#the spellcheckers hate her!! all this girl did was exist

[shiraishi--kanade]

"What's the hardest part about liking An Shiraishi?" Try writing any sentence with her in google documents and you'll find out immediately

[annaktheslightlygay]

Almost - Part 1

It’s odd looking back, how little she remembers. Somehow Beca had made it here, to someplace in the middle of god damn nowhere, coerced to wear a blindfold led through the dark to this room. There was a sense of erie calmness that overtook her body in the car. Yet here, standing on some sort of wooden deck, it was replaced by a need to rip her blindfold off and get the hell out of here. She didn’t, though. “It would ruin the surprise, Beca!” Yeah, okay Chloe. Somehow the both of us didn’t anticipate this though so I’m not sure if this applies, Beca thought. She shifted her weight from one leg to another, waiting.

____

Literally, why was it so hard to get up out of bed? Maybe it was because there was literally no one there to judge her for it. It was not her fault her roommate dropped out the day college started. She thought that they could suffer through it together but it looks like that girl had the right idea: this sucked. There was no one here and no one to talk to. Not that Beca loved talking or anything, but it was nice to know that if she died or something at least someone would wonder if she was ever coming back. All she was really accountable for was keeping her plant alive at this point. And even he– she glanced over at him, drooping in the little pot in the corner of her windowsill– wasn’t looking good. When kids meant they cared about “streaks” these days, I don’t think they meant this. 

This was the fifth day in a row she’d be laying in her dorm room, switching between her Netlfix and Hulu tabs religiously. But hey, at least she wasn’t hungry! Or, more likely, she’d surpassed hunger into the nauseous stage. She winced. That’s not great, even by Beca standards. She was pretty sure that was not recommended. 

It was 4pm. That meant the dining hall wasn’t open with the exception of a few cereal options and rejected pieces of fruit from meals earlier in the day. Still, Beca headed to the elevator and indicated the first floor. Two people– a redhead and a brunette– got in on her long way down from the twelfth floor. Not bad for a building with a thousand people. The less human interaction, the better. 

The food was bad, and but numbing. I mean, she couldn’t expect miracles from a bowl of captain crunch and a questionable banana, but still. Maybe she’d come back later that night. Maybe. That seemed like ages from now. 

As she exited she thought vaguely of the library and of the textbook chapter she had yet to read for tomorrow. God, even just thinking of class was an exhausting thought. And still, she went. Usually. She knew that her dad would get a direct report if she didn’t. So yes, she did show up. But that didn’t mean she had to pay attention or, god forbid, participate. 

Beca turned, deciding against it. A large body stopped her. Well, that was putting it nicely. Fat Amy basically initiated her, knocking most of the air from Beca’s lungs. 

“Dude, watch it.” 

“Yeah well maybe if you weren’t so busy looking lost I wouldn’t have to stop with the sheer force of my cooch.” Fat Amy said. 

“Your what?”

Beca had heard of this girl. She was the one who poured pink hair dye all over some girl’s head after she called her a fat bitch. She must have just been called Amy back then, but the name stuck. Even good-natured professors found themselves calling her that. She was loud, obnoxious, and her Australian accent was so prominent Beca (and others) often wondered if it was even real. Claiming to be a fantastic exotic dancer (with a specialty in mermaid dancing apparently) Fat Amy was never one to miss a party. 

“Here, you look like you could use this, short stuff.” Fat Amy thrust something to Beca’s chest. Before Beca could say a thing, Amy was gone as quickly as she had come. 

Trivia night, huh? More like a situation where Beca would have to pretend to be occupied in her phone and to be social for a night. Still, it was starting in seven minutes, and Beca knew where it was. It beat going to the library and probably would help her case during her weekly check-ins with her therapist. Wow, Beca thought. A new low. Going to a social event so her therapist didn’t think she was lame. 

Beca arrived at Barden’s Lion Den and found a seat just as the game started. Two girls asked if they could share the six-person table Beca occupied, and she obliged. The two girls sat and began discussing the answer to the first question. Dumbly, Beca realized she forgot to grab a card on her way in. There was no way she was going to draw attention to herself. Thank god for the iPhone that saved her in awkward social situations, like this one. She started scrolling, tapping haphazardly if she saw something that caught her eye. The two girls across from her excitedly discussed their answers, growing louder by the second. Beca realized that a third girl had joined them, promptly changing the topic to a party that night, related to the Barden Bellas. 

Beca had heard of them of course– she had a bad habit of reading the posters that were always plastered through the hallways throughout the entire school– and often critiqued them in her mind. You’d be surprised how many administration approved posters there were that seemed to forget that spellcheck existed. Beca remembered the Bellas posters because of the flight attendant like uniforms that all of the girls on the poster sported, grinning from ear to ear. She kind of hated that poster. No people in college should be that happy, she thought. 

Still, Beca heard bits and pieces. 8 pm. Meet at the Barden Lawn, and then head to a secondary location. Show up in green. It kind of sounded more like orders, to Beca. But immediately she did the math: 8pm wasn’t so bad for a Barden activity. Most things around here started at 11pm, at the earliest. And two social events in one week? There was no way Beca’s therapist could write her up or show any concern. This was healthy, and “very, very good, Beca!” She could practically hear Amber smiling. And, there was no invite needed.

Looking back, that had to be the night that she met Chloe. Chloe had to have been there with her, somewhere in the crowd with all the other chattering girls. But back then there was just a bunch of chatting girls that followed their leaders in a pack towards a supposed “secondary location”– a spot across town. Beca tried, like she always did, to make small talk with a few of the other girls on the way. As always, they became much more engaged in their own conversation than they did talking to Beca. So Beca trailed off behind them into the night air.

Notes: In this version, Beca is a little nicer and Chloe is most certainly not. This is a chiller version of the Bellas, and while there are some familiar members, there are also some new additions just to change it up a bit. Slow introduction to lots of drugs and alcohol, because that’s just what I felt like writing about. But let’s be real: you’re here to read about Bechloe, and I’m here to deliver– though I cannot promise that there will not be some angst to get there. With that, enjoy!

[psycho-pass-lists]

10 ways Kogami can propose to Akane

In honor of Kogami’s birthday, here are 10 possible ways Kogami can propose to his longtime love (assuming they ever got past the dating stage)!

10. In front of the whole division

Kogami decides to propose during one of their meetings, thinking everyone will believe it to be sweet and romantic, forgetting that Akane hates public displays like these.

Kogami: Inspector Tsunemori, will you marry me?

Akane: …

Akane: You don’t know me that well, do you?

Kogami: I’m not good with questions answering a question, Inspector.

Ginoza: INSPECTORS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO MARRY ENFORCERS, KOGAMI

9. In private

After that experience, Kogami decides to propose after a romantic dinner in Akane’s quarters.

Kogami: Inspector Tsunemori, you have changed my life. Will you do me the honors to be my wife?

Akane: *giggling drunk and kneeling on the floor next to him* Lol what are we doing

Kogami: …

Kogami: It’s not fair that you’re so hot when you’re flat out refusing me.

8. The fake mission to get Akane to find a ring

He forgets that Ginoza still exists and how he now knows that he’s trying to propose to a woman way out of his league.

Kogami: It’s a harmless mission - 

Ginoza: No.

Kogami: Just one -

Ginoza: No.

Kogami: Well I’m going to do it anyways!

Ginoza: You literally can’t while I’m in charge.

Kogami: GINO PLEAAASE

Ginoza: Good God.

Bonus:

Kogami: Please!

Mika: No.

Kogami: You don’t even have to be involved! I kinda prefer if you weren’t!

Mika: Of course I have to be there! I’m an Inspector!

Mika: How dare you make light of the Inspector job!

Kogami: …

Kogami: You know, you’re just like Gino.

7. Takes Akane back to the wheat field where he killed Makishima.

Akane: I don’t really want to be here, Kogami-san…

Kogami: I just want you to know that day was not an end to our relationship… but a beginning.

Akane: … You brought me here to this spot to show that our relationship is beginning…

Akane: When you have previously left me here!?

Akane: To chase some other guy!?

Akane: Without even checking to see if I’m alright!

Akane: Ginoza’s father was dying!! And you left!

Akane: Tell me honestly, if Makishima was here, would you would totally choose chasing him over finishing this proposal?

Kogami: *sweats nervously*

Kogami: I did not think this through.

6. Rose petal trail leading to the ring (and a shirtless Kogami in bed)

Akane did it for him, and while, yes, it was a bit too feminine for him, it’ll be perfect for her! Plus, he shows how thoughtful he truly is (bonus points!!)

Akane: But you said it was too feminine.

Kogami: For me, yes, but for you, it compliments your femininity!

Akane: Kogami-san, I hardly need anything to compliment my -

Akane: Wait, you think I’m feminine?

Kogami: FOCUS, INSPECTOR

5. A report sent to Akane where it sends hints of love throughout and at the end it says in big block letters “MARRY ME!”

Kogami forgot to spellcheck.

Akane: Kogami-san, this report is simply awful.

Kogami: ???

Akane: Look at all these spelling errors!

Kogami: That’s me being poetic!

Akane: Why would you need to be poetic about killing someone?

Akane: Actually, never mind, that sounds like you.

Kogami: I am so confused.

4. During training

They’ll be sweaty, close, and personal. It’ll be perfect, Kogami told himself.

Kogami: So that’s why I want to spend my life with you. What do you say?

Akane: *suddenly throws Kogami down to the floor and pins him down* Did you lose your concentration or something?

Kogami: *thinking to himself* And that was when I realized I was talking to myself.

3. The carts that usually hold the Dominators comes over and when it opens, a ring appears.

He doesn’t realize Akane has a history with those carts.

Akane: Ugh, what does Sibyl want now!?

Akane: *gets up and leaves the room*

Kogami: *hiding behind the cart* What the fuck.

2. In SEAUn

This girl came all the way for him! She clearly has the hots for him! He has to take the chance now!

Kogami: So since we’re already chained to this car together, wanna just marry me and be chained together forever?

Akane: Did… did you just make a joke?

Akane: ABOUT MARRYING ME

Kogami: Smooth, right?

Akane: I hate you so, so much right now.

1. Shows her this list

Kogami: See, these are all the ways I thought about proposing to you. But none of them seemed right for a perfect woman like you. So instead, I am just asking straightforward: Will you marry me?

Akane: YES!!!

Kogami: Phew!

Ginoza: Congratulations, you two. I’ve done research (more like Kogami got too far ahead of himself and asked me to do this before he asked you) and I found about 10 different wedding options.

Akane: Gah!

Kogami: NOT AGAIN

[axolotiels]

Kick in the Head Ch.4

We get Doug’s perspective today and take a trip to a bazaar. Thanks to @actingwithportals for giving me a spellcheck!

   Chell had been absolutely right: Doug did not like markets in the least, much less markets like Kaltag. They weren’t even all the way there; in fact, they had a few hundred feet to go. That did not stop the din of it from reaching his ears and ringing them from here to what used to be the state border.

   The sun beat down on their backs from high in the sky, occasionally crossed by a cloud and having its harsh rays pushed away, but most of the time it was as bright and garish as it had always been. To the left of them was an overgrown forest, and to the right there was a mostly flat field with high grass and the occasional bush. Doug decided to walk closer to the field, even if it was in less shade than the left side of the dirt track; the grass of the field was only knee-high and could barely hide a decently sized rabbit, but the forest…

   Doug was what you may call cautious, which means that he took every precaution to every problem that he could ever think up. Unless you are a supercomputer you may find this a difficult task, but Doug was not a supercomputer (Though he had worked on one, quite briefly) and he seemed to find more solutions to possible problems than one could find lawsuits at a bootleg movie company. It stands to reason that any number of dangerous animals were waiting in the forest, from mountain lions, bobcats, wasps, easily disturbed owls… He shuddered to think of it.

   Chell normally wasn’t talkative unless she wanted something or he’d done something wrong, the latter happening more than the former, but it was still a rare occurrence. Nonetheless, Doug was still very nervous with Cube nowhere in sight. He knew she was fine back at the shed, but he didn’t like having nothing on his back, and he wasn’t allowed to carry the knapsack with all the trading goods in it. He settled for carrying two loaves of bread that he’d made earlier that morning before the sun came up.

   They rounded a marking rock and made a turn toward the market, it’s noises getting louder as they grew closer. He grimaced and hoped that Chell didn’t notice said grimace through his beard, and cast a nervous glance to his left. She was focused on the marketplace with her eyes squinting against the glare of the sun, her backpack clinking with every step. She’d cut her hair short recently when she found that keeping short hair clean was much easier than keeping long hair untangled, and though in some spots the cuts were a bit uneven, Doug found that he liked it.

  Almost on a dime, Chell cocked her eyes toward him in a silent dare, the rest of her face unmoving, and he looked away quickly. She was so frightening most of the time. Being a head taller than him and being able to elbow drop a weightlifter without so much as breaking a sweat didn’t help his case of ‘try not to be scared of her’. Another fact that did not help him be any less afraid was that he knew for a fact that, should she have the desire to, she could throw him a good few feet if he wasn’t fast enough to avoid it. Luckily, he had been fast enough to avoid it after the first time.

   They finally got away from the stretchy fork of forest and into the more open field area where the market was situated. The high-pitched laughter of one of the usual sellers there could be heard, even some distance away. If Doug remembered correctly, she usually sold things like salvaged jewelry and carved bones, rocks, and wood. It was all useless but very pretty, especially some of the things she carved herself.

   He tried to casually feel around in his pocket, ultimately looking like someone who had tried to pull a knife but had failed miserably, but Chell paid him no mind. He felt the hollow top half of a cat skull and grimaced again. It wasn’t as if it was dirty or even recently killed, he just disliked dead things.

   Doug, unlike Chell, was not a person who was prone to hating. There were very few things in this world that he truly hated. For all of its atrocities and murder, he could think of at least one or two mildly redeeming things about Aperture before the collapse, but he’d bring about hell if he ever said such a thing out loud. The rest of Aperture he wished to see rot in a boiling pit that sort of looked like hell, but they were away from it now, so that was past them.

   Admittedly, they were not as far away from Aperture as Doug would have liked. He knew the facility spiralled on down for miles, but not that it reached all the way out into the countryside like some sterile and deadly Willy Wonka factory that only mass-produced problems. They were about five or so miles from the wheat field, if he could remember correctly; either way, he remembered that it was not far enough. He didn’t wish to cause any more scuffles than necessary.

   They’d gotten closer to the market so that they could see a little inside the tent’s open flaps. A short fellow with red hair and tan skin was walking back and forth between the two booths at the entrance with what seemed to be a much taller lady with pale hair watching him with her arms crossed. He trained his eyes toward the ground as they neared the tent and held the loaves of bread close to his chest.

   “I’ll be around Booth C if you need me.” Chell said at him, not really expecting a response. She did not get one.

   He’d only been to Kaltag market once, over a year ago. Now that he had a space that was at least half-his and was not trying to kill him, he didn’t like leaving it too often. Of course he’d go outside and tend the the clearing where Chell had planted her tiny wheat field when it needed it, or the slowly-growing vegetables, but he was much more at home in the shack. He had a tiny little workspace there with a few rusty tools, assorted bits of paper, and pretty rocks that he insisted upon keeping. There were only a few and none of them were gemstones, but he still liked them. The best ones were always found in the nearby river, either washed up or just regular rocks that were worn smooth by the flow. He didn’t like going to the stream alone, so he didn’t go often and only had a few rocks.

   The stream was where he had found the cat skull as well, on one of the few outings that he’d been on by himself. He left it wedged between two rocks for a few weeks before finally gathering the nerve to pick it up and sell it. If he didn’t need to sell it, he might have buried it.

   Suddenly, it was much easier to see when they finally entered the tent and the scathing rays of the sun were cut from view, excepting a few slim streams where it slipped between sheets in the tarps. The tiny red-haired man was speaking rather intensely in a heavy accent that he could not discern, and when Doug dared to spare him a quick once-over, he thought that the man might have attacked him if he looked any moment longer. The woman that seemed to almost be chaperoning the little man did him no-less disease, so he moved along.

   Chell had parted ways with him as soon as she’d entered the tent, and was now indeed at booth c; it was a weapons dealer she looked to be haggling with.

   Doug kept his head down as he walked past  and toward booth d; this was not his destination, but something had caught his eye nonetheless. It was crammed full of shelves, and each of those shelves were crammed full of books, which were in their turn crammed full of something that he could actually read. Most of them he didn’t pay any mind to however, seeing as most of their titles were things like ‘30-Minute Dinners’ and ‘Mexican Food and You’, none of which particularly interested him for multiple reasons. He couldn’t make the recipes in them and thinking about food he didn’t have made him hungry, even if he was marginally well fed compared to two or so years ago.

   The shopkeeper, a young bright-eyed girl with curly hair and dark skin, looked up at him from her tattered book and smiled. “Morning, Mister! What can I help you with?”

   It took him a moment to find his tongue after glancing about the shelves and finding only recipes. “You wouldn’t happen to have any books that aren’t um…” He waved his hand in a fathoming motion, struggling to meet her gaze but feeling like it was the least he could do since he wouldn’t end up buying anything. “Cookbooks?”

   She put her hands on her hips and looked around the lower shelves thoughtfully. “Uh… maybe. What were you looking for?”

   “Not a cookbook.” He answered simply, and set about leafing through the myriad of them.

   The shopkeeper crouched down behind a stack of cardboard boxes (Both of which were labeled ‘Southern Cooking for Northern Chefs’) and began rummaging, kicking up dust and the smell of old books. Doug squinted at a few titles and repositioned the bread that he was carrying, not wanting to put it down..

   With a victorious ‘ah-hah!’, the book-keep brought out 4 moth-eaten hardbacked books. The front covers were mostly intact but discolored with time, some in better condition than others. Doug’s bushy gray-streaked eyebrows furrowed for a second.

    “I hope you like horror.” The keeper tittered, pushing them in his direction.

   He didn’t say it and hoped that his hair would hide the obvious non-verbal cues, but Doug did not like horror in the least. He’d lived through horror, he didn’t want to read about stuff that may or may not have existed doing who-knew-what to people. One of the few things in this world he found absolutely safety in was words, especially the ones he had written; quite a ridiculous concept, to find safety in simple words, but words told him what he wanted to hear and absolutely no more than that. At least, the ones that Doug  wrote. He knew that nobody wrote what he wanted to hear but him, and the idea that his safe little words could morph into something that could fill him with terror was an abhorrent thought that he did not like spending time entertaining.

   Still, he politely thumbed over the books and their beat up and often minimalistic covers. A book about a vampire, one about a dark tower consumed by roses, one about someone with an odd name, and… puzzled, he squinted at the book’s cover.

   “Miss, I think you left one in.” He said softly, and took a step back. Some dust swirled in the air before his eyes in a streak of the sun as a gust of wind tugged viciously at the tent.

   The shopkeep picked it up and looked at him, bewildered. “It isn’t a cookbook. You’ve never heard of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

   Doug said nothing, and in his confusion, actually looked a bit angry.

   “It’s a kid’s book. Silly but sweet.” The keep explained, and slid it back toward him. “I read it as a kid. I don’t think this is my old copy, though.”

   He picked up the book and looked through the summary; he had indeed heard of the book but only through the grapevine. He was more familiar with the film that had come out in the 70s, though he’d seen it but one time and didn’t remember much about it. Everything that wasn’t happening to him at the moment was a dismal blur.

   Her lowered his head in a violent jerk as both the man at booth c and Chell laughed rather loudly, interrupting the buzzy sounds of the bazaar. He wrinkled his nose and squinted his eyes, one of his many visual cues to indicate discomfort, and went back to studying the book. Oh you made her laugh. Diamond in the rough, aren’t you? He thought with no small trace of bitterness.

   “You alright there, bud?” The book keeper asked, and before he could nod, he saw Chell’s heterochromic eyes peer over the divider curiously and squinted at the book in his hand. She returned to her business in booth c.

   Doug looked at the scrawly illustrations by the author and found them quite charming. He started calculating things in his head and wondered whether or not he could afford the beat-up little thing after buying what he came to Kaltag for in the first place. He’d noticed, much to his dismay, that the shopkeeper was eying his bread and hiding it very badly.

   He put the book down and tapped it several times, not looking back up but gesturing over to the lady who sold bones in booth h. “I-I’ll be right back.” And off he went.

   The bone lady was mystical in the fact that she did not act like a real person. She was a portly old white woman, one of the elderly people that could be heard talking of times before the surface collapse about things like swing music and tax collectors. She sat at her booth with her hands laced together in her lap, appearing to be asleep. When Doug approached, however, quiet as a church mouse, she opened her eyes.

   They were vivid gold that matched the almost gaudy earrings that she wore, as well as her four or five bracelets. Her hair was a mousy dull brown that hung over one of her metallic eyes, though he knew the metallic illusion was his imagination. She said nothing, watching him intently.

   Doug looked down at her table nervously, surveying the goods that ranged from carved rock and wood to bones and gemstones. There were rat skulls, several chips of quartz and what appeared to be red jasper, but he was never well-versed in stones, and as he scanned it nervously with his hand on his chin, he was glad to find that he saw exactly what he was looking for.

   “I was wondering if we could trade, miss.” He said, looking the shopkeep in the eye.

   She raised her eyebrow and sat up in her chair, resting her elbows on the table which Doug now noticed was covered in black velvet. “What have you got?”

   Doug held the bread out, looking for a place to set it, and settled on a chair nearby. It’s wrapping crackled as he set it down and he saw that the woman was a bit impressed but not quite enough to warrant major trade. He felt his hands begin to shake as he reached into his pocket and withdrew the top half of the cat skull, turning it away so he wouldn’t have to look into the hollow sockets where its eyes had once been.

  He was a squeamish man who couldn’t handle the sight of blood; it made him ill to see any more than a shallow papercut or a pinprick. In fact, he didn’t like anything that made him think about death anywhere in his immediate vicinity. Even though the skull was clean and free of anything resembling flesh or tissue, he didn’t enjoy looking at it. This wasn’t for him, after all.

   The shopkeep at least looked a bit more interested now. She took out a magnification eyepiece and the skull from Doug’s hand. Turning it in her palm several times, she threw a haphazard glance at the loaves of bread. “What do you want?”

  Doug remembered, perhaps from some old business class, that the first person in a haggle to name a price always lost. He pretended to ponder greatly at the things he knew were pretty expensive, staring at the candy reds and greens of the actual gemstones that once would have been faceted into fine jewelry.

   Somewhere else in the tent he could hear a radio that was much more clear of static than theirs piping out something about jingle-jangle-jingling spurs. He swallowed and focused on the beat; it wouldn’t really help all that much but it gave him something other than the transaction to pay attention to. “What can I get?”

   The lady gave him an expression of suspicion, one that probably helped her in many of her transactions, but Doug was quite used to people looking as though they wanted to shove him to the ground, so he didn’t flinch. Doug was quite used to a lot of aggressive mannerisms, and as long as the mannerisms didn’t escalate into actual fighting, he could take them.

   The shopkeep took out a piece of paper from behind the table and placed it flat over the section that he had been looking at with fake intent, and his eyes brightened a bit. “Whatever isn’t covered by the paper, hon.”

   Doug knew exactly what he had been looking for, but nonetheless pretended to glance around the table some more for a few seconds. When he felt satisfied with his acting, he pointed a quivering hand at a rose quartz carving with two chunky thrown-in onyx eyes. Or at least, he thought it was onyx.

   The shopkeep picked it up and squinted at it, almost like she hadn’t known it was on her table. “You don’t seem the type who’s looking for something like this.” She said nonchalantly, her gold jewelry shaking and sending little showers of light across the cubby.

   He was about to answer when his voice dwindled away as another’s spoke from the booth across the way. “Alright Doug, time to go.”

  He gulped audibly and raised a hand, hoping she would see it. Through his stringy black hair he looked from the shopkeeper to booth c and jerked his head, hoping that was all the explanation she needed. And it was.

   With a sly wink, she wrapped the little carving in some dirty tissue paper and took the cat skull and both loaves of bread, waving him goodbye as he slinked up to the booth where Chell was standing. She had her arms crossed and was leaning against a stack of books, leaving Doug momentarily bewildered. She had been at the weapon booth, hadn’t she?

   He was going to ask when she strode out towards the exit and the question left his tongue.

   Doug did not do well with many things. From someone being angry at him, attempting to gas him out, jumping long distances, to judging when he put too much sugar in his tea. He had learned to deal with this fact about himself quite tolerably for the most part, but something he had not quite learned to deal with was yelling. Yelling was a foremost sign of aggression which was definitely something that he did not do well with. He hadn’t even met Cave Johnson, the founder and CEO of Aperture Science Innovators, but just hearing him project his voice through recordings made him wither at the sound.

   Needless to say, when the man in the gun booth where Chell had been yelled out at him from across the tent, he flinched hard and crouched a bit, looking behind him with a horrified questioning expression on his face.

   “Hey, buddy… aren’t you the guy she almost threw into a concrete wall?”

   This gained the eye of everyone in the market, and if Doug could have vanished into thin air then he gladly would have. He felt the dozens of eyes now focused on the both of them and his head started pounding, his arms crossed and shaking.

   Not only was being the center of attention not something Doug wanted, another was also to remember the rather unfortunate way that he and Chell had met above the surface. Remembering it in a panic was completely different from mulling over it on a regular day when he had too little to do, and he saw it in flashes. It was like watching choppy animation. She was charging toward him close to the ground, he’d barely gotten out of the way. His throat tightened, remembering being yanked back by the lab coat and then her eyes…. Whatever feeling filled them it was not a positive one, and they glittered against the dark color of her hair.

   He felt a hand on the small of his back push him forward, and he hobbled on blindly out of the tent. Doug gritted his teeth and tried to breathe, I got what I came for. This was not a waste of time, this was not a waste of time, this was not a waste of time….

   The harsh sun struck the top of his head and he squinted his eyes shut, opening and closing his hands while trying to regain feeling in them.

   He couldn’t look up; he knew she’d be staring him down like a babysitter at a disobedient child. He found it hard to meet her gaze on a good day but he just couldn’t do it now. He shuffled along, just wanting to get back to the shack and perhaps pass out cold when he got there. Chell followed behind him, saying nothing, as she often did.

   To become lost in one’s thoughts is a very scary thing, and when one has several mental illnesses all kicking your brain while it’s down, it becomes even scarier. Doug tried not to focus on what he was thinking and instead concentrate his attention on the sounds his shoes made when they hit the road, rather miserably at that.

   Chell could be heard rustling around a bit, and she soon tapped his shoulder.

   He looked up, hunched and glassy-eyed, to see that as they walked that she was holding out a book.  It took him a moment to focus enough on it to see that it was, in fact, a book rather than some letter of dismissal. It was the book he’d been poking at in booth d; he’d honestly forgotten about the thing amongst all of the different signals his brain was giving him.

   Doug took the book and stared at the cover as he walked, finding it hard to comprehend. He blinked several times, furrowing his brow and ignoring all the impulses that were telling him to walk faster or otherwise collapse.

   “Thank you…” He managed to say, still sounding very confused.

   He almost jumped out of his skin when he remembered the whole reason for his trip to the market and Chell flinched a bit defensively. Doug pawed the wrapped carving out of his pocket. He’d initially meant it as a  long overdue peace offering but now he felt a bit obligated to give it to her now.

   When he held it out, Chell mirrored his confusion from moments before. They reached the fork of the forest and once again she started walking closer to it. When she unwrapped the crinkling dirty paper, her eyes opened in surprise; in her hand was a carved statue of a raven, perhaps a crow, made out of rose quartz with beady black eyes. Once it would have cost a decent amount of money, so Doug counted himself lucky that two loaves of bread and a cat skull would net him such a thing.

  He looked at her expectantly, waiting for a reaction. She held it up to eye level and looked at it closely, turning it over in her fingers.

   For about perhaps the third time that day, Doug had a heart attack. This particular heart attack was forced upon him when the oh-so familiar and oh-so earsplitting caw of Chell’s pet struck him like a bucket of cold water. Aleu flapped her ink-black wings and cawed again from the underbrush of the forest before bolting out toward them and landing unceremoniously on Chell’s shoulder.

   Doug eyed the bird warily, his book clutched close to him.

   The raven leaned her neck out and she studied the rose-quartz doppleganger from every side she could manage, and once she was done with that she looked at her human’s companion with another startlingly loud call. Doug did not like this one bit.

   Chell, on the other hand, must have thought that this was hilarious, because she snorted and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “She’s jealous. You brought me a better shiny.”

   This was most likely not what was going on, but Doug still thought it could have gone worse. “So… you like it?” He asked shakily.

   “Mhm.” Chell responded, and with Aleu swaying on her shoulder whilst giving Doug a dirty look, she continued down the road.

[mvssmallow]

Cloudy With A Chance

Part 11: …of Apple Pi.

Masterlist

Maybe in a movie Jiwon would’ve kissed Hanbin as they walked along the Han River after the Exhibition. Maybe they would’ve linked hands nervously and heard 90s RnB music playing faintly in the distance as a light breeze ruffles through Hanbin’s hair.

But none of that actually happens. Out of the corner of his eye, Jiwon saw the moment come….then he watched it go, floating away with an apologetic shrug.

He’s okay with it. They’re hungry, tired and uncomfortable in their clothes so instead of being in a movie they sit under the bridge in untucked shirts and rolled up sleeves, passing plates of food and bubble tea between them, talking easily about rap songs, tattoo plans and how to deal with the fact that Donghyuk politely threatened him at the gallery (answer: when the time comes, move to Mexico if grovelling and bribery don’t work.)

There were too many people around for them to do anything else but even when they were alone, nothing happened. Even when he gets caught staring at Hanbin’s mouth as it sucks on the straw. Even with the dim light offering some cover. Even then, with the opportunity flashing at him in neon lights, nothing happened. He just took an extra big mouthful of chocolate waffle as Hanbin smiled around his straw.

But it’s okay. It’s okay, he tells himself. It will happen when it happens.

He tries not to be too disappointed when they don’t kiss goodnight either. Instead, he watches Hanbin stumble out the car, dragging his black blazer haphazardly behind him and yawning repeatedly.

“Thanks for tonight. It was good.” Hanbin says through the car window. “Maybe the next time we hang out there will be less people around though?”

“With less interrogations and threats?” He adds.

“Yeah.”

“Next time it’ll just be me and you.”

“Okay.” Hanbin yawns as he leans heavily against the passenger window. “I better go, otherwise I’ll just sleep in your car.”

Jiwon honestly wouldn’t even mind but he knows it’s probably a bit too early for that sort of thing.

“Go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Hanbin nods and rubs his eyes. It’s a move that makes him look much younger than his 25 years and Jiwon gets the urge to hug him to his chest. The fiery Hanbin is all smart words and sharp teeth that sink into his skin without mercy but the tired, sad and vulnerable Hanbin is something that scares him, not because he can’t handle it (he knows he can) but because it reaches down into his core and drags all of his protective instincts to the surface. He’d probably follow Hanbin straight into Hell if he asked him to and run twice as fast if he didn’t.

“Okay. Well, Goodnight. Thanks for the ride. Drive safely.”

“Night. Sleep well.”

Hanbin waves as he walks towards his apartment, turning back after a few steps to yell out, “Hey, text me when you get home! So I know.”

So I know.

Jiwon wonders what that means exactly. He wonders about it all the way home, right up to the moment when he gets to his door and lets his keys hang in the lock so he can type out a text.

[im home. Didn’t die. Sorry if I woke you. xxj]

He drags himself through a quick shower and throws on some clean boxers before collapsing face down onto his bed. He’s just about to drift off when he hears the muted buzz of his phone next to him.

[good. It’s too much work finding a replacement.]

[im irreplcble. thats hard to spell]

[why don’t you use auto carrot]

[whts that? Spellcheck 4 bunnies?]

[you’d know…. bunny]

[whatever you say princess]

[if you call me that i’m breaking up with you]

[but youre not allowed to]

[I’m falling asleep. Sorry. Text me when you wake up.]

[go sleep. Night. xxj]

[night bunny xxh]

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep after that, not when dreamworld beckons him in with images of dimple smiles, undercuts and rabbits.

He’s still tired when his alarm goes off at 9am but the physical lethargy is offset by the kind of mental optimism that you can only get when your life is on the right track. He stretches out underneath his warm sheets, smiling at the ceiling and watching the sun filter through the gaps in his curtains. His hand smooths over the empty space next to him and he wonders what it might be like if it wasn’t so empty one day.

Somewhere on the other side of Seoul, probably still asleep, is chaos, art and random useless facts all rolled up into a riddle wrapped enigma. But he loves chaos and he loves that that is what he belongs to now. The revelation echoes in his head, the repetition doing nothing to diminish the thrill that he gets every time he thinks about Hanbin. He buries his head into his pillow and groans loudly. When did he get this lame and embarrassing? He would never hear the end of it if June knew the truth.

He should really get up and hit the gym to sweat all this out. But not before he digs around the sheets to find his phone.

[good morning. Guess wat? Didn’t die in the night. Sorry if I woke you xxj]

His cinnamon toast cereal tastes extra sweet this morning as he watches the news and tries to catch the weather report as it scrolls across the bottom of the screen. Outside his door he can hear his apartment block waking up and coming to life, there’s already music playing, a dog barking and a child’s high pitched giggle. Has it always been this idyllic? Maybe he was imagining it. Or maybe this is what life through Rose Tinted sunglasses feels like: one long movie with a happy ending.

He’s pulling on his gym shorts when his phone buzzes with a message alert.

[hey bunny.glad you’re alive. its too early, i’m going back to sleep]

[wait are you free 2moro? I’m going to get roses for rp, want to come?]

[sure ok good night xxh]

[lol okay, btw it’s Sunny today wth the chance of a late cold front. Call me if you get bored. xxj]

It’s 11:30 and he’s just walking out the gym doors when he gets another message.

[there are like 30 different types of cereal in this new store.]

He turns on the handsfree function in his car and dials Hanbin’s number as he pulls out of the car park.

“Are you calling me? Why are you calling me? I’m buying food.” Hanbin says, as if he was completely surprised by the turn of events. “Why is it so noisy?”

“Sorry, I’m driving.”

“Going somewhere? Also: hi.”

“Hey.” It never fails to make him smile, how off kilter conversations with Hanbin can be. “Yeah I just left the gym, going to Yoyo and June’s place now because they’ve got some sort  of car emergency.”

“Oh okay. I’ve got dinner with my parents tonight. I don’t know if I should bring some alcohol or a lot of alcohol.” Hanbin says glumly. “Actually, I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world for this.”

“That bad huh?”

He laughs lightly, mainly to be polite, but he really has no idea how they’re going to deal with the parent issue when the time comes. They will probably survive dinner with his parents but he has no idea what they’re going to do about Hanbin’s parents. In the back of his mind, he knows it’s unfair to paint them in a negative light before they’ve even met but at the same time, he’s learnt to never ignore his gut instincts and his gut tells him that it’s going to be difficult at best or a complete disaster.

Hanbin groans on the other end. “They’re going to get on my case about why I’m still apparently a sad single hermit. Maybe pass a few phone numbers my way because they think they’re being helpful.”

“They sound like my parents.”

“Maybe I should just tell them.” Hanbin says quietly but it comes across loud and clear and trips the alarm in his head.

“Hang on a sec.” He quickly finds a spot on a side street to pull over and park. “What do you want to tell them?”

“That I’m not single anymore. It’d be nice to tell them one less lie.” There’s a sad chuckle at the end of it that just makes him want to reach through the phone connection to hug Hanbin tightly.

“Oh. Okay, if you’re sure.” He replies, relieved. “I kinda thought you wanted tell them everything. About you and…me.”

There’s a sharp cackle on the other line, like the idea was beyond comprehension. “I’m feeling brave Jiwon, not suicidal. I don’t know what to do about that at all right now but maybe I can just get them off my back about girlfriends for awhile.”

“Aren’t they gonna want to meet her?”

“Yeah probably.”

“But she doesn’t exist.”

There’s rustling on Hanbin’s end. “Should I get Honey Nut Crunch or Froot Loops?”

The conversational whiplash disorientates him briefly before he catches up with Hanbin’s train of though.

“Froot Loops? No, don’t get that. Froot Loops are so unhealthy. It’s all sugar. Get cinnamon toast cereal. The gluten and sugar free version. That’s the one I have.”

He can practically hear Hanbin’s grimace. “Is it also taste free?”

“No!” He laughs. “It’s really good. I mean, you’re not eating wholemeal bran but at least you’re trying.”

“Well….okay.” Hanbin replies, entirely unconvinced.

“I’ll come over and eat the rest if you hate it.”

“Win-Win situation for you there.” Hanbin says flatly. “Look at how that turned out.”

“Yeah, amazing.” He smiles to himself before his mind returns to what they were talking about before. “So hey, are you really sure you want to just tell your parents? Won’t it create like 10 more problems for you?”

Okay, so he’s selfish. He was looking forward to spending some stress-free time with Hanbin now that everything had settled down. The thought of going through the complicated aspects of their relationship all over again just makes him want to go back to sleep.

“You think I should wait?”

“It’s up to you, Hanbin. If you feel like you want to tell them, then that’s what you should do.” He says, trying to be supportive despite his inner monologue.

“But?”

“But what?”

“You want to say something about it. I can tell.”

“No….it’s your decision.” He says carefully.

There’s a loud sigh. “Jiwon. Just tell me. I’m asking.”

He takes a breath. “Well, I was just thinking that it’s not always a good idea to tell them things like that without having some kind of plan. I mean, at least have a back up girl to help bail you out if they want to meet her last minute. That’s what parents like to do, spring these surprise attacks. It happened to me and look where I am now- still going on pointless church dates.”

There’s a sigh and pause as Hanbin thinks about his words. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I haven’t thought it through properly.”

He exhales slowly in relief. “Yeah, there will be other chances to tell them.”

“You know this means I’ll probably have to go on some fake dates then? Like you did?”

“It’s okay. Just be really boring. She’ll probably never call you again.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Sometimes. I usually just play the friendzone and drop in a few really polarising things. Like wanting 7 kids and moving to an apple orchard. There’s been approximately zero second dates after that.” He says with a laugh.

“Really? That sounds kinda nice though. Well, maybe not seven kids. Maybe four.”

He freezes mid laugh. Hanbin’s earnest consideration of his ridiculous date tactics takes him by surprise.

“I was joking Hanbin.”

“No you weren’t. 50% of all jokes are true.”

There’s no one around but he blushes anyway. “That sounds like something you just made up.”

“It’s legit I swear! I read it somewhere. I bet you really do want to have a bunch of kids on a farm. Right?”

“Maybe.” He says noncommittally.

There’s laughter on the other end. “Knew it. You live in the 1950s but it’s a cute dream to have. I’ll remember to drop something like that on my fake date.”

“Wait a second. You said four kids. You want to have four kids?”

“Yeah. Maybe? One day.”

“Oh. Cool.”

It’s then that his mind does that annoying thing where it takes an idea and fills his head with all sorts of futurescape images. What would Hanbin’s kids look like? What would his kids look like? Does Hanbin think his kids will be their kids? How can he get out of this conversation?

It gives him a headache thinking too far into the future. He never used to think about the details but lately, he catches himself staring at couples with small children and dreaming of scenarios which weren’t so impossible. He’s optimistic but he’s also realistic, there’s a line in the sky and having biological kids was so far beyond the line that it was in the realms of impossible fiction.

“Hey? You still there?”

“Yeah Yeah. I’m still here.”

“I better go. I need to get the shopping done before I go pick up my sister from dance class.”

He breathes out another sigh of relief. He loves talking to Hanbin but there are times when serious topics just sneak up on them and it gets too much, even over the phone.

“Yeah I need to go too. Text me later, about your dinner?”

“Yeah I will.”

“And I guess I’ll come over at like 10 tomorrow? If you still want to come to June’s?”

“Yeah, I’ll be ready.”

“Cool. Okay.” There’s an awkward pause because he’s never been good at saying goodbye. No matter how overwhelming their conversations gets, when the time comes there’s always a part of him that’s reluctant to let go, even if it’s only temporary. “Well umm…”

“Say bye, you loser.” Hanbin laughs on the other end.

“Okay! Fine. BYE.”

“Bye bunny. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.”

“And now you hang up.”

“Okay.” His finger hovers over the End-Call button but he can’t make himself push it.

“You’re still there.”

“Yup.”

“Okay well, there’s an old lady giving me death glares at the checkout so I really have to go. Bye bunny!”

Hanbin hangs up first. It’s how he prefers their calls to go because there’s something so difficult about hanging up on Hanbin. Or dropping him off and watching him walk away. Or being awake and knowing he’s still sleeping. He tells himself that he’ll be completely fine watching Hanbin go on fake dates but he knows it won’t be that simple when it happens.

Shaking his head, he starts the car to rejoin the flow of traffic.

The sun is setting by the times he gets home from fixing Yoyo’s car and has a second shower to wash off all the sweat and grease. He’s on the couch watching Iron Chef when the phone buzzes on the coffee table.

[pls save me]

[what happened? want me to come get you?]

[i said SAVE ME. not GET ME KILLED]

[how drunk are you]

[not drunk at all]

[tragedy, sorry for your loss]

[i miss you]

The message surprises him with its suddenness. He knows Hanbin can be unpredictable but he’s always taken aback by just how much it knocks him off his feet.

[i miss you too. U ok? Bc i can really come and get you]

[yeah I’m fine. Hanbyul’s distracting them with her ballet trophy.]

[she won something?]

[they give them out to every kid]

[lolz don’t be rude]

[I’m not! It’s the truth. Ahhhh I gotta go. xxh]

[ok call me later. xxj]

It’s midnight and he’s in bed watching the late 24-hour news when his phone lights up next to him.

[are you still up?]

He can’t think of a decent short reply so dials Hanbin’s number instead.

“It was horrible.” Hanbin says as soon as he picks up.

“Wanna tell me all about it?”

“They were on my back for twenty minutes about being a weird recluse and well, long story short, they gave my number to my dad’s business partner’s daughter. So I’m basically fucked, no matter how it ends.”

“Oh…..Shit.”

“Yeah.” Hanbin agrees miserably.

“Well….” He starts, trying to be positive but trailing off when he can’t think of anything to say. Hanbin, on the other hand, has plenty to say.

“It’s so bad. I just know it. If she hates me, she’ll tell her parents. Then they’ll tell my parents. And it might be weird at their company. That will get my dad pissed at me. Again. Even though I don’t even like girls and told them all night that I was too busy to have a relationship! Why do I have to deal with this stupid fucking situation Jiwon? On my list of stupid fucking situations, this would have to be number 1.”

“Are you drunk?”

“A little bit.”

“Are you at home?”

“YES.”

“Okay, good. But listen, don’t worry too much about it Hanbin. We’ll figure something out when it happens.”

“Why can’t we figure it out now?” Hanbin whines.

“Because it’s midnight and she hasn’t called you yet.” He reasons.

“Why can’t you just fix this?!”

He laughs despite their situation. “I promise I’ll think of something. It’ll be okay. I got through them, you will too.”

There’s a heavy dramatic sigh on the other end before Hanbin’s sleepy voice comes through again, this time accompanied by a yawn. “I’m in bed. Tell me something. I don’t want to think about girls anymore.”

“Umm, what do you want to hear?”

“Tell me about your seven kids and apple orchard. What kind of kids are you gonna have? And what kind of apples?”

The request catches him off guard, he didn’t expect this conversation to come back so soon. Or at all.

“Oh. Um. Probably all kinds of apples. I need to do some research on Apple species. You know any Apple experts?”

“I’m an Apple expert. I like the red ones and the Macbook Pro.”

“So helpful. Real expert.”

“Tell me more. I want to fall asleep.”

“Okay. Well. Firstly, no offence, but I’m gonna need an expert who knows more about apples than “red” and “laptop”. I kinda want to live on one of those big properties where the dogs and kids and chickens can run everywhere.  We’ll have to get one of those gigantic country farmhouses with a billion bedrooms because if the kids are gonna be anything like you, they’ll all want their own rooms.”

There’s no protest so he continues.

“I heard you can do a lot with apples though. You eat them, juice them, dry them, make all sorts of stuff with them, including pie! I’m not completely crazy you know. It might be a fake dream but I did attempt some research to make it sound legit.”

“Anyways, it’d be really cool sitting on the back porch and watching the sun set over all the trees. It’ll probably be really quiet and so far away from the city that you could probably see all those galaxies that you’re obsessed with.”

He waits for a response but gets none.

“Hanbin?” When there’s only breathing on the other line, he knows that Hanbin fell asleep. “Well. That’s the dream anyway. Goodnight baby.”

                                                            *

The birds chirp gleefully outside his window but Hanbin wants to die.

Actually, he wants to kill his phone first then follow it straight into hell.

“What?!” He grumbles into the offending device.

“It’s 9am.” Jiwon’s voice comes through, slightly concerned. “You okay? You don’t have to-”

“No. I want to.” He insists, despite his head spinning and his body protesting loudly as he stretches in bed.

“Okay. See you soon.”

He’s hungover and so dizzy that takes him three attempts to open the toothpaste cap and even longer to differentiate the shampoo bottle from the conditioner. It’s a relief when he finally sits down on his couch and eats cinnamon toast cereal without the world spinning around him.

Jiwon knocks on his door at 10:03am. He wanted to tease him about the promptness but decides against it, partly because his brain wasn’t exactly back online yet but mainly because Jiwon looked so adorable standing in his doorway like a hopeful prom date.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you last night. Your voice does that.” He says as he settles into the (now very familiar) passenger’s seat.

“My voice puts you to sleep?” Jiwon teases.

“Yeah it does. It’s sedating….but in a good way.” He knows that he must sound completely spaced out right now and wonders if Jiwon will pick up on it.

“So you don’t remember anything I said?”

“No, I do. Something about apple orchards and friendzoning girls and having seven kids.”

Jiwon looks over with a cautious expression. “That’s it? You don’t remember the rest?”

He racks his brain but he can barely remember what he just had for breakfast. “No. Should I have? Was it something memorable?”

Jiwon shakes his head, oddly relieved. “No no, nothing major.” There’s a grin at the end of it before the Beast roars into life down the street.

He’s feeling more human by the time they walk through the doors of June’s tattoo shop.

“Ahh look, it’s dumb and dumber! Finally here to ruin my fucking day.” June says brightly from his position in the counter.

“You really need to work on your greetings.” Jiwon says.

“It’s part of my charm.” June winks before hopping off the counter. He hugs Jiwon despite the protests before coming over to pat Hanbin on the shoulder. “Hey Hanbin. How’ve you been? This kid giving you any grief?”

“Of course he is. It’s driving me crazy.” He says with a smile.

“Knew it!” June says loudly. “Return him to the store and get an upgrade! He’s literally 2000 and late- a completely useless and out of date model.”

“Shut up Grandpa!” Jiwon calls out from the back kitchen.

“Ahh everything feels normal again.” June sighs. “Hey! I need to show you something. I got a book on geometrical line tattoos. Thought you might like something in it.”

Hanbin’s oddly flattered by the thoughtfulness “Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Thanks.”

A heavy book is thrust into his hands as they settle into their seats. He flips through the pages, breathing in the new book smell and mentally ticking off some designs he already likes.

Jiwon comes back out and hands him a cow print mug. “Black. No milk. No sugar.”

“Thanks.” He smiles over the rim of the mug, feeling lame and dopey.

“You’re welcome.” Jiwon smiles back.

June rolls his eyes between them. “And yet he forgets my birthday.”

Jiwon breaks the eye contact to scowl. “That was one time and you said I was forgiven when I got you the PS3.”

“Did I? That doesn’t seem like something I’d say at all.”

Jiwon groans. “Can we just get started? Instead of sitting around and arguing like always?”

“You’re right. We can work and continue to argue like always.” June says with a nod.

Hanbin settles in his chair as the ink gun buzzes into life. He sticks Post-It notes on the pages of the design book that interest him and feels his worries melt away. It was a weird combination really, the contrast between the sterile smell of alcohol disinfectant and the familiar herbal fragrance from the tea Jiwon made. It was almost as contradictory as the mechanical sound of the tattoo gun bouncing off the soothing peach coloured walls to accompany the Al Green song that June has playing over the speakers. It was mismatched and scrappy and strange but he loves it. It all reminds him of Jiwon in a way; how he was the perfect combination of hard industrial angles and soft warm smiles.

He is so deep inside his head that he completely misses the conversation happening in front of him.

“Right Hanbin?”

He looks up, dazed. “Huh?”

“Warren G is the better rapper but Dre is the better producer, right?”

“Bullshit.” June replies. “Dre is better at both.”

“They’re step-brothers.” He says absentmindedly.

“That’s so not answering the question.” June mutters.

He shakes the cobwebs from his fuzzy mind and starts again. “Well, Warren has a smoother technique if you’re only arguing about the west coast rap style. Dre is definitely better at producing though. Eminem wouldn’t be anywhere without Dre. So yeah, Warren might be the slightly better rapper but Dre’s definitely the better producer.”

They both stare at him before Jiwon looks across as June with a smug smile. “Told you so.”

June turns the ink gun back on. “Oh great, you’re gonna start arguing as a team now? I’m so excited about this new development.” He says blandly.

Jiwon gives him a wink, which wasn’t so much a wink as a co-ordinated blink with both eyes.

“Maybe Yoyo can come here and help you win all these arguments then?” Hanbin says as politely as he can.

Jiwon laughs loudly, trying not to move his arm but failing miserably.

June gives them both a withering look before turning the ink gun off again. “Okay. Very funny. You’re very funny over there Hanbin. But you just made your idiot boyfriend here move so one of the roses is now a bit crooked. Congratulations, you both played yourselves!”

Jiwon looks over at him with a grin. “Totally worth it.”

“Ahh, let’s take a break. Your ugly face is annoying and my back is kinda killing me today.” June announces, stretching in his chair before going outside with his cup of tea.

Hanbin wanders over and sits in June’s seat, peering at the bloody mess of lines on Jiwon’s forearm. “Sorry about the rose.”

“I’m not. You should’ve seen his face! It’s been ages since I’ve seen someone take a shot at his ego.”

Hanbin gives him a wry smile. “You want another cup of tea?”

“Yeah, thanks baby.”

It comes out so easily and casually but he still freezes like a deer in headlights, unsure what to do or say as the butterflies in his stomach zoom around like they’re all on acid.

“Sorry. It just came out.” Jiwon says quickly.

“It’s okay. No big deal.” He says in a strained voice before walking off into the kitchen to fill the kettle with shaky hands.

He’s standing at the bench waiting for the kettle to boil when he can hear Jiwon shuffling in behind him.

“You don’t like it. The name.” It was more a statement than a question.

Hanbin shakes his head but doesn’t turn around. “No, I like it. I’ve just never been called that before. It was just kinda weird, that’s all.”

He feels a breath against the back of his neck and the heat radiating off Jiwon’s body as he comes to stand behind him. “Is it cool enough for you?”

“No. It’s terrible.” He says, smiling to himself.

Two tattooed arms come to rest on either side of him, caging him in the middle. His heart races in anticipation as he stares at Richard Parker’s tail and the new crooked rose on Jiwon’s tanned skin.

“So you’re okay if I keep calling you that?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Okay…baby…”

The way it comes out sends a shiver all the way down his spine. There’s lips against his ear, it’s barely a touch but it makes him so giddy that he feels like he’s about to jump off a cliff or do something equally stupid.

And then he hears it again, in Jiwon’s deep rough growl, the one that’s gentle but demanding and playful but emphatically possessive.

“Baby…”

After that, Hanbin couldn’t stop himself from turning around even if he wanted to. He sees shiny half hooded eyes for a split second before Jiwon leans down and closes the small distance between them, his mouth fitting over Hanbin’s with a soft warm pressure.

Jiwon tastes like earl grey tea and cinnamon toast cereal and he kisses like he lives life: confident, curious, full of purpose and with no room for doubt.  

And messy.

If there’s one word to describe Jiwon, messy would be the first thing that comes to mind.

Hanbin is pressed against the bench as their kiss deepens, his lips already feeling swollen and there’s so much saliva between them that he can feel it across his jaw. His hands grabs the front of Jiwon’s t-shirt when he feels an insistent tongue trying to lick his mouth open, they both moan when he finally does.

But just as he’s trying to remember everything about the moment the kettle suddenly begins it’s high pitched and obnoxious beeping. It takes him by surprise, startling his eyes open and making him jump forward to twist his hands into the fabric of Jiwon’s tshirt so forcibly that he feels it stretching and protesting.

“Fuck that’s loud.” Jiwon remarks as he pulls away, slightly out of breath. He reaches over to turn the kettle off and starts laughing when he sees Hanbin’s stunned face. “You okay? Had another heart attack?”

Hanbin narrows his eyes and shoves at the solid chest in front of him. “Yes you jerk! Don’t pretend like it didn’t scare you too.”

“Maybe a little.” Jiwon murmurs before pulling him back against his chest. “Come back here. Kiss me again.”

Hanbin carefully grabs his right arm above the reddened tattooed area and leans back in. It’s just as hot and sweet and infuriatingly good as the first time. He’s tries to catalogue every happy sound Jiwon makes, the way he tastes and the hard wall of muscle underneath his soft worn-in t-shirt.

It’s then that the front door slams shut, followed by June’s sheepish, “Sorry, it’s just me! My bad!”

They reluctantly break for a second time, Jiwon frowning and groaning in frustration. “Why is the universe cock blocking me?” He mutters.

Hanbin colours at the choice of words. “I don’t know. Did you pay your taxes this year?”

“Yes! And now I’m being punished.” Jiwon whines, indignant.

They hear June shuffling around the main room so Hanbin smooths out the front of Jiwon’s tshirt and pushes him away.

“Go. I’ll bring out the tea. I don’t want him asking about this. You know he’s gonna tease you all day.”

“Hey by the way, if he ever hears you calling me bunny, he’ll never take me seriously again.”

Hanbin gives him a smile as he reaches up to wipe at Jiwon’s lower lip with his thumb. “He never took you seriously to begin with. Now go, bunny.”

Jiwon leans in to give him one last kiss in his cheek. “Okay, baby.”

He gives Hanbin a dopey smile as he backs out of the kitchen. Hanbin shakes his head but does nothing to stop his own dopey smile from forming.

It takes him twice as long to make the tea this time. He has to stop and replay what just happened, occasionally touching his lips to see if he can still feel anything on them.

He pours the tea carefully and tries to keep his face neutral when he brings it out to the main room, sneaking looks at Jiwon’s face when he and June are both peering down at the inky roses and discussing the best way to fix the crooked lines (Jiwon asks that they stay crooked).

Before he can stop himself, he lets out a sigh that’s way too loud and causes both guys to look over.

“What was that for? We keeping you up?” June asks. “You need colouring books over there?”

He scoffs. “Is that what Yoyo does when you’re annoying him?”

June gives him sullen look before turning to Jiwon, “Can you get a new boyfriend? This one is too salty.”

“Nope, sorry bro. I’m keeping him forever.” Jiwon laughs happily and gives him another wink. Stupidly enough, right in the middle of all his thoughts, the only thing Hanbin can think about is the fact that Jiwon still can’t wink properly.

Oh well. He wants to stay forever and wonky winks are only a small price to pay.