eat until the sound of footsteps came causing her to to turn her head as Dean walked into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he greeted offering a smile that she didn’t return.

“Hey,” Claire replied. She didn’t move as Dean opened the fridge and took out a beer. “Do you know where dad is?”

“Hospital called,” he replied, “he’ll be working till seven.” Claire grit her teeth as Dean took a seat at the kitchen, propping his feet onto the other chair. Every action had been so casual, as if he’d been living in the house for years rather than two weeks.

“What about you?” Dean asked, twisting the cap off his bottle, Claire only raised an eyebrow. “Where were you and the kid at?”

“Our Grandpas,” she replied in a clipped tone.

Dean frowned, causing Claire to clench her fists. “Chucks?” He asked as if it was the craziest thing in the world.

“Yah,” Claire replied, “is there a problem with that?”

“No, just never pictured him as a number one grandpa,” Dean shrugged, “I always saw him as more of a grandpa joe type.”

Claire clenched her jaw, teeth grinding together as she looked back to the open cupboard. “Well at least he helped raise me,” she muttered.

“What.”

She turned around meeting Dean’s gaze, every inch of her skin alive with energy, emotion bubbling through her chest as she clenched her fists tighter. “I said,” she began voice harsh, and slow, “atleast he helped fucking raise me.”

Dean’s eyes widened and Claire didn’t look away, holding his gaze with her jaw clenched and chin tilted up. She hoped it hurt. She wanted it to hurt so bad.

Claire sucked in a harsh breath, and before Dean could reply she walked out of the kitchen with long strides. Her eyes burned as she wiped at them, the pain once again settling in her chest as she rushed up the staircase and into her room.

Much to her relief, Dean never followed

She doesn’t come out of her room for dinner, or when her dad comes home, or when her phone dies and the charger’s still in Jack’s room from when he’d stolen it the day before. She can’t see Dean, especially not with Cas around, and so it isn’t until eleven when she’s sure everyone will be at least in their rooms that she slides out of her own quietly walking the hallway she’s stopped by the sound of Dean and Cas’s voice.

“I just- there’s nothing I can do,” Dean said, his voice getting louder the closer Claire got to their bedroom. The door was just cracked open letting a sliver of light fall through and for Claire to see them, Dean sat on the edge of their bed while Cas stood between his legs still dressed in his nursing scrubs. “She doesn’t want me around.”

Cas tilted his head.. “Why would you think that?”

“Have you been paying attention?” For once Claire had to agree with him.

Cas sighed, “Claire is stubborn.” He raised a hand lacing his fingers through Dean’s, “But she will come around, she just needs time.”

“I don’t think time’s going to do shit.”

“Claire is hurt,” Cas replied, “things weren’t always always easy. we didn’t always have the money, and I didn’t always have the time to be there for them.”

Dean raised the hand he had laced with Cas’s and pressed a kiss to the top of Cas’s hand. “I’m so sorry angel,” Dean whispered the words filled with so much pain Claire sucked in a breath. “For everything.”

“Dean, it was never your fault, a systems failure isn’t your fault.”

Silence fell and suddenly her heart beat was too loud, her breathing was too loud, everything was too loud as she watched Dean and her Dad stare at one another. Not a word spoken yet Claire can’t help but feel as if she’s missed a million different conversations, words said that only they would understand.

Dean raised a hand resting it against the side of Cas’ face as he continued to stare at the other. Slowly Cas leant down pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips.

“I didn’t know Chuck was such a good grandpa,” Dean teased as they pulled away, “thought he’d be more of the grandpa joe type.”

Claire rolled her eyes, it wasn’t funny the first time, what would make it funny the second?

Cas tilted his head either not thinking it’s funny or maybe just not getting it. Claire was going with the first option, cause it wasn’t funny. “He looked after them often when they were children and I had worked, though I am amazed at how well he did with them,” Cas replied, “he’d even let them have candy.”

“Shit really?”

A smile tugged at Cas’s lips, “I believe it’s unfair, he believes it was good parenting.”

“It’s unfair,” Dean replied. He looked down to their joined hands, a smile still across his voice though his tone came out more distant. “What about my dad?”

Cas pressed his lips together, and Claire leant closer to the door. The tension that had settled in the room was clear, whatever playful atmosphere that he'd been there suddenly gone, replaced with something more serious, more personal.

She should leave. Get a phone charger like she’d meant to or just go back to her room. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“John has called twice,” Cas finally replied, voice steady, maybe even careful, “once when they were children, and a second time a year or two ago. He’d wanted to meet them but I said no.”

“Good,” Dean mumbled, “don’t let that son of a bitch near them.”

“Have you talked to him?”

Dean shook his head, and Claire leant in a little closer, holding her breath as she watched, trying to hear whatever would come next. Maybe some kind of explanation, something that would answer one of the million questions she had, or at least feed her growing curiosity, though it seemed neither of them wanted to continue the conversation as Cas stepped away from Dean and out of Claire’s view.

“You did a good job,” Dean said as the sound of a drawer being opened came. “Jack- the kids amazing, and Claire,” he paused, and Claire could almost hear every possibility racing through his mind. Annoying. Rude. How would he say it nicely in front of her dad? “She’s beautiful.”

The statement comes like a sucker punch.

“I know,” Cas replied, walking back to his spot in front of Dean, now in his pajamas. An old AC/DC shirt and his bee pajamas pants that Claire had bought him as a joke. “She reminds me of you.”

She scrunched her nose, that had to be a joke, a cruel joke.

“She’s much better than I ever was,” Dean replied, and yah Claire isn’t perfect she knew that but for a second time that night Dean was right. “Have you seen the painting she’s working on,” Dean continued, “She has Leonardo looking like some amateur, and her grades! She’s talented as hell and some kind of genius- her music tastes shit but we’ll work on that.”

Claire bit at her lip, her stomach uneasy from all the praise, as Cas pulled Dean into a hug. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to be there,” Cas whispered softly.

Dean’s expression was full of pain, his eyes staring up to the ceiling, looking exhausted if not completely dragged, despite that his voice came out steady. “Remember how much she’d draw?” Dean whispered, “I swear the moment she could grab a pen she never stopped. They were so shitty.”

“You hung everyone on the fridge.”

“And she’d sign them bear.”

“That's because you made her believe her name was bear.” Cas replied.

A small smile tugged at Dean’s lips, though it was still nothing like the smiles Claire normally saw across his face. “Claire Bear was a cute name.” He whispered

“It was alright.”

Dean rubbed a hand at his eyes as he continued to look to the ceiling. “I fucked up,” He whispered and Claire stepped back. She couldn’t watch anymore, not with the weight of emotion that crushed her chest.

Her feet moved forward, as she forced herself to take a breath. The conversation repeated in her head as she walked down the staircase, once then twice, making her more sick each time. The pain in Dean’s voice, the pain across his face, his kind words, the adoration.

Why couldn’t he just hate her.

It’d be so much easier if he’d just hate her

Claire hated feelings. She always had and in the days after Dean and Cas’s conversation she only hated them more.

Being angry at Dean had been simple, she knew her feelings, she knew why she had those feelings. They’d always burned from the inside out, an energy that tore through her very veins, but an understandable energy. Now there was something else, a small pain in her chest that left her awake at night. That left her gasping for breath and wishing she’d simply die.

Maybe it was fear.

A small part of her wanting to let Dean in but that was far too aware of the pain that had caused the first time.

Thh feelings, the blur of anger and fear, all laced with confusion. She hated it, and she hated Dean for causing it.

“I can’t believe you still have those,” Dean grumbled as they walked along the forest path, Claire’s gaze darting to her fathers swim shorts. They were a bright obnoxiously blue colour, covered in yellow rubber ducks, a pair he’d owned, and she’d hated for as long as she could remember.

“I like them,” Cas replied and Claire was pretty sure the rubber ducks would like to be put out of their misery.

“Doesn’t stop them from being ugly as hell,” Dean called over his shoulder.

As they stepped out of the forest the scenery opened up onto a cliff side, the sound of crashing water filling the silence.

It’d been just over a month since Dean had been released and between school, Cas’s work, and Dean dealing with the court house or whatever he did, other than having meals together they hadn’t done anything as a family. Claire hadn’t minded, hell she preferred it that way, though apparently no one else agreed.

Claire laid her towel next to Jack’s, a few feet away from the cliff's edge and sat down, watching as her brother walked to the edge and peered down to the water below. “Jump!” Claire called.

“Is it safe to?” He asked, looking back to Dean and Cas who were laying out their own towels next to Claire’s.

“Just do it!” Claire replied.

“It’s safe,” Dean reassured. Way to ruin the fun

Jack looked back down to the water, then to them, chewing at his bottom lip. “it’s really high,” he said and Claire couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

Bitch.

“There’s a ledge closer to the water,” Cas said, Ashe placed down the cooler they’d brought. “I’ll show you.”

Cas walked over to Jack amd lead him down the side of the cliff, leaving her and Dean alone.

Claire glanced to her right, Dean’s own gaze forward watching the cliffs. He’d taken his shirt off allowing her a glimpse of the burn that covered his right back, as well as another burn on his left shoulder. It was a perfect circle, barely bigger than a quarter, matching the one Claire had seen on the back of his left hand. It even had the same purple tone to it, faded but definitely there.

As gross as she found the scars and burns it was hard not to stare. To study each one anytime Dean wasn’t looking. She’d wanted to ask and maybe a few weeks ago she would have but now, she couldn’t get the words to come out.

From just under the hem of his swim shorts she could see a few more scars. Thin white strips, some no bigger than an inch while others traveled across his whole thigh. Not one overlapped, all parallel to one another and perfectly placed.

Dean turned and Claire immediately looked away, biting at her lip as the guilt tugged at her stomach. “How was Jack's Soccer game?” She asked, keeping her gaze forward despite Dean’ eyes still on her.

He definitely knew she was looking, he had to.

“Awesome,” Dean replied, “yah, Jack he’s- he’s uh.”

“Awful,” Claire offered. She’d been to a handful of his games and she was sure that in every single one Jack had been hit in the face with the ball at least once. He was hands down the worst player on their team, if not the league and yet he absolutely adored it. She’d never understand her brother.

“He’s crap,” Dean agreed. “I thought he’d been messin’ around but he’s just shitty.”

“Yah, I think he might have two left feet.”

“Or’s blind,” Dean said, causing Claire to bite at her lip, stopping the smile that tried to form. “Kinda lucky I’m not coachin’, woulda sucked to bench him.”

Claire raised her eyebrow, “you were going to coach”

“Yah,” Dean replied, “the kid asked me to but you can’t have a criminal record so…” Dean shrugged. His tone was casual as if that really didn’t bother him, though the way his jaw was set and his chin was tilted up, gave him away.

It bothered him. A lot.

“And you were going to bench him?” Claire asked.

“Hey,” Dean said, a smile once again across his lips, “I only coach winners.”

Claire bit her lip harder, stopping herself from laughing. She could picture it easily, Dean in the matching tracksuits that all the coaches wore, overall excited and more passionate than any of the players. He’d be Annoying as hell and Jack would’ve loved it.

She brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, as Cas climbed back onto the cliff's edge, completely dry.

“You didn’t jump in?” Dean yelled, causing Cas to look at them.

Cas tilted his head. “It’s very cold,” he replied.

“What a bitch,” Dean whispered, causing Claire to raise an eyebrow. He stood and walked over to Cas, saying something that Claire couldn’t make out before he wrapped his arms around the other’s waist. Slowly Dean leant down pressing his lips to Cas’s in a slow, incredibly gross kiss.

Claire scrunched her nose. Could they have not done that anywhere else?

Slowly they pulled away, noses still almost brushing as Dean said something else and then picked Cas up by his waist. “Dean!” Cas screamed struggling to get out the other’s grip as Dean carried him towards the cliff's edge.

“Any last words, angel?” Dean asked, a grin across his face.

Cas glared back. “I want a divorced.”

“We gotta get married first,” Dean replied. He took a step closer to the edge and Claire chewed at her lip, stopping the smile that came as Cas struggled in Dean’s arms. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Three,” Dean began counting down slowly, “two.”

“Dean, please I-“

“One!”

And with that Dean jumped off the edge, taking Cas with him.

Claire jumped to her feet, and ran to the edge. The water was far below, the small waves crashing against the cliff side as Dean tried to keep his head above the water while Cas attempted to shove him back under.

As much as Claire hated it, she couldn’t help but smile.

They spent the rest of the day at the cliffs, the sun warming her skin as she jumped in the water or sat at the edge laughing as Cas pushed Dean back in. It’s almost too easy, too soft, the feelings, the thoughts, the actions, and yet she couldn’t, the happiness was so refreshing she couldn't help but welcome it.

She’s even disappointed when Cas gets a call from the hospital asking him to come in for a night shift cutting their day short. Though that doesn’t stop her from humming to Dean’s music as everyone else sang along, or agreeing to ice cream when Dean offered, or for once letting herself enjoy the man’s company.

When they got home Claire made her way to her room. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the photo on her bedside table. They looked happy, like any other family out at the park. Dean holding her feet to keep her safe on his shoulder, Jack just a bundle of yellow blankets, his small hands reaching up to Cas.

Claire picked up the wooden frame, grip tight around it as she held the photo in her lap.

They’d taken a photo on the cliff's edge, the four of them smiling as if they’d done it a hundred times before and they could have.

They could have taken family photos together, had family dinners and breakfasts. Gone on vacations and to the movies, been a family, if Dean hadn’t left.

Claire clenched her jaw, the tip of her nose burning.

She could trust Dean, that’s what her dad would say, that’s what he’d always said and she wanted to. She wanted to be happy, she wanted to be a family, she wanted it more than anything else. She’d give anything for it, but with the pain settling in her chest and the tears blurring her vision, it was too late.

They weren’t a family.

And they never would be.

A knocking at her door came and Claire wiped the back of her hand across her eyes just as the door opened. “Hey,” Dean said. “Me and the kid were thinking of goin’ to the movies, would you wanna come?”

Claire gripped the frame tighter, biting her lip. She couldn’t look up, not with the way her nose burned or her hands shook. Not with Dean’s eyes on her, caring and still loving her after everything. Why did he still love her?

Couldn’t he give up?

She sucked in a breath and Dean’s footsteps followed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Claire whispered.

“Well that’s a shit lie.”

She looked up to Dean who stood in front of her, a worried expression across his face, causing a dull pain across her chest. Claire clenched her jaw as if that would somehow stop it, or at least numb it out with something else. Anger.

Anger she could handle, it was familiar, understandable. She knew how to live through it, what to expect from it, the pain though, that was unbearable.

“I said,” Claire replied through clenched teeth, “I’m fine.”

Dean glanced at the photo in her hand, before looking back to her, his expression so gentle she wanted to cry. “Look if you don't want to talk I'm not going to make you,” Dean began, the wood digging into the palms of Claire’s hands as she gripped the frame tighter. She wanted to snap it, hear the crack as the wood broke in half. The tear as the picture was ripped into two. Anything to release the bubbling emotion. “But I'm here if you change your mind.”

“I was fine.” Claire replied in a clipped tone. Dean raised an eyebrow, giving Claire a moment to turn back, to stop the fight she knew she was starting though she only tilted her chin and narrowed her eyes at the other. “Everything was fucking fine,” she snapped, “everyhting, until you came back!”

Dean’s expression didn’t change, staying emotionless as he stared at her and somehow that made everything worse.

“You’d left us!” She screamed, not carrying what she said, just anything to get rid of the pain, to hurt him as much as he’d hurt her. “You left dad alone, and you left me!” Claire continued, the tears brimming her vision. “You jackass.”

Dean stepped forward, and Claire could only shake her head between her stumbled words. “You- you can’t- you left.”

“Claire-“

“Don’t.” She whispered, the word barely parting her lips.

She stared at Dean, lips barely parted.

There was so much more she wanted to say, so many more feelings she wanted to explain, yet she couldn’t find the energy to form them. Her vision still blurry as she held Dean’s gaze, though her grip around the frame had loosened and she couldnt find it in her to stop it from falling. It hit the ground with a loud crash, the glass shattering across her floor.

It wasn’t as satisfying as she thought it would be.

“You left for fifteen years,” Claire finally whispered, the words barely coming out. “And now I’m supposed to pretend as if everything’s okay and I can’t.”

“You aren’t my dad,” Claire whispered, “I didn’t want you back.”

She looked down to her floor, the shards of glass covering the wood, as the photo stayed flipped upside down only letting her see the back of the frame. Still she kept looking. She refused to look up, she didn’t think she could. “Get out.” Claire finally said.

“Can we please-“

“I said, get out.” When Dean doesn’t make a move Claire squeezed her eyes shut. “Now.” She demanded.

This time Dean listened.

It’s when Dean and Jack leave to the movies that Claire finally forced herself to stand, her legs weak under her weight as she walked out of her bedroom and into Cas’s.

The room hadn’t changed much since Dean had arrived, though it was enough to be noticeable. His leather jacket hanging on the closet’s door knob, his robe tossed over the desk chair, his books lined alongside Cas’s. The room was cleaner, unlike how Cas usually kept it, with stacks of papers or piles of clothing filling up any space they could. He’d never cared about keeping things clean, or maybe just never had the time, either way Dean seemed to care.

Claire made her way to the bookshelf, shuffling through the stack of scrap books Cas had made before she took the bottom one and sat at the edge of the bed. Slowly she flipped through the scrapbook, hands shaking as she studied each page. The paper everything that had been glued to, the decorations that covered it, pictures all paired with small descriptions of where and when they’d been taking. Most were of her between birth and one years old though there were a handful that had someone else in it, Dean or Cas, occasionally Chuck or one of her aunts and uncles.

When the last page came Claire could only stare. In the center was her with a birthday cake, on the top right her and Cas before her first birthday had started and on the bottom left was her and Dean after. Dean was sprawled across a couch fast asleep, while Claire slept on his chest, one of his arms wrapped tightly around her.

Her nose burned, vision blurry as she continued to stare at the photo. Even as the sound of the front door opening came, followed by the creaking of the stairs, she didn’t move.

Why couldn’t she have had that growing up.

Why couldn’t that have been her life.

What’d she do wrong?

“Claire?” She looked up to the bedroom doorway where Cas was stood still in his nurse scrubs, looking the way he always did after work, tired, though that expression quickly dropped into something more concerned as he stepped into the room. “What happened?”

She opened her mouth though nothing came, only a choked sob parting her lips as the tears fell and she finally broke.

Without a word Cas walked forward, gently taking the scrapbook from her hand before he sat on the bed and pulled her into a tight hug letting her sob into his shoulder. She gripped onto the material of his shirt, leaning further into his warmth, as she gasped for breaths. “I- I- I’m- I,” Claire choked through her tears, “I can’t!”

“You cannot what?” Cas asked gently.

She squeezed her eyes shut, listening to the steady breathing of her dad, his hand rubbing small circles on her back as the tears slipped down her cheeks, rolling slower than before. It would hurt him, her fight with Dean, he wanted everything okay and Claire was making it anything but that.

She was single handedly tearing whatever they were apart, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

“I can't- I can’t forgive him,” she finally whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Dean?”

She nodded, “I- he left. He didn’t care enough or I did something wrong or I don’t know-“ Claire clenched her jaw as more tears fell. There was nothing she could do to stop them, she had no energy left, no will, just the dull pain across her chest. “But he left, and he’s going to do it again,” she continued, “and I- I can’t.”

“Dean, he didn’t want to leave,” Cas replied.

“But you don’t just get arrested.”

“Bear,” Cas whispered. He slowly pulled away causing Claire to lift her head, meeting her dad's gaze. His eyes were rimmed red and he had his head tilted to the side as he looked at her with so much pain. Pain she’d caused. “Dean’s arrest- it was not his fault,” Cas began, slowly, “it was a failure of our system’s and a failure of his father’s. Dean only did what he had to and I apologize that you’re facing the consequences.”

Cas raised a hand gently wiping away the tear that rolled down her cheek. “You were his everything,” he continued, “being your dad was the best thing that had ever happened to him.”

The words crushed upon her as she sat motionless, crushed under the pain of things she couldn’t even describe.

“Babies are hard,” Cas said, “there are rules to raising them that know one tells you but expects you to know and I had a hard time with you but Dean,” he pressed his lips together and glanced across the bedroom. “He seemed to know everything. When you woke up at night he would spend hours holding and talking to you.”

He looked back to her, giving a sad smile. “He loved you more than anything,” Cas whispered.

She didn’t move, words, feelings she didn’t know how to explain on the tip of her tongue. Nothing could fix the pain, the damage and scars that had been caused, and part of her wasn’t sure that the future could be fixed either. The pain dug too deep. The doubt had dug too deep, the fear of being hurt again rested in her chest with every breath she took.

She couldn’t do it again, she couldn’t take anymore pain.

“What if he does it again,” Claire whispered, looking down to the blue blankets.

Cas doesn’t reply and Claire pressed her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut as she inhaled before she opened them again. Cas trusted Dean. He trusted Dean with everything he had, and he wanted her to trust him too. She wanted to trust him, but she couldn’t.

“We visited him when you were four,” Cas began, his voice rough. “I’d visited a few times before that, but this was your first time. It was almost a four hour drive and we were only able to stay for ten minutes because of how much you hated being in the visitor Center.” Cas said. “I didn’t blame you, it wasn’t a pleasant place.”

“You’d cried from the moment you arrived until we’d left,” Cas continued. “Me and Dean agreed it was best if only I came to visit, but that didn’t stop him from keeping in contact, he’d write at least once a week to you and it was only when you were twelve and had never written back that he stopped.”

Claire looked up, staring at her dad. Too exhausted to cry. Too in pain to say anything else. She just wanted it over, she didn’t want to have to fix anything, she just wanted it to work.

She leant forward and Cas without hesitation pulled her into a tight hug, letting her bury her face into his shoulder.

“You smell,” she mumbled, as she buried her nose into his clothing where the hospital smell clung.

“And you’re getting snot on my shirt,” Cas replied, causing a smile to tug at her lips. She closed her eyes and Cas brought his hand to her back once again rubbing small circles there.

“Claire,” He said and she squeezed her eyes tighter. Hadn’t they talked enough. “How you and Dean’s relationship continues is your choice, and I love you no matter,” but, “but I want you to know; leaving you was the last thing Dean ever wanted to do.”

A soft knocking came and Claire looked up from her homework and to her bedroom door where Dean stood. He looked unsure, glancing around her bedroom, and Claire didn’t blame him; it'd been two days since their fight and neither of them had talked since, not so much as a good morning. She hadn’t been sure if Dean even wanted to be around her after everything.

She wouldn’t have wanted to be around her.

“Hey,” Dean greated.

“Hey,” Claire replied.

His hand dropped and Claire bit at her lip, “do you mind if I- uh come in?”

Claire shook her head, and Dean walked to her bed, taking a seat on the pink blankets, looking just as unsure as he had in the doorframe. He glanced to her bedside table where the family photo now stood in a new frame Claire had bought the day before and Claire shifted in her desk chair, fiddling with her pencil.

Dean looked back to her and she held her breath.

Whatever he had to say, she knew she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I was hopin’,” Dean began, “if you weren’t busy, we could talk maybe?”

Claire pressed her lips together before giving a small nod of her. “Yah,” she whispered. “Yah, we can do that.”

Dean exhaled, and Claire brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, before chewing at her lip. She wasn’t ready. She wanted to, but she wasn’t ready.

“I’m sorry,” Dean finally said, “I should’ve talked to you about everything the moment I got home, but I just- I wanted to pretend like nothing had happened cause well-” Dean gave a half smile, and Claire gave a small one back. “I’m not good at talking about my feelings and shit, that’s more of Cas’s thing.”

At least they had that in common.

“I- '' Dean continued, shifting in his spot as he looked back to his hands. “I was sentenced under the three strike law,” Dean finally said, “which gets you locked away for a long time for doing jack shit.”

Dean rubbed a hand down his face and Claire swallowed, the ache in her chest rising into her throat. She almost wanted to tell him to stop, the pain across his face, in his voice, so raw she could feel it across every inch of her skin. His lips parted, and eyes never fully meeting hers, instead on her lips or to her right, or simply blank staring forward, as if it hurt too much to do so.

“Growing up my dad wasn’t around a lot,” Dean began, looking to the ground. “He’d leave me and my brother without enough money for the both of us, or sometimes no money at all.”

Claire’s grip around her pencil tightened, the wood digging into the palm of her hand.

“One day, I think I was twenty, my dad just didn’t come back.” Dean wiped the palms of his hands across his eyes and inhaled before he continued speaking. “I had a job but it wasn't enough, so I stole what I could. I got caught a handful of times, but I was lucky and they only recorded three of them, I eventually got my shit together but that didn't clean my record,”

Dean looked up, his gaze meeting hers. His eyes were rimmed red, though gentle as he gave her a soft smile that she forced herself to return. “You were two and Cas always had you wearing the ugliest things, I was embarrassed to be seen with you,” Dean teased in some attempt to ease the tension. “Jack was only a few months old and we’d left you guys with Chuck while we went out to some bar.”

Dean licked his lips, his gaze once again dropping to the floor. “Chuck ended up calling us early, you wouldn’t fall asleep and wanted us home, so Cas went out to the car to talk to you while I paid the bill.” Dean continued, “when I got out these douchebags were being dicks to Cas so I told them to go screw themselves and when they didn’t leave us alone I broke the one guy's nose. I think the second guy ended up with bad bruising and the third went to the hospital with a concussion and some other shit. I ended up with a cracked rib.”

He rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans before running a hand through his hair. “For the three strike law you need some kind of violent crime, so with the assault and my thefts it was enough for me to get a twenty four years sentence.”

“Still” Dean said, his expression pained though voice somehow steady, “I was lucky, lots of people get a lot longer for a lot less.”

Claire took a shaken breath, unsure how to reply, unsure how to feel, everything around her just seemed to buzz. She licked her lips, gripping the pencil tighter as if it was the only thing keeping her seated, and it might have been.

“And what about…” she began unsure how to continue. Slowly she raised her hand pointing to her right shoulder, as her gaze darted to Dean’s.

He frowned before seeming to understand what she was asking. “My dad, Dean whispered, “we were uh- out camping, he got pissed off and when he came at me I stepped back and into the fire.” He tapped the burn on the top of his left hand, “these ones were from cigarettes and these ones,” Dean brought his hands to his thighs, hesitating for a moment. “Life was shit,” he finally whispered.

He didn’t need to say anything else.

Without a word Claire stood her legs shaking as she moved forward. Mind numb. Her mouth still dry. Her heart beating heavy in her chest. She couldn’t bring herself to speak or even begin to process everything that had been said and instead she sat next to Dean and pulled him into a tight hug.

“I love” Dean whispered, as he held her. There was a crack in his voice that had Claire squeezing her eyes shut, focusing on his warmth. On the way he held back just tight enough to know he wasn’t leaving.

“Im sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for hurting you,” Dean pressed a kiss to the top of her head before resting his forehead there, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Claire stopped at the entrance of the kitchen, the room lit by the afternoon sunlight. Dean was sat at the kitchen table, one hand around a beer and both feet propped up on another seat as he read whatever was on his laptop screen.

For a moment she stayed standing at the entrance unsure what to say. It’d been a few weeks since their fight and though things had gotten much better it was still awkward when both Cas and Jack were gone. Neither of them fully knew what to do around the other and though Claire would never admit it to anyone, especially not Dean, she was scared things would never come naturally, that the underlying tension between them would always be there.

“What’re you doing?” She finally asked, staying in her spot with her hands held behind her back.

“Writing my monthly report to my douchebag probation officer,” Dean mumbled, not looking up from the computer. “The jackass still won’t let me go to LA. He’s lucky I can’t own a gun.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “Want me to kick his ass?” Claire offered.

“No.” Dean looked up with a smile across his own lips as he mouthed ‘yes’. “Violence doesn’t get you shit,” he continued before mouthing ‘do it’.

Claire looked to the ground, her bare feet cold against the kitchen tiles as her fingers fiddled with the paper she held behind her back. The words were on the tip of her tongue yet she couldn’t bring herself to whisper them. Her mouth dry and a heat crawling up her neck.

It’d be fine.

She just had to do it.

“I,” she finally began looking back up to Dean who was already looking at her. “I- um, I made you something.”

Dean didn’t say anything and Claire took that as an invitation to step into the kitchen. Nothing was better than no, or at least she hoped so.

Slowly she brought the painting out from behind her back and offered it to Dean. He took the painting from her hand, his gaze wandering over the paper. She’d repainted a photo she’d taken when they’d gone cliff jumping, just as the forest has opened up to the cliff side, with the water peaking over the cliffs where it met the sky in the horizon.

It wasn’t her best work, by far, water colour was hard with some of the colours blurring in spots, and the sun rays had been difficult to paint, yet she hoped Dean would at least appreciate the gesture.

And maybe not laugh at her.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered and Claire chewed her lip as a smile spread across Dean’s face. “You made this?” He asked looking up as Claire nodded, “for me?” She nodded again.

Dean stared at her for a moment, before he looked back to the painting and quickly wiped a hand across his eyes. “Holy shit.”

“You like it?”

“Like it?” Dean asked, looking back to her. His eyes were glazed over and Claire chewed at her lip.“I love it, it’s awesome.”

Dean walked to their refrigerator and Claire couldn’t help but smile as Dean hung the painting with a few magnets before taking a step back to study it. “Shit,” Dean said, grinning back to her, “Michelangelo better which out.”

Claire laughed.

This was what she’d always wanted, and maybe she didn’t have it at first but like hell she was going to let it go.

She stepped forward, raising her arms for a hug and without hesitation Dean pulled her into one. His arms were tight around her waist, as she leant into his warmth, her arms around his neck and chin rested against his shoulder. “Thank you,” Dean whispered, the emotion clear in his voice.

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, her grip around the other tightening.

Things weren’t perfect but that didn’t matter, because they were going to be okay.

#Destiel #Destiel fanfic #destiel one shot #dean winchester #castiel #claire novak #parent!destiel #Jack Kline

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