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peaches-writes · 4 years

Text

naturally

description: there’s something about bang chan, even if he’s not some senior crush you’ve pined over from the very beginning or a friend you’ve known forever, that just makes realizing that you’re in love with him as something that feels right member: chan genre: fluff, slice of life, high school au, college au, friends to lovers au, sports au (off season universe), campus dj au (if u squint), slow burn (?), fem reader word count: 12k wtf warning: explicit language, alcohol, a plot that makes zero sense note: idk what this is it’s so messy anw + @skzwriternet

Chan came in your life quite late—both literally and figuratively.

The two of you were in the 12th grade when you met, at a time when all everyone cared about were getting into their respective dream universities and establishing a solid group of friends to call back once they’re already on their separate ways. He got stuck in traffic that day and wasn’t allowed entry past the school gates at first because he didn’t get his uniform on time while you and your group of friends were on time in class, completely unexpecting of a new addition to the group as you all worried about the upcoming entrance exams.

“Oh, look at that, new kid.” Minho nudged your elbow and whispered loudly close to you that day, gesturing to the spaces between the curtains of the window facing the hallway. Outside, Chan was being ushered to the faculty room at the other end of the hall by a teacher, head hung low in embarrassment that he stood out with his black hoodie and sweatpants. “And no uniform on the first day—I feel like we should adopt him!”

You didn’t pay much attention to it at first, shrugging before returning to your messy Homeroom notes. An election was to be held at the end of the week and maybe, just maybe, you were thinking about it. “A bit risky, don’t you think? Right before the exams.” You mused out loud, more to the classroom elections than to the transferee.

“Do you think we’ll get him?” Minho asked anyway despite the lack of interest in your tone, leaning on your side of the shared table with a propped up elbow. “Or will Dahyun and Bam’s class next door?”

The answer was given to Minho over five minutes later, when the gentle sound of your Homeroom adviser’s voice was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Excuse me, good morning, Ms. Park!” The faculty head, Mrs. Liu, peered in your room that day with Chan trailing behind with curious eyes. “I’m so sorry for the interruption but your transfer student is now here!”

In front of the classroom, Ms. Park welcomed Chan with a smile and clasped hands. “Ah yes, Bang Chan, finally! Come on in!”

Chan introduced himself in awkward giggles and a slight miscalculated step when he didn’t immediately see the elevated area separating the black board and the first row of desks. “Hi, I’m eighteen-year-old student Bang Chan and I moved here from Sydney, Australia! Please take care of me!” You remembered him introducing himself at Ms. Park’s request before being seated right next to Hansol on the other end of the fourth row.

Minho, who eyed the boy curiously the entire time, sat up properly after and told you, “I’m gonna ambush him at recess. You wanna come with?”

You knew even then that you didn’t have to answer the question because as the bell rang for recess time, Minho had dragged you over to Hansol and Chan’s table as soon as he saw you pick up your wallet.

“Hi, I’m Minho and this is Y/N and we’re about to kidnap you!” Minho exclaimed as the two of you approached the unexpecting boy, earning you wide eyes from him. “If you want to, of course. Y/N’s gonna be class president again by Friday and I’m gonna be fighting Moonbin to the death for basketball captain so we’re clearly overqualified to show you around.”

You remember Hansol toppling over in laughter while you turned away in embarrassment. Not that it was uncommon for the most nonsense things to come out of Minho’s mouth then—in fact, it was quite the opposite.

Fortunately, Chan was easily persuaded. “Uh...sure, why not?” He grinned with relief, pushing his chair away from his desk and picking up his own wallet before following you and Minho downstairs to the cafeteria.

You ended up helping him buy snacks from the cafeteria and showing him around what you deemed as the most important areas of the campus within the thirty-minute recess. Because of the short time, he met your other friends belatedly at lunch.

Chan came in your life quite late—both literally and figuratively—but you suppose it’s not that bad because you’ve been friends ever since.

Minho was ‘disappointed but not surprised’ when Chan tried out for the swim team instead of his basketball team—his words not yours.

Club Week was not actually a week but a week and a half, giving everyone time to either succeed or fail in the clubs they signed up for and move on to the next. Since you were elected Class President, you decided on sticking only to what you considered your most important clubs for senior year: Volleyball and the school paper. Minho, on the other hand, unfortunately lost his ‘fight to the death’ with Moonbin over the team captain title but he kept insisting that it was because he really was fated to be the cheer dance team’s captain instead.

“At least, it’s one less sweaty kid I have to worry about.” You jokingly assured Minho once Club Week was over. You and your group of friends were huddled on your usual table that lunch break, comparing training and review center schedules.

“Ya, what does that mean?”

“It means you’re in two sports clubs and you never shower after any one of them!” Dahyun points out for you across the table, earning her ‘ooh’s and high-fives from everyone. “You should be embarrassed, Mingyu’s on three teams and he literally showers on Febreze.”

“But I do shower, just not as religiously as everyone.”

“Why not?”

“Climate change!”

You turned to Chan amidst the playful chaos, shaking your head in feigned disapproval. “Sorry, they’re five.”

The boy only chuckled. “It’s okay.”

“I’m glad you joined the school paper too, by the way.” You made sure to add, hinting that you saw him at your club assembly the week prior despite the large turn-out of people. “I heard from Jihyo at our last council meeting. Broadcasting, right?”

“Yep,” He nodded with pursed lips and an eye smile. “so you guys will hear me DJ for the rest of the year too.”

“Can’t wait.”

Chan’s first gig as the school radio’s DJ was the Friday that followed, in the middle of your student council meeting. He sounded nervous at first, which made you, Jihyo, and Seungkwan laugh while you were presenting your batch’s initiatives for the whole school year, but he made it out alive—and even included a shout out for you.

“Also, shoutout to Y/N! Thank you for showing me the ropes this month.” His voice echoed faintly through the hallways at lunch break. A pause then followed, what you assumed was Changbin and Jisung scolding him, before he snickered and said, “I guess Minho and Hansol, too! See you tomorrow, you guys!”

Ever since the 7th grade, you’ve made sure to follow each and every one of your closest friends’ extracurricular activies. From Dahyun’s and Jihyo’s recitals to Bam Bam’s and Minho’s competitions and meets, you were always there: half as a volunteer for the school paper and the other half as a cheering friend. It’s your way of looking out for your friends, by standing in the sidelines for support.

So naturally, with the addition of Chan to your friend group, you always came to his swim meets with a camera, a write-up outline, and a tarpaulin you’re quite sure Minho and Bam Bam didn’t make while sober the night before.

“Like the slogan, dolphin boy?” Bam Bam snickered at Chan as he sat on his designated waiting area right in front of your bleacher. It was the final tournament for the semester and your two other friends have decided on a lazy ‘Let’s go Dolphin Boy!’ decorated in glitters and a Photoshopped photo of Chan’s head in a dolphin. “When are you going on?”

Chan turned to your group and immediately slapped a hand to his face in embarrassment. “Oh my God...”

“To set the record straight, Jihyo and I were studying together last night and Dahyun was at piano lessons.” You held your hands up in self-defense to an eyeroll from Minho. “The poster’s all on Bam and Minho.”

“I know.” Chan mumbled behind his hand, removing it slowly after. “I’m on in five minutes. And what happens when I do get a place on the stands?”

“Then we’ll stand up and wave this harder!” Minho answered this time, aggressively waving the cartolina and causing a few glitters to scatter on your jeans.

“Minho!”

Chan competed in 1500 m I.M. and all the butterfly relays on that day and only then did you notice that he liked competing in them more than the other categories. You took photos and noted the important details with Bam Bam’s agile typing on your phone throughout the event, up until Chan received his mostly gold medals—when Bam Bam and Minho did kept to their word and ambushed the poor boy by throwing the slogan over his head when he asked for a group photo with everyone.

“This is like the Avengers of extended friend groups!” Dahyun joked once the chaos has died down and you’ve managed to get everyone to prepare for a couple of group photos. “Now I’m even more excited for dinner!”

A couple of Chan’s childhood friends also came that day—Younghyun, Somi, Sana, Lisa, and Matthew whom you befriended after over dinner that was Chan’s treat. It looked more like a weird family reunion to you than what Dahyun thought but you laughed anyway as you adjusted your camera settings.

“Okay, you guys ready?” You asked the group once everyone’s settled down, arms slung over each other and bright smiles ready to be taken for Instagram updates. “One, two—“

At the center of the photo, with a big bouquet of roses and several medals, Chan suddenly shifted in his position under Matthew’s and Younghyun’s arms and asked you, “Wait, wait, wait...Y/N aren’t you joining?”

You shook your head, making everyone erupt in protest. “Ya, then who’s gonna take the photo?”

Minho doesn’t exaggerate it one bit whenever he recalls this that Chan literally bolted out of the group to pull in his nearest teammate to take the photo, quickly tugging you to him afterwards and positioning you right in front of him once the group photos were taken. You ended up with his arms and his bouquet draped over you in all of the photos.

With the college entrance exams fast approaching over a month later, you found yourself juggling your academics, cram school, Volleyball training, student council, and the school paper all at once. It was manageable at times, with the help of your teammates and clubmates, but of course there would be days when you would almost fall asleep on the spot at Saturday cram school, in particular.

Chan was no better as he balanced academics and cram school with his own swim training, the school radio, and preparing a portfolio for his talent exams at the Departments of Music for every university he applied to.

Fortunately, you both went to the same cram school with everyone else. Seated next to each other, you bought Chan coffee while he passed you candies and chocolate he would get from his mom through the mail.

“You, uh...” Chan nudged your knuckles with his softly one time, alternating his gaze between your open notes and the formulas being discussed on the white board two rows ahead. “The answer’s 2.”

“Hm?” You hummed tiredly, free hand supporting your cheek as you tried so hard to pay attention and follow along. The day prior was meetings upon meetings that lasted until 8:30 PM, pushing all of your time allotted for homework to midnight since you had to take the bus home. To say you were so tempted to fall asleep then was an understatement.

Knowing this, you saw Chan take the liberty of writing the correct answer on your notes through your half-lidded eyes, poking your knuckles with the end of his mechanical pencil after. “You have the whole solution down but the final answer is 2, silly.” He chuckled softly, discreetly passing you another gummy bear from under the table. “Do you even know what you’ve been writing?”

You nodded even though your brain was barely processing anything, receiving the gummy bear after. “I think so?” You mused out loud, making him laugh.

“We’ll just have to go through this again later. You should’ve stayed at home and rested if you’re so tired.”

You found out later, when you were much awake to have lunch at a nearby cafe with Chan, that the boy took down the notes for you in a fashion similar to your note-taking technique for you to copy—and that he drew a small dinosaur on the margins of your notebook with a text bubble that said, “You can do it!”

Chan has made it a habit to bring you an extra thermos of coffee and drew little animals on your notebook whenever the two of you were bored ever since.

You showed up at Chan’s doorstep on his first Christmas Day in Korea, not really expecting to see his mom with his aunt on the other side of the door.

“Hi.” Chan mustered up a rather confused smile, growing even bigger and less shy right in front of you the longer he gazed at your own wide eyes and long travel coat. “Y/N, hi.”

“I thought you were—“ You unconsciously gestured to his extended family running around the hallways behind him, furrowing your brows. “Hi, um, should I just—should I just go?”

Chan furrowed his brows, instinctively pulling you closer to the doorway by your arm once he noticed the snow falling harder behind you. “What? Why?” He asked at the sudden proximity. “What’s up?”

His unintentionally blunt tone with the question definitely had you caught off-guard and flustered. “O-Oh, I just thought—I thought you wouldn’t be with your parents and siblings for Christmas so I came over.” You cringed internally at your truthful but rather cheesy answer. “Everyone’s skating at the mall today and I thought of inviting you because I assumed that you’d be lonely here with just your uncle and auntie...”

Another smile, an amused one, settled on his lips as you talked. “Really?” He mused out loud to which you nodded absentmindedly at. “We could go right now, if you want. My mom would probably tell me to bring Hannah and Lucas along, though, if that’s okay.”

Your eyes widened for the second time that afternoon. “W-We can, yeah.” You nodded slowly to both questions, breaking into your own smile.

“Okay, come on in first, then, it’s cold out.” Chan then took you by the same hand inside, closing the door behind him and leading you to the shoe rack for your boots. “My mom’s been looking for you and everyone else since they landed here too! You should be able to stop her from fussing over dinner so much.”

You met Chan’s parents and siblings that day, almost getting stuck in his aunt and uncle’s house because of his mom’s excitement at meeting one of her son’s friends in Korea until Chan smoothly brought up your offer of going to the skating rink with his siblings. You eventually left the house with him and his younger siblings right before Minho could text you that you were taking too long.

“You do know how to skate, right, Chan?” Minho asked when you arrived. He sat between you and the boy in question to rest his feet from racing with Dahyun, removing his skates and stretching his legs forward. “Y/N and Jihyo suck at explaining things she’s already good at and Bam Bam’s a deer walking for the first time so the choices for teacher aren’t really looking so well for you right now.”

When you looked over at him from Minho’s shoulder, he simply shrugged. “Shouldn’t be that hard. It’s just ice and blades, right?”

But it ended up being very much so, at least for him as he ended up reaching for yours and Jihyo’s hands before you could even run off to join Minho and Dahyun on their race. “Okay, okay, I was wrong!” He exclaimed dramatically, gloved hand meeting your own when Jihyo jokingly moved her hand away. “I’m going to fall over!”

“You’re doing fine.” You rolled your eyes in feigned exasperation, holding his hand anyway as you slowed your pace. His siblings then passed by the two of you, giggling over their eldest brother tripping on ice. "Look, even your siblings are doing fine and you came from the same place as those two.”

“Chan, you’re being dramatic.” Jihyo added to tease him further, gracefully sliding away from the two of you. “‘It’s just ice and blades, right?’ You’ll get used to it!”

Then, as if for unintentional emphasis, Chan almost tripped at this and instinctively held your hand tighter. “I really am going to fall if I let go.” He pouted, linking your arms together instead. “Can’t you really teach me?”

You unlink your arms, catching his hand again. “Fine, I’ll try but don’t cling to me too much.” You pointed out, laughing when he interlocks your fingers together. “You swim in deep ass Olympic pools back and forth like it’s nothing, ice shouldn’t be that scary to you, you know.”

With that, you spent the rest of the afternoon teaching Chan how to balance himself on his skates (and getting him out of Minho and Dahyun’s way as the two circled the rink like two roller derby players). He perfected his balance at the end of the day but he still wouldn’t let go of your hand so naturally, you came back next year.

And next year eventually turned into an annual tradition between the two of you.

The exam results then came in the middle of your final Volleyball game which was probably not good for your adrenaline levels but everyone found it amusing.

Your team was leading in the final set, 23-22, and you could tell as you delivered volley after volley that your opponent was already losing hope. On the sidelines of the open gymnasium, Bam Bam and Minho held up the ugliest orange cartolina ever with ‘HAIKYUU THAT SHIT Y/N!’ in mismatched marker colors while Jihyo, Dahyun, Chan, Hansol, and Seungkwan screamed their lungs out for your team.

You’re quite certain the cartolina got confiscated by your coach after for inappropriate language, you’re not quite sure even at present because you never saw it again, especially when it was dropped to the ground the moment everyone’s phones started ringing because of an e-mail from school.

You noticed it from the sidelines, even as you and another teammate delivered the final volley that lead to your victory. Chan held your phone with a bright smile on his face, directing it to you after as you and your team huddled for a group hug and greeted the opposite team for the last time.

“Congratulations!” He greeted you as soon as you’ve celebrated enough with your teammates, waving your phone in front of you as he approached with everyone jumping not far behind him. “On both!”

“Both what?”

Before Chan could even answer you properly, you were engulfed in a big hug by Jihyo, Seungkwan, and Dahyun. “You did it!” They exclaimed in unison. “You passed all of the uni’s you applied to! We all did!”

Immediately, your widened eyes and agape mouth sought Chan for confirmation, to which he simply nodded with a laugh and a thumbs up. “No way...” You muttered in disbelief, gaining feeling back in your frozen legs after to jump along with everyone in your group hug. “No shit, no way! Congratulations, guys!”

“Congrats to you too, dude! You won twice today!” Jihyo pointed out, making everyone laugh. “We’re still on for BBQ, right?”

“Well, I can’t be the only one paying now since we all passed the exam!”

You got hugs from the others as well (and an extra one with a high-five from Seungkwan because he was just so hyped about your volleyball game), receiving from Chan last since he wanted a photo with you after.

“We could do a group photo, you know.” You tried suggesting as you held your Finals tournament trophy in between the two of you. Hansol has both of your phones side by side in front of him, adjusting the settings a little before taking the photo.

“We could but that’s for later. I need a new contact photo for you!” Chan insisted. Before you could comment on his ridiculous excuse, however, Hansol was already taking photos of the two of you.

Chan did set a photo of you from that day as your contact photo—specifically the one where you were pretending to dump invisible water from the trophy over him. It’s ridiculous and it still makes everyone laugh whenever Chan’s phone lights up with this photo.

Graduation celebrations naturally came after, as soon as Spring Break was over. Bam Bam threw a house party for your batch that was anything but sober and civil, the clubs each had send-off parties, and the student council planned a Graduation Ball which was mostly just yours, Jihyo’s, and Seungkwan’s excuse to dress semi-fancy and have Chan invite Younghyun to invite his band, Day6, to perform a whole set of their new songs.

You came with your friend group, or at least you and Jihyo convinced yourselves that you did since no one bothered to look for dates. It had been your finals before the Saturday of the graduation ball and, on top of that, the two of you were busy ‘student council-ing’ as Minho worded it, organizing the event with the school faculty and a few parents.

You did dance with everyone by the end of the night too, Minho pulling you along by the hand in a group hug as you yelled out the lyrics to Days Gone By—one of the last songs of the evening. “Finally you can join us!” He exclaimed dramatically, pressing a kiss on top of your head as he slung an arm over your shoulder. He didn’t actually need to worry about spending time with you since you’re all staying in the hotel for the night anyway. “Loosen up, will you?!”

On your other side, you could only hear Chan laugh as Bam Bam proceeded into the center of your big circle to dance, challenging an unexpecting Yugyeom nearby after. He stole glances over to you occasionally, a fond smile on his lips whenever you’d catch him in the act. He actually wanted to ask you to dance but decided against it last minute, growing too shy at noticing that the crowds are mostly dancing in friend groups rather than pairs until it was ultimately time to retreat into your hotel rooms.

“Goodnight and happy graduation, Seoul High!”

Fortunately, however, Chan made up for this by waiting on you after the dance. You stayed behind with Jihyo and Seungkwan for an hour more once the students have either gone back to their hotel rooms or migrated to the hotel lobby to wait for their rides home; Chan was more than happy to lend an extra helping hand as you thanked the staff and made sure that the packing up was done orderly.

“You did well tonight,” He complimented you sheepishly as the two of you carefully packed up the stage’s sound equipment. The microphone he was trying to remove from the stands was still on then, making his voice echo faintly through the hall. “organizing the event and all.”

Your face heated up against the now softer stage lights as you moved the guitar and music stands from the center to the side where a staff member was waiting for you. “T-Thanks, Chan. Did you have fun?”

He simply nodded this time with a sheepish giggle, passing you the microphones after making sure they were properly turned off.

After this, Chan politely walked you and Jihyo back to your shared room with Dahyun just two floors above the one all the boys in your class reserved for themselves

“Night, Chan! Make sure you’re not being too loud with the boys downstairs, okay?” Jihyo bid him goodbye quickly with a small yawn and a mischievous smile as she opened the heavy door to your room with ease. “I’m pretty sure Bam brought that wireless microphone with him again—and it’s probably Mingyu or Seokmin’s idea again.”

“Don’t worry we won’t, I’ll make sure.” Chan nodded sheepishly before waving goodbye to her. Once she’s inside, he then turned to you and said, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly at him, a little hesitant. When he raised his eyebrows at this, you then suggested, “Um...I know this is sudden and it’s like 1 AM but you don’t happen to be in the mood for McDonald’s, right?”

“Seriously? At this time?”

“I’ll buy you an iced coffee if you want.”

So you ended up at the McDonald’s two blocks from the hotel where your graduation ball was held, wrinkled dress suits and all. You talked for what seemed like an hour more, played with the Powerpuff Girls happy meal toy he bought on a whim, and got scolded through calls and text from your friends because you didn’t invite them. Since this day, the two of you have been buying each other’s coffee from McDonald’s.

Bam Bam and Minho both moved further West in the city, the latter sharing his uncle’s old apartment with another friend of his, while Jihyo dorms with Mina, another friend of yours from another school, up North. Besides these, no one made a drastic change to move houses or dormitories from the area your parents considered near since everyone else attended universities relatively near. At university, especially on your first year, you, Chan, and Dahyun mostly stuck with each other; just now with the addition of Lisa who ended up attending the same university and Jacob whom Chan befriended in his classes.

Sometime towards the end of your first semester, when Bam Bam and Minho skipped school to crash one of your semi-finals Volleyball game, your now larger group of friends decided that Chan would ‘take one for the team’ and get a driver’s license for all of your travelling needs. He lost against Jacob and Dahyun of all people in the most intense game of rock-paper-scissors you’ve ever seen.

Because of this, for the two weeks leading up to finals week, you ended up risking your life accompanying Chan to practice in his aunt’s old SUV. During this time period, he either took you to and from university as well or from your neighborhood to the bar and grill you started frequenting with him and the rest of your friend group. It’s not that he’s bad at driving, his parking skills were just initially a cause of worry for you whenever he was driving in crowded places.

“Am I close?” Chan asked you on your first day of finals, leaning over your side of the car to check the side mirror. You had your reviewers for your Communications class glued to your face throughout the entire twenty-minute ride but that didn’t stop you from simultaneously being anxious of hitting someone else’s car right in front of your college building. “Can you check?”

You opened the window and briefly peeked your head out, turning to Chan after and almost jumping at how close he’s gotten. “It doesn’t even look like you tried.” You laughed through your immediate flustered expression, making him lean back in frustration as he prepares to move the car again. “How long have we been here? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

Chan pouted, keeping a hand on your head rest as he now carefully re-attempts to parallel park. “Just five minutes.” He mumbles, alternating his gaze quickly between the front and back of the car. “So that means you’ve been studying well this entire time.”

“Your driving is already good I could even sleep in, it’s just the parking that’s worrying.” You pointed out teasingly, leaning on his hand to glance back at the situation behind you and poking on his new arm bands. “Speaking of, you do know that you don’t even have to park, right? It’s not like you’re going to wait for me.”

“But I’ll wait for you.” Your eyes met belatedly as Chan finally parks the car. “It’s just 30 minutes, right?”

“It’s two hours, Chan...” You quirked a brow. “Didn’t I text you that?”

“Really? Ah, well...I’ll just...” Chan chuckled sheepishly, clearly realizing his mistake at the last minute. “I can totally just hang around, I guess.”

But the problem was, Dahyun didn’t have class that day, Lisa was organizing a club party, and Jacob was in his own volleyball training. Chan ended up loitering around the swim team for a while and impulsively buying you lunch because he didn’t want to waste gas.

You bought him lunch when he passed his driver’s license in return.

“You probably need glasses now.” You pointed out to him as you happily ate your Burger King inside his car. The nearest branch to the driving school he attended had a relatively big parking lot, making the two of you sigh in relief that he didn’t have to parallel park this time. “I’m pretty sure I texted you that my exam was from 10 to 12.”

Next to you, Chan had his seat reclined and the windows fully open as he sipped on his Cola and munched on fries. “No, I checked it again the other day and you texted 10 to 11.”

“What?!” When you do check your phones, only then do you find out that you did mistakenly text him 10 to 11 instead of 10 to 12. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Should I buy you another burger?”

Chan simply shook his head and snatched the ice cream cup you’ve been saving. “I’ll just take this, thank you!”

“Ya!”

The first time the driver’s license actually came in handy was on your first volleyball game as a university student. Chan went on a round trip around the major universities in Seoul to pick up all of your friends which almost caused you to be late to the game but you could barely care then—you were too pumped over the idea of all of your friends coming together to watch you.

Besides, Chan volunteered to be a courtside reporter for the game so you weren’t scolded by your coach alone.

“Good luck out there!” Chan nudged your side with a wink as the two of you prepared to enter the arena with your team. He made sure that he had his microphone off twice this time. “I’d really love to interview you when you win.”

“When have I ever lost in front of you, hm?” You teased with a grin of your own, just as the backstage doors opened to the cheers and drums of your university.

And, true to your word, you win the game a little over an hour and a half later. With a small trophy passed around from your teammates and the promise of a day-off from your coach, Chan was the first of your friends to approach you.

“And here we also have SNU women’s volleyball team newest recruits, Y/N and Chaeyeon!” Chan introduced you and your teammate in front of the cameras. In the distance, you could see your friends then: Jihyo, Dahyun, Mina, and Lisa holding balloons in the color of your university, Bam Bam and Minho holding their usual embarrassing slogan, and Jacob jumping up and down excitedly over your game’s turn-out. “This is your first game and first win of the season, congrats! How does it feel, you two?”

Your eyes met Chaeyeon’s instinctively to your right, making the two of you giggle shyly. After a mini game of passing the microphones between each other, you eventually ended up answering, “Um, we’re very grateful that our first game gave us our first win as new members as well and we hope that we’ll continue doing even better in the semi-finals!”

“Yes! Everyone’s hoping so too, especially after watching your play today!” Chan commented, clearly going off-topic then by the way you noticed how his mini crew of fellow students looked surprise and even checked their own cue cards.

Once the interviews were over, you were then whisked away by Minho and Jacob—the former to catch up with you while the latter was so excited talking to you about your game.

“Dude you were so good out there! Like that serve on the first set that really riled up the opposing team’s captain? And and that over the net move you did with Chaeyeon! We should have a practice game sometime!” Jacob always talked a million times per second over things that excited him but you didn’t mind, at least now Minho had someone to compete with over who could say the weirder thing.

The interaction placed a rather childish pout on Chan throughout the ride to your promised Korean BBQ dinner, no one but Lisa paid it too much mind.

“Stop pouting you look ugly.” She said to the poor boy with a feigned judgmental face, switching seats with you earlier for the ride to dinner so you can discuss volleyball with Jihyo and Jacob. “Why are you even pouting? Something on your mind?”

“Nothing.” Chan only furrowed his brows and frowned, glancing over to you on the rear view mirror to see you laughing along to a video Minho was showing everyone on his phone.

it’s not Minho that bothered him, everyone with eyes and a braincell have always known that he’s in love with his current roommate.

Jacob, though...you play the same sport and are both equally passionate over it! It definitely made Chan think.

“Nothing looks like she’s having fun, huh?” Lisa mumbled under her breath in response after a moment, breaking out into a laugh when Chan finally glances over at her with a confused look. “Nothing!”

Lisa made sure you sat next to Chan after, dragging Minho and Jacob by the ears to the other side of the table.

On your second year, your favorite junior from your previous school finally entered college. Seungmin was also on the student council, school paper, as well as in the high school baseball team who often practiced with your volleyball team so you basically considered him your ‘child,’ much to his annoyance. Though he attended a university that was nearer to Bam Bam’s and Minho’s, you pestered Chan into driving you almost once a month to his dorm to visit, anyway.

Chan would’ve said no every time given his own busy schedule but you promised him every time that Felix, a friend of Seungmin’s who happened to come from Australia as well, and Jeongin, another junior you unofficially ‘adopted’ in high school, would also be there.

“Chan, I need to go to Seungmin’s, it’s an emergency.” You greeted Chan one day right after your afternoon classes. You found him in the library, studying for second semester midterms with Lisa and Jacob which did made you feel bad but you really couldn’t wait for the next bus anymore.

“What kind of emergency?” Lisa asked, prompting you to shake your head.

“The kids said it’s very bad...” You continued shaking your head frantically and that was enough for Chan to pack up his things and lead you outside to his car.

When the two of you arrived at Seungmin and Jeongin’s shared dorm, Chan was more than confused at seeing the former sprawled out on the common area carpet with his arms folded over his chest like a vampire while the latter and Jeongin hovered over him with worried looks and mini fans.

“Is Seungmin dying?” Chan asked you with genuine worry as you approached, which would’ve made you laugh with the choice of words had you not just been vaguely called on short notice to deal with the situation.

You didn’t get to answer him at first as your first instinct was to sit down next to Seungmin and ask Felix, “We came here as fast as we could. What’s wrong?”

In front of you, Seungmin groaned in pain and rolled over on his stomach, hiding his reddening cheeks from you. “Y/N, why are you here?” He whined, bringing his arms up to his head to hide his face further. “Did these two call you?”

“Yeah they did.” You answered firmly, rolling the boy on his back again that prompted more complaints from him. “Now, what’s wrong? School? Sports? Friends? Are you okay?”

It took a moment for Seungmin to remove his arms over his face and answer you and it undeniably made you and Chan nervous. When he did answered, it was what you least expected from him as he said, “Y/N, I think I have a crush...”

A pause then followed as everyone simply stared back at Seungmin who immediately hid in his hoodie once again.

“Oh for the love of God, Kim Seungmin! Are you kidding me right now?! I came all the way here for this?” You smacked him in the arm once you’ve recovered, finally breaking out into laughs as the other boys toppled over in laughter. Turning to Jeongin and Felix, you then asked, “So why did you call me? You could’ve called Minho, he literally lives three blocks away.”

Felix and Jeongin glanced over at each other and shrugged. “He said he’s having love problems,” Jeongin pointed to Seungmin innocently before turning to you. “So I thought of calling you. Aren’t you and Chan a thing?”

This time, it was you and Chan looking at each other and laughing. “No, no, we’re not a thing.” He clarified for you with a dismissive wave. “Y/N’s married in a poly relationship with academics and extracurriculars.”

“And Chan’s secretly a merman so it’s a hard pass.” You finished his thought jokingly, looking over at Seungmin after.

“You guys, I’m still in a situation here!” Seungmin frowned, lifting his head up to place on your lap. “I’m fucked, basically.”

“Well, since we came all the way here and gas is expensive, do you want to talk about it? Lix and I can cook dinner.”

With that (and a few more words to get Seungmin off of the floor), you managed to drag the lovestruck boy into the kitchen and cooked him tonkatsu with Felix and Jeongin on your tail. Chan kept him company the entire time, peering over his shoulder as he narrated the story of a certain figure skater he met at his Freshman welcome assembly. “We’ve been friends for a while and I really like them but they’re always getting into trouble!” Seungmin mostly rambled, making you, Jeongin, and Felix snicker with your backs turned.

“All the more reasons to see them often, then?” You suggested, much to Seungmin’s annoyance.

“Won’t I be too obvious? Or too doting? Maybe they don’t like that as much since they’re so independent. Agh, what do I do?!”

“Play it cool like you always do, kid.” You answered simply, patting his head affectionately as you passed by his spot to retrieve a basket of condiments “What do you think, Chan?”

You clearly caught him off-guard then by the way his eyes slowly widened and he instinctively sat up straight. “O-Oh, u-um—yeah, what you said...” He eventually agreed with a nonchalant shrug to cover up his shaky actions. “Don’t overthink it or else nothing happens.”

You re-joined Jeongin and Felix across the kitchenette with a chuckle, nudging Jeongin with your elbow after. “You kids are growing up! Ah, but it still kinda feels like yesterday when you two were just messing around back in high school.”

“We’re a year below you, what are you talking about?” Jeongin pouted, eyes not leaving the side dishes he was preparing. When you don’t tease him further about it with another side comment, he then adds, “Sorry for assuming you and Chan were dating by the way. That wasn’t weird, right?”

You shook your head reassuringly. “No, it’s cool! I’m just curious where you’d get that from.”

“Minho said—“ And that was enough for you to give your aforementioned friend an earful the next time you saw him after.

“So, Chan’s not dating?” Felix asked next to which you nodded at. “Oh, cool!”

“Why? Do you have someone for him?”

Though Felix didn’t say anything more specific after that, Chan was then coerced into a friendly blind date to the movies a week after, you heard it at his new sideline podcast with Changbin and Jisung of all places.

“I—“ Seungmin’s first reaction was to clasp his hands together while the two of you were listening to the podcast episode in YouTube. “I spill out my heart to you guys and over tonkatsu then I find out that this happened right under my nose that night?”

It was a month since his dramatic confession and a little over two weeks since Chan went on the blind date and you’ve been taking the bus with Dahyun to visit the kids ever since. Chan thought he did something wrong but you’ve assured him multiple times that you’re just trying to be considerate of him since he now has an additional person on his plate.

Dahyun also wanted to visit Jihyo and Mina so you decided on commuting with her in particular.

“Ah, well, that’s life—or college...or maybe both.” You shrugged. You often studied in their dorm living room to pass the time if Minho wasn’t up for being bothered with in his apartment—you found out throughout this that studying with a Legal Management major like Seungmin motivates you to go through your rigorous readings. “How’s your crush by the way? Any progress?”

“They want to try speed skating! Do you know how dangerous that is? Not to mention, the legality of it all...”

“This person seems like they get you up on your toes. I like it! Makes things a bit more exciting, don’t you think?”

“It just makes my head hurt.” Seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples dramatically for emphasis. “I can’t help but worry...”

“I think you’re sweet looking out for them like this.” You assured. “But it’s not sports if you don’t get hurt and we both know that.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Just look out for them. I’m pretty sure they’re not all that clumsy as you make them out to be—you said they’re an athlete, right?—but it’s still important to be there for support and help when they really need it.” You half-shrugged, not really knowing what else to say. “But not just as someone who has a crush. Be a friend first and foremost—I mean, obviously, since you’re not dating, you’re just friends, hopefully for now. Yeah, that’s it! Don’t overthink it, you’re friends not married!”

A thought then seemed to pass Seungmin as a small smile formed on his lips. He then pulled his knees close to his chest and leaned back on the sofa behind him. “So, is that how you are with Chan?”

“What?!”

“I mean he’s sort of dating right now but don’t you have a crush on him?” The younger boy asked in genuine curiosity. “Honestly, I was surprised that you let him go on that blind date with the Soyeon girl Felix recommended, much less a second date this weekend.”

“No—I mean no, I don’t have a crush on him.” You refused calmly though your voice clearly shook a little but not for the reason Seungmin thought it was. “We’re just friends. You’re going off-topic!”

Seungmin’s eyes lit up in interest. “Well, I thought about it so we’re talking about it now! Have you seriously never thought about it?”

“No, but I am now because you brought it up!” You shook your head back truthfully before smacking his arm with your reviewers, making him pout and wince at you. “Don’t do that! You’re like—you’re trying to brainwash me into having feelings or something!”

Seungmin instinctively held his hands up, filled with his own lecture notes, and shook his head at the accusation. “No I’m not!” He pouted at you to no avail. “I’m just saying that I’ve always thought there was something, with how you two are so close.”

“You and I are close, Minho and I are close,” You argued back with a small pout, crossing your arms. “Heck, Bam Bam and I are close and we grew up together since the 4th grade.”

Again, the boy shook his head stubbornly. “Yeah, we’re all different kinds of close, especially Chan,” He claimed with so much conviction. “You look out for me, Minho, and Bam Bam but Chan looks out for you as much as you do for him, if that makes sense.”

“See you can’t even reason out properly and you’re in Legal Management.” You scoffed playfully. “I look out for everyone the same way, Chan’s not that kind of special for me. Also, it’s basic human decency, Seungmin. I can’t believe you don’t look out for me back, to be honest.”

Though you came off as perfectly unbothered by this, there was a period when things started became awkward on your end and it frustrated you until the end of your second year.

Seungmin teased you to no end for it to make up for your equally endless questions about the person he’s taken interest in, Minho kept bringing it up whenever the two of you met or hung out in his apartment, and Dahyun only confronted you about it when it started becoming inconvenient for her as yours and Chan’s mutual friend.

“Chan keeps texting me if we want a ride to Minho’s but I already told him that we’re on the bus right now.” Dahyun showed you her phone on another one of your many commutes to Minho’s side of the city. By this time, it has been two months and three dates for Chan, with your time spend with said boy having reduced significantly. “Are you guys okay? Have you been talking lately?”

You furrowed your brows and nodded in genuine confusion. “Yeah, why?”

“It feels like he wants to ask me about you but he won’t say it directly.” Dahyun shrugged, leaning back on the seats. “It kinda gives me the impression that you guys fought or something.”

“We didn’t fight.” You assured with a small frown. “Nothing happened, really.”

“Then what is it?”

It took you a moment to answer as your mind instinctively went to the conversation you previously had with Seungmin. “I...you know when someone points something out to you in a different light and then it makes you think of a lot of things?” When you saw Dahyun nod slowly, you then took it as your cue to admit, “It’s something like that, I guess.”

And like you, it also took a moment for Dahyun to answer. “Well, how do you feel about it?” She asked back as a response. “I think I know what this is about but you don’t have to tell me if you’re uneasy telling me about it.”

And you were uneasy and confused, very much so. “I don’t think I’m feeling anything special about it, really.” You admitted in a smaller voice, finding your attention flitting down to your hands on your lap. “I feel like I’m just thinking too much on what that someone said and how they said it.”

“Then it’s probably nothing, easy as that. Don’t let people’s words get into your head too much, especially on things like this—if we are thinking of the same thing—or else it’s gonna feel like you’re being forced into having different feelings or think differently.” Dahyun shrugged with a reassuring smile. “If otherwise, even then don’t overthink it too much. Just let things happen as they are.”

When you didn’t respond immediately, she then took your silence to quickly add, “Anyway, bottom line is, whatever it really is that you’re feeling or thinking, don’t ignore Chan for it. Talk to him about it specifically if it helps just don’t make him feel left out just because you’re on a one-sided awkward situation.”

It was a tough love kind of advice but Dahyun pestered you about it until she saw you approach Chan first over a week later, when you personally asked him to carpool to Bam Bam’s place for a year-end party.

You’ve never seen Chan’s face light up as much as it did on that day at the campus library.

“R-Really?” He stuttered out in disbelief and suddenly, all hints of drowsiness had disappeared on his expression. “I mean, c-cool! Uh, what time should I pick you and Dahyun up?”

“Ah, well, what time should you pick up Soyeon if she’s going to carpool with us?” You asked slowly, rubbing your nape awkwardly as you stood next to his table.

His eyes widened in surprise before an equally awkward chuckle came out of his lips. “Soyeon’s not carpooling with us.”

“Hm?”

“She’s going with her own friends since they’re nearer to her place.” Chan nodded absentmindedly, pulling a chair for you to sit down. You took the place without hesitation, neck heating up in embarrassment over the thought that you seemed too eager. “We’re not actually dating anymore.”

“Oh?” You furrowed your brows as quickly as your expression almost lit up. “I mean, since when, if it’s okay to ask?”

“Since last week. I don’t know, we agreed that it’s really...not happening between us.” Chan shrugged nonchalantly, going back to his lecture notes. “It’s cool, though, we’re studying together next week at the new study hall near Itaewon.”

You nodded, exhaling a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding until then. “At least it’s not awkward or anything.”

“What about us?”

You immediately looked up at this, meeting Chan’s somewhat hopeful gaze that had you unexpectedly stammering, “W-what do you mean?”

“Did I do something wrong?” He pursed his lips nervously, voice growing smaller with each other. “It’s just that we haven’t talked a lot lately—or maybe I’m just overthinking it...”

You were quick to shake your head, mustering up a small smile. “No, you didn’t do anything.” You assured him gently. “I’ve just been—it’s nothing.”

“Really?”

You nodded, breathing in another sigh of relief. “Yeah, I just had a lot of things going on then. It’s okay now.”

And it really was okay then. Talking to Chan again assured you at the time that you liked him as a friend. You really really liked him at the time as a friend.

Third year meant preparing for your senior year and going on your Junior Year internship which is probably why Bam Bam scheduled a trip to his hometown in Bangkok in the summer before this. It was just him, you, Chan, Dahyun, Jihyo, and Minho as a kind of mini high school reunion—the small kind of gathering everyone naturally hopes for with the pacing of university life.

You stayed at his family’s house where his parents offered you the entire expanse of the living room to have a movie night and sleepover in on your first night, right before the overwhelming itinerary Bam Bam planned for the next five days.

“Rock-paper-scissors for the beds!” Bam Bam announced after your sixth movie of the night. The Meg really wasn’t that amazing in your collective opinion but that didn’t stop you from putting it at the bottom of your To-Watch list just to throw as much nonsensical comments as you can on it. ��The expandable couch goes to first, second, and third; the smaller one goes to fourth, and fifth and sixth get the air bag!”

Unsurprisingly, you and Chan had to share the grey air bag because you simply were just unlucky that night (you accidentally got a Pringles bag that had more air on it than chips prior) and Chan was so sleepy right next to Minho from cramming a passion project with Changbin and Jisung on call. Not that you minded, you were actually glad you didn’t have to put up with Bam Bam kicking you in his sleep or Minho waking you up with his cuss-filled sleep talking.

“Are you okay with this, sharing an air bed, I mean.” Chan had asked you as you prepared to sleep some time at 3 AM. He was hunched over on the side of the mattress that wasn’t pushed to the wall, laptop perched on top of his area as he continued fighting sleep and finishing his project. Everyone else had gone to sleep earlier. “I can totally just ask Bam for a sleeping bag if you want me to.”

“It’s okay.” You assured him as you spread the blanket over the entire expanse of the small air bed before sliding in and taking your phone out from under your pillow. “Aren’t you slidi—tucking in too, though?”

His face lit up in genuine surprise, slowly shifting into appreciation and fondness right in front of you as he caught the concern in your own face despite the phone blocking his view. “In a bit...I’m just making a few adjustments with this.”

Changbin and Jisung erupted into yells on the three-way video call, their voices bursting so suddenly on Chan’s headphones that he immediately muted them before you could ask or even notice.

Fortunately, you didn’t. “Oh, then don’t stay up too late, Chan.” You pointed out in even more concern. You knew how he could get whenever he pulled all-nighters, you realized. “We have to start really early tomorrow—or later.”

He hummed absentmindedly with a small nod as he continued nodding, glancing back up at you again after a moment. “Then you should go to sleep already, you don’t have to wait up for me.”

“Who said I’m waiting up for you? I’m scrolling through my Instagram.” But despite your teasing tone, you still ended up scrolling through your phone until he finished his project, bidding Changbin and Jisung a quick good morning before ending the call and sliding in under his share of the covers.

“Okay now go to sleep.” He chuckled tiredly as he gazed down on you, hand accidentally brushing against your own in the small gap between the two of you as he placed it right next to his head.

“But you’re watching me,” You frowned disapprovingly. “turn around or something.”

“I sleep better like this and what if I closed my eyes and you took pictures even with my back turned?” He feigned a pout, bringing his hand under the pillow as he shifted more comfortably in place. “You sleep first.”

“You’re so childish.” You giggled, shaking your head stubbornly. “I won’t do that.”

“As if you aren’t too right now. You’re probably thinking about it.”

“On three, then? One—”

“Two—“

“Three.” With your cue, the two of you then closed your eyes at the same time, only to peek one each right after. “Ya!”

You eventually managed to fall asleep at the same time half an hour later with Chan reluctantly turning around for you once you had your eyes closed. He’d only see your sleeping expression a little bit later, when he woke up to use the bathroom at 7 AM and came back to check up on you sleeping comfortably and move more of the blanket to your shoulders.

“Look at these eyebags, you could carry souvenirs in them later.” Minho chuckled next to you on the ride to your first trip destination after, laughing even more when you swatted his index finger that moved up in an attempt to poke your eyes. “Nightmare? The Meg wasn’t even about ghosts, Y/N.”

“No, I just slept late.” You sighed, leaning back on your seat. “Chan and I stayed up a little longer.”

At this, Minho’s eyes visibly lit up and he wiggled his eyebrows mischievously at you, prompting a disgusted look on your face. “Ooh, did something spicy finally happen between you two?”

“No—and please never do that again, it’s disgusting!”

“It’s my eyebrows!”

Minho ended up teasing you throughout the whole trip, anyway, as you and Chan repeated almost the exact same routine every night.

You had your Junior Year Internship at a media network across the city and though Chan insisted multiple times that he can drive you to work before going to his own at an entertainment company in the opposite direction, you managed to convince him that you really can commute this time and spend the night at Minho’s if you went overtime. No hard feelings this time.

So with what his presence in your life suddenly lacked in being your everyday transportation, he made up for by spamming you constantly online.

“This place has Tim Tams in their cafeteria!” He’d send you the most random photos and videos of his day-to-day working in song production at the entertainment company, from actual work-related matters like sophisticated equipment he was allowed to use to the small things like the extensive cafeteria food and his boss’ pet Labrador. “What are you having for lunch?”

Being a P.A. at a media network, however, was much more fast-paced and required you to be running everywhere on your work hours. Chan understood, of course (hence the sudden influx of dog photos during a particular period that had you working overtime almost every day), but it still made you feel bad for replying so late because, whether you admitted it or not, his constant updates alleviated your stress.

More often than not, his spams would be responded with photos of you on the subway and video clips of Minho and his roommate who are always practicing cheer dance moves in their living room. “I had three Snickers today but I drank a lot of water so that should count for something!” You often replied, following with a clip of Minho falling on his butt after tiredly trying to land a flip. “This is your Minho update of the day. He’s getting there! I think he’s going to try out for cheer dance captain this year!”

At the end of the semester, Chan was more than happy seeing you again, so much so that he treated you with lunch and even offered you ice cream after. “You’re going to make up for all the full meals you’ve missed this semester!” He insisted as he picked you up from Minho’s place. The two of you ended up at a ramen house which was a far jump from your usual fast food dates—something you thought about the entire time.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.” You laughed but you let him order you food anyway since it was free. “Extra nori and eggs, please!”

You exchanged internship stories throughout the entirety of your lunch, laughing along to his stories of falling asleep in the middle of work and hearing his endless teasing over you getting starstruck with assisting your favorite artists on the job. You didn’t actually miss out on a lot of his shenanigans (that’s how heavily he spammed you) but you stayed in the ramen house for more than two hours, unconsciously drifting off to different topics and gossiping about your friends until the slight embarrassment of overstaying creeped in.

“Speaking of friends, I haven’t seen everyone else lately too.” Chan mused on your ride back home. He had his CD he secretly produced over his internship period playing on the radio as well as one hand on the steering while while the other fought you over the air conditioning. “I just know that you and Jacob train for volleyball together on weekends, Lisa’s busy with club duties, Bam Bam’s on an exchange student thing and Jihyo recently introduced us to the person she’s dating now.”

You leaned back in your seat and shrugged, finally giving up on the air conditioning to open the windows instead and admire the Han river on your side of the road. “Well, you know how Minho’s been doing with my updates and I haven’t seen Dahyun in a while too since she’s taking the most classes this semester.” You explained, extending your hand outside to feel the gentle Autumn breeze. Chan, despite being the swimmer between the two of you, thinks you’re crazy for liking the cold better. “As for many many other people I know, they’re either studying really hard or starting work now. Time flies and friends come and go, I guess...”

When you glanced over at him again, you saw his face scrunched up in thought as his hands blindly found the gear stick to slow down at an intersection. Once you reach the red light, he then meets your gaze, uncertainty in his expression that he tried playing off with a shrug. “Yeah but...is it weird if I said I don’t want that to happen with us?”

“N-No?” You found yourself answering before you could fully comprehend the question. Clearing your throat, you tried joking it off, “I think you might’ve taken the ‘I’m class president let me show you around’ thing back in high school, Chan.”

He shrugged, smiling as well at this. “Maybe I did, who knows? I like spending time with you.”

“I force you, you’re my ride around the city.” You teased, hints of sincerity coming through your tone of voice.

“But that’s because I like you, isn’t that what people do with people they like?” He said it with so much nonchalance but you couldn’t help but feel flustered at this, a reaction you immediately hid by laughing.

“You like me too much, it’s going to cause a traffic with all this sentimental stuff,” You pointed out, the cars behind you suddenly honking annoyedly as if on cue. “See? Even the people behind us agree.”

Chan wasn’t offended, however, not one bit as he continued rambling about liking you all the way to your dorm after. It flustered you at first, especially with how casual he was being, but, as you neared the turn to your dorm outside of university, you eventually caught up with teasing him back about it.

When you thought about it on your own once he left, you realized that you somehow liked it. It felt very natural—as if it’s something that’s always felt right hearing from him.

“I like Chan.”

“Yeah no shit.” Minho agrees absentmindedly, Seungmin and Jeongin nodding along while emptying their take-out boxes. You carpooled with Chan today as he drove Felix and Jisung somewhere to help them finish their term research paper. You were only supposed to hang out with Seungmin and Jeongin but Minho decided to ambush the three of you with Jihyo and Mina on their way to join your group at the younger boys’ dorm. “What else is new, Y/N? We haven’t met up like this in a while so I was expecting something spicier!”

“No, I mean—” You roll your eyes at him, smacking him with your rolled up lecture notes but to no avail. The boy simply opened his phone to check his messages, frowning when he then comes across a message from Jihyo and Mina informing him that they’re stuck in traffic. “I really like Chan.”

“Okay, and then?”

“I’m telling you I actually like someone then you dismiss me.”

“And I mean that took you a record-breaking three years to say.” Minho points out, finally closing his phone and propping an elbow up on the table to face you properly. “What has you sharing this to us on this fine Saturday, hm? Did you get jealous over someone again and got so insecure that you realize your feelings? Did you get stuck in a really small space, admired his face a bit then realize that you think he’s cute? Which trope is it?”

You shake your head disapprovingly at him, briefly glaring at Seungmin and Jeongin when the two start snickering next to you before answering, “Nothing, just...we talked lately and I thought that I really like talking to him.”

“So you don’t like talking to us?” It’s Jeongin teasing you this time as he sipped on his juice box, earning him a crumpled ball of paper on the head. “I thought it’d be more grand like in those K-Dramas.”

“You flood your crush with Pepero boxes and now you’re talking big with K-Drama confessions.” Seungmin points out, making the other boy in question roll his eyes.

You open your mouth to speak but Jeongin beats you to it. “Talk to me when you’ve confessed to that figure skater at your university, baseball boy.” He says before turning to you again, placing a hand over Seungmin’s face and dramatically pushing him away by his head. “Anyway, back on topic! So, will you ask him out?”

“I don’t know, should I?” You frown, leaning back on the sofa behind you with your arms crossed. “Wouldn’t it be weird?”

Minho shakes his head. “It’s 2020 so go wild, my friend. Anyway, if it doesn’t work out I already got my driver’s license—though I will tax you since you live far away.”

You roll your eyes, hitting him again. When his roommate passes by, half-asleep and dragging their feet towards the kitchen, you hear them request another smack on Minho’s head on their behalf as if on instinct. “I mean, do you just go for it? What if you don’t feel enough for people for it to work out?”

A pause then follows in the room, even Minho’s roommate momentarily stopped gulping down water from across the open common area. Seungmin and Minho sigh while Jeongin only raises an eyebrow with the same curiosity.

“Yes, Y/N.” Minho answers after a moment, tsking at you as he does so. This time, you gather the energy to smack him for the fourth time as quickly. “It’s dating not marriage, just see what works and what doesn’t.”

Seungmin opens his mouth to say something else, probably to comment on how Minho doesn’t apply the sentiments to his own love life, but he nods in agrement anyway. “I think it’s like you always tell me: don’t overthink it.” He adds instead, briefly turning his head to Minho after. “But I’m going to pretend you didn’t bring it up first, hyung.”

Don’t overthink it. Even Jihyo and Mina agreed when they arrived, pestering you into going over your entire rant and dilemma again once they arrived with beer and convenience store food. Dahyun too, but only a little later when Jihyo puts her on FaceTime.

“Just wing it,” She even added to assure you, glitching a bit on video because public library wi-fi has never been better than that.. “it’s just Chan, what could go wrong?”

And really, with Chan, nothing ever does feels like it’s going to go wrong even when the situation has your heart on the line.

“Chan, give me your hand.” You extend your hand out to his side of the car with your palms facing upwards, chuckling when he glances over to you with wide eyes. “I won’t tickle you this time, promise.”

“So what are you going to do?” He asks as he reluctantly moves his hand from the steering wheel to your hand, alternating his gaze between the road and you on his side in long intervals. “I’ll have you know that we’re about to turn to a narrower road so don’t try anything funny.”

“Like I said, I’ll just hold your hand.” You feign a pout, bringing your hands down on the compartment in between your seats. “There.”

You won’t tell it to his face right now, of course, but holding his hand is comforting to you.

He invited you to a small film festival for today, a thirty-minute ride to a place he only heard of on the poster for it that he showed you at the start of the week. “Bam Bam’s too busy to come with so I thought I’d invite you since you’re free this week!” He explained over the phone and you knew Bam Bam is really busy when it’s you who Chan is inviting to these kinds of everyday. “They have lots of animated movies on the line-up too so I immediately thought of you!”

“Your hands are so small.” Chan comments after a moment, shaking your intertwined fingers gently as the car stops at traffic.

You poke on his knuckles in response. “You just have really big hands.”

“Your hands are clammy too.” He points out next with a laugh. “Are you okay?”

“Because you won’t turn the air conditioning up, dumbass.” You roll your eyes, scoffing when he doesn’t move his hand anyway. “So why don’t you let go?”

“Because I like holding your hand.” He shrugs, biting down a small smile. The traffic still won’t move and he takes this as an opportunity to look at you as much as he can. “I like you a lot—even with your clammy hands.”

“I—” You freeze with your mouth hanging open, finally catching onto his smile. “Ya, what’s with the smile? Did you...did Minho say something?”

“What? No. I can’t smile now?” And it’s the truth, you find out much later when Chan calls Minho for you and puts him on loud speaker to disprove your suspicions. “Why? What am I supposed to not know until now?”

You squint your eyes suspiciously at him, shifting your hands around his but to no avail. “That I—I was going to say it first today. I like you too—a lot.” You sigh in defeat, leaning back on your seat and twisting your body to face him properly. The traffic is slowly starting to move again and Chan briefly turns away to move the car, turning to you as soon as traffic permits him again. “It’s a bit embarrassing to say right now, my hands are so clammy and you’re holding onto them the entire time.”

“It’s not because you’re nervous, right?” He asks with the smallest glint of teasing in his eyes which you shake your head at immediately. “It’s just us.”

“I told you, it’s because the air conditioning’s too low.” You chuckle, finally relaxing your shoulders in relief. Chan then lifts your hands up to the air conditioning unit jokingly, turning up the level with his knuckles. “And it’s exactly why I’m not nervous, because it’s just us.”

“Me too, to be honest. I’d be freaking out right now if Minho or Lisa or just anyone else peered over our shoulders.” You hear him mumble under his breath in a sheepish giggle. A thought then crosses his mind as he glances over to you, the traffic now moving much more smoothly. “So, I can still ask you if this is a date, right? The cinema’s still five minutes away with this traffic.”

You pretend to purse your lips in thought, bringing your hands back down once they’ve dried with the sudden rise in temperature. “Isn’t this too last minute even for you?” You tease, making him frown. “Ah, well, better late than never I guess.”

“I’ll make it up to you on the second date, promise.” He assures you, turning right to your destination. “Jus don’t back out on this being a date now, okay?”

“Of course not.”

“So boring.” It’s Bam Bam teasing you this time, Minho agreeing on the side. The one time he’s actually free to hang out and he sasses you throughout the entire night. “I expected more from you two.”

“It’s...two people dating in college, not a romcom, Bam.” You deadpan before taking a sip of your soju.

He shrugs from across the table anyway, passing you another bottle. “I guess being in love makes you a little boring. I don’t blame you.”

You slap a hand up to your forehead while Chan is practically drunk and dying next to you in embarrassment. “Oh God...”

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tinymilkshakecheesecake · 3 years

Text

Blind Date - Cale Makar

This was partially inspired for Devon’s love of complimenting Cale on social media

Word Count - 1.6k

Cale knew he was running late. The latest mindset book he was reading caught his attention and he didn’t realize it was time to leave until he was already going to be late. He has no idea why he agreed to this. “Devon wants me to go out more, but this is getting ridiculous,” he thinks. Devon and his wife have a neighbor who also apparently needs to get out more and the two of them thought Cale and this mystery person will be attached at the hip afterwards and convinced or bullied (he’s not sure which) Cale into this. He changes out of joggers, putting on better pants as he receives another text from Devon. Devon has been repeatedly reminding Cale of the “date” they had arranged to make sure he doesn’t bail. He puts on his shoes before grabbing his keys and wallet before running out the door, pausing only briefly to check the door.

He heads out of the elevator and pulls up the directions on his phone. They set them up in a diner that was a short walking distance away from his building. Not bothering to drive, he leaves the building, heading in the general direction of the diner. Devon thinks he’ll be safe with the baseball game having already started and the quiet nature of the diner, but Cale isn’t completely convinced. Devon texts him again, probably reminding him of his “date” to make sure he doesn’t leave the poor girl stranded. He sees the diner and stops in front of it sighing before running a hand through his hair, a poor attempt to fix the messy strands. “I really should have taken more time to get ready,” he thinks as nervous energy fills his stomach, unusual for him. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself before entering.

---

KJ looks up as the door opens. A boy approximately her age walks in, waiting patiently for the hostess to greet him. Sighing, she drops her gaze back to her phone in hopes Kerry or even Devon texts her back with any updates on the guy. He was ten minutes late at this point and Kerry was getting slower in her responses to her messages. Glancing back up she sees the hostess leading the guy to her table. She places her phone away as he approaches, giving him a shot even if he was ten minutes late at this point, noting his red cheeks.

As he pulls out the chair he begins to speak, “Hi. I’m Cale. I am so sorry I’m late. I got caught up in a book and lost track of time.”

“Oh. It’s okay. It happens. I’m KJ by the way. What book?” KJ asks, surprising herself with her response.

His eyes widen, “Oh, um it's called, Zen Putting, by Bob Rotella. It helps with mindfulness and focusing on the process rather than the result.”

“Do you golf much?” She asks.

“Mainly in the summer, not much now. Work picks up this time of year but the concepts talked about are applicable to other things.”

“That’s cool. Have you read a lot of books on mindfulness?”

“Ya. Actually my dad is really big into mindset and he introduced it to me when I was fourteen. It helped me a lot and is something I still work on.” She watches the way he speaks, sometimes almost stumbling over his words but shows interest in it. They continue talking about anything that comes to mind until his voice begins to show signs of breaking as the waitress appears.

---

Cale looks up as the waitress approaches. Quickly glancing at the menu, he finds something that is loosely diet approved and would work. As KJ orders, he finds himself looking her over. He notices the way she responds to the waitress, eyes kind as she talks to the waitress. Once they’re done, they resume talking.

“What made you come to Denver?” He asks.

“Oh, they had a good collections program and was interested in that,” she replies.

“Wait really, like museum stuff?”

“Sometimes. It depends on where because a lot of universities might not have museums but will have collections from other things.”

“That's cool,” he replies. Their food comes and they continue to talk throughout their meal. They have a relaxed discussion and Cale really enjoys himself as he notices himself relaxing more throughout the conversation. Cale excuses himself to use the bathroom.

---

KJ watches the waitress come while Cale, dropping off the check. She handed her her credit card opting to cover the bill. Smiling, the waitress takes the card and leaves. Cale returns as the waitress drops off the card

“Hey, I was going to cover that,” he says once the waitress leaves.

“Too bad,” KJ replies with a smirk, “you can get the next one.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You expect to see me again?” he replies. He folds his lips to bite back a smirk but fails. “Do you want to walk around the park for a bit?”

“Sure,” KJ replies as she grabs her phone before standing, letting Cale take the lead, following him out of the restaurant. Following him out she reflects on the past hour and a half talking to Cale. She enjoyed herself and the conversation never seemed to get dull. She also noticed that he got more relaxed with hints of a canadian accent sneaking out but his cheeks always remained pink.

The sidewalk widens and Cale pauses for a second to let KJ catch up. They resume talking. As before, the conversation flowed and their strides match perfectly. KJ feels relaxed as they walk by an avs poster featuring Cale.

---

Cale tenses up when he sees the poster, not expecting there to be posters up of him yet.

“Did you come this way to see your face,” she jokes.

Cale turns even more red than usual. “Oh god,” he mumbles. “I forget how soon posters will go up sometimes and didn’t realize it was that time yet. It does get annoying to see your face everywhere in case you’re wondering,” he relies with a soft smile.

“I bet,” KJ replies, “I was on the performing arts council in high school and had my face on a banner outside the school for months to help fundraise. It was horrible.”

Laughing, Cale leads the way to a secluded overlook within the park he frequently visits. He checks in with himself and notices how comfortable he feels. Maybe Devon was right, but he doesn’t need to tell him that. Walking up to the overlook, Cale notices the sky beginning to turn colors. They walk up to the fence and Cale decides to take a half step closer to KJ, moving into her personal space. Looking up, She catches his eye and moves closer, allowing him to tuck her into his side as they watch the sunset. Cale feels himself relax more, allowing himself to enjoy the contact and the view as the sun sets.

When the sun dips below the horizon, Cale pulls back as he bites back a yawn. He has training camp again tomorrow and knows he should call it a night soon. “Hey, where’d you park,” he asks, knowing Devon lived a fair distance away.

“Oh, I took the train,” She replies.

“Oh, I can drive you home if you want,” he offers.

“I can take the train. It's actually probably easier, especially because you’re tired.”

Cale blushes, “Here, let me atleast walk you to the station. Is union station the one you’re using?”

“Ya, that's probably easiest.”

“You’ll text me when you get home right?”

“Um, if I get your number I will,” she chimes back at him, causing him to pull out his phone.

“Oh shit. Um, here,” he says as they exchange phones, Cale fighting back another blush.

They return their phones and head back, this time taking the longer path. They walk in a comfortable silence through the mostly quiet park, passing a few dog owners and couples along the way and exchanging small smiles as they pass. Once they return back to the buildings, their pace picks up as they return to the normal chaos of the city.

---

They make their way to the station both lost in thought. They walk side by side, each in their personal space, but neither one is uncomfortable with that. They slow down once the station’s sign becomes visible, wanting to savor their last few minutes together.

They reach the entrance and Cale turns to face KJ, opting to pull her into a hug. “Text me when you get home, yeah?” he murmurs into her ear.

His deep voice causes her to shiver slightly. She nods, inhaling his scent for the first time before pulling away. They say their goodbyes for the time being. Cale watches her walk into the station. He waits a few seconds before heading to his building. He decides to take the stairs, climbing up the flights to pass the time. He gets to his floor, checking his phone for any missed messages from KJ. Devon texts him again, probably annoyed at the lack of response. Ignoring that, he gets ready for bed, replacing his contacts with glasses and packs what he’ll need for tomorrow to kill time. He hears his phone chime and he races across the room to get it, seeing a text message appear. Unlocking his phone, he sees a message from KJ.

Kj: home [insert picture of the inside of a door]

Cale: ty. Let’s meet up again soon. I’ll cover dinner this time

Kj: 👍

Cale smiles as he heads to his bedroom, turning off lights along the way before crawling into bed and placing his glasses on the nightstand and falling asleep.

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #colorado avalanche imagine #colorado avalanche

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angryinternetduck · 3 years

Text

When All Feels Lost Chapter One: All Business A scheme, some terrible plays, an outburst in an elevator. Rom coms, late night talks, dreadful kale and carrot juice. Harry Styles is one arrogant son of a bitch. [producer!harry x actress!reader; enemies to lovers] Warnings: explicit language and alcohol consumption about 11,000 words series masterlist | general masterlist | ask

~*~ The interior of the staircase doesn’t match the exterior of the apartment building at all.

On the outside, the building is run down. The paint of the windowsills is chipped, dead flowers lay wilted in graying flower boxes. It’s not quite derelict enough to catch the eyes of passerby, though; in fact, it’s so unnoticeable that you almost walk right past it.

When you walk in, the door creaks loudly. A small bell tries and fails to mask the sound, ringing out a pleasant chime just barely noticeable over the whine of the door. The man behind the desk looks bored, but a slight bit of interest crosses his face when you ask for the producer you’re looking for: Harry Styles.

The man at the desk points you up the stairs, tells you where to go.

Apparently, Mr. Harry Styles has a level all to himself. The staircase up to his apartment is lined with awards, certificates, and framed newspaper clippings. Where there are shelves, more awards in the form of small trophies cover every surface.

Despite yourself, you’re a little in awe. You knew how famous he was, how good he was at his job, but you never really saw all his glory laid out before you like this. It’s really quite impressive.

When you arrive at the door, you take a second to pause before knocking. You take a breath, read the gold plaque on the door: Harry E. Styles. Executive Producer. You let the breath out, and then knock.

“Come in.”

You walk inside. It’s a big office. There’s a leather sofa on one wall, a desk in the back covered in papers. A coffee table sits in front of the couch, covered in even more papers. Stacked on top of and spilling out of filing cabinets are thin yellow books, bold black print on their covers.

And Harry Styles himself is sitting on the couch. He’s terribly handsome, you notice first, all tan skin and tattoos peeking out of sleeves and green eyes when he looks up at you. He smiles, and you see dimples.

He’s also a mess. His crisp white shirt is undone one too many buttons, his bow tie unknotted around his neck. The coat of his black suit is over the back of the large chair behind the desk.

It hits you, then, that this man isn’t a big time producer. He was a big time producer. You close your eyes for a split second, thinking back to the dates on the newspapers, all from years ago, back to the less-than luxurious building he’s residing in.

He produced countless hits on countless stages, but none in the last few years. Which is odd, seeing how he looks young - he can’t be more than twenty five, twenty six, but it somehow seems like eons ago when you last saw his name in the papers.

Well, it seems like eons since you’ve seen his name glorified in the papers and online. He’s been featured quite a few times with horrific reviews, critics ripping his pieces to shreds and complaining about the once-master reduced to nothing.

Really, that’s the only reason you’re here, the only reason you think you have a shot with him: he’s probably just as desperate as you are. He hasn’t produced a hit in ages. You haven’t starred in a hit in ages.

You’ve been to every other place imaginable, starting at the top and spiraling down, but you haven’t been able to find a job anywhere. You’re the picture of a starving artist. You’re an actress - a damn good one, too - but haven’t seen the stage in months.

“Are you lost?” Harry Styles asks after a moment, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You blink. “No.”

“Alright, then,” he sighs, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. A sliver of muscled stomach peeks out at you as his shirt lifts, and you frown, your gaze darting back to meet his eyes, which are staring at you almost challengingly.

“I need a job,” you say.

“There’s a McDonald’s down the street,” he replies flatly. “It’s hiring.”

“I’m an actress.”

He quirks an eyebrow and then turns around, walking over to his desk. “Then the reason you don’t have a job is because you’re stupid.” You frown more, following him further into the room. He collapses into the chair, which squeaks and bounces under him.

“I’m not stupid,” you tell him, a sliver of irritation flashing through you. “You were the best producer Broadway’s ever seen. I need a job.” He laughs wryly, shaking his head. “‘Were’ being the key word there.”

“You must have something.”

“Yeah, I have something,” he says. “I have a lot of somethings. But a play isn’t one of those somethings.” He stands up again, heaves a sigh. “Neither is patience. So I’m asking you to leave, please, and find some other poor bloke to torture.”

“I’m not torturing you,” you say, stepping forwards rather than back. “I’m asking you for a spot in one of your plays.” His face hardens, and he juts out a finger at you. “Listen to me,” he says lowly. “I’m not producing a play. I’m too fucking broke for that, and it’s not like there are people lined up outside to support me.”

You scoff. “So what the hell are you doing in here?”

He blinks, his hand lowering as his expression melts and his face softens. “Withering away,” he mutters under his breath. “Just leave,” he sighs. “There’s nothing for you here. You look like a good actress… or whatever. You’ll find something else.”

“No,” you snap. “No, I won’t. This is my only option. I’ll do anything.”

He sits down at his desk. “Moose Murders,” he says.

He’s joking. You know he is. Moose Murders is widely considered the worst play ever created. But you sit down across from him anyway, because this is a test, and goddammit you’re going to pass this test and get a job if it’s the last thing you do. “Sold,” you say. “Moose Murders. I’ll do it.”

For a moment, he studies you. You’re a bit intimidated, but you hold his gaze.

Finally, he leans forward. He folds his hands in front of him, on the desk on top of loose pieces of paper. “Would you like to know my secret?” he asks, and you pause. You wonder if it’s another test, but if it is, you have no idea what the right answer is.

A hesitant, “Okay,” is what you decide on.

He clears his throat. “I’m going to try and perform a heist.”

“You what?”

He smiles, almost sweetly, and says, “I’m planning a scheme to cheat rich investors out of thousands of dollars.” Your jaw drops, just slightly, and you have absolutely no idea what to say to that. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Harry Styles mutters. He stands up, shoves his hands into his pockets, and starts pacing. You turn around and watch as he walks. “I peaked early,” he begins. A faraway look is in his eyes, and you’re a bit scared of what you just got yourself into.

“I was nineteen when I produced my first hit.” He pauses at the record player tucked in a corner, inspecting it. “I’m a genius, I’ll have you know. I’m the perfect producer. I churned them out, one hit after another. I was the best there ever was. And then…” He sighs heavily. “It took one mediocre play to topple me.” He looks at you, and you see anger in his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. It was okay. It just wasn’t a hit. And I had… I had no idea how to handle it.”

He turns back around, starts walking around the room, gaze drifting over the documents and posters lining the walls. “I was a flop after that, as you know. Still am. My reputation went down the drain, my investors lost their interest… And now every show’s a flop.” He laughs wryly, looking at you again, shaking his head. “You know that, too. They’re all flops. Failures. But I… I figured something out after my last fuck up.”

Your eyes trail him back to his desk, and he meets your gaze as he sits down.

“You can make more money with a flop,” he says, “than with a hit.”

At that, you frown. “No, you can’t.”

“You can,” Harry insists. “You sell shares before a play, right?” It’s rhetorical, but you nod anyway. “Right,” he says. “You get money, in exchange for a payment once your play is a hit. But if your play isn’t a hit, if it’s only on stage for one night, you can avoid payouts and then just…” He shrugs. “You can just run away with all the money.”

You blink at him.

“We can run away with all the money,” he amends. “If you… want to work with me.”

“You’re kidding,” you say flatly.

“No,” he insists. “I’m not kidding - I swear. It will work. Nobody will check the books of a play thought to have lost money! If I - we - wait for a while overseas until it’s all forgotten about, we can come back, go our separate ways, rich as can be, and…” He tosses his hands up. “And live happily ever after.”

For a second, all you can do is stare at him.

He shifts forward, focusing his gaze on you. “Listen,” he says. “I need somebody like you to convince my investors that something’s different. They’ll never believe something’s changed unless I can show them that I’m serious this time, and you’re the way to do that. An experienced actor, a beautiful actress to star in my next hit - it’s perfect.”

You bite your lip, stay quiet.

“And you…” He scoffs, throws his hands up at you. “You need this. What else are you going to do? Where else can you go? Nowhere. There’s nothing. Theater’s a dying business, darling. You said it yourself: this is your only option.”

You swallow thickly, feeling yourself start to consider his offer. It really might work, you realize, and that kind of scares you, because you really shouldn’t do this. “Well - well it’s not right to steal like that.”

“Oh, please,” Harry mutters. “First of all, we’re stealing from rich old bastards who have nothing else to do with their money but invest in plays. Secondly, we’re barely stealing anything! We’re not taking thousands from one single person, it’s - oh, it’s just a little bit from each person. Each person who has millions, probably.”

You cross your arms. “We could go to jail.”

He rolls his eyes at that and replies, “We absolutely will not. We won’t get caught. Who the hell will check the books?” He leans forward. “Nobody. Besides,” he goes on, spinning his chair around, “compared to my bleak bloody existence at the moment, I don’t think I’d mind jail all that much.” He sighs, staring out the window at the gray building front it looks out on. “At least I’d’ve gone out with a bang.”

You’re quiet for a moment.

He turns back around. “Well?” he asks. “Any more arguments?”

“I need money now,” you say. “My rent’s about to let up. It’s the end of the month, and I… I can’t cover it. I need a job, or - or something now.” Harry looks at you. “Move in with me,” he suggests.

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “Absolutely not!”

“Why not?”

“Because - because I can’t!”

“Fine,” Harry says, waving a hand in the air. “Consider it. Whatever. Just get back to me by… oh, by the end of the month.” He levels your gaze. “Before rent’s due.” Then he slides a card over to you and taps it twice. “There you are. Use it well.”

He opens a yellow booklet and spins around in his chair.

You can’t do this. It’s insane. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You could go to jail. And moving in with a complete stranger? Especially one malicious enough to scheme people out of - what did he say? Thousands of dollars?

You look at the business card.

Shit, you think. You need this.

“Fine,” you say. “When can I move in?”

***

The days are starting to blur together.

So are the words.

It’s been about a week since you moved in with Harry Styles, and your days have been nothing but reading lately. You’ve paged through what feels like hundreds of those thin yellow books you’d seen that first day, spilling out of cabinets and opened on tables. You’re looking for the perfect play, which really means the most awful play. It needs to be so indescribably bad that it closes within the first week of opening so that everything goes according to plan.

You never thought there could be so many plays. Most of them are pretty awful. There’s a pile on the coffee table in the main room of potential prospects, but nothing good enough - or bad enough, rather - to run with.

You’re sitting on the bed in your room, plays scattered around you. There’s an empty cup of coffee on the table next to the bed, and you look at it forlornly, willing it to fill up. It’s almost midnight, and you’d go to sleep if you had any sense.

But you don’t have any sense. So with a sigh, you roll off the bed and pad out of your room in your fuzzy socks. As you head to the kitchen, the front door opens up behind you. You glance around.

Harry meets your gaze.

You turn around and pour more coffee into your mug.

The first time he disappeared, you had been asleep and had only realized he’d left when you woke up to him opening the door. He looked a little less than disheveled and absolutely exhausted, and you could only presume he’d been out getting laid.

Well, you thought. Good for him.

Then it started happening more often. It was almost every night, which was fine, you supposed, but only if you didn’t have a play to find. He worked with you during the day and left at night, or left mid-afternoon and came back around midnight, like today.

He shuffles around behind you, and it’s a combination of laziness and stubbornness that keeps you from turning around and watching him or asking him where he’s been. When your mug’s full, you turn around and walk back into your room.

Hours later, on another coffee trip, he’s asleep on the couch with a script on his chest.

***

The first few times he offered you snacks, you refused. You wanted to spend as little time with him as possible, which was a bit difficult seeing as you lived with him. You couldn’t control bumping into him on your way to the bathroom in the morning, or eating breakfast at the table while he watched TV on the couch, but you could control where you read the pages and pages of scripts.

Sometimes he plays records out in the office. He must have quite the collection. You’ve heard a few things you recognize through the door of your bedroom - lots of Fleetwood Mac, some Joni Mitchell, the Eagles - and a lot that you’ve never heard before. It’s all good, and it’s a pleasant background noise to your tedious reading.

He never stopped offering snacks, though, and today, apparently, the last of your restraint has melted away. When he knocks on your door and says, “Popcorn if you want it,” you can’t refuse the delicious smell of buttery popcorn wafting under your door.

If he’s surprised when you come out of your room a few minutes later, he hides it well. He glances up at you, but then his eyes go right back to the script in front of him. The popcorn’s worth it, and when the bowl’s empty, Harry wordlessly goes and microwaves another bag without taking his eyes off the script he’s reading.

When he comes back from the kitchen, he slides down from the couch and sits on the floor, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. From your spot on the opposite side of the sofa, you watch as he spills crumbs all over the script.

You wonder why he’s pulling this scheme, suddenly, wonder why he’s going through all this trouble when he’s really probably fine from what he’s made in his early productions. Scowling, you come to the conclusion that he’s just greedy, and take one more piece of popcorn before standing up and walking back to your room.

***

“Have you seen my, erm - my collection?” Harry asks.

You’re eating lunch at the kitchen table, some spaghetti dish that Harry had made the night before. He’s quite the chef, you’ve learned. “Nope,” you say. There’s sauce on the booklet you’re reading, and you frown as you try and thumb it off.

“You should.”

The sauce smears. You frown more.

“Do you like music?” Harry asks.

You stand up. Walk to the sink. “Of course I do,” you say, a bit sharply. “I’m an actress.”

Behind you, you hear him shuffling through his records. “I love music,” he says softly. “I wish I could… I dunno. Sing or something.” You bite your lip as you run water over your plate. There’s a beat of silence. It’s just the sound of water, the clinking of the dishes in the sink.

When you turn around, Harry’s staring at the empty record player thoughtfully. He looks up after another second and smiles, just slightly. “Any preferences?” he asks, running his hands over the vinyls.

You shrug. “I don’t care.”

Harry looks at you, then shrugs and starts looking through the collection. Finally, he chooses one. “I listened to this,” he begins, sliding a disk out of its sleeve and gently placing it onto the platter, “on the plane the first time I came to the States.” The gentle sounds of Frank Sinatra’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane” float from the turntable.

He begins mouthing the words, dancing slightly, smiling at you.

“We should find that play,” you say, and you walk back to your room.

***

A few days later, you gasp awake when you feel Harry’s hand on your cheek.

“Christ, what are you reading?” he asks. “That’s the third time I’ve woken you up.”

“You had to slap me to wake me up?” you scoff indignantly, sitting up on the couch.

Harry frowns as he takes the script out of your hands. “I did not slap you.”

It’s two pm. You’ve been chugging coffee all day - he’s right, you shouldn’t have fallen asleep at all, much less three times since you started that script. It really is very boring… Your eyes widen as you think back to the play, and you begin, “I think -”

“This is it,” Harry breathes.

“It’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever read!” you exclaim, sitting up.

“I can see that. This is it. It’s dumb as hell, and - and you’ve fallen asleep.”

“Three times!”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Harry says happily. “The ending doesn’t - it doesn’t…”

“It’s awful,” you agree with a grin.

“Margaret Fitcher,” Harry says, reading off the back of the script. “It’s - there’s an -” He grins, looking at you as he snaps the booklet shut. “She’s close,” he says excitedly. “Get your shit. We’re going.”

The car ride is quiet. You fidget. So does he. His leg moves a mile a minute, his finger fiddling with his lip. He’s going just a tad over the speed limit. When he pulls into a parking lot, you don’t even look at the building.

There’s a directory, and you find the name you’re looking for: Margaret Fitcher. 9C.

The elevator is shaky. It has an iron gate, blinking numbers. When the ninth floor button lights up and the elevator rattles to a stop, the gates clatter open and you follow him out into the hallway.

Harry knocks on the right door. “Ms. -”

“It’s open, sweetie! It’s open!”

You look at Harry. He shrugs. He looks excited.

He pushes the door open, and immediately, the smell of rotten fruit assaults your senses. You grimace, and you see Harry blink, nose wrinkling. “Come in, dearie,” a voice calls. You walk further inside. A cat comes and slides along your leg. You shift away, bumping into Harry, and he steadies you before he turns the corner and you see an old lady - Ms. Fitcher.

Her face is illuminated by the TV, on which an infomercial is playing. There are cats curled around her. You count. Six. Plus the one who’s decided to sit on your feet. Seven. You spot the source of the odor: a small bowl set in front of an easel, which carries a small, partially painted canvas. It’s supposed to be the bowl of fruit, you see. It’s not half bad.

“Sit down, sit down,” she says. Her voice is weak. She’s wearing glasses, on a chain, that are sliding down her nose. “Hello, Ms. Fitcher,” Harry says, speaking up above the TV. “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“Eh?” she interrupts, squinting at him “You’ll have to speak up, dearie.”

Harry tries again, louder, “We’re here to talk to you about your -”

“What are you selling?”

This time, Harry shouts. “We’re here to talk to you about your play!”

“My play!” Ms. Fitcher laughs. She picks up a ball of yarn that had been sitting next to her. One of the cats fusses. “My play, my dear play…” She begins unwinding the yarn. “Who are you, again?”

Yelling, you introduce yourself, and then Harry does.

“Nice to meet you!” Ms. Fitcher croons. “Never see young ones around here anymore… What a shame…” She shakes her head, beginning to wrap the yarn around her frail hand again. “What a damn shame…”

You and Harry exchange a glance.

“Your play is wonderful, Mrs. Fitcher!” you shout.

She looks up. She seems almost coy. “Why, thank you.”

Harry clears his throat, begins to scream, “We wanted to -”

He’s cut off by somebody banging on the wall from the other side. “Oops,” you mutter, realizing neighbors can probably hear all the commotion through the thin walls. “Can we shut off the TV?” you shout, a bit afraid somebody’s gonna come over and rap on the door.

“Oh, the TV?” Ms. Fitcher says. “Whatever you want, dearie.” She hands you the remote, and you shut it off. The silence is glorious. “We want to buy your play,” Harry says, and Ms. Fitcher’s eyes grow wide. “To… to put it on the stage?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Yes,” you tell her. “We want the world to see your story, Ms. Fitcher.”

She pauses, inspecting the two of you. You feel slightly uncomfortable. “You’re not wearing wedding bands,” she says, looking suspicious, and a surprised laugh bursts out of you. “Oh! Oh, no, you - you mean - you think we’re -” You laugh, shake your head. “No, no, just - just business partners.”

“Business partners, roommates, that’s all,” Harry adds.

Her gaze narrows. “Roommates?” she echoes.

“Yup!” you chirp, hoping that’s not a problem.

She hums lowly in a way that makes you think it is a problem, but then asks, “Who will be playing the role of dear Rosalind?” You falter, then remember that’s the main character’s name. “Anybody you want, Ms. Fitcher,” you say.

“I can see auditions?”

“You can come to every rehearsal,” Harry reassures her. “It’ll be just as you like it.”

She stares at you over her spectacles. And then she says, “No.”

You blink. “What?”

“I don’t want you children ruining my masterpiece,” she sneers.

“We are not children,” Harry says irritatedly.

“Hmph.”

“You sent this play to me,” Harry says.

“That was ages ago,” Ms. Fitcher says wistfully. “When I was but a girl.”

Harry scoffs. “It was last year!”

She glares at him. “Get out.”

“No, no,” you try, “no, please, Ms. Fitcher, you’ll have total control, it’ll be you, all you and your -”

“Get out, you’re bothering my cats,” she snaps. “Get out!”

“Please, Ms. Fitcher,” you beg, “please. We’ll -”

She stands up, and now the cats really are bothered. “I’ll call the police!” she shrieks, and both you and Harry jump up, hurrying to the door, which she slams behind you. You look at it, at the sign with the apartment number engraved on it, at the fraying fuzz of the green carpet inside that had stuck to your shoes and was now on the floor of the hallway.

“I’m covered in cat hair,” Harry whispers.

You turn around first. He follows you to the elevator, which clanks as it stops and as its doors slide open. You step inside, lean against one wall. Harry leans against the other. You look down, not sure what to say. The adrenaline’s fading. You really thought that was the one.

And then -

The elevator bangs to a stop.

“What the fuck?” Harry whispers, looking up as you do.

Each floor’s light blinks, then shuts off, in rapid succession.

“Are we gonna die?” you ask.

“I - I don’t know.” He pokes a finger through the iron gates. “We’re in between floors.”

You blink, feel your brows furrow as you shake your head to clear your mind of the cloud of disappointment. “The - the building,” you say, pulling out your phone. “We can call the building.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asks.

You look up. “I have no idea.”

You stare at each other for a second, and then Harry’s face lights up. “I have it,” he says, fumbling in his bag for the paperwork. When he finally finds it, he flips it around so you can see the address. You type the name of the apartment complex into Google and call the first number that appears.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep calm. “Hi, we’re, um - we’re stuck in one of your elevators?”

There’s a pause.

“Hello?” you say, impatient.

“Um… I don’t really know…”

“Who are -” You sigh, taking a step in the elevator, trying to pace, but you don’t have room. “Who am I speaking to?” A bit of static, and then, “I’m Mike,” the guy says dumbly. “I’m just the desk guy…”

“Do you have the elevator controls?” you ask, not really knowing what you’re asking but unsure of what else to say. “I mean - can you restart the elevators or, like - I don’t know, can you get them moving again? Do you see the - I don’t know, the controls?”

“Yeah, they’re… the box is right here,” Mike says.

“Great!” you exclaim. “Can you please start the elevators again?”

“Oh… I don’t know how to work them…”

You let out your breath, gritting your teeth. “Fantastic,” you mutter. “Um, well, can you call somebody who does?” Mike shuffles a bit. “Um… Yeah, I think so…” You laugh wryly. “Great, Mike, that would be great. Please do that.”

“Okay, I, um… Okay…”

“Keep me updated, okay?” you say tensely. “I’m counting on you, Mike.”

“Okay… bye…”

He hangs up.

“We’re gonna be trapped in here forever,” you moan, banging your head against the wall.

“What?” Harry asks. “What was that?

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “He said he’d call somebody.”

“You didn’t get a time estimate?”

“Jesus, Harry, no, I didn’t get a fucking time estimate.”

Harry frowns at you. “Maybe you should’ve.”

You glare at him.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you start your two-step pacing again. “This is ridiculous,” you mutter. Harry blows his breath out, sliding down one of the walls to sit on the floor. “Ridiculous indeed,” he says.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” You feel yourself getting riled up. “I can’t - fuck. I can’t fucking believe this is happening.” Harry stares at you from the floor. “I’m in an elevator… after getting shot down by a crazy old lady… with - with -” You glance at Harry. “With a fucking con artist.”

Harry frowns at that. “I’m not a -”

“Dammit, I should be on Broadway,” you interrupt. “I should be on Broadway. I did everything right, Styles.” Your breaths are coming faster. You lean back against the metal. “I - I went to fucking Julliard, Styles. I’m a pro. I trained, and I did all the little shows, and I - fuck.”

“It’s just a little pitstop,” Harry offers. “Before Broadway.”

“No!” you sob, and you clap your hand over your mouth. “No.” You step forward, turn around, two steps, you’re pacing around him in the teeny-tiny little box. “God, I’m a failure. I’m a - a failure. That’s why I’m here.” You glare at him through tear-clouded eyes. “With you. Jesus, how fucking evil do you have to be to steal money to get rich? You don’t even need it. You’re probably just fucking fine, probably have some rich daddy back in fucking - fucking England - and you just…”

Your voice is cracking, getting weaker, and you wipe away the tears on your face angrily. “I can’t believe this.” You sniffle, shaking your head. “God, Styles, everybody likes to talk about the new opportunities. Everybody likes to say, ‘Oh, when one door closes” - you jerk on the iron gates - “another opens!’ But dammit, Styles, it’s not open!” You shake your head, stumbling back onto the back wall of the elevator.

“Those goddamn doors must be locked,” you say softly, staring at the shut elevator doors in front of you. “They’re locked,” you repeat. “They’re locked. They slam shut - in my fucking face - and every other door is locked. They’re all locked…” You slide down the wall. “They’re all locked with a key I just - I don’t have.”

Your breath stutters. You look at Harry. “I just don’t have it, Harry,” you whisper.

He opens his mouth to reply, and then your phone rings.

“Hello?” you say. Your voice cracks.

“Hi, are you the lady stuck in the elevator?” It’s a different voice than before. Not Mike.

“Yes! Yes, yeah, I’m here with -” You clear your throat. “What’s happening?”

“We’re resetting the system,” the guy says. “Hopefully that’ll pull everything together. Can you stay on the line for me and tell me if it starts moving again?” You nod excitedly, stepping forward and scanning the buttons. “Yes, I can - what, um - what am I looking -”

A button lights up. There’s a loud clank, and the elevator starts moving.

“It’s moving!” you say happily.

“Great, great. Thanks for calling. Have a nice day.”

There’s a dial tone.

“Right, then,” Harry says as the doors open and you slide your phone into your purse.

You start walking to the car, and Harry follows you. You slow down a little so you’re walking side by side and look at him apologetically. “Um… I’m sorry,” you say quietly, wiping the last of the tears from your eyes. “I’m just… frustrated, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry says.

The car ride back to the apartment is silent.

***

You’re back to reading in your room after seeing Ms. Fitcher.

What’s sort of annoying is that you’re not even partially ignoring him because you’re mad at him - you’re almost just embarrassed about your explosion. You don’t want to face him, don’t want to talk about it. You don’t even want to think about it.

He seems to understand. He cooks a lot. You told him your favorite food a few days ago, before Ms. Fitcher, and he’s made it quite a few times. That makes you even more embarrassed. You blew up at him, insulted him… and now he’s cooking for you.

Ridiculous.

He still disappears a lot. It’s for longer, now; sometimes he’ll leave at noon and not be back until around midnight. You only know because he keeps his bedroom door open and the apartment always has a different air about it when he’s not there.

He doesn’t usually tell you, but… today he is, apparently.

There’s a knock on your door, and you tell him to come in.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hi,” you say.

He looks down at his hands, and you follow his gaze. He’s holding a small black box, fidgeting with it. “I have to… go,” he says, quietly. “But I, erm…” He looks up, steps forward almost hesitantly.

You get up to meet him, and he holds the little black box out to you.

“I thought of you,” he murmurs. His ears are tinged red, and he won’t meet your gaze.

You take the box. It’s light. When you go to open it, his cheeks flush red to match his ears, and he presses his hand on top of yours. You blink, surprised, looking up. “Sorry,” he says quickly, pulling away. “I just… I, er -” He smiles, laughs a bit sheepishly. “Do you wanna open it when I leave?”

You smile slightly, a bit amused despite your confusion. “Sure,” you say.

Harry nods. “Okay,” he says. He clears his throat, not moving, and despite yourself, you’re not mad, because it’s nice to be in his presence, to hear his voice, because you haven’t heard his voice in a while, haven’t been near enough to -

“Okay,” Harry repeats.

He leaves, and you look at the door of your room for a second, hearing the door of the apartment shut before looking down at the little black box in your hands again. It’s a jewelry box. When you open it, a little slip of paper flutters out.

It has jagged edges like it was ripped from a larger piece of paper. You recognize the handwriting from the notes Harry writes in the scripts he reads, from the thoughts he writes in the margins of the books he’s lent you.

For when every door seems locked.

Inside the box is a necklace.

The chain is delicate. Simple.

Attached is a silver pendant, in the shape of a key.

***

The next day, after you said thank you to him, and after he smiled and said you’re welcome, you stayed in the main office with him to read. It’s quiet, but a comfortable quiet. You could stay in this quiet all day.

The day after that, he’s gone for most of the day.

When he comes back, your plan to silently scold him for leaving again by ignoring him for a while crumbles because he’s watching The Notebook while he works. It’s late. You were just getting coffee, planning to hide away in your room after acquiring your dose of caffeine.

Then he gives you a soft smile and nods towards the empty side of the couch.

Come on, he says silently. You know you want to.

So you do. You can’t help it. It’s The Notebook, of course, and you can kind of just tell it’s his favorite from his small smiles at certain parts, his whispered echoes of every other line. Also, he tells you, says, “This is the best movie ever created,” as he grins over at you from the opposite end of the couch where he’s wrapped in a soft blue blanket.

It continues the next day, when he flicks on a movie during dinner and doesn’t turn it off after all the food’s away and you’re just reading on the couch. It’s just something random, but you have to bite your lip to hide your amusement at Harry’s snarky comments under his breath.

A few days later, you shouldn’t feel as satisfied as you do when he comes in to find you already on the couch, your favorite movie onscreen. He smiles at you, takes some of the chips on the coffee table, and starts reading.

Progress goes a bit more slowly once the movie watching begins. You need it, though; it’s a welcome distraction and you’d definitely go crazy without it. Letters dance after a few hours of nothing but reading in silence.

The Potential Prospects Pile on the coffee table grows, but it’s kind of just for show. You both know you’ll know it once you see it. Your interest piques whenever you see him add a booklet to a pile, though, and you flip through each one that’s added like he does.

It’s a few weeks after that first time watching The Notebook, and to your slight reluctance, you’re watching it again. You’re sitting on the floor, coffee sitting next to you, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table on top of the prospects. Harry’s on the couch, all six feet of him sprawled and taking up the entire thing.

It’s late, almost two am. You want to fall asleep - are falling asleep - but Harry only just arrived and you feel like you should stay up with him. He’d been out the entire day, doing God knows what.

“Sometimes I hate Allie,” Harry murmurs suddenly.

“Really,” you say, only half listening.

“She makes it so… unbalanced.” His voice is so low. He sounds exhausted. You look up, and you see that the play he’s reading isn’t even open - it’s closed in his hand, fingers marking his spot, hanging over the side of the couch. He’s on his side, head on his hand, eyes fluttering shut.

“What d’you mean?” you ask before you can think.

“He writes to her for a year,” he whispers. “A whole year. And she... She doesn’t.”

You shrug. “She didn’t know he was writing.”

“She should’ve written to him anyway. She said she loved him. She should’ve written, and told him again, or… or…” He fades off. “What, she should’ve run away back to him?” you ask, and Harry whispers, “Yeah.”

When you turn around again, he’s asleep. You bite your lip, and then look back at the TV.

On screen, Noah catches a glimpse Allie across the street, then sees her kiss someone else.

You open another script and take a sip of coffee.

***

Sleepless in Seattle is playing on the TV. Harry loves his romcoms.

It’s late again.

The days seem to pass so quickly, and the nights seem to drag on forever and ever. Maybe that’s because your sleep schedule is royally fucked up, but you’re mostly blaming that on Harry being out all day.

You’re sipping hazelnut coffee. It’s delicious. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not quite cold enough to be given up on. The remainders of your midnight snack - tacos - lay on the coffee table, and there’s a smear of guacamole on one of the Potentials.

The movie’s wrapping up. The elevator doors are closing. The credits begin to roll.

Sighing, you stretch for a second before turning around and resting your chin on the coffee table so you can look at Harry. The key necklace swings forward. It hangs in the space between your chest and the table, and you can feel its weight on the back of your neck. It’s comforting.

Harry’s on the couch. He’s on his back, holding his arms straight up with his elbows locked so he can read his script. His brows are furrowed, and his lip is between his teeth. He looks uncomfortable.

“I don’t know anything about you,” you whisper.

Harry meets your gaze, dropping his arms. “You know my favorite movie.”

“But not your favorite book.” You wonder what the hell you’re doing.

Harry smiles slightly. “Or, apparently, how indecisive I am. I can’t decide.”

“Are you just trying to avoid other ‘what’s your favorite’ questions?” This is the longest exchange you’ve had in weeks. “No,” Harry says, “really. I can’t decide. I’d answer all the ‘what’s your favorite’ questions you have if I could.”

“Why?”

Harry sits up, looks at the script in his lap, and shrugs. “Seems like you hate me.”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“No,” he says softly, looking at you.

His eyes are really green, you notice. Maybe it’s just the light. Or lack thereof. They sparkle in the darkness, and you kind of want to see him smile, want to make him smile, want to be the cause of those dimples so that you can see his green, green eyes light up for real.

You close your eyes and lean backwards. Now your back is on the ground, your arm over your eyes. “I think you should pay for a chiropractor for me,” you murmur. “My back’s killing me from sleeping out here all the time.”

“There’s a bed just in there,” Harry says.

“Too far away.”

“Then that back pain’s on you.”

“You’re why I’m out here in the first place.”

“No, you’re out here for the food.”

You feel yourself smile. “And the movies.”

“There you have it.”

“Still think you should pay,” you whisper.

“I pay for yours, you pay for mine.”

You close your eyes tight, bite your lip hard, because now you’re smiling even more.

“You have yourself a deal,” you say.

***

A few days, later, and you’re trying to hold your tongue again.

It’s been quiet for too long, and you’re getting uncomfortable. You’re not sure if that’s because you’re beginning to associate silence with the tremendously boring reading, or if it’s because you just don’t like silence.

Another possibility hovers in the back of your mind, one that implies that you really aren’t uncomfortable, you just want to talk with him, with Harry, the enigma sitting two feet away from you, but you don’t want to think about that, so you say something.

“You sound British,” is what comes out, even though he hasn’t spoken in hours.

It’s a few days later. Four in the morning. The TV’s quiet, no movie playing. There’s a bowl of M&Ms on the table - this guy has every snack imaginable in his little kitchen - but that’s the only distraction. You’re both on the floor this time, the coffee table pushed off to the side. He’s cross-legged, sipping tea, you’re on your stomach, eating more M&ms than probably healthy.

“Is that a compliment?” Harry asks, looking up from his script.

You eat another M&M. “Can be.”

“That’s ominous. I am. Born and raised.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Broadway.”

You smile, turning onto your back to look at the ceiling. “How romantic.”

Harry frowns, asks, “Why?”

“Dunno,” you reply with a shrug. “There’s something sweet about that - a little boy, being absolutely entranced by plays he sees onstage… he’s enchanted, wants to be a part of it but isn’t nearly handsome enough to be an actor, so -”

“Hey!”

You look over at him. Grin. “What?”

“You don’t think I’m handsome?”

“I’ll only make that big head of yours bigger if I answer honestly.”

He smiles. Takes a sip of tea. “Nice to know.”

“Why not an actor, anyway?” you ask, looking back at the ceiling. You follow the fan with your eyes as Harry says, “Believe it or not, I prefer to be backstage.” He sighs, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him follow your gaze to the fan.

“I wanna see people’s reactions,” Harry says softly. “I like to see their faces light up at something funny… Or their tears at something sad…” He looks back down and takes an M&M out of the bowl. “The best is when somebody’s trying to hide it.” You see him smile at you, and you look at him. “When they think they’re so cool, so stoic and - and immune to the wonders of the stage…” He smiles more, fiddling with the M&M. “And then you see them break, see their reluctant laughter or their hands rush to hide their watering eyes…”

You steal the M&M he’d been playing with. “Wouldn’t you rather be the one making them feel those emotions?” He gets another M&M. “Nah. Too much work.” He eats it, finally, you watch him chew and swallow and then you look at the ceiling again.

“It’s not,” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not doing it right.”

You open an eye to glare at him, and he smirks.

“I am,” you say. “You’ll have to see me some time.”

“Maybe after this mess I’ll produce a real play,” Harry murmurs. “You can star.”

You close your eyes again. “Not in one of your plays,” you hum. “Don’t want my first play back to be a flop.” You feel something against your arm, and you realize Harry had thrown an M&M at you.

You scoff. “I’m just being honest!”

“Sometimes a little white lie can be appreciated.”

“That’s not good for your ego.”

“What ego?”

“The one making you think you’re funny.”

“Oh, sod off,” Harry laughs.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you whisper, “What if we never find a play?”

Harry clears his throat. “We will,” he says. He stands up, dusts off his hands, and grabs a book. You watch as he sits down in a chair and puts his legs up onto the table. “Keep looking,” he tells you quietly.

So you do.

***

A few days later, a little after lunchtime, and it’s your turn to pick the movie. It’s one of your favorites, a comfort movie at this point. You mouth along the lines with the actors, grinning madly at the television screen because it’s so perfect and you love it so much.

Harry’s not really paying attention. He’s been quiet. Normally, he’s cracking jokes, murmuring sass at the stupid scenes and sighing heavily at the dramatic ones. If it were any other movie, you’d be curious, or anxious, but not this one.

You’re not even holding a script.

Harry is, though, and you look over at him curiously as the credits start to roll.

“You okay?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply.

“Hey,” you say, nudging him with your foot, “are you good?”

“I think… I think this is it,” he says quietly.

Yawning, you stretch towards the ceiling. You wonder what time it is. “What’s it?”

“This is it,” Harry says, sitting up but not taking his eyes off of the script. You frown, straightening. “It’s bad?” you ask, and Harry finally looks up. He’s practically glowing, he’s so excited, and a spark of excitement rushes through you.

“It’s so bad.”

“Lemme see,” you say, standing up, but Harry’s pacing.

“Retired FBI agent Leopold Gray is suddenly being hunted down by a small town dentist named Ernest D’Angelo who thinks Gray has killed his wife. As D’Angelo chases the elderly Gray around the globe, the two slowly start to lose patience; by the end, D’Angelo has given up, and Gray is retired - again - in Bismarck, North Dakota.”

He pauses, and you frown, waiting for him to continue.

Instead, he looks up, grinning. “That’s it!” he exclaims.

You blink. “You’re kidding.” He hands the script to you, and you read over the summary, scoffing in pleased disbelief as you get to the end and see that it’s just as unsatisfactory as Harry read it to be.

“God, it’s a - it’s an action and a musical!” you laugh.

“Come on,” Harry tells you, grabbing his coat. “Look at the address on the back, tell me where we’re going.” Following him out the door, you read off the street name and number. Harry plays music in the car, but you don’t hear it.

A sliver of doubt runs through you as you get closer and closer to the address, scared to be shot down again. You shove it aside, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait on the front porch.

This guy lives in a house. His name is Richard. The house is a small stand alone, with a little yard out front. It’s gated. The paint on the door and under the windows is chipping, and the flowers in the yard are drooping and wilted.

Harry knocks on the inner door. The screen door slams shut when he pulls away.

You wait a beat, another, you’re getting nervous, and then -

BANG.

You jump a foot in the air as the screen door slams again, this time against the rail behind it, and then fear courses through you, because the guy is holding a large cast iron pan, and you’re genuinely afraid for your life.

“Who are you,” the man - Richard? - hisses, glasses sliding down a crooked nose.

Harry coughs, backing up half a step. “I - I’m Harry Styles, this is -”

You tell him your name. His eyes are beady, and there’s a single strand of graying hair on his forehead, and his fingers are trembling, and Harry says, “Please, sir, we just want to talk to you about your - your, erm - your absolutely fantastic play -”

He freezes.

“Could you put away the, um - the pan?” you ask, and it slides out of his hand.

It thuds against the floor.

“My play, huh?” he says gruffly, wiping a hand under his nose.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s - it’s absolutely ingenious.”

He stares at you for a second, and then backs up. “Come in.”

Harry looks at you, and you shrug helplessly, opening up the screen door. Richard’s already halfway through the hallway, which is dim, and if you squint, you can see cobwebs in the ceiling. You follow Richard until he stops in a living room and sits in a creaky sitting chair.

Richard glares at you. “What about my play.”

“We want to put it on the stage,” Harry says.

“Why.”

You clear your throat. “Because it deserves to be seen.”

“I think so, too,” Richard says. His glasses are slipping down his nose.

Slowly, Harry pulls the documents out of his bag. “If you sign here,” he says, patiently, like he’s talking to a five-year-old, or perhaps a wild animal, or maybe a criminal about to kill somebody, “thousands of people will see your play.”

“Thousands,” Richard echos, his eyes widening.

“Thousands,” you confirm, lying. Harry gently slides the papers, along with a pen, towards Richard on the glass table between the easy chair where Richard’s sitting and the sofa where you and Harry are.

“You’ll be praised in every newspaper,” Harry says, also lying.

Richard picks up the pen. He looks down at the papers. The place where he’s to sign is highlighted in yellow. He’s looking down, and his glasses are at the very tip of his nose. You wonder what would happen if they slid off his face completely, or if he’d notice.

After an awkward moment as Richard just stares at the papers, he begins to sign.

“My mother will love me again,” he whispers.

You look at Harry.

Harry looks at you.

“Make me proud,” Richard says hoarsely, and you and Harry both look to Richard, who’s holding the papers out. You see a single tear roll down Richard’s cheek. “Thank you so much!” Harry exclaims, and then he grabs your hand and practically sprints out of the house and into the car.

“Floor it, floor it,” you rush, and Harry speeds away.

As soon as he turns a corner so Richard’s house is out of eyesight, he pulls the car over, parking for a second. “Okay,” he breathes, palms flat against the top of the steering wheel, “what the fuck was that?”

“I have no idea,” you reply, laughter bubbling out of you.

“Oh, my God,” Harry says incredulously, laughing too, and for a second, all you can do is laugh, because that was so surreal and you’re not quite sure how else to react. “I hope we never have to deal with that again,” you say as your laughter dies down.

“Christ, he’s fucking insane.”

“Harry, our cause of death could have been a frying pan.”

“No wonder his mum doesn’t love him!”

“Shit, this play better bomb,” you giggle, and Harry pulls onto the road again.

“We gotta do something,” he says. “To celebrate.”

You raise a brow. “Like what?”

Harry glances at you, and smiles. “I know just the place.”

***

You haven’t been out in forever.

Harry’s music is great - calming, quiet, mellow. The entire atmosphere of the apartment is like that. Everything’s quiet, with a layer of comfort over it. That’s not bad, of course, but it does mean that the club Harry’s just taken you to is a little more than a shock to your system.

This music pounds in your ears, thrumming in your chest and in your stomach, pulsing in your hand where it meets Harry’s. He’s leading you through the crowd, and when he turns around to grin at you, he’s glowing.

He says something, you can see his lips move, but you can’t hear him.

“What?” you shout, and he stops for a second, but you don’t, and you’re suddenly bumping into him, pushed flush against him by the moving crowd around you. Smoothly, his hand slides down to your waist, holding you tight, grounding you.

You can feel his breath on your skin, his fingers digging gently into your hips. He’s everywhere, flooding your senses. The fabric of his suit jacket is warm under your fingers, his cheek so near you’d be kissing him if you were any closer.

“Let me buy you a drink,” he says, right next to your ear.

You feel yourself shiver, and you nod because you don’t trust your voice.

Suddenly he’s moving again, and then you’re through the crowd and landing at the bar, and you’re breathless, and he’s flush-faced and happy and you feel yourself smiling because he’s smiling, and then he’s ordering something and you’re not sure what it is.

On three, you see him say when the shot glasses appear in front of you.

And on three, whatever it is slides down your throat, burning a trail to your stomach and lighting you up from the inside. The music is deafening. You love it. Harry’s beaming, and he clinks his next glass against yours before downing it as you do.

You’ve never felt more alive.

Harry leans forward, and you lean into him, and you’re smiling blissfully, you’d kiss him if he let you, and he says, right into your ear, “You alright?” You laugh and nod and tell him, “Never been better.”

Time begins to blur, and your head’s fuzzy as hell not just from the alcohol but from Harry’s intoxicating presence and the thud of the bass in the music. You find yourself in the bathroom, a while later, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

You look different. Good different. You giggle and lean forward, inspecting yourself, and then sigh and stumble backwards against a wall. It’s much quieter in here, and you can breathe for a second, and can kind of hear your thoughts through the muddle of your mind.

After a while, you wonder where Harry is, and walk out of the restroom to search for him. “Harry,” you sing out, your voice drowned by the music and people. “Harry, Harry, Harry,” you call, just for the fun of it.

“Harry, Harry, Har -”

You freeze.

You recognize his hair, and the jacket he was wearing, and the rings on his hand, which is holding someone else’s hand above their head, against a wall. He’s close to them, lips against their neck. It’s a girl. She’s grinning euphorically, eyes closed. You can see her laughing, chin tilting upwards as Harry whispers something into her ear.

“Oh,” you say, out loud, even though you can’t hear yourself.

You can’t move. Your brain’s stuck.

When he moves, his arm slides around her waist, and he’s leading her out of the building. He looks over his shoulder before they reach the door, and sees you. He falters, and a spark of hope flashes through you before he just grins and winks and keeps walking and your heart falls back down into your stomach.

You see his fingers linger against the door as he guides it shut from the outside.

Oh, you think, silently, blinking back something that feels suspiciously like tears even though… why? You rub at your eyes, frowning at yourself, walking away, because why on earth would your - friend? roommate? coworker? - why would Harry getting laid suddenly make you cry? That’s ridiculous.

You collapse at the bar.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Somebody’s smirking at you. They’re pretty good looking. You sniffle, then smile back.

There’s nothing more ridiculous than crying over Harry getting laid.

They start to come over, and hurriedly, you blink away the tears in your eyes.

He wouldn’t cry if you were getting some.

They’re smiling at you. You bite your lip, letting your eyes trail over their body.

Not if - he won’t cry when you get some.

You say yes when they ask to buy you a drink.

Yeah, no, he won’t cry when you get some. Tonight.

You lean into their kiss, open-eyed. They’ve got some pretty green eyes.

It’s not like you can go back to the apartment, anyway.

***

“Charles Cartwright,” Harry reads off the list in front of him.

“Double ‘c,’” you say.

“Hope his middle name is Carter.”

“Or Chris.”

“Cole?”

“Cooper…”

You watch as Harry sighs, setting the stack of papers down onto his desk again. He doesn’t sit there a lot, behind the huge mahogany desk at the back of the room with the giant leather spinny chair.

“We’re never gonna get anything done,” Harry says, looking down at the list.

You shrug. “We have tomorrow.”

“Said that yesterday.”

“All these people sound like bastards, anyway,” you mutter, spinning the paper around on the desk so you can look at the names. “Yeah, that’s why they’re wasting money investing on my plays,” Harry mutters back.

The list is very long, a whole stack of crisp white printer paper with a cover page and a shiny black binder clip holding it together. Enumerated neatly on the left side are what seems like thousands of names, all previous investors of Harry’s various plays. Phone numbers and addresses sit under the names, along with emails and other pertinent information.

“We’ll go for Mary Sanders first,” Harry says decisively after a second, clearing his throat. “She loves me.” You look up at him, an eyebrow raised, and he rolls his eyes. “I look exactly like her son,” he says, “who hates her. So she’ll do anything for me.”

“Fun,” you say.

“Very. Tanner Smith, however…” He points his name out at the bottom of the third page. “He’s just fucked up. Batshit crazy. He hates me, but liked my old, erm - the company manager, so he chipped in for something I did with - with her.”

“Great.”

“Excited to meet Mr. Smith?” Harry asks with a wry smile, sliding a manila folder over to you. “Can’t wait,” you say, flipping the folder open. There’s a picture of a scowling man in wireframe glasses. “Wow,” you add, shuffling through the ten or so pages in the folder. “This is… a lot.”

Harry shrugs. “Most of it’s just financial details, but there’s a” - he reaches forward, slides a single page out to the front - “page on personal stuff. Don’t mention his wife, but we’ll definitely mention hockey.”

“Hockey?”

“He sponsors his grandson’s minor league team,” Harry tells you, rolling his eyes. “It’s all these entitled little rich boys who flip him off behind his back. He thinks he’s doing God’s work.” You snicker, scanning the document.

“They have games every Saturday,” Harry says, and you look at your phone. It’s Wednesday. Harry goes on, “I usually ambush him there,” and then frowns. “It usually doesn’t work.” His frown turns into a smile as he looks at you. “But maybe this time it will.”

“Making me feel a little used here, Styles.”

“Well, you’re using me for money, too, so don’t get all high and mighty on me.”

You sigh. “Are you really gonna take me to a hockey game?”

“Consider it our first date,” Harry says, smirking.

“Better buy me flowers, then.”

Harry smiles. “A whole bouquet. That’s Saturday, though. We’ll go for Miss Mary today.”

“Have a file on her?”

In response, he slides another manila folder from a filing cabinet behind him. This one’s a lot thicker, double the size of the last. “I’m a little creeped out,” you say, hesitantly opening the folder and peeking inside.

“Don’t be,” Harry replies. “She’s, erm - quite the chatterbox. This was all given consensually, I promise…” There’s a picture of Miss Mary herself on top of the papers, and then a picture of a young man next to her.

The young man is very good looking. Dashing. Green eyes, dark hair, a charming smile.

You look up at Harry and then back down at the picture.

“Nicholas,” Harry says. “Her son.” He poses for you. “See the resemblance?”

“If I squint,” you say with a shrug.

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Good for him.”

“Married,” Harry sighs. “A kid on the way. He lives in San Francisco. Drinks kale juice.”

“Damn.”

“I know,” Harry says, almost wistfully. “Imagine that.”

You scoff a laugh, brows raised. “No, Styles, I’m surprised that you know all of that, not that it’s - unimaginable.” Harry frowns at you. “Like I said! Mary’s a chatterbox. Not my fault she calls me to give me an update on her perfect son every week.”

“Je-sus. Every week.”

“More or less,” Harry says. He stands up and stretches. “Study up, we’ll leave in ten.”

***

He’s a natural.

You can tell from the moment he walks into the little flower-covered house that he’s got her wrapped around his little finger. “Oh, Harry, darling,” Mary coos, patting his cheek and linking her arm with his. She doesn’t even notice you, just leads Harry into the house. “I have biscuits in the kitchen, dearie, come on, come on.”

Attempting to disentangle himself from her, Harry starts, “Mrs. Sanders -”

“Mary, dear, you know that,” Mary interrupts cheerfully, pausing for just a second in the hallway. You hover in the doorway, but Mary goes on, “Oh, and I have that dreadful kale and carrot juice you love, too!”

You make a face at Harry, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s Nicholas, Mrs. Sanders,” Harry mutters.

“Oh, of course,” Mary says absently, and she rubs his arms before starting into the house again. Harry sighs, and you watch his jaw clench in frustration as he gently places a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary, I have a guest.”

“A guest!” Mary sputters, turning to look at you, still standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” you say.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mary gasps to Harry, smacking him on the chest with the back of her hand. Harry winces. “He’s terribly impolite, isn’t he, sweetie,” Marry says disapprovingly. “What’s your name, then?”

You introduce yourself, Mary hugs you, and Harry shrugs at you over her shoulder.

“Come in, come in!” Mary exclaims when she finally pulls away. “I have biscuits and tea in the kitchen, you won’t have any of Harry dear’s terrible juice.” Behind her back, Harry throws his hands up exasperatedly.

“Okay, Mrs. Sanders,” you say, biting back a smile at Harry’s dramatics.

“It’s Mary, dear, please,” she tells you, leading you into the kitchen.

Harry closes the door behind her, then follows behind you.

“Sure, then, Mary,” you say with a smile, and she pinches your cheek. When you arrive in the kitchen, there is in fact a plate of cookies on the table and one teacup. Another cup, this one tall and clear, is set across the teacup, filled with a thick, scary looking green substance.

“Sit, sit,” Mary orders, pulling another teacup from a cabinet.

You do. Harry sits next to you, inspecting the juice with a disgusted look on his face.

“I do hope chamomile is alright,” Mary says, pouring some into the teacup that sits in front of you. “More than alright,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the comforting steam happily. When you open your eyes, Harry is glaring at you over his kale juice.

You smile at him sweetly, then turn to Mary. “So, Mary,” you begin, “I’ve heard you’ve helped Harry here with his plays in the past.” Mary nods, hands wrapped around her own cup of tea. “Yes, I have. Quite the talented one, he is. He’ll be a force to be reckoned with once he finally decides what he wants to do with his life!”

“It’s this,” Harry says in a halfhearted way that makes you think they’ve gone through this many times before. “I’m a producer. That’s what I want to do with my life.” Mary chuckles, patting his cheek again. “Okay, dearie.”

You clear your throat. “Well, about this play…”

“Oh, yes, yes, what’s this one about?”

“It’s about an FBI agent,” Harry says. “It’s very adventurous.”

“Adventurous!” Mary echoes gleefully.

Harry smiles. “Yes. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Your eyes widen as Mary rifles around in her purse and then comes out with a checkbook. “I certainly will!” she says happily. Her handwriting is elegant, flowing from her black fountain pen and onto the check with graceful ease.

“I have an appointment at two, darlings, so you’ll have to excuse me,” Mary tells you, handing Harry the check. “But I do adore seeing you, love, so come back soon!” Harry slides the check into his pocket, and you stand up as he does, following him to kiss Mary on the cheek.

“Bye, now, Mary,” he says. “See you soon.”

“It was nice to meet you, Mary,” you say, and Mary smiles at you. “And you too, dearie. You better come back soon, too, promise me.” You nod, and she looks at Harry. “And pick up the phone, Harry.”

Harry opens his mouth to reply, but she goes on, “You’ve been dodging my calls, love, don’t bother denying it.” She glances at you and winks. “Maybe it’s because of this one. Try and take a break from each other every now and then, you hear me? Young love is important but so am I.”

Harry looks about as red as a tomato. “We’ll see you later, Mary,” he says hurriedly, and he grabs your hand to lead you out, which probably doesn’t help with Mary’s assumption. “Bye, Mary!” you call.

“Sorry about that,” Harry mutters once you’re outside, letting go of your hand.

“Seem a bit flustered,” you laugh.

Harry rolls his eyes as he opens the car and gets in. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t deny it, though.

“‘s not worth it,” Harry sighs as he starts the engine.

You reach over and pat his cheek like Mary, grinning. “Whatever you say, Styles.”

~*~

aaaaand that's chapter one! hope you liked it!!! if you did, a reblog and some feedback would be much appreciated <333

masterlist | ask | next chapter >>

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x you #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #🧇

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kinglazrus · 3 years

Text

Not Your Danny – Ch 1. Moving Day

Phic Phight | Next | FFN | AO3

Submitted by @ecto-american: After Danny’s untimely death, his family and friends turn to Dani for comfort. She was so much like him in every single way. And she never felt more like a clone. A replacement for the “real” thing.

Summary: Maddie and Jack learn a lot of things about their son after his death: his powers, his secret life as the local hero, the truth behind his accident three years ago. And his clone who is so much like their boy. When Dani gets the offer to join their home, she thinks it's too good to be true. And she just might be right.

Word count: 2761

Two weeks after Danny dies, Danielle moves into his bedroom. It's a lacklustre affair. Dani has no belongings to bring with her, except the few trinkets stuffed in the pockets of her shorts. She only owns one pair of clothes, two of you want to be technically and count her ghost form. But that's tenuous at best when you consider the circumstances of her creation, and that her clothes were created withher, not given to her. She doesn't like to think about that too much, though.

Neither of Danny's parents are home for the occasion. Dani doesn't blame them. Her face time with Maddie and Jack Fenton over the past three years equals an hour at most—hour and a half if she really pushes it. And most of that time was with an ectogun between them. If she counts the times where she hasn't been staring down a glowing green barrel, then it's probably only five minutes, maybe less. And that only happened a few days ago.

Suffice to say, Dani and the Fentons don't have a good relationship, or a relationship of any kind. So she doesn't blame them for being out of the house when their dead son's clone, who they only recently found out about, takes over his bedroom. Although take over might be too strong of a phrase.

Dani floats next to Jazz, hovering in front of Danny's open bedroom door.

"Is it... okay?" Jazz asks.

Dani drifts inside, turning her head from side to side as she looks around. She likes the blue walls, and the open brick on the outer wall is kind of cool. The bed, covered in a purple bead spread, topped with a fluffy pillow, looks softer than anything she's ever slept on. The room is nice, if a bit messy with Danny's stuff still inside. Posters decorate the wall, some about space, others from some band called Dumpty Humpy. The shelves are stuffed full of books and model spaceships. His dirty clothes lie next to an open hamper in the corner of the room.

The sight surprises Dani more than anything.

"What are you gonna do with his stuff?" she asks. "Do people usually just," she gestures toward the room, "leave it like this?"

"What? No." Jazz shakes her head and quickly wipe her hand across her eyes. "When someone dies, their family or friends eventually pack their stuff away. Not always right away, though."

"Two weeks isn't long enough?"

Jazz's breath hitches. "Don't– don't say that. It's inconsiderate."

Dani's cheeks go hot at Jazz's admonishing tone. "Oh. Sorry." She floats further into the room, if only to escape the awkward air settling between them.

If Dani didn't know any better, she would guess that Danny had just stepped outside for a second and would be back any moment. Lowering herself to the floor, Dani settles on the carpet and walks toward the desk. A controller of some kind sits on the desk chair, its cord tangled with a headset. Dani picks the controller up and turns it over in her hand. She only vaguely recognizes the X logo in the middle of it; her travels over the past couple of years haven't exactly involved a lot of gaming. Or any.

There was a small handheld system she picked up at a garage sale once. She carried it for a few months but lost it somewhere along the way.

Dani tosses the controller onto the chair and turns back to Jazz. "So, now what?"

"Well, if you're not comfortable with Danny's things still being in here, we can get some boxes and start packing. I think we have some in the basement. If you want." Jazz tacks on the last three words with a soft voice.

"No, it's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, course." It's just stuff, after all. Dani doesn't quite get it, which also means she doesn't care. If the Fentons don't want to move Danny's stuff yet, then it can stay. He was their son before he was Dani's cousin/DNA source.

"Okay. I guess I'll just... let you get settled, then. I have to work on some plans for the memorial, but Mom and Dad should be home in a couple hours. They said they wouldn't be gone long," Jazz says.

Dani nods. A few seconds of silence pass, and once it's obvious that neither of them is going to say anything more, Jazz turns and walks down the hall. Finally alone, Dani lets her ghost form fall away. The transformation rings prickle as their bright light ghosts over her skin, and when it fades, she's left in her typical shorts and hoodie. Dani rubs her arms until the prickling fades, then flops onto the bed.

Damn. It really is the softest thing she's ever lain on. And the blankets are warm. They smell like Danny, too. That's something Dani never thought she would think. She didn't even realize Danny had a smell, but it's hard to ignore now. It's not the most tangible smell. The best word Dani can find to describe it is crisp, like a cold day. She would bet her beanie that it was because of his ice powers, an ability they had never shared.

Dani shakes her head. Everything is weird enough right now. The last thing she needs to be contemplating is how Danny used to smell. It's also, like, a super creepy line of thought, yeah? Yeah.

As she stares up at the ceiling, a blur of movement catches her eye. Her gaze jumps toward it, in the corner of the bedroom closest to the door. A small brown lump clings to the ceiling. A bug, no doubt. Dani can't tell what kind, and she doesn’t care enough to find out. It's not too surprising, considering how messy Danny's room is. There's probably some old pizza hiding under his bed or something.

Dani rolls onto her side and closes her eyes. A little bug doesn't bother her, not after the places she's slept. And if the Fentons won't be home for a while, and Jazz is busy, she might as well take advantage of her new bed and the next few hours to get some shuteye. God knows she needs it.

—

Maddie feels sorry for Vlad's receptionist. She bears a striking resemblance to Maddie herself, with short auburn hair just a touch redder than Maddie's own, a curvy frame, and a sharp, pointed chin. She's even wearing blue, bless her heart. The girl is pretty, and young, and kind. Can't be too far out of high school, and hoping a job at the mayor's office will look good on her resume. Maddie hopes it pays off. The girl deserves it for putting up with Vlad daily. Working for him seems to be taking a toll on her, judging by the distressed look in her eyes when she looks up from Vlad's appointment book.

"I'm sorry, there's no appointment for you. I don't know if I can let you in," she says.

Maddie sighs. "Mr. Masters left me a message"—or several—"asking me to come in."

"I'm really sorry, but he didn't mention expecting you... oh no." The receptionist's eyes widen and she starts digging through papers on her desk. "Did I forget to write it down again? He got so upset last time."

Maddie reaches out and touches her shoulder, stopping the frantic search. "It's all right, dear. It's not your fault."

She suspected, when Vlad left numerous messages on her cellphone rather than calling the house, that something more was up. How Vlad even got her cellphone number she doesn't want to know. She will also be changing it very soon thanks to this incident.

"He's particular about his meetings," the receptionist says. "I really can't let you in."

"Just let him know I'm here, and I'll take care of the rest."

The receptionist nods. While she goes for the phone, Maddie steps away from the desk and turns back to the waiting area. It's empty besides her and the receptionist—not surprising this early on a Monday, and all the better for Maddie. She pulls her cellphone from her purse and checks the time; It's just after eight. Dani is due at Fenton Works soon, but Maddie and Jack won't be back until noon, at least. The reminder makes her wince.

Missing half of Dani's first day at home isn't ideal, but Maddie wants to get this meeting over with as fast as possible. They had other plans in the city, anyway, made before they invited Dani into their home. Better to get everything done at once.

Maddie eyes plush waiting room armchairs, wondering if there's any point in sitting down, when the receptionist calls out, "Mrs. Fenton?"

Maddie opens her mouth to answer, but her phone—still in her hand—buzzes at that moment. Jack's name stretches across the screen. "Excuse me." She steps toward the elevators on the far side of the room and turns her back to the receptionist, the closest semblance of privacy she can get, before answering her phone. "Hey, Jack. Is your meeting done already?"

"Not even close! How goes the shopping?"

"Fine so far. I forgot we didn't ask...." She tenses, feeling the receptionist's stare at her back. "We didn't ask what she might need, so I'm just grabbing the basics. Do you want me to pick something up for you? Are you waiting on the park board?"

"About that... I'm with them now, and—what day did we settle on for the memorial, again?"

Maddie shakes her head, but not out of annoyance. Jack forgetting the day hardly surprises her. He tends to forget the little details. If anything, it makes her feel grounded. The past two weeks have been a lot, to put it lightly. A lot of changes. A lot of revelations. But she can always rely on Jack to be his usual self.

"A month from today," she says.

"Thanks, baby! You're the best! See you later." The phone beeps as Jack hangs up. Maddie sighs while the corner of her lip twitches upwards. It's the closest she's come to smiling since Danny died. She holds like that for a moment, caught between the ache choking her heart and the desire for things to get better. They won't, not for a long time. She won't fool herself into thinking otherwise. But it's nice, for a moment, to pretend things might be okay.

"Leaving Jack alone with the DPR? I feel sorry for them." Vlad's slimy voice ruins the moment after the first syllable.

Maddie tenses, clutching her phone tighter, and turns to face him. "Vlad. It's bad business to ask for a meeting, then make your guest wait."

When Vlad smiles, his whitened teeth cut a bright slash across his cheeks. It's too wide, too sharp. Never reaches his eyes. Maddie remembers, long ago, when Vlad had a soft smile. He used it sparingly, doling it out to only the most deserved. She can't imagine him smiling like that now.

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptive, but when I phone a friend hoping for a visit, I expect them to stop by my house, not my work."

"Your mistake, then."

The receptionist's typing falters. Her have yet to stray from her screen, but Maddie already knows she's listening in. Vlad probably does, too.

"Natalie!" he snaps.

The receptionist jerks upright. "Yes, sir?"

Vlad rests a hand on Maddie's back and pushes her forward. She moves, if only to step out of his reach, and heads toward his office. Vlad reaches into his suit jacket as he walks. He pulls out his wallet and pinches a few random bills, tugging them out without looking. "Take a break. I'm sure you could use a coffee to perk you up."

He leans in front of Maddie to drop the bills on Natalie's desk. The contact makes Maddie grimace, and she hurries ahead into his office. When she turns, Vlad is already closing the door. The last thing Maddie sees of the waiting room is Natalie's frown as she glances at a paper cup sitting in plain view on her desk.

"Now, Maddie." Vlad turns. Rather than heading to his desk, he steps toward Maddie and touches her arm. "How are you doing?"

"You left me seven messages just so you could ask that?" Maddie brushes Vlad's hand off. In three long strides, she cuts across his office and takes one of the visitor's chairs. While the waiting room had plush armchairs, these are made of dark wood, armless, with firm leather cushions and straight backs. A deliberate choice, no doubt.

Vlad comes up beside her, his hand on the second chair. Before he can sit, Maddie swings her purse off her shoulder and drops it on the empty cushion. Vlad pauses, glances between her and the bag, but relents and takes his seat at the desk instead.

His chair sits considerably higher than Maddie's.

"I can imagine the pain you're going through right now," he says.

Maddie's fists clench. "Can you really?"

"Believe it or not, yes, I can." He pauses, giving her a chance to respond. But whatever question he wants her to ask, whatever game he wants to play, Maddie refuses to give in. She might have put up with him once, but after what he's done, he will be lucky if she willingly suffers his presence ever again after today.

She waits for Vlad to elaborate.

"I'm sure you've wondered, all this time, where Danny went whenever he disappeared for hours. Being our city's young hero explains a lot of it, yes, but to be honest, that wasn't everything." Vlad stops to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. It's quite the performance. "To tell you the truth, he was often with me."

Bullshit! Maddie wants to shout, but she bites it back. Her jaw aches from how hard she clenches her teeth.

"I discovered his secret a long time ago and gave him a safe place away from home. You know, when conversation at the dinner table got to be too much." Vlad pauses again, letting his words sink in.

Maddie hates that she knows exactly what he means. All those times she and Jack discussed their inventions, their plans for when they finally captured the ghost boy. Most of what Vlad is saying might be a lie, but the truth within it cuts her deeply. "Really?"

Vlad might think himself a great actor, but he's apparently ignorant to Maddie's own deception. He nods at her questioning tone, eyes low and mouth pressed into a grim line. "I understand this is hard to hear. I did my best to make him feel safe, and we actually became close. Over the years, I came to think of him as something of a son. And his death has affected me deeply."

He stands, trailing his hand along his desk as he walks around toward Maddie. His shoulders droop, as if Danny's absence weighs on him. It really is a good performance. Peering closer, Maddie sees that he even looks pallid, and purple bags rest under his eyes. A look easily accomplished with some pale foundation and smudged eyeshadow.

"It's like a piece of me is missing without him. I'm sure you feel the same. We need each other, Maddie. To make us whole again."

Vlad reaches toward her, but she ducks away from him, slipping out of her chair. His hand falls through the empty air and he stumbles, nearly falling into the chair.

Now he's being ridiculous, Maddie thinks. She could have fallen for the makeup and the sob story if she didn't know better, but the off balance act? The distressed look in his eye when she pulls away? She's insulted that he thinks she would fall for it.

"You're right Vlad. I'm in pain. Danny is gone and it feels like he took a piece of me with him when he died. But I have my family to help me through it." She grabs her purse off the other chair and heads for the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere to be."

"Madeline, please—"

"Vladimir!" Her shout tears at her throat. She turns on him, blinking to fight back the burn in her eyes. He stands frozen where she left him, crumpled pathetically against her empty chair, one hand still outstretched. Maddie swallows the lump in her throat. "Enough."

She leaves without another word.

#phic phight #phic phight 2021 #notyourdanny #nyd chapter one #phanfic #phicc #dp fanfiction #danny phantom #dani phantom #danielle phantom #hurt/comfort #family #danny phantom fanfiction #trans danny #trans danny fenton

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years

Text

Quidditch and T

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him; transmasculine reader.

Summary: Harry surprises Ron with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup after the war, after Hermione and after finding out Ron has a crush on the first professional trans masculine the Chudley Canons or the World Cup has ever seen.

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol, tiny amount of transphobia?? super long, focuses on Ron more than it should, super long and probably really bad.

Notes: Trans masculine reader again! We love to see it- No one asked for this but I liked the idea. Also, Ron has long hair because I love him and Harry is a good friend. The bestest of friends.

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

Even with the second wizarding war years behind them, everyone struggled to regain control over themselves. Loved ones were lost far too soon, strained relationships came crashing down and businesses all but shattered like glass, but that was a year or two after. Families were beginning to recover and move forward, but some struggled. It was only natural, that was why the Ministry decided to bring at least a tiny bit of normality back to everyone's life with the Quidditch World Cup. They thought it would bring some light in the barely lit times everyone lived in.

While life for some was morphing back to a semi stable state, times were transitioning to a new era. Of course, no one batted an eye or fought against her when the Hermione Jean Granger demanded rights for wizards, witches and sorcerers who were, for lack of a better word, different. Not after everything she’d done for the world with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and especially not after S.P.E.W. The world really was shifting for the better.

She created two acts for equality. If house elves can have it, why can’t magical humans who just- feel different. Hermione called it S.P.L.A.T.E.R, also known as Sorcerers Lover Protection Against The Everyday Routine, and it was meant to protect wizards and witches who desire relationships with the same sex against discrimination. The talented witch went on to create a similar movement against portraying gender and identity; The Sorcerer’s Typical Identity or Gender May Alter Shield, better known as S.T.I.G.M.A.S. Both were very welcomed by the public, which happened a good year before the game would be returning, and that led to you gaining your dream job.

You were able to join the Chudley Cannons, your dream team despite their reputation. You were naturally talented on a broom and weren’t afraid to pull some risky stunts to get the golden snitch, plus it fueled your ego to hear the crowd gasp, go silent then cheer loud enough to be heard from Mars. The team and their fans didn’t care that you were the only trans masculine player, in fact, they loved you! The team was very proud to have you be their seeker and it was even better when the Cannons got into the World Cup. You basically carried the team, and they fucking knew it.

Your face made the front page almost weekly, quoting comments from your games and showing off your merchandise like it was no big deal. While you caught the attention of many wizards, witches and magical humans in between, there was one who was absolutely fascinated, maybe borderline obsessed, with you. You somehow stuck in his head, causing him to repaint his room in his shared flat bright orange just like his childhood bedroom. The ex-auror even went as far as getting your newly printed poster. He would glance at it when he was writing letters to his mother, but then would spend a good few solid minutes staring at it, daydreaming about meeting you and lose track of time. Life got a little harder with the moving poster in his room. Of course you had no idea the famous Ron Weasley was a die-hard fan of yours.

The youngest Weasley son ended up being the first out of three up everyday just to read the newest info about (Y/n) ‘Point Breaker’ (L/n) and the rest of the team. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew enough about you to be considered a borderline stalker and couldn’t help but spew facts about you to his twin brothers. Those very twins would tease him about his newly found crush but were secrealty very happy that he was getting over his heart break.

Ron and Hermione, more Hermione, had decided splitting and remaining friends was better for them, leading to the poor bloke locked in the spare room of his older brother's flat for a solid week. They told everyone it was mutual, but it was clear to Fred, George and Harry that it was most definitely not a decision that they were both fond of. Harry could still remember the frantic howler he got from Fred and George saying their little brother all but stopped functioning as a human.

He only started eating and showering once he heard the team was up and running again. He figured that was why Harry showed up to the flat one afternoon with tickets to the sold out game. When Ron asked his best mate how he got them, he just smiled and said something about knowing people and favors being exchanged. The ticket was more like a bandage encased in clear plastic and stuck to a lanyard, which is what Ron was fiddling with the day of the game when his best friend suddenly appeared in the middle of the flat.

“Bloody hell, Harry!” Ron screeched out as he steadied himself in his chair. His hand gripped at the shirt on his chest and chose to ignore the head rushing to his cheeks. “Could’ve sent me a warning!” He let out a slow sigh, trying to steady his rapid heart beat.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Harry laughed out. The professor had his hands in his jacket pocket, a sly grin across his face. “Come on then! Game’s gonna be starting soon!” The raven haired male all but yaned his freckle covered friend out of the chair.

“Ok! Ok, sheesh. Let me grab a jacket.” The red-head knew this was going to be a game that leaked late into the night. Both teams were itching to get the trophy and forget about their troubles- It was gonna be absolutely beautiful.

Grabbing his coat and reaching into the pocket, Ron pulled out an elastic band and put his hair up into a messy bun quickly before tucking the jacket into his arm. He walked over to Harry, who was gazing at the photo-covered walls of the flat.

“If you want, I can take ca-” Harry was cut off by Ron grabbed his hand.

“No, it’s fine. I like it like this.” Ron shook his head back and forth causing the messy ball to swap back and forth. “Come on. You were the one rushing us.” Harry let out a simple chuckle before apperating them to the field.

“Tadah!” Harry did a fancy little wave, gesturing to the crowded field and began to make his way down the hell, passing by the old boot. Ron looked down at it as they passed before looking back at his best friend.

“Damn, it has been far too long.” Ron sighed out. A smile broke out across his face when he saw little kids running around with paint covered faces and happy couples sharing tea outside of their tents. “Do we have a tent?”

“Nope, won’t be needing one this time around.” Harry shoved his hands in his pants pocket.

“No ten- Blimey, Harry, this is a game! This is going to go on for hours-”

“Ron-”

“Won’t need it my arse. Hours, Harry. Where are we going to sit? The damp ground?” Ron was flaring his hands about.

“We get to spend our time in the Minister’s Box, Ron, relax.” Harry shook his head in mock disapproval before adjusting his glasses and moving forward.

“Minister’s Box-” Ron’s voice stuttered out.

“Yeah! Isn’t that cool? We’re gonna be in the middle of the action!” Harry waved to a child who had recognized him with a smile.

“Ministry box-” Ron was’t used to such luguries, even after working with his brothers at their shop. Harry figured he’d never get used to being spoiled like this. It made him choke back a soft snicker.

“Yes, Ronald, the Minister’s Box, now hurry up! I told them we’d get there before the game started so we can chat.” Harry grabbed the lagging boy’s wrist and proceeded to maneuver through the crowd with him.

“How did ya score this, Harry?” Ron all but yelled over the crowd. Once Harry dragged them through the crowd and to the front doors of the stadium, he spoke up.

“Remember when we went on that assignment to stop LeStrange again? Just before her Dementors Kiss about a month before we quit?” He handed the ticketier his lanyard to check over. Ron did the same before they both entered.

“Yeah? What about it?” Ron’s blue eyes glanced across the crowded inside. Gods, it really had been a while since he’d been here. It felt normal, like he almost hadn’t lost Fred to an explosion, like Harry’s life wasn’t on the line everyday, like every day wasn’t terrifying. Ron turned his attention back to his friend when he spoke up again.

“Well just before that, I went on a loner mission. This one involved taking care of some dark witch who was claiming she could bring back the dead and threatened to bring back Voldemort and the Death Eaters, so they sent me down to check it out.” Harry led him to an elevator, where the gate opened allowing the pair to step in. There was an exhausted looking male standing in uniform, most likely a worker from the Ministry himself. “Ministers Box, kind sir. Thank you.” The gate closed with a shuttering rattle and soon they were moving upward. Green eyes turned back to blue to finish the story. “Anyway, turns out she was actually trying to resurrect the noseless twat, but instead of over time or promotion, I asked for this and the best seats in the house. Figured this would be a good gift for you.”

“Gift? Harry, bud, mate, my fuckin best friend.” Ron placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to do this for me. You’ve already done your fair share of helping me. Blimey, I’m not worth this.”

The gate opened again, allowing the two ex-aurors to step out but not before tossing a few sickles to the poor man who looked bored out of his mind. Ron casted him a short wave before he was sent back down.

“You deserve more than a crummy game and a nice seat, Ronnie. You literally helped me destroy Voldemort.”

“I didn’t do that much and besides it’s not a crummy game!” Ron took his hand away from Harry's shoulder. They walked down the short hallway to the door leading to their seats, but paused just before opening it. “That’s fuckin wild, isn’t it?” Ron grumbled out. “Was she smooched by a Dementor in the end?”

“Yup. All her research was swiped and burned. Anyone and everyone she knew was obliviated. Now enough talk about old work, let’s relax.” Harry spoke before opening the door and allowed Ron to walk in first.

The room was bigger than Gred and Forge’s flat, Ron was sure of it. It had silvery blue walls and a huge open window in the front, showing off the screaming fans and showed the entire field which held the perfect view. He couldn’t help his eyes from darting across the fancy black leather seats and the buckets of ice holding expensive bottles of wine, flasks of firewhiskey and glass pitchers giggle water and suddenly Ron wanted to cry and simultaneously brag to Malfoy. Sure, he hadn’t seen the blonde in a year or so but it’d be nice. The red-head didn’t realise he was drifting toward the giant window until someone spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Ah! Mr. Potter! Mr. Weadley, I’m so glad you could make it!” A wizard dressed in a suit came scurrying over, his chapeign glass almost overflowing with foam.

“It’s Weasley, actually.” Harry didn't hesitate to speak up. “But of course! I was thrilled when Ron decided to come with me! I couldn’t have caught that witch without him. Anyway, where will we be seated?” Harry was using his Auror Voice™ while Ron stood there, trying to recall how on earth he helped his best friend with a case he wasn’t even on.

“I did wh-?” Ron was interrupted.

“Ah. My apologies. Of course, of course.” The man in the suit adjusted his tie before gesturing to the window in the front with his glass.. “Front row, just as you requested.” He took a sip from his glass before walking off to the seat he came from, talking to the witch next to him.

Harry thanked the man before grabbing Ron’s wrist and bringing him over to their seats. He sat Ron at the seat right in the middle of the big opening. Harry could actually see his friends blue eyes gloss over with tears, causing Harry to chuckle into his hand. It was so worth fighting that witch and staying in St. Mungos for a week with a concussion, broken hand and a stupid spell that nearly killed him.

“Bloody fucking hell, Harry. What did you do to get these seats?” Ron’s voice did little to hide his excitement. Harry released a chuckle over his friend's excitement, but the sound got louder when Ron literally threw his jacket haphazardly onto the seat only for it to fall to the tiled floor.

“I already told you. Don’t worry about it.” Harry took his seat as he grabbed a bottle of wine from the ice bucket on the coffee table at their feet. He examined the label before nodding his head and popping open the cork.

“Wish I had a camera. Ginny would’ve loved this.” Ron walked past the table to the window, resting his hands on the railing and leaning over, looking across the field.

“Ron, she’s a professional coach-” Harry rolled his eyes, testing the wine with a small sip. He set the dark, tall bottle down on the table with a clank.

“Fred and George then.” Ron turned back to his friend and walked over, plopping himself down in his seat with confidence. Harry snorted, almost dropped his drink all over himself. This was therapeutic; he got to spend time with his best friend without the ever looming death threat of Nose-less Snakey Man breathing down his neck.

“Yes, I’m sure their jealous tears could flood the shop.” Harry’s voice was filled with sarcasm and it had Ron laughing too. Harry checked his watch while the giggling red-head grabbed an empty glass at the table in front of them and poured himself a shot of firewhiskey. “It’s about 5:53. Game should be starting at 6 something.” He turned to Ron, casting him a smile while he brought his glass to his lips. “Wanna talk about your newest boyfriend or should I ask him for the details myself?”

Ron almost spat out his drink, his hand coming up quickly to catch the dribbles falling off his lips. Blood rushed to his cheeks, ears and before he knew it, he was bright red. He wiped his hands on his jeans, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

“I’m sorry, my what? Harry, I’d be lucky if he gave me the time of day let alone be my boyfriend!” Ron ran his hands through his hair, his eyes cast downward into his drink. “I mean, have you seen me lately?” He gestured to himself. “I’m a bloody mess. He could do better anyway.”

“You’re not a mess, Ron, anything but. In fact, you’re probably more put together than I am. Ginny would beg to differ, but I’m sure it’s true.” Harry shook his head in disapproval before taking another sip from his glass. “Besides, you’re a good guy. You did get Mione to fall for you and you are kinda well known, aren't you? I say you got a better chance than most.” Once the niorette male finished, he turned to look at his friend who nodded his head in silent agreement before deciding to change the topic.

“How is Gin, by the way?”

Harry answered with a long explanation that she was good, but one of her chaser’s kept giving her trouble and didn’t believe Ginny was good for the team. The Harpies would be starting their first game soon and Ron made a note to buy a ticket. The questions came around to his brothers, of course, so Ron

“Hey! Good for them!” Harry refilled his drink once it was finished and put the glass back in the ice bucket. “And good for you.” Harry checked his watch again when it beeped out, indicating the change in hour. “Game time!”

The room went silent as the minister walked over to the window, doing his usual speech, but no one was really listening. Ron's legs were bouncing with excitement while his eyes looked across the white, green and orange fans waving flags. Ron should’ve known it would've been the Kenmare Kestrels duking it out against the Chudleys Cannons.

The crowds were going absolutely ballistic over the Kestrels and the screaming only seemed to get louder once the Cannon’s made their appearance. He watched the players zoom past the window, felt the air rush past him and before he could control himself, Ron was back at the railing, practically leaning over. His eyes bounced around the orange and black colored players for the new seeker.

“Harry!” Ron gestured pathetically behind him. “Harry! Come here! Look-” Ron pointed across the field to the seeker who was taking circles in the middle, taking in the crowd. He couldn’t help but stare at your confident smirk as you pulled the goggles over your eyes, casting the crowd a wink. The red-head basically melted.

“Godric, your smitten, aren’t you?” Harry was leaning against the railing next to his friend, his glass still in hand. A smirk came across his lips when his friend turned red again.

“Shut it.”

“You a Cannon fan, Mr.Wealsey?”

The two ex-aurors turned to see the man who approached them earlier coming to Ron’s free side. The man held a cocky grin and a new drink in his hand, most likely giggle water. The red-head turned back to the game once the whistle sounded.

“Yeah. Have been for years.” Ron didn’t take his eyes off the field.

“Huh, even with their sour reputation? I’m more of a Bats fan, myself. Wouldn’t count this game in favor of the Chudley’s though, new seeker and all.” The man scoffed before sipping his drink. “Good seekers are hard to find. Hogwarts was lucky to have you though, Mr. Potter. Should’ve played Quidditch professionally, if you ask me.”

The two males shared a look with each other and came to the conclusion it’d be better to not fight the man on his clearly biased opinion and clear ass kissing. The pair gazed on, ignoring the crowd forming behind them the longer the game went on. Ron almost shoved his friend over when the announcer yelled you spotted the snitch. Ron blinked and you were standing on your broom, balancing perfectly, leaned over, golden snitch just a few inches from your fingertips.

“He’s a risky bloke, isn’t he?” Harry spoke up, hands going to his chaotic locks. “Gdoric, he’s gonna fall!” He squealed out when your foot shifted just a little too far on the broom.

“He’s bonkers.” Sir Pompous sneered out over his fancy drink, causing Ron to audible groan.

“Sod off, will you?” Ron was so fucking sick of this man. “Stop bein’ pissy he has more balls than you and he was born without them.” He shot the suited wizard a glare before turning back to the game. He let out a cheer when you finally grasped the snitch, plopping yourself down on the broom. The freckled male turned to Sir Pompous and smirked. “So.. Wouldn’t put this game in their favor, huh?”

The wizard turned on his heel, grumbling what the two friends assumed to be insults as he walked shamefully to his seat. Harry and Ron clinked glasses, giggling like school girls as they took a victory shot. They sat back in their seats, discussing games and just over all basking in the win.

“Godric, I could get used to living like this.” Ron sat back, spreading his legs and just feeling confident. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I can’t afford to do this all the time, Ron.”

“I can dream, can’t I?” Ron didn’t blink twice when the door to the ministers box opened or when two voices spoke up. He was busy relaxing.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Coach Dorkins! The Chudley’s have always been my favorite-” The same kiss ass from earlier, spewing the same pompous bullshit as earlier. Ron was gonna fake a gag, but he hesitated. Coach Dorkins? Coach of the- of his favorite team?

“Ah, well, thank you, but I’m just here to drop off Point Breaker.” As your coach went on with his arm now wrapped around you. Ron whipped around, his jaw was dropping to the floor. “Got a favor to fill in for an old friend. Ah, there he is! Potter!”

“Nice to see you again.” Harry stood up and shook hands with the coach. Ron’s blue eyes bounced between his old friend, his favorite coach and his favorite player. What the fuck was going on? Ron shrunk into his seat when you glanced over. He was acutely aware of his messy outfit and hair and- did he brush his teeth? “Ah! I should introduce you to my good friend, Ronald Weasley-” Harry waved over to his friend, a smile on his face. Ron stood up as well, but almost fell into his chair when he saw you shaking hands with his old friend and suddenly everyone was turning to him.

“Uh-hi-” When did his voice get all high pitched and creaky again. He cleared his throat, wiping his hands on his jeans before shaking hands with the coach. “Sorry, big fan.”

Dorkins shook his head, saying how he understood between deep chuckles. The male then turned to you, who was standing by his side. He introduced you to the red-head while you held a similar, nervous smile on your face. You held your hand out as you spoke up finally.

“I know all about you, Mr. Weasley. Well, no not- Wait, not everything like.. Like everything everything, like um- I.. well- Ok, let me start again.” You cleared your throat, shaking the ex-aurors hand. “Hi, I’m (Y/n). I’m a fan, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron was just kinda shaking your hand, confusion filled in his brain. He was just running over your rambling and was so confused.

“You’re a fan of me?”

“The famous auror? Of course!” You were grinning now and he found himself just staring at you. The two of you missed how Potter and Dorkins were chuckling about star struck fans and wondered somewhere else in the room.

“You played great today-” Ron almost blurted out, his voice turning prepubescent again.

“Thank you! You don’t think it was too much? Too flashy?”

“No, no, I’d say it has the perfect amount of flash.” Ron shot you a lopsided smile. The smile allowed you to relax some, the star struck tension between the two of you almost dispersing completely as you joked back and forth. You soon found yourself sitting in Harry's abandoned seat, chatting away like you had been friends since your school years.

“So then- then- hold on, stop laughing-Haha! No, shh! We stole my dad's car just to save him! My brothers didn’t even try to talk me out of it! The only thing my older brother said was “yeah, get the car. We’re gonna find out if it’s considered kidnapping if we’re children"! Mum really chewed us out when we got back that mornin’!” Ron finished his 7th story that night while you were enjoying a nice glass of cold water. You couldn’t get over his terrible impressions of his brothers. More than a few times his stories led to you almost choking on your drink or just letting out a loud laugh.

You told him some stories about your life at home too and only got encouraged by his snickering behind his own drink. You were so open with him, telling him stories of quidditch practice and the strange gifts you got from fans, his favorite being a bra with your face hand painted on it.

More time passed by as you chatted, finally coming around to just playing 20 questions just day to day stuff. Now, it was your turn to ask a question and honestly, the game shouldn’t even be called 20 questions, it was more like 500 questions.

“Ok. Ok. Is it true that you had a thing for Krum?” You grinned when his cheeks turned red. “I heard from a chaser that you were here when we got on the field and our keeper was willing to bet his life on this rumor that you had a fling with Krum.”

“N-no, no fling! Just uh- more of a sexual awakening, if you will.” Ron snorted out, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes turned away from yours for the first time that night, casting his gaze out across the empty field.

“Ooh! What is the great Ron Weasley’s sexual preference?” You leaned forward, your grin turning to a teasing smirk. You put a hand on his shoulder when he started stuttering over his words. “Come on! You can tell me! I don’t spill secrets.”

“Would hot quidditch players be an acceptable answer?” Ron was playing with a spare ponytail holder on his wrist now, his face turning redder.

“I’d say so.” You smiled, setting down your water glass.

“What about you?”

“What?”

“I told you mine. It’s only fair, Point Breaker. Spill it.” It was Ron’s turn to get cocky as you blushed.

“May or may not be hot ex-aruros, but who’s keeping track.” You were not going to admit you’d been fanboying over the red-head since his face came across the Daily Profit. While he knew a lot about your game stats and quotes, you knew about the dark wizards he fought against, how he helped Granger and Potter and decided fighting was too much.

“Oh really?”

“I said maybe. Don’t get cocky. Besides, I could mean Harry-”

“I have a feeling you don’t mean him.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“How about a date?” Ron leaned back in his chair, gauging your reaction. He mentally sighed when you didn’t appear grossed out or scared.

“Hmm, let me think. “ You pretended to count stuff on your fingers before smiling at the red-head. “Leaky Cauldron?”

“Sure! Tuesday?”

“I’m free after 6.”

“Done.”

#ron weasley x male reader #ron weasley imagine #ron weasley x trans reader #ron weasley #harry is a good friend #male reader #trans male reader #hp x male reader #hp imagine #hp x trans reader #x male reader #x trans reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #32 - Nobody’s Ever Actually Dead in Comic Books

Our band of merry guys-who-weren’t-on-the-Lost-Light-in-issue-#1 approach the shattered husk of the Lost Light, in a gruesome scene that is only slightly marred by the graphic design.

Font doesn’t really suggest danger, does it? Here, for comparison, is something I slapped together in fifteen minutes (including recreation of background) using a font I got off a free font site.

Now, one could say that my version is rather derivative, flat, and arguably cliche, but you know what else it is? Appropriate for the fucking mood of having found a destroyed, hemorrhaging ship after everyone you knew disappeared.

I’m available, IDW! Hit me up.

Theorizing that this is the ship that the Coffin Rodimus came from- remember that? It was a few issues ago- the gang flies in for a closer look. The ship blood is actually something called quantum foam, which allows for quantum space travel to happen. It’s not supposed to be outside of the quantum quills, but the ship’s pretty junked up, so it is.

Because the ship is so very full of holes, the gang can set down for repairs pretty easy. They land in Swerve’s, finding it in less-than-pristine condition. They also find evidence of Crosscut having gotten creative, as a poster for the play he was working on is hung up in the room. Considering he was still writing it when he disappeared, this might seem a bit odd. But then you remember that this is a ship from the future, and it stops being so odd.

Because this is a future ship, with evidence that Crosscut did some stuff, it stands to reason that, at some point, everyone is going to come back from being disappeared.

Just to die.

Which is a bummer, but one crisis at a time.

Megatron disembarks the Rod Pod, with Ravage following, and everyone is just a touch put off by the duo. Everyone but Nautica, who proceeds to commit a microaggression.

Nautica, that’s Soundwave’s father you’re petting like a common animal.

Ravage, angered by this over-familiarity, swats at her. Skids questions letting an active Decepticon roam around, but Megatron brushes off these concerns, saying that finding any still-living crew members is more important. With that, the search begins.

The gang splits up to look for clues, despite Riptide thinking this is a horrible idea. They’re on the clock for this one- the quantum foam is liable to explode if it touches anything, and there’s an awful lot of the stuff floating around right now.

Nightbeat and Nautica leave the rest of the group to their own work, seeing as Nautica has the most appropriate alt-mode for traversing the gaps in the ship.

Man, that’s pretty cool. Wish Nautica hadn’t been regulated to being “girl best friend” for her character arcs, I would have loved to see her do some neat stuff for her own development. Guess that’s what happens when you get introduced as main cast late, and have to compete with all the faves who had dozens of issues to be established and who also don’t have to deal with the whole “token girl character” thing.

The rest of the gang- Megatron, Ravage, Riptide, Skids, and Getaway- start looking in the area they’re already in. Seems a little lopsided, but whatever.

Ravage finds someone almost immediately, identifying Ultra Magnus through smell alone. Only, it isn’t just Ultra Magnus.

The Magnus armor lays not terribly far away, having had its hands cut off to prevent the recall signal from being activated before being gut-murdered.

Gut-murdered wiTH A FUSION CANNON, MEGATRON

Of course, Megatron was forced to destroy his fusion canon after it was decided he would be joining the Lost Light, but you can buy these things off the black market like it’s nothing. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Brainstorm had a few stashed in his lab.

As it currently stands, nobody can trust the guy who has a storied past of killing Autobots, on a future ship where the only folks who could stop him are dead. Megatron, at least, has the good sense to not argue this fact, and suggests that the boys lock both Ravage and himself up until they suss out exactly what happened.

Meanwhile, over with Nautica and Nightbeat, we run through all the weird shit that’s happened in the last day or so.

Nautica, you’ve been on this ship for months now. How did you miss the fact that the only couple within 800 miles got annihilated by way of Phase Sixer? I feel like that attack might have come up at some point.

Since they’re on the subject of spouses, Nightbeat asks Nautica if she’s married, or if she has friends. Though noting that such a direct line of questioning might get him slapped with someone else, Nautica reveals that she is single, though she does have a best friend. Nightbeat is also single, probably because he pulls shit like this.

While this conversation is going on, Nautica uses her Sonic Screwdriver wrench to open a door with the literal push of a button. Brainstorm tricked out her wrench so hard it turned into a magic wand, which is good, because they’re going to need all the help they can get now that space is literally warping around them thanks to the quantum foam.

Nautica kicks something on the elevator, and that something turns out to be Brainstorm’s mysterious briefcase. Too bad Swerve is gone, he was so invested in what it contained. Luckily, Nightbeat is just as interested.

Back over on the other side of the ship, it seems as though Megatron kept his word about not resisting, as both he and Ravage have been locked in a cabinet. Wonder how that’s going for them.

Oh, better than I expected.

Ravage is fucking pissed that Megatron joined the Autobots, thereby turning his back on everyone who supported his cause during the last four million years. Despite this grievous betrayal though, the Decepticons haven’t stopped moving. Turns out, Galvatron’s in charge now.

But only if Autobot Megatron isn’t some sort of ploy.

It’s at this point that we learn just why Ravage is here to begin with- to see if Megatron’s truly given up the Decepticons, and if he has, to murder him. But first he’d like to know why this is happening.

Megatron views himself as a monster, having perpetuated a war that ended the lives of billions, destroyed the Cybertronian way of life, ostracized his race from the rest of the universe, and killing just to have something to do. He doesn’t like feeling this way about himself, so he decided to walk away from that life by joining the other team.

Don’t think it’s quite that easy to do, but okay.

Ravage isn’t so sure that this change of heart is going to stick, still convinced that Megatron will snap back to his old self with just a bit more time. Problem is, Megatron may not have a ton of that resource left.

Didn’t they build that body in like an hour so you wouldn’t die? Yeah, no wonder it feels as ill-fitting as a twenty-dollar suit. Thing’s probably made out of pig iron and duct tape.

The lights come on before further self-reflection can be done, and the duo realize that they’ve had guests this whole time.

Someone put the kettle on.

Obviously some fucked up shit happened on this ship. Megatron isn’t so sure that it’s him who did these dirty deeds, however, as he reaches into Ratchet’s mouth and pulls out his brain. Which feels like something that doesn’t really absolve one of guilt, but okay.

Also, ew.

Back with Nautica and Nightbeat, things are getting weird.

Now, this sequence might seem confusing at first blush, but this is because the laws of reality are collapsing around them. Going by clues in the background, we can find the proper, linear progression of time, and thus is conversation. This is what is actually happening:

With the mystery of Brainstorm’s briefcase eluding us once again, we move on to see more graphic aftermaths of violence. Poor Tailgate has been nailed to the wall with a chunk of a metal beam that’s almost as big as he is. The mood lighting for this scene is gorgeous, but I’ve hit my limit for exposing y’all to gore for this issue, so you’ll just have to trust me on this one. Then they find something even more interesting.

Who’s ready for Under Cold Blue Stars… 2!

Back over on the opposite side of the ship, Riptide’s found something nasty. It’s a bunch of dead bodies!

Including, uh, Pipes.

Who already died a while ago.

Hm.

All the bodies in this room are in their alts, and it looks like they’ve all been shot and drilled into, for some reason. Skids brings up that he had a friend who could identify the placement of any robot’s brain module just by knowing what they turned into. Then he reaches into a corpse to see what the drill-hole’s all about. It makes him sick, though maybe not for the reason you might think. He gets on the phone with Nightbeat, who’s called to tell them that they’ve found Overlord.

Still locked in his weird body harness.

And decapitated.

Megatron is on the other line, calling because he’s figured out the same thing Skids has. Someone paid a visit to this ship. Someone nasty.

The gang regroups, and Nautica gets the basics on the DJD, because I guess nobody’s mentioned them even in passing in the last six months, either.

God, what do they even talk about on this ship? Certainly not their feelings.

The reason that one room was filled with alt-modes was because of Tarn’s addiction to transforming; t-cogs are easier to remove when they’ve been used recently.

We get a quick 4/5ths-page gore-fest, then it’s back to making it all about Megatron.

Maybe you should have thought about that before you FUCKING DEFECTED, YOU POOL NOODLE.

Nightbeat’s beginning to put two and two together. There’s an Overlord in the basement. That shouldn’t be, because Overlord got exploded by Chromedome when he mercy-killed Rewind. Something is off about the past of this ship.

Before he can establish his MTMTE everybody-lives-but-then-dies AU though, the quantum foam fucks with the ship. These sons of guns need to get the hell out of here, pronto.

Oh god, what now?

Ravage smells someone inside the Magnus armor, someone who isn’t a part of the usual nesting doll lineup. Megatron reaches into the Crackerjack box and pulls out one hell of a prize.

HE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVES

Chromedome would be so thrilled, if he still existed.

#transformers #jro #MTMTE #slaughterhouse #issue 32 #maccadam #Hannzreads #incoming analysis #text post #long post #comic script writing

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twdmusicboxmystery · 3 years

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FTWD 6x11: The Holding

Wow! Where to begin with this episode? We had some super-stellar parallels going here. I don’t think it was any secret that I wasn’t thrilled with last week’s episode. It was fine, but also kind of meh. I LOVED this week’s episode. So much good stuff!

***As always, spoilers for 6x11 abound below. Don't read until you've watched!***

So, we learn about these “end is the beginning” people. They’re staying in a place called The Holding, which is really an underground parking garage. (Um…cars, anyone? Let’s recall that Daryl and Carol walked through at least one parking garage in Consumed while looking for Beth. They also passed lots of above-ground ones, including one that had a red car with its door open in front of it. Also, the fact that it’s underground could make it a symbolic tomb/grave.)

These people are composting walkers to grow food underground. (People do use blood and bone feed to fertilize gardens. Like compost and waste, it really does help them grow. Of course in our society it’s ANIMAL blood and bone. Using walkers/humans is definitely more sinister and cringy. And they have proven that eating various parts of humans leads to things like Mad Cow’s Disease, so I do think Alicia’s question about food being grown that way being healthy is viable.)

But moving on.

It’s important to note that the showrunner called this group a cult, so are not they meant to be “good people.” Most of those that live there aren’t sinister, but they’ve been brainwashed into thinking their leader is a good man and that what he’s trying to accomplish is good. They’ve drunk the koolaid (or eaten the walker food?).

So, we have the ivy walker.

There really couldn’t be a more clear parallel to the blond girl Daryl saw on the tree in 5x15. Plus all the green ivy around her.

I believe we saw a promo of this walker early on. Like maybe nearer the beginning of S6. Which, thanks to Covid, was more than a year ago. I’d pretty much forgotten it, but we actually do see it in this episode.

The dogma of this group (“the end is the beginning”) is that from death springs new life. This walker is meant to represent that. Life growing out of death. And on its own, it doesn’t seem like an overly negative mission statement. After all, this world is full of death and people are trying to survive. But it quickly becomes obvious that there’s more sinister stuff at work here.

So what does this have to do with Beth? I think she’s the ultimate symbol of life springing from death. So, not only does this foreshadow her, but they’re also using her as a symbol here. I don’t know how this group may feed into future story lines, or if they’ll just be a FTWD thing, but it will be interesting to watch.

Some of the major things in this episode: a Sirius reunion, a Daryl/Merle parallel, Grady parallels, at least two major Beth/Bethyl proxies, and some tantalizing hints for what’s to come involving both this group and the CRM. (See why I loved this episode?)

Let’s dive in.

First, let me acknowledge all the background symbols. There are tons of them, and I don’t want to go into tons of detail about them. But we see cheese (think Morgan/Eastman), tomatoes, eggs (lots of food). We also see fire extinguishers, lots of green (especially paint), an elevator. You get the idea.

The first big thing that happens is Wes meets his brother, Derek, whom he thought was dead.

Welcome to the first Beth proxy.

Okay, I didn’t remember much of this backstory or how much of it was told when we first met Wes. I do remember talking about his brother as a possible Beth proxy, but beyond that, I didn’t remember details. But they rehash it all here. Care to take a guess?

Wes went out for supplies and was overwhelmed by, you guessed it, a walker horde. He ran into a shed but it collapsed (becoming something of tomb) and the walkers were beating on the outside, trying to get in (think Beth and Daryl in the trunk). He passed out and woke up in The Holding.

That’s exactly like what happened with Beth, actually. She told Gorman she was fighting a walker and everything went black. She woke up at Grady.

The difference here is that Beth never bought into what Dawn was peddling, but unfortunately, Wes’s brother did. We eventually learn that he’s a true follower of “Teddy,” the cult leader and condones the murder that’s being done.

And of course that’s also what we think happened during the missing 17 days. Overwhelmed by walkers, left behind. Perhaps she woke up back at Grady, or somewhere else.

But the actual reunion between Wes and Derek is very on-the-nose. Because Wes truly thought this brother dead, he even says things like, “You’re alive?” and “What the hell?” Probably things that will be said about Beth when she finally shows up.

There’s also a serious/Sirius mention when they sit down to talk. And Derek keeps mentioning his bike. Like Daryl, he had a bike that Wes took when he thought his brother dead. But the fact that he mentions “bikes” like five times in this conversation is important.

I wanted to mention coffee. We’ve seen coffee as a symbol before, specifically around Carol. We first noticed it when Paula told her little story about the carrot, the egg and the coffee beans going into the water in 6x13. She said the coffee beans changed the water itself. So, coffee = a catalyst for change. But this episode made me realize it’s a catalyst for a change that’s not necessarily good.

Apparently, the supplies Wes’s brother went out for was coffee creamer. The change that came was not only him being left behind and presumed dead, but changing into a person that no longer empathized with other human beings. (Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t we see Carol making and drinking coffee just before they went to the caverns and Connie disappeared?)

There’s also a huge eye/sight/see theme. They take everyone over to see this green-ivy walker and ask them what they “see”. The idea is that they should see life and possibility springing from death, but it’s just a way to indoctrinate them and check to see if they’re willing to go along with what the cult’s beliefs are. Lots of talk of eyes (opening your eyes), what one can and can’t yet see, etc.

Later, we see walkers with their mouths sewn shut. So we have at least the see no evil, speak no evil themes. There might have been hear no evil that I didn’t catch.

The second major parallel is to Daryl and Merle, since these two are brothers.

But it’s more than just that. Wes took Derek’s bike after he disappeared (same as Daryl and Merle). When Wes found his brother again, he was with a bad group (with Merle, it was the Governor) or rather a group of decent people led by an evil man. Derek has a skewed mindset, and is working for Teddy. Remember that Merle not only worked for the Gov but even tried to kill Michonne at one point. And how they die is…similar. Merle’s, in the end, was more chivalrous, as he died to help save Daryl and TF. That wasn’t the case with Derek, but his death resulted from him pretending to work against Teddy. Unfortunately it wasn’t real, and he betrayed them, but there are still parallels/anti-parallels between the two stories.

How is this place like Grady?

There’s the underground tomb aspect, the fact that they grow their own food. At the beginning, Alicia’s group keeps asking them questions about the community, which Riley (Nick Stahl) pretty much refuses to answer.

One of them is, “Are we allowed to leave?” or “Is anyone allowed to leave?” That, of course, instantly reminded me of Grady. Now, they never answer it directly, and at one point, Riley says they can decide if they want to stay or not. But by the time we get to the end of the episode, I’m pretty sure that’s BS. So, like Grady, no one’s really given the choice to leave. Even if they tell people they can.

They’re taken into a room with medical equipment at one point. It just looks a lot like Grady, though I could tell it wasn’t the same kind of medical equipment. We’re told that it’s embalming equipment.

In fact, Al says something that should catch your ear. She says, “they must have hit the funeral home.” Naturally all our minds will go to Alone, but she’s talking about the funeral home she and Dwight (I think) were at before. I don’t remember which episode, but we talked about it looking a lot like the funeral home in Alone. So, I think Al is saying these people, The Holding, raided that funeral home and took the equipment. Kinda makes me think the funeral home in Alone will come back into the picture at some point.

And it turns out, The Holding is embalming walkers. Al’s group ends up in a room with dozens of walkers strung up by their wrists (kind of like Daryl and Michonne were in Scars). They’ve been embalmed and their mouths have been sewn shut.

So, here’s where the plot becomes super interesting. I mentioned above that Riley told them they could choose to leave at some point, right? Al was saying that everything they’ve set up is impressive—food, power, water, they’re very self-sustaining—but it felt like they were preparing for something big.

He admits that they are. He says they are planning to soon close the doors permanently. He says they never want to go topside again, and the new way to live will be underground.

Later, when talking to Morgan, Al sort of implies that maybe it’s not so much about them choosing to go underground as that something will drive them underground for a long time. Almost like they’re preparing for a nuclear winter or something. But we don’t know exactly what it is.

I think what we’re supposed to infer is that they’re collecting walkers to use as compost in coming years. (They even call the walkers ‘posters.) They’re embalming the walkers to keep them “fresh.” Riley says the walkers last about 2 months in the composter before they break down entirely, so putting away 20 or 30 walkers really will last them for years.

CRM Ties

Wes and Al snoop through Derek’s room. They find maps of different communities and some of those transparent overlays that have the three rings of the CRM on them. That’s how they know that this group is attacking communities (like Tank Town) and that Derek knows all about it.

The other thing Al figures out from looking at Derek’s maps is that the group seemed to be tracking the CRM’s drop sites. She thinks they want to get their hands on a helicopter. (So, when it comes to Nora’s group, who was in the high rise, this group wasn’t after them. The roof was a helicopter drop site and that’s really who they were after. Though, they might have set the plague on Nora’s people because they are trying to kill humanity.) And given that this cult might be planning the end of the world, clearly them getting a hold of a helicopter would be a bad thing.

Al tells Dwight she’s going to go look for Isobel and warn her. I think she’s just planning to go to the drop sites and wait for a helicopter to show up.

So, we have more potential interaction with the CRM through Al. And I’m really hoping we get some good Bethyl symbolism and clues through this storyline. I’ll definitely be keeping an eye on it.

Morgan and Burning it Down

Wes confronts him and talks him into leaving with them. At one point, Wes mentions Morgan. I think he just does it without thinking, because what would Morgan mean to his brother, right? But Derek instantly gets weird when he hears Morgan’s name, and Wes doesn’t really notice.

When they try to leave, they get caught, and it’s obvious Derek set them up. They’re taken to the embalming room, and Riley asks where Morgan is. They won’t say how they know him or why they want him, but they’re VERY interested in finding Morgan.

I was thinking it might just be because Morgan killed those two guys in one of the early episodes when they attacked him in his truck, but they both died and wouldn’t have known his name from that encounter anyway. So I’m not sure what this is about. There are the tapes they were leaving at gas stations and such. Maybe that’s it, but it wouldn’t explain why they would want Morgan more than the others.

They’re taken to the embalming room and threatened with death. Derek takes Wes back to the ivy walker to see if he can “see” what Wes does.

A fight ensues, and Wes throws Derek into the walker where he’s bitten. He shoots his brother so he won’t turn. The thing about this part is that it doesn’t show it. It instead shows the (somewhat yellowish) mural Derek was working on before, and Teddy’s voice is talking about how light comes from darkness. Then, we just hear a single gunshot.

That gave me *major* Beth vibes.

Wes then goes back to the embalming room to rescue the others.

Wes’s reaction at this part reminded me a bit of Daryl/Merle too. Not so much at Merle’s death, but back in 3x10 when Daryl returned to the prison. It just struck me that, while Wes did cry when his brother died and clearly mourned him, he got over it really fast. He went back to where the group was and no longer seemed terribly broken up about it. I was just thinking he seemed to have figured out who his true family was and where he really belonged, and that that was more important than his brother’s warped mindset. Much like Daryl and Merle.

When he goes back, he takes Riley hostage briefly and they all escape into another room and bar the door. This room is full of the hanging walkers full of embalming fluid. They have to walk between them toward an exit on the far side.

Al Parallels Daryl in 5x15

Here’s another super interesting parallel. Al sees one walker hanging that has the black CRM gear on it, including the helmet, so she can’t see its face. She walks over to it and lifts its helmet, clearly looking to see if it’s Isobel, which it’s not. Such an obvious parallel to Daryl looking into the face of the blond walker on the tree. It even lunges at her and she kills it, like Daryl did with that walker.

What I liked here is that Alicia freaked out about it. She said, “what the hell was that?” Aaron didn’t say that to Daryl, so they weren’t drawing as much attention to it there as they did here. But clearly we are supposed to notice that, without knowing more, that behavior is bizarre. And here, we the audience know that Al was worried it was Isobel. But Alicia doesn’t. Where the blond walker on the tree is concerned, the audience is in Alicia’s place, not being terribly clear about what’s behind Daryl’s behavior. (I mean, TD is, but most of the rest of the fandom isn’t.)

So then Alicia says they should take this place down. When Al stabbed the CRM walker in the neck, embalming fluid poured out. Embalming fluid is highly flammable. So, long story short, Alicia stays behind to “burn it down” and the others escape. (I don’t have to explain that parallel, right? ;D)

It all happens really fast. We see Alicia light the match (which Al had; just reminded me of Daryl having matches in Rick’s hallucination in 7x01, and clearly Al = Daryl in this parallel), and then it skips to Al, Wes, and Luciana back with Morgan telling him what happened. They say the fire was huge and burned hot, and Alicia could have gotten out, but they couldn’t FIND her. They also don’t know if any of the Holding people got out.

So Morgan just says they’re going to go back and start at the Holding location to look for Alicia. I’m assuming that will happen next episode.

So, we aren’t exactly clear on this group’s dogma or what they’re trying to do, but it does seem that they want to kill off everyone who lives up top. Which is, you know, everyone. And once again, that makes them a lot like the Wolves. They believe killing people is saving them. I’m not saying these are Wolves or anything (they might be; after all, both groups tied a blond walker to a tree and believed similar things about killing off the remnants of humanity) but rather that the Wolves were a foreshadow of other groups to come.

And the next question is, are they part of the CRM? Because of the CRM walker, and what they implied about them trying to hijack a helicopter, I’m thinking not. But there’s clearly a lot of entanglement going on.

Alicia = Beth

So, in the final scene, we have some interesting developments. This may be the scene that got my mind spinning the most, just in terms of symbolic Beth potential.

We see Alicia, very much alive, and still in the embalming room, though now all the walls look blackened. So obviously the entire place didn’t burn down. (That doesn’t surprise me. It’s an underground parking garage. It takes a lot to burn down cement.)

She’s being held hostage in there. Riley comes in and says some weird, cryptic things. He says new life springs from death, for MOST people, and that they plan to preserve Alicia exactly as she is. It’s obvious they mean to kill and embalm her.

But I had the thought that maybe they meant her to take the place of the Ivy Walker. We don’t know what happened to that walker. It might have burned in the fire, but they didn’t show us either way. I was thinking that it would make a twisted sense for them to embalm Alicia (who tried to take their community down) and put her in its place. Which would make her a Beth proxy.

Riley leaves her alone with the embalming guy, but she stabs him in the eye (Sirius) and then, after a brutal scuffle, sticks him in the neck with the embalming needle, killing him.

It’s then that we finally meet Teddy, the leader of the cult. We hear about him and hear his voice a lot during the episode (they play tapes of him talking throughout the garage as people work) but this is when we first see him. It’s John Glover. I don’t know if everyone’s familiar with him. He was on Smallville back in the day. I totally forgot he was going to be on the show. He’s usually a villain, but more of a funny villain than a scary villain.

Anyway, he basically tells Alicia he has a special role for her and that he’s been looking for someone like her for a long time. He seems convinced that he can convert her to his philosophy, but he’s also fixated on the fact that she sacrificed herself for her family. So, it doesn’t say what he means by “someone like you” but I’m assuming someone who is brave or else self-sacrificial.

But here’s the thing. I’ve been thinking recently that they haven’t really done much with Alicia lately. She’s one of the few surviving originals for this series, and one of the most well known actors going into it, because she’s been on other highly-watched tv shows, but they’ve kind of been ignoring her.

So, I think this is the beginning of a big arc for her, and I think it will be a major parallel for what happened with Beth after she was left behind.

Alicia becomes a proxy here for Beth, not only because she’s in the Grady-like medical room, and stabs a guy in the eye, but Teddy totally razzes her about being left behind.

He says, “they left you behind.” She says, “I made them.” He says, “Yeah, but they obliged.” And then goes off about how they’re her family and family is sacred and they shouldn’t have done that.

And in my head, I’m screaming, “Beth! Beth! Beth!”

So yeah. Super intrigued by this episode. They’re setting up some really intriguing things and it will be very interesting to see what happens moving forward.

What did everyone else think of the episode?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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bloodletterepicness · 3 years

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Blood, sweat and soul...

Time could be a trick of the mind...I stood there inside the Pit, a clear thought in my head and yet, I was still just standing right here doing nothing but thinking. There were moments that I preferred not to be up in my own head and now was one of those. I had been fully back in the fold of all things Brotherhood for a month now, thirty one days and yet there was one place I still had yet to go to...How long has it been? Maybe a year...or fuck, so much longer. I dragged a hand down my face, groaning not so quietly and then I did a whole mental cuss out session. There were components of oneself that were always within you...I could run, get bogged down with all the insanity of life and yet, parts of me would always be just that, a part of me.

I let my arm fall to my side, shutting down any further stalling and left the Pit, going outside to stand under the humid night sky. I let one more fleeting thought slide through the inside of my mind and I dematted, leaving the grounds of the compound and coming to form on the balcony at my Penthouse. My hand gripped the railing, not in fear of anything but more as a response to my own stupidity for denying myself and now coming face to face with that decision...It was a hard fucking pill to swallow.

“Alright fuckwad...Suck it the fuck up and lets get this show on the motherfucking road.”

The right side of my mouth came up in a smirk and I was letting go of the steel banister while using my swifty nifty powers and had the glass doors opening, giving me full fucking entrance. Instead of how things used to be, pillared candles would come to life the moment my presence was inside, now there was only the low dim lighting of the fixtures buzzing to life. There was nothing inside, no furniture, not a single paddle or whip...but the scents of the past clung to the foundation of this place. I easily inhaled the aroma of wax and it stirred more than just my senses. My diamond eyes blaze with a low burning flame, making them look more crystalized to the point they were like prisms bouncing off the purely black walls. I did a walk through of the place that was more a part of me, then even I was aware until I crossed that threshold and we came back together again… Whole.

I cracked my neck and let my leather slide down my arms. It was going to be a long motherfucking night and I planned on enjoying every second of it. I tossed my jacket on the bar counter, grinning like the sick fuck that I am and assisted the front door in opening with just a thought. A solitary beep alerted me that my personal elevator had reached my Penthouse level. From that moment on, it was a constant parade of males that I hired to move all the crates in and I stood back, drinking some Goose, watching until the last box was placed with the rest.

I grabbed the crowbar, going around to the crates and popping the tops off each one... I had some OCD issues, there was order to my chaos and ninety nine percent of the time, only I understood it. I cleaned as I created a mess. I cursed as I cheered myself on. I was just glad as fuck that no one was here to witness my rise and fall as I tore into every containing. At times I was battling the pieces to go together, other times I was counting down until I put it all to use. But through it all, I had many bottles of Goose to enjoy and a fuck load of blunts rolled up...To say it was an epic as fuck evening, was putting that shit mildly.

It was going pretty damn good if I did say so myself, all the big pieces of furniture were put together. I went at my leisure, placing things where I wanted them. There was no rush as I went around moving the massive four poster bed with compartments built in and the cages to the desired locations. Okay so I might have moved them three or four fucking times before finally settling on the original place I had them at... Next on the agenda was going to require the ladder. I stripped down to only my leathers, kicking my boots off and in seconds I was carrying up materials I needed and attaching the rigs from the exposed, reinforced ceiling joists. I climbed up there, easily walking across and stopping in designated spots to attach the chain links. When I came to the middle of the room, I sat my ass down on the joist and pulled a smoke out from my behind my ear, flicking my zippo to life and taking in one deep as fuck pull off of it. I let my legs hang off the joist as I looked around below.

“Well Fuck…”

There was still much to be done, all the little details and more but fuckkkkk...My icy gaze landed on the new table down below and I had to shove the back of my palm against my hardening cock...That fucking table was going to be my undoing. It didn’t take much for my mind to create exactly what I wanted and would have...over and over.

Male or female, it didn’t matter… It never has. Stripped naked, no barriers. Laid out, stretched with legs locked in place by leather straps wrapped around the thick wooden legs of the table and biting into their flesh. Arms pulled upwards, tight and all of that laid there for me to do exactly as I pleased.

“Motherfuckcocksuckingfuckinghellsonofbitch…”

Every bit of that slid out, mingling with massive smoke rings that rolled off my tongue. I lay back on the beam and stretch my long legs out, resting up there as comfortably as I would in a bed and let my eyes slide close while I let the myriad of sounds that would fill these walls up...Pleas that would turn into moans or straight to screams and moans...Some would be masked behind obstacles and only mere gurgles or gasp would be heard. My imagination created them all, stopping on certain ones to explore them deeper but never lingering too long. I decided then and there that it was a good thing I was off patrol for the next few nights. I didn’t want to leave it unfinished and one night was not enough time to put my blood sweat and soul back into this place.

#BDB #Vishous #V #RP #3

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aerisahale · 4 years

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Dance Lessons

Notes: I couldn’t stop thinking about how Sara learned to dance the tango, so here is the League teaching Sara to dance.

Summary: Learning to dance is part of the League’s standard education. Turns out, Sara is not so good at it. Or, perhaps, she just needed the right partner.

Pairing: Nyssa x Sara

Words: 1,546

Sara’s steps slow as she is ushered into the room by the deceptively strong hands of her newest appointed teacher, an older woman she has never seen before. She was disbelieving when she had been introduced to her that this woman could fight. Surveying the room of half a dozen pairs and cementing the conclusion that this woman wasn’t a fighter, Sara says skeptically, “I can dance at a club, but the tango is not exactly in my wheelhouse.”

The music cuts off as the older woman gives out a few instructions. Al Raqisa is hearing none of her protests as her teacher physically moves her into a starting position with a partner she snatches from somewhere nearby. The man nods at her, one hand coming to rest at her back, the other taking a gentle hold of her hand. She is instructed on her own hand placement and the music picks up again.

At first, she is yanked around by the lead of her partner. It takes a few halting steps before she catches on to the rhythm of it—at least, she thinks she is taking the correct steps until her foot lands on something and her partner grunts as he lurches to the side. With more grace than Sara would have, he catches himself and proffers his hand, even as he arches a brow at her.

She tries again, steps this way, then that way, then twists. She stumbles and is caught by Al Raqisa who presses them closer to each other. “Closer, this is not a children’s dance. This is a dance of passion!”

The third attempt is a complete disaster. Being closer than she was at first causes Sara to constantly step on or trip over her partner’s feet. The man disengages after the fourth time she’s squashed his toes and shakes his head at their teacher. “It seems Ta-er Al Sahfer is only interested in assassinating my appendages.”

“Why do we have to learn this?” Sara growls. “I was under the impression we are assassins.”

“Assassins often go undercover and you never know what skills you may need, so the League strives to ensure a well-rounded education,” a smooth voice calls.

Everyone in the room kneels, heads bowed in deference as the Heir to the Demon strides in from one of the side doors. She crosses the floor and pushes open a window, taking a moment to look out it before she turns back and sweeps her gaze over Sara.

They have stolen a sincere moment here and there since Nyssa first saved Sara from the wreckage of the Amazo and Sara holds each one close to her heart, closer still after dark falls and she can admit to herself that for the first time she thinks she might feel the stirring of real feelings in her heart. When she allows them, each memory she holds stokes the flames of her feelings hotter than the adrenaline of her secret relationship with her sister’s boyfriend, hotter than any boyfriend before that.

While Nyssa checks on her progress occasionally, her progress has always been in pursuit of combat, something she found herself naturally excelling at. Embarrassment colors her cheeks as she is clearly failing at dancing of all tasks. Privately, she wonders if Nyssa does that for all her recruits or if Sara is special. Every time the thought comes to her, she hopes it is the latter. Sara risks peeking up at Nyssa through her eyelashes and she is caught in more ways than one when she is pinned by dark eyes. The simple black outfit that matches the one Sara wears does nothing to diminish the beauty the woman possesses, and Sara is not unaffected by it.

Nyssa turns towards Al Raqina. “I will personally ensure that my recruit is better prepared the next time she graces your dance floor.”

Motioning with a jerk of her chin, Sara hastens to follow after Nyssa’s quick strides as she leaves through the same door she came in. They go through passageway after passageway and turn after turn until, even after three months, Sara is lost and can not find her way back to the room they started from. They come out into a greeting area, a couple couches press against the walls and two guards stand at either side of a double-doored entrance.

Upon seeing Nyssa, the guards open the doors for her and the pair climb the steps into a lavishly decorated bedroom, a far cry different than the bunk room Sara shares with the other trainees. A desk is pressed against one wall and upon it sits one simple picture of a dark-haired woman, smiling softly. An article of clothing is thrown haphazardly on the bench at the end of the draped four-poster bed, and it seems at odds with the picture of perfection Nyssa builds, or perhaps that is only Sara’s perception.

That is all Sara gets a good look at before she is further led out into a courtyard, warm under the Tibetan sun despite their elevation. The courtyard is walled off and private, a small pond in the corner, a carefully manicured tree at the edge. A table and two chairs occupy the corner closest to the doors to Nyssa’s bedroom, but the rest remains open, paved with the same stone the League compound is built from. Nyssa comes close and Sara eyes her warily before the taller woman holds her hand out in an exact imitation of her dancing partner from minutes ago.

“There’s no music,” Sara hears herself say, even as her blood thunders in her ears and her thoughts are occupied by thoughts of being pressed close to the woman who saved her, taught her to fight.

This earns her a smile. “Listen.”

Sara quiets and does as she is told, awareness extending outward until she takes in the staccato beats of a guitar filtering up and over the walls of the courtyard. The elevation of Nyssa’s bedroom allows her a clear line to the open window of Al Raqina’s dance studio. It brings a smile to her own face, despite the wash of self-consciousness as she wonders if Nyssa was watching and sought to save her—or perhaps her dance partner. Nyssa takes her hand and presses a hand to her back, pulling Sara tightly against her. “The ballroom is truly not that far from here. It is a winding path between the two from within, but a straight line outside. Now, instead of attempting to mimic what you see, feel how I move.”

Nyssa leads them, stepping forward and back. Sara is dragged along but thankfully does not embarrass herself any further by stepping on the Heir’s feet. It doesn’t take long before she finds a better rhythm with Nyssa than she did with her previous partner. She feels her move in a different way than she did with him. That synchronicity doesn’t take long to allow Sara to find the steps that don’t make her feel like she’s being dragged through the dance.

The music slows into a different tune and so do their movements, but Nyssa holds her closely for a moment longer than Sara had thought she would and the blonde finds herself holding the Heir even tighter, comforted in her closeness, in her scent. Nyssa pulls away sharply, quickly, turning her back to Sara.

“I am not good at dancing around subjects… With that in mind, I would like to make it clear to you that you owe me nothing. I am not oblivious to this pull between us. Once my father accepted your apprenticeship, your debt is to the League of Assassins and my father.”

Nyssa’s gasp when Sara grasps her wrist and turns her back toward her is almost a sob and it breaks Sara’s heart. Not the perfection of Sara’s perception after all. “Anything I choose to do, I choose. No one makes me do anything. Not anymore. I’ve spent three months here learning to fight. Obviously, I can’t be doing that terribly since someone sees it fit that it’s time for me to expand my knowledge.”

“It is my position as the Heir that I wish not to pressure you with.” Nyssa still won’t meet her eyes.

Sara comes closer, presses herself into Nyssa, holding her tightly. She whispers in Nyssa’s ear, “When your father sought to intimidate me, all I could do was laugh. It was nothing compared to the horrors of Ivo’s ship. Believe me when I tell you that I would never give more of myself than I wanted.”

Sara can feel Nyssa shaking as she says, “You are quite stubborn.”

“Besides, we are simply dancing. Let’s just enjoy the moment. I feel we may not get that many.”

Sara guides Nyssa’s arms back around her, leading them into a simple sway back and forth, content to just enjoy the press of their bodies, head resting on Nyssa’s chest. It is the most at peace Sara has felt since she boarded the Queen’s Gambit. Her heart flutters when the Heir rests her chin on her head. At some point, she realizes the music has stopped, but there are birds chirping, the sun warms her back, and Nyssa is in her arms.

#Nyssara #nyssa x sara #Nyssa al Ghul #Sara Lance #Arrow #femslash #fanfic #fanfiction

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junjosekaimangalover · 4 years

Text

Big Time Rush X Singer! Female! Reader - Vocal Covers - Part 1 - * Not A Request *

Disney/Cartoon Network/Nickelodeon Oneshots And Imagines

Nickelodeon X Reader

Big Time Rush X Reader

Entire Band X Singer! Female! Reader - Vocal Covers - Part 1 - * Not A Request *

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Author's Note:

I don't own the series Big Time Rush hosted by Nickelodeon nor do I own any of the boys from the band BTR ( Wish I did though ;) ), I only own my creative writing skills.

Please enjoy this oneshot~!

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Normal POV:

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Logan, James, Kendall and Carlos walked into Rocque Records as they were called in by Kelly for vocal rehearsals. Kendall and James entered first through the doors and took a glance at the posters that were old and new.

" I still can't believe we finally have our own poster! " Carlos exclaimed excitedly.

" Yeah I know, maybe he should finally get rid of these older ones that have been dead to the music world for years, like Boys City for example. " James stated.

" And Boys In The-...Who's she? " Kendall asked glancing over to the direction of a powerful beautiful singing voice coming from the recording room. The boys then shot over quickly to the recording booth to see a beautiful dark haired beauty singing Blank Space by Taylor Swift.

So it's gonna be forever

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cause you know I love the players

And you love the game

The boys stared at the unknown female singer with mouths agape, completely dumbfounded as to who she is and why she was there.

'Cause we're young and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I've got a blank space baby

And I'll write your name

Cherry lips, crystal skies

I could show you incredible things

Stolen kisses, pretty lies

You're the king baby I'm your Queen

Find out what you want

Be that girl for a month

Wait the worst is yet to come, oh no

Screaming, crying, perfect storm

I can make all the tables turn

Rose gardens filled with thorns

Keep you second guessing like

"Oh my God, who is she?"

I get drunk on jealousy

But you'll come back each time you leave

'Cause darling I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream

So it's gonna be forever

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cause you know I love the players

And you love the game

'Cause we're young and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane (Insane)

But I've got a blank space baby

And I'll write your name

Boys only want love if it's torture

Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn ya

Boys only want love if it's torture

Don't say I didn't say I didn't warn ya

So it's gonna be forever

Or it's gonna go down in flames

You can tell me when it's over

If the high was worth the pain

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

'Cause you know I love the players

And you love the game

'Cause we're young and we're reckless

We'll take this way too far

It'll leave you breathless

Or with a nasty scar

Got a long list of ex-lovers

They'll tell you I'm insane

But I've got a blank space baby

And I'll write your name

Gustavo and Kelly clapped for her as she finished her last verse of the song, she then took her headphones off of her head and placed them on the microphone stand.

" That. Was. Brilliant ( Y/N___ )! You were amazing in there. " Gustavo said to her.

" Yeah, that's some talented pipes you have ( Y/N___ ). " Kelly added on.

" Gee thanks guys. Is there any more rehearsing and recording that I need to do for you two? " She asked them.

" No not at the moment ( Y/N___ ) but later we will do some more cover songs and experiment with some of BTR's songs and go from there. For now, take a lunch break. " Gustavo replied.

" Okie dokie then. Oh hey, is that them over there? " She asked. Gustavo turned around and gave them a look as in ' Get out now! '.

" Yes that is them but they'll be right back. Kelly, keep her here! " Gustavo turned back around to the female singer and smiled politely and then quickly raced them out of the recording booth. Kelly nodded and smiled as well.

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In the hallway:

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" Gustavo, what is going on and who is the new hot chick in the booth? " Kendall asked Gustavo.

" Yeah and why is she going to sing OUR songs? Is this Kat Krew all over again? " Carlos asked Gustavo as well.

" No Carlos this isn't Katz Krew all over again, thank god. That TALENTED young lady in that booth is Miss ( Y/N___ ) also known as Angela Rose, she's my newly signed female singer who is now an official member of Rocque Records and there is just one thing I would like to cover with you dogs about her. " Gustavo stated.

" And what's that? " James asked him.

" STAY AWAY FROM HER FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME! " He shouted his reply to the four boys from Minnesota.

" Why? " Carlos asked.

" Because she is actually one of the rare good considerate people who DO NOT give me a major headache and I want it to stay that way! " He spat back towards the boys.

" But Gustavo we are both from the same record label and managed by YOU, we are bound to run into her at some point in our lives and you can't keep us from meeting her. " James pointed out.

" Maybe not me but Freight Train can. " Gustavo snapped his fingers and out popped Freight Train looking muscular and strong as usual.

" Woah!! " The boys shouted as they fell backwards a little, losing their balance.

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Your POV:

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" Hey Kelly? Is everything okay back there? " I asked while placing my headphones on the microphone.

" What, you mean Gustavo? Yeah he and everything is fine, he just had to take care of something in the hallway. " Kelly reassured me in her reply.

" With the Big Time Rush Band? " I pointed at the exit.

" Yeah.... " She smiled nervously and I could only smile nervously as my reply.

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Some time later because for some reason I'm being a lazy idiot right now:

At the Palm Woods:

Still Your POV:

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I walked through the doors of the infamous Palm Woods where the home of the future famous was at, I could tell already that this would be a very magical journey from this moment forward.

As I gazed at my new surroundings I saw the check in counter. I walked over to it and placed my phone down on the counter for a minute while I tapped on the bell ring a couple times.

" Hello? " I called out.

" Hello, Welcome to the Palm Woods and how may I help you? " An older man in business attire came and greeted me.

" Yes hi, my name on the lease is Angela Rose and I'm here to check in to my apartment. " I said.

" Ah yes, Welcome Miss Rose. My name is Mr. Bitters and here is your room key, you will be staying in apartment J1. " Mr. Bitters handed me my apartment room key.

" Thank you, have a nice day Mr. Bitters. " I smiled at him and took my key card and headed for the elevator with my suitcases and other luggage.

As I pressed the up elevator button, I was then greeted by four very handsome young men that were trying to catch my attention. To say that I was surprised was a bit of an understatement.

" Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! " They said in unison to me.

" Oh Hello. I'm guessing that you must be BTR, the group I've heard so much about and who I saw in the studio this morning. " I said while pointing at each member.

" You've heard of us?! She's heard of us! " Carlos exclaimed to Logan.

" Well heard as in everything I've seen from what the public teen news says on magazines and TV about the four of you. " I smiled.

" So Gustavo hasn't mentioned us at all? " Logan asked me.

" Nope, not at all. I've only heard that you were signed to the same label and manager. " I replied back.

" Oh well that's no surprise. " Kendall chimed in.

" Why's that? " I asked cautiously.

" Gustavo Rocque has officially BANNED us from even getting anywhere near you. "

" Again why? "

" You see, he considers us to be somewhat of um......troublemakers. " Kendall replied.

" So you're walking trouble and after you cause some chaos by accident you usually spend the entire couple days trying to fix all of it. Am I right? " I placed my luggage down on the floor and pressed the up elevator button again and placed a hand on my right hip.

" Yes just about. " James said.

" Well, walking trouble is something I can handle. I grew up in a house with 2 VERY annoying sisters and 3 dumb clumsy brothers so I can fix anything in an instant. Also..... " I walked over to each of the boys and they stared at me nervously.

" Noooo one tells me who I can or cannot be with in my life. Not even a person who can destroy my career in 20 minutes flat. " I waved my finger back and forth to them as I made my statement.

I headed back to the elevator and heard a bell ring as the doors finally opened. I picked up my stuff and headed inside the elevator. The boys followed me a little and stood outside.

" I look forward to being your future friend and neighbor, perhaps something more lies in the future for us. Who knows? " I winked at them as the doors slowly closed.

This was going to be so much fun~

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Maybe I should make a story out of this, let me know in the comments.

This fanfiction belongs to me so please don't steal it or I will report you.

#big time rush #Big Time Rush X Reader #James X Reader #Kendall X Reader #Carlos X Reader #Logan X Reader #fanfiction

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galaxyshine24-7 · 4 years

Text

Feng Min🎮 Before the Fog

Hey I made a small introduction to Feng Min on her last day in her world for a rp server I’m on and wanted to share it. Her character is so cool but I hear not a lot of people write for her so I wanted to give some love to this gamer girl. I hope you enjoy.

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"Feng, Feng Min, Feng!" Feng jolts up from her chair as the owner of the internet café gives her a concerned look. Feng looks around as her screen shows a large Game Over screen in front of her.

"Damnit," Feng brushes her fingers through her hair wiping the stream of drool on her face. The area around her was filled with wrappers and napkins as a blanket rests over her shoulders.

"Feng listen you've been here for days." The owner rests a hand on her shoulder. Feng frowns at him rubbing the crust from her eyes.

"Maybe go home take a shower and rest a bit. Trust me the games will always be here." He pats her on the back as he goes to help out a customer. Dark brown eyes look over the screen as she leans back in the chair crossing her arms. Her head throbs as she takes a deep breath slowly getting up from the chair.

Shit just great, another game over. She thinks to herself as she cleans her station and starts to pack up her things. All the wrappers and empty cups of coffee from the previous days end up in the bin. As she walks to the entrance she makes sure to place a large tip for the owner having to deal with her for the past few days. Her hand opens the door wincing a bit at the light she hasn't seen in what felt like ages. She coughs fishing through her pockets to find a simple black mask. The air quality has never been the best in the heavy parts of the city. People pass by her going about their lives in a sea of blurs. Feng looks straight ahead, her mind focusing on strategies and her next moves. A person bumps into her, but she doesn't notice making the track back to her apartment.

The building was placed in the middle of the serval internet cafes and arcades giving her enough access to training when need be, and as of lately the bars have been pretty good too. She squeezes through the bodies trying to move in and out of the complex.

"Ms. Feng Min your rent is due soon." The landlord said from the front desk.

"Can't talk now, I will have it later." She waves her off hopping on the elevator. The doors are about to close until someone places their hand out making them open up again. A woman wearing a bright smile greets her squeezing into the elevator. She steps in seeing the button was already pressed for her floor.

"Hello good morning." She smiles sweetly.

"Hi," Feng lets out a sigh resting her head on the wall.

"Rough day?" The woman asks.

"Rough Life." Feng blurts out a bit surprised at herself, she must be tried, she's being social. That's a huge red flag.

"Aw I'm sorry to hear that. Your name is Feng right?" Her brown eyes narrow at the women.

"How did you know that?" She crosses her arms.

"Oh I live next door to you." She tilts her head. Feng raises a brow.

"You know Maryann, I lived by you for three years, I gave you muffins for the holidays." Oh she threw away those muffins. She always waited too long to eat them. However with the way her stomach twists right now she wishes she had eaten them. Her eyes dart to the sparkly ring on the woman's finger.

"Married?" Might as well go all the way into this socializing thing, it's not like she does it every day.

"Engaged going to be married soon." She smiles looking at the ring with such warmth foreign to Feng. Like she has ever had time for relationships all she wanted to do was win, watching her team deal with them and get distracted didn't do much to convince her they were worthwhile.

"Congrats." With a large stretch the elevator opens as they both step out.

"Thank you we've made so many plans for a house upstate, with nice schools for kids when they came around. I can't wait, we're already thinking of names."

Were my parents this happy thinking about kids? It's so hard to imagine how they barely talk now. She wonders what stops them from having more children to cover the mistake that is her.

They walk for a bit as they reach their rooms. Feng takes out her key, opening up her dark apartment.

"Well it was nice talking to you Feng have a nice day." She waves. Feng gives her a small smile stepping into her home closing and locking the door behind her. It was a dark loft apartment with plush furniture and high tech gaming equipment. Posters littered the walls and trophies adorn the shelves picking up dust. She throws her things on the couch pressing the button to open the blinds to a full city skyline. The money she made in tournaments helped her afford all this. Being among the highest to show that she could win. Rain starts to fall along the glass as she peels away from the view to head upstairs to shower. She finds her more comfy clothes heading to the bathroom.

Turning on the water she undresses stepping inside welcoming the warm water as it cascades down her hair and back. Her forehead presses against the cool tile as she counts her breaths. It's been six weeks, six agonizing weeks since she was ordered to take a break from the team after her recent mistakes costing tournaments, she even got kicked out of the dorms. She punches the wall as a wave of disappointment passes over her. She can't lose, she can't lose, she has come so far. Only to fall now in her prime would be pathetic and every doubt everyone made about her would be true. She couldn't count the thousands of comments in the fan forums all of them saying she was losing her touch. That she was only a one hit wonder, a smile creeps onto her face. She would show them she would so all of them. Her determination was too strong to give up.

"Fuck that." She would rather die than give up a game she knows she can win. The goal was so close she could feel it. She was so close to her purpose.

She steps back finishing her shower, now that she's more awake she can realize how dirty she was as stains cover her old shirt and the pits are ripe with sweat.

"Gross," She tosses everything in the hamper turning off the water. She looks in the mirror wiping away the fog. Black hair sticks to her pale skin as dark eyes stare back at her. She can't remember the last time she looked at herself. As she grew thinner or as she gained weight. She couldn't even tell anymore. Drying herself off she shakes her head cleaning herself up changing her clothes. After she blows, dries her hair until it untangles and is soft again. When she's done she cracks her knuckles heading back downstairs hoping to get some practice in on her console but her stomach growls loudly.

"Shit," her stomach hasn't seen a full meal in days. She could order take out, but she knows she needs to get outside more. With a large yawn and a pop of her back she grabs her bag and keys. Her feet step out into the apartment once more locking the door behind her. Leaving the building a few hours have past since she as been in her apartment getting ready. She thinks about what she wanted to do pulling up her hood and putting her mask back on. Feng fumbles in her bag taking out her earphones to play a soundtrack from her favorite game. The rain falls around her but she doesn't mind welcoming the sensation. She has forgotten how much she missed playing outside. In a time when her parents weren't so disappointed in her and splashed in the puddles at the park. A time the world was so new and she wasn't a black sheep to anyone. A laugh escapes her mouth, maybe there was a time people liked being around her. She didn't really do much out of gaming but anyone could see that fact. The smell of food fills her nose as a restaurant comes into view. It's a place she's been to before and liked what they had there. Authentic Chinese food reminded her of what her family's chefs would make. She opens the door getting a whiff of the food a bit more now.

The restaurant was a family run establishment creating a cozy feel as a fire runs in the background. Pictures of past customers all smiling hang on the walls.

"Would you like a table Ma'am?" A man asks her.

"Table for one please." The man takes out one menu sitting Feng down at the bar. She already knows what she wants as she hands back the menu just asking for water to drink. The man smiles nodding his head going to get her order. She looks at the tv listening to the sounds of the chefs cooking in the kitchen. The tv shows a news report talking about the esports tournaments. She rubs her temple, she really doesn't need this right now.

"Last month the popular esports team lost the primary rounds, however it wasn't always like this. Since the teams current decline fans have been reminiscing the past wins of the team." She puts her head in her hands as someone asks to turn it up. "One name that always comes up is the player Shining Lion. Otherwise known as Feng Min, a star in the field who won her team the championship cup." They show Feng Min with her team carrying the shining trophy that now sits in her apartment as it lost its luster. Her smile was wide and her eyes filled with joy. She remembers every moment of that day hearing the crowds chant her name and the phone calls she got afterwards for commercial deals and TVs shows, collabs with famous gamers she looked up to, but that day her parents actually told her she did a good job. That was something she never forgot.

Her food comes back as she begins to eat and the reporter moves on to other stories. The food was as good as she remembered loving each bite as all her problems seem to melt away. That was until a voice rang in the back of her.

"That's Shining Lion, dude she's over there." Her shoulders drop stabbing her chopsticks in her dumplings. She slowly turns around to see a few kids staring at her. One kid shushes the others as he walks over fiddling with his fingers.

"Um excuse me Ms. Lion can you please take a picture with us." She looks at her food then at the kid. His eyes looked at her with such adoration.

"Sure kid I'll take a picture." She couldn't say no to a face like that.

"Awesome, and don't worry my parents owned the restaurant. I can pay you back in dumplings." She snorts at that. Huh, she can't remember the last time she laughed either. They stand in the back as him and his friends take turns posing in pictures with her.

"Thank you so much, you were always my favorite in the team, I wanna be just like you some day." The boy said as his friends nod in agreement.

"Thanks," She brushes her hair behind her ear. The boy then looks down as the others start to look sad. Feng raises a brow at that tilting her head as one of them speaks up.

"We are sorry to hear the news." The one that called out to her before said.

"Yeah the team is full of a bunch of idiots for getting rid of you." Her stomach sinks to the floor at that.

"What?" She was a bit breathless. The boy takes out his phone showing her the team's official website. It rests on the screen in bold letters. Feng Min Known as Shining Lion will hereby be cut from the team for the foreseeable future her space will be filled by a new up and comer. She looks back at the kids then at the phone this message was a few hours ago.

"Is everything okay?" The kids look at her concerned as Feng stands up taller now.

"Yes, don't worry about it." She walks away, placing down a large bunch of cash as she walks out the restaurant pulling out her phone. She has the team's manager on speed dial as she waits under a street light for her to pick up.

"Hello," Feng clutches her phone.

"Feng uh hey, um listen we need to talk." They say over the phone.

"Cut the bullshit, I know, I saw the message. Why the fuck did you cut me, I was on a break I would've been back in gear in a few days." She starts to shake a bit wanting to throw up.

"Feng the team and I have been talking and I don't think it's been getting healthy for you to stay." They try to say softly.

"What?! And replacing me with someone else without a fucking word was going to make me better!" She shouts, several heads turn towards her as she moves into the alley to sit on a step, her leg jumping up and down.

"Feng it's not like that, listen the team hasn't been doing well and you have been slipping. As much as you are advantaged you are much more of a liability. Especially with your drunken escapades that you can't seem you remember. It's just...not a good look for us please understand." Feng forms a tight line as she throws her phone to the ground cracking the screen. The rain falls harder as tears fall from her eyes. She leans her head back looking at the sky. The sun starts to set over the city. She stays there for what feels like hours, her soul sinking into a pit. A pit she's trying to crawl out of, enough to where her nails draw blood. Thunder roars overhead as she slowly gets up, grabbing her broken phone and placing it in her pocket as she walks aimlessly throughout the city. So much for her purpose to think all that hard work only to have to do it all over again. She kicks a rock as a neon sign catches her attention. It's a bar having a deal on drinks.

"Of course." A sad smile creeps into her face. The comfort she always tries to escape always finds itself in front of her again. What did she have to lose? Boots splash into puddles as she walks up to the bar hearing the drunken cheers of people. Feng walks inside the dim establishment taking a seat in the back ordering a round of beer for herself. She drinks, and drinks, and drinks letting everything in her world drown out. Leaving only thoughts of winning, maybe it's just hopeful thinking but she's going to get out of this pit and rise above it all. She will find her purpose even if it kills her. After a few bottles she pays and leaves the bar walking around the city until she finds a nice trash pile to fall into. The alcohol was getting to her as she looked at the black sky. It's so endless to her you never know what's out there. Whatever the future holds she will find her purpose she will win no matter what. Her eyes grow heavy as her body grows cold. A cloud of fog escapes her lips as it starts to surround her, but before she could react she gets pulled into the embrace of sleep as a spike of determination fills her core. She gets shocked with a wave of electricity as a haunting laugh greets her in the darkness.

And with that Feng was never seen again.

#dead by daylight #dbd #feng min #my writing

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marvelhero-fics · 5 years

Text

Silent Britain

Series - Prologue

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You and Tom are working as love interests in a new Scorsese film, essentially leading to be love interests in real life

A/N: Sorry, it’s been a hot minute since I've posted! Anyway, this is basically going to be a whole series. I have no idea how many parts it’ll be, and I’ll be updating at least every two weeks (but I’ll aim to update it weekly!) I thought it was kind of a fun idea so essentially in the film Tom plays a bad-boy mob members son, while the reader plays the opposing mob members daughter. Please enjoy! (This chapter is a bit of a slow-burn, but it’s essentially just setting up the plot and everything!)

Also, all the italics in this story are the readers thoughts!

Word Count: 1,500

Silent Britain Masterlist || Full Masterlist

Prologue

The uncomfortably loud alarm buzzed through your tired mind. A glance to your left told you it was 7:00 am. Time to get up. One arm reached out to turn your alarm off, while the other went to wipe your eyes as they opened sluggishly, adjusting to the illumination in your bedroom that crept through the blinds. Wasting no time, you moved your body from your large bed and stumbled your way to the kitchen. The house was quiet, no music playing, no TV’s on, signalling to you that your roommate/best friend, Evie, hadn’t woken up yet.

The thick script left on the dining table caught your attention. It was for an upcoming, untitled Nolan film. You’d been asked to read the script to audition, however you only made it about half-way through it last night. Looks like thats on today’s agenda.

Acting was your absolute passion. You’d been lucky enough to start your acting career about 4 years ago, acting in 2-3 bigger films, every-so-often working alongside a well known celebrity. Working alongside Robert Pattinson in dramatic indie film was pretty cool, considering you’d grown up around all the Twilight hype. Playing Brad Pitt’s daughter in another film was also a big moment in your career. Not to mention your recent role in the Emmy award winning show Big Little Lies really helping define who you were as an actress. Ever since then you’d been asked to audition for quite a few more roles. Shockingly, it actually took a bit of a turn on you. People recognised you more often, which meant it was harder to leave the house. It also meant you started comparing yourself to other actors your age, to which you never thought you’d live up too. Being rich and famous really wasn’t all it was cut out to be.

While mindlessly making breakfast, your phone began buzzing on the hard, marble bench top. It was your agent, Melissa.

“Hey, Mel.” You quickly answered,

“Morning, (Y/N), how’re you doing?” Her thick American accent sung through the phone. Melissa was from California. You weren’t, you were born and bred in England, and you’d continued living just outside of London throughout your career. It was just much easier having an agent closer to the action of Hollywood.

“Good, I’m a little tired, it’s like seven AM over here.” You responded,

“Well it’s 11 at night over here, but I’ve just received some fantastic news and I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

“You’ve got my attention.” You chuckled slightly, leaning down to rest on the kitchen bench, ready to intently listen to whatever Melissa had to say.

“You remember that Scorsese film you auditioned for a while back, Silent Britain?”

Oh my god. “Yea, of course I remember, what about it?” Your palms became clammy and your voice shook slightly.

“You’ve been offered the role! You’re playing Elizabeth Baker!”

Your head immediately fell to your hands. You were just unbelievably over-joyed, you didn’t even know what to say. This would undoubtedly be your biggest role to date. “Mel, oh my god, this is such huge news, I really didn’t think I’d get it. This is so, so, so incredible.” You stood and began pacing the kitchen.

“It gets even better, guess who else is already signed on?”

“Who?”

“Tom Hardy is playing your father, Anthony Hopkins is playing your grandfather,” Your jaw had already hit the floor at this point, “Chrisitan Bale is also signed on, and Jude Law’s set to play one of the detectives.”

“Melissa, holy fuck.” You paused, “holy fuck. This- that’s so many actors, incredible actors-”

“And there’s plenty more to be signed on. So I’m assuming you’d like the role?”

“Of course I’d like the role!”

“I’m sending through all the paper-work and details for you to flick through, I’ll also mail over a script ASAP so you can go through the whole thing. You’ll have to fly out here in about 2 weeks for the initial meet up with Martin and the cast, so I’ll book that in now, and we can work out the rest of the details when you’re here, how’s that sound?” Melissa explained quickly,

“Yea, yea that sounds perfect, when’s filming set to start?”

“It says mid-June, which is in two months, if all the actors have been accounted for by that time.”

“Okay, I’ll get all my shit sorted out and I’ll see you in two weeks! Thanks so much Mel.”

And with that, the two of you hung up. Leaving you alone with your thoughts. A fucking Gangster Scorsese film. It doesn’t get better than that. That’s peak-of-the-career shit right there. Everything you did the rest of that day was purely in order to be organised for your flight. You hadn’t been this excited since you landed the role of Reece Witherspoon’s daughter in Big Little Lies. After screaming in pure bliss with Evie about the news, you went to your nearest shopping centre to get any possible supplies you may need. Shampoo, conditioner, dry shampoo, toothpaste, a power board, a charging cable, new comfortable clothes, not that you really needed anymore, new nicer clothes, not that you fucking needed anymore, the list went on. Evie even came with you, as if your impulse control wasn’t already low, Evie made it plumet, suggesting you needed every second thing she laid her eyes on. You even bought a notepad with the Taxi Driver movie poster on the cover because Scorsese directed that too, and it’ll be funny incase I ever need to take notes.

You shut the boot of your car, hopping into the driver's seat next to where Evie sat comfortably in the passenger’s seat.

“So who else is in the film? Besides Venom, Hannibal Lecter, Batman, and John Watson.” Evie smirked at her own joke,

“Ha ha. Very funny.” You stated, pulling out of the car park. “That’s all I know about at the moment, here” you passed her your phone, “check my emails, I might’ve gotten an update.” Evie took the phone from your hands and held it to your face to unlock it.

“Melissa Bradd sent another email, with attached file, more details…” Evie muttered, mainly to herself as she opened the document. “Hmm, Anthony Hopkins, Tom Hardy, you-” Evie gasped heavily.

“What, what is it?” You quickly interjected.

“I’m going to shit my pants, I’m gonna actually die right here, right now-”

“Evie, what the fuck!? What is it?!” You almost wanted to pull over the car.

“Timothee Chalamet is playing Joseph Baker, your brother!” She practically shrieked. Christ. Obviously you adored Timothee’s work, he was incredible and so devoted, but Evie absolutely adored him, for a long time now.

“Oh my god,” you uttered, just above a whisper. Reacting to not only Evies reaction, but also that another big name was going to be on screen beside you. “Anyone else?”

“It doesn’t even fucking matter who else is in it!” Evie sung, flailing her arms in the air.

“Evie, who else is in it!” You repeated, feeling a little on edge. Her gaze returned back to the phone screen, her excitement still clearly coursing through her veins.

“So far, Finn Wolfhard is set to play your younger brother, and Michael Fassbender and Christian bale are signed on as your uncles,” She read.

It was at this moment, your hands really started shaking. You tried gripping the wheel as tightly as you could, but it honestly felt like most of the blood in your body was vanishing, you didn’t seem to have control over much of anything, especially not your breathing. Evie looked over at you.

“Hey, (Y/N/N), you okay? You’re kind of looking a bit pale.” She spoke quietly,

“That’s a lot of big actors, Evie.” You responded, your mouth entirely dry.

“Yea, but you’re a big actor too, you know. You’ve been in some big films!” She lightly tried to reassure you.

“Eve, I’ve been a background character in like 3 big films.” You peered over to her, quickly returning your glare back to the road.

“You’re in Big Little Lies, that’s a big show.”

“I’m a daughter, I’m not a main character at all. This movie, I’m a fucking huge character in this movie. This movie practically fucking revolves around me, Tom Hardy, and Hopkins.” Your voice elevated as you spoke.

“Let’s just get home, and then we can talk it all through.” Evie said calmly, clearly not paying much mind to what you’d just said. You nodded in response. And, as if on cue, your phone chimed.

“What was it?” As you asked, Evie began scrolling through your phone.

“Another email from Melissa.”

“And?...”

“A couple more actors signed on.”

“And?...” Your head was far too close to exploding.

“Well, Rachel Weisz is playing your mum, and Daniel Craig is another uncle,” Evie was speaking softly, “Idris Elba is a detective, and- uhm- Tom Holland is your love interest…”

And there goes the explosion. “I need to pull over. I’m about to have a stroke.”

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timextoxhajima · 4 years

Photo

Chapter poster by @/lovehyuck on Instagram

NCT One Shot Collection

Member: Johnny

Genre: Fluff, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: this was such a fun one to write! i may or may not have busted a big, fat uwu writing this.

Art school was not the least bit easy for you. Not with all the different events and projects your course forced you through in your freshman year. Your media and design course needed you to constantly pull on a smile and an excited tone whenever you did broadcasting exercises, then back at home when you were off screen and not interning at an external company, you needed to learn the aesthetics of setting up websites and online blog shops. Writing and photography were skills you also needed for your course. All of this was extremely hard to handle when you're a freshman and had trouble even memorizing your way around the huge university campus.

You were absolutely dreading the next project that was set to come your way, because you would be interning at an independent boutique chain to learn the ideas and ways of online advertising and sales, but what you didn't expect in the package was the gentle giant that you would meet during your time of intern at the boutique chain stores.

"y/n?" One of the boutique's managers called out. You looked up from your journal of scripts and half done speeches you had done and would be doing in the future for the advertising projects.

"I'm here," You hurriedly shoved the book into your bag and got to your feet.

"Please, come in. I'll introduce you to your partner you'll be working with for your internship," The lady had a blazer on with a maroon top underneath, paired with black pants and a blue lanyard with her pass in the cardholder. You made your way into the room behind her, and before her sat a cheerful young man who was a few years older than you. The moment he noticed you, he stood up and offered you a handshake.

"Hi! You must be y/n! I'm Johnny Seo, the boutique's newest fashion designer and accent advisor. 'Johnny' will do just fine," he smiled at you, his wide grin making you feel warm and welcomed, despite his large and seemingly intimidating frame.

"Hi, nice to meet you," you took the handshake and bowed a little.

"Good to see that you two are starting off on the right foot. So, the both of you will be working closely for a project that the boutique is planning on launching in summer, preferably for a autumn collection. Johnny will brainstorm the styles and ideas, color palettes and all, and you will be handling the promotion and setting up of website for the project launch. How does that sound?" The lady leaned forward on the table, clasping her hands together and interlinking her fingers.

Johnny eagerly nodded, before turning to you, who obviously had some doubt in yourself.

"Relax, y/n, it's your first big project with a brand name. It's actually Johnny's first big launch too, but both of you have reputable portfolios. I don't expect the grandest, but I do expect your best efforts. If you perform well, we might consider you as permanent staff," The lady smiled at you. You processed her words, letting them sink in as you began to peel the small bits of skin round your fingertips and biting the ripped skin off your dry lips. Reputable profiles? Permanent staff? This is a huge brand name. Working for them would be like working for the Gods themselves.

"y/n, really, don't feel pressured. We want our crew to be as relaxed and comfortable. We chose to accept your internship with us out of a few hundred because you have amazing presence and your work is unique. After the internship, if you'd like to work for another brand instead, it can remain in discussion. But for now, all I need you to do is to work with Johnny to produce the best project launch for this autumn, that's all. Can you do that?" The lady raised her brow, her voice softening as she tried her best to calm you down.

You nodded.

"Amazing. Johnny will show you to your temporary office and give you a small tour and orientation of the office building. From today onward, just report to this building for your internship and you can do everything you need to do in this building. Your school has already been notified of this information," The lady leaned back in her seat and pulled out a file from the cabinet behind her, opening it to an internship contract page and setting it down on the table in front of you.

Both you and Johnny signed your respective contracts, and off you went on your orientation with him.

"Do you that when you're nervous or stressed?" Johnny spoke after a moment of silence. You were in the elevator with him on the way down to your office floor.

"Wha--? Oh," You looked down at your fingers and noticed the skin that had been peeled off had caused a tiny bit of bleeding. "Yeah, it's a habit. I'd like to get rid of it, but I've been doing it for years. Can't seem to stop it," You pulled your cardigan over your hands. Suddenly, you realised how under-dressed you were for the job. You were a broadcaster, a photographer and a writer, yet here you were, in a simple blue cardigan that covered your black top and some part of your denims. Even your ugly pair of strappy sandals were not up to your own standards.

Not when Johnny was there, fitted perfectly in his clothes.

Fashion designers.

"Fan of blue?" Johnny spoke again after the doors opened.

"Yellow, actually. But my favourite yellow dress was in the washing machine this morning when I checked so..." You shrug and follow him out of the lift. He smiled as a gesture of courtesy, letting you know that he heard you. He tapped a card with his face printed on it on the door scanner, a soft beep turned one of the scanner's lights from red to green and he pushed the door open for you.

"So, uhm, since you're working with this brand for the first time, I'll just let you know that their offices are on a rotational basis. So for example, you're working with me until autumn, right? Your office will be right next to mine until the season is over, and once you get a new partner, your office location will change, or maybe your new partner will come to you. Works both ways," Johnny walked and spoke at the same time, the office floor having a row of closed-door offices on both the left and right side of the floor, with office cubicles in the middle like a maze.

"The cubicles are for?" You looked at the employees sitting in cubicles, some talking on the phone and others looking intently at their computer screen.

"Oh, they basically handle the admin stuff. You know, employees, the money, event signing etcetera," He stopped right outside a closed office door. "I believe this office is yours," Johnny stretched out his right palm and gestured to the door. You glance at him and look at the door, the tab on the door where your name and position was supposed to be, still empty.

The office was simple, but prettier than you expected it to be. After all, this was only supposedly an internship.

"Whoa," You breathed, stepping into the office and placing your bag on one of the guest chairs before heading for the window. You could see the city before you, with cars the size of fingernails and the glistening reflection off window panes from other office buildings.

"I know right?" Johnny smiled. "Uh, you can get your access pass from the security point from tomorrow onwards. The admin counter on the first floor will give you your name and tab for your door when you clock in tomorrow," You hummed in response, still taken and completely obsessed with the view, so much that you didn't even notice Johnny had gone into his office right next to yours.

After setting up your office, linking your devices to the office's network, putting in your name and tab on the door and shelving some of your files for research and information purposes, you were finally settled in. Of course, some of that settling needed an extra hand, and who else to help but your office neighbour and also your partner for the next 8 months?

The first teaser or promotional event for the launch was set to happen in about a month's time. That meant you needed to do filming, editorials, find some contract models and dress them in the clothes that Johnny was to design. Though you had a month, it felt like you had a week, and once you realised that, you began chewing on your lip like a dog chewing on its toy bone.

"No, I need a week to edit and fix up the promotional videos. I need the models in three weeks from now, not six," You spoke into your office phone. Your eyes were fixated on website designs and filming techniques you had learnt at school but was never able to apply them, but your ears were listening to the horrendous dealings of a model company who couldn't offer models when you needed them.

"Don't be ridiculous. Which part of 'three weeks' did you not unders-- look, if you can't give me my models - which the company I'm currently working for now would've already informed you so forth - in three weeks, then the company is done with you, got it?" You didn't wait for a response. Slamming the phone back into its phone set on the table, you were frustrated and stressed out. Not because you were now interning at a big brand name, but because you genuinely wanted to do well. Your website was barely put together with the absence of photos and information about the project launch. Only the color accents and layouts were fixed, but otherwise it was a barren land.

Knock knock.

"Come in," You sighed and held up your fringe with your left hand, your right handling the mouse and moving the cursor around the website page, wondering what else you could do for it.

"Heard you yelling at the model contractor from next door," Johnny let himself in and shut the door behind him.

"Please tell me you have some designs and you're ready to make them," Your eyes shifted to the man, your posture remaining slouched and stiff infront of the computer screen.

"Was just about to show you some of them. Thought they might help with the color accents for the website too," Johnny was holding a sketchbook and a file filled with sample materials and designs. He sat down on one of the guest chairs and pushed the file over to you on the table.

The sketches were amazing. Both the male and female designs were stunning, simple yet dramatic, and he did not stick to a single color accent. He used every single warm color available on the color wheel.

"These are amazing, Johnny," You took the sketchpad nearer to your computer and changed up the color accents on the site. "You should start materializing these. When the launch is done, the brand's definitely going to want you working for them," You clicked rapidly, fixing every crook and cranny of the site to fit the color accents of the designs in his sketchpad.

"I actually wanted your input on the specific designs and materials. You do photography, so you should have an idea on what would look good in photographs," He looked you in the eye and had this adorable, sheepish, grin plastered on his face. It was almost like he was always happy and nothing could ever bring him down. "Also because I need to ask you for a favour," His expression progressed from sheepish to embarrassed.

"What is it?" You chuckle, taking the materials file and flipping through them, reaching for a pen from your pen holder and writing down some of the material codes next to the respective designs you thought fit.

"I have a couple of friends from high school organising a social event, and everyone who's going is either attached or engaged and--"

"And you want me to go?" You raised an eyebrow, looking up through your lashes and at him. He scratched the back of his neck and tilted his head.

"Ah, you know what? Forget it, it's horrible for me to ask you to act like someone you're not, so--"

"Nah, I'll go," You waved it off with your free hand without looking up.

"What-- Really?" Johnny paused, watching you scribble all the material codes on the final few pieces of his designs.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" You finished the last codes and handed the sketchpad back to him. "I've matched the designs to the materials I think would be suitable. So just check them for me and start getting them made. Photo shoot is in about three weeks."

"No, wait, y/n, you're really okay with going to the event with me?" Johnny had a little frown on his face.

"Why not?" You leaned back in your chair. "Haven't been to one of those in awhile. Won't hurt to get one night off this stinking intern that's making me tear my hair out,"

He nodded and was obviously very happy.

"Okay. So I'll just text you the date, and you text me your address and I'll fetch you then, s'that alright with you?" Johnny squinted his eyes like he hoped you'd say yes.

"Cool," You smiled at him. There was an awkward pause as all he did was stare at you, when you weren't sure why he was still there. "Anything else, partner?" You furrowed your brows and pursed your lips.

"Oh!" He exclaimed and whirled around in a circle, like a cat looking for its tail. "Nothing, I was just, zoning out," He frantically grabbed his sketchpad and material files from your table. "I'll see you tomorrow," He gave you one last nod before leaving your office. You waited until his shadow had disappeared from outside your door and into his, before sinking back into your chair and turning it around to see the glaring evening sun setting on the city.

This internship was the hardest internship you had ever done. You were working for 9 hours straight a day, some days spent in the office doing research on materials and other days visiting material stores to gather information about the cloths and the small details like lace and buttons that Johnny needed to begin making his clothing line. But what you failed to notice was that every single time you were procrastinating on a meal, Johnny would never fail to appear at your door with some packed food, knowing that you hadn't had anything since the previous meal. After awhile, he noticed the trend in your tastes: nothing spicy, soup is a must, and you always had tea over coffee any day, and that was exactly how he would send lunch or dinner to your office despite it being way past the respective mealtimes.

Before you knew it, the day of the social event was here. It was at a rather extravagant bungalow at a chalet right outside of town. All of Johnny's high school friends were going to be there, drinking booze or playing a game they weren't supposed to. Long story short, it was an event with all of Johnny's american friends.

"Hey Johnny, uhm, I was wondering..." You had the phone between your ear and your shoulder, all your party clothes laid out in front of you on the floor. "What are you wearing and what's the color code like?"

"Oh, uhm, well, nothing sophisticated I guess? Denim jacket, T-shirt, pants and a pair of... Vans? I mean, it's a guy thing though. Girls usually wear prettier, slightly more... extravagant styles."

"Cool, so blue and black?" You eyed the black crossed-back singlet top with black leather pants.

"Sounds fine to me."

"Also, Johnny," You were now holding the phone. "Who am I going as?" You smirked to yourself. You knew, but it would've been a lot nicer if he had just asked you to be his date directly.

"I... well, everybody's bringing someone you know, so... just for this once, pretend you're my girlfriend."

You smiled to yourself.

"Pleasure," You hung up.

When you showed up at the party, you knew exactly why Johnny wanted you to go with him. This wasn’t just a social gathering, this was a white boy frat party. It wasn’t that bad, but everybody Johnny greeted looked like they used to play sports and had a girl attached to their arm. Johnny was popular with the people at the party. He was so sociable and such an amazing talker, you wondered why he hadn't gotten himself a real girlfriend when all he did the entire night was introduce you to his friends and by saying, "Hey, what's up? Dude, meet my girlfriend, y/n," Then he'd carry on and talk about how he met you at an internship and now you were both doing a clothing line project launch together.

The night was getting late, and you definitely had more drinks than Johnny did. Your brain was like walking a tightrope and constantly on the edge of losing your composure altogether. Your date wanted to send you home when he noticed your face was rosier than usual and your eyes were no longer looking straight anymore, but you insisted and refused to leave. So when you found yourself in a circle next to Johnny, an empty bottle of beer in the middle and everybody else was screaming when two lucky people got chosen to make out with one another, that's when you decided to take another shot of vodka to completely immerse yourself in the party experience.

"y/n," Johnny grabbed the shot glass, trying his best not to let you finish it. But the alcohol rushed down your throat so quickly, you belched, earning loud hoots from the rest of the circle.

"Next round!" The friend of Johnny's who was hosting the event yelled, grabbing the bottle and pinning it down in the middle of the circle.

"I think I'm going to send her home first, she's wasted," Johnny gently brushed the hair out of your face, your eyes barely open and your limbs functioning at the least. The bottle was spun and landed on Johnny.

"No! I'm staying, this is fun," You giggled, snuggling your head into his chest.

"Oh, that's even better! Won't even know what's going to hit her!" His friend shouted, twirling the bottle again before Johnny could protest. The bottle landed on you.

"Ooooooh, rules are rules, muchachos!" The host lifted his beer bottle. "If the player chosen is attached, then 7 minutes of heaven in the closet we go!"

Johnny panicked. He watched as other girls from the circle got up to help carry you into the closet upstairs while the other guys hyped Johnny up to follow you upstairs. Before Johnny knew it, he was standing in front of you in someone's closet, the smell of cologne filling up both your noses and your eyes struggled to find a face to focus on.

"Why is it so dark?" You groaned, rubbing your eyes and smacking your lips.

"Because you didn't want to leave the spin-the-bottle circle, you doofus," Johnny sighed and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"Care to explain why you don't have a girlfriend? Everybody else here has one besides you," You burped, the smell of sprite and vodka temporarily intoxicated the air between you and Johnny. He winced in disgust, before waving the air with his hand.

"My last dumped me. Said I was too focused on a career path that wasn't promising."

Your muddleheaded skull processed this information, before it struck a chord in one of your nerves.

"Jeez, I'm... sorry for that, I didn't mean to pry," You frowned and rubbed your face.

"Nah, it's alright," Johnny shrugged, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and noticing your jacket falling to your elbows. He subtly pulled them up, covering your shoulders.

"What do people even do in 7 minutes in heaven anyway? Dumbass game," You shuffled your feet, failing to register that Johnny was kind of uncomfortable with how little space there was between the two of you.

"Most people just... you know-- hook up," Johnny cleared his throat. You paused and looked up at the shape of his jaw under the horrible lighting, your fingers only able to graze the outline of his facial features since you couldn't see well. Your fingertips halted at his chin, then shifted up to feel his lips.

"Have you ever...?" You whispered. Johnny could only hear the sound of his own breathing, the feeling of someone else's fingers on his skin was so alien, yet familiar.

"No, only small kisses here and there, but never really a real..." His voice trailed off as he felt you tiptoeing to reach his height. "Kiss," He finished his sentence, and before he could register it, his arms were wrapped around your waist, and yours around his neck, trying to pull his head down to match your height.

"Why are you so goddamn tall?" You huffed between kisses, the heat in your chest building up, and it wasn't only because of the alcohol. Johnny took the hint and shifted his hands to your thighs without violating your bottom, lifting you up and guiding your legs around his waist. It was almost as if every single word in the dictionary couldn't be processed in either of your heads. All he could taste was the lingering tinge of alcohol from your tongue, and all you could think of was how hot he was, being able to carry you and lifting you off the ground while still handling everything north.

"7 minutes is up-- whoa!" The host pulled open the door, only to see you hurriedly hop off Johnny's hips, your lipstick smudged and his hair in a mess. You coughed, surprisingly more sober than before. You began biting on your lip, noticing how everybody was shooting you smirks and teases. Johnny pulled up your jacket to your shoulder from behind, carefully patting down his hair and calmly wrapping his arm around your shoulder.

"We have business to finish, so if you'll excuse us, I'll be sending her home."

#timetohajima #johnny #johnny one shot #johnny imagine #johnny scenario #nct #nct one shot #nct imagine #fluff

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